PRIMAL Vengeance (3)

by Jack Silkstone

  Bishop gunned the Wildcat and it churned the sand, bashing a path through the dry grass and shrubs as he followed the tracks of the rest of the convoy.

  In the turret Mirza pulled his iPRIMAL out of his vest and activated the detonator app. Four devices were active; he selected them all and touched the red fire button.

  The ridgeline disappeared in a cloud of dust as the custom directional mines exploded, thousands of pellets blasting into the advancing Janjaweed. The first line of raiders fell to the ground and the dust cloud covered the SFF withdrawal.

  In the Hilux, Garang sat in the tray beside Jess and other SFF soldiers. He grinned as the hill detonated. "Victory!" He pumped his fist in the air as the other men in the truck joined the chant. "Victory!"

  Jess sat in silence, the wind whipping at her long brown hair.

  Without warning, sounds like the beating of massive drums filled the air and gouts of dust intercepted the lead vehicle. Heavy caliber rounds smashed into it, tearing men apart and shredding the tray where they sat. The truck skidded to a halt as the rear axle detached from the chassis. A rocket streaked across the sky and exploded in the cabin, flipping the wreck and killing those who had survived the burst of machine gun fire.

  The helicopter gunship roared over the destroyed vehicle and swung around in a wide arc. Garang's driver swerved to miss the burning pickup and slammed into an ant nest hidden by the long grass. The mound of compact earth stopped the UNIMOG dead, sending the passengers flying.

  The panicked SFF pushed and shoved as they leapt out and scattered into the grass.

  Bishop took evasive action and skidded the Wildcat 180 degrees. Mirza opened up with the heavy .50 cal but the chopper was moving way too fast. It raced around in an arc, maintaining speed for the next pass.

  Jonjo jumped out, the SA-18 in his arms, running through the pre-firing drill that Mirza had taught him. He shouldered the long tube and activated the missile's seeker.

  The chopper had almost finished its turn, and the SA-18's heat-seeking warhead had a clear line direct to the hot engines. It picked up the thermal signature, announcing a lock with a high-pitched squeal.

  Jonjo took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened!

  The chopper was coming straight for him. He could see flashes as pod-mounted machine guns fired.

  He pumped the trigger franticly. Nothing happened.

  A hand reached over his shoulder and flicked off the safety bail.

  Explosions of dust tracked towards him as he squeezed the trigger. The rocket leapt skyward just before a body slammed into him, pitching him into the ground as heavy rounds cut through the air where he was standing.

  The pilot of the helicopter reacted on impulse, pushing the stick sideways as the missile streaked towards him. It flew directly under the helicopter at almost two thousand kilometers an hour. The proximity fuse registered the airframe and detonated a split second later. Fragmentation was thrown forward and out missing the helicopter. The blast damaged the tail rotor, sending the helicopter spinning sideways.

  Alarms wailed as the pilot fought to keep the aircraft in the air. Yang cooly adjusted the straps of his safety harness and gripped the sides of his seat, ready for the inevitable.

  To the pilot's credit, he managed to push the helicopter another two kilometers before he put it down. They slammed into the ground with a crunch forcing the control stick up and through the pilot's chest. Yang's seat collapsed, as it was designed to do, taking some of the force out of the impact. Despite the searing pain in his back, he managed to extract himself from the wreckage. As he made to abandon the ruined aircraft, the pilot lifted his head. Blood oozed from his mouth as he tried to talk.

  "Thank you for keeping me alive," said Yang in Mandarin. He drew his pistol and shot the mortally wounded pilot in the head. He limped from the wreck, making for the smoke of the burning village and the safety of Sagrib's forces.

  Back at the convoy, Mirza had lifted Jonjo from the ground and dusted him off. The young warrior had come away unscathed.

  Bishop picked them up in the Wildcat and drove up the track to the SFF vehicles.

  Jess was standing in shock, staring at the destroyed pickup, watching it burn. The air was filled with the stench of burning flesh, bodies cooking in the intensity of the fire. Fat dripped from exposed bones.

  "For fuck sake!" exclaimed Bishop. He grabbed her by the shoulders and bundled her into the back of the Wildcat. "Jonjo, talk to her. Now where the hell is Garang?"

  Bishop found him next to the Hilux. He was sitting in the grass, his fists clenched on his knees. He looked up as the PRIMAL operative approached.

  "Another seven men dead," Garang muttered. "The oil companies better come good on this, Aden."

  "There aren't going to be any oil companies if you don't get your men together. That helicopter isn't going to be here alone, Garang. More Janjaweed are on the way."

  The SFF leader said nothing. He dusted himself off and issued orders to his remaining fighters. The men, who had scattered into the grass, reappeared and piled back into the remaining vehicles. It was a far more subdued group of men that drove south.

  Chapter 25

  PETROCON Refinery, Kordofan District, Sudan

  "Sir, I have some unfortunate news. Someone is providing covert support to the rebels." Yang stood in the vehicle park of the refinery using his satellite phone.

  "Yes, continue," replied Zhu.

  "The Dinka have been armed with modern weaponry. Today they attacked the Janjaweed camp and destroyed most of their vehicles. They also shot down the helicopter."

  There was a pause as Zhu contemplated the information. "I should have anticipated this. It is possible that the CIA or MI6 have become aware of our activities and are attempting to balance the conflict. Do you think it is possible that this 'support' is coming from the same group involved in the destruction of the 'Tian Hai'?" The Chinese businessman's tone was flat, devoid of emotion.

  "It is possible."

  There was another pause. "Hmmm. Tell me, Yang, do you think that this venture is still economically viable? Can we still force the rebels south and secure the oil fields?"

  "The only thing stopping us is the Dinka rebels and we easily outmatch them. Even if the CIA is involved they can do little to stop us short of sending in the Marines."

  "There is no chance of that. In Africa the Americans are timid. They would not move without UN endorsement and our position on the UN Security Council precludes that."

  "If we can locate the Dinka base, we can crush them and guarantee success. The Americans would be powerless. Omar has many more men and equipment is cheap. We will quickly replace his losses. Our objectives can be achieved."

  "Excellent. Our intelligence has already located what they believe to be the rebel stronghold. As for manpower, I will speak to Omar and arrange for more of the Janjaweed to be sent south. Additional weapons and vehicles will also be made available. Is there anything else you will need?"

  "No Sir. I am confident that with this information we cannot fail. Sagrib is motivated towards the destruction of the Dinka, especially the one they call Garang."

  "Yes, Garang..." Zhu contemplated, "the American Dinka certainly leads me to believe that the CIA is involved. We cannot let them defeat us, Yang. Much is at stake. China needs oil to grow. Without it our great nation will wither like a plant without water."

  The call ended and Yang limped back to the accommodation. His back spasmed with pain as he walked. This mission had taken a harsh toll on his body; first the knife wound to his leg on the 'Tian Hai' and now his injuries from the helicopter crash.

  Yang clenched his jaw and his fists as he stiffly ascended the steps. He would make the men responsible pay, of that he was sure. This morning's convoy had already brought five of the new fast attack vehicles, shipped in from China, bristling with machine guns. With the other four-wheel drives and trucks Omar would send, the Janjaweed would regain their mobility. The SFF raid would
have achieved nothing. Re-armed with vehicles, weapons and intelligence, Yang was sure Sagrib and his band of cutthroats would make short work of the Dinka.

  Chapter 26

  Chinese Fast Attack Vehicle

  SFF Village, Abyei District

  It had taken two days for the beaten-up convoy to make its way back to the village. They had looped south making sure they crossed back over their own tracks to confuse anyone following them. Overnight they had hidden their vehicles on a thickly vegetated riverbank, half the men sleeping while half watched for the Janjaweed. At daybreak they had followed the river north, passed through the gap in the basin and driven into their home base.

  The men were exhausted by the time they arrived but Garang would not let them rest. They cleaned weapons and reloaded magazines as others pulled guard duty. Jess tended to the wounded and Garang disappeared into one of the huts. Sitting on his stretcher, he opened his notebook, adding the names of the men killed to his growing list.

  "No one tells you about this part," said Bishop from the doorway.

  Garang dropped the notebook on the stretcher. "We are losing more men than are arriving. Soon I will run out of fighters, and long before we defeat the Janjaweed."

  "More men will come; when word spreads of your victory then more of them will arrive."

  "Will it be enough? The Janjaweed are fanatics; they love to fight. My men are farmers and boys. They have had enough of war. I have had enough of war."

  "As long as the Janjaweed do not fear you, then you will have war. They will come and they will rape, murder and burn until you flee. Then they will chase you and take more. It will only end when we have defeated them."

  "We can't defeat them, Aden. There are too many. Up north where they live, there are thousands."

  "That's crap, Garang. Today you gave them a bloody nose. You smashed their trucks and shot down their gunship! Word of this will spread. Your army will grow and we will support you. The Janjaweed are bullies; hit them hard enough and often enough and they will break."

  Bishop left the SFF commander to dwell on his words and walked back to the grass hut that served as their accommodation. Mirza was sitting out front on an empty ammunition tin cleaning his AK. A small burner was boiling a kettle in front of him.

  "Brew?" he asked as Bishop approached.

  "Yeah, mate, sounds good," he replied as he ducked into the hut to get his mug. He reappeared with it a few seconds later, grabbed an empty crate and sat down opposite his friend.

  "Between me and you, I've got some doubts about Garang." Bishop started to pull apart his own weapon.

  "Why is that?" asked Mirza.

  "Sometimes he's highly motivated, but only when things are going well. He takes a few hits and all of sudden doesn't seem to have his heart in it. I get the feeling he's looking for an easy way out. His lust for Sagrib's blood might not be enough."

  "His men fought well though. You can't deny he played a part in that."

  "True. I'm not saying he's not capable, it's just...he's not as committed as I would like."

  "He doesn't have as much to lose as the rest," pointed out Mirza. "He is here as a volunteer. The others are as well, but if they don't fight they run or they die. Garang is here because he wants to help. He's the best we've got to work with."

  Bishop started cleaning his AK.

  Mirza continued. "I think you're a little biased."

  "Biased! I'm not biased. How the hell am I baised?"

  "Easy, soldier," Mirza grinned. "Everyone can see that you like the girl."

  "What? Jess? It's not like that. I just don't like the way he treats her."

  "Because you like her."

  "No, because...ah fuck. Yes, I like her. So what? But don't think for even one second I would jeopardize this operation over a woman."

  Mirza looked taken back. "Did I say you would? I just think you should go easy on Garang. He's giving it his all and the SFF performed well today."

  The little tin kettle started to whistle.

  "Some of them better than others," said Bishop. "That kid Jonjo's a bit of a star."

  "He's an excellent soldier. I just hope he gets a chance to be something else when all this is over." Mirza took the kettle from the burner and turned off the gas.

  Bishop passed him his mug. "Let's just hope this gets to a point where it can be over."

  ***

  At the same time as Mirza and Bishop drank their tea, ten kilometers away a Janjaweed scout stopped his motorbike at a track junction. He was checking the ground for tracks, looking for a particular type of sign, a wider-than-usual wheelbase with a particularly aggressive tread. The morning sun made his job easier. The light hit the peaks at an angle casting shadows into the troughs, highlighting the pattern. He knelt to study the marks, his fingers tracing the outline of each rut. He stood, wiping his hands on his trouser leg. He had not found what he was looking for.

  It had been twenty-four hours since the attack and still they had found nothing. Janjaweed scouts had scoured tracks and creek lines looking for any sign of their enemy. The Dinka convoy's wheel marks had gone south and then disappeared into the hundreds of wheel ruts that criss-crossed a river crossing.

  The radio he had looped over his handlebars squawked as someone transmitted. He strode back to the bike to listen to the message. Sagrib had provided a grid reference for the enemy base. He checked a map; the village was not too far, about ten kilometers from his current position. He jumped back on the bike and kicked over the engine. It would only take him a few hours to follow up the lead.

  ***

  The next day the villagers had put together a feast to farewell the fallen and celebrate the SFF victory over the Janjaweed. They had slaughtered a cow and constructed a fire pit at the edge of the soccer field. Huge earthen pots sat on a bed of coals while the aroma of stewed beef heavy with spices, wafted across the village drawing warriors and children alike. Garang had given his approval for alcohol and Mitch had produced a couple of cartons of beer. The men were sitting together in groups under the trees, drinking beer, eating bowls of stew and relaxing.

  "This is good grub," Bishop said between mouthfuls. He was sitting with Garang, Mirza and Jess.

  "Very good," nodded Mirza.

  "The women in this village, they cook well. You don't see them carrying on trying to be soldiers," said Garang.

  Jess dropped her bowl on the ground and stormed off.

  They sat in silence, eating and drinking their beers. Garang finished, excused himself and went over to sit with his men.

  Mirza finished and stood up. "I'm going to take some food to Mitch." The PRIMAL technician was busy with Dragonfly, fussing over some of the communications gear.

  Bishop was left on his own. He finished mopping up the juices in his bowl with a slab of dense, unleavened bread and wandered over to thank the women for the food. Then he opened another beer and headed towards the medical hut.

  "You don't have to make excuses for him," Jess said as he entered the clinic. "He speaks his mind."

  "That's not why I'm here."

  She stopped what she was doing and glared at him. "Really? Then why did you come over?"

  "I wanted to apologize for how I treated you back when the truck was burning. I shouldn't have been so rough. It's just...I didn't think you needed to see that."

  "You're an enigma, Aden. On one hand you teach me to use an AK. On the other you try to protect me from seeing the destruction they cause." She placed the surgical equipment she was sorting down on the operating table and walked over to Bishop.

  Even in the cold sterile lighting of the medical clinic she looked beautiful. Her face was dirty, her hair a mess, but Bishop still couldn't think of anything other than kissing her.

  The iPRIMAL buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out. It was a message from Mitch; one of the ground sensors was active. "Jess, I've gotta run. We can continue this later, OK?" He leaned forward and pecked her on the cheek before leaving the hut.

>   He jogged across to the edge of the soccer field where Mitch had parked Dragonfly. It sat under camouflage netting, hidden from any prying eyes. The PRIMAL scientist had set up a workstation under the wing; a couple of plastic cases with a laptop on top of them.

  "Bish, my good man, we've got a problem." He did not look up from the screen.

  "What is it?" asked Bishop as he ducked under the camouflage netting.

  "We've got company."

  Bishop looked over the burly scientist's shoulder at the screen. What he saw were the ugly features of an Arab warrior. The Janjaweed was looking into the lens and talking on a radio.

  "Can you jam that radio?"

  "Negative, old man. These things are pretty low tech." Mitch's fingers danced on the keyboard as a number of alerts jumped up on screen. "He's not alone. I'm getting movement on two of the ground monitors as well."

  "Damn. They know we're here."

  "It appears so," Mitch said. "Mirza's already rounding up the fighters. I hope to God they haven't had too much to drink."

  "OK, our number one priority is to get the civvies out. If those Janjaweed fucks get their hands on those women and the kids, it will be on our heads. How many can you fit in Dragonfly?"

  "Maybe fifteen at a push."

  "Do two runs, wheels up in ten minutes. Put them down somewhere safe and keep the bird at a distance. If it gets too hot, we'll bug out and re-group later. The rest of us will make our stand here."

  "Listen, mate, I've got the gun pod up and running, I'd be better use in close support."

  "Negative Mitch. Civvies are the priority, including Jess."

  "Roger, understood. I'll drop them out at Kaljack. It's been abandoned since the SFF cleared it out."