The day of his commissioning arrived with solemnity and tears. Standing tall before the Nigerian flag, the vow he had made in Bauchi resurfaced in his heart: "I will never forget. I will never forgive."
Upon receiving his deployment orders, he saw "1st Infantry Division, Kaduna" boldly printed. It was a commendable assignment—a major division responsible for the security of western Nigeria. But Emmanuel hadn't joined the army for security or peace. He had joined for retribution. He had joined for war.
That evening, Emmanuel knocked firmly on the heavy office door of the brigade captain. He stood at attention as he was called in, nerves tight beneath his composed face.
The captain, a lean man with stern eyes and a weathered voice, didn't look up from the documents in front of him. "Yes, soldier?"
"Sir," Emmanuel said clearly, "I'd like to request a redeployment—to the 7th Division in Maiduguri, sir."
The captain looked up slowly, lowering his pen. For a moment, there was only silence between them.
"You want to do what?" the captain asked, eyes narrowing.
"Sir, I want to be posted to Maiduguri. Maimalari Barracks."
The captain leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Do you think this is a game, Private? Do you know how many soldiers would kill for the posting you've been given? First Division, Kaduna—clean, organized, secure. That's not something just handed out."
"Yes, sir. I understand. But I didn't join the army to sit in security, sir. I joined to fight."
The captain gave a dry, humorless laugh. "Fight? Son, Maiduguri is not a place you go to fight. It's a place you go to survive. The 7th Division doesn't need volunteers. It needs men with death written on their hearts."
"I'm ready, sir."
"No, you're not," the captain snapped. "You think you're driven, but you're emotional. That's dangerous in a war zone. You're lucky to be assigned here. No one is going to Maiduguri unless they're ordered. And you were not."
Emmanuel didn't blink. His hands remained clenched behind his back. "Sir, with respect, I'm not asking because I want to die. I'm asking because I want to do something that matters. I have nothing waiting for me in Kaduna."
"And what exactly are you looking for in Borno?" the captain asked, leaning forward. "Glory? Revenge?"
Emmanuel hesitated. "Justice."
The captain studied him for a long moment, then looked down at his desk.
"I'll be honest with you," he said finally. "There's no justice where you're asking to go. Just dust, blood, and silence. But if this is what you really want—if you're sure—you'll get no support from me if you change your mind later."
"I won't, sir."
"Fine," the captain muttered, signing a new form with sharp strokes. "Don't come back in pieces."
"Thank you, sir," Emmanuel said, saluting.
As he left the office, orders in hand, the weight of his decision settled on his shoulders. He was going to the front lines.
Where his nightmares began—where, perhaps, they might finally end.The next morning, Emmanuel boarded a military vehicle bound for Maiduguri. As the gates of Maimalari Barracks opened, he felt as if his feet were stepping onto scorching ground—not because of the sun, but due to the pounding of his heart. The place smelled of sweat, metal, and apprehension. There was noise, but there was order—everyone moved swiftly, with purpose.
He found accommodation in one of the sleeping quarters designated for new soldiers. The first night was filled with routines, equipment checks, and briefings. But what concerned him most was the announcement regarding the unit being deployed directly to combat terrorists.
As night fell, Emmanuel lay on his bed, staring at the unpainted ceiling, his heart filled with anxiety and hope that the reassignment he had requested wouldn't be in vain. Then came a call—not the usual bugle—but from a sergeant who entered the room with a flashlight:
"Get up, Emmanuel Obadiah! Your assignment has changed. Prepare for night training tomorrow—we're heading straight to Konduga!"
Emmanuel's heart raced. His first mission had arrived. And he wouldn't back down.First Mission: Konduga
The night before the mission, Maimalari Barracks buzzed with activity. Soldiers packed rations, loaded rifles, and cleaned the last bit of dust from their boots. Emmanuel sat on the edge of his bunk, lacing his combat boots with practiced precision. The briefing had been clear: Boko Haram elements had regrouped around Konduga, reinforcing their positions and cutting off nearby villages. The 7th Division would push in, clear the town, and secure it.
But strategy on a map was never the same as boots on the ground.