No good deed goes unpunished.
(Oscar Wilde)
The soldiers were back. Their number was unchanged. They all were still carrying arms. Their backpacks were – almost – empty. One could see that the load still to be carried was light; the men were moving with ease. – Okay, that was the anticipated outcome. No real surprise here…
Anton Mbwesi had patiently waited until the platoon leader had led the troopers out of the village again. Together with Masrul, a Nuba guide, he was now following the trail the soldiers had taken towards the border. The camp sites were interesting him – or rather the rubbish pits. Yes, the men had lived from canned food. – After rummaging two camp sites, Anton felt already able to do a rough estimate.
Yes, the backpacks must have been full – of cans. There was no way the soldiers could have carried something else. This platoon evidently had not transported weapons or ammunition to the border. They had indeed conducted an ordinary border patrol, so it seemed.
But… The third camp site, the one close to the border, was much larger. Men from the south, said Masrul, about forty of them. So, the lieutenant and his men had met a group arriving from the south, from Uganda. – Could one identify those incomers? But Masrul was only shrugging his shoulders. Hardly any extra refuse, no boots, perhaps a band of rebels, perhaps somebody else…
It took Anton quite an effort to coax Masrul to cross the border. He had to find out who these visitors had been – and what they had taken along from the soldiers. Following their trail shouldn’t be hard for the Nuba.
Well, they didn’t come far… The ambush happened promptly. At least Anton and Masrul weren’t shot on the spot. By all appearances, Anton could now learn live who the visitors were.
(Oscar Wilde)
The soldiers were back. Their number was unchanged. They all were still carrying arms. Their backpacks were – almost – empty. One could see that the load still to be carried was light; the men were moving with ease. – Okay, that was the anticipated outcome. No real surprise here…
Anton Mbwesi had patiently waited until the platoon leader had led the troopers out of the village again. Together with Masrul, a Nuba guide, he was now following the trail the soldiers had taken towards the border. The camp sites were interesting him – or rather the rubbish pits. Yes, the men had lived from canned food. – After rummaging two camp sites, Anton felt already able to do a rough estimate.
Yes, the backpacks must have been full – of cans. There was no way the soldiers could have carried something else. This platoon evidently had not transported weapons or ammunition to the border. They had indeed conducted an ordinary border patrol, so it seemed.
But… The third camp site, the one close to the border, was much larger. Men from the south, said Masrul, about forty of them. So, the lieutenant and his men had met a group arriving from the south, from Uganda. – Could one identify those incomers? But Masrul was only shrugging his shoulders. Hardly any extra refuse, no boots, perhaps a band of rebels, perhaps somebody else…
It took Anton quite an effort to coax Masrul to cross the border. He had to find out who these visitors had been – and what they had taken along from the soldiers. Following their trail shouldn’t be hard for the Nuba.
Well, they didn’t come far… The ambush happened promptly. At least Anton and Masrul weren’t shot on the spot. By all appearances, Anton could now learn live who the visitors were.