The Truth About Collins

Someone had been yelling from the blue house across the street; the one where Merv kept the fridge full of beer. Two rounds rang out. I crossed the street, crouching low and moving fast to keep out of the shooter’s line of sight. Taking cover behind a low wall, crushed against the goat shit and shredded plastic bags that snagged on damn near everything. One of Collins pump-mechanics had shinned up the ragged acacia: the only living thing in the staff-house compound. 

The boy was taking pot shots at anything that moved. Collins had fired the boy that morning for pilfering twenty five litres of diesel and now he was getting even. All of his adolescent rage focused down the dirty barrel of a Ukrainian assault rifle. Another shot, very fucking loud and very fucking close. I pressed myself against the wall, rolled back and squinted into the perfect blue sky.  Two more smacked into other side of the wall, leaving the alkaline stench of white-hot cement dust in their wake.    

“Abdi, get out of that tree or I’ll kill you’. Collins was behind the parapet, his G3 aimed straight through the Somali’s eyeball. He loved his Somali crew. Tempered in the fifty degree heat of the Ogaden desert, they were all sinew and insolence. For months they had worked together pumping water from the desert to this famine blighted town. Now they were ready to kill. The Somali yielded, throwing his rifle to the ground and jumping clear of the tree. Collins scrambled down into the compound. When he was close he could see that the boy was weeping. The bitterness at the back of his throat was gone. 

James Fennell MBE has worked in warzones for 37 years across Africa, the Middle East, Central America, the Balkans and Asia. He has a weird interest in string theory and a less weird interest in making really, really good bloody marys. James has worked on using drones for humanitarian assistance and is an active supporter of BITNATION. He is currently working on BITNATION's security and refugee services. He has a wife, Susanne, and a puppy, General Patton, and lives and loves in Amsterdam.