1993: Somalia Confidential

"Oh yeah, sure... I heard of those meetings, it's how I got the idea to contact you. I wasn't at the last one because on Friday night we usually are in the village of Kfir Bayoum. Listen, why you don't simply have the meeting fixed here in our residence every week? We have the largest compound and a good supply of fresh drinks, while the other NGOs are not so happy to host meetings. What about holding a fixed, weekly meeting each Saturday evening?"

It vas very convenient indeed. It was true; I had more than one problem holding those meeting, because nobody was willing to host it, and even less us...

I smiled: "Does Carolyn agree with that? I understand she is in charge here."

Lisa winkled: "Of course she does... You know, getting all those attractive young men into the residence..."

No. I must have misunderstood. My English had to be not as good as I believed. She couldn't meanthat.

Lisa saw my puzzlement and hit my knee with a hand: "Come on, you are a soldier! Do not play shy with me... We are seven grown up women in the middle of Africa. We have our needing... And my colleagues are all doctors, so are well aware about all the hazards of illnesses and infections amongst locals... Don't look at me like that, it's not racism, is personal safety to avoid getting intimate with natives, however attractive and willing they might be... So, there is only the expatriate community to look at."

It was so easy... I thought these things happened only in dirty movies or bad novels. Should they happen in reality, they only involved desperate, ugly women. And there I was, with this lovely girl speaking openly about sexual desires and meeting men in Africa...

"Okay Lisa, point taken. Spread the news, Saturday night at your residence, nineteen hundred hours."

Lisa smiled all her satisfaction: "Very good! You will see there will be also some snack for everybody: it does gonna be a nice break in your routine..."

I believed that.

I rose to leave and Lisa followed quickly, slipping an arm under mine: "And you know... I am an employee, not an idealist. When it comes to boys, I have no prejudices against soldiers!"

It wasn't an easy week.

Early in June we got our own "Blackhawk Down": a supply convoy of our regiment was crossing Mogadishu from the New Harbor to take theStrada Imperialeand reach our AOR, when it was caught into the battle. The Paras held a major sweep in the Habr Gadir quarter, a platoon got ambushed and the streets suddenly filled up with screaming women and children, more or less unaware they were covering up gunmen and warlords' bands working out a major encirclement of our forces.

Our platoon called for reinforcements and withdrew to a checkpoint called "Pasta", where they met with some extra forces, including a couple of tanks, and made their stand. Reinforcements were pushing to reach them, but were hampered by the apparently unarmed crowd, and our airborne gunships – contrary to the American ones – were armed only with missiles and rockets, not with chain guns, so were useful only for recce or antitank missions.

Gunmen and snipers hidden in the crowd started shooting our boys dead, and the Paras could not shoot back because they would have taken women and children in the crossfire. The HQ was seeking for instruction from the High Command back at home, and the radio waves were filled with messages. Artillery was placed in position, helicopters were flying low over the houses, and mechanized reinforcements were moving – or trying to move - towards the hotspot.

Finally, the local tactical commander took his decision, after his XO got killed next to him, and ordered to open fire.

It was a massacre, the worst up to that moment. The heavy machineguns of tanks and armored vehicles opened up against the crowd, shooting high to try to spare at least the children, and opened the way.

The Attack Helicopters shot their rockets against anything could look like an antitank weapon, and the tanks moved forward, careless about what their tracks were chewing on. The soldiers followed, carrying wounded and dead comrades on the mechanized vehicles, and the whole force made its way to safety in what amounted to our first real combat since World War two.

We lost six men, plus a dozen wounded and a burned vehicle. Never got a clue about precise numbers, but the count of killed Somalis ranges in hundreds, most of them innocent or unaware they were shielding terrorists.

That bloodshed actually changed our Army forever. That day we stopped being the good chaps who were just following the American dangerous guys with a friendly smile, offering spaghetti and sayingciaoto the children.

From that day, our soldiers became bitter, disillusioned fighters, eager to learn how to fight back and ready to do the real job on the field.

Back in Belet Weyne, we followed the battle at the radio. Our only reserve coy, the one from the 76th Mech that used to be mine, reverted to the tactical command of the Brigade HQ and scrambled to their APCs, roaring south along theStrada Imperialetowards Mogadishu, ready to join the fight.

Our convoy managed to extricate itself from the mess, and then to reach first the logistic base in Balad, and then our compound in Jawar, were it stopped.

The humanitarian mission under UN mandate ended that day.

We were at war.

No isolated vehicles out of Belet Wayne any more. No berets, only helmets and flak jackets. Reinforced patrols. Guards doubled at each compound. No leaves home. No telephone calls home.

We were isolated.

The whole supply line from Mogadishu harbor had been cut by the loss of Checkpoint "Pasta", and even food had to be rationed. Luckily, that last convoy had come across. Basically, now we were connected only by air, and this was not good at all: our Regiment, the Brigade reserve, the Logistic base and the Field Hospital were North of the gap, the other two Regiments, the Brigade HQ and the Seaport of Debarkation were South of it. And the gap was represented by the portion of the city that was controlled by the same Habr Gadirs of Mr. Aideed who were already fighting the Americans in the Pakistani sector of Mogadishu. It was not going to be a quick affair to reopen the road through the city...

The really bad thing was to be cut off from the radiotelephone contact to Europe. I had no way to contact Karin any more.

I was thinking of her every night, until sleep managed to overwhelm me in my tent. She was alone, back in Amsterdam, and waiting for me... I sent her a letter through the German military mail system, explaining her why she wasn't getting phone calls anymore. I could imagine how she felt... Or how my family felt for that's sake. Everybody in Europe knew of the battle, but nobody knew of the aftermath... Not as far the personal fate of each and all of us, north of the gap, was concerned. We were well enough, but they didn't know. The Army would eventually warn my parents that everything was fine with me, but no one would care to inform poor Karin.

Maybe they got worried back in Europe (in America they were already worried), but NGOs in Belet Wayne freaked out completely.

Suddenly, we became their best friends. They were calling us by radio every day, some came to visit the camp, and almost all of them came to the WHA residence for the first Security meeting that Saturday.

I arrived half an hour earlier in order to prepare the briefing, and this time Lisa received me at the gate to avoid problems with their thug.

She was in great shape, even if this time she wore long trousers. Her dark blond hair was bond into a ponytail, and her skin was quickly tanning at the African sun, making her eyes spark nicely when she was smiling.

"Hi Bob," she greeted me, "Come in. It's nice to see you again."

I was weary after the heavy week we just got: my old coy was deployed on the frontline in the Northern suburbs of Mogadishu, ready to strike south to re-establish ground links with the Brigade HQ, and we were all tense waiting for the order to act. In Belet Weyne, we were suffering of the typical frustration of the units that are far from the Centre of Gravity of the action. Lisa's flirting attitude was like jumping in cold water after a sauna: startling and refreshing.

She helped preparing the table and chairs; we set up together the map on the board and carried in drinks and snacks from the kitchen. Apparently, there was nobody else around.

Once ready, we sat alone in the briefing room, sipping one drink and chatting. Lisa told me just a few things about herself: she was 23, came from New York, and was preparing a Master in International Politics; she joined WHA to earn field experience in International Humanitarian Relief.

Then she wanted to know about me. Easy enough: where I was from, my family, why I was in the Army, what exactly my job was (I didn't go into details here), how I felt about Somalia, what was going to happen after the recent bad developments in Mogadishu, and so on.

All the time we were talking, she was getting closer and her flirting was escalating. Her shirt had opened a little more, showing quite a generous portion of her firm breasts, and her perfume was really intoxicating.

It would take just a short move to put an arm around her shoulders, and I was feeling quite confident she would not pull back if I did. Her eyes were straight into mine, and her lips were slightly trembling while she was listening to my bubbling.

She looked so ready. I was sure, if I kissed her, she would give in at once.

It took all my self-control to resist. I was hating myself: never in my life I got under such a determined assault by such an attractive lady, and it happened just months after I committed my hart and soul to another girl!

Karin, where are you...

I resisted. Barely.

Also because there was not much time left...

Carolyn and the other components of WHA arrived later, more or less together with all the other NGO representatives.

The meeting lasted long. I had quite much to say, and they had quite a lot to ask. World Food Program had problems at guarding their own depot: were his rented gunmen reliable? Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent needed to provide help in the far North, were there new mines on the tracks? International Red Cross (something different from the other one) had a major convoy blocked in Mogadishu: any hope to have it escorted home? The bitch from "Save the Children" (a not-so-bad thirty-something Swede), who usually looked at us as if we were scum responsible of all sufferings in the world, suddenly wanted us to periodically check her compound and escort her supply convoys.

I provided them all with a frequency to contact us in case of emergency, and with an updated map of mine threat, warning everybody about the risks of roaming around in the bush land without telling us in advance.

Eventually, we ended the meeting with easier talks and sipping our snacks and drinks. Lisa put on some music, and suddenly the atmosphere relaxed.

Contrary to the military, the NGO world was quite gender-even: there were barely more men than women, since a few NGOs like WHA were female-only, balancing the male predominance in most of the others. To my surprise, Carolyn asked me to dance with her.

I am a terrible dancer: I am music-blind. I dance with myeyes, devising the rhythm from other people movements. Plus, Carolyn was taller than me of the whole head, and we were an ugly couple. But in a couple of minutes a lot of people were dancing around us, and I felt a bit more relaxed.

From somewhere, a few beers showed up too, and the party took off.

NGOs world in Belet Weyne was mostly Anglo-Saxon, due to the previous presence of Canadian troops and to the early arrival of UN aid, and English was the only language used. Soon, I was in the midst of a happening international party.

With a knowing smile, Carolyn handed me over to Lisa, and almost immediately the girl started closing up on me more and more.

It was tough.

I managed to escape around ten at night, with the excuse that I couldn't have my soldiers wait too long.

Colonel Scaranzi, the Regiment Commander, questioned me with his eyes when I finally showed up at our camp, but said nothing.

I went straight to the comms tent and I called the Brigade G2, my Intelligence direct superior, on the crypto channel.

"Listen," I said when I finished reporting the whole story, "I can't swallow it. It's true I've lost a few kilos and got a nice tan since we arrived, but I don't believe I turned into a Latin lover the moment I crossed the Line. I never got girls falling into my arms this way, and I don't think it will start now. So, what the hell is wrong with this chick?"

"Hmmm..." the Major on the other side mumbled a second, "WHA, you said, right? OK, I'll make a double check and call back tomorrow. 'Night, Roberto."

"'Night, sir."

The day after, I got an early call from Mogadishu. I couldn't wait.

"So, it's very easy. I'd say it was obvious. You are a relatively fresh S2, and just attended a couple of NATO courses, right?"

"That's correct."

"Besides, you are unmarried, and the only English-speaker in the Regiment."

"Right."

"So, this is it: WHA is a cover-up for a well-known Intelligence agency when operating within NGOs world. They must have a file on you, and since you are the most reliable and easily accessible source of ours in Belet Weyne, they got you a girlfriend."

I was dumbfounded.

"But... But..." I stammered, "What the hell am I supposed todowith her?"

I could almost see the grin on the Major's face: "Son, I would like to have your problem myself. You say the chick is pretty; well, be happy and have fun!"

"I just got engaged before leaving!" I almost cried.

"Did you? Well, even their famous files can't bealwaysupdated, I suppose... Your girlfriend will be patriotic enough to understand."

"Sir, she is Dutch."

"Shit. And maybe she is blonde, blue-eyed and long-legged, right?"

"That's her."

"My boy. You are in such deep shit. I promise I will take charge of both your troubles if you take any one of mine... Deal?"

I sobbed: "Got it, sir. I'll do my duty..."

"That's a good boy. Good luck, Roberto. And get me posted: Ilovekinky stories..."

I took a long tour that day: instead of touring inside the town, we drove straight west, past the airstrip and then deeply into the bush land, more and more away from the river, where the scrubs become smaller and drier, and the red sand gets more and more red.

I had my small team with me: four Parachute Carabinieri from the 1st "Tuscania" Regiment, plus my intelligence aid, corporal Bianchi, and Mohammed, my interpreter. We had two jeeps, with anApilasantitank missile in each, long-range radios and GPS to track our position on the almost white maps.

What does it mean white maps? Believe it or not, it means the maps were white, unfinished. Nobody ever cartographed the area, and only rivers and main trails were reported: the UTM grid was superimposed on almost completely blank papers.

It took many hours to reach the only village in the wilderness. They had only one radio, and we were the first UN people to reach them since the beginning of the crisis. Well, it was no problems: untouched by the war, the village was pretty much better than any other we met before, by local standards.

We went on further west, crossing into the Area of Responsibility of the French Brigade, and after quite a few more miles we met a Foreign Legion patrol, pretty similar to our one.

We exchanged information, shared a quick meal by exchanging MREs, and parted again.

It was almost dusk when we made it back to the camp, all filthy with sand, dust and sweat. I quickly reported to the Commander while the others were unloading the weapons and preparing for dinner, and then while I was going to reach them at the field canteen, an orderly from the duty officer reached me.

"Sir," he told me, "A girl from one of the NGOs downtown came twice looking for you. The last time about an hour ago, and she looked quite agitated... Couldn't get what she wanted; only got your name and, "presto, presto". Duty officer ordered to report to you whenever you're back."

Damn. "An hour ago, you say?"

"Yessir. About."

Too late to assemble a new party. I rushed to my patrol, stopped them from going to dinner, had them jump back into the jeeps and rolled out of the camp and into the town.

You never know what could have happened to the bunch of women in the compound...

The residence looked OK.

When I rang the gate bell, my friend the bodyguard came quite fast, but looked unconcerned.

I asked for Carolyn and he shook his head: "Out."

"Miss Lisa?"

"In."

"Call her. Please."

He closed the gate and went. The iron door reopened a minute later, and there Lisa was, in her sand African shirt and a long skirt of the same color, all fresh and jolly, her hair loosened on the shoulders: "Bob! How nice to see you... Come in."

I blushed, but luckily it was not visible in the light and under my tanned, dirty face. The little tease just wanted to see me, and I scrambled out with my whole party like to go and save the princess from the dragoon...

"Lisa, it's everything OK?"

"Yes of course. Why?"

OK. I told my guys to go back to the camp and only my aid to come and pick me back in two hours, or whenever I called by radio. They went, smiling their acknowledgement.

The gate clanged behind me, and we walked to the veranda, Lisa slipping an arm under mine.

"Oh, I'm so happy you came, Bob..." she purred, "Your soldiers told me something I could not understand, down at your camp... They said you gone, and I got worried."

"I was on patrol to the west, Lisa..."

"Oh, really? Where?"

I mentioned the name of the village and she enlightened: "Really? Have you been over there? Oh, we planned to be there many times, but never dared to. It's so far away, and the roads are so bad... What did you find there?"

We sat on the couches on the veranda, facing each other, and I noticed her shirt opened up quite a bit since I arrived. Which didn't harm at all.

I bubbled a bit about the stupid village, and she drank all my words.

Then she smiled: "I am a lousy host. Can I offer you something? A cola? Or maybe... A beer?"

"Abeer?"

"Yes, you know... Wedohave a little hidden stock for ourselves and the friends..."

Listen... "A beer would be fine, thanks..."

She raised and went to the fridge, still chatting: "Carolyn went to Moga today, together with Paula and Megan. Then, at midday, we got a call from the Chinese Canal, and both Sue Ann and Helen had to go with the other car... So I stayed alone to see for the residence with the two bodyguards which were left."

Lisa winked, raising the beers and bending to put them on the table in such a way I got a good overlook to her perfect bosom: "I am not so comfortable, staying alone with those two guys, so I tried to find you."

She sat back, only this time beside me instead in front: "Oh, I am so happy you came. I can't tell Carolyn I don't like to be here alone; she would laugh at me... It's easy for her; they don't look at her like they look at me!"

She was really close by now, her hips and thigh pressed against mine and her sweet perfumed breath swoop around my face.

Time to be gallant: "You're not their type anyway, Lisa. Somalis like tall and skinny ladies, just like Carolyn actually. You are too... Ahem... Toorichfor them, as far as I can say."

Lisa smiled and pulled out her chest proudly... I noticed another button had gone, and by now I could see she wore no bra underneath.

"Hmmm... Don't you like Somali girls? I think they are beautiful!"