The Mercy Run

The Mercy Run

by

David O’Neil

Argus Enterprises International, Inc.

New Jersey***North Carolina

The Mercy Run© 2011. All rights reserved by David O’Neil

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any informational storage retrieval system without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

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ISBN: 978-0-6155835-2-5

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Book Cover designed by Dubya

Printed in the United States of America

Chapter One

It was hot. There was no doubt about it, very hot. Merrick took off his broad-brimmed bush hat and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair. Flies buzzed around his face causing him to swat them as they practiced landings on his skin. There was no breeze to move the dust that covered everything all around him and no tree nearby to provide shade. He replaced his hat, took a sip of water from the water bottle, hauled on his pack and stepped out once more.

The dun-colored landscape extended for miles in all directions, the heat creating shimmers over the water-starved landscape. Merrick thought of the shimmers as forgotten mirages, perhaps fading dreams of some lost traveler in the last stages of dehydration.

He allowed himself to chuckle over the thought but the truth of the matter was as he well knew serious enough. Despite the fact that the road was the main highway north to the Kenya–Ethiopia border, it was just two ruts with a hump in between. Merrick knew all about the hump between the ruts. It was the reason he was here. His own vehicle had finally succumbed yesterday. The ancient Landrover had broken a rear spring after a nasty pothole; the resulting impact of the differential with the hump at that point was too much for the diff casing and the axle. The forward motion was enough to get the vehicle off the road, but that was it. Merrick conceded at last that his beloved Landrover had driven its last mile.

He had got a lift for the next fifty miles. He had made camp overnight. But today there seemed to be no traffic on the road at all for some reason. He walked on putting one foot in front of another. The wind was blowing past his ears playing tricks with his hearing so he didn’t notice the noise at first. He suddenly realized it was shots. The sharp crackle of automatic gunfire. He scanned the horizon for some indication of where the shooting came from.

It was the bird that gave it away. The big lazy sweep of its wings steered it toward one of the few clumps of trees to be seen in the area. Merrick swung his rucksack to the ground and extracted his binoculars. He dropped to one knee and focused the glasses on the trees.

Now he could see the small puffs of smoke following the sound of the guns. But that was all. He studied the ground between himself and the gunfight, checking to see if there was a way that he could get closer to the action without being spotted. He told himself that it was not for any heroic reason. It was a matter of seeing who he might be up against when the fight was over.

In this part of Africa there were too many bandit groups around, mainly feeding off the largesse of the Western countries. They made a regular practice of raiding the relief convoys sent to feed the starving communities existing in the drought-stricken area between here and the Sudan.

They sold the goods off to the merchants, who then sold the goods on to whoever could afford to buy them.

Spotting a gully, Merrick grabbed the rucksack. Dropping low he slid down into it and started working his way across the open area sparsely scattered with shrubs.

The gully ran out before he reached the trees. But as he approached the area, the firing increased. He took a chance and dashed across the last stretch of open ground to the trees themselves.

They were Mopani trees. Their red leaves creating shade on the ground and some protection from the sun overhead. Merrick left his pack beside the nearer tree which had scrub around the base. The bag was more or less concealed from casual sight, though it would soon be found if someone really looked. He shrugged. It was the best he could do at the moment. From the side pocket he took his revolver, checked it was loaded and tucked it in his waistband under his shirt, he then moved forward. The firing had stopped. As he crept through the trees he began to see what had been going on. There were several trucks stopped in the area, obviously parked for a break as they were neatly parked not straggling all over the place. There was a fire in the clearing and various pots and pans scattered around to back up Merrick’s theory. The clearing was alive with the sound of the flies that were buzzing around attracted by the blood from the bodies of several men sprawled around the fire. They appeared to have been shot where they were sitting without a chance to escape or defend themselves.

Merrick tried to ignore the smell and the sight as he made his way round the clearing to the trees beyond, the noise from that area suggesting there were several people involved in argument.

Through the screen of thorn bush Merrick made out a group of seven people standing with about eight others seated on the ground, their hands on their heads. There was an argument going on between two of the standing men. One who seemed to be the leader was shouting that they could kill the prisoners and then there would be no witnesses. Merrick found the speaker difficult to understand. He was speaking Swahili but he had some sort of impediment in his speech. The other man was suggesting they could use the women, especially the two Europeans, who could be sold on the coast as slaves.

The argument was getting heated. All the men were backing away from the two men shouting at each other. One of the retreating men stepped back in front of Merrick. Merrick rose behind him, lifted the AK 47 from the man’s shoulder with his right hand and with his left reached round and gripped the man’s’ jaw. He wrenched it round sharply. Though it sounded loud to Merrick, the click went unnoticed in the row between the two men. His target fell back. Merrick caught him and pulled him back into the shelter of the bushes. Checking there were bullets in the magazine of the gun, he searched the dead man and found two full spares. Taking no chances, he replaced it then rising to his feet he stepped over to the nearest man, one now of only six bandits standing. He slung the AK over his shoulder and drew his revolver. The Webley filled his hand comfortably. With his left arm he reached round the next man and clapped the hand over his mouth, putting the gun to the man’s head at the same time. The man froze as he felt the muzzle of the gun pushed into his right temple. When encouraged to step backward, he did so without hesitation. In the shelter of the trees Merrick relieved the man of his weapon and indicated for him to sit. His shirt was torn into strips and the man was soon lying beside his dead colleague, trussed up and gagged.

In the clearing the two arguing men had reached flash point. Merrick stood and watched as the man with the impediment lifted his AK47 and shot his opponent in the chest. Choosing his moment, Merrick stepped through the trees and shot him. He swung the sub-machine gun to cover the others all of whom had their guns slung. One man tried to swing his gun in line and died then and there. The others stood frozen in place.

To the seated prisoners Merrick spoke carefully and slowly in Swahili. Put your hands down. On your hand and knees come round these men then and stand beside me. Can anyone use a gun here?

Both the European women said quietly, I can.

Merrick spoke without taking his eyes off the bandits. One of you take this AK47 from my shoulder, cock it and take over while I disarm this lot.

He felt the gun lift from his shoulder and allowed the sling to slip over his hand. The click-clack of the cocking handle followed. The woman said, I’ve got it. In Swahili she said, I saw what you did to my other people so I will happily shoot you all if you make a move.

Merrick grinned as he heard the words and saw that the bandits were looking distinctly uneasy. He stepped forward and gathered the guns from the four men, then made them lie down on their faces and frisked them for other weapons. There were several knives and two 9mm automatics among them. He then had them all tied up, ready to deliver to the authorities at the next Police post on the road.

The charity convoy managed to move on after the dead had been attended to. The prisoners, untied for the purpose, dug the graves under the eye of one of the surviving drivers, a former soldier in the Kenyan army. Then, with Merrick driving one of the trucks and the women driving another, they managed to drive the rest of the way to Matara, the next township.

The police post at Matara was manned by a Sergeant and four Constables. The bandits were received and thrust into the two cells the police post boasted. By this time the prisoners were complaining that they had been attacked by the white people. They demanded to be released. Merrick gave the Sergeant the details of the location of the attack and where the bodies were buried.

The Police Sergeant Mboya took statements from the seven survivors. He made it clear that the bandits would not be released before they had been tried in court. He confided to Merrick that if the bandit patrols got there first the men would be dealt with summarily. He did not elaborate and Merrick did not want to take it further. He knew that because of the problems in the neighboring country of Ethiopia, with the tacit encouragement of the Government anti-bandit patrols were in operation on the Kenyan side of the border. The patrols were made up of reservists from the army who were paid bounty for capture of bandits roaming the region. It was pointed out that the property recovered was seldom handed in. The administration was only too happy to turn a blind eye as long as the head count was maintained.

With the help of the Sergeant, three more drivers were recruited to drive the trucks. Merrick volunteered to complete the mercy run with the convoy. He tried to convince himself that it was nothing to do with the fact that Charlotte Hammond, the fair-haired leader of the convoy, was a woman he would like to know better. After a wash and brush up in the local rest house, the dusty clothing replaced with a simple summer dress and with her hair washed and tied back, he hardly recognized her. He was glad he had bothered to change before coming to eat.

In her turn, she had not realized that their rescuer was the rangy fair-haired man with the startling blue eyes who was waiting to sit down and eat with the group that evening. The creases in his clothes made it evident that he had changed to fresh gear from his backpack.

Merrick introduced himself formally before they sat down, I’m Tom Merrick, footloose and fancy free. Call me Tom.

Hi, Tom. This is my assistant, Brenda Cox. She introduced the other woman from the convoy; small, dark-haired neat and pretty. I’m Charlotte Hammond, Charity International. People call me Charlie.

They all sat and ate the goat meat stew from the bowl in the center of the table, spooning the mixture onto plates and accompanying it with the bread from a bowl beside them. Mugs of tea accompanied the meal.

Afterwards the two women and Tom sat on the veranda watching the moon against a backdrop of an incredible number of stars.

I haven’t really thanked you for the dramatic rescue today. What you did took nerve; one man against the whole bunch of armed men.

Tom shifted in his chair uncomfortably. Please. I only did what anyone would have done in my place.

Brenda snorted. You must be kidding. Most of the men I know would still be running. Anyway … I’m off to bed… but before I go… She bent over and kissed the startled Tom on the mouth. I just thought I would see what it was like to kiss a real man for a change. Good night all.

With a wave she was gone, leaving the echo of her laugh and an embarrassed Tom still seated in the moonlight.

Charlie laughed. Brenda has had her share of bad choices as far as men are concerned. Don’t take it to heart. She means well. She sat back in her chair crossed her legs, unconsciously smoothing the skirt of her dress as she did so. I am grateful for your offer to accompany us all the way to Adama. I would think you would be able to get another lift at Moyale on the border if you wanted to.

He interrupted her. I am quite happy to stay with the convoy. Apart from an old friend in the area whom I will visit, I have nowhere to go and nothing particular to do. So please, unless you would rather I didn’t come, let’s close the subject.

They sat in silence for several minutes enjoying view and listened to the chorus of the Cicadas. Then Charlie rose to her feet. Tom stood up to say goodnight. Like Brenda, Charlie leaned forward and kissed Tom. Surprised for the second time that night, time stood still until the gentle pressure of her lips ceased.

Thanks for my life. Charlie said. I’ll see you in the next installment. Then she was gone.

Tom stood there for a moment, still feeling the contact brief though it was. Then he shook himself and sat down once more. The moon was still bright. The cicadas as noisy but the night had suddenly lost some of its appeal.

The convoy got under way with the clashing of gears and the strong smell of diesel to accompany the roar of the engines. At 0800 it was already hot, very hot. The combination of heat and dust soon turned the whole contingent into a common tribe of grey-brown, all differences ironed out by the enveloping dust. In the leading truck Tom Merrick had been joined by Brenda. The petite, dark-haired woman was in her twenties, Tom guessed. She was a close friend to Charlie, as he soon discovered. Brenda chatted animatedly for the first few miles before dropping off to sleep despite the pitching and swaying of the big MAN diesel. Tom smiled to himself. Brenda had made it quite clear that she approved of Tom. He guessed that she was aware of his interest in Charlie.

At Moyale, on the border with Ethiopia, Merrick pulled over and stopped before reaching the Customs Post. The other trucks pulled in behind them. Charlie and the other drivers joined Tom and Brenda in the shade of the hotel veranda. From inside the hotel a waiter came running with a tray of bottles of cold beer. The entire contingent reached out, collected a bottle and, without bothering with glasses, drank that first beer from the bottle.

While Charlie went to see the Customs at the border, the others took the opportunity to shake the dust off themselves and loosen up after the pounding of the past 100 miles.

The shower in Tom’s room worked. Having beaten the dust from his clothes, he showered in the warm water and stepped into the room, naked, to dry off in the sunshine. He selected his recently-washed underwear and took the dried shirt off the window curtain rail. The intense heat did dry clothes and bodies very quickly. The door behind him opened as he buttoned his shirt. Startled, he turned to see Charlie looking at his bare legs in some amusement.

That far from civilization, huh? Merrick picked up his trousers and stepped into them, tucking his shirt in and zipping up.

Charlie looked at him with her eyebrow raised. Civilization?

Where I came from you were supposed to knock before entering a gentleman’s room. Merrick said wryly.

Oh, sorry. I did not realize the door was actually shut. She looked at the lock which was hanging loosely from its mounting. Since it was hanging open I thought you would be decent and I was in a hurry. We actually have to get going straight away. They are about to close the border. There has been an outburst of bandit activity ahead. The Kenyan authorities are panicking. So we need to move while there is still time.

Okay, let’s go. Merrick grabbed his bag and stuffed the rest of his clothes in as he made for the door.

The trucks had been refueled from the diesel bowser towed behind the fourth truck. The drivers had been out early, preparing to get the seven-truck convoy away before the barrier was finally lowered. This time the lead truck, driven by Merrick was crewed by Charlie. Brenda was in the rear truck making sure that nobody got lost. Thanks to the bandits captured the day before, all the trucks carried weapons. As Merrick guessed, all the drivers knew how to use them.

Their destination was the UN camp at Adama, 70 miles south of Addis Ababa.

After an uncomfortable day on the road, the convoy circled in a grove of trees off the road where others had rested in the past. There was a blackened area where countless fires had been made over the years. As soon as the trucks were parked, Merrick appointed guards and produced a roster that they could all follow. The roster included both women but excluded Merrick. He decided he would remain uncommitted to make sure that support was there for anyone who needed it. There were enough people to keep shifts of two hours each. The fire was lit from wood carried on the trucks, and food prepared before most of the party lay down to sleep.

Merrick made rounds of the guards during the night and was pleasantly surprised that none fell asleep. The only disturbances were when wild animals approached the camp during the dark hours. The thorn bushes that had been dragged into the gaps between the trucks were enough to put them off.

Tom and Charlie had hardly spoken during the day. Both had been preoccupied with their own thoughts most of the time. Tom was concerned about road blocks while Charlie was worried about getting the food to their people at their destination. She was also curious about Merrick.

She was not sure what to make of him. On the surface he was resourceful, good looking, fit and well spoken. His clothes were worn but good quality. He knew how to handle himself and had obviously been trained in combat, probably in the services. She was guessing SAS or SBS perhaps. She was pleased he was with the convoy, though a little troubled at the fortuitous meeting.

In the midst of working around different scenarios for dealing with roadblocks, among other things, Merrick found his thoughts turning to Charlie Hammond, obviously well brought-up, attractive and shapely even on the questionable rations here: fit, decisive and, he thought, under it all, a warm sensitive woman. A woman he would like to know better. He chuckled inwardly, cynically. Why would anyone like her be interested in a self confessed lay-about like him?

In his rounds that night he took a cup of coffee out to Charlie, who was on guard duty between ten and midnight. He sat with her keeping her company once more under the moon on a starry night. Though tonight was different. There was a tension between them. He felt that if he touched her there would be an electric shock. He thought the feeling was mutual, as their conversation was less spontaneous than it had been earlier.

They talked quietly, simple everyday things. The tension remained but there was warmth that bridged the gap between them. When Mathew Kamwana, the senior assistant, who was in charge of the African crew, appeared to take his turn on guard, the spell was broken. They walked back to the low fire together. She said, Goodnight, and they went to their separate beds.

During that night, though there were signs of animal activity outside, the camp was secure. The following morning there was tacit agreement that the rest of their camps would take similar form.

Chapter Two

The next day of travel was marked by the number of breakdowns that occurred. Still, as far as Merrick was concerned, the trucks should have been fine. After the third stoppage they were only twenty miles down the road. So he had a quiet word with Mathew Kamwana on the subject.

Bwana, I think we have a problem with two of the men we took from Moyale. I think they may be working with the bandits. He nodded at two of the men standing by their trucks, chewing at stalks.

Not their own trucks. Always others. I think we need to talk to them. Kamwana looked at Merrick, the question in his eyes.

Behind their trucks. We don’t want to worry the ladies. Merrick was moving as he spoke; the two men were moved behind the nearest truck almost before they realized what was happening.

Both looked apprehensive but neither looked scared.

Mathew Kamwana spoke. We were wondering who you were waiting for? He said it clearly but calmly.

We wait to drive. That is all. The taller man, named Samuel, said.

Kamwana looked at them both, unbelievingly. But you have been making sure we cannot travel too fast by causing trucks to break down. If you are not waiting for something or someone why would you do that? His voice had hardened.

This is not true, the other man, Jon, said. We are waiting for no one. We have not damaged the trucks. We look after our trucks well.

Merrick reached across and removed the AK47’s that each man had slung on his shoulder. Check their trucks, Mathew, please. He casually held his own gun loosely pointed at the two men. They were becoming more agitated as they waited for Mathew to come out of the second truck.

When Mathew appeared, he was carrying two bags which he dropped on the ground. From one of them a grenade rolled out like an obscene fruit. It lay in the sun, drab green in color.

I saved that from a fight near my home, Samuel said. There were guns and grenades, but I only managed to find a grenade. All the guns were taken already. He was breathing fast and sounded anxious. Looking at Mathew Kamwana, Merrick could understand why.

Mathew said nothing. However he just kicked the first bag over, followed by the other one. An automatic pistol and three magazines fell from the first bag. The second revealed a sub machine gun, an Uzi or something similar.

Samuel cried out and threw himself across, trying to grab the grenade. Merrick’s foot connected with the side of his head. He collapsed on the ground, out of reach of the weapons. Mathew collected them and went to call Charlie and Brenda.

Samuel was unconscious on the ground. When the women arrived, Jon was talking as fast as he could. "We were told that we must keep in contact with the Colonel. If we did not call every night, he would kill our families and then us. We were not going to