Saved by my nightmare (A Nigerian Story)

CHAPTER 49

Hey yall. Please do comment.

I enjoyed last chapter's comment sections. Happy to know I've got my anime family here.😍

So I decided to ask for movies since the recommendations I got were apt.

WHAT IS THE BEST MOVIE YOU'VE WATCHED THIS YEAR?!

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Kaduna, Nigeria
2020.

"Lieutenant" A guy Rayyan didn't recognise called out.

Their rescue team had advanced to the shooting range.

The officer who called him, was in charge of communicating with HQ and the officers at the arsenal.

Their Intel informed them that the last known location of the boys was the shooting ring.

Apparently, one of the cadets had seen them sneaking off to practice at the shooting ring, moments before the notice for evacuating the quarters came in.

Rayyan was torn between the warmth in his chest when he heard that Nonso had— like his younger, reckless self—  snuck out to the range, and anger that he hadn't sat the hell down in the quarters and landed himself and his equally unwise friends in danger.

Pulled out from his thoughts by a second call from the yet unrecognized personnel, Rayyan motioned for him to speak.

"Sir, the HQ informed that the officers outside the cadet's quarters are still engaged with the militants, we have to engage if necessary", Rayyan nodded at the man, turning to look at Patrick and then the rest of the men.

This was the part he never got used to, no matter how much he did it.

The moment where he had to say encouraging words to the men who he'd probably never see after that moment.

The thoughts of lost comrades flashed through his head, flashes of their lifeless eyes — which had all held lights of life in every speck— staring off into skies stained with hues of red, reds that were shades duller than the warm blood that pooled around them.

Flashes of himself in cemeteries in various countries consumed his head, countries were other people had come to sightsee from far and near, marvelling at the beautiful sights, sighing as they gazed at the wonders of life.

But how could he smile like them, knowing that in the same countries they'd gazed longingly, he'd watched his friends run to their deaths, splatters of their brain coating his shoes as they tried to protect people who didn't give a flying shit that they were risking their lives, for a country that gave no regards to them, equipping them with less than standard weaponry in a silent prayer that they wouldn't live to tell the tales of their frugality.

How could he giggle at the sunsets, the night sky, the blushing sun as it rose in the morning sky, spreading it's warmth when his friends were robbed of said warmth, under layers of humid earth, six feet under the plush grass.

How could he nuzzle into the comforters in the hotels, when every time he closed his eyes, screams of his friends pierced the silent night, casting an eerie aura over his soul.

But when he shoved those memories away, his heart burned with a passion.

A passion to take revenge for every drop of blood his comrades had lost, to seize victory and avenge all they'd lost, to bring justice to the bride who'd lost her husband to the war, watching the aspirations they'd whispered to one another in the solace of the nights crumble into nothingness as society labelled her unfortunate, subjecting her to the cruelty of mankind, revelling in the fact that her armour had been ripped away.