“If I said I was a soldier, especially a Legionnaire, word would have spread and one side or the other would have forced me to join them. I am on neither side in this war, and only want to raise my goats in peace,” He replied.
Marcus nodded. “You are a wise man, Temebe.”
With a small amount of discussion, all the men soon agreed that it would be suicidal to attempt to resist Sergei’s army. Instead, the entire village, a total of less than eighty remaining people, would make for the border of Guinea as a group, with the armed men guarding the retreat. Temebe would lead on point, Marcus would be the rear guard.
The route they agreed to would take one full day of walking, through twenty miles of hilly, wooded backcountry until they reached the border. It would be another day to the northwest before they came to the refugee camp that meant safety.
That night, Marcus and Temebe posted guards at key points of the village. They planned to move out in the darkness two hours before dawn. Most of the animals would be left behind, except for what was needed to feed the group. With most of the goats and donkeys still in their pens, if Sergei’s force attacked that morning, they would be temporarily fooled into assuming that the people were still there with their animals, thereby buying some time for the escape.
Throughout the night, the guards reported that all was quiet. No traces of the Soviet or his men were seen or heard. At just before four am, Wednesday, July 1st, Marcus sat down and wrote a short letter to Lonnie. He didn’t know if he would make it out of this alive, and if he didn’t, there was no way of knowing that she would ever get the letter. He wrote it anyway.
Lonnie,
You cannot know how hard these past two months have been. I should rephrase that — I’m sure they have been hard for you too, wondering what has happened to me. If you get this letter, I have probably been long dead. But just in case, I wanted to let you know what happened, so you wouldn’t think I forgot about you.
Our Commando Troop discovered that all the people we had been sent to rescue had been massacred only minutes before our transport dropped us off. As we were searching the village, we were ambushed at the mission in the jungle of northern Sierra Leone. Everyone was killed but me. It was May 14th, 1998.
I had been badly injured, but was rescued by a local minister named Sambako Tonega. He nursed me back to health and now I and another man, Temebe, a former Legionnaire who lived in Sambako’s village, are leading the people out of this area to a refugee camp in Guinea.
If all goes well, you will get this letter from me personally, or at least by post. If not, and you receive this by someone else’s hand or in a package with my belongings, presume me dead, and move on with your life.
I love you Lonnie. I always have, and I always will.
Dreams of you kept me alive these past months when infection and sickness tried to kill me. I can hardly wait until I hold you again. It has been so long.
I am intoxicated by the anticipation.
Marcus
Intoxicated…a poem for you
He inhales deeply
The flowery scent of beauty hangs in the air
Her nature-given perfume
That which is felt more than breathed
Quietly permeates
The places she has been
Soft, shining
Images of her fill his mind
Eyes sparkling in the light of the falling sun
Silken, smiling lips shimmer
Luminescent amidst the dancing glimmer of candles
He awaits the hour
In which he will see her again
To no longer be lost in the imagination
Of that lovely form
He so strongly yearns to touch
To wrap her with his arms
Hold her body in a strong, warm embrace
Passionate, tender, powerful
Pulsing in spiritual harmony
Their hearts take up the rhythm of the heavens
Beating as one
The song played before the dawn of time
The day’s labor is made worthwhile
The night’s peaceful glow sustained
As they imbibe the wine of their souls
Growing intoxicated
As they drink the vision
Of the radiance of their love
He folded the letter and placed it in an envelope Sambako had provided. After sealing it, he wrote her address on the front, placed it in a small Ziploc bag Sambako had saved from some of the medical supplies he carried, and put the letter into the breast pocket of his camouflage shirt. He hoped that if he died, whoever found his body would mail it for him.
Thirty minutes later, the people of Senga Village moved as silently as possible through the darkness of the predawn morning into the forested hills that lead to safety beyond the horizon.
Chapter 31
Marcus’s Jeep led Trooper Wyatt and the convoy of SEALs along the highway at almost eighty miles per hour on their way to Fairbanks.
Marcus sat behind the wheel, staring out the windshield onto the long dark highway. Wasner looked at him from the passenger seat.
“So, Mojo. Forgive me for prying, but I have to ask. What is it between you and Trooper Wyatt?”
“Do I have to answer that, Waz?”
“Well, I can’t force you, but I’ve already made several assumptions. I’ve known you for more than eight years, and you never mentioned a woman in your life. I’ve never even seen you so much as wink at a barmaid, even after half a dozen brewskies. I was pretty sure you weren’t a back-door warrior and so always just assumed you were one of those chaste monk-types who got your kicks killing bad guys instead of chasing chicks. Is she an ex-wife or something from before you knew me?”
“No, not an ex-wife. She’s more like, an ex-almost-wife.”
“Oh. Well, that makes it clear,” the chief said sarcastically. “What in the world is an ex-almost-wife?”
“We dated since high school,” Marcus explained. “I proposed to her halfway through my second enlistment. She said I had to quit the Corps to marry her, I asked her to reconsider, and she wouldn’t. When I went missing in Sierra Leone, she assumed I was dead and stopped waiting. She got pregnant and married another guy, and that was the last I heard from her until the day before yesterday, when her dad showed up at the Salt Jacket General Store.”
“Well, she ain’t wearing no wedding band, so I assume she’s single again.”
“Yeah, her dad said the other guy left her a few years back.”
“It’s also exceedingly obvious that she still has eyes for you.”
Marcus was silent.
“Well, she is …” Wasner shifted in his seat. “I’ll only say this, if you promise not to strangle me like that FBI dude.”
Marcus tossed a glance at his friend across the dark interior of the Jeep. “I promise.”
“She is one hot lady, and she was seriously looking at you back there.”