## Chapter 15: "Road Don End"
Eighteen months into his mandatory logistics service, Captain Elisha Oriade received his promotion and deployment orders on the same Tuesday morning. The ceremony at MLRC headquarters was brief—a handshake from Brigadier General Adeleke, new shoulder pips, and a brown envelope marked "CONFIDENTIAL."
"Kwara State," Captain Okonkwo told him afterwards, his voice carefully neutral. "2nd Battalion, 22 Brigade. Counter-insurgency operations."
Elisha nodded. After eighteen months of procurement reports and inventory audits, he was returning to field duty. The mandatory counseling had ended three months ago, Dr. Adeyemi's final report declaring him "psychologically fit for full military duties."
"You sure you're ready for this?" Okonkwo asked.
"Sir, I've been ready."
Okonkwo studied him. "That's what worries me."
---
The journey to Ilorin took eight hours by road. The military convoy—three trucks and two escort vehicles—moved through the changing landscape: from Lagos's concrete maze to Ibadan's scattered hills, through Ogbomoso's quiet streets, until the terrain flattened into the savanna of the Middle Belt.
At a checkpoint near Omupo, Elisha watched young soldiers search vehicles with the nervous energy of men who'd heard stories but hadn't yet lived them. One corporal, barely twenty, fumbled with his rifle's safety.
"First deployment?" Elisha asked him.
"Yes sir."
"Where from?"
"Ekiti sir. Small town near Ado."
Elisha remembered being that young, that eager, that unprepared. "Stay alert. Trust your NCOs. The enemy isn't always who you expect."
The corporal nodded vigorously, not understanding. He would, eventually.
---
Forward Operating Base Harmony sat fifteen kilometers outside Ilorin, a collection of reinforced structures and sandbagged positions that had grown organically over two years of conflict. The insurgency here wasn't like the famous one in the northeast—no grand ideology or international attention. This was local: cattle rustlers turned bandits turned something worse, feeding on the ethnic tensions between herders and farmers, Muslims and Christians, indigenous and settlers.
Lieutenant Colonel Mohammed Kazaure, commanding officer of 2nd Battalion, received Elisha in an office that smelled of dust and strong coffee.
"Captain Oriade. I've read your file." Kazaure's Kano accent was thick but his English precise. "Exceptional Academy record. Distinguished service in Yongo. Then eighteen months in logistics." He paused. "Interesting trajectory."
"Sir."
"You'll command Charlie Company. Your predecessor, Captain Bassey, was transferred after an... incident. His men trusted him but he trusted them too much. Three soldiers under investigation for extorting money from civilians at checkpoints."
"I understand, sir."
"Do you? This isn't Yongo. There's no clear enemy here. The man selling you suya today might plant an IED tomorrow. The village chief who swears loyalty has a son with the bandits. Everyone has two faces, sometimes three."
Kazaure stood, walked to a map on the wall marked with red pins. "Your area of responsibility: three local government areas, approximately 400 square kilometers. Dominant threats are kidnapping, cattle rustling, and attacks on infrastructure. Your mission is to secure, stabilize, and support civil authority. Questions?"
"Rules of engagement, sir?"
"Standard escalation of force. But Captain..." Kazaure turned. "I don't tolerate cowboys or crusaders. Whatever happened in Yongo stays in Yongo. Clear?"
"Clear, sir."
---
Charlie Company occupied a smaller outpost ten kilometers from FOB Harmony. Eighty-six men, four officers, twelve vehicles in various states of repair. Elisha's company sergeant major, WO1 Danjuma, was a Plateau man with twenty-three years of service and eyes that had seen everything twice.
"The men are good," Danjuma told him during their first walk-around. "Maybe too good. Captain Bassey let them run loose small. They need structure."
The soldiers were a mix: young men from across Nysaria, some on their first deployment, others with the thousand-yard stare of veterans. During his first address, Elisha kept it simple.
"I'm not Captain Bassey. I don't know what arrangements existed before. From now, we operate by the book. Protect civilians. Respect rules of engagement. Anyone who thinks otherwise can request transfer now."
Nobody moved, but he saw the looks exchanged. They would test him.
---
The test came three days later. Intelligence reported bandits had kidnapped a pharmaceutical executive on the Ilorin-Jebba road, demanding fifty million naira ransom. The man's company had already agreed to pay, but Governor wanted military intervention—elections were coming, and he needed to look strong.
"We intercept the ransom exchange," Elisha told his platoon commanders. "Rescue the hostage, capture the bandits."
Lieutenant Yakubu, his most experienced platoon leader, frowned. "Sir, with respect, if the company has agreed to pay, maybe we should let them. The man goes free, no bloodshed."
"And the bandits use that money to buy more weapons, kidnap more people."
"But sir—"
"We have orders, Lieutenant. We execute them."
The operation was textbook. They surrounded the exchange point—an abandoned farming settlement off the main road. When the bandits arrived to collect the ransom, Elisha's men were waiting. The firefight lasted six minutes. Three bandits killed, two captured, executive rescued with minor injuries.
But something bothered Elisha. The bandits had been young, poorly armed. Their leader, bleeding from a stomach wound, looked maybe nineteen.
"Why did you take him?" Elisha asked in Hausa.
The boy—because that's what he was, a boy—laughed, coughing blood. "My family's cattle, all dead. Poisoned by farmers. Police did nothing. Government did nothing. So I do something."
He died before the medics arrived.
---
That night, Elisha couldn't sleep. He walked the perimeter, found Sergeant Major Danjuma smoking behind the motor pool.
"Can't sleep, sir?"
"No."
Danjuma offered him a cigarette. Elisha didn't smoke but took it anyway, letting it burn between his fingers.
"That boy today," Danjuma said. "His story, it's not unusual. Farmer-herder crisis has destroyed many families. Some join insurgents in the northeast. Some become bandits here. Some join the military." He looked at Elisha. "We're all running from something or fighting for something. Sometimes both."
"Doesn't excuse kidnapping."
"No sir. But understanding the problem helps solve it, abi?"
---
Two weeks later, Elisha implemented something new: civil-military cooperation meetings. Every Friday, he met with local chiefs, youth leaders, women's groups. At first, they were suspicious. The military had made promises before.
"Omi la fe, oga soldier na water we want," said Alhaja Sikirat, leader of the market women association. "Konga don dry for like six months now. a ma rin lati ibi de ohun, (we trek a long way)"
"Security is good, but hunger sef fit kill" added Elder Ogundiran. "Our young men have no work. Idle hands, you know."
Elisha listened, took notes. Within a month, using battalion resources and some creative paperwork, he had army engineers sink a new borehole. He convinced the state government to fund a youth employment scheme, with military providing security for the workers.
Lieutenant Colonel Kazaure summoned him.
"You're not an NGO, Captain."
"Sir, we can't shoot our way to peace. These communities need reasons to reject the bandits."
"Hearts and minds?" Kazaure's tone was skeptical.
"Pragmatism, sir. Every youth we employ is one less potential recruit for the bandits."
Kazaure was quiet for a moment. "Don't neglect your primary duties. If this affects operational readiness—"
"It won't, sir."
---
But the violence continued. An IED on the Omupo road killed three soldiers from Alpha Company. Bandits attacked a police station in Isanlu, killing two officers and stealing weapons. A reprisal attack by local vigilantes left six Fulani herders dead, including two children.
After the vigilante attack, Elisha arrested the leaders, causing uproar in the community.
"They're defending us!" shouted a local politician. "The Fulani are all terrorists!"
"The dead children were terrorists?" Elisha asked quietly.
"Their fathers are!"
"Then arrest the fathers, not the children."
The politician stormed out. That night, Elisha received a call from brigade headquarters. The vigilante leaders were to be released immediately—orders from above.
Elisha complied, but the damage was done. The Fulani community, already suspicious, now saw the military as explicitly taking sides.
---
Three months into his deployment, intelligence reported a large bandit camp in the forest reserve near Share. Satellite imagery showed structures, vehicles, possible weapons cache. This wasn't random criminals—this was organized.
"We need battalion-strength for this," Lieutenant Yakubu argued.
"Battalion is spread across three states," Elisha replied. "We have company strength plus special forces detachment. It's enough."
The raid was planned for dawn. The night before, Elisha found himself writing a letter to his mother, something he hadn't done since Yongo. He wrote about the weather, the food, anything except what tomorrow might bring. He sealed it, addressed it, left it on his desk.
Sergeant Major Danjuma noticed. "Expecting trouble, sir?"
"Always."
"The men are ready."
"Are they? We're about to hit a camp that might have women, children. Farmers forced to join. Boys like that one we killed. Are they ready for that?"
Danjuma was quiet. "Are you, sir?"
Elisha didn't answer.
---
The raid began at 0500. They moved through the forest in three columns, converging on the camp as dawn broke. The bandits had sentries, but they were lazy, unprofessional. The first shots came from Elisha's column—a sentry spotted them, raised his AK-47, died before he could fire.
Then chaos. The camp erupted—men running, grabbing weapons, shouting orders in Hausa, Fulfulde, languages Elisha didn't recognize. Women screaming, children crying. The special forces moved through systematically, room by room, precise and lethal.
Elisha found himself in what looked like a command center—maps, radios, a laptop. A man in military-style fatigues reached for a pistol. Elisha shot him twice, center mass. The man fell, and Elisha saw his face clearly—educated features, glasses askew. This wasn't some desperate herder. This was leadership.
"Sir, we have a problem," Lieutenant Yakubu's voice crackled over radio. "Building on the east side. They have hostages. Looks like kidnap victims."
Elisha ran to the location. A concrete structure, windows barred. Inside, visible through the door, armed men using women and children as human shields.
"Terms!" one shouted in English. "We want terms!"
The special forces captain looked at Elisha. "Your call, sir."
Elisha remembered Yongo. Remembered Lieutenant Jubek. Remembered "no survivors." He also remembered sixty-nine children who lived because he acted.
"Negotiate," he said. "Get the hostages out."
It took three hours. The bandits wanted safe passage. Elisha gave it to them, against the special forces captain's objection. Twelve bandits walked out, weapons down, and disappeared into the forest. Twenty-three hostages were freed—men, women, children who'd been held for ransom, some for months.
"You let them go," Lieutenant Yakubu said, not quite a question.
"I saved twenty-three lives."
"They'll be back. They'll kidnap more people."
"Maybe. But today, twenty-three people go home."
---
The after-action report was thorough. Forty-one bandits killed, eighteen captured, twenty-three hostages rescued, significant weapons and intelligence seized. Brigade headquarters called it a major success. The governor visited, took photos with the rescued hostages, praised the military's effectiveness.
But Elisha knew the truth. They'd hit one camp. There were dozens more.