The Empty Grave

By Amaefule Patrick

In The Empty Grave, Amaefule Patrick presents the reader with an imaginary African country, the Republic of Halibiana, where the politicians under the presidency of Dr. Muzulata see politics as the acquisition of stupendous wealth and running of an unbridled misgovernance. A group of young soldiers stationed at the country's border with another imaginary African country, the Federal Republic of Garindo, where a border war has been going on, stage a military coup but fail to overthrow President Muzulata as he escapes through a tunnel from the statehouse under bombardment. However, they capture the First Lady and her daughter, who, though had earlier escaped with the other members of the first family through the tunnel, have returned out of greed to carry huge amount of dollars and jewelries stashed in the statehouse while fighting is still going on in and around the statehouse. Though the coup fails and the coupists are surrounded in the statehouse by the Army, they have the First Lady and her daughter as captives and threaten to kill them should the statehouse be stormed.

In the few weeks following the coup, a series of national crises lead to Lieutenant General Hubanata, the greedy and corrupt commander of the joint chiefs of defense staff, shoving the president aside in a bloodless coup and becoming the country's new leader. His regime is short-lived as a group of military officers opposed to the very corrupt Lieutenant General Hubanata running and ruining the country further stage another violent coup, being the third in a few weeks, to stop the corrupt Lieutenant General Hubanata before he can consolidate his grip on power.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9781662466632

Book preview

cover.jpg

The Empty Grave

Amaefule Patrick

Copyright © 2023 Amaefule Patrick

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2023

This Work Is Fiction

This story is complete fiction and born out of mere power of imagination of the author. No event, name, or place in this story is real. Where real names of countries are mentioned, they have no bearing with the story as it is all fiction constructed for entertaining the reader. Any similarities with real-life events are not intended.

ISBN 978-1-6624-6662-5 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-6663-2 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Opening Poem

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

About the Author

Opening Poem

Graves are dug to be inhabited

Resting places, rotting places

While their occupants lie still

Resting in peace

Rotting in peace

Massive earth weighs with might

Strenuously struggling above

Waiting patiently with

Hope and certainty

For the graves to belch

Graves only belch when due

When their inhabitants melt

The massive mound goes crashing

Crushing bones and molten flesh

Of the helpless inhabitants below

Earthshaking roar greets the ear

Graves, when freshly dug, are empty

Yawning, hungry, waiting, silent

When death is cheated

By divine providence

Empty graves tend to yawn forever

There will be no inhabitant

For this very empty grave

Chapter 1

The road to the statehouse

About half a kilometer from the statehouse's main gate, the thick bush lining the road to the statehouse was alive with heavily armed soldiers who had taken position since twelve midnight. The soldiers, led by Major Lango, had meandered silently through the bush for close to one hour. Major Lango was called Chokhio, which meant gunpowder in Bubuda language, by the men and soldiers he commanded because of his short temper. Like gunpowder, he quickly caught fire at the slightest provocation. Major Lango's orders from the plotters of the coup were to move his group silently to the thick bush lining the road to the statehouse, arrive there about thirty minutes to action time, and lie in wait quietly in the bush about half a kilometer from the gate, until the guns began to roar. The armored tanks in the statehouse were to be drawn out to battle by the attacking tanks at the northern gate. When they had been craftily drawn out of the main gate, which faced the west, and turned right to head toward the invading force from the north, the Lango group was to advance to the gate, throwing every arsenal they carried with them into the decisive battle of taking the statehouse. Once the main gate was overrun, the statehouse was as good as taken.

Major Lango lay beside a fallen huge tree trunk. His thinking was riotous. What if the tanks did not arrive on time or the other groups failed to do what they were detailed to do or any participating group simply was not where it was supposed to be at the right time? That would translate to one thing: failure of the coup and public execution. Lango imagined being dragged helplessly to the stakes, with chains tight on his legs and tight-gripping handcuffs viciously seizing his wrists, eating deep into them. In the frightening daydream playing out in his subconscious mind, two soldiers were tying him to the stakes. Then the executioners marched in with their commander, a slim young major. The execution squad was ordered to stand at attention. They took position. He could see military doctors standing by, to certify him and his co-coup plotters dead after the shooting. Lango shook his head as if to wake himself up and tell himself no! Nobody was going to get him alive. If the coup failed, he would shoot himself with his service pistol to end it all instead of being dragged through the experience of a shameful execution—the usual fate that awaited coup plotters. He unconsciously touched the service pistol strapped to the leather pouch on his waist as if to ascertain that the tool with which to finish himself off was standing by in case everything else failed. Yes, it would be better to go down fighting. It was more heroic and respectable. Their cause was justified. The republic of Halibiana needed change. Halibiana needed salvation. Corruption had eaten deep into the system, and the economy was in shambles. Political leaders simply appropriated over 80 percent of the public funds to their own use. They brazenly looted the nation's treasury and transferred such loots abroad, where they bought castles and properties that stunned onlookers, stashing the rest away in foreign banks. When a big politician who had stolen millions, or sometimes billions, from the public treasury was caught, a drama of prosecution would play out. The Halibiani courts would pretend to be trying such cases. One thing would lead to another, and suddenly, phones would ring in several high quarters, then the case would be discontinued and so die a natural death.

This was not the Halibiana of their dreams, when their postindependence founding fathers fought for independence from their European colonial masters and shed their blood to gain independence from their white masters. Opposition was muscled. Students were gunned down in broad daylight for engaging in peaceful protests. The country was simply degenerating into a failed state. The leadership of the Army was not better than the politicians. Billions of Halibiani dollars, the nation's almost worthless currency, was doled out to the top military and security lords every now and then to turn their faces and contorted minds away from the misery of the people. The people seemed to cherish the impoverishment of their very existence. They hailed and clapped for every big luxury vehicle that drove past them, driven by the very people—politicians and their cronies—who impoverished them. Were the people of Halibiana worth dying for? Major Lango paused for a while and then went on theorizing. Even if the people were not worth dying for, the idea of freedom and the probable likelihood of succeeding or, in a worst-case scenario, dying in defense of freedom, truth, and human dignity was not a shameful one.

Across the Wono Lagoon bridge

Crossing the Wono Lagoon bridge, two military trucks crawled slowly behind the camouflaged Land Rover in the pitch-black darkness. All the vehicles were moving without their headlamps on. The night air was windless, still, and silent, except for some distant cars that occasionally flew up and down the bridge across Wono Lagoon, into which River Wonolo emptied itself for onward flow into the awesomely vast Atlantic Ocean. River Wonolo formed the natural boundary between the Tanana District, where the statehouse was situated and where most rich men, foreign ambassadors, top government officials, politicians, and lords of the blue-chip conglomerates lived, and Wuhuza, the second but much-larger sprawling layout, both making up the large coastal city of Wuhutana, the capital city of the Republic of Halibiana.

After driving for a seemingly long distance because of driving slowly, the Land Rover pulled up and turned off its engine. The two APCs followed suit, pulled up behind the Land Rover, and turned off their engines. Major Dilibo disembarked from the Land Rover. Corporal Shalisha, an aide to the major, also disembarked with him, carrying an AK-47 riffle in a ready-to-shoot position straight on the hips. He moved swiftly behind the major, as if he were the major's shadow. They walked silently back to the APCs.

Sergeant Laz! the major barked softly in an audible whisper.

Sir, Sergeant Lazura, also known simply as Sergeant Laz, answered, jumping down from the truck, carrying a long, light machine gun with the bullet chain wrapped around him.

Where is Sergeant Dambo?

In the vehicle at the back, sir.

Sergeant Dambo, of average height, a barrel-chested bull of a man with an expressionless face, disembarked from the truck behind. His muscular hands looked more like that of a hippopotamus. His mien gave the picture of a murderer imbued with stoic silence but who only needed to be angered or instructed to be activated into an unstoppable raging bull. He hurried in and trotted to a halt. He, too, was armed with an assault rifle.

We will disembark here, Major Dilibo ordered.

Sir, from the map, we are still some distance from the track to the rocky backyard of the statehouse, Sergeant Dambo said softly.

The plan has been changed slightly. Should there arise any need for a tactical withdrawal, we will all run down to this place for the next action. The vehicles will be hidden here, he said as he pointed to the grassy woodland behind him.

Okay, sir, the two men chorused.

So here we go. No mistakes. No loss of a second.

Sir, what of the tanks? asked Sergeant Laz.

They are approaching from the hills and will hit the northern tunnel in a few minutes, Major Dilibo replied, looking at his wristwatch.

The statehouse had been constructed on the lower slope of the Chiolo Hills to enhance security as anyone approaching the statehouse could be seen from a distance. Unfortunately, the disadvantage was that despite the high walls of the statehouse, anyone who managed to get atop the not-too-distant hills could aim a gun into the statehouse from the northeast side. This was an option the coup plotters had considered seriously—the use of the hills as a rendezvous—but discarded the idea because it would make their approach to the statehouse slower because of the abundance of heavy rocks on the slope and its environs.

The northern gate was erected inside a very huge rock, with a tunnel-like cave that did not open to the inside. The engineers and the designers simply had to chisel through the hole to open up the tunnel and thus construct a gate halfway through the tunnel. It therefore became necessary to assign heavy guns or tanks of high-explosive caliber to knock through the northern gate. As Major Dilibo and his men approached from behind the statehouse, four tanks and a few military vehicles were also approaching from the northern perimeters of the statehouse.

Major Dilibo looked at his wristwatch. The time was 1:32 a.m. They had thirteen more minutes before the first shot. The coup planners had envisaged heavy traffic on a Friday night and had shifted the time of the coup code-named Operation Tempest from 1:00 a.m. to 1:45 a.m. This was to enable night crawlers to reduce considerably to avoid heavy civilian casualties if zero civilian casualties could not be achieved. A second reason was to reduce chances of a tip-off by overzealous citizens who might become curious about the movement of a military column at that time of the night. Major Dilibo's group was billed to blow a hole from the back wall of the statehouse and, apart from operating as a support force, cause confusion and distraction for the Brigade of Guards who might not be expecting actions from behind. In the event of their not being able to blow a hole on the wall, they had orders to launch grenades into the statehouse nonstop while the operation lasted or at least until they got a counterorder.

Sir, if we leave the vehicles behind, how do we carry the gun that will blow up the wall? Sergeant Laz asked.

We will use very heavy explosives. We will use the Land Rover to carry the explosives to a close distance from the back wall of the statehouse because of the presence of too many rocks there.

In ten minutes, Major Dilibo and his men were in position. Two bright security lights kept the back of the statehouse awash with brightness. The men stopped at some distance. Major Dilibo looked at his wristwatch again. They had about three minutes to go.

Go and take out those lights, Major Dilibo ordered Corporal Shalisha.

As Corporal Shalisha moved into position and raised his rifle to take a pinpoint aim, Major Dilibo stopped him. The riffle shots from Corporal Shalisha would give their presence away before the time and therefore eliminate the element of surprise. Major Dilibo quickly pulled out a machine pistol with a silencer and took two rapid shots that amazed his troop. They just heard two soft sounds. Puff-puff. And the lights were out. The machine pistol was taken from a dead Garindo officer at the battle of Trusheville, a small Garindo village next to the town of Hadanga at the Halibiana-Garindo border. Major Dilibo had kept the gun to himself ever since its capture. He was always the best marksman in his brigade. His brigade had always relied on him during competitions at the shooting ranges between various units of the division, and he had never failed them.

Apart from his military training, he was a natural marksman. In his younger days, he killed more birds and squirrels with his catapults than any of his age-mates that he could remember. After school, he would go home and eat. If he had any domestic assignment to perform for his mother, the other children would wait for him before they left for the forest to hunt and also fetch firewood. The boys did not like to go to the forest without Diolo—that was his first name. They were sure of killing more animals than they would without him. Diolo Dilibo was sure to harass animals that climbed to the top of very high trees with power-packed throws of short sticks, hitting their safe hiding place so hard that they would dive off the great height without coordinated plans and thus land into danger and get easily caught. DD, as the other children called him, was as very good with sticks as he was with his catapult. He once hit a running fox with a stick thrown with so much force that when it was hit on the neck, its neck broke instantly. The fox simply turned round and round, bouncing forcefully up and falling severely until someone came upon it and dealt a machete cut to kill it finally. When they got home, it was decided after a mild argument that the large portion, which usually went to the one who killed the animal, was to be shared between DD and the other boy who finally dealt the machete cut to the already dying fox. Others had to make do with sharing the rest.

Behind the statehouse building

Ariga, one of the two young soldiers stationed high up on the concrete observatory erected in the back garden of the sprawling statehouse, had caught some vague movements from the corners of his eyes.

Friend, he whispered aloud to Aguola, his colleague, there are some vague movements out there.

You can't be serious, Aguola, his mate who was sitting down while Ariga took his turn watching around, whispered back.

Stand up and see for yourself. Ariga lifted the binoculars hanging on his neck to his eyes and scanned the area. They are there, and they are armed.

As Aguola sprang up and stretched his hand to take the binoculars from Ariga, the two security lights that lit the area they were detailed to be watching went out in rapid succession. Sounds of running feet were heard as the troop behind the wall took their positions and went active. Aguola snatched the binoculars from Ariga and peered into the blind darkness of the night. He panned the binoculars and carefully scanned the dark, rocky, marshy landscape behind the statehouse. It was dark out there, but he had shadowy figures of moving silhouettes of soldiers in his viewfinder. His thinking was jolted into a mental frenzy. He began to think, Vague movements? Was he in a trance? Soldiers? Coup? His mind raged. His heartbeat quickened rapidly, exploding with frightening unpunctuated palpitations. He focused again, and his worst fears were confirmed. Armed soldiers? Military coup? He shook his head and blinked rapidly, as if by doing so he could dust the foreboding calamity off the surface of reality. He looked again, concentrating thoughtfully. Everything was still as real as he had seen them before.

Riga, you are right. There is a coup in the offing. Get the control room on the radio, Aguola told Ariga, his mate.

Ariga began trembling. His quaking heart threatened to jump out of his mouth, as if the entire rib cage couldn't box it in again. His hands shook uncontrollably. He fought gallantly to control himself.

Control room, come in for OB South, he coughed softly into the hands-free radio set clipped to his head. Static hummed harshly. He quickly turned down the volume to avoid detection by the soldiers milling out there who would just not hesitate to gun him down from the mounted observatory.

Statehouse security control room

Sergeant Mehu and a young corporal were busy playing a game of ludo in the security control room when the radio coughed to life.

Control room, come in for OB South, the radio sputtered again.

Pick it, said Sergeant Mehu.

Corporal Betruma sprang up and dashed across to the radio set, picked up the receiver, and answered back.

OB South, go ahead. Control room here.

Crawling Vipers suspected south.

Sergeant Mehu sprang up, his face tense. In double stride, he was on the corporal.

Burning hell! Troop movement? That can only mean one thing—military coup, Sergeant Mehu said, snatching the microphone from the young corporal, whose hand was already shaking. They had code-named coup makers Vipers. A military coup is in the offing, Sergeant Mehu said to no one in particular. OB South, confirm suspected Vipers digging in behind south wall, Sergeant Mehu spoke into the radio.

That's affirmative. Already dug in.

My mother! the young corporal exclaimed, sprang to the corner behind the door, and snatched up his assault rifle.

Crocodile, come in for control room, Sergeant Mehu intoned, trying to connect his commander, Colonel Baluta.

There was no answer as Colonel Baluta, the commanding officer on night duty, had left his radio in his office while strolling across to the mess for a drink. As Sergeant Mehu, who was in the habit of half lowering the microphone each time he spoke, was raising the microphone back to his mouth to speak again, the radio crackled with static then came through the second time.

Control room, come in for OB North.

Observation North is also calling in. That means we are surrounded, said the young corporal.

Go ahead, OB North.

Tanks are rolling in from the northern hills. Confirm friendly hardware delivery expected.

Advancing Vipers already confirmed, over.

Copy.

Inside the officers' mess at the statehouse

Lieutenant Colonel Baluta was watching CNN News as he sipped his glass of cold beer. The CNN reporter was reporting from a scene of killings in a school. A deranged gunman enraged by a court decision separating him from his wife and ordering him not to go near their two children living with his wife, except in the presence of welfare department officials, had entered a school where his wife was teaching, shot her dead, and opened fire on school children, also killing three of them and injuring others. The news item ended with the killer surrendering to the police.

America, Lieutenant Colonel Baluta said to himself as he placed the half-filled glass of beer on the side table. There is a lot of unprovoked violence in the so-called developed world. His speech was cut short with his aide, Corporal Sunfe, rushing in and handing over the walkie-talkie to him.

Coup, sir.

What? Which country?

They are here, sir. It looks like we are surrounded. I monitored radio exchange. OB South called control room to report troop movement behind. OB North also called now to report tanks approaching the northern gate, Sunfe said.

Tanks? My god!

Crocodile, come in for control room. The radio Lieutenant Colonel Baluta held in his hand came to live.

CTR, go ahead, replied Lieutenant Colonel Baluta.

Temple surrounded by Vipers. Confirm you copy.

Copy. Activate red alert while I get across to Brigadier Ugolo, the brigade commander.

Control room activated a wailing siren that signaled that the statehouse was under attack. Within seconds, all the tanks, machine gunners, armed soldiers started taking predetermined positions, awaiting further orders.

Behind the statehouse wall

Behind the statehouse, Major Dilibo's group was making frantic efforts to set up. Armed men were hurriedly setting up positions behind rocks and boulders. A corporal aided by a young soldier was setting up a massive explosive at the base of the wall. Major Dilibo stood behind them.

Be quick about it, Major Dilibo whispered softly.

I observe a movement up there, a voice said from behind.

Sergeant Dambo, who was standing beside Major Dilibo, ran over to the position where the voice came from. Shortly, he hurried back to where the major was now stooping. He stooped low and whispered, Sir, there is an observer at the top of the concrete observatory masked by that huge tree. I believe that he may have seen us. Do we pick him off?

No. The tanks fire the first shots. That's the plan. We do not want to draw heavy fire. As you can see, there are not enough hiding places here apart from these rocks that are kind enough to litter this place. We just distract their attention and create confusion when they engage the force on the northern gate. We will enter only if the chance to do so presents itself with minimal damage to our resources.

Sir, I don't understand this battle plan. The northern gate is not the main gate. Are there no troops entering through the main gate?

Sergeant, take your orders and do your beat.

Yes, sir.

If you must know, there is a group waiting at the main gate. Hopefully, the few tanks guarding the statehouse will be drawn into battle. If they drive out from the main western gate to go and confront the tanks at the northern gate, then the soldiers will overrun the guards left at the main gate and gain entrance. That will be it. Do you understand now?

I understand, sir, Sergeant Dambo said and hurried off to his position.

Major Dilibo hurried off to see other men who were placing charges at other points at the base of the wall.

Northern gate approach to the statehouse

The four tanks ground on in low rumbles. Gunner Banku, a veteran of the Halibiana-Garindo border wars, knew they were within reach. Despite being a veteran, his heart threatened to jump out of his mouth as it pounded ceaselessly while he awaited orders from his commander, who had the microphone ready on his mouth. His teeth clattered, and his limbs shook mildly. He became suddenly overwhelmed by fear—fear of the unknown. In the border wars, he fought in defense of his fatherland against another country. Above all, he fought in the open, in a battle where tanks could maneuver efficiently and one could take a quick decision based on what he could see at a distance. In this case, they were about to attack his own country—a country he had sworn and was trained to defend.

President Muzulata had proven to be the worst leader to ever rule Halibiana. In fact, President Muzulata had been adjudged the worst leader on the African continent, but Banku believed that it was better to wait for the next general elections, which was about to take place in less than four weeks, where he was sure that the people, majority of whom were already disenchanted with the president, would not hesitate to vote him out. However, the ruling party and some unscrupulous power players were the problem. They would always ensure that the elections were manipulated in favor of the ruling Halibiana Progressives Party (HPP), a party that was everything but progressive. This was what had necessitated the coup. Those who made peaceful change impossible made violent change inevitable. If elections were free and fair, people would vote to retain those in government who were doing well, while those who were not doing well were shown the door out. That was what democracy was in theory. Where the government in power manipulated the elections, it became impossible for them to take precaution or right their own wrongs because they had no one to answer to. This, in Gunner Banku's thinking, justified the coup.

Breaking into the statehouse was not Gunner Banku's main worry. Although, he knew it was not going to be easy because the security of the statehouse was definitely properly planned. Added to this was the massive tonnage of concrete works that must have gone into the fortification of the whole place, as well as the rocks that dotted the statehouse gardens behind which armed men could hide unseen until one was upon them. Was this trip mere suicide? Colonel Huadu, who recruited him and his group, was their commander, and it was him who had made it possible for the four tanks to be made available. Calm had returned to the Halibiana-Garindo border after the Halibiani Army routed the Garindo forces. Gunner Banku had fought gallantly with the Twenty-Fifth Tank Company of the Thirteenth Tank Battalion of the Seventh Armored Brigade, Fourteenth Division of the Halibiani Army in the Halibiana-Garindo border wars. His tank crew had knocked out two enemy tanks and torn their infantry troop that came suddenly from the flanks to shreds. The Federal Republic of Garindo, seeing itself at the receiving end, appealed to the United Nations and the Organization of African Unity (OAU), who quickly arranged for a multinational peacekeeping force made up of African nations' armies drawn from Egypt, Kenya, and South Africa. Thus, calm returned to the boundaries. Colonel Huadu, who commanded a tank battalion at the border wars, therefore found it easy to secure some tanks for the Operation Tempest.

The soldiers to be used for Operation Tempest had been made to arrive individually from their bases on the Halibiana-Garindo border and a few other places while the tanks were loaded onto long trailers. The tanks were signed out for return to the Chilala Army Engineering Base in the far north for major repairs, only for the tanks to turn up at the nation's capital city late in the night for use in Operation Tempest. The armed soldiers who were guarding and escorting the tanks were handpicked by the coup plotters, so no one raised any alarm as the tanks headed the wrong way. Chilala Army Engineering Base was located by the side of the Chilala River at the outskirts of the northern city of Buyoteru. Buyoteru, located in the far north of the country, was about eight hundred kilometers from Wuhutana, the nation's capital city. The engineers at the Chilala base would not be expecting the tanks until the next morning.

Banku was lost in deep, wandering contemplation. Would this coup fail? If it failed and if one survived the firefight, one would be tried and summarily executed. That was the tradition across the world. Coup making was treasonable felony. Although Halibiana was yet to experience a military coup, the executive recklessness and the near total absence of the rule of