Chapter 3

But Kofi's heart pulled him backward, to the village now hidden beyond the first hill. He could still feel Ama's fingers slipping from his, still hear his mother's whispered prayer as she pressed the wrapped cassava into his pack. Three days' rations, she had said. Three days until he reached the staging ground. Three days until the real journey began.

The sun climbed higher, and the dust stuck to the sweat on his face. Beside him marched a tall soldier named Abena, her rifle slung across her back with the ease of long practice. She had been silent since dawn, but now she spoke without turning her head.

"First time?"

Kofi nodded, then realized she could not see him. "Yes."

"You'll learn," she said. "We all do."

They marched until the sun stood directly overhead. The order came to halt, and the men and women of the unit dropped their packs in the thin shade of acacia trees. Kofi's shoulders ached. His feet throbbed inside his boots. He sat down and pulled out his mother's food, unwrapping the cassava slowly, as if the motion could hold him closer to home.

A shadow fell over him. He looked up to see the sergeant, a weathered man named Osei whose face carried the scars of a dozen campaigns. "You're Mensah's boy," the sergeant said. It was not a question.

"Yes, Sergeant."

Osei crouched down, his knees cracking. "Your father was a good soldier. The best I ever served with. He taught me how to read the wind before a battle." He paused, studying Kofi's face. "You have his eyes. But you have your mother's worry. I saw it when you looked back at the village."

Kofi said nothing.

"Fear is not weakness," Osei said quietly. "It is what keeps you alive. But do not let it freeze you. When the moment comes, you move. You act. You think later."

He stood and walked away, leaving Kofi alone with the half-eaten cassava and the weight of his father's memory.

They marched again as the afternoon shadows lengthened. The road wound through a narrow pass between two rocky hills. Kofi heard the birds fall silent before he understood what it meant. Abena's hand shot up, fist clenched. The column stopped.

Then the first shot cracked the air.

Kofi's heart slammed against his ribs. He dropped to the ground, his training taking over before his mind could catch up. The sound of gunfire came from the ridge above, a dozen rifles at least. Bullets kicked up dust around them.

"Return fire!" Osei's voice cut through the chaos. "Take cover behind the rocks!"

Kofi crawled toward a boulder, his rifle scraping against the stone. He found Abena already there, her weapon up, her face calm. She fired twice, then ducked as bullets chipped the rock beside her.

"First taste of battle," she said, almost smiling. "How does it feel?"

Kofi's hands trembled as he raised his rifle. He aimed at the ridge, saw a flash of movement, and pulled the trigger. The recoil punched his shoulder. He did not know if he hit anything.

The firefight lasted perhaps ten minutes. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the shooting stopped. The enemy melted away into the hills, leaving only the echoes of gunfire and the smell of burnt powder.

Kofi lay on his back, staring at the sky, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He was alive. He had fired his weapon in combat. He had not frozen.

When the column reformed and the roll was called, no one had died. Two soldiers had minor wounds, patched up by the medic. They marched on as the sun began to set, the day's heat giving way to a cool evening wind.

They made camp in a hollow between three hills. Fires were lit, rations shared. Kofi sat apart from the others, his mother's empty wrapper crumpled in his hands. He thought of her sitting by the fire, waiting for news. He thought of Ama, who had asked him to write as soon as he could. He had promised he would.

A runner appeared out of the darkness, breathless and covered in dust. He handed a folded paper to Sergeant Osei, who read it by the firelight. The sergeant's face did not change, but something in his posture tightened.

"Soldiers," Osei said, his voice carrying across the camp. "We have new orders. The enemy has taken the village of Adum. We are to march at dawn and drive them out."

A murmur ran through the camp. Kofi felt the words land like a stone in his chest. Adum was two days' march from his own village. The enemy was moving closer to home.

Osei walked over to Kofi and handed him the paper. "Read it," he said.

Kofi took the paper. The handwriting was neat, military. It listed troop movements, supply lines, and a single name at the bottom: Corporal Mensah's last known position before he died. The Second Valley Offensive. The same battle that had taken his father.

"They want us to hold the valley," Osei said. "Your father died holding that ground. Now they're sending his son to do the same."

Kofi looked up at the sergeant. The firelight flickered in Osei's eyes, revealing something that might have been pity or might have been respect.

"I will hold it," Kofi said. His voice was steady, surprising even himself.

Osei nodded once. "I know you will. You're Mensah's boy."

He walked away, leaving Kofi alone with the paper and the weight of his father's legacy. The night stretched on, cold and silent, and Kofi stared into the fire, thinking of the valley ahead and the village behind, of the mother who prayed and the girl who waited, and of the father whose footsteps he now followed into battle.