PRIMAL Vengeance (3)

by Jack Silkstone

  "Behind us; an aircraft!" warned one of his men. Sagrib spun his machine gun to the rear. A sound like a swarm of giant mechanical bees filled the air. Rounds stitched the ground and the tilt-rotor thundered over. One of the jeeps bounced as the line of bullets smashed through it, splattering the crew all over the surrounding infantry. Sagrib tracked the fast-moving craft, his heavy machine gun bucking as he sent automatic fire streaming towards the target. The small plane seemed to lurch as a number of rounds struck its body. Then it was gone; out of range.

  Sagrib surveyed the damage. Despite the overwhelming firepower, the aircraft had achieved little. One of his four-wheel drives was knocked out of action and no doubt the mortar crew was dead, but he still had most of his foot soldiers. He yelled out to his men and kicked the back of his driver's seat to get them moving. The fight would continue.

  ***

  "Mirza, wake up! Wake up!"

  He felt like he had been slapped in the face with a bag full of hammers. His brain hurt, even more than the time Bishop had forced him to drink shots in a bar in Thailand. Mirza's eyes blinked open and he was greeted by Jonjo's concerned look.

  "What happened?" Mirza asked as he tore the radio headset from his ears. The sophisticated buds had protected his ears from the blast, but now they were broken and useless.

  "Mortar—caught you in the open."

  "Is your man alright?" Mirza hauled himself to his feet checking his body for holes.

  "He is alive but we might be in trouble. The Janjaweed are coming!" Jonjo pointed towards the noise of approaching vehicles and automatic gunfire.

  "Mirza! Quit slacking off and get back in the fight," screamed Bishop, shooting his AK. He was crouched behind the remnants of one of the huts firing single, aimed shots.

  Mirza grabbed his weapon from the dirt, pulled back the cocking handle, checking there was still a round in the chamber as he ran over to Bishop's position. As he orientated himself, he could see the village was a total shambles. The huts had all been flattened, thatch roofs blown off, pieces of mud walls all that was left of the simple dwellings. The scene looked like a battlefield from a World War One movie.

  Jonjo followed, and when they were next to Bishop he unslung a bulky weapon and handed it to the PRIMAL operative, along with a bandolier of magazines.

  "Thanks, mate." Bishop inspected the M25 'Punisher' grenade launcher. The forward team was now down to just Bishop, Jonjo and Mirza. The other SFF fighters in their group carried their injured man to the rear to meet with Garang and the main body of fighters.

  "What happened to the mortars?" Mirza asked as they waited for the enemy to join the party.

  "Mitch and Jess smashed them up with Dragonfly," said Bishop.

  "Jess? When?"

  "While you were knocked out."

  Mirza shook his head in disbelief. "Only you can arrange for us to be saved by a beautiful woman!"

  The growl of engines grew louder and an increase in gunfire grabbed the attention of the three men. They positioned their weapons on the remnants of a thick mud wall and waited.

  A line of infantry came first. They had moved to the front of the formation, clearing the wrecked huts methodically, crouching low, running from cover to cover. Dark-skinned Arabs clad in a motley array of camouflage uniforms, wielding everything from AK47s to G3s and Uzi submachine guns.

  The skirmish line was backed up by four heavily armed gun buggies and a line of battered four-wheel drives and trucks. The gun buggies nosed down the track in pairs, letting the dismounts work their way forward.

  Rounds snapped through the air as the Janjaweed fired at shadows. They were 200 meters from Bishop's position when he ranged them with the Punisher's high-tech sighting system.

  Bishop fired four grenades in quick succession and the two others opened up with their AKs, spitting suppressed rounds at the Janjaweed.

  The Punisher grenades airburst above the forward line of Janjaweed, spraying them with a hailstorm of shrapnel. Men collapsed screaming as tiny fragments of metal tore into their skin. Mirza and Jonjo's accurate gunfire sent the rest scrambling for cover.

  "Go, go, go!" ordered Bishop as he loaded another of the chunky magazines into his weapon.

  Jonjo withdrew first, Mirza covering him with controlled bursts.

  Two of the Janjaweed buggies pushed forward, their gunners opening up. Rounds stitched the ground around Jonjo as he sprinted for the safety of the next line of huts.

  Bishop launched a grenade at the trucks. It exploded short, kicking up dust and debris. The gunner lost his aim and swung his weapon towards the new threat. Mirza hit him with a burst from his AK. The Arab dropped in the turret ring as bullets slashed through his body.

  "We need to get the hell out of here!" screamed Bishop. Lines of Janjaweed footsoldiers had already cleared through the first lot of huts and were pressing forward. A pair of armed jeeps had moved around to the flank and threatened to cut them off.

  Bishop ducked as rounds slammed into what was left of the mud wall he was using for cover. He felt the tug of a bullet passing through his pants leg.

  Mirza crouched next to him, calmly changing the magazine on his weapon.

  "We've got cover!" yelled Mirza as Jonjo opened up from his firing position to their rear.

  Bishop launched three more of the explosive shells from the M25, pulled a smoke grenade from his chest rig and lobbed it towards the Janjaweed. "Let's go!"

  ***

  Smoke billowed from the grenade obscuring the fleeing men. Sagrib fired his machine gun into the haze, hoping for a lucky shot.

  "Keep going, you lazy swine!" he screamed at his men. "They're trying to get away."

  More grenades started spewing smoke deeper in the ruined village. The entire basin was rapidly filling with a thick cloud that obscured all movement. There was no doubt in Sagrib's mind the Dinka were trying to slip away. He jumped down from his vehicle, unslinging his AK, and jogged forward with the first line of men. The other Janjaweed fell in behind, ready to reinforce their leader.

  His men fired at shadows in the smoke, pumping trees and damaged huts with savage bursts of fire. They encountered no enemy and picked up their pace.

  Sagrib and nearly sixty fighters surged forward like wolves on the trail of a wounded deer, desperate for a kill. Behind them their vehicles kept pace, heavy machine gunners scanning for targets.

  The Janjaweed cleared the last line of ruined huts as the smoke started to dissipate. Sagrib halted his men. There was no sign of the Dinka villagers or fighters.

  Vehicle tracks disappeared in the tall grass and onto the sandy track that went through to the other side of the high ridge. Dust hung in the air and the growl of a four-wheel drive could be heard further down the track.

  "Bring up the trucks." Sagrib waved his men forward. The Janjaweed vehicles accelerated down the track, technicals, buggies, and Chinese jeeps bunched up, the wolves eager to continue the pursuit.

  Out on the flank, one of the Janjaweed foot soldiers stopped to scan the high ground. A sound had drawn his attention, the sound of metal scraping on rock. He shaded his eyes from the sun. In the shadow of a boulder was a shape that looked like a man. The shadow moved. The Arab raised his weapon and a single shot drilled him between the eyes.

  The ridgeline came alive with muzzle flashes as Garang's men opened up on the Janjaweed. Dismounted infantry fell like straw under a farmer's scythe as 7.62mm rounds cut through their ranks. RPG rockets streaked through the air to slam into the Janjaweed trucks, setting fire to ammunition, fuel and flesh.

  One of the jeeps reversed, accelerating away in a cloud of red dust. The gunner and occupants fired full automatic at the SFF positions to buy the driver time. The jeep looked as if it would escape, then bullets slammed into the bonnet and it stopped dead, the engine block shattered. The driver exploded into a spray of crimson as .50 cal rounds ripped through his body.

  The Wildcat emerged from a patch of vegetation, thin trees pushed to the side as Bish
op maneuvered it to another firing position. Mirza was manning the machine gun and ducked a branch as they left the concealment of the trees. He fired the big .50 cal again, blasting the Janjaweed jeep. The Raufoss rounds tore into soft metal, the incendiary bullets setting plastic and nylon alight. Within seconds it was ablaze, any surviving occupants running for their lives.

  "Stand and fight!" Sagrib cried, trying in vain to rally his men. "Fire back at the Dinka pigs!"

  Overwhelmed by the ferocity of the ambush, many of the Arabs turned and fled. One of their groups held ground using a heavy truck as cover, trying to suppress the Dinka positions. Hopelessly exposed, they died as automatic fire continued to riddle the remaining vehicles.

  In a matter of seconds the battle had turned against the Janjaweed. Sagrib fired the last of his bullets into the hillside and ran back into the ruined village with the remainder of his men. At least half his fighters were still alive, those outside the Dinka killing zone. Sagrib knew that without his leadership, they would flee but under his command they could still regroup, withdraw and fight another day. The Chinese could supply more guns and Omar would send reinforcements.

  He made it as far as the first hut when his legs were knocked out from underneath him, sending him face first into the dust. The Janjaweed leader rolled onto his back and looked down at his legs in horror. His right shin was shattered, his foot attached with shreds of flesh and cloth, the boot and severed foot sitting at right angles to his leg. He rolled onto his stomach and started crawling, leaving behind a thick wet trail in the dirt.

  "Cease fire! Cease fire!" Garang's voice echoed across the high ground. The SFF guns fell silent and once more the village was still. Only the crackle of burning vehicles and feeble cries of the wounded could be heard.

  The Dinka warriors rose from their ambush positions on the high ground. They chanted in their local tongue as they walked down through the killing ground. Flitting through the smoke like wraiths, they used their bush knives to dispatch the wounded Arabs.

  "Once more we dance into the jaws of death, only to escape and live to fight another day." Bishop joked from the driver's seat of the the Wildcat.

  "Some a little closer than others." Mirza rubbed his forehead where the blast had slammed him face first into the ground.

  Jonjo laughed in the front seat. "Nothing to fear. I told you the talisman would protect you." He grinned as he jumped out of the truck and moved down the track to where the Dinka were gathering, their chants filling the air.

  Mirza reached for the bullet that hung from his neck. Despite his body heat it still felt cold to the touch. He stared at the thirty men jumping and chanting at the edge of the village.

  "We need to get the men together and leave, Aden." Mirza's voice was calm. "We may have won this battle but the war is far from over and this is the first place the next Janjaweed army is going to look."

  "Too right. I'll get Garang. You organize the drivers." Bishop got out and made for the chanting throng of Dinka. As he got closer, he noticed all of the men had gathered around a single body. He shouldered his way through.

  Lying in the middle of the men, a look of rage on his waxen features was Sagrib.

  Garang was there, chanting with the rest of his men. His face was contorted into a mask of rage and hatred. Bishop grabbed him by the shoulder.

  "Garang, we need him alive and we need to go," Bishop yelled into his ear.

  "NO, HE DIES HERE!" Garang screamed at Bishop.

  "He has intel. We need to get it out of him." Bishop grabbed the muscular African by his vest and shook him. "You give me thirty minutes and I'll have enough info to take this to the next level."

  Garang contemplated the PRIMAL operative's words. He looked across at Jonjo. The young soldier was the only Dinka warrior who had remained calm. While the others chanted, he stood silently staring at the Janjaweed commander.

  "Very well, he comes with us. Bring the vehicles."

  Bishop strode into the circle of Dinka to where Sagrib lay. Despite his mangled foot, he was still conscious. He spat as the PRIMAL operative inspected his wound. Bishop leaned forward and punched him in the face, knocking him out. The Dinka fell silent, watching as Bishop worked a tourniquet over the Arab's wound and tightened it, cutting off the flow of blood.

  "Grab what weapons you can. Burn the rest," Garang ordered his fighters. "We're leaving!"

  Chapter 28

  Kaljak Village, Abyei District

  They had chosen the village of Kaljak as a makeshift base because it was abandoned. The Janjaweed had hit it once and it was unlikely they would return. In the time that had passed since Garang and his men had helped evacuate the village, Mother Nature had conducted a thorough clean up. Hyenas had dragged away the corpses of the dead villagers and vultures had stripped the flesh from the bones of the crucified missionary. It was almost as if she had known the SFF would need a new home now that their crater hideaway had been compromised.

  The tilt-rotor had arrived first, dropping two loads of evacuees from the SFF village. Mitch and Jess had left them under the protection of a small security detail before returning to launch their attack on the Janjaweed mortars. Damaged from ground fire, Dragonfly had limped back to the new base, landing heavily. Mitch had immediately gone to work to repair the damage.

  It was late afternoon when the Dinka convoy rolled in. Wheels bounced over the old craters carved by Janjaweed mortars as the trucks pulled in next to what used to be the marketplace. Villagers gathered, trying to catch a glimpse of a father or a brother, wanting to know who had managed to get out alive.

  Jess appeared from a hut, her hair up and hands covered by rubber gloves. "We're ready for the wounded," she said.

  Men carried the critically wounded into the makeshift surgery. There were three that were badly injured, including the man Mirza had saved. Another five or so had superficial injuries that the doctor would treat later.

  "Aden, you're OK!" Jess's eyes lit up when she saw him.

  "Only because you and Mitch came back for us," said Bishop as she gave him a quick hug.

  "It was all Mitch. He insisted," she said.

  "Regardless, the two of you saved our lives. If you hadn't cleaned up those mortars, all of us would have died back there."

  Two of Garang's men lifted Sagrib from the back of the Wildcat. Jess saw the injured man and gestured for them to bring him into the clinic.

  "Not him." Bishop shook his head. "Bring him with me. Mirza find me a chair."

  "What are you going to do to him?" asked Jess.

  "We're just going to have a chat."

  Jonjo and Garang made a move to follow the men. Bishop turned, waving them away. "You make sure your men have secured the village."

  "No. I want to watch him die," replied Jonjo.

  "You'll get your chance. Garang, keep everyone away, especially Jess. She doesn't need to see this."

  The SFF leader nodded.

  Two Dinka guards dragged the Janjaweed commander by his shoulders, letting his shattered leg drag in the sand, his hands zip-tied behind him. He hurled abuse at the two men in his native tongue. Bishop led them around the corner to a blood-stained wall, the site of the crucifixion.

  Mirza appeared with a wooden school chair and the two men dropped Sagrib onto it. The Arab glared at his captors, slowly scanning the faces of the men in front of him. His lips parted in a toothless grin as the Dinka guards dropped their eyes. His glare focused on Bishop and his grin faded. The white man met his gaze with a cold, unblinking stare of his own.

  "So you are the CIA pig who leads these dogs?" He spat his words.

  Bishop drew his combat knife from his chest rig and leaned forward driving the blade into Sagrib's injured leg. The Arab screamed as the knife ground against his thigh bone.

  "Listen to my words very carefully, scum bag, because this is the first and last time I'm going to tell you. Answer my questions and that is all. Mouth off again and I'll give you more pain than you can ever imagine."
Bishop pulled the knife from the man's leg and wiped it on the Arab's pants. "Tell me who you're reporting to."

  "Fuck you, CIA pig!"

  "I warned you, Sagrib." Bishop turned to his partner sitting against a low wall. "Mirza, can you grab the tool kit from the truck."

  Mirza nodded and walked towards the Wildcat. Bishop took a handful of thick zip ties from his rig and laid them on the ground in front of the captive. Mirza returned a few moments later with the emergency tool kit from the Land Rover.

  Bishop lay the box on the ground and sorted through it methodically. The kit was designed to keep a truck running no matter what the circumstances. It held all sorts of useful equipment including a micro welder and the tool that Bishop was looking for—a cordless grinder.

  "Mirza, zip-tie his thighs." Bishop removed the grinding part from the power tool and replaced it with a sinister-looking cutting blade.

  Mirza placed the thick zip ties around Sagrib's legs. The Arab kicked out and Mirza drove his elbow into the thigh, at the same time drawing the improvised tourniquet tight.

  Bishop held the power tool up in front of Sagrib's face and thumbed the trigger. It spun up with a sinister hiss.

  "The tourniquets will stop you from bleeding to death. Once I've finished cutting off your legs, I'm going to start on your arms. Once I've finished there I'm going to hand you over to the doctor. Now she is a compassionate woman; she will save your life. But then you will be given to the villagers and you will spend the rest of your life groveling for food like a pig, unable to take your own life. You will be forced to live in filth like a dog."

  The warrior's eyes grew wide and for the first time in his life he felt fear. According to his faith, if he died fighting the infidel he would be rewarded with unimaginable riches. However, living his life like an animal, groveling for scraps in a Dinka village, would condemn him to an eternity of hell.