Kenyan/ Somalia Border

Sean Casey stood clothed in black: black beret, black tee-shirt, black zipped-up jacket, black pants, and black lace-up boots. His face was camouflaged with green and black paint. His four companions were likewise attired in black, but their faces needed no camouflage. They were as black as the night. The time for negotiation was over.

Sean had responded to a call for help from the Commissioner of Prisons of Nairobi. Two prison officials, a magistrate and a charity worker had been taken hostage on the Kenya/Somalia border. The Kenyans wanted Sean to work with the armed police and free the four of them.

The two Land Rovers bounced past a massive football stadium and Sean said, "Why the lights and music? Soccer match?"

"No, Boss," his driver said, "it's a gospel crusade with Christ for All Nations. It will be full every night."

Sean shrugged and said, "Takes all sorts, I guess. Good luck to 'em. The world needs something."

Twenty minutes later, the vehicles drove with lights out and parked after a few hundred yards. Sean and the Kenyans moved stealthily through the terrain and reached a clearing.
Sean elbowed forward through the African bush, a 22-mm handgun in his right hand. He poked the silencer through the tall grass and signed for his companions to go two left and two right. The Kenyans had AK47 automatic machine guns, against Sean's advice.

"You'll spray those bloody things everywhere and be empty in two seconds," he had argued vehemently. The police commander, adamant that his men would only shoot when shot at, insisted they would act professionally.

"OK," Sean said. "But wait till I give the signal. They may be a ragtag bunch of guerrillas but I'll use a whistle. I don't want you bastards peppering my behind."

Intelligence, such as it existed, had informed the party of at least a dozen Somali hostage takers. Sean had coughed when he'd heard. The data was clearly wrong about the number of hostages that had been taken, originally two and then four, and so he did not feel hopeful. He used his own intel, his eyes.

"Anyone with a gun is a bad guy," Sean said. "Anyone tied up is not. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Boss," they whispered with nods. Sean suspected they were providers of large families and the last thing on their minds would be getting shot. They would shoot first from a safe distance and duck.

It turned out six "bad guys" guarded the compound. At least that was how many corpses were left after Sean crept forward, his right hand delivering a "phutt" periodically as another body crumpled. In the darkness, illuminated by a campfire, the hostage-takers tried to flee and the explosions of blood, flesh and brain matter were lost in the confusion as one body after another slumped over the campfire or on the ground in the bush: four head shots and two body shots.

Sean crept forwards silently and put another head shot into the bodies as he passed, rolling them over with his foot. Six dead before anyone had blinked.

He kicked in each hut door and jumped to the side each time, gun at the ready. Only one hut was occupied, and they were all tied up. By Sean's definition, these were the "good guys". He lifted a whistle to his lips and gave two shrill signals. Several pairs of white eyes appeared in the bush. Spinning the gun around his finger, he placed it in his belt and waved his four companions forwards. He was not a savage brute, unfeeling about fatalities, but his clear mantra affirmed "them or us".

Slapping his back in awe and celebration, his companions helped four hostages out, overwhelmed to be free. Two prison officials, one magistrate, and a Save the Children worker joined the Kenyan soldiers. The stunning blonde charity worker called Rachel came from Bristol, as Sean discovered when she hugged him. She clung to Sean like a limpet while the party walked through the bush to two green army vehicles.

The engine roared and diesel fumes filled the air as the army Land Rover bounced through the darkness, throwing them against one another.

"Oops, sorry," the blonde said.

"You're called Rachel, huh?" Sean said, looking at the vivacious 30-something blonde charity worker. "That's a nice name." She smiled. Sean smiled.