Chapter 5: Gbarnga

Thomas came to a stop at the far outskirts of Gbarnga. It was the center point of Liberia. He knew where he was at. He could see the edge of the town. It was the second-largest city in Liberia if one would call it that. It was like comparing an elephant to a dog. The population was that of almost 40 to 50 thousand people. He could see the activity of people coming and going from house to house. Armed trucks and individuals lined the place. Rustic rooftops of houses lined its exterior of the town, much like the other towns.

“This is where I have the biggest problem,” he said to himself.

This town was supposedly controlled by Charles Taylor’s forces. He knew that if they saw his jeep with the brown stripe on it, then he risked getting shot. If he could simply try to get past this town, he should make it to Yekepa. Hopefully, the cease-fire message reached these folks, or otherwise, he could be dead. He could try to go around it, but the small dirt roads were dangerous not by the people but because of the hazards. Single lane dirt roads not taken care of due to war and collapsed infrastructure made for hazardous travel. Makeshift bridges could barely even hold a car, and whatever untold hazards made that choice a poor one. He could already feel how bad the main dirt road was just getting to here. The jeep was taking a beating, and he didn’t know if it can continue going into areas that were not even really mapped. He was going to have to do this. He had to drive into Gbarnga. Negotiation was the only hope in getting through.

He kept an eye on his pistol on his seat. He knew that he was going into a hornet’s nest. He put his foot on the gas pedal and shifted it into forward gear.

The jeep drove up to the outer city limits. The green forests surrounded the town, much like the other towns, he drove by. He approached slowly so as not to aggravate anyone or have anyone make the wrong choice.

As he got closer and closer at a twenty mile an hour speed, he could see men with assault rifles looking at him. One of the trucks had a machine gun on it with a person pointing it at him. There was a small makeshift barricade at the front leading into the town.

He had one hand on his steering wheel and the other hand holding it up to indicate that he wanted to talk and to signal to them to “hold their fire” at him.

A man with a dark complexion, much like all the Liberians, approached him. He wore sunglasses, a brown ribbed hat, a redshirt, and blue jeans. He was holding an AK-47 in his hand as he held up his hand to signal him to stop. By now, Thomas’s jeep came to a crawl as he was staring down multiple gun barrels. One wrong move and he would be riddled with gunshot wounds.

“What are you doing out here, white man?” he asked with a thick West African accent. By now, he was used to hearing the accent.

“I need to get past,” Thomas explained as his jeep was at a dead stop. He did not turn the engine off as the engine made a small hum. “I work for LAMCO, and I came to investigate if the mining could be resumed and made operational.”

The man with the sunglasses was looking at the gunner on the truck as he briefly lifted them to look at his hood. Thomas noted that part of his left eye was slashed but healed. He turned his head to look at a small home that had dead bodies that flowed out from its entrances. Flies circled the corpses. Some were stripped bare of clothing, beheaded, or mutilated in one way or another. The house was some sort of dumping spot. He did not have time to think about what happened to those people.

The man shook his head. “Turn around and go back while you can.”

“I swear to you that I am just trying to get past...”

The man interrupted Thomas as he slammed his hand on his hood. “Liar, you work for the Rebels. You are trying to recon this area! Turn around now!” The machine gunner had both of his hands on the gun, ready to fire at him.

Thomas took a quick look at the trucks and where they were at. They were perched by the walls of the houses. The barricade, while it covered up the road, was still open enough for him to drive around it if need be.

He thought quickly to himself as he watched the man with the rifle. He didn’t have time for this. He needed to reach his destination. He knew this was a suicide mission. If he floored it and went around the barricade, he might still get the surprise on them. The barricade and the house walls could temporarily shield him from the trucks. The one catch, though, is the machine gunner. He needed to do something about it.

Thomas began to sweat hard; his blood began to pump hard. He knew what was going to happen next as the man by the barricade held his machine gun relaxed. He knew that Thomas was going to turn around, but he was absolutely wrong on this. No sane man would do what he would do, but this was a world turned upside down, and Thomas was a man on a mission.

“Fuck this!” as Thomas grabbed his M9, aimed it at the machine gunner, and pulled the trigger. The shot rang out as Thomas’s foot hit the gas pedal of the jeep almost in rapid succession. The bullet hit the machine gunner’s shoulder as he recoiled away from his machine gun. It took the man with the sunglasses by surprise.

“Kill him! Kill the...,” the guard yelled. Thomas’s jeep sped quickly driving around the barricade as the man with the sunglasses jumped out of the way or risked getting run over. He dove into the dirt as sand and dust were kicked into the air from the jeep’s fast-spinning tires. The thrown-up dust helped served as a minor smoke screen for Thomas as the jeep gained speed quicker and quicker down the road. People ran into their homes and closed their doors as the jeep sped through the area.

A commotion broke out throughout the town. The man that dove from cover got up and aimed his rifle, and started to unleash a hail of bullets onto Thomas and his jeep. The dust was making it hard to aim, but he had luck on his side. No one was manning the inside of the truck with the machine gunner while the gunner was attending to his gunshot wound.

The jeep was moving as fast as Thomas’s abilities could carry him. The town was not extensive. The man that was taking care of the gate stopped firing and picked up his radio. He immediately radioed the others.

He would need less than thirty seconds to get out of the town. They would prove to be the longest half a minute in his life. Houses zipped past him as the jeep was going as fast as he could down the road.

There was confusion as this was happening so fast that none of the other armed men had much time to react. Thomas, meanwhile, drove past them. That was until the guard radioed in for the men in the town that a rogue man stormed past their barricade.

Twenty seconds ... Eighteen seconds ... Sixteen seconds ... Thomas could see the edge of the town and beyond the road past the town’s limits.

Gunfire erupted as an armed man from one of the houses fired four rounds into the jeep as he drove past. Two of the bullets struck the jeep but missed Thomas.

Thomas’s adrenaline was through the roof. He was focused on one thing, and that was getting through the town. If he stopped now, he would be dead for sure.

Ten seconds ... Eight seconds ... Six seconds ... then disaster. A truck appeared from behind the edge of the town, obscured by one of the houses. Manned by two armed gunmen, they drove the vehicle almost near the center of the road to block his escape.

Thomas had to make a decision then and there. He swerved hard to the left to avoid slamming into the truck, or he himself would get injured in the wreck. More dust and dirt were thrown into the air. He still had his pistol in his hand as he came to a complete stop. Two men got out of the truck. It was literally down to split seconds as Thomas aimed his pistol at the first man. The dust-obscured each other’s views as Thomas saw the first gunman lift his rifle and aimed it straight at him. The moment that the gun was raised to the man’s head, Thomas pulled the trigger twice. Two bullets struck him in the chest. He fell down to the ground, never to get up again. He then aimed his pistol at the next gunman as the dust made it hard to see who it was.

There was a small brief moment as the dust started to clear just enough to see who the next gunman was. It was a boy the age of ten with an assault rifle.

The boy lifted up his rifle and aimed it at Thomas.

“Hell!” he said to himself. No training in the military could ever get him past what to do if you were fighting children.

He made sure that he aimed his pistol away from the boy’s chest and at the gun. The boy was mere split seconds from pulling the trigger. Thomas squeezed the trigger as a bullet flew from his pistol. The first shot missed and hit the dirt. He pulled the trigger again as the next round struck the rifle but did no real damage. The boy started to recoil back as his rifle started to go up in the air. Thomas pulled the trigger again, and the next round went into the boy’s hand. The boy screamed in pain as the rifle fell from his hand and into the dirt.

Thomas slammed his foot on the gas pedal as the jeep took off again. He drove around the truck as he left behind a dead gunman and a bleeding boy in the street.

Thomas’s mind was in a haze. He was on one goal, and that was to keep driving and don’t look back. He tossed his pistol on the passenger seat to give him full control of the steering wheel. He was breathing heavily. The town of Gbarnga was now just a spec in his rear view mirror by the time he finally looked at his rear view mirror.

“No training could ever prepare you for that. I killed a man and shot a child. I shot a boy. What the fuck?” he slammed his fist on the steering wheel. “I was never a father, but whose parents do I go and apologize for doing that? Why the fuck did they arm a child? What the fuck is wrong?...”

He stopped talking as he tried to get his composure as he slowed his vehicle while maintaining a constant speed. He made it through the town of Gbarnga. Two bullet holes were lodged into the side of the jeep, a permanent reminder of his brush with near death.

“I had to shoot that man. I had to shoot that kid. If there is a god, thank you for guiding my bullet to his hand and not the boy’s heart. With proper treatment, his hand will be fine, but these people barely have proper medical care.” He smacked his head with the palm of his hand as he tried to throw the memory away. “You made it through, Thomas. You made it through, and that is all that matters. The only problem is memories like that don’t go away. They stay with you forever.”

The wind was blowing into his hair and hat as he continued his drive. He saw nothing but trees now and the dirt road ahead of him. The further and further he drove, the further he was away from what he considered to be civilization.