For three hours, Benjamin sat at his late father's desk, destroying the British Empire's economic stranglehold over the Republic of Zambura.
Ambassador Sterling sat opposite him, looking as though he had aged a decade.
"The final document, Ambassador," Benjamin said, sliding a thick piece of parchment across the desk.
"This officially revokes your diplomatic immunity and declares you persona non grata. You have twenty-four hours to vacate the country."
Sterling stared at the paper. His hand shook slightly as he picked up the pen. "You have made a very powerful enemy today, Benjamin. The British government does not forget its debts."
"Neither does Zambura, Sterling," Benjamin replied evenly. "Sign it."
Sterling signed. He stood up, refusing to look the young president in the eye, and walked out of the study.
As the doors clicked shut, Captain Elias let out a breath he felt he had been holding for twenty-four hours.
He leaned his Soviet assault rifle against the bookshelf and wiped a hand across his face.
"It's over..." Elias whispered, the reality of their victory finally setting in. "We actually won. They are leaving!"
"We haven't won anything..." Benjamin corrected him, "We have reclaimed our assets, but we still do not have a functioning economy, our military is fractured, and the moment Sterling reports back to London, they will start looking for new ways to undermine us."
Elias frowned, "So what is our next move?"
"Nationalize the oil fields in the western desert before the French or the Soviets realize we have severed our ties with the British," Benjamin stated.
Before he could elaborate, the doors burst open...
Kofi, the old caretaker, rushed into the room, his face pale. He looked completely terrified.
"Mr. President! Captain Elias!" Kofi gasped, clutching the doorframe for support. "It is Sergeant Diallo! One of the men stationed on the roof!"
Elias instantly grabbed his rifle, "Did the British retaliate? Did they open fire?"
"No, no!" Kofi waved his hands. "When the siege was lifted, Diallo tried to climb down from the eastern parapet. The old masonry crumbled. He fell two stories. His leg... his leg is impaled on the wrought-iron fence near the gardens!"
Elias swore loudly and sprinted out of the room. Benjamin followed...
They found Sergeant Diallo in the side gardens, surrounded by a dozen panicked guardsmen. The scene was gruesome.
The iron spike of the garden fence had pierced clean through the thickest part of Diallo's thigh. The young soldier was screaming in agony.
A man in a blood-stained apron was kneeling beside Diallo, frantically trying to pack the wound with handfuls of crushed leaves and dirt.
This was Dr. Kamara, the palace's resident physician.
"Hold him still!" Dr. Kamara yelled, "I need to apply the poultice! The bleeding won't stop!"
Benjamin pushed his way through the circle of guards.
"Stop what you are doing immediately!" Benjamin commanded, grabbing Dr. Kamara by the shoulder and pulling him away from the wounded soldier.
Dr. Kamara stumbled back, looking at the young president in shock.
"Mr. President! I must treat him! My grandfather taught me this poultice—"
"Your grandfather was an idiot, and you are actively killing this man!" Benjamin stated bluntly, "You are packing an open arterial wound with unsterilized dirt and organic matter. If he doesn't bleed to death, he will die of sepsis by tomorrow morning!"
The guardsmen gasped. Dr. Kamara looked deeply offended. "I am a trained medical professional! You are a politician!"
"Captain, we cannot pull him off the fence. The spike is acting as a plug for the femoral artery. If we remove it here, he bleeds out in three minutes."
"Then what do we do, sir?" Elias asked.
"We cut the fence..." Benjamin ordered, "Elias, fetch the heavy industrial bolt cutters from the basement maintenance room. We will sever the iron bar above and below his leg, transport him to a sterile table indoors, and remove the spike surgically."
"Sir, we don't have a surgical suite!" Dr. Kamara protested. "The British cut the power! The sterilization equipment is dead! We don't even have clean water because the municipal pumps are off!"
"Dr. Kamara, if you cannot operate without electricity, you are entirely useless to this Republic." Benjamin said. "We will make our own sterile environment."
Benjamin turned to the gathered guardsmen.
"Clear the grand dining room table. Tear down the heavy drapes and use them to block the windows to keep the dust out," Benjamin barked.
"Go to the kitchens. Gather every bottle of high-proof imported vodka the British Ambassador left behind. And bring me three canvas bags of the stolen diesel fuel we used on the portico."
The guardsmen stared at him, "Diesel fuel, sir?" one of them asked hesitantly. "For a surgery?"
"Do not question me. Move!" Benjamin roared.
Twenty minutes later, the grand dining room had been transformed into a makeshift operating theater.
Sergeant Diallo, mercifully unconscious from the pain and a heavy dose of ingested vodka, lay flat on the long mahogany table.
A six-inch segment of rusted iron pipe still protruded from both sides of his thigh.
"Mr. President," Dr. Kamara whispered, terrified. "I... I do not think I can do this. The artery is compromised. The infection..."
"Dr. Kamara," Benjamin interrupted, "I just forced the British Empire to surrender their economic control over this country. Do not tell me you cannot pull a piece of metal out of a man's leg."
Benjamin poured the vodka over a pair of surgical pliers and a scalpel, then struck the Zippo.
He gestured to Elias, who was standing by with a canvas bag of the stolen diesel fuel.
"When Dr. Kamara removes the iron spike, the artery will rupture,"
"You will immediately pour a localized amount of diesel fuel directly onto the wound. I will ignite it for exactly two seconds. The intense heat will instantly cauterize the severed vessels and kill the surface bacteria."
"You want to set him on fire?!" Dr. Kamara shrieked, "That is madness!"
"It is 1968, Doctor," Benjamin replied, picking up the scalpel himself. "We do what works."
"Elias, prepare the fuel," Benjamin commanded. "Dr. Kamara, if you drop those pliers again, I will have you court-martialed for dereliction of duty. Now, grip the spike."
"Pull!" Benjamin ordered.
Kamara yanked. Instantly, bright red arterial blood geysered from the wound, painting the front of Benjamin's shirt.
"Now!" Benjamin shouted.
Elias dumped a heavy splash of diesel fuel directly onto the bleeding wound. Benjamin struck the Zippo and tossed it onto the leg.
A bright flare of orange fire erupted on the mahogany table.
"One. Two!" Benjamin counted out loud.
He threw a wet wool blanket over the leg, immediately smothering the flames.
When he pulled the blanket away, the wound was a blackened crater. But the geyser of arterial blood had stopped completely. The vessels were fused shut.
Benjamin tossed the blood-soaked towel onto the floor and looked up at the pale doctor.
"The bleeding is stopped. The wound is sterile..." Benjamin announced.
"Bandage him..."