Chapter LXXVI: Nation shall speak peace unto the nation.
1300hrs, 26 December 2013, Al Mukalla, Yemen.
"Tell her to reap it in a sickle of leather (War bellows, blazing in scarlet battalions).
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme (Generals order their soldiers to kill).
And gather it all in a bunch of heather (And to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten).
Then she'll be a true love of mine." Simon and Garfunkel's version of Scarborough Fair
The BBC crew that had filmed Zoicite's death had yet again, been denied access to the aircraft carriers, or any ship for that matter. The NATO and Allied ships that were right outside Socotra were not allowing any media coverage, period; even the venerable CNN, normally allowed access to such operations, had been given the boot. They were stuck on the coast of Yemen, desperately looking for anything that would make the news. They got lucky, and found exactly what they were looking for in the city of Al Mukalla, the capitol of the Hadhramaut Governorate, to which Socotra used to belong before they were bought out by the Nakanishi Group.
"Ms. Hanson, please tell us what you've seen over the last couple of months," the reporter asked a young, blonde lady, who was standing on the docks with them. Several fishing boats drifted lazily in the background, kept in the port by the military; they didn't want people nosing their way into the battle outside. Which was a pretty long shot in the first place, considering Socotra was some 200-odd kilometers out there.
"Well, we've tried to go to Socotra, but we were turned back every time by Yemenis; they intercepted us halfway out to the island. Whatever they were doing there, they certainly didn't want us finding it out."
The interviewee, Kathie Hanson, was working with the United World Relief Fund, a humanitarian group responsible for providing aid to various groups in the Middle East and Africa. A graduate of a small Midwestern college, she had worked in India and China teaching English and doing various social justice projects including, but not limited to; anti-human trafficking operations, anti-drug training, anti-prostitution initiatives, sensitivity training for public servants and the cleaning of Bangalore, also known as the Ugly Indian Project. She had been working for the UWRF for a couple of months now, and her adventures for the mysterious island of Socotra had been a private mission of hers ever since she came to Yemen. 50,000 people had been forcibly evicted from that island and dumped into the city of Al Mukalla, without any means to support themselves or to get back to their homeland. Once a month, she had ventured out on a rickety old boat to travel the 240 or so kilometers to the island, only to be turned back by the Yemeni Navy. A frustrating situation, but she was determined to find out what in the hell was going on there.
"And why do you think they were turning you back?"
"The Yemeni government has had a deal with the Nakanishi Group, stating that they would give the island to them, in exchange for development with their oil and gas industry. The reality of the situation is that Yemen is going to run out of oil in four years' time, and no amount of development in that sector is going to change that fact." She was very enthusiastic about her subject material, that was for sure. The reporter continued on with her series of questioning.
"And did you ever think that they had any sort of military presence on the Island?" the reporter asked her.
Kathie shook her head. "Of course not. I didn't think that they had any sort of armed force there until last week. Ever since then, me and my team have tried constantly to find out what exactly the hell they got all the stuff there. We found out from this shipyard, thousands of tonnes of high explosives, ammunition and other items were shipped there in 2008."
"In 2008?" The reporter couldn't believe the lucky streak they were on. First Italy, with that massive shootout; the producer had been ecstatic at that find and had written a glowing performance review of her and her cameraman. A bonus and a raise were also in order for them as well. Now, this was going to start raising red flags everywhere, and certainly somebody at Broadcasting House was going to start digging and put all the pieces together.
"Well, what do you think about…" The cameraman suddenly saw a couple of flashes in the air, and quickly pointed his camera in that direction.
"Goddamn, what was that!" A massive explosion occurred in the air, some distance away but close enough for the sound wave to reach them. It looked to be like a large aircraft had exploded, and a couple of minutes later, two military jets flew overhead. The reporter motioned to the cameraman to try to focus in on that particular event while she gave what little commentary she could. Debris fell to the ground, and several boats were already heading out to see if they could pull anyone out of the wreckage. Despite the military presence, they didn't exactly seem to go ahead and stop them, letting the fishermen pass but keeping a close eye on their movements. If they wanted to pick up wreckage, fine.
The reporter started speaking into her microphone rapidly, trying to make up shit on the spot in order to add some substance to the video. "We don't know what's going on here, but it appears that military airplanes have engaged hostile targets closer to Yemen. What this means about the situation on Socotra has yet to be determined."
"Amber, we should get some more shots of that crash over there," the camera guy said to the reporter.
"Yeah, go ahead and get set up by the pier. I'll join you shortly. John, we're moving to get more shots of the crash, if we can. I don't know what we can do though, since the military has blocked off access for the media." She turned to Kathie, apologizing to her for delaying the interview. It was just business, that's all.
"I'm sorry Ms. Hanson, but if you would be willing, we would certainly appreciate it if you could wait for a couple of minutes while we get some more footage of that crash. We would be more than willing to compensate you for your time, if need be."
Kathie nodded to them, half expecting them to run off like many reporters beforehand, bored with her exposition on social justice issues. "I'll wait right here." But hell, more money was always a plus; she would get her point across and get paid. They got their story, and it was a win/win for everyone. She sat on a concrete ledge, and watched the drama unfold in front of her.
"Andy, let's set up over here." About 100 meters away, there was a small pier for fishing boats and the like, and it offered a good site for viewing the crash. "Get a wide shot of the smoke on the horizon over there."
"Can you hear me?" The anchor in the studio said yes, as did her producer. "Okay, as you can see here, there has been a plane crash, or a shoot down of a military aircraft of some sort near here." Several more jets roared overhead, and the camera jerked upward to reveal some F-22s flying back over the town and toward Socotra. "The military activity around here has significantly increased, and we don't know if the forces on Socotra are winning against the Nakanishi forces on the island."
They stayed there for a couple more minutes, with the reporter chattering on about nothing and trying to make news where there was none. Finally, they went back over to Kathie, who had been sitting on a bench. There was still some smoke and flame on the horizon, where the plane had gone down. Some fishing ships had already started to leave the harbor, going out to see if they could recover anything from that crash. Maybe even some people, if they got lucky.
"Nice one," the producer in London said to her over her earpiece. "Keep up that interview with the blonde girl there, we need all the airtime that we can fill, and it looks like you've hit paydirt with that."
"Will do." The reporter returned to interviewing Kathie, who was a little bit shaken up by the explosion nearby.
"Ms. Hanson, do you suppose after the Nakanishi presence on the island of Socotra has been removed, that the people displaced will be able to move back there?"
"I…I…" she stuttered for a second before getting back into the groove of the interview. "I would certainly hope so, and I would also hope that the United States and other nations would assist Yemen in restoring the island of Socotra to its original form, although I fear the damage by the corporate greed of the Nakanishi Group is too great for the both the people who were displaced, as well as the environment there."
"What do you mean, the environment?"
Kathie gave the reporter a death glare, but the reporter had to ask these questions about the island; not everyone was an expert on remote islands in the Gulf of Aden.
"Socotra is one of the most isolated places in the world, and they have a truly staggering amount of biodiversity; 1/3 of all plants and animals cannot be found anywhere else in the world. When the Nakanishi Group moved in, they started massive construction projects that more than likely destroyed this biodiversity."
"And afterwards, when the military has removed the Nakanishi Group from Socotra?"
Kathie shrugged, wearily. "I can't tell what'll happen after that. All that I know is that there's 50,000 people without a means to support themselves, abandoned by their government and the world at large."
Sensing that she was running out of interview material, the reporter decided to terminate the interview.
"Thank you very much for your time Ms. Hanson." She said in a soft tone, using that Received Pronunciation to soothe whatever tension there was in the air. The reporter had had to contend with worse interviewees, and this one was significantly better than those.
Kathie nodded. "You're welcome."
"Back to you, Steve, in the studio."
The crew stopped filming, with the audio guy finally being able to put that stupid shotgun mike down and take a smoke.
"Thanks Ms. Hanson." The reporter pulled out a wad of a couple thousand Yemeni rial, and handed it to her. It wasn't BBC policy, of course, to engage in such conduct, but they had to get the news story and some rules had to be broken.
"You're welcome," Kathie said back to her, wondering for a second if she should take the money, but then decided that she would; if nothing else, she could explain it as "administrative" income or something like that.
"If you find out anything else…" the reporter tantalizing said to her, "Well, there might be some more of that in store."
"I'll keep that in mind, thanks." Kathie took the bills and stuffed it in her purse, and walked off to peruse the docks. That probably wasn't a good idea, being a single female in a foreign nation, but then against, Kathie didn't give a shit right now with that entire battle raging on that island.
"I hope that you didn't pay her off or something like that," her producer said over the satellite phone a couple of minutes later, as she was smoking her third cigarette.
"I can't comment on that sort of practice," the reporter replied sardonically.
"Right. Well, keep up the good work, we'll be asking you for some more stories on the battle." The producer looked at his iPad, keeping tabs on the rest of the news crews they had in the area at the moment. It was kind of hilarious, in a sick sense; the military was besieging Socotra and not allowing press access, so the media was besieging the military around the Gulf of Aden. CNN had even sent some of their people to Somalia, not to cover the pirates or the civil war that had been plaguing the country for years, but to maybe…maybe get a glimpse of the battle that was going on at that obscure island.
"What about the damaged ships in Aden?"
"We've got several crews there already covering the situation, although like with the fleet out at sea, the US military, the MOD, or any other allied force refuses to speak with the media due to security concerns."
The reporter grimaced mockingly. She took another pull on the cigarette, enjoying the stress relief. "Jesus, this media ban is really putting a crimp in my style. I guess the Italians weren't the only ones in a totalitarian mood."
That got a laugh from the producer. "Hey, we've always known that Great Britain has been on a collision course with 1984. It's only a matter of time now," the producer joked. "Now find me some more footage."
"Fine, fine. We'll take a small break and then get back to reporting." The reporter finished her third cigarette and tossed into the sea. She got another one out and lit up.
The producer heard her take the smoke in. "Sounds good. And you shouldn't smoke as much."
That got a sigh from the reporter. "You're not the one down here doing the work."
"True enough. Have a good one."
"Yeah, thanks guv." She terminated the phone call, and stuffed the rest of the Mayfield Superkings in a pocket near the sign on her bullet-resistant vest that said "PRESS".
"Andy! Rahul! Time to get a move on!" She yelled to the two men who were sitting next to their rented van. "You can take a break when we get to the next location."
"Where are we going?" the cameraman said to her.
It took a moment for the reporter to respond. She was still collecting her thoughts after the series of events that had brought them to this point. "I don't know," the reporter said. "Just drive somewhere so that we can get some more news footage."