In South Sudan, a young Mayen Bol had been taken from his family and brought to a remote village by a cell of Dinka insurgents. He was assured housing and food, and in exchange, he would communicate with animals to disrupt and harass Nuer villages, especially around The Sudd—a large swamp thick with matted vegetation. Since it was just animals, the attacks could be done inconspicuously to soften up the Nuer for the greater attacks.
Mayen did not care for the conflict between strangers. He did not want his food to be paid for with blood. But even if he did escape, they may simply come to his real home again, with far less mercy to spare. The only ones who could protect him were those who would want the same: to take him from his home and use him for their own ends. With all that trouble, he acquiesced to their demands.
One amenity he was allowed was to fish in the Sudd by himself. He would have to radio in, of course, but otherwise, he could sail out in his boat and be alone.
When his grandfather was still alive, when his family had lived by the Sudd, they came out to fish almost like this—back then, he did use the reeds to block the sight of the islands and villages he would have to slaughter. He remembered how his grandfather tried to scare him with stories of the crocodiles.
The crocodile was as wise as it was strong. It would wait in quiet for even a moment of weakness. Their jaws would seize the lost calf and sleepy fishermen alike. But Mayen could hear the thought of the animals from a young age. He knew how powerful and cruel the crocodiles were yet, despite many moments of weakness, the crocodiles that grandfather could not see never did seize him. Knowing they were around but chose not to attack gave a strange sense of security.
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It was about time to radio in. Mayen called back to the village with no response. He figured this to be a dangerous interference of some kind and readied to hurry back. That was when he felt the all too familiar coldness of a barrel held to the back of his head. He should have been alone here, walled away by dense reeds. The boat did not even shake when this person climbed on.
The gun was shot and Mayen was hurled into the water. He fell out onto cold snow without a drop on him. He palmed his body and his face and looked around in a panic. A woman clasped her soft hands around his head to hold him in place.
“Sorry for the scare,” she said in flawless Gok dialect, “but we need you to play dead for a while. Is that alright?” He nodded under her caress and received a kiss on the forehead, “Good boy.”
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Out on a dry savanna, a little girl under a tree watched the line of elephants tower over the tall grass. A man in a mask and trenchcoat appeared at her side yet she did not face him.
“Where’s the body?” she asked.
“Fishbait. He was separated from the rest of the cell; extracting it was not an option.”
“Oh well. It is sad when the elephant dies, but the whole tribe can feed on it. Your money is in the tree. Your reward… is under the tree. A data drive of other bounties along with our next mission together… should you choose to accept it.”