# Three and the Half years later
**Location: Nysarian Defense Academy, Abuja**
**Time: 0800 Hours, March 15th 2009**
The brass band played the national anthem as Second Lieutenant Elisha T.J. Oriade stood at attention in the front rank of the Academy's graduating class. The morning sun caught the polished insignia on his shoulder boards—two silver bars that felt heavier than their metal should warrant. Behind him, Thirty-nine other new officers held perfect formation while Defense Minister General Yakubu delivered the commissioning address.
"You are no longer cadets," the General's voice carried across the parade ground. "You are officers of the Nysarian Defense Forces, sworn to protect this nation and its people. The challenges you will face are real. The decisions you make will have consequences far beyond your own careers."
Elisha's mind drifted to the sealed orders in his kit bag—deployment to the Peacekeeping Contingent in Yongo, effective immediately. Three weeks of pre-deployment training, then six months in one of the continent's most volatile regions. His first real command.
The ceremony concluded with the traditional hat toss, and suddenly he was surrounded by family. Mama gripped his hands, tears streaming down her face. "My son, the officer," she whispered in Yoruba. "Your father would be so proud."
Uncle Femi clapped him on the shoulder, his expression more reserved. "Remember what we talked about, eh? Keep your head down, do your job, come home safe."
"I will, Uncle."
But even as he spoke the words, Elisha knew they were a lie. He'd been keeping his head down for three and a half years, following rules, respecting protocols, maintaining the moral high ground. And where had it gotten him? A peacekeeping mission in a country where peace was just another word for temporary ceasefire.
---
**Location: Camp Falcon, Yongo Eastern Province**
**Time: 1430 Hours, April 8th**
The helicopter banked sharply as it approached the landing zone, kicking up clouds of red dust that turned the afternoon sun into a hazy orange disk. Through the open door, Elisha could see Camp Falcon spread below—a collection of prefabricated buildings, razor wire, and sandbagged positions carved out of what had once been a coffee plantation.
"Welcome to paradise, sir," shouted Sergeant Major Collins over the rotor noise. Collins was a twenty-year veteran with scars on his forearms and the kind of thousand-yard stare that came from too many deployments in too many forgotten corners of the continent. "Hope you packed light. We're moving out in six hours."
**Location: Command Briefing Tent, Camp Falcon**
**Time: 1600 Hours, Same Day**
The briefing tent was stifling despite the industrial fans running at full blast. Major Adebayo—no relation to his Academy instructor—spread aerial photographs across the table. "Lieutenant, your platoon will be conducting security patrols along the Mbanza River corridor. Intel suggests General Kalanga's militia has been using the area to move weapons and recruits."
Elisha studied the photos. Dense jungle, scattered villages, a few dirt roads that probably turned to mud with the first rain. "Rules of engagement, sir?"
"Standard peacekeeping protocols. Return fire only when fired upon. Minimum necessary force. Protect civilian populations." Major Adebayo's tone suggested he'd given this briefing many times before. "Any questions?"
"What about the rumors of mass graves?"
The Major's expression hardened. "What rumors?"
"The engineers found something two klicks north of here yesterday. Word is it's a burial site."
"Word travels fast in a small camp, Lieutenant. Yes, our engineering team uncovered evidence of civilian casualties. The UN investigators will handle it through proper channels."
"And in the meantime?"
"In the meantime, we stick to our mission parameters. Security patrols, humanitarian assistance, support to civil authorities. We're peacekeepers, not war crimes investigators."
**Location: Camp Falcon Armory**
**Time: 1930 Hours, Same Day**
Elisha nodded, but something in the Major's tone suggested there was more to the story. After the briefing, he found Sergeant Major Collins cleaning his rifle outside the armory.
"Tell me about the graves," Elisha said quietly.
Collins glanced around, then set down his weapon. "Forty-three bodies. Mostly women and children. Hands tied behind their backs, execution-style wounds." He paused. "My guess? Kalanga's boys made an example of a village that refused to hand over recruits."
"And we're just going to patrol past it?"
"That's the mission, sir. We keep the peace that exists, not the peace we wish existed."
**Location: Officer's Quarters, Camp Falcon**
**Time: 2300 Hours, Same Day**
That night, Elisha lay on his cot listening to the distant sound of artillery fire from across the border. The engineering report was supposed to be classified, but in a camp of three hundred soldiers, secrets had a half-life measured in hours. Forty-three civilians murdered for refusing to give up their children to a warlord's army.
He thought about the simulation in Abuja, the theoretical discussions about when military force was justified, the clean abstractions of constitutional law and international treaties. None of it had prepared him for the reality of forty-three shallow graves and a mission that required him to patrol past them as if they were just part of the landscape.
---
**Location: Camp Falcon Mess Hall**
**Time: 1900 Hours, April 29th**
Three weeks into his deployment, Elisha had settled into the rhythm of Camp Falcon. Morning patrols through villages where children scattered at the sight of soldiers. Afternoon briefings where every report began with "no significant contact." Evening card games where nobody talked about what they'd seen during the day.
The breakthrough came from an unexpected source. Corporal Emeka Nwosu—one of his squad leaders—approached him after the evening meal with a local civilian in tow.
"Sir, this is Joseph Mbeki. He has information about the militia activities."
Mbeki was probably in his forties, though the lines around his eyes made him look older. He spoke English mixed with French and what Elisha assumed was local dialect, but his meaning was clear enough.
"Lieutenant, they have my grandson. Took him three weeks ago from Kisangani village. Ten years old." Mbeki's hands shook as he spoke. "They say he is soldier now. They give him gun, make him do terrible things."
"How many children?" Elisha asked.
"Maybe fifty, sixty. Some young as eight years. They keep them in compound near river, train them to kill."
Elisha felt something cold settle in his stomach. Child soldiers. The briefings had mentioned the possibility, but seeing it reduced to intelligence estimates on a PowerPoint slide was different from looking into the eyes of a grandfather whose grandson had been stolen.
"What do you want from us?"
"I know where they are. I know when guards change. You help me get children out, I help you catch lieutenant who took them."
Elisha glanced at Corporal Nwosu, who shrugged. "Worth considering, sir. Intelligence on militia leadership is hard to come by."
"I'll need to run this up the chain of command."
Mbeki shook his head violently. "No, no. You tell commanders, they make meetings, write reports, send messages. By time they decide, children are moved somewhere else. Or worse."
"What's worse?"
"They make them kill someone. Once child kills, soul is broken. Cannot come back to family, cannot live normal life. They belong to militia forever."
**Location: Camp Falcon Perimeter**
**Time: 0300 Hours, April 30th**
That night, Elisha stared at the ceiling of his tent until 0300 hours, then quietly got dressed and walked to the perimeter. The guard on duty nodded respectfully as he passed. Outside the wire, the African night was alive with sounds—insects, distant drums, the occasional crack of small arms fire.
Forty-three bodies in shallow graves. Fifty or sixty children being turned into killers. A grandfather willing to risk his life to save his grandson.
And a mission that required him to file reports and wait for authorization that might never come.
---
**Location: Major Adebayo's Office, Camp Falcon**
**Time: 0800 Hours, May 1st**
The next morning, Elisha requested a private meeting with Major Adebayo. He laid out Mbeki's information in precise, military language: target location, force estimates, tactical considerations, risk assessment.
"Absolutely not," the Major said before he'd even finished. "We're peacekeepers, Lieutenant. We don't conduct offensive operations against local militias."
"Sir, with respect, these are kidnapped children being turned into weapons. That seems like something peacekeepers should address."
"Through proper channels. UN authorization, host government approval, coordination with other agencies. This isn't a cowboy movie, Lieutenant."
"How long would that take?"
"Weeks. Maybe months."
"And in the meantime, more children get recruited or killed."
Major Adebayo stood up, his expression hardening. "Lieutenant, I understand your frustration. We all feel it. But we have our orders, and those orders exist for good reasons. Start planning unauthorized operations and you'll find yourself facing a court martial."
**Location: Recreation Tent, Camp Falcon**
**Time: 2000 Hours, Same Day**
Elisha saluted and left the briefing tent, but his mind was already working through tactical possibilities. Small unit infiltration. Multiple extraction routes. Local support from Mbeki and others like him.
That evening, he found Corporal Nwosu and Sergeant Collins in the recreation tent, playing cards with two other NCOs. He sat down at their table and spoke quietly.
"Hypothetically, if someone wanted to conduct a night raid to rescue kidnapped civilians, what would be the minimum force required?"
The card game stopped. Sergeant Collins studied Elisha's face for a long moment.
"Hypothetically? Eight to ten soldiers. Local guides. Non-standard equipment to avoid signature identification." Collins paused. "Also hypothetically, such an operation would be career suicide for everyone involved."
"Unless it succeeded spectacularly," added Corporal Nwosu. "Success has a way of retroactively justifying questionable decisions."
"And if it failed?"
"Court martial for the officer who ordered it. Disciplinary action for the soldiers who followed orders." Collins gathered up the cards. "But sir, if you're asking what I think you're asking... some things are worth the risk."
**Location: Abandoned Storage Building, Camp Falcon**
**Time: 2230 Hours, May 3rd**
Over the next three days, Elisha quietly recruited his team. Collins and Nwosu were obvious choices—experienced NCOs who understood both the mission and the consequences. Private Hassan, a former Lagos street tough who could handle himself in close quarters. Private Adamu, a farm boy from Kano who could move silently through any terrain. Private Suleiman, the unit's best marksman.
Six soldiers plus Mbeki and two other local civilians he vouched for. Light weapons, non-standard uniforms, extraction plan via river crossing. In and out before dawn, with luck and proper planning.
"Sir," Collins said during their final planning session, "once we cross that wire, we're on our own. No support, no backup, no official existence. You sure about this?"
Elisha looked at the hand-drawn map of the militia compound, thought about the grandfather who was willing to risk everything for his grandson, remembered the briefing photos of forty-three bodies in shallow graves.
"I'm sure."
---
**Location: Mbanza River Valley, 3km Southeast of Camp Falcon**
**Time: 0230 Hours, May 4th**
They crossed the perimeter at 0230 hours, moving in single file through the elephant grass that grew thick along the river. Mbeki led, followed by his two companions, then the six soldiers in tactical spacing. No radio communication, no GPS devices, nothing that could be traced back to official Nysarian forces.
The militia compound was three kilometers downstream, built around an abandoned mining operation. According to Mbeki's intelligence, the guards changed at 0400, creating a fifteen-minute window when the perimeter would be minimally manned.
**Location: Tree Line Overlooking Militia Compound**
**Time: 0350 Hours, Same Day**
"Children are kept in old equipment shed," Mbeki whispered as they reached the tree line overlooking the compound. "Guards usually drunk by this time of night. But lieutenant, he is smart one. Keeps his quarters separate, always has bodyguards."
Elisha studied the layout through his night vision scope. Two wooden buildings, several tents, a few vehicles parked near what looked like the main entrance. Exactly as described, but seeing it made the mission real in a way planning never could.
"Suleiman, Adamu, you have overwatch from this position. Anyone tries to leave the compound after we go in, stop them. Non-lethal if possible."
"And if not possible?" Suleiman asked.
"Use your judgment."
**Location: Inside Militia Compound**
**Time: 0355 Hours, Same Day**
They split into two teams. Collins, Nwosu, and Hassan would create a diversion at the main gate while Elisha, Mbeki, and the other locals entered through the rear to extract the children. Simple plan, minimal coordination required, multiple extraction routes.
At 0355, Elisha crept through the gap in the compound's fence that Mbeki had identified during his reconnaissance. The equipment shed was fifty meters away, its door guarded by a single militiaman who appeared to be dozing.
The guard never knew what hit him. Elisha's combat training took over—approach from behind, sleeper hold, lower the unconscious body silently to the ground. No permanent damage, no noise, no complications.
**Location: Equipment Shed, Militia Compound**
**Time: 0400 Hours, Same Day**
Inside the shed, the smell hit him first. Unwashed bodies, human waste, fear sweat. Then his eyes adjusted and he saw them: dozens of children aged eight to fifteen, chained together in groups of six or seven. Some were asleep, others stared at him with the kind of hollow expressions he'd seen in photographs of concentration camp survivors.
"We're here to help," he whispered in English, then repeated it in Hausa and pidgin. "We're getting you out."
The children didn't respond at first—too traumatized, too conditioned to expect violence from anyone carrying a weapon. But Mbeki pushed past Elisha and began speaking rapidly in what sounded like local dialect. A few of the older children started crying. Others just stared.
"Grandfather?" a small voice asked from the back of the group.
"Yes, Kwame. It's me. We're going home."
Breaking the chains took precious minutes. Elisha used bolt cutters from his kit while Mbeki and his companions tried to calm the children, explain what was happening, prepare them for movement. Outside, he could hear Collins's diversion starting—small explosions, shouting, the sound of vehicles starting up.
"Lieutenant!" Nwosu's voice came through his earpiece. "We've got problems. Target's not here—compound commander left yesterday. But we've got intel on where he went."
"Extract now, intel later," Elisha replied.
"Sir, one of the militiamen wants to make a deal. Says he'll trade information about the lieutenant's location for safe passage out of here."
Elisha felt the operation spinning beyond his control. The plan had been simple: get in, grab the children, get out. Now they had dozens of traumatized kids who could barely walk, a target who wasn't where he was supposed to be, and someone offering intelligence in exchange for considerations that weren't part of the mission parameters.
"Bring him," Elisha decided. "We'll sort it out at the extraction point."
---
**Location: Abandoned Village, 8km North of Militia Compound**
**Time: 0630 Hours, May 4th**
The extraction went better than expected. Fifty-seven children, ages seven to sixteen, all malnourished and traumatized but alive. The informant—a teenager named Pascal who claimed to be a forced recruit himself—had detailed information about Lieutenant Jubek's movements and hiding places.
But it was what Pascal told them about Jubek's operations that changed everything.
"He is not just taking children for soldiers," Pascal explained as they waited in the abandoned village Mbeki had chosen for their temporary base. "He sells some to diamond mines in the north. Others to fishing boats on the lake. Girls... girls he sells to different kind of people."
Elisha felt something cold and ugly settling in his chest. "You're talking about human trafficking."
"Yes. Children are... commodity. Some for war, some for work, some for..." Pascal couldn't finish the sentence.
"How many children?"
"Hundreds. Maybe thousand. Operation is very big, many lieutenants working for General Kalanga. This compound, it is just one place."
Sergeant Collins spat into the dirt. "Sir, we got the kids we came for. Mission accomplished. Time to head home."
But Elisha was thinking about the bigger picture. One compound shut down, fifty-seven children rescued, but hundreds more still in the system. And Lieutenant Jubek, the man who ran the local operation, was still free to start over somewhere else.
"Pascal, you said you know where Jubek is hiding?"
"Yes. But is dangerous place. Many guards, many weapons."
"What would it take to get him?"
Collins stepped closer. "Sir, with respect, that's not our mission. We came to get the kids. We got them. Time to declare victory and go home."
"The mission was to rescue children from being turned into weapons. As long as Jubek is operational, more children get taken."
"That's not our problem, sir."
"Isn't it?" Elisha looked around at the rescued children, most of whom were now sleeping under blankets his soldiers had distributed. "These kids have families somewhere. Villages that are probably too scared to report missing children because they know the militia will come back and punish them. How many more Kwames are out there?"
Pascal cleared his throat. "Lieutenant, I know where Jubek keeps his records. Names of buyers, locations of other compounds, schedules for deliveries. If you get those records..."
"We could shut down the entire network," Elisha finished.
"Or get ourselves killed trying," Collins added. "Sir, I've followed you this far because the mission made sense. Rescuing kids is something worth risking careers over. But what you're talking about now... that's not rescue, that's revenge."
"Maybe revenge is what's needed."
**Location: Edge of Abandoned Village**
**Time: 0700 Hours, Same Day**
The words came out harder than Elisha had intended, and he saw something change in Collins's expression. The sergeant major had been a soldier for twenty years, had probably seen more combat than anyone else in the unit. But Elisha's tone apparently crossed some line.
"Sir, we need to talk. Privately."
They walked away from the group, out of earshot of the children and the other soldiers. Collins waited until they were alone before speaking.
"Lieutenant, I've served under a lot of officers. Good ones, bad ones, crazy ones. Right now, you're starting to sound like the crazy ones."
"Collins—"
"Let me finish, sir. What we did tonight was necessary. Those kids needed rescuing and the system was too slow to do it. I can live with that. But what you're talking about now... that's not about the kids anymore. That's about you wanting to be the guy who fixed everything."
"And what's wrong with wanting to fix things?"
"Nothing, as long as you don't break yourself in the process. Or get the rest of us killed."
Elisha stared out at the African night, listening to the distant sounds of insects and wind through the grass. Collins was probably right. The smart thing to do was extract the children to safety, file a report, let someone else worry about the broader implications.
But he couldn't stop thinking about Pascal's information. Hundreds of children. A network of buyers and sellers treating kids like livestock. And Lieutenant Jubek, somewhere out there, probably already planning to rebuild his operation with a new group of victims.
"What if we could get him without risking the team?"
"How?"
"Pascal says Jubek has a weakness for young women. Uses them himself before selling them to buyers. What if we used that against him?"
Collins was quiet for a long moment. "You're talking about using a child as bait."
"I'm talking about using his weaknesses against him. Pascal knows his patterns, his locations, his security arrangements. We could set up an operation that puts him in a vulnerable position."
"And then what? Arrest him? Hand him over to authorities who are probably on his payroll?"
Elisha didn't answer immediately. The question had been forming in his mind since Pascal first described Jubek's operations, but he hadn't wanted to confront it directly.
**Location: Return to Abandoned Village**
**Time: 0730 Hours, Same Day**
"We kill him," Elisha said finally.
Collins stopped walking. "Sir?"
"We kill Lieutenant Jubek. And anyone else running these operations. We take his records, identify the other compounds, and we systematically eliminate the entire network."
"That's not peacekeeping, Lieutenant. That's assassination."
"Call it what you want. These people are cancer. They steal children, turn them into weapons or slaves, and sell them like livestock. The system isn't going to stop them. Politicians won't stop them. UN investigators will file reports and nothing will change."
"So you'll just take justice into your own hands?"
"I'll do what needs to be done."
Collins was quiet for a long moment, studying Elisha's face in the growing dawn light. When he spoke, his voice was careful, measured.
"Sir, I need you to listen to me very carefully. What you're describing... that's not justice. That's vigilantism. And once you start down that road, there's no coming back."
"Some roads are worth taking."
"Not this one, sir. Not for you."
---
**Location: Abandoned Village**
**Time: 1200 Hours, May 4th**
But Elisha had already made his decision. Over the next six hours, he worked with Pascal to identify Jubek's current location—a fortified house near the border where he was allegedly meeting with buyers from across the region. According to Pascal, Jubek would be there for three days, conducting what amounted to a slave auction.
"Twelve girls, ages ten to sixteen," Pascal reported. "He sells them to men from the capital who want... private servants."
The euphemism made Elisha's stomach turn. Private servants. As if calling it something else made it less horrific.
"How many guards?"
"Maybe eight, ten. But they not expecting trouble. Place is very remote, very secret."
"What about the girls? Are they being held at the same location?"
"Yes. In basement. Very secure."
Collins had been listening to the conversation with growing alarm. "Sir, this is insane. You're talking about assaulting a fortified position to kill a militia leader and rescue a dozen more children. With six soldiers. In enemy territory. With no backup."
"The children from the compound are already safe," Elisha pointed out. "Mbeki and his people will get them to the refugee camp. This is something different."
"This is suicide."
"This is necessary."
**Location: Village Center**
**Time: 1400 Hours, Same Day**
Elisha called the team together. Collins, Nwosu, Hassan, Adamu, Suleiman. Five experienced soldiers who had followed him into an unauthorized mission and succeeded beyond anyone's expectations.
"Gentlemen, we have intelligence on a high-value target. Lieutenant Jubek, the man responsible for the compound we hit last night, is currently conducting human trafficking operations sixty kilometers from here. He has twelve girls, ages ten to sixteen, who will be sold to buyers if we don't intervene."
Hassan spoke up first. "Sir, what about the children we already rescued? Shouldn't we focus on getting them to safety?"
"They're already safe. Mbeki and his people know these hills better than anyone. The refugee camp is twelve hours away on foot, and they have guides."
"So this is a separate mission?" Nwosu asked.
"This is the completion of the mission. Jubek is the source. As long as he's operational, more children get taken."
Collins stepped forward. "Sir, request permission to speak freely."
"Go ahead, Sergeant Major."
"This is no longer about rescuing children. This is about you wanting to play god. You want to decide who lives and who dies, and you're asking us to help you do it."
"I'm asking you to help me stop someone who steals children and sells them to rapists."
"By becoming killers ourselves."
"By doing what the system won't do."
The argument hung in the air between them. Elisha could see the doubt in his soldiers' faces, the recognition that they were being asked to cross a line that couldn't be uncrossed.
But he could also see something else: anger. These were professional soldiers who had seen the evidence of Jubek's operations firsthand. They had looked into the eyes of traumatized children, had heard Pascal's descriptions of what happened to the ones who didn't get rescued.
"I'm not ordering anyone to come with me," Elisha said finally. "This operation is voluntary. Anyone who wants to extract with the rescued children is free to do so. No questions asked, no consequences."
Nobody moved.
"But if you're willing to see this through to the end, we have a chance to do something that matters. Not just rescue a dozen girls, but destroy the entire network. Stop hundreds of children from being taken."
Adamu, the farm boy from Kano, was the first to speak. "Sir, what exactly are you proposing?"
"We hit Jubek's compound at dawn tomorrow. Eliminate all hostiles, rescue the girls, and recover any intelligence that might lead us to other operations."
"Eliminate all hostiles," Hassan repeated. "You mean kill them."
"I mean neutralize the threat. However necessary."
**Location: Village Outskirts**
**Time: 1600 Hours, Same Day**
The debate continued for another two hours. Collins argued for extraction and proper channels. Nwosu suggested a compromise—rescue the girls but leave Jubek alive for capture. Hassan wanted assurances about rules of engagement.
But Elisha had moved beyond such considerations. Every hour they debated was another hour that Jubek's buyers got closer to completing their transactions. Another hour that twelve girls spent in basement captivity, waiting to be sold.
"Decision time," he announced as the afternoon sun began its descent toward the horizon. "Anyone who's not committed to the mission can leave now. Take one of the vehicles, head back to Camp Falcon, tell Major Adebayo whatever story you want."
Nobody moved.
"Alright then. We move out at 0200. Target location is forty-five minutes by vehicle, then fifteen minutes on foot. Hit the compound at first light, when the guards are tired and the buyers are hungover."
Pascal raised his hand tentatively. "Lieutenant, what about me? What happens to me after?"
Elisha had been wondering the same thing. Pascal was technically a deserter from Kalanga's militia, which meant he couldn't return to his old life. But he was also their only source of intelligence on the broader trafficking network.
"You help us find the other compounds. We'll set you up with a new identity, get you safely out of the country when this is over."
"And if we don't succeed?"
"Then we're all dead and it won't matter."
---
**Location: Staging Area, 2km from Jubek's Compound**
**Time: 0500 Hours, May 5th**
They reached the staging area before dawn, moving through terrain that Pascal described as "very bad for vehicles, very good for hiding." The compound was built into a hillside, with natural barriers on three sides and a single access road that was probably mined or under observation.
"Or both," Collins added grimly as they studied the target through binoculars.
Pascal's intelligence proved accurate. The compound consisted of a main house, several outbuildings, and what looked like a garage or storage facility. Two guards visible at the main entrance, probably more inside or on rotating patrols.
"Girls are in basement of main house," Pascal confirmed. "Only one entrance, through kitchen. Very narrow stairs, very easy to defend."
"Or trap," Hassan muttered.
Elisha was studying the tactical situation when Nwosu grabbed his arm. "Sir, we've got movement on the access road. Vehicles approaching."
Through the binoculars, Elisha could see a convoy of three SUVs winding up the hillside. The buyers, arriving for their appointment with Jubek.
"How many?" Collins asked.
"Hard to tell. Maybe twelve, fifteen total."
"Against six of us."
"Five," Elisha corrected. "Pascal stays here as backup communications."
The odds were getting worse by the minute. Unknown number of guards plus a dozen buyers, all presumably armed, in a fortified position with multiple escape routes. Against five soldiers with light weapons and no backup.
"Sir," Suleiman said quietly, "maybe we should reconsider the timeline. Wait for the buyers to leave, hit the compound when it's just Jubek and his security."
"And let them complete their transactions? Let twelve girls get sold to rapists while we wait for better tactical conditions?"
"Let twelve girls get rescued by properly planned operation instead of getting killed in poorly planned one," Collins replied.
But Elisha was done debating. The convoy had reached the compound and was unloading passengers. Men in expensive clothes stepping out of air-conditioned vehicles to inspect their potential purchases. Twelve girls who were probably being prepared for display at this very moment.
**Location: Assault Position Alpha**
**Time: 0530 Hours, Same Day**
"We go in fifteen minutes," he announced. "Suleiman, you have overwatch from this position. Kill anyone who tries to escape. Hassan and Adamu, you take the outbuildings and vehicle area. Collins and Nwosu, you're with me on the main house."
"Sir," Collins said one last time, "this is wrong. Whatever Jubek has done, whatever these buyers are planning to do, this is not justice. This is revenge."
"Sometimes revenge is justice."
"And sometimes revenge is just murder with better PR."
Elisha checked his weapon, ensured his ammunition was properly secured, and looked one final time at the compound where twelve girls were waiting to be sold.
"Maybe you're right, Sergeant Major. Maybe this is murder. But if it saves those girls and stops this network, I can live with that."
"The question is whether you can live with what comes after."
**Location: Main House, Jubek's Compound**
**Time: 0545 Hours, Same Day**
The assault began with Suleiman's sniper rifle taking out the two perimeter guards simultaneously. No alarms, no shouting, just two bodies dropping silently to the ground as the rest of the team moved into position.
Hassan and Adamu secured the vehicle area without resistance—apparently most of the security was focused on the main house. Collins and Nwosu flanked the building while Elisha approached the front entrance directly.
The first indication that things were going wrong came when Elisha reached the front door and found it unlocked.
"Too easy," Collins's voice crackled through his earpiece.
"Agreed. But we're committed now."
The main floor of the house was elegant in the way that blood money could buy—expensive furniture, artwork, the kind of luxury that came from treating human beings as commodities. But it was also empty.
"Kitchen's this way," Elisha whispered, following Pascal's descriptions toward the basement entrance.
He found the stairs exactly where Pascal had indicated—narrow, steep, leading down into darkness. But he also found something Pascal hadn't mentioned: the sound of voices from below. Multiple voices, speaking in what sounded like Arabic and French.
The buyers were already in the basement, conducting their business.
"Sir," Nwosu's voice through the earpiece, "we've got a problem. Found a guard post on the second floor with communication equipment. They definitely know we're here."
"How many hostiles remaining?"
"Unknown. But sir, there's something else. Found what looks like video equipment. Professional grade. They're not just selling these girls, they're filming it."
Elisha felt something ice-cold settle in his chest. Video equipment. Professional grade. The implications hit him like physical blows—not just trafficking, but production. Creating content for a market that consumed the suffering of children.
"New mission parameters," he said into his microphone. "No survivors."
"Sir?"
"You heard me. No survivors. Anyone in this compound dies today."
---
**Location: Basement Stairs, Main House**
**Time: 0550 Hours, Same Day**
Elisha descended the stairs slowly, his weapon ready, listening to the voices below grow clearer. He could make out at least four different speakers, possibly more. The conversation was casual, business-like, discussing prices and preferences as if they were buying livestock.
Which, he realized, was exactly what they were doing.
The basement opened into a larger space than he'd expected—probably the building's original foundation, expanded and reinforced. Cages lined one wall, most of them occupied by girls who looked even younger than Pascal had indicated. Some of the girls were clearly drugged, staring blankly at nothing. Others pressed against the bars, tears streaming down their faces.
The buyers stood in the center of the room with Lieutenant Jubek—a tall man in military fatigues with the kind of confident bearing that came from years of getting away with atrocities. They were examining files, probably detailing each girl's "specifications" for potential customers.
"Gentlemen," Jubek was saying in accented English, "as you can see, we have excellent variety this month. Age range eight to sixteen, all properly prepared and documented."
Prepared. Documented. As if they were livestock being readied for market.