CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“I think your boss will want to see what I have to offer,” smiled Hausman.
The men around him appeared scrawny, nearly starved, in his opinion. Their clothing was dirty and baggy, only a few wearing uniforms. The uniforms weren’t much better. Many appeared to be rejects from other military organizations, or perhaps, they’d taken them from dead soldiers.
Their skin was black as night, shiny and slick with sweat from the oppressive heat. He wondered what kept them going, what kept them fighting. Maybe it was the prospect of having more food because it damn sure looked as if none of them had eaten in a while. Of the dozen men around him, only three even wore shoes.
They stared at the white man with the leather bag around his shoulder. They’d searched it several times, making sure he didn’t have a weapon. His fine linen pants and shirt absorbed the sweat rolling off his body. He appeared young, but then again, everyone appeared younger than they did. Most of the men were barely in their twenties yet looked decades older.
“Stop torturing the man,” said a deep voice from behind Hausman. He turned to see a tall, slender man with the same midnight black skin. His head was shaved, and he wore a military beret on his head, although the insignia was unfamiliar.
“Mr. Awad, I assume?” smiled Hausman.
“Assume nothing, white man,” he frowned. “I am Commander General Awaale Awad.”
“And what is it you command, General?” Hausman knew he was pushing the limits and definitely pushing his luck. These men wouldn’t hesitate to blow his brains out. They’d done it with his friend, Pitre. They would do it with him. Of course, Pitre and the others got themselves in deep shit and couldn’t find a way out. Such is life.
“I command these men and the army of my people trying to take back our country,” he frowned. “What do you want?”
“I’m here to help you,” smiled Hausman. “Shall we sit? Alone?”
Awad looked at the men and nodded. He walked toward a stairwell, and Hausman followed. On the third floor of the building, a building that was halfway blown out, there was a desk and chairs. Awad took the big chair behind the desk and pointed to the other for Hausman.
“How do you believe you can help me?” he asked.
“Let me gather some data first,” said Hausman. “You’ve been fighting here for at least thirty years, if not more.”
“More,” said Awad succinctly.
“Alright, more. You’ve been fighting here a long time. Sometimes you make gains. Sometimes you don’t. Your men are trained, although I would say poorly trained.”
“Watch your tongue!” said Awad, slamming his fist on the desk.
“Apologies,” smirked Hausman, raising his hand. “Your men are very young, and I’m certain that, at times, you find that they get scared and don’t always follow through on the orders you give.”
Awad stared at the other man, wondering where he’d gotten such information. Yes, his men were young, and yes, sometimes they didn’t follow through on their orders. But he would train them to do as they were told, just as his father had done before him.
“What if we could give your men an injection that would interfere with their brain becoming frightened?” said Hausman. Awad frowned, staring at the man.
“The mind does not prevent men from being brave. It’s their soul, their heart,” said Awad.
“Hear me out,” said Hausman. “I’ve been studying this for years now, so were the Koreans, but they got it wrong. It is the brain that creates a reaction of what we call fight or flight. There is something in the brain that makes men walk toward the fighting, be fearless, or run from it.”
“It is their soul,” repeated Awad. “Men are born brave or cowards. There is no other option.”
Hausman was frustrated. He was sweating, hot, and tired. He needed this asshole to just agree to let him show what he was talking about.
“Either way, I can help your men to become fearless,” said Hausman. What did it matter if the asshole thought it was in the soul, heart, or head? He just needed to show him.
“What is this invention?” asked Awad.
Hausman pulled the small box from his briefcase. Opening the lid, four neatly lined syringes appeared. The needles looked larger than they should be, but Awad stared at the devices.
“You put a drug in my men?” he said.
“No, I put a small device that sends signals to the br- to the soul. It tells the man to not be afraid and to continue to charge forward. No matter what he’s facing, he will continue to fight and go after the enemy.”
Awad stared at the device, then up at Hausman. Standing, he looked out the shell of the building, windows long gone, doors non-existent. Turning, he faced the other man.
