Angel and Mercy: The Ceasefire War

By John W Egan

Inspired by real events, this is the story of sixteen-year-old Angel-of-Death and ten-year-old No-Mercy, child-rebels who were forced to fight for the Revolutionary United Front in Sierra Leone. As the war nears its end in 2001, they are separated. They had wanted to stop fighting and live together as sisters, but now they must fight the rebels they had served, fight the agencies that would separate them forever, and fight the child traffickers who pursue them. Is this what peace was?

• Language: English
• Publisher: John W Egan
• Release date: Feb 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370051335

John W Egan

After several careers and adventures, I have settled in Ottawa, Canada to write.

Book preview

The Revolutionary United Front (RUF) invaded Sierra Leone in March 1991. It was led by Foday Sankoh, a former Sierra Leone Army (SLA) corporal who had been part of a mutiny twenty years earlier. This invasion was supported by Liberia’s leader, Charles Taylor, to punish Sierra Leone for letting West African forces base themselves in Sierra Leone while they tried to stop his bloody rise to power. A small, lightly armed SLA was unprepared to stop an invasion by 300 RUF rebels. The Nigerian-led regional force based in Sierra Leone was also caught off guard and its mission was no longer to stop Taylor in Liberia, but to halt the RUF in Sierra Leone.

The RUF had invaded the diamond region that would finance its growth. In ten years, the RUF grew to 25,000. Ten thousand of these rebels were younger than eighteen years old and 2,400 of them were girls who were forced to carry loads, cook, loot, spy, provide sex, and fight. Some of these girls were organized as Small Girl Units (SGUs).

Another 2,000 girls were taken by village militia, collectively known as the Civil Defense Force (CDF), to fight the RUF.

By 2001, there were 6,400 girls and 13,600 boys among 60,000 RUF and CDF. All of them had suffered physical, emotional and psychological injuries to varying degrees, but only 600 girls entered the United Nations’ (UN) Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration (DDR) program, compared with 6,200 boys. Most girls were excluded from DDR by the factions that had used them, or by the DDR agencies. Admitting that girls had been fighters was unacceptable to many. Moreover, after 15,000 adults who had never been in the RUF or CDF turned themselves in to the UN to get DDR benefits, there were not enough funds to process all ex-combatants. In addition to this exclusion, many girls feared that if they came home as registered ex-combatants, their communities and families would reject them as rape victims, single mothers and stigmatized burdens.

What happened to the 5,800 girls who did not get into the DDR program? Looking at the few studies that investigated their fate, it seems that 200 stayed with the ex-rebels who had fathered their babies, 600 went home on their own and were accepted back, and 1,000 went to UNICEF-sponsored group homes, of whom 650 eventually went home, too. Many of the remaining 4,000 girls appear to have been trafficked abroad, half as disposable organ donors and half as disposable sex slaves. Reliable numbers may never be established.

This story is about two girls who had reluctantly fought for the RUF, but always fought for each other. The characters in this story are fictitious, although many of the scenes were inspired by actual events. Angel and Mercy represent all the girls caught up in this war as combatants, captives, or civilians.

This book is dedicated to the girls and women of Sierra Leone. They all struggled to survive this war and its aftermath, and many still do.

John W Egan

Map of Sierra Leone and the Story

Languages and Military Missions

Languages

Krio is the common language of Sierra Leone and evolved from English. It originated in 1787, with freed slaves from Britain, who were joined later by free black people from Canada and freed slaves from the Caribbean and American colonies. Krio also has a rich mixture of words and structures adapted from regional and foreign languages. I have used it sparingly in this story to make it easier for non-Krio speakers to read. These are the few Krio words and phrases that I have kept:

Chop: food

Beaucoup: plenty

Di bodi fine: I’m well

Duya: please

Doti box: garbage can

Fambul: family

Kushey: hello

Kushey-ya: hello back

Leone: the unit of currency

Ow di bodi: how are you

Owmus: how much

Padi: friend

Pikin: small child or children

Sabi: know, understand

Small, small: very little

Tanki: thanks

Una: you (plural)

Wahala: an argument, spat, conflict, or fight

Wan: want, want to

Wetin: what

Many Sierra Leoneans speak English using an extended vocabulary and fewer contractions than North Americans. I have imitated this structure to indicate when Krio and Sierra Leonean English are spoken in the story.

Military Missions

There were two military interventions in Sierra Leone in 2001:

UNAMSIL was the United Nations Mission in Sierra Leone, a peacekeeping force that grew to more than 17,000 military and 800 civilians from 25 nations. It was created in 1999 to oversee the disbandment of rebel and militia forces, as set out in a peace accord that nearly failed when the RUF rejected it in 2000, killing hundreds and taking five hundred UN hostages. UN and British militaries forced the RUF back to the peace plan in 2001. UNAMSIL ended in 2005.

IMATT was the British-led International Military Advisory and Training Team, set up in 2000 to help the SLA retrain, reequip and reorganize to support its government, protect its people, and take back its country from the RUF. In 2001, IMATT had 150 military personnel from the United Kingdom, Canada and Australia who were on loan to the SLA. IMATT also had 450 British soldiers who provided protection and medical and administrative support for these Loan Officers. The IMATT-backed SLA drove the RUF to surrender to the UN and comply with the peace plan, leading to the end of the war in January 2002. This unique and successful mission slowly drew down until it ended in 2013.

Acronyms (pronounced by letter unless otherwise noted below)

AFRC: Armed Forces Revolutionary Council

AK: Automat Kalashnikova (a Russian assault rifle)

ASAP: As soon as possible

BHC: British High Commission

CDF: Civil Defense Force

CGI: corrugated galvanized iron

CP: Command Post

DDR: Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

FN: Fabrique Nationale (a Belgian semiautomatic rifle)

HQ: headquarters

LOVE: Lumley Orphanage for Vocations and Education (pronounced love)

MRP: Military Reintegration Program

NCO: Non-Commissioned Officer

RUF: Revolutionary United Front (pronounced rough)

RPG: rocket-propelled grenade

SBU: Small Boy Unit

SGU: Small Girl Unit

SLA: Sierra Leone Army

SLP: Sierra Leone Police

SME: subject matter expert

Chapter One: Mafuta

The beat of the rotating blades vibrated through the earth and air. Helicopters rose above the palm trees, firing rockets and machine guns. Debris flew up from the huts and bungalows huddled along the stretch of open ground between the river and the jungle. On the dirt road running through the village, Colonel No-Blame-God and his wife, Buna, fell where they stood. Some of the rebel fighters who were their bodyguards and some of those they had come to meet also fell.

The Colonel and his rebels had just reached the center of Mafuta, as it was named on their maps and called by the villagers they had driven away a week earlier. The leaders of its new occupants, the No-Side-Boys, were greeting Colonel No-Blame-God when suddenly most of those being greeted and doing the greeting lay dead or wounded. And just as suddenly, the air was filled with the wet stink of blood, urine and feces and the throat-drying fumes of explosives. Rocket, machine-gun and rifle fire concussed the air, sometimes hiding the shrieks of the injured and the enraged.

These smells and sounds of battle were all too familiar to Angel-of-Death. Her eyes, yellow with malaria, stood out against her dark skin, flawed only by the pale-yellow scars on her chest, forming the letters RUF. These letters were half-hidden by her gray tank top. The letters stood for the Revolutionary United Front, the rebel group that had taken her when she was a child and made her a fighter. The ruptured copper jacket of a bullet that had ricocheted and struck her between the eyes in a battle long ago hung from a twisted-string necklace. It was her only war-charm. Angel-of-Death’s tank top was tucked into camouflage trousers, held up by a blue silk scarf slid through the belt loops. The brown runners she wore had mesh sides and thick soles, good for rough ground, swamp, and quickly drying. Her long braids were pulled back into a ponytail to keep her head cool. The pack and machete that hung on her back and the assault rifle she held in her hands were all she had and all she needed.

Sunrise reflected off one of the helicopters’ twin cockpit windows like a large, flaming eye. The hovering gunship had turned and was drifting toward her. Its Gatling gun flared. She crouched, raised her rifle and fired back at it. Feeling the whir of many bullets pass between herself and her little sister, she glanced over to confirm that No-Mercy was safe.

No-Mercy’s assault rifle was almost as large as she was. It shook her each time she fired, making her long braids bounce. Her eyes were also full of malaria and the letters RUF were also scarred into her skin. Only the tips of those letters peeked above the neckline of her blue T-shirt that hung over her large, black shorts. Her thin, bare legs disappeared into green hiking boots that looked too big and too heavy for her, but were actually light and fit well. A canvas bag hung off one shoulder and over the opposite hip, out of which poked three rifle magazines and Fatima, her small, plastic, red-haired, white-girl doll, which was missing an arm. It was the doll she had been holding the day she lost her first family; the day she found her new big sister; the day she became a rebel.

The two of them and four other girls had been assigned to Colonel No-Blame-God’s bodyguard for this visit. All six were what was left of the regiment’s Small Girl Unit, which everyone called the SGU. Angel-of-Death commanded the SGU, taking orders from Colonel No-Blame-God in battle and from Buna in camp and after battles.

Seeing that the dense swarm of hot metal shot by the helicopter had not harmed No-Mercy, Angel-of-Death thanked God and looked back to see how the other girls were doing. What she saw was not her girls, but the ragged remains of cloth, flesh and weapons splashed across the road. They had all been freshly torn apart by the storm of bullets that had missed No-Mercy and herself. They no longer looked like Fatu, Aminata, No Favor, or Isa Two. Images of the girls who had been standing there a breath ago flashed through her mind. But those images did not match the butchered debris and pools of blood spread out in the dirt.

Her strongest image was of Isa Two, her friend of three years. Few knew her by that name now. Two years ago, the Colonel had insisted Isa Two be called Bomb-Blast because she alone was left standing and unhurt by the bomb a jet had dropped. Angel-of-Death was the only other survivor, although she had been badly injured. And now her lucky, indestructible friend lay on the ground, a wet, mangled corpse that was no different from the many other corpses Angel-of-Death had seen. Her thoughts of them and the pain of their deaths faded away as she turned back, and had vanished by the time she was facing forward again. There was no time to consider these latest losses, or her deepening sadness and growing anxiety. There never was.

She raised her rifle to fire again at the helicopters. They were pivoting to fire at others in the village. Looking over to see whether No-Mercy and the surviving adult rebels were also going to shoot at the helicopters, she saw it was time to stop shooting. It was not seeing that their men fighters had fled, it was seeing British Army and Sierra Leone Army soldiers, the latter referred to as SLA, sliding down ropes from helicopters that had come up along the river beside the village. They made her realize it had become a fight to avoid now. She knew that if the British were here with the SLA, shooting back would change nothing now, except to get No-Mercy and herself killed.

More No-Side-Boys’ fighters—men, women and pikin as young as No-Mercy—ran from huts and bungalows to join those already standing on the road, firing back at their attackers. The helicopters did not fly away or spin out of control, even though some of the many bullets fired must have hit these large, exposed targets. Nor were any of the British soldiers or SLA coming down the ropes hit. But as more No-Side-Boys joined the fight, more No-Side-Boys fell.

Moving closer to No-Mercy, Angel-of-Death knew her shouts would not be heard over the helicopters, explosions, gunfire, and screams of the wounded around them. She quickly edged sideways while still shooting, tapped No-Mercy’s shoulder, and pulled back. Getting too close to one another in battle always attracted more bullets, and there were already too many bullets.

Having got No-Mercy’s attention, Angel-of-Death signaled her to follow. They dashed between two bungalows and ran into the thick jungle bordering that side of the village. A few steps behind the bungalows and into the undergrowth that buffered them from the noise of the battle, Angel-of-Death stopped. She faced her little sister and recited the mantra the Colonel had taught them, We fight if we go win! We run if we go lose!

Keeping her eyes and rifle darting back and forth along the gap of bare earth that ran between the buildings and the jungle, No-Mercy replied automatically, Wetin you say, I obey!

Several bursts of rockets and machine guns struck the two bungalows nearby, tossing up punctured sheets of corrugated iron roofing and fragments of logs and mud bricks. Between those bungalows, Angel-of-Death saw three No-Side-Boys still standing untouched amid gouts of dirt flying up from the road. They were firing up at the helicopters and back at the British and SLA who were now on the ground, north and west of the village. Suddenly, shouts in English and Krio and gunfire came from the east end of the village. From the west, north and east, the British and SLA were closing in on the No-Side-Boys, No-Mercy and herself.

This was what Angel-of-Death had feared would happen.

To help herself decide what to do now, she let her mind sift through what she had said to No-Mercy on the walk up here. They had discussed how the UN peace deal had forced the Colonel to stop recruiting to replace the regiment’s steady losses to disease, desertion and accident. No-Mercy had seen the problem that created. No new fighters make us get more work to hold the ground the regiment must keep.

It is why the Colonel comes here today, she had told No-Mercy, to see if the No-Side-Boys will join him. But this is not good for us. They broke the ceasefire when they attacked this village we go to and many of them are the West-Side-Boys who made beaucoup trouble when they took British soldiers hostage.

She had also told No-Mercy what she had heard a few days earlier. Colonel No-Blame-God told a No-Side-Boys visitor that if they joined our regiment, they would be treated as RUF in the peace deal. After a quick look back at the Colonel, Buna and the bodyguards following them, she said quietly, Buna said if No-Side-Boys are in the regiment, it will be big enough to let the Colonel keep his rank and position as a regimental commander when it is our turn to surrender. This will make him an important prisoner who gets a better deal from the UN. Angel-of-Death had leaned closer and whispered to her little sister, The Colonel and Buna tell us that this does not violate the ceasefire. But if that is true, then why do we come on foot from the highway so our vehicles and dust does not draw attention?

Because it is not true, No-Mercy had whispered back. Angel-of-Death’s little sister was much older on the inside than she looked on the outside, and she was as wary of everyone and everything as was Angel-of-Death.

Then Angel-of-Death had told No-Mercy what she had already concluded. If we take No-Side-Boys in the regiment, we break the ceasefire. And the UN will not say they are RUF because of the British soldiers they took prisoner when they were the West-Side-Boys. The British still look for West-Side-Boys, no matter if they change their name. If a man holds a chicken being chased by a crocodile, both get eaten.

That crocodile was about to shut its jaws on them, with a British jaw in the air and an SLA jaw on the ground. With British support since Dry Season, the SLA had won all the battles it had fought. RUF survivors reported being surrounded by helicopters and by British and SLA soldiers who moved among them quickly and who did not run out of ammunition. So, it was likely that the British and SLA were moving through the jungle now to cut off the open south flank and any chance of escape.

The strength of these two enemies combined had forced the RUF to agree to the ceasefire and peace plan, although the RUF leaders dragged out each step to fulfilling that deal for as long as possible. Both sides committed ceasefire violations; some were pitched battles. Most of these violations were not reported by either side, and those witnessed by UN observers were underreported by the time they were mentioned in the radio news, or they were noisily protested by UNAMSIL, the UN military mission in Sierra Leone, with little consequence.

It was clear to Angel-of-Death that this British-backed SLA attack was too big to be hidden from UNAMSIL. She guessed that the UN had known that the No-Side-Boys were in Mafuta, that Colonel No-Blame-God was coming here, and that the British and SLA would attack them this morning. Because she had not seen any UN observers in the area since yesterday, she suspected UNAMSIL had agreed to let this attack be made unobserved and without interference.

So, they could either go hide in the jungle because they were only two and smaller than the men fighters, and maybe evade being killed or captured, or they could run south through the jungle, hoping that the British and SLA had not yet closed off their escape. Two small girls could move more quickly and would be harder to see than adult fighters.

Angel-of-Death’s reverie of trying to sort out all that had happened, was happening, and what to do about it was broken when she noticed a rhythmic motion near her.

No-Mercy was swinging her rifle back and forth to cover the gap between the village and the jungle in both directions. When No-Mercy glimpsed her big sister looking at her, she asked Angel-of-Death, Do we go or do we hide?

Hesitating for a breath or two, Angel-of-Death knew their attackers would soon cut off all ways out of this village, and they must leave here to hide or run. The risks in hiding were that they would be seen before they hid, or that an effective search would find them. The risk in running was that they might be seen and caught or killed, and that where they had to go was no longer a good choice. There was a third choice, but it was the worst choice, or at least it had been the worst choice before the Colonel and Buna had died.

Because there was no more time to think about choices, she chose. We go!

Where do we go?

She forced herself to say, HQ!

When do we go? From the urgency in No-Mercy’s voice, the answer she wanted to hear was clear; the only answer that could be given.

Now! Angel-of-Death yelled, and they both lunged into the depths of the jungle.

Taking and making openings through a tangle of plants and trees, the two girls ran when they could and struggled through where they could not. Angel-of-Death did not need to explain to No-Mercy why they had to avoid trails and keep undercover. They were rebel scouts who had evaded many soldiers many times before today: soldiers from the SLA, other West African countries, various armies wearing UN blue helmets, and now the British Army.

The canopy of leaves overhead blocked out the sunlight, but not the hot, wet air that wrapped around them. As Angel-of-Death struggled against the thick undergrowth and heavy atmosphere of the jungle, trying to be quick and quiet, she forgot about how much her lungs burned and heart thumped

No-Mercy endured the same and kept up despite her shorter legs and smaller lungs. Her body also ached and strained against the steamy, moldy stench and never-ending obstacles.

They paid little attention to the clouds of mosquitoes, the cuts from sharp leaves and thorns, and the sheets of sweat that blurred their vision and loosened their grip on their rifles. All they knew was that they had to keep going, even after the sound of the helicopters and gunfire no longer echoed through the trees. Each step made it more likely that they would collide with soldiers advancing through the bush to close the circle around Mafuta. And each step made it more likely that they would be gone before the soldiers appeared.

Despite the threat of capture, despite their need to get as far from that threat as fast as they could, whenever they reached the edge of becoming too overheated, exhausted or dehydrated, they stopped to cool down, recover their breath, and take small sips from their water bottles. It had always been their rule to do this, a rule that had kept them alive and free even when they were scared with good reason, such as now.

They had just pushed through a thick patch of bamboo when suddenly, the leafy canopy disappeared and brilliant sunlight stung their eyes. They stopped, stepped back, sank down, and did not move. Crouching in the shadows of the large trees, they scanned the cut in the jungle and the dirt road running through it. It was late morning and their third stop since running from the attack.

As anyone on a road or in a clearing was exposed to attack, both girls knew that this was where an enemy might set up a cutoff force to wait for retreating fighters. Not every road or field posed this threat, but they were escaping an encirclement and this was the first large opening in the jungle. If someone was waiting for them or others fleeing the attack, here was a good place to do so. And if the British and SLA were here, it was important to find them first and avoid them.

Angel-of-Death scanned the trees and bushes on the other side of the opening and searched the cloudless sky, squinting near and around the brilliant sun. She had experience with jets and helicopters, and knew their tricks.

After her eyes had adjusted to seeing in the shadows again, she peered past the trees on the other side of the clearing and into the depths of the underbrush behind them. Dull cloth and dark skin were easy to miss amid the dark, thick foliage, especially if one remained still. Most of the villagers, militia and soldiers whom Angel-of-Death had found hiding had either moved or were wearing bright color, usually both. They would have escaped her notice, but for those mistakes. The world around her seldom gave anyone the chance to learn from their own mistakes. Knowing how to hide helped her hide as much as it helped her find those who hid. These recollections assured her that trying to escape had been a better choice than trying to hide.

No one had taught her how to search, hide or survive in the four years that she had been a rebel. She had learned it on her own. At sixteen years old, the age she believed herself to be, Angel-of-Death was the longest-serving and oldest girl fighter in the SGU. Staying still and quiet had been as important to her survival as looking and listening. Yet those who had died that morning had also had these habits, and so she kept still and looked and listened again.

Finally catching her breath, she was aware that her heart still thumped and ears still rang, and that the smell of blood and cordite still clung to her despite the layer of sweat on her skin and soaking her clothes. Slowly and quietly, she pulled a plastic water bottle from her pack and held it out for No-Mercy to see. It was her signal for a long rest and long sip of water this time, before they continued. They each knew better than to talk, for even a whisper would be easily picked up among the sounds of the jungle. Without relaxing her attention to her search, Angel-of-Death sipped water and rested, and thought about Colonel No-Blame-God and Buna, because their deaths had changed everything.

Colonel No-Blame-God had commanded the regiment since she could remember. He had told everyone that she would never be given drugs before battle or to relax, and that she would never be devirginated in any way. He believed these rules would preserve the magical fighting powers he attributed to her. She had never believed she had such powers, but she fought hard to keep his protection from what the other girls and women in the regiment had to endure.

The Colonel’s wife, Buna, ran their camps, managed what ammunition, medicine and food the regiment had, and found what was needed. She took charge of the SGU when it was in camp or after a battle to collect anything useful from the dead, the dying, and the prisoners. Otherwise, she left Angel-of-Death to command the SGU in battle or as ordered by the Colonel. Buna had extended the Colonel’s protection to No-Mercy after Angel-of-Death had declared No-Mercy to be her little sister. But when Angel-of-Death became the