THE JULY REMATCH – THE NORTH REVENGE TO THE IGBO COUP 07

THE JULY REMATCH – THE NORTH REVENGE TO THE IGBO COUP 07

THE JULY REMATCH – THE NORTH REVENGE TO THE IGBO COUP 07

Like cattle bound for slaughter, the four men were marched out of the State House, their hands tied tightly behind their backs. They were bundled into a truck, flanked by two accompanying vehicles, and driven into the unknown-a journey laced with dread and destiny.

At the Mokola junction, the convoy splintered. Major Danjuma issued terse orders to Lt. William Walbe, commander of Ironsi’s escort, before departing for the 4th Battalion Garrison. Walbe’s men however, led the captives toward a desolate bushland, a place where secrets are buried and cries dissolve into silence.

There, the captors stripped the prisoners to their trousers and unleashed their rage with whips. The lashes fell hard, stinging flesh and breaking spirits. Ironsi and fajuyi bore the worst of punishment, their bodies absorbing the fury of their captors.

As the whips cracked against them, questions followed, as sharp as the blows. They demanded Ironsi confess his role in the January coup and divulge the whereabouts of the officers killed in its wake. But Ironsi, a soldier to the core, denied their accusations and held his silence.

He refused to stoop to the indignity of being interrogated by men he outranked. To him, answering to junior officers was beneath his honour as the Head of the Armed Forces. As the wise say, “The elder does not stoop to wrestle a child; his dignity is his shield.”

While the captors’ focus remained on Ironsi and Fajuyi, fate played its hand. Lt. Nwakwo, with quiet determination, managed to free wrists and escape into the shadows of. the bush. Lt. Bello, though not spared, endured less savagery compared to the two men who bore brunt of the torment.

By the time the beatings ceased, Ironsi and Fajuyi were so battered they could barely stand, their once-commanding figures reduced to trembling silhouettes.
The captors, unyielding in their purpose, led the broken men deeper into the bush.

There, where the earth held its silence and the trees bore witness, the final act of treachery unfolded. A crack of gunfire shattered the stillness, and the two men fell, their lives claimed by the hands of betrayal. In their death, Ironsi and Fajuyi became symbols of courage and loyalty, their blood watering the roots of history, even as the soil sought to swallow their story whole.

At the Garrison of the 4th Battalion in the ancient city of Ibadan, chaos had erupted like a mighty river breaching its banks, sweeping away all semblance of order. Lt. Col. Akahan, the one tasked with steering this turbulent ship, had lost his grip on the helm. The barracks, once a fortress of discipline, became a hunting ground where Northern soldiers, like hawks circling their prey, turned against their Igbo brothers-in-arms.

The mutineers, led by Lt. P. Mwadkon, arrived like a swarm of locusts, devouring the remnants of unity that still lingered. The soldiers who had spilled the blood of Ironsi and Fajuyi had also returned, their hands still wet with betrayal. Together, they brought the storm to the barracks, and with them came the winds of death.

One by one, the Igbo soldiers were rounded up, their loyalty and identity now a sentence of doom. Like sheep corralled by wolves, they were herded into a single room – a cage that would soon become their tomb.

The air hung heavy, suffused with tension and fear, as grenades were hurled into the confined space, exploding like thunderclaps in the rainy season. The walls echoed with the cries of men whose only crime was their lineage.

But even the fiery hail of grenades could not silence every voice. Survivors emerged from the wreckage, battered but clinging to life. Yet, the hunters were relentless. Those who survived the inferno met the barrel of the gun. The Northern soldiers, their resolve as cold as the harmnattan wind, shot any survivor on sight, sparing none.