4/17/2004

Xavier is crying and dying

About a week ago, someone from our group killed somebody. I didn't even notice this, because there was always a lot of random firefights happening without any serious consequences. It turns out that this person who was shot was the son of the chief of the village we were staying in.

When we arrived at the village, the people in the village knew that they were at war with us, but we did not know so. All the same, they gave us a house to stay in, presents and made us feel comfortable. We didn't realise that there was some type of grudge against us, because frankly the dead boy was just some passer-bye to us.

Xavier went out to pee yesterday night, and I was sitting here surfing with my laptop (I have to mention that I charge it with an electricity thingy in our GM truck), when the entire youth of the village gathered up behind the hut, wanting to sorround it, set it on fire and keep us inside with gunshots.

However, they did not notice that Xavier was outside, and when they saw him, someone shot at him. This was a shot from quite a distance, and he was hit, but not fatally. I continued surfing, posted my last entry with my gun in position, and wanted to leave the room.

Xavier fell in, and splashed blood across the room. The villagers shot him with a hunting gun, which shoots out hundreds (or maybe tens) of small steel balls. Xaviers arm was pierced in tens of places, and the bone looked to be cracked at some point. His mouth was tight, and gasps were escaping his mouth. For one second, we simply looked at him, shocked. Nobody said anything.

Then training kicked in. We swapped the pistols we were holding for our machine guns, frantically digging through our gear. We aligned ourselves against the window, and tried to loook out into the darkness.

There was a spark over on the right, and a wooden stick rose into the air, hurtling towards the thatch of our roof. We started firing into the bushes where the fire was coming from, and suddenly, there were flaming sticks coming from everywhere.

Then roars of locally produced guns. Raw gunpowder packed in front of metal pellets or rusty nails. I saw the cement wall crack.

Xavier lay on the floor, jerking his head from left to right, and not saying a word.

--- I'll tell part two tommorow, I have to go eat right now ----