Page 76 of Taeja

“I think Ghanaians do it better.”

“Let’s agree to disagree,” Nwabisa said. “As a South African, I’m not talking down on any of my fellow Africans.”

“So, let’s talk about important stuff. Cause I thought they only called me here until I saw you guys. What’s going on?”

“Beats me,” Jollof replied, glancing at Zain. “Do you know?” she asked, and Zain shook his head. Nwabisa gasped. “What?! You’re our sergeant—”

“Was.”

Twenty sighed. “It’s fucked up what they did to us, Stork. I did ten years for this country, and they stabbed me in the back the first chance they got.”

Jollof hummed, nodding. “I’ll never forgive Marco. Fucking traitor. May he burn in hell.”

“C’mon, Jollof. Don’t be like that—”

“Nah, fuck him,” she spat. “Tell him, Stork.”

“Fuck that fucking traitor,” Zain co-signed, his hands balling at his sides.

Twenty sighed, making Jollof scoff as they entered the main building with military personnel roaming about. Lowering her voice, she said loud enough so only the men walking with her could hear, “Twenty must’ve forgotten that the traitor almost cost all of us our lives. Rest in peace to Sea, may the Gods bless her soul. I still get nightmares where I’m looking into her lifeless blue eyes.”

Zain said nothing. He never had nightmares. He saw everything when he was awake.

Returning to this country under a guise.

Getting escorted to the base with his squad.

Being investigated about what could’ve sparked a war if the truth got out.

Squad Four being punished to send a message to all squads in The Federation: do not fuck with the government.

If Zain had known that signing that contract would’ve brought him to where he was now, he would’ve turned it down. Hell, he wouldn’t have even joined the army in the first place.

But he did because he thought he’d be doing something more meaningful with his life. Maybe then Andrew would’ve started seeing him as a son again.

Zain unclenched his fist as he turned down a less populated hallway. Twenty and Jollof bickered on either side of him. He ignored them as he kept his focus straight, fixating on the door at the end of the hallway, not wanting to see the photographs lining the walls. They stemmed from The Federation’s founding fathers, to the most decorated soldier every year since then. Zain walked down this hallway many times before. He knew exactly where his seven pictures were, and he didn’t want to see how rugged he grew over time.

Five minutes later, they entered a room. Zain did a quick assessment.

Small. No windows. One way in and out. No chairs, except by the desk at the front of the room. Three people were seated, one face belonging to a stranger.

“Who’s that?” Jollof whispered as the trio approached the front of the room.

“How am I supposed to know?” Zain bit back, anger surging in him the closer they got to the front.

The trio fixed themselves into a horizontal line, placed their hands at their foreheads, then exclaimed the formal greeting.

“At ease,” said Lieutenant Kennedy while he stood.

Zain followed suit, feeling the eyes of the unknown man burning into his skin as if trying to tear beyond flesh and reveal what dark secrets Zain had on the inside. Who was this man? Something about him rubbed Zain the wrong way. Or maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him because he was on edge being here.

“Soldiers,” said Lieutenant Kennedy. “Thank you for joining us on such short notice. Before I get into the meat of the matter, there are two things that I needto address. I know you all are wondering who’s this man beside Senior Sergeant Byfield, so I will allow him to do his introduction.”

The man in question stood, his gaze scanning the trio before falling on Zain. “My name is Rhian Rice—” Rhian paused as a chuckle traveled around the room. His eyes settled on Jollof, narrowing. “Do you have something you’d like to share with us, O’Donoghue?”

“No, sir!” Jollof answered.

“Back to what I was saying. My name is Rhian Rice, and I am your new sergeant,” he said as his gaze fell on Zain. “So, it’s Sergeant Rice to you. All of you.”

---