PRIMAL Vengeance (3)

by Jack Silkstone

  "Aden," responded Chen Chua.

  "So, what's the go, guys? Things kicking off in Africa?"

  "You picked it, buddy," said Vance. "Chua, fill Bish in on the details."

  "Right away." Chua took a sip from a can of energy drink then activated the LED screen on the wall of the office. A screen saver of Sports Illustrated models was replaced with a map of Eastern Africa.

  Bishop could not help but smile as the map exploded with graphics. Animated icons highlighted important locations, recent activity appearing with call outs denoting the key stakeholders. Chua was a master of all things geeky; the former US Army intelligence officer loved technology. Technology and energy drinks. The Chinese American downed them like he was a college kid knocking back beers in Cancun.

  "Considering your last mission, sinking the freighter, I'm going to jump straight in to the new stuff. OK?" the intel officer asked.

  Bishop gave Chua a nod.

  "In the past week we've been getting a lot of reports from the disputed Abyei district between South Sudan and Sudan actual."

  "Disputed? I thought South Sudan won control of the area through UN run elections? What is there to dispute?" asked Bishop.

  "Khartoum is ignoring the result of the referendum. They're calling the election a sham and as a result they've been increasing their clandestine militia capability in the oil-rich region. I did a bit of a deep dive into the situation and reporting indicates that violence in the area has increased significantly with at least five villages raided. The UN estimates that close to 30,000 refugees have fled south from the border. Media interviews with refugees lead me to believe that the raiding parties are Janjaweed militias."

  "Fuck, so the raid on the 'Tian Hai' was a waste of time," said Bishop.

  "No, not at all. Khartoum was intending to raise an armored brigade to bully South Sudan into giving up the oil fields. By sinking the 'Tian Hai' you denied them that capability."

  "Yeah, but instead they're sending Janjaweed scum out to murder and rape."

  Vance jumped in. "Bish, look at it this way. We can work against AK-waving horsemen. I ain't about to throw you and Mirza up against heavy armor."

  "Is Mirza already in country?"

  "He hit the ground in Juba this morning. Some of this info has come from his observations," said Vance. "He's laying the groundwork. We need you to punch in and hook up with one of the more effective southern resistance groups."

  "There are number in the area," added Chua. "I've been getting whispers of a new group that's led by a former American soldier. Haven't got a name yet but Mirza is tracking him down."

  "Former US Army. A deserter?" asked Bishop.

  "Probably not," said Chua. "Quite a few families fled the region in the mid eighties and were given refugee status in the US. It's probable that he served in the US military and then returned to help protect his people from extermination."

  "Pretty worthy cause. Khartoum doesn't seem to be hiding the fact that it wants all of the Christian tribes pushed out of the area or exterminated so they can grab the oil. This guy could be the perfect means to stop the Janjaweed."

  "Exactly," agreed Chua.

  "What about the Chinese. Are they involved in this or was the 'Tian Hai' a one-off?"

  "They're in neck deep," said Chua. "The CIA head of station in Juba submitted a report last night. His sources are telling him the ChiComs are bankrolling the entire operation."

  Bishop shook his head. How the hell Chua managed to get CIA reports, probably before Langley had read them, amazed him. The little guy might be teetotalling and risk adverse, he thought, but goddamn, he was good at his job.

  "So that fat bastard Omar is probably dancing on the end of a Chinese leash," said Bishop.

  "Correct. These Chinese businessmen are experts in influence and manipulation. They will be controlling all the key players and unlike some Western countries they aren't afraid to use bribery—or violence."

  "So, no doubt they will be up-gunning the Janjiwankers?" said Bishop.

  "Yes, I assess they'll be flying in light equipment. Vehicles, small arms and some heavy support weapons like mortars and machine-guns," said Chua.

  "More than enough firepower to wipe out lightly armed freedom fighters." Bishop turned to Vance. "So what's the plan?"

  "Pretty simple, buddy. We punch you in to hook up with Mirza. You ID and recruit a suitable team of local fighters, kit them up, train them and smack up the Janjaweed."

  "It does sound like something the Company should be all over..."

  "Negative. They've got their hands full chasing Al Qaeda around in Somalia and every other Timbuktu shit hole. China got in first on this one and the CIA is taking a back seat. Gotta remember who's lending them their cash." As a former CIA operative Vance still had his finger on the pulse of the US spy agency.

  "Roger," Bishop said. "Sounds like a decent job. Happy to run with it."

  "Yeah I thought it might be your sort of gig. Mitch and the Dragonfly will be in support. He's already stockpiled weapons in Abu Dhabi, courtesy of our Ukrainian friend."

  Following a successful mission in Ukraine PRIMAL now had an arms dealer under their control. The man had access to bulk supplies of almost any weapon system they wanted.

  "Excellent. What about other stakeholders?" asked Bishop. "Does the UN have much of a presence in the area?"

  "They have observers and some humanitarian aid types, but they're hopelessly undermanned and have their hands full trying to control the refugees," explained Chua. "China has vetoed any move to increase their numbers, and as long as it's in their interest to keep the UN hamstrung, that's not going to change."

  "Good old blue caps, about as useful as tits on a bull," said Bishop.

  "I disagree. It's not the UN at all," Chua said. "With a few thousand more troops they could probably keep the peace. The problem is with China vetoing every attempt to bring in more soldiers and equipment."

  Bishop glanced at Vance in surprise. The PRIMAL commander nodded. Maybe he had a point, Bishop thought, although it irked him to think the UN could achieve anything useful.

  "So what are we going to do about that? I mean apart from taking down the Janjaweed?"

  "Chua and I are working on that. Our biggest priority is to get you on the ground to stop the killing. There's a Lascar flight due in for a refuel in the next two hours. That should get you to Abu D by tonight. Hook up with Mitch and he will bang you into Juba where Mirza will RV with you."

  Chua pointed at the flat screen detailing the mission information. "I'll forward you the latest intel pack. You can check it out on the flight."

  "No dramas." Bishop shook hands with both men and exited the office. He did a rough time breakdown in his head. Two hours was not a lot of time to pack his gear and squeeze in a visit to Saneh. He hit the lift button for the first floor smiling to himself. Maybe he would just grab his drag bag. It had most of the things he needed and Mitch could sort out anything he missed. Yep, that would work, he thought, as he made a bee-line for Saneh's suite.

  Chapter 11

  PETROCON Refinery, Kordofan District, Sudan

  The Janjaweed raid at Kaljak had shattered the morale of the newly formed SFF. The warriors felt shamed, forced to flee in the face of their mortal enemy and abandon innocent villagers to a fate worse than death. They wanted blood and Garang knew exactly where to extract it. He would raid the Chinese oil refinery across the border in Sudan. Not only would it bolster the men's morale, it would also draw more fighters to their ranks.

  The SFF leader had waited until runners brought reports of Janjaweed attacks further to the east. Now that the raiders were more than a day's drive from the refinery, there was no chance they could interfere with his plans. Garang was not deluded enough to think his rag-tag band could defeat the well-equipped and battle-hardened Janjaweed. Contracted Chinese guards, on the other hand, were another matter.

  They waited in their firing positions for dawn to come. Garang and his thirty fig
hters were tense in anticipation, ready to unleash hell. Overnight Jonjo had led them from the vehicle hide to the refinery where the young warrior had guided each group to their firing positions. Garang had given them strict instructions, "Hold your fire until I shoot. Total radio silence." He would initiate the attack with his own RPG.

  The newly formed militia had only managed to scrounge a small number of RPGs and PKM machine guns. The majority of the Dinka tribe's heavy weapons had been cached in the mountains. The more experienced tribesmen were apprehensive of the young American. Less than half the original force the deceased Dinka chief had commanded were ready to follow Garang. This attack would prove his mettle as a commander. Success would bring with it the respect and service of the entire tribe.

  Dawn had finally broken, the first fingers of light creeping over the horizon to cast a faint glow across the bush. Despite the lighting inside the refinery it had been difficult to make out any of the base's defenses. As the front gate became visible in the grey hues of dawn Garang could see how accurate Jonjo's sketch map was. The militia had placed a lot of faith in the young soldier and it had paid dividends; using the map, all three of their firing positions were sighted perfectly. They covered the gate as well as the machine gun towers at the entrance and each corner of the refinery. Together they could suppress all of the refinery's defenses on its western flank.

  Garang pulled his RPG in closer. According to Jonjo a tanker departed the facility most mornings just after dawn. It would be escorted by two jeeps armed with machine guns, more than enough security to deal with potential thieves. This morning they would get a lot more than they bargained for.

  From inside the refinery Garang heard the rumbling of a large diesel engine. A cloud of soot rose up above the fence as the truck warmed up.

  "This is it," Garang whispered to the man next to him. He shouldered the RPG, tucking it in against his cheek. Firers on each side of him did the same.

  They watched as the guards slid back the gate and waved the first of the convoy through. A Chinese jeep drove out, weaved between the barriers and stopped twenty meters up the road.

  The tanker itself revved hard as it came through the gate, struggling with a full load of oil. The driver was experienced; he deftly threaded the truck through the concrete barriers.

  Garang flicked the safety lever off his RPG and sighted the truck through the iron sights. The words of his weapons instructor from basic training raced through his mind: squeeze the trigger; let the weapon surprise you.

  The explosion that launched the rocket was deafening, the back blast of the weapon throwing up a plume of dust. The projectile screamed across the 400 meter gap and slammed into the tanker with a crump.

  The tanker detonated in an instant, a jet of flame leaping from the rupture as thousands of liters of freshly refined oil ignited spewing flame into the entry point. Moments later a second and third rocket streaked from the position. Put off by the blast of Garang's initial rocket, they missed the tanker, slamming into the concrete blast walls.

  Immediately following the rockets came the small arms, PKM and AK fire lashing the guard towers and blasting the sandbagged defenses. There was no chance for return fire. The guards hunkered down in an attempt to escape the overwhelming firepower.

  The single jeep that had ventured out of the refinery was destroyed by 7.62mm rounds. Its occupants died instantly, their bodies riddled with bullets.

  As the dust cleared from Garang's position, he surveyed the damage. The burning tanker blocked the entry point, black smoke billowing from the wreck. One jeep was destroyed and at least half a dozen guards had been trapped outside the fence by the blaze. They either burned or were shot down by the SFF fighters eager to exact vengeance for the recent Janjaweed atrocities. Garang grinned. The attack was a success.

  "Garang, my team is ineffective. We cannot see the enemy," Jonjo transmitted over the radio.

  Thick clouds of smoke from the destroyed tanker had completely obscured half the refinery. Jonjo's team could no longer see the guard tower or the fence.

  "Wait, I am coming to you," Garang transmitted before turning to the man next to him. "Hand me all the grenades."

  The Dinka warrior gave Garang a cloth satchel. The men in the group passed along their grenades and Garang gathered them up, placing them in the bag. His fighters provided cover, taking turns firing at the towers as he slid back into the creek line that ran parallel to the refinery fence. It was slick with oil and he struggled the seventy meters along the creek to where Jonjo's team was located.

  Black smoke stung his eyes and lungs as he called out to the team. Jonjo's voice penetrated the haze and within seconds the young soldier appeared. Garang handed him the satchel of grenades. "Use the smoke for cover. Take two men forward and throw grenades into the compound."

  "A good plan, Garang."

  Jonjo threw the satchel over his shoulder and disappeared into the smoke. He ran blindly, using his memory of the ground to find his team of ten men. They were crouched behind a rocky outcrop, searching for targets in the thick smoke. Leaving seven of them to provide security, he took his best two men forward.

  They moved around the outcrop, Jonjo leading through the smoke. He slung his AK and pulled the pin from his first grenade, ensuring he held the lever tightly. Sprinting forward, he ran over a berm and barrelled out of the smoke.

  One of the guards in the tower spotted him and attempted to bring his weapon to bear. Jonjo let the handle fly off the grenade, cooking it off before he pitched it at the tower. It sailed through the air and detonated as it hit the wire mesh that screened the tower. The blast peppered the occupants with shrapnel wounding one and killing the rest.

  The other two SFF fired shots at the towers with their AKs, suppressing the guard posts. Jonjo emptied his satchel onto the ground and stood over the heap of grenades, yanking out the pins before lobbing them over the fence into the refinery.

  Back in his position Garang directed the fire of his PKM machine guns. They were eating through ammunition quickly but he needed to buy enough time for Jonjo to finish grenading the compound and then escape. He couldn't help but grin as the steady crump of grenades added to the roar of the inferno at the front gate and snap of small arms fire. Things were going very well indeed.

  Chapter 12

  PETROCON Refinery, Kordofan District, Sudan

  When the tanker exploded, Yang had just walked out of his accommodation. Grabbing his pistol belt, he sprinted across the vehicle park towards the front gate. Smoke and gunfire confirmed his fears. The refinery was under attack.

  All the guard towers were hit with small arms fire, suppressing them. The front gate was a raging inferno. Alarms sounded and guards rushed forward, attempting to reinforce the guard towers.

  "Stop, you fools!" Yang screamed at them in Mandarin. If they attempted to climb the towers they would be killed. Held in reserve they could react to their attacker's next move. He rallied the guards and held them behind the concrete barriers that separated the vehicle park from the rest of the plant. Finding the senior ranking mercenary, he issued him a quick set of orders.

  "Hold your men here. If anyone tries to penetrate the wire, kill them. Do not attempt to reinforce the towers until I give word on the radio. Is this clear?"

  The guard captain nodded.

  A fire truck rushed forward to attempt to extinguish the flames. Yang waved it back. He would let the tanker burn. The fire would not spread and it stopped any assault from entering the compound. The enemy would eventually run low on ammunition and be forced to withdraw.

  The thump of a grenade drew his attention to one corner of the compound. The tower was under attack, the guards killed or injured. As he watched, another grenade sailed over the wall and detonated, fragging a number of the Chinese jeeps. Then another sailed over the fence, and another, a stream of grenades arcing over the wall exploding among vehicles and accommodation buildings. One of them rolled into an ammunition pit dug for the Janjaweed stock
s of mortar bombs. Yang hit the sand as it detonated. A huge explosion flipped one of the jeeps into the air and the blastwave washed over him.

  The Chinese operative clenched his fists as he watched the burning debris land on an accommodation building, setting it alight. His radio squelched. "Yang, this is Slayer. We are ready for take-off."

  Yang got up and ran towards the helipad in the center of the plant. The battle was about to take a turn in his favor.

  Chapter 13

  PETROCON Refinery, Kordofan District, Sudan

  Garang waited until Jonjo was back in position before ordering his men to move. The PKM gunner was down to his last fifty rounds, enough to pepper the towers while Jonjo pulled back into the creek line. His team would concentrate their fire on the positions either side of the gate as they leapfrogged back. Jonjo's team would bring up the rear.

  The northern team gave off a few more bursts before beginning their move. They scrambled into the creek line, the team leader accounting for all of his men. Spirits were high as they ran down the creek back towards the rally point.

  Garang heard the thud of helicopter blades over the gunfire as the Chinese built H425 screamed around the edge of the refinery. He watched in horror as the gun pods and rockets caught them cold, 12.7mm rounds smashing into the men, chopping them apart like butchered meat. Rockets exploded in the creek turning it into a burning hell of scorched flesh and blood. In one pass the aircraft decimated the team, all but three of the men killed instantly. None of them were left standing.

  Garang, in shock, hugged the earth as the helicopter gunship roared overhead. A few of his men tracked it with their AKs firing off the last of their ammunition.

  The SFF leader fumbled with his radio attempting to raise the team leader. There was no reply.

  "Garang, we need to go." The man next to him shook his arm, eyes wide with fear.

  The rest of the team looked to him for direction, terrified.