Blue Warrior

* * *

The eight-wheeled BTR slowed to a crawl one hundred meters out from the entrance to the village. The front and side hatches were shut against gunfire, but the top ones were left open because the heat was unbearable even at this early hour in the morning. It rolled along for another thirty meters, but still there was no firing from the village. The commander signaled a halt to the convoy and the BTR braked. The five trucks a hundred meters behind him did the same.

The side hatches popped open and eight Red Beret soldiers in camouflage spilled out and ran in a low crouch toward the wall. They hit the wall and hunkered down on either side of the road, out of breath and sweating, and surprised that they hadn’t been fired upon. The squad leader glanced back, taking comfort in the big 14.5mm KPV heavy machine gun on top of the BTR keeping watch over them. It would pour out liquid lead at the first sign of trouble.

The squad leader, a sergeant, gave the hand signal to his men and then rushed through the gate, guns up, building to building, up the narrow road toward the town square — old-school “cover and maneuver.” The old buildings were mostly one and two stories tall. No sounds, no movement in the windows, so they pushed on toward the well in the center of the village.

And that’s when he saw the girl. She was Tuareg and beautiful. She stood at the well with a clay water pot. She sensed something and glanced up. Saw the squad leader, dropped her pot, and ran for a darkened doorway.

The squad leader signaled his team and advanced for the house. His men followed. Four men circled around back, but the squad leader and three others stayed out front, backs pressed against the wall.

“Tuareg! Come out!” he shouted in French.

“Non!” the girl shrieked.

His corporal pulled a grenade.

“No. Wait,” the squad leader said in Songhai, and pushed the grenade back down.

“Come out! We won’t hurt you. We’re only looking for bandits, not little girls.”

A moment passed, and the girl appeared in the doorway, trembling. Her pale brown eyes were wet with fear, but it didn’t diminish the beauty of her long, angular face.

“Who else is in there?”

She shook her head. “No one. Only my sisters.”

“How many?” he asked.

“Two. Both younger.”

“No one else?”

She shook her head. “All dead, or gone. We’re the last. We had nowhere else to go.”

The squad leader couldn’t believe his good fortune. He turned to his corporal with a feral grin and said in Songhai, “See?”

The corporal grinned back. “Such a beauty.”

“We have time, if we’re quick about it.”

The sergeant lowered his weapon. He towered over the trembling girl. “Show us,” he said, nodding at the house. He pulled out a chocolate-flavored PowerBar from a pocket and held it up to her. She snatched it out of his hand. He laughed. “If you are telling the truth, there will be more.”

“I am telling the truth,” she said, leading the way in.

True to her word, two other teenage girls were in the room, both sitting on the bed, clutching each other in fear. The sergeant, the corporal, and another soldier stepped into the cool of the house.

“Look around. There is only one other room,” the girl said, pointing at the doorway. “My bedroom. I’m the oldest now.”

“Show me,” he said, barely able to contain himself.

She nodded and stepped into her bedroom. She turned around. “See? I—”

The sergeant clapped a heavy hand on her mouth and wrapped his other arm around her back, forcing her onto the bed. He heard a commotion in the other room. His men, no doubt, having their way with the younger ones.

The sergeant’s broad nose nearly touched the girl’s face. Her eyes flared with fear.

“I’m gentle, I promise. I don’t like to hurt girls. Don’t scream, don’t bite. I’ll be quick, and then we’ll be on our way. Okay?”

She nodded yes beneath his hand, and he felt her body relax a little.

“Good. Quick and gentle. I promise,” he said again with a brotherly smile. He stood back up and unbuckled his belt, dropping his trousers. She saw the hardness of his manhood beneath his boxers. He pulled them down, then fell back on top of her, grabbing her shoulders.

“Here, let me help you,” she said, reaching one hand to the back of his neck as if to kiss him.

“Yes, good,” he grunted as she guided him toward her face.

The knife blade in her other hand plunged straight into his ear. His scream lasted until the tip of the thin steel blade plowed through his ear canal and into his brain stem. His body flew up and away from her in a violent spasm, then crashed to the floor.

Mossa stood in the doorway, his eyes smiling beneath the veil. He wiped his own bloody dagger on his trouser leg.

“You did well, little sister.”

“My sisters?”

“Untouched. We killed the others before they could harm them.” He sheathed his blade.

The girl leaped out of bed and kicked the sergeant’s corpse in the head, then spat on it.

“Bring me a hundred more of them, Mossa, I beg you!”

30

The village of Anou

Kidal Region, Northwest Mali

7 May