Ghost of Africa

by Chuck Van Soye

  “We have to. We’ll need to do it later in front of Kunga, so might as well learn how now. And because Chu shipped it in two pieces, I have to learn how to assemble them.”

  After a few minutes of carefully dissecting the crates so that they could easily be reassembled, the two sections of a dummy FIM-92E Stinger lay on Bret’s bed, along with a sheet of instructions from Chu.

  Zhu commented, “Wow, these components look so real, even the paint and stenciled military ID’s.”

  Bret picked up each section, examined it and deftly joined the halves to snap together. He also discovered he could remove the LRAD battery.

  “Why don’t we try it to see if the LRAD really works?” suggested Zhu.

  “Here in our room? Are you nuts? If it does work, we’ll both be deaf. Perhaps along with everyone else on this floor.”

  “Why not adjust that volume knob so that the pointer almost touches zero, but not quite. We don’t want to get into the jungle and find out the damn thing doesn’t work.”

  “You have a point there, Bro. Okay, I’ve got the volume almost turned off, with the pointer not even half way between the 1 and 0, about 2% of its capability. Now I’ll just give the trigger a quick squeeze. Here goes.”

  BBBBRRRAAAACCCCKKKK! It was like an intense extended one-second sound explosion. It gave rise to brief instantaneous pain in their ears, accompanied by what felt like cotton jammed into each one. And it made the room shake. Even the cheap lion picture fell off the wall.

  Someone started knocking on the door, but they didn’t answer. They couldn’t hear the knock.

  By late afternoon, both men had recovered most of their normal hearing ability. It was fortunate because Bret was able to hear his cell ringing. It was Chu.

  “Mia called. She wants you to call her back. The CAR number she gave me is 212-603-248275. I checked online and found that number belongs to a hotel called the Ledger Plaza. She must be staying somewhere not far from you.”

  “Thanks Babe. I miss you mucho. We picked up the shipment today. It arrived in good shape. I’ll call Mia now. I suspect she wants to tell us that we’ll soon be going to a rendezvous with Kunga. You may not hear from me for awhile. Don't worry. We’ll be careful.”

  Bret phoned TD and briefed him on the day’s activities, then asked, “Any word from the military guys about coordination plans?”

  “Not yet. They promised a meeting, but time’s running out.”

  “When they do call you, please ask them to bring us two sets of very efficient ear plugs. I’ll call you after I talk with Mia.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Lee Double Room at Hotel Noubangui, Bangui, CAR

  Bret returned Mia’s call shortly after noon. Her statement was succinct. “General Zuluka will come to get you and your bodyguard in your hotel’s lobby at noon the day after tomorrow. He will escort you to a rendezvous with Leader Kunga. Be sure to bring along the FIM-92E Stinger that General Zuluka has already paid for.”

  After briefing Zhu, Bret phoned TD. “We must have our coordination meeting with the military in the next thirty-six hours. D-day is the day after tomorrow. Can you make it happen?”

  “Well, the CIA surely doesn’t command the military to do anything, but I sure can make it clear that if they want to get Kunga, they’ve got to quickly move any mountains in their way.”

  * * *

  Jungle Clearing, 5.8 Miles Northwest of Bangui City Limits

  As TD drove the rental car along a bumpy dirt road through the heavy tropical forestation, their path was suddenly blocked by four fatigue-clad figures that melted out of the jungle bearing automatic weapons, all wearing MP armbands. TD talked and displayed his credentials through the open vehicle window. They were allowed to proceed to a multi-acre clearing. Two choppers sat on the far side, one a familiar UH-60 Black Hawk, the other possibly a rare MH-X Stealth version. Two high-ranking officers, one wearing an army service green uniform and the other dressed in navy service khaki, stood talking to one another in the clearing’s center. Another younger officer stood several yards away. Several fatigue-clad men ringed the field along the jungle’s edge for obvious protection of the officers and incoming civilians.

  Introductions revealed the army officer was a bird colonel, while the other was a navy commander. During initial discussions, it was divulged that the commander, Zeke Thompson, was in charge of multiple 16-man platoons of Seal Team 7. The colonel, Alex Graciado, led multiple Delta Force elements of green berets, which were ferried in by choppers from the HMAS Adelaide, a helicopter carrier/assault ship operating in the Gulf of Guinea. Graciado noted that one of his involved elements is a unit specializing in high-value extraction.

  The younger officer, Harry Hyde, was a navy lieutenant in charge of four fire teams of four Seals each that would lead the attack. Every man participating in this operation knew that they were potentially protecting the lives of thousands of airline passengers threatened by a fanatic that the world’s military forces were heretofore unable to stop.

  Colonel Graciado, speaking to Bret, said, “The first order of business is to click on the batteries powering the GPS transmitters in your special shirt and jungle shoes just before the LRA general arrives. The success of this entire mission is dependent on our military forces knowing your exact location at all times.”

  Zhu queried, “How and why?”

  “That’s a reasonable question,” said Commander Thompson. “Let me explain.”

  “As soon as you turn them on, some of our satellites will pick up the signals to track your movements. Other satellites will start transmitting aerial photographs of the terrain you traverse, whether by foot, vehicle or aircraft. We’ll be able to view actual photos of your movements, step by step.”

  Colonel Graciado added, “Those distant satellite cameras could even zoom in to follow Bret as an individual.”

  Lieutenant Hyde added, “All our special force teams will know from those visuals the exact terrain and problem areas my guys will have to perform in, as well as where to land the transport helicopters to be as close as possible without detection.”

  The Colonel added, “Other than clicking those batteries on, and in the best interest of our joint mission, you two should follow all General Zuluka’s orders promptly and without question.”

  Bret next postulated the likely chain of events following their arrival at the encampment. “My guess is that we’d immediately be searched for weapons and any electronics. Then I’d direct placement of the two Stinger crates to a spot where I could conveniently access them. Subsequently, after probable delay, we’d be moved to a location where Kunga would be waiting to meet us. Subsequent conversations with him might center on inspection of the crated missile system, future delivery of the balance of missiles to be ordered, and payment for same.”

  “Kunga would probably be itching to hold the Stinger he’d already purchased, and hopefully want to test fire. If so, I’d first demonstrate how firing is actually accomplished.”

  “I’d have to assemble most of the components from the crates, leaving off the composite battery and argon coolant canister, explaining it would need to be attached just before firing. Then I’d explain and demonstrate how to hold it, look through the view finder to track what was being fired at, press down the uncage latch at front of the launcher, click the unlock switch, elevate the unit, then squeeze and hold the trigger while tracking an imaginary target.”

  “Kunga might want to try it immediately. I would attempt to delay this as long as possible by explaining it would be worthless to fire into open space, that a target that generated heat would be necessary since the missile is a heat seeker.”

  At this point, Bret left his presumption of the likely coming day’s events. He turned to briefing the military officers about the secret LRAD buried in the dummy weapon. He explained that when the armed Stinger’s trigger was actually pulled, the sound explosion would hopefully incapacitate most of Kunga’s men in the encampment. Both he and Zhu would be
somewhat protected by the special earplugs, which they’d insert just prior to actual firing. The sound explosion would probably be heard for at least a thousand yards, and will be the signal for the Seals and Delta forces to attack.

  Commander Thompson commented, “I have to hand it to you two guys for undertaking a risk like you’re planning, but if we’re jointly successful in grabbing that guy, or neutralizing him, untold lives will be spared. At this point in time, the colonel and I haven’t had a chance to sit down and develop a detailed joint attack plan, so we can’t tell you how it’s all going down tomorrow. But rest assured, we’ll have your backs, even if we have to drop in on your party by rope.”

  “Right on,” added Colonel Graciado. “The Seals will be in your neighborhood first, for sure. I have two Chinook MH-47G’s and ninety-two Green Berets less than 100 miles away from here, ready to roll. We’ll move very close once we know where you’ve arrived. My guys will be coming from a bit further out, but when we hear that LRAD signal, I guarantee we won’t waste any time getting there, regardless of any opposition from the LRA.”

  “Uh, one last thing, Zeke, I suggest we maintain radio silence except for critical navigation observations in route. We may need to help each other up close to the encampment.”

  “Roger that, Colonel.”

  “I don’t know what time Zuluka will be picking us up tomorrow,” said Bret, “but our movements on your GPS systems will make it clear the battle plan is underway. Nice meeting you gents,” he added, as they were shaking hands around the circle of new friends.

  * * *

  Bar Table at Hotel Noubangui, Bangui, CAR

  It was sunset by the time Bret and Zhu had returned to the Noubangui. They stopped at the bar for a few drinks, and to assess the planning meeting they’d just left. After the first round, TD joined them.

  “I was thinking, he said, suppose one of Kunga’s goons grabs that weapon right out of the freight crates. You have no authority or physical means to stop him. What if he presses the trigger? Your goose is cooked.”

  “Not really, TD. Nothing will happen because I’ll have the battery that powers the LRAD in my pocket. And actually, I do have authority of a sort, because I’m the only possible source for the weapons that Kunga craves. I’ll just look at him and shake my head while pointing at that soldier. He’ll be lucky if Kunga doesn’t shoot him.”

  “Hey Bret,” interrupts Zhu. “I just remembered that we had turned the volume of that LRAD way down to near zero. We better turn it up to ‘max’ first thing back in the room.”

  “Good thinking Bro, but I did it before going to bed last night.”

  “Speaking of bed, guys, I’m heading there now,” said TD. As he left he added, “I won’t see you in the morning, so I’m telling you ‘Good Hunting’ now. However, you may see me near the action anyway. I’ve been thinking I’d really like to witness this caper up close. I’ve got a small chopper reserved at the airport. I might just show up in camp after the shooting’s over. Good night.”

  As TD walked out of the bar, the two drinkers looked at each other, visually agreeing, He’s as nuts as we are.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  CIA, Office of Space Reconnaissance, Langley, VA

  While seated at her desk at 3:50 a.m., Joy Hart sipped a fourth cup of hot coffee, trying her best to maintain maximum alertness. A skeleton crew of fellow analysts also working on behalf of the Associate Director for Military Affairs was likewise peering over data streams and imagery from dozens of satellites. Her special assignment for that night was to provide sensor-to-shooter support to two officers, an Army Colonel and a Navy Commander, who were located somewhere in central Africa.

  Something on her screen changed. It caught her attention. She fumbled in her attempt to urgently set her coffee down, spilling some on her computer table and new dress. “Oh crap,” she whispered.

  But there it was . . . a new stream of data from a specified satellite. No time for the delay and distraction of cleanup. As she had been specially instructed the previous day, she triggered a transfer of that data to a specified imagery satellite initially trained on 3⁰59’55.52N by 17⁰23’24.64E, a target in Bangui, CAR. In response, it had been preprogrammed hours before to continuously aim its high resolution cameras toward moving transmitters spewing out continuously changing latitude and longitude data.

  The mobile screens held by Colonel Graciado and Commander Thompson came alive. Each could clearly view a video of a crew-cab long-bed pickup truck, as seen from above, driving southwesterly out of Bangui on a paved road. Manipulation of the screens’ controls enabled the officers to expand the fields of view to clearly show surrounding terrain for miles in any direction.

  “Come alive and load up!” Graciado shouted to dozens of ground-lounging fatigue-clad soldiers armed for battle. Junior officers quickly formed the men into two ranks of 46 men, each line moving into one of the pair of MH-47G Chinook helicopters parked nearby. Doors closed, engines started, blades grasped the air, and the choppers rose into flight.

  Once airborne, Graciado stuck his head into the cockpit and said, “Fly westerly until I’m able to specify a temporary landing site.” A quick study of the CAR maps showed that the truck was likely heading towards Mbaiki, a town about fifty-five miles south of Bangui. Mbaiki was nearly ninety-two flight miles away from their current position. Huge empty fields surrounding Mausolee Airport, south of Mbaiki, looked like potential terrain to set the birds down until the truck’s ultimate destination became clearer. He spoke with the pilot, and the crew established a course. They touched down twenty-five minutes later.

  Commander Thompson’s MX-H Black Hawk performed a similar maneuver and landed for a temporary stop on a vacant field just west of Betou Airport, ninety miles due south of Bangui.

  After about an hour and a half, the truck en route to Kunga’s camp drove south through Mbaiki, and within four miles after ran out of paved road. It turned westward onto a bumpy dirt road, and continued for two hours at a slower speed, kicking up torturing plumes of dust behind.

  On board, together with Zhu, Zuluka and the driver, Bret held onto a strap next to the rear door to avoid as much bouncing-related pain as possible. Even with the windows rolled shut, he could feel the grit in his teeth from dust that leaked in. Dirty sweat dripped off his nose, thanks to the fact that the air conditioner no longer worked. Soon the bumps and bounces became worse, even though the truck slowed somewhat to avoid the biggest drainage ruts in the road.

  “Slow down,” he pleaded aloud, but nothing changed. Discomfort was displacing his hidden fears of meeting a murdering maniac, and of a failing LRAD plot.

  Aboard one of the Chinooks, while comparing the satellite images of the truck’s dirt road with a map of the same terrain, Colonel Graciado made a critical observation, and whispered to himself, Hmm. . .road seems to be heading straight toward massive dark green area. . . referred to on map as ‘Foret de Ngoto’ . . . seems to be part of larger pale green map area encompassing it,. . . named Dzanga-Sangha National Park.

  Breaking radio silence into a nearby radio mic, he said, “Alex to Zeke. Path appears to fade into rainforest forty klicks on. Suggest put down on savanna fifteen klicks to starboard.

  “Same conclusion, Alex.”

  Within twenty-five minutes, both Chinooks were on the ground, about nine miles north of the assumed LRA encampment. Five minutes later, the Stealth Black Hawk landed about five miles east of the forest. Fifteen minutes thereafter, the satellite image showed the truck carrying Bret and Zhu follow the road into the forest, disappear briefly beneath the canopy, then emerge within a man-made clearing about fifty yards in diameter.

  Alex added, “Eye in sky shows target arrival. Close-up confirms Bret present. 3⁰7’27.73N, 17⁰22’13.00E, Altitude 1607 feet.” Both men advised their troops.

  “Roger,” responded Zeke. “I propose we move to attack launch sites of less than a mile as soon as satellite shows Bret hand the Stinger to a male, likely Kunga.�
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  “Your show from here on,” said Alex. “I’ll alert the onboard machine gunners to imminent enemy contact, and follow to within one thousand meters. Then open both carriers to launch ground force attack at LRAD sound.”

  * * *

  LRA Encampment, Foret de Ngoto, Central African Republic

  The pickup truck pulled into the center of a large near-circular clearing, partially covered overhead by a dark green canopy. General Zuluka exited the front door of the stopped vehicle, took a couple steps back, and opened the rear door. “Mr. Doevendans, please get out. Your bodyguard also.”

  Bret, following instructions, was delighted to be finally back on his feet. He filled his lungs with clean fresh air. It smelled slightly pungent and earthy, and was cool in his throat. He could hear the faint gurgling of a rather large stream hidden from view by the forest, but obviously nearby. A distant elephant’s trumpeting was faintly audible.

  His gaze fell on the human activity around him. Zuluka was directing the driver to unload the two Stinger crates off to one side of the clearing. Dozens of small one- and two-man tents were scattered around the edge, some occupied. Manifold others could be seen dispersed throughout the brush beyond the circumference of the clearing. A large tent and two medium-size tents were set up beneath the tree canopy, far to the clearing’s left edge.

  A few dozen men, some wearing tattered uniforms and others dressed in old street clothes, were engaged in various activities within the clearing. A half dozen seated on crates off to the right appeared to be disassembling and cleaning weapons. Another group hovering around pots on an ancient cast-iron stove missing the firebox door appeared to be preparing a meal. One man was feeding wood chunks into the fire within, smoke from the chimney billowing up until dissipated by a breeze. A dozen or more large pots and pans were hanging from different rungs of a ladder leaning against a nearby tree. Faint muted conversations, infrequent laughter and an occasional shout or curse permeated the otherwise silent forest.