Henry – Long Range Reconnaissance Honey Badger

By Themistocles Jacks

Henry is a honey badger who became hero to a nation. He is smart. He is funny. He is fierce. He is the first honey badger to become a member of an elite, mysterious commando unit called Ghost Force. In this, the second picaresque novel in the Henry series, he undergoes intense training to be a long-range reconnaissance honey badger. Working again with Solomon Olabumba, Mac MacPherson, General Botshelo and Inspector Cecil Richardson, Henry is instrumental in stopping treason, murder, smuggling and terrorism in their small, young African nation.

No explicit language or sex scenes, but this is not a children's book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543991482

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Henry – Long Range Reconnaissance Honey Badger

by Themistocles Jacks

Print ISBN: 978-1-54399-147-5

eBook ISBN: 978-1-54399-148-2

©2019 Bandera Creek Media

All rights reserved

Other books by Themistocles Jacks:

Henry – How a Honey Badger Became a Hero to a Nation

For K, whose clear and detailed recollections

of the events described herein were invaluable.

Happy the man who is always on guard;

but he who hardens his heart will fall into evil.

Proverbs, 28:14

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 77

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Chapter 91

Chapter 92

Chapter 93

Chapter 94

Chapter 95

Chapter 96

Chapter 97

Chapter 98

Chapter 99

Chapter 100

Chapter 101

Chapter 102

Chapter 103

Chapter 104

Chapter 105

Chapter 106

Chapter 107

Chapter 108

Chapter 109

Chapter 110

Chapter 111

Chapter 112

Chapter 113

Chapter 114

Chapter 1

As she did everyday except Sunday and Monday, Verity Olabumba pedaled her bicycle from her home to her beauty parlor and tea shop. It was a substantially built bike with three speeds, big balloon tires, and a straw basket painted with bright flowers fastened to the handle bars. In the nearly ten months since her husband Solomon had bought it for her, she had gotten much stronger and had lost nearly 30 pounds, which greatly pleased her doctor. She felt much better, too. She could probably trade up to a faster, more streamlined bike, but she felt that would be like abandoning an old friend. And as everybody in her little village of Nyati knew, Verity Olabumba would be the last person on earth to abandon an old friend. That was why, almost every week, she still rode her bicycle out the track that led to the wild country to the west to see if her friend Henry had returned to his burrow, his mate Alice, and their baby honey badger. And every week, Alice shrugged and told her the same thing.

No, mma. I haven’t seen him. He probably got stomped by buffalo or torn apart by lions. He’s dead. It happens.

Well, maybe, said Verity, but we mustn’t give up hope. He might return.

And every week, as Verity pedaled away, Alice thought, People creatures are such Pollyannas. And she was glad that she was a honey badger and thus endowed with a firmer grip on reality.

But Alice was wrong. Henry was not dead. He was on a secret mission.

Chapter 2

It had been almost six months since General David Botshelo had been promoted to Commanding General of the Armed Forces after the assassination of the beloved General Mamadu. Where once he wore two stars on the collar of his uniform, he now wore four, and the weight of those two additional stars was crushing. He paused in his work, and recalled the events of what came to be called the Day of the Bloody Spear.

The murder of General Mamadu by the corrupt Minister Nyoka Dikeledi at a nationally televised press conference in the ministry headquarters made headline news around the world. The conference, called to announce that Minister Dikeledi was being granted sweeping new powers to investigate serious crimes, took a bizarre turn when a man entered the conference room and struck the floor with a spear with a polished ebony shaft and a beautiful Damascus steel blade. He was a magnificent sight in his sable skin thoku with gold trim. Across his chest were crisscrossed blood ribbons, signifying battle wounds. From his neck hung a medallion with a golden rampant elephant on a black background: the Order of the Elephant, the nation’s highest award for valor and heroism. Only sixteen men had been awarded the honor; only one man had been awarded the honor twice. His name was Sergeant Solomon Olabumba. Instantly, Commanding General Mamadu rose from his chair and saluted the hero. All the other military personnel did the same. Tradition required they hold their salutes until a recipient of the Order of the Elephant chose to acknowledge them.

General Botshelo recalled Minister Dikeledi’s rage. This is an outrage! You must leave at once, or be arrested for treason!

The magnificent warrior slammed the spear down. Silence.

I am Solomon Olabumba of the Order of the Elephant. In the name of all who fought and died for our country and our people, I demand my right to speak and be heard.

Over the next ten minutes, those in the audience and in network control rooms were presented with irrefutable proof that Minister Nyoka Dikeledi was guilty of theft, murder, treason, kidnapping and conspiring with a known terrorist.

More than 100 million people around the world witnessed the minister draw a pistol and attempt to shoot General Botshelo. They saw the elderly General Mamadu step between them and attempt to disarm the minister. They saw the minister fire four shots into the brave patriot. They saw him fall. They saw a streak of brown fur as a honey badger attacked and bit deep into the minister’s face. They saw the minister fire twice more and the courageous animal drop. And they saw Solomon Olabumba throw the spear with the polished ebony shaft and beautiful Damascus steel blade with such accuracy and force that it pinned the minister to the wall behind him like an insect on an entomologist’s pin.

General David Botshelo remembered it all, and it weighed on him. His was a young country, barely 25 years old, and just eight years earlier, it had won a war against all odds and preserved its liberty and independence. But in those eight years, elements in the government and in his beloved army had grown corrupt. It was now his responsibility to dig out the corruption. He had extraordinary allies and friends in Sergeant Solomon Olabumba, Sergeant Mac MacPherson (Order of the Lion) and Police Inspector Cecil Richardson, all members of a secret organization known as Ghost Force. But he also had many enemies, and many hidden in powerful positions.

Chapter 3

Marea Thembekile didn’t recognize the number. Hello.

Good morning, Marea. This is David Botshelo.

She thought, Why is he calling me? I’m yesterday’s news.

Good morning, general. I’m honored by your call, but a little puzzled by it, as well.

David said, Marea, I am having a small barbecue at my shamba next Sunday afternoon, and would like to invite you. Everything you hear will be on background only, but interesting people will be there, and in the long run, I think you will find the experience useful.

Warning signals went off in her mind.

Thank you, general, but I must ask why you are inviting me. I am no longer employed by any broadcast outlet, and I write only for a small paper with a very limited circulation. I am sure the other journalists at the party would be happy to remind us both of that.

Marea, there will be no other journalists there. Just you.

The warning signals grew louder.

General, I am flattered that you asked me, and ordinarily I would be honored by the invitation. But even though the news industry considers me too old and old fashioned to employ, I still have my standards. This is not my first safari, and I will not be used.

Marea, David said, on my honor, this is not an attempt to use you. I am inviting you precisely because of your standards. Years ago, you wrote some critical pieces about the army and about me. It stung, and of course, I didn’t like it. But that was your job, and in truth, you did your homework and most of the criticism was fair and accurate. You are intelligent. You are careful. You are patient. You are honest. You love our country. I respect that. Your coverage of the Day of the Bloody Spear was insightful, and the best reporting and analysis there was. I understand you are writing a book about it.

I’m working on that, general, but I’m still in the research stage. The more I discover, and the farther back I go, the more tangled the web becomes.

Marea, there is no one I would trust more to get the story right than you. That is why I am calling. There are things that are happening that you should know about. But again, I must insist that what you learn at this event is for background only, at least for now.

Thank you, general. I will be happy to attend. And I will abide by your insistence on background only, at least for now.

Excellent! I will text you directions.

No need to, general. I know where your shamba is.

David laughed. Why am I not surprised!

The call ended.

Marea Thembekile smiled. Something important is happening. And an old soldier wants an old reporter to get the story right.

Chapter 4

Henry had been on the northern frontier since the last full moon. In four days, there would be another full moon, and he would have to meet the others at the Blue Tree. Normally, he could get there in three hours if he hustled, which honey badgers usually do. But honey badgers don’t usually have to carry the amount of gear that Henry did. He didn’t mind the burden. He had undergone a month of intense training in observation, escape and evasion, and advanced close-quarter combatives. He had learned to swim like an otter, to rig explosive devices, and use surveillance equipment. He had been through a grueling regime of weight training and physical workouts. Like most honey badgers, Henry had always been strong, fierce, and tough. Now, he was twice as strong, twice as fierce, and twice as tough. He was the first and only honey badger to become part of Ghost Force, and like all members of Ghost Force, he held the rank of sergeant. Henry had played a pivotal role in the success of the mission to rescue thirteen students and their teacher kidnapped from the Etobi School by Soshifta terrorists. With the enthusiastic recommendation of Solomon Olabumba, (Order of the Elephant) and Mac MacPherson, (Order of the Lion) Henry had been selected for training as the first Long Range Reconnaissance Honey Badger.

There was a lot of work to do in the next few nights, and Henry knew he had to get busy if he were to make his rendezvous at the Blue Tree. That was not a problem because, as everyone knows, honey badgers are very busy creatures.

Chapter 5

Although Hammerhead Soto had been on the police force less than a year, his performance had so impressed Inspector Cecil Richardson that the young man had been promoted to corporal. He earned the nickname Hammerhead after he posed as a petrol pump attendant and captured the terrorist Subcommander X by hitting him over the head with a spanner wrench. He had been brought into Ghost Force by Inspector Richardson and Solomon Olabumba and commanded the operation that foiled a plot to burn down the Natural History Museum in the capital, Maatlamotse. His men captured the arson team quickly, quietly, and without casualties.

The inspector was on the phone, and Corporal Soto waited outside his office until the call ended.

Inspector, may I have a moment?

Of course, Soto. Come in, come in. Have a seat.

Thank you, sir. Two days ago, I went down to the police range at Camp Fenya for training and to qualify again with my pistol.

Yes, the inspector said, I’ve seen you shoot. I assume there were no problems.

Well, sir, I had no problem with the quals, but I can’t say I didn’t see some things that were, ahh… rather curious.

Cecil Richardson paid close attention to things that were curious.

Curious? In what way?

Well, sir, as you know, I was trained by my uncle, Matebe Soto, who was awarded the Order of the Lion for heroism at the Battle of the River.

Yes, said the inspector, I knew your uncle well. He was the finest small arms instructor in the army. And more importantly, he is a everything a man should be.

Thank you, sir, said Soto. There were several things that surprised me at the range. First of all, the ranges were in bad shape. The grass hadn’t been mowed. The target stands had been shot up and not repaired. There was empty brass all over the place. It went downhill from there. The instructors were disorganized. They wasted time and did not know how to teach. There was no syllabus, either. They just made stuff up. They had very poor weapons handling discipline. They were sloppy and dangerous. Recruits, and even experienced officers, had no muzzle awareness. They pointed guns at their hands and legs and even each other. They moved with fingers on the triggers. Not one of the instructors corrected this. I witnessed three unintentional discharges in one day. Fortunately, no one was hurt, but that was just dumb luck.

Inspector Richardson frowned. Do you have the instructors’ names?

Yes, sir. Soto handed him a list. And that wasn’t all. There were a few good shooters there, but most were terrible.

That has always been a problem, Soto. In the army, too. Your uncle can tell you all about it. The training is designed to bring a large number of people up to minimum standards quickly. As a result, you have a lot of barely competent people who think they’re a lot better than they are. I don’t like it, but training does cost a lot, and bureaucracies would rather spend the money on furniture and Mercedes for the brass. We spend a fortune on ammunition, but the accountants think it’s wasteful to shoot it.

That’s the really curious thing, inspector. I thought we would shoot 500 rounds during two days of training.

That’s about right.

Sir, I kept track. I fired just 64 rounds total. And the ammunition was garbage. I don’t know where they got it, but we had squib loads and high primers and repeated failures to chamber and failures to extract. We even had a round with no primer and another with the bullet seated backwards.

Soto, did you take any pictures of it or of the boxes it came in?

It didn’t come in individual boxes, inspector. They had it in .50 cal ammo cans and distributed it in handfuls. It was impossible to take pictures without being noticed, but a dozen live rounds and a few empty cases must have accidentally fallen into my pockets.

He handed Inspector Richardson a plastic baggie. Cecil examined the contents.

You’re right, Soto. It’s garbage. He held up two cartridges. These two are bad reloads. What idiot uses a roll crimp on 9mm? And they didn’t even clean the old brass. We budget for 500 rounds of new, high quality American ammunition for each officer. That’s what we pay for. I think we need to see what we’re getting for that money. Good work, Hammerhead! Your Uncle Matebe will be proud of you.

Thank you, sir.

Chapter 6

Miriam Toleka was a seamstress and dressmaker, and an exceptionally talented one. She had a small dress shop in Nyati and a loyal clientele. Her business had grown rapidly since the Day of the Bloody Spear. She was there and remembered the events.

Amidst the pandemonium in the auditorium following the violence, a remarkable scene played out. A muscular giant with wild red hair and beard, clad in a tartan thoku, crimson blood ribbons and the coveted Order of the Lion medallion on his enormous chest, gently picked up the fallen honey badger and checked his wounds. As he did, a woman in a lovely blue dress, a woman with a kind and beautiful face, approached the giant and placed her hand on the honey badger’s head. She stroked it gently, and whispered, Oh, poor, sweet Henry. The cameras slowly zoomed in. A trickle of tears glistened. She raised her head, closed her eyes and began to sing her country’s anthem.

We are blessed, and we thank you

For the land and the sky,

For the rain and the rivers,

For the days of our lives.

We thank you, O, God,

We thank you, O, God.

Throughout the country, people watched on any screen available. At the airport, news cameras captured an event that went viral. As she started to sing, her countrymen joined in all four verses of the anthem, adding a sublime natural harmony they seemed born with. Foreign travelers were moved and mesmerized. When she finished the anthem, Verity Olabumba began an old American Gospel song familiar throughout the world.

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…

Travelers and tourists joined in. In faraway countries, people in homes and offices, in stores and airports, in bars and restaurants joined in. For a few brief moments, untold millions felt part of a tiny country they had never even heard of before.

Suddenly, women the world over wanted a copy of the exquisitely designed and beautifully made blue dress that Verity Olabumba wore so well. Within days, the market was flooded with cheap knockoffs produced in huge quantities in the Far East.

But quite a few well-dressed women in her own country who could afford the modest luxury of a bespoke, beautifully tailored and perfectly fitting dress, made the drive up the Molani Road to the little dress shop in the little town of Nyati.

She also saw a dramatic surge in business from men. Miriam was delighted that the images of the heroic Solomon Olabumba and Mac MacPherson wearing traditional thokus spurred national pride and a revival of what she considered a most masculine garment. Women loved the way it looked, and men loved the comfort. She loved that a thoku was fun to make and made any man look good. She was especially happy that Inspector Cecil Richardson chose to wear the thokus she designed as part of his uniform every day. And she loved the way they looked on him.

She was looking forward to an adventure with Cecil the coming weekend. General Botshelo’s pride and joy was a Piper SuperCub, a bush plane he called Little Bird. Ever since the Day of the Bloody Spear, it had been stored in a barn on a remote shamba belonging to Elspeth Christiaan, an elderly widow and old friend. David asked Cecil to fly Little Bird to the party at his shamba, and Cecil asked Miriam if she’d like to fly with him. She had never been in a small plane before, and was excited about seeing her country from the air.

Cecil was delighted when Elspeth told him she had dutifully kept mice and birds from nesting in the plane.