As the rebels stream in from the bush, only scattered violence mars the truce
Slowly they emerged from their sanctuaries deep in the African bush. Some were barefoot local fighters, clad in ragged shirts and frayed pants, clutching worn, dusty AK-47 machine guns. Others were elite commandos, wearing crisp camouflage fatigues, polished combat boots and leather holsters, bandoleers of machine-gun bullets slung over their shoulders. A few even sported gleaming Soviet medals on their breast. Startled whites stared in anxious silence or menacingly shook their fists as they passed by. But in the...
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