Diamonds, Guns, and Mercs: Chapter 2: The Refugees

Kim was disgusted. TIA. This is Africa. Three little words, almost insignificant words that were spoken so lightly, that they seemed to give an excuse for the bloodshed, the corruption, for every horrible and inhumane event that took place on the continent and the countries.

Garret caught the flash of disgust, before she was able to bury it. "Yah never heard that expression before lass? It's quite common among the mercs, gunrunners and locals, at least the educated ones."

Kim shook her head as her gaze returned to the spectacular view of the Savanna plains. A slight wind had picked up, causing the golden grass to sway, seemingly creating what looked like a ripple, in a pool of gold.

"It sounds like an excuse to me." Kim growled, "a feeble excuse to allow what happens here. It's like spitting into the face of the people who have died, and those who have lost what little they had. It's sickening."

"That it is lass, that it is. Ah don't think that there is a truly justifiable reason for why Africa is the way it is. But TIA is not an excuse lass, it's an explanation. Africa has been exploited for centuries; the colonizin' powers became the law, but kept the civilians in poverty and forced labour. They kept power through force, but they kept things stable. All of a sudden, these powers are pulled out, and as they leave most don't put in a proper government in place, and where a proper government is installed, it's filled with the oppressors, in the eyes of the common folk.

"Now then you have a vacuum of power. The governments are flounderin' and filled with the rich, and the well fed. Those who are poor and hungry still don't have shit, they get angry, and rebel. The governments don't have the firepower o' the old powers and are suddenly facin' a civil war. But each faction wants power now, and as soon as the old government topples, the factions are soon back tah fightin' over who gets to rule. But who helps eh, lass? No one, that's what TIA means, it means it's the African's continent now, and no one back home gives a flyin' fuck about it."

Kim turned back to the older man. "I don't believe that, and I don't think you do either. That's why you're here isn't? You're trying to help these people. People do care, at least deep down they do."

Garret smiled. "Yer right lass, that is why Ah'm here. Call me an optimist out o' touch with reality, but Ah try never to loose hope that maybe Ah'll be apart of somethin'. Somethin' grand, somethin' that'll help change the world for the better, remember lass, it was reporters an' writers who got the ball rollin' with the Kimberly process."

Kim smiled in relief. She had been afraid that the older, kind man would have held onto the cynical beliefs that Kim found were all too common with the GJ Agents working in third world countries such as this one.

Kim decided to turn the conversation to 'business.' She was after all, undercover as a news reporter; she had to act the part. "So, Garret, were you able to get in contact with one of those gunrunners for me? My editor would really like an interview with one of them." And I'm sure my 'editor' would love to know where they're getting their guns from.

Garret nodded, glad to be off such a depressing topic. "Yeah, Ah was able to get yah an interview with one. Yer lucky lass, most o' 'em aren't talkin' to the press anymore. But Ah was able to find one who was willin' to spill his guts. He'll meet yah in Rickie's Bar an' Pub, three o'clock tomorrow."

Kim smiled. That would be prefect. She would head up to the refugee camp today, under the story of interviewing the UN peacekeepers and Red Cross doctors who worked there, make her way to the rendezvous between the Queen of Scorpions and the AFL, spend the night on stakeout. Kim grimaced; she was so not looking forward to that part. Get the evidence she needed, return back here to Limina, get the interview with the gunrunner, head over to Palamla, maybe interview a few of the mercs, see if she could find anymore evidence on the Queen, then bugger out by the end of the week. If everything went according to plan.

"Actually that would be perfect. My boss wants some photographs and a story about the refugee camp up north, so I'll get that out of the way first. Do you know if anyone is headed up there today?"

Garret nodded and pointed back to the hotel's bar with a gesture of his head. "Yeah, Lisa's takin' a trip up there in a couple o' minutes. Yah'll have tah ask her, but Ah doubt she'll have a problem with yah taggin' along with her."

Kim nodded her thanks, and walked back into the dark smoked filled bar. Glancing around, Kim saw Lisa still at her table, shuffling through her notes, her dark eyes, shifting restlessly. So intent on her notes that the African journalist failed to notice Kim, until she spoke up.

"Uh, excuse me? Lisa, right?"

Jumping slightly in surprise, the young woman glanced up at Kim. "Yeah that's me."

Kim gave her a friendly smile and held out her hand. "I'm Kim Possible, I work for the Globe and Mail, and I heard that you were taking a trip up to the refugee camp today, and I was wondering if you would mind a tag-along?"

Lisa returned the smile. "Lisa Khabbah, Freetown Press. No I won't mind if you come along, as long as you keep to your own stories. But you'll have to clear it with Lieutenant Fergsen first." Noticing Kim's blank look, she added "head of the compounds security. He's in charge of the escorts."

Her English betrayed her homeland of Sierra Leone. Her dark round eyes though friendly and warm, seemed tired, exhausted, even a bit haunted. Kim could see that the young woman had grown up in war and fighting, Kim knew that Lisa had seen things as a child that no one should ever see.

"Go talk to Fergsen while I finish up with my notes here, and I'll meet you out front in ten minutes." With that, Lisa returned to her stories notes, and Kim walked back out into the blazing sun, to talk with the chief of the escorts. The first part of the plan was in motion.

Sitting still and quietly was never one of Ronald Dean Stoppable's strengths. If he became bored his attention would tend to wander, until it became fixed on something that interested him. And watching a thin wooden bridge, in the middle of the savanna, underneath the blazing noon sun, defiantly counted as boring, and uninteresting.

Ron shifted uncomfortably beneath his gillie-suite, and again reminded himself of the payday that awaited him once the job was done. Any minute now, an armed convoy, carrying the latest shipments of the Queen of Scorpion's AKs and RPGs would drive down the long dusty road and over the bridge. Ron's job was to make sure that the convoy never arrived.

Bringing up his own AK-47, Ron slowly pulled down the bolt, making sure the round resting in the chamber was clear. If the plan went south, he didn't need his gun jamming in the middle of a firefight. Breathing out a tried sigh, Ron glanced over to his partner, who was currently watching the road through Ron's field glasses.

"See anything yet, there little buddy." Ron asked the small pink blob laying on a flat rock, the field glasses resting in front of him.

The naked mole rat glanced up at his human, and shook his head, chattering in his rapid mole speak that only his friend seemed to understand. Anyone watching the interaction between the two would have been shocked at the mole rats intelligence. Ron was too, when he first met his buddy.

Several months ago, Ron had been forced to make camp out in the Savanna, after escaping a hostile situation of his own making. Finding a small rocky outcrop, Ron had bunkered down and fallen asleep, only to be woken up shortly after, by rustling in his pack. Opening his backpack, Ron was shocked to see the mole rat devouring the loaf of bread and corn chips he had taken with him when Ron had been forced to flee the village.

Ron never had a pet; his father was allergic to every kind of fur, and his mother flat out refused to have any hairless pet in the house. So when he saw the little guy, sheepishly shrugging, and waving at him as though to say 'sorry,' he made up his mind to keep him. Ron named the little guy Rufus, after his childhood imaginary friend. The little guy soon proved his worth, saving Ron from being spotted by a passing UAPR patrol. The two were inseparable after that, often found in Rickie's Bar and Pub scarfing food down as quickly as possible, seeing who could out do who.

Many of the other mercs look down on the two, not that Ron or his buddy really cared. 'Never be Normal' had been his motto since he was twelve, and not even a two year tour in the Israel Defense Forces, could break him of that philosophy.

Wiping his sweaty blonde bangs from his forehead, Ron returned his attention back to the dusty, winding road. In reality the destruction of the arms shipment was merely a bonus for Ron; his real target was an ex-Colonel from South Africa. A man who had the blood of over a dozen villages on his hands, a man who had recently sold his and his men's services to the Queen of Scorpions. Anything that caused her problems was okay in Ron's book.

Ron's normally goofy-smile turned into a dark scowl as he remembered the job one of her boys had hired him for. It had been simple enough, drive a truck filled with weapons into the village of Docgana, and talk to the chief for payment. Sure it was boring, but the job paid well, several rough diamonds in exchange for not even a day's work, you bet Ron was all over the offer.

He made it into the village with no problems and was received well enough, if a little coldly. The truck was quickly unloaded, and the weapons stored in a large wooden hut. The chieftain thanked Ron personally with a pulled gun. Out numbered almost seventy to one, Ron ran, using the huts for cover while bullets from AKs and even a couple of projectiles from RPGs struck the buildings.

Unfortunately one of the buildings Ron ducked behind, happened to be the newly created armoury. A shot from an AK went wide and hit a grenade resting against one of the walls. The resulting explosion tore the building apart, and threw Ron down a rocky hill, and right beside an ATV. Shaking the dizziness from his head, Ron climbed on and booked it as fast as the quad could go.

The mission had taught Ron a few valuable lessons: First, always demand an advanced payment; just in case the one who hired you, decided to fuck you over, then at least you have some compensation. Second, if the job is too easy, then you know it's a set up. Third, never go anywhere in this hellhole of a country without your weapon, he had been naïve enough to believe he wouldn't need it, and it had almost cost him his life. Lastly, always have an escape plan just in case things do go south, instead of being caught out in the open with your thumb up your ass.

A sudden bout of squeaks and chattering brought Ron back to the present, as Rufus tried to get his attention. "Hink, bad guys, hink."

The mole rat pointed with a claw at a distant plum of dust. Ron smiled at his little buddy, as he reached over for the field glasses. Focusing on the distant plum Ron adjusted them into focus. A large pickup with a heavy machine gun mounted on the back, led the convoy, just behind it, was a large canvas covered cargo truck, and bringing up the rear was another machine gun mounted pickup.

Lowering the field glasses Ron nodded to his buddy. "Yep, that's them. So Rufus, do you want the honours?" Ron asked, as he passed over the remote detonator.

Slowly the trio of vehicles approached the thin bridge that spanned the large, fast moving river. The merc and his pet, watched as the first pickup climbed up onto the wooden slats the made up the bridge. Slowly Rufus removed the safety cap, exposing the detonators shiny red button trigger. The large cargo truck followed its leader onto the bridge, bouncing slightly as the wheels climbed on to the slats. Rufus carefully positioned both of his front paws over the button and looked up at his human for confirmation, as the last pickup followed the other two onto the bridge.

Ron waited until the cargo truck was just midway, before giving Rufus a nod. "Punch it Rufus."

With his entire naked mole ratish might, Rufus pushed down as hard as he could. The five improvised explosive devices, planted on the support beams and in the middle of the bridge, exploded with a deafening boom. The whole bridge was engulfed in a massive fireball, as the ordinance from the cargo truck detonated as well. Several streaks of smoke, from loose RPGs flew in all direction while the rest exploded, adding to the large fireball. Wooden slats, car parts, and burning debris were thrown into the air. With its support beams blown to hell, the bridge collapsed into the fast flowing river, taking the three piles of burning wreckage with it.

"Booyah! We bad! You're sad… well… actually, you're dead, but you know what we mean!" Ron cheered as he and Rufus exchanged a high-five, "see I told you my plan would work!"

"Hink! Your plan!?" Rufus squeaked as he glared at Ron.

Ron sighed as he pulled off his gillie-suite and stood up. "Okay, okay, so it was your idea to use the IEDs, but it was my idea for the bridge! Now how 'bout we call in that the jobs done, we collect the rest of the payment, replace the explosives we used, get some food, and save the rest of the stones for when we can leave this godforsaken continent?"

Rufus gave him the thumbs up, as Ron fished in his camouflaged cargo pants for his satellite phone. Pressing a button on speed dial, Ron waited for his employer to pick up. "Hey it's me, Stoppable… Yeah, jobs done… Yes I'm sure he's dead… How can I be sure? Because his vehicle is a pile of burning wreckage at the bottom of the river... You have the rest of the payment?... Good I'll be by to pick it up… Alright see you in a bit… Bye."

Replacing the phone back into the pocket of his pants, he picked up his gear and made his way to the vehicle he had 'secretly borrowed' from the French embassy. Another day, another handful of rough diamonds. "It would be so much easier if they just paid cash, eh little buddy? Just think after a couple of these jobs we would have enough to be able to move to the States and kiss Africa goodbye." Ron sighed, as he shifted into gear and drove down the long, dusty highway back to Palamla.

The long trip north had proven uneventful, as the SUV bounced up and down the long, winding trail. The two guards upfront were quite and watchful, their eyes constantly shifting, never staring at the road for more than a couple of seconds. Even Lisa seemed a bit nervous, as the group of four passed several armed patrols.

The trip had been relatively silent as well. When Kim had asked their two guards questions about what they did, where they were from, where they had been, and what they had seen, she had only received grunts, and a 'fuck off and mind your own business' in reply. Taken aback Kim had turned to Lisa, who shrugged and told her that the mercs didn't like the press, as it often gave them a bad name.

With nothing else to do, Kim turned to other reporter in an effort to break the deafening silence. Lisa Khabbah, it turned out, was born and raised in Sierra Leone; in fact she had grown up during the civil war, as the brutish Revolutionary United Front sought to over throw the legal government. When the RUF had taken her village, her parents had given her to a neighbor who helped her to escape. She fled to the refugee camp where she spent the majority of her childhood, wondering what had happened to her parents. Lisa never found out if they had survived or were butchered with the rest of the villagers.

But Lisa was lucky. She was able to learn English from the Red Cross doctors and Catholic missionaries who help ran the camp. After the war had ended, and Lisa was free from the poverty of the camp Lisa had took what she had learned and traveled to France, then to England to finish her schooling. She graduated with a degree in journalism and went back home in Freetown to join the fledgling newspaper.

Kim was astounded at the woman's drive, that she had gone through such hardship, but hadn't let it destroy her or her will. "You know back home we got people who mope around dressed in black and slit their wrists because they think life is so hard for them, and no one cares for them. You lost your parents, lived a life of poverty in a crowded and diseased refugee camp, it just amazes me how far you've come. I don't know if I had that kind of will."

Lisa shrugged. "With all do respect, you people in the west are greedy and selfish. Now I'm not saying that about all of you, but the vast majority is. You live a life of vast wealth, with most of you eating in a day what most Africans eat in a week. Your children cry when they don't get their favoured toy, yet we grow up in poverty. Now that being said, I'm proud to call some of you my friend. I can tell that you want to help, you want to try and change things for the better, you and Garret share this."

"How do you know Garret?" Kim asked.

Lisa smiled. "Garret has spent over three-quarters of his career, and half his life in third world countries. Most of them in Africa. He is a kind man, always looking out for people, he is a good man.," Lisa glanced out the front window, "we're almost their. You should get your stuff together."

As Kim shuffled about, grabbing her pack, and camera, she took a glance out the window and gasped in surprise. A sprawling city of tents and lean-tos surrounded by a high fence, crowned with barbed wire, stretched far out into plains. Smoke from cooking fires, mixed with the stench of un-bathed bodies and the manure of animals, caused Kim to almost gag, as she and Lisa stepped out of the air-conditioned SUV.

Kim didn't even notice the blue-helmeted, uniformed man approach them, until he spoke. "First time seeing a refugee camp up close, no? It is just not the same a when it is in zhe magazines and newspapers."

Kim couldn't keep her eyes from the depressing sight as the man continued, in his light French accent. "Believe it or not mademoiselle, zhis is a small camp compared to some of the others on the continent, only five-hundred thousand reside here during the crises, but in a country with only two-million people, it is a large percentage of the population."

Kim finally tore her gaze away from the sight to stare at the man. Dressed in a bright blue helmet that didn't quite cover his grey hair, and a tan uniform, the man cut a distinguished figure. His hazel eyes studied her, as his right hand stroked his mustache. His upper arm bore a small Canadian flag and the blue symbol of the UN.

"This is a Small camp?" Kim stuttered in disbelief.

The man nodded. "I'm guessing, mademoiselle, zhat zhis is your first time to Central Africa. There are hundreds more like this and larger. But enough of zhis, I am Major Jacques L'Heux, of the Twenty-Second regiment, Canadian Armed Forces, volunteer with the UN International Mission to Aid Gadonna, UNIMAG."

Kim held out her hand. "Kim Possible, I'm with the Globe and Mail. I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about the camp and your mission?"

Major L'Heux smiled. "Of course! I have time for an interview from my favourite paper! What would you like to know?"

Kim pulled out a pen and paper pad, and a tape recorder, she had to play the part after all. "Can you tell me UNIMAG's purpose, beyond guarding the camp, and the doctors from the Red Cross and WHO?"

When the major's eyes hardened, and his face twisted into a grimace, Kim knew that this was a distasteful subject with the man. "Zhat is our purpose. UNIMAG is only here to secure and protect the camp for as long as the cease fire is in place. As soon as hostilities resume, we are to abandon the camp, and pull out of Gadonna."

Kim dropped the pen in shock. The UN, the symbol of unity and the conveyor of human rights had ordered the only group looking to protect the civilians to abandon the people whose survival depended on the presence of the UN peacekeepers.

"How can they do that" Kim asked when her voice retuned, the shock still evident.

Again the man's face twisted in disgust. "I only have three hundred men, only two working APCs, four trucks, and barley enough ammo reserves to keep zhis place guarded. I have to ask, and beg for everything I'm given. Do you know zhat zhe American, and British embassies both have a company of soldiers guarding zhe now empty buildings? With zhose men I could keep this place guarded and stocked even if hostilities were re-opened. But what I'm I told? Zhat zhe civilian casualties would not be great enough to warrant American and British intervention!"

Kim was both shocked and appalled at how easily the governments of the free world could dismiss the deaths of hundreds of thousands of innocent people. Kim was now more determined than ever for her mission to succeed.

Later that night, Kim slowly opened her tent's flap. She had asked if she could stay overnight, so that she could finish her report. Major L'Heux had volunteered to drive Kim back around noon the next day, so security wasn't an issue. Kim slowly pulled the modified Glock-17 from her backpack and carefully glanced around.

The two mercs that had brought Kim and Lisa were gone, having taken Lisa back to the press compound, but there still was six or seven guards posted around the campsite. Kim slowly crept from her tent, after seeing that the coast was clear. An UN guard sat by the campfire, causally smoking a cigarette, Kim took careful aim, and fired.

The guard stiffened as the dart hit him, in between his shoulders. Wobbling slightly the guard toppled over, fast asleep. Two more guards suffered the same fate as Kim made her way through the camp and into the motor pool. Kim glanced around, she couldn't take anything large, she needed something small, and easy to hide. A tan and brown ATV solved her problems. Kim slowly pushed the small vehicle out of hearing range and climbed on. She had an appointment to keep, one that Kim knew that she could not miss.

Chapter two how do you like it? For those of you who ask this story is inspired by the movie, Blood Diamond, The book and film, Shake Hands with the Devil (Major L'Heux was inspired by Lieutenant-General Romeo Dallaire), and the Video Game, Far Cry 2. Please, Please, Please review. As Reviews are crack to writers, we need our daily fix.