CHOICE

“Lieutenant!” Joaquim whispered to me, and my eyes snapped open at the urgency in his voice. I had taken a break, eyes closed as I waited for midnight. I had to see if there was any chance we could extract Kasera. He had not given us away yet, and was falling unconscious after each new round of beatings. Each one of us was bristling with anger at his treatment. We wanted to intervene, well, I know I did. I’m not sure about the others. From the expression on Joaquim’s face, he had long ago given up hope and wanted us to be legging it out of here. Cpl. Denge was stoic as ever. No emotion displayed in his expressions, but I felt the coiled rage of a panther bridling within him. He wanted to act, to do something to help the Sergeant. His sentiments reflected my own.

I moved over to sidle up to Joaquim and his listening device. I picked up the rifle again. It was cumbersome to look through the scope each time, and extremely tempting to shoot the Russian administering to the torture through intermediaries. If I started to shoot though, I would be signing Kasera’s death warrant. As well as ensuring our own as we would be hunted and tracked until found. Cpl. Denge had the binoculars.

“What Joaquim? What are they saying now?”

“Lieutenant we have to leave. He’s telling them. He’s saying he’s SADF!” he was wining and panic edged his voice. He was way in over his head. How had this man made it into the Recce’s?

“Calm down Joaquim. Just report what they are saying. Focus on your job, let me make the decisions. I will take care of it, okay? Now, tell me what exactly he is saying?”

I couldn’t believe it. We were trained to resist for the first 24 hours, trained to give our teammates a chance to get away. What was he doing? Was he really so spineless? Then in almost the same instant I had to wonder if I could withstand the loving caresses these Angolans had been administering to him for as long as they had. They had not held back, nor been kind.

Joaquim continued transcribing the conversation at the end of his directional microphone, these analogue devices were not always reliable, but with our optimum position we had clear line of sight so the signal was 5 by 5. They spoke with a mixture of Cuban Spanish and Portuguese, which both Kasera and Joaquim spoke fluently.

:“… I am SADF….”

: “Where are the rest of your men? How many of you are there?”

: “Im SADF, Serial number: 84580214-KW, I surrender. Please, stop hitting me, I will cooperate. I deserted. Just let me go….”

: “SADF? You are wearing a FAPLA uniform, Are you 32 Battalion? A Recce?”

: “Im SADF, Serial number: 84580214-KW, I surrender. Please, stop hitting me, I will cooperate. I deserted. Just let me go….Please, I am no threat, I know nothing…”

: “Bring the petrol. This one is a spy. “

“Quickly! The Colonel wants us to use petrol. He wants to teach this dog what it means to be a spy. Let’s make the night fill with his screams.”

“Yes Sir!.”

: “Petrol? No, you can’t! No, please. It’s not allowed. I am SADF. A deserter. You can’t do this to me!”

: “Is that what they told you? Out here we can do whatever we want. You bastards didn’t take pity on us in Cuito Cuanavale. I watched my men slaughtered. Now talk! Where are the rest of your team? Tell me now and I can make this quick. Either way you will die. You choose the slow way or the quick way. Answer me Dog! Answer!”

Joaquim relayed the conversation, and I could tell through the scope that Kasera was crying. Tears falling down his face. I hadn’t realized how young he was. Probably mid-twenties. In the prime of his youth. We were all young, too young to be in this terrible situation, I was even younger than Kasera, and given this command. Trained for this command. It is what it is. Tears poured down his cheeks. Both blood and swelling caused his skin to glisten, reflecting the central firelight. He was caught up in the hell and brimstone of what was darkest Africa’s school of hard knocks. He had already had his fair share though, with a lifetime of hardship where tribal law ruled, unless you had a gun.

From the briefing I had on him, he had joined the SADF’s 32 Battalion and in five years had worked his way up to Sergeant. Now, one reckless decision and he had amounted to this, something less than a soldier, even less than a man. He was terrified, I could see it clear as day. Those who had him were savouring the scent of his fear, drinking it in like the finest wine.

The mention of using petrol had made all three of us flinch. We were living each moment vicariously and it was doing our morale no good. This waiting was not going to give Kasera the chance to be rescued as I had hoped. The FAPLA were moving quickly. The Russian Colonel was bringing a ruthless efficiency to their tactics.

Damn it!, they were going to kill him. Burned to death, probably “necklaced”. The infamous rubber tire filled with petrol and ignited when placed around the neck. The dripping burning rubber, impossible to get off.

Could they be bluffing? If they used the threat of it, there was no telling what information he would give up. If they just burned him piecemeal, there would be very little sanity in the conversation and our position would be pointed out and identified very quickly. I made the decision at last.

“Corporal Denge, call in the airstrike. Coordinates: Alpha Charlie Foxtrot Foxtrot Zulu. If nothing else, the radio burst should delay these bastards from torturing him. It would be close enough to the camp to be an imminent danger. That should buy Kasera some time. Joaqiun connect the trip wires for the explosives inside the O.P., then we are going for extraction, double check the packs. We leave in ten.”

Ruefully I kept my eyes on the uneasy events happening over half a kilometer away and waited to see if they were eager to continue to torture when their radio sweepers confirmed our presence. I picked up the Dragunov and looked through the scope again.

The magnification of the scope made Kasera jump into the crosshairs. I was centred on his face, the wildness in his expression and pure sense of desperation so clear, I could taste it. He was gone, all semblance of bravado like yesterday’s mists. Exhaling, I pivoted the scope to where the Russian Colonel stood. He was a stern man, civil looking, but then his face stretched into a cruel smirk as a jerry can of petrol was dragged towards the prisoner.

I moved the scope to the Cuban officer, then switched back to the Russian Colonel. Despite his leering face, I noticed his eyes seemed to show disgust with the situation. He was not afraid to get his hands dirty though, and stooped to pick up the rubber tire they had brought for the occasion and placed it around Kasera’s head. He then bent to slosh petrol on him. Kasera was crying, pleading, saying anything he could to avoid this fate.

The Russian Colonel, if he could understand the blabbering man, or if he even wanted to, completely ignored Kasera. It was as if Kasera had ceased to exist. A piece of firewood that needed to be burned. In the Russians mind, Kasera was already dead.

My hand trembled as I fought to contain my emotions. No I would not look away, I had to face this, I had to hope our gamble would distract them long enough to buy Kasera some more time.

I heard the squelch behind me as Denge activated our radio and began to broadcast our emergency radio burst out over the veld far to the South African outposts. They would relay the news and bring the rain. These troops had less than forty minutes to scatter, or dig in. What would the Russian Colonel do?

“Come on… come on…” I mumbled under my breath. Cpl Denge’s radio transmission was divided into three five second bursts. Surely they had detected the transmission and were already triangulating our position? It would take them a minute, perhaps five, but no more than that. We had to move, but I had to know, I had to see if I had bought our man some time. Some reprieve.

The wait was excruciating. Had I left it too late? The Colonel definitely liked to get his hands dirty. He had just retrieved a burning stick from the fire and shouted something at one of the Officers. The man he shouted at moved to untie Kasera from the stake, propping him up. This was going to be ghastly. They wanted him to run around with the burning tire dripping melting rubber all over. He wanted to make a spectacle, a show of force to everyone of his total power.

We were out of time. The troops were all gathered around. The sickly fascination of this kind of torture, as mesmerising to them as it was to me and mine. The world seemed to be holding its breath. Could this man really do this to another human being?

Wait, there! A running man broke through the circle of watchers. They had all cleared a very large space in the kraal. The villagers equally caught up in the spectacle stood to one side, not saying anything, but uneasy as everyone else. The Colonel was sweating as he waited for Kasera to be untied. I could see madness in his eyes as he licked his lips, perhaps too caught up in events to even register how bad this was for him. He was the only white face in that force. Perhaps this would consolidate his mastery over the forces he commanded. Perhaps he was settling some score because of lost comrades. I had to speculate on what would drive a man to do this, because it just wasn’t something that should be considered normal.

Kasera, the whites of his eyes stark in the firelight rolled and spittle flew from his mouth as his desperate cries and pleading were the only sounds besides the crackling fire. Even the insects and nightlife of the African bush seemed to hush while this travesty took place. It was as if the very devil himself had folded his fallen angel wings around the entire process. It was evil and yet not a single person stood up to stop it.

Then the running man shouted something as he broke the spell. The Colonel turned. His eyes dazed as if coming back from a far away place. The man repeated himself. Then the Colonel waved his hand and shouted some orders. I breathed out. It worked. Oh blessed Lord, it worked! We had delayed Kasera’s execution.

I spoke urgently to my team, “Quick, let’s move. We follow the extraction plan. Three ways, three routes. Now go before they send in mortars.”

“What about you Lieutenant? What are you going to do?” Joaquim’s question caught me by surprise. He had been crying, I could see the tear streaks on his face. I realized I had been too.

“Just follow orders Joaquim, I will see you at the extraction site three days from now. Follow the plan and maybe all of us will get away. But first I have to take care of something.

Denge looked at me and nodded. He knew what I was about to do, and he approved. It was a small consolation.

He then hustled Joaquim out and together they made their way past our protective tripwires and booby traps. They were quick and economical. Denge had even moved my pack to near the exit, so all I had to do was finish up and put it on and haul ass. Denge was good people. I was grateful to have served with him.

I turned from them as they hustled out of the O.P.. They would head West for the next twelve hours, then split up and cross the river and then head south for a day then converge on our extraction point. Unless they were followed. But with our training, it should be easy enough for them to make it, provided the Angolans didn’t have dogs.

I turned back and slung up the weapon I had been using as a viewing tool. Denge and Joaquim needed all the head start I could give them. As a white officer, I would be highly prized if captured. They, on the other hand, would be treated as Kasera. I did not want my men to have to face that. I took up my position. The teams mobilized below would be getting mortar’s out. That's what I would do. The first shell’s would be ranging out soon. I would be safest in the O.P. where only a direct hit would kill me. The chances of that were unlikely. When the mortars stopped, they would send in skirmish patrols. That is when I would make a break for freedom. Hopefully they would be so focussed on finding us that the Impalas and Mirage jets will catch them flat footed and destroy their capability to track us down.

Everything had a sense of inevitability to it now. Events were out of my control, the best I could do was try to tilt the odds back in our favour.

I snuggled closer to the Dragunov, a feeling of peace pervading my mind, secure with the Russian weapon in my hands, familiar in the prone position, finger flexing to touch the trigger. A lover’s embrace. A gentle squeeze would be all it needed. I took a deep breath in. Long and slow, then out…, the weight of the weapon comfortable in my careful caress.

Becoming one with it.

Visualising the trajectory of the bullet.

It was a long shot. 800 meters, downhill, at night. No wind to speak of, but the cooler air I was shooting into along the river would be denser, it would obscure the shot towards the business end of the curve. 800 meters was also outside the effective range of a Dragunov. Just outside, but it only took a millimetre one way or another to make a sure kill into a miss. While I had made most of the general adjustments for this distance on the day of our arrival, I had to fine tune them now according to the current conditions. My vision tunnelled towards my target.

My target was flickering into view and then disappearing into darkness. A direct result of the firelight flaring and flickering on his sweat soaked face. He was a stationary target, at a fixed distance. I had adjusted several clicks for the Coriolis effect, check.

The horizontal component would deflect to the left since I was south of the equator, check.

Additionally, shooting directly east, my subject would drop away on the moving Earth, while the bullet travelled untethered. This would add an element of height, so I corrected 2 clicks down, check.

Satisfied, I snuggled closer, and double checked all the variables, making sure to forget nothing.

Remembering my extensive instructions with the Russian weapon, I knew it was a right handed thread bore, which would cause a gyroscopic drift element to pull the bullet towards the right slightly, as the spinning bullet like a spinning top would move 90 degrees to the vector of force acting upon it. This effect would be compounded as the bullet reached the end of its effective range. I adjusted the scope a few more clicks and lined up the shot. I was sweating again and my heart was beating loudly in my ears. I needed to calm down. I needed to become one with the process.

Immersing myself in the routine of long familiarity with weapons and their workings. I took a deep breath in again, and then relaxed as I exhaled half way, then held it.

This was the moment. The absolute zero moment of cold certainty. No doubts, no lingering questions. Only the perfection of man and weapon becoming one. The weapon, an instrument of death that could reach out and snuff the life from a person. A man I was aiming at, to extinguish his life. I knew it had to be this way. I don’t know when I had decided to do it, it wasn’t part of our orders, and definitely not part of any military code. It didn’t matter. I was an extension of God’s will in this moment, or fate's fickle hand. I was the Grim reaper and I revelled in it. Without thought, simply an acknowledgement that the stars had aligned to make this perfect deadly moment arrive, a message went from my brain along my highly strung nerves to my finger and the muscles and tendons, ever so gently, like that lover’s first tentative touch, began to squeeze the trigger.

Boom!. Without a suppressor, the flash was a blinding beacon in the night. It would be slightly obscured by the protective camouflage of the O.P. and hopefully everyone at the sacrificial altar was looking inwards towards their victim, unaware that many more victims were about to be thrown on that makeshift altar.

Before the bullet could reach its destination the gas piston had worked the bolt, and a fresh round lay nestled, waiting for my tender caress. Squeeze, Boom! Wait for the action, squeeze, boom! Three bullets in the air before the first had landed.

Now that was shooting!

My first bullet hit the Russian Colonel squarely in the chest. The second tore out the neck of the Cuban officer and my third. That was the peach. It hit the Angolan torturer right in his surprised and confused face. While I watched, I saw his face crumple and then most of his head disappeared as if it had never been. The body fell away like the useless piece of meat it had become. Crocodile food.

Kasera, still tethered to his pole, dripping in petrol, a rubber tire around his neck, looked up at me, the flashes attracting his attention. I could see all fear had left him. He was a man who had finally come to terms with his death. The man untying his bonds, had paused and witnessing the death of his comrades was desperate to get to cover. He dived away from the central stake without completing the job. Kasera was still tied to the stake. Everywhere there was pandemonium. People screamed, soldiers shouted and the first batch of mortars began to land on my hillside.

I sighed.

The shots had been true. But would that be enough to buy my men some time?

I scanned the kraal again, the dancing firelight flickering eerily. It was then I noticed the Russian move. He wasn’t dead. I had hit him squarely in the chest. What was going on? The Russian reached over to the smouldering branch lying flickering, burning next to him and with an agonising last ditch attempt, he half threw, half pushed the burning end towards the dribbling line of petrol extending from Kasera.

I had wanted so much to save him, I had risked everything to save him. Why did it have to be like this? I watched through the scope as the trickle of petrol, like the crooked finger of death, seemed to gravitate towards the smouldering coals.

No please! Not like this? I turned the scope to see that Kasera had noticed it too, and he turned his gaze up towards me. In his eyes, I could see the pleading, the absolute certainty of what he wanted me to do, and I didn’t know if I had it in me. If it was me, I would want the same. I just couldn’t. It’s okay to shoot the enemy, not okay, but acceptable. It’s what you train for. Shooting your own man, that was just not something I could do. I was breaking inside. Physically sobbing.

This choice was so unfair. I wanted to be anywhere but where I was now and nothing I could do would change things.

I lined up the sight and squeezed the trigger. Kasera flinched as he saw the muzzle flash, expecting the bullet, but I missed, the ground behind kicked up a shower of dirt. I saw him flinch a second time though. It was close as it passed him. He was shouting something. I couldn’t read his lips, I could only see he was shouting. Perhaps willing the trickle to change course, to give him a reprieve. The trickling stream of petrol reached the smouldering brand thrown by the dying Russian Colonel. It reached it. Began to collect there… Nothing happened, and the smouldering coals, they seemed to go out.

Then with a Woosh! The petrol ignited and the fire flared and Kasuru arched desperately in a bright blaze that crushed my soul to the very depths of despair.

The jerry can, still open next to the fire ignited too, the open nozzle blazed hotly for an instant as streams of fire and bubbling gasoline rushed out to ignite until it exploded and covered all in the vicinity with burning fuel and scything arcs of jerrycan metal.

People were on fire and everyone was running around like chickens without heads. It was absolute mayhem. With a few bullets I had effectively brought this force of hundreds of men to its knees and destroyed a village in the process.

Kasera, on fire now, screamed shrill and extreme. This time I could hear it even from this distance. I squeezed off the next shot and the bullet hit him and he became nothing more than another corpse in the hopeless mess that is war. My last shots had attracted a lot of attention and automatic fire began to arc towards my position. I was numb though. I could not feel, I could not. I refused to acknowledge what I had just done. My mind, a block of ice, my thoughts, like shattered glass, each reflecting a different consequence all at the same time.

I had to act. I needed to do something. My training kicked in and I rolled away from the weapon. It was useless to me now. I had other weapons and I had to get back to tell the tale. God help me, I had to go. I said a prayer for Kasera. I wasn’t sure if God heard me, but I asked His forgiveness and His help for me to forgive myself.

The mortars were finding their range now and they were doing a good job of keeping me pinned to this outpost. They had a visual bearing, it would be more heated as they tried to hone in on my exact position. I lay there, aching for one to land on me. Just let the pain end. I did not want to endure this failure, this complete turmoil that wracked my mind. “Shut it out, soldier. You made the hard call. No-one will hold it against you” my inner voice quailed. “No-one will judge you for what has happened here. Yes, no-one, but the harshest judge of all; Myself.”

I had to believe it and I let my training take over. I leopard crawled to my pack and tried to squeeze myself between some rocks. I just had to wait for them to send in troops then I could escape into the night as the confusion of our booby traps wreaked havoc in their lines. First West, then South to safety. I would live to tell the tale and fight another day.

Ten days later, on foot, I crossed the South West African border. The pursuit had been relentless and I had missed the rendezvous by hours. I had to make the rest of the way on my own recognisance.

Alone I had survived, my training honed for just such a scenario and once over the border I made contact with a Koevoet patrol, a branch of the Police that patrolled the area vigilantly and they got me back to my command.

The next three months I spent in a court martial, my two fellow Recce’s had relayed their side of the story, both getting to safety and absolved of any blame. I was eventually allowed back to my unit. The stigma that I had shot one of my own men clung to me like the smell of shit. I was tainted, and few would ever let me forget it.

I consoled myself that the letter of the law had found me not guilty, and that Sergeant Kasera himself had begged me for the bullet. I also knew in my deep heart of hearts that I would have begged for the bullet too. My guilt and burden were mine to bear for all eternity. I would not forgive myself even if the men in charge decided to sweep this under the carpet. I could not. I would instead use it to better myself.

The word COMPASSION seemed to flash into my awareness, then receded into the background. A deep word, encompassing a trait I found desirable as a person. A greater sense of self filtered through me. A feeling of finding myself and knowing myself. I knew that in order to improve, one had to know oneself and that I was one step closer to being complete again.

I awoke to shouts as our entire convoy came to a halt. The tilting movement that had lulled me to sleep jolted at the sudden and complete stop. I was back on Scalaron and the Gnomes were shouting commands to their Dwarven minions.

We had come to the outskirts of a village. It was dawn, with the sun peaking over the horizon. My vision, blurry at first from sleep, became clouded with buzzing and static and barely discernible screens of information. The one most clearly outlined, was the one I had been longing to see.