by James Steel
Sophie explains, ‘Most of their families have been killed in the fighting and they live rough on the streets in Goma. They mainly survive by begging but they also start mugging people when they get big enough.’
The workers shout, blow whistles and organise queues to dribble between little cones and then shoot at small five-a-side goals across the pitch. The kids love it, charging around and smashing the ball with gusto and then running to the back of the line.
Col and Alex watch with genuine interest.
‘I quite fancy having ago meself actually,’ Col jokes and walks off down the touchline. ‘Come on, lad!’
Alex turns to Sophie and says genuinely, ‘It’s great to be out here, makes a very nice change from running a war. You’ve obviously got a good setup.’ He nods across at the classroom blocks over the field. ‘It would be great to be able to hand over some of the younger prisoners we capture to you.’
‘What, those you don’t kill first, you mean?’
She isn’t being deliberately unpleasant; her acerbic nature just came up with the remark on automatic.
Alex drops his gaze and his expression becomes very grave. He looks up at her and she sees a terrible sadness in his eyes. He looks away at the young boys running around on the pitch.
She suddenly feels very awkward. ‘Well, anyway, let’s go and have a look at the training facilities.’
She leads the group over and they tour round the classrooms and the workshops for carpentry, mechanics and building.
At the end of the morning they watch the final of the five-a-side tournament and loudly applaud the winning team as they jump around proudly waving their plastic medals on ribbons.
Sophie leads them back to the gate and Alex and Col and their bodyguards collect their weapons from the team by the helicopter. The mood is a lot more settled than it was at the start. Sophie is actually sincerely polite for once.
‘Thank you for all you have done, Colonel Devereux, we need the security you provide before we can get Kivu going.’
‘No, my pleasure, it’s been great to come here and see some peace for once. This is exactly what we are working for and I will try to end this war as soon as possible.’
He shakes hands with Sophie and they exchange a calm, level look before he turns and walks back to the helicopter.
On the morning of the same day a female Congolese journalist from Radio Okapi looks at Gerald Kaumba, sitting across his desk from her in his office; he’s the mayor of the small town of Lubero in North Kivu.
‘That’s quite a strong statement, sir,’ she says.
Unlike the politicians in the main towns he is being a lot more unguarded in his comments. He’s a big, heavy-set man wearing a loud orange print shirt and belligerently repeats his accusation into the microphone attached to her laptop that sits on the table between them.
‘I don’t care! I am a Congolese patriot and I will not accept this new president that has been shoved on us by Kinshasa! We’ve had enough of other powers ruling us in Congo.’ He starts angrily counting them off on his fingers. ‘First we have Belgians, then the Americans support Mobutu, then the Rwandans put Kabila Senior in power and then the mining companies keep his son there! I don’t trust General Oloba to take over the government forces and I don’t want this Rukuba!’
The journalist is happy for him to rant on; she knows it will make good copy for the news programme that they are putting together on reactions to the takeover.
She goads him a bit more. ‘But will anyone notice that the Kinshasa government doesn’t rule us any more? It’s not like they were here much, only when they wanted something from the mines.’
‘I don’t care! If we start chopping up the country, where will it end? What else will the Chinese want to buy? Our mothers? And I don’t trust Rukuba; he’s a slimy bastard! He’s always been mixed up with the Kudu Noir – how can a man like that rule the country?’
The journalist lets him continue and when the interview is over she goes out to her car, edits the report on her laptop and transmits it by satellite to her editor in the main Radio Okapi office in Goma. He gets the report and adds it to a package of coverage that goes out that lunchtime – some people welcoming the change and saying it will be good for investment, but others scared about what will happen next. Gerald Kaumba’s rant features heavily in this section.
Late that afternoon the mayor gets into his Land Cruiser and his bodyguard drives him the short distance along the single main street in Lubero, up the hill to his compound overlooking the scruffy town.
In his office at one end of his bungalow, he talks on his mobile phone to friends and contacts and tries to rally some support to oppose the takeover. Everyone is being very cautious, sitting on the fence and saying they want to see more of what Rukuba does and negotiate rather than take any action.
Kaumba is in a foul mood by the time he sits down with his wife and family of five children in their large kitchen. He sits at the head of the table and shovels fufu into his mouth with his fingers, sullenly glaring into space. His wife and mother-in-law know better than to say anything and quietly manage the children and then clear away.
The mayor goes back into his study and continues making telephone calls late into the night as his family quietly go to bed and the three night watchmen take up their positions around the barbed wire fence ringing his house and large garden. They heft their AK-47s nervously and stare out into the darkness. The whole town is unsettled and they can hear shouting and arguments going on down the hill in the shacks and bars along the roadside.
A car engine revs loudly on the road that winds past the house out of town into the bush. It is coming down the hill fast, the driver weaving quickly around the loops in the road; his lights swing back and forth across the roof of the house.
The guards look away from the town and stare up at the dark hillside. Who is coming in from the bush at this time of night? They walk away from their posts overlooking the town and stand in a loose group on the lawn looking towards the truck.
A long burst of machine-gun fire erupts from a stand of bushes across the road from them. It scythes over the three of them, throwing their bodies onto the ground and smashing windows across the ground floor of the house.
The pickup truck rounds the last corner; on the back of it are six men with black cloth hoods over their heads and machine guns slung over their backs. They are clinging on to the sides of the truck with both hands as the driver veers off the road, bumps across the grass verge and smashes into the chain-link fence, flattening a metal post and careering to a halt on the lawn in front of the house.
The six men jump out and start howling and baying as they run to surround the house, their rifles held up in front of them. The mayor bursts out of his study door with a handgun and runs to the hallway to defend his wife and kids but two men burst through the front door as he does so and a man crashes into him. They fall onto the floor in a scrabbling, punching mess and then the mayor gets a kick in the head from the other attacker. He slumps on the floor stunned and is dragged outside. His wife and kids are all screaming from further inside the house.
The two Kudu Noir soldiers throw him face down on the lawn and the others set about him with machetes. He screams and curls up into a ball but the blades bite down on him repeatedly, severing a hand and then hacking away at his neck and head.
A Kudu runs forward and throws a phosphorous grenade into the front door. The burst of white-hot sparks sets fire to the hallway and others are thrown in through the windows. Flames begin licking up the side of the house and over the guttering.
The men then run back to the truck, which has turned round. They spend a moment working on something on the ground and then jump into the back again and roar off, bouncing over the verge and down the road into the town.
The outburst of gunfire has silenced the arguments in the town and people have retreated nervously back inside. The pickup truck careers down the single main street with the men standing up in
the back and firing long bursts of machine-gun fire over the roofs of the single-storey buildings and howling their bloodcurdling screams. The truck screeches to a halt outside the mayor’s office, the men jump out and one quickly bangs a stake into the ground and puts something on it before they get in again and drive off out of town.
No one dares move from their houses for the rest of that night.
In the morning some of the fear dispensed by the Kudu Noir is washed away by the sunlight and the first men creep along the road to see what is outside the mayor’s office.
His head is on the stake with two twisted kudu horns driven into the top of it.
The End of Days
Chapter Thirty-Three
The United States Assistant Secretary of State for African Affairs, John R. Ciacola, is a pleasant and reasonable looking man, as one would expect of a career diplomat.
He has neatly trimmed grey hair and wears a beige tropical suit and a sensible tie and glasses, which he adjusts with one hand as he looks up at Alex.
Alex doesn’t know him but he does know that he holds the third most senior rank in the State Department and that he has been sent straight from Washington rather than the ambassador in Kinshasa coming out to Kivu. Whatever he is going to say comes straight from the top.
It’s 10th May, the day after the football event, and he’s flown into Goma airport and then down to First Regiment’s new base, Camp Heaven, in a UN helicopter. They are sitting in what passes for Alex’s office, a screened-off area to one side of the main operations room which is buzzing with orders and the crackle and squawk of radios as the military campaign continues, raids being both planned and executed.
Alex is in his uniform with his colonel’s insignia on his shoulder flashes. Ciacola seems to feel he is very much on Alex’s turf and looks a little nervous. He had to leave his three-man close protection team outside the ops room as Alex didn’t want them poking around. Ever since his previous involvements with America’s intelligence services he has been very wary of them.
Alex isn’t sure what the diplomat wants but decides to be positive. ‘So, Mr Ciacola, thank you for coming to see me. How can I help?’
Ciacola clears his throat and speaks in a clipped East coast accent, ‘Well, thank you, Colonel Devereux, it is very good of you to see me. As you can imagine the United States has been following developments here in Kivu very closely over the last few days. I have been instructed by Secretary of State Patricia Johnson to pass on her very great concern about the events.’
‘Concern in what way?’
‘Well, as you know, Secretary of State Johnson takes a close interest in the issue of sexual violence against women in Kivu and was instrumental in the passing of the three UN resolutions against it.’
Alex nods.
‘But aside from that, as you can imagine, we are very concerned for the safety of the two hundred forty-three United States citizens in the province. We do not have any forces within easy reach of this area and, now that the role of UN has been reduced, we are looking to you for security. What guarantees can you give that they will be protected?’
‘I can assure you that the KDF will do everything in its power to protect the lives of US citizens and those of all nationalities in this new state. As you can hear,’ Alex gestures towards the ops room, ‘combat operations are continuing and will do for some time …’
‘How long?’
‘Mr Ciacola, I am not going to give a timeline for operational security reasons but it is obviously in our interests to win this war as quickly as we can and with minimum casualties.’
‘My apologies, Colonel Devereux, I’m sounding hostile. The American government fully supports your efforts to root out and destroy the FDLR, it is on our terrorist list. But we are also monitoring the situation because we expect the highest ethical standards of behaviour and concrete progress towards democracy.’
He looks at Alex quizzically.
‘Well, I hear what you say, Mr Ciacola, but that is something that you will have to discuss with President Rukuba when you see him later on today. I support a move to democracy but my role here is primarily military; I am a paid servant of political masters.’
Ciacola isn’t going to be put off that easily. ‘It is something I will raise with the President but I think we both know that you have a very significant leverage on events at the moment.’
Alex looks back at him without agreement and thinks, this is my operation and the last thing I want is to have you come into my office and tell me what to do.
Ciacola can see the hostility in his eyes. ‘Colonel Devereux, I think there is a wider point that you are missing here. You seem to be winning the war but the question now is, who will win the peace?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What I mean is that that there is a much bigger game being played out here than just the conflict with the FDLR. Colonel Devereux, I need to be candid with you about this.’ He pauses.
Alex narrows his eyes; this sounds worrying.
‘Are you a student of history, Colonel Devereux?’
Alex doesn’t want to walk into any traps so he just nods noncommittally.
‘OK, well, it is a given that great powers rise and fall. The Greeks, the Romans, the Soviet empire – dare I say it – the British empire … they all come and go. Nothing stays the same forever.
‘Now, in the international relations community it is increasingly being argued that America has had its day, that empires take a lot longer to fall than to rise, and that we are on a downward trajectory.’
‘This is all very interesting …’
‘OK, well, the point is this. Some people perceive that the American empire, if you will, has arisen very quickly in the twentieth century and is now in its long slow downward phase as China rises …’
‘Well, they do own most of your debt.’
‘Correct, you are absolutely right, the United States in many ways is an unsustainable model of consumerism that is built on debt and the President has made it very clear that he is working on ways to address this …’
‘Not getting very far, is he?’
‘No, but,’ Ciacola holds up his hands, ‘that is another issue. The point for your activities here is that there is a clash of social models in the world at the moment between the Western democratic, free society and the much more directed, managed capitalist society of China. The clash of civilisations that actually matters right now is not between the West and radical Islam, it is between us and the Chinese.’
Alex stops interrupting as he begins to see where this is going. It is sounding dangerous.
‘China is the emergent world power, we all know that and there is nothing that we can do about it. The US will no longer be the sole superpower in the world; we are going to have to get used to working in a multi-polar world. And we are ready for that. But the big question is, can a great power like China rise without there being a war?
‘China has up to now kept quite a low profile internationally, following its policy of harmonious living. It is, however, just too big to maintain this passive posture and it’s looking for a way to assert its huge economic power. But because of their own experience of being colonised by the West they are uncomfortable with outright colonisation of other states.’
‘Apart from Tibet.’
‘Correct, but by and large they don’t want to start a shooting war with anyone because China is the world’s largest exporter and it would destroy its economic growth. So we believe that their government is using this project in Kivu as a test-bed to see if they can launch a new way of asserting themselves on the world stage.’
He looks knowingly at Alex. ‘Nothing happens in China without the government’s approval, particularly not a project of this scale and audacity.
‘So this whole long preamble is really just a way of saying that we in the States see this as a conflict between rival systems of government. A lot of developing countries are already modelling themselves on Chin
a and many countries around the world will be watching closely to see what happens.’
‘Well, that will depend on what President Rukuba decides to do after his period of consultation with the people of Kivu.’
‘Well, precisely. That’s what we’re worried about.’
‘Meaning?’
‘President Rukuba has given some vague assurances about consultations but we don’t see any comments about electoral timings.’
‘This is the Congo – things don’t happen on a four-year electoral cycle here.’
Ciacola sighs. ‘Colonel Devereux, we are both men of the world, we both know that there is a long and depressing history of African strongmen coming to power promising elections and fairness to all and then beating the hell out of every opponent they can find and proclaiming themselves President for Life.’
Alex knows full well that he is right and keeps quiet.
Ciacola continues, ‘The Chinese have already had a very malevolent effect around the world in supporting oppressive regimes with appalling human rights records like Sudan, Zimbabwe and Iran. We don’t want this experiment in Kivu to bolster those who are calling for less democracy and good governance.
‘At the moment we are prepared to be cautiously supportive of the new regime but if it were to become a dictatorship then we would not stand idly by. The United States does not have many military assets in the area and we are not contemplating that line of action but we could make life very uncomfortable for a new power by blocking any recognition in the UN and, most importantly for you, Colonel Devereux, by suspending the citizenship of any United States citizens involved in your armed force. I believe you have quite a few?’
Alex’s eyes drop as he calculates what damage that could do. About twenty per cent of his men are American and many of them are in key roles. It would be a very significant blow to his efforts that he could do without right now.