by Dave Edlund
After a very long minute, the shooting halted and Peter carefully raised his head. He saw the two dead SLM rebels who had failed to retreat from the mortar position. The mortar itself was a jumbled mess of scrap iron, not that it would be of any further use without additional shells.
Peter crawled forward to get into a prone shooting position. He was determined to fight, even if he stood little chance. But his resolve nearly evaporated in an instant when Ethan slid to the ground next to him, holding the Winchester rifle he had been shooting only minutes earlier.
“What are you doing here? You were supposed to leave with your friends!”
“I couldn’t, Dad. You need all the help you can get.”
“Ethan, you’ve got to leave now, while you still have a chance! You can’t stay here.” Peter’s left hand was clutching his Weatherby and with his right he clasped Ethan’s shoulder.
“Dad, I’m not leaving you. You risked everything to find me and bring me home. I’m not leaving you! We’ll go home together.”
“Look… there is nothing we can do to stop those trucks, do you understand? Those AA guns will tear up this grove! We’re only trying to slow them down to give you guys a chance to get away!”
Ethan looked squarely into his father’s eyes with a determination he had not shown before. He was no longer Peter’s little boy, no longer the terrorized youth that Peter had consoled just a short while ago. He had changed. Under the extreme conditions, Ethan was emerging from the cocoon of youth as a man, and Peter knew he had to accept that Ethan would—and should—make his own decisions.
But there was even more to it than that. As Peter looked into Ethan’s eyes he swore he caught a glimpse of his son’s soul. What he saw made Peter avert his eyes. But as he looked back at Ethan, it was still there… a hint of ruthlessness and determination that Peter had thought only resided in himself, brought to the surface following his wife’s death. In this moment, he recognized it in Ethan, too.
Todd called out, breaking the silence.
“What are we going to do, boss?”
Peter glanced at Todd and then turned back to Ethan.
“Son, this is very bad, do you hear me? We are not likely to make it out of this one.”
“All the more reason that I’m not abandoning you.” There was no waver or hesitation in Ethan’s voice. “I sent the trucks on; they’re gone.”
Peter nodded silently and then hung his head down, eyes clenched tight. With a moment’s pause, he resigned himself to accept his son’s decision.
“All right then,” Peter continued. “Spread out on the lip of this depression. Aim for the drivers and pray to God they don’t have armored glass. If the bullets fall low maybe we can puncture the radiators and kill the engines.”
The trucks had approached to within 600 yards. A long shot for sure, but still within the effective range of the rifle cartridges they were shooting. Hamaad’s remaining men spread out within the acacia grove, kneeling beside the largest trees. The grove was not huge by any measure, barely a half acre in size, so they could not expect to hold out long. It was only a matter of time before the Americans and SLM rebels alike ran out of ammunition. The Janjaweed had time and resources on their side. They could simply sit out there and slowly cut the men down with the AA guns.
Peter looked at Ethan off to his right. He was busily laying out the few remaining .30-06 cartridges for the Winchester.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you from this.”
“Dad, you didn’t make this choice… it just happened. Like you said, life isn’t always fair. But if there is one thing I learned from you, it’s to make the best of whatever situation you find yourself in. It’s what we have to do.”
Peter nodded. “Son, I’m very proud of you. And in case we don’t make it out of here, I want you to know how much I love you.”
Ethan paused in his preparations. “I know you do, Dad. And I love you, too.”
Just then a group of mounted Janjaweed militiamen came riding over the ridge to the west, charging into the acacia grove, firing their weapons into the flank of the defenders. The SLM rebels were ready, and turned quickly, returning fire at their loathsome enemy.
Using acacia trees for cover, the rebels were surprisingly effective even though the mounted militiamen were moving swiftly, never offering a stationary target. The rebels laid down a spray of fire, easily shooting as many horses as militiamen. Their choice of target didn’t matter, because when a horse was shot it went down, dropping the rider and making him an easier target to pick off.
After a brief but intensely violent skirmish, only four Janjaweed were left to ride off in retreat. Fortunately, none of Hamaad’s men were seriously wounded.
Peter surmised that the AA guns had ceased fire to allow the mounted attack. Now that it had been repelled, he didn’t have to wait long for the guns to open up again, only now they were much closer at 500 yards.
The aim was high and the acacia trees took the full impact of the assault—bark, leaves, and tree limbs rained down to the ground. Without waiting any longer, the Americans took careful aim at the truck drivers and began to return fire. One by one the three trucks stopped advancing.
The stricken drivers were not replaced and the trucks remained stalled, allowing the Janjaweed to keep their distance while continuing the barrage of automatic fire. The ground in front of Todd and Gary erupted in dust, sand, and dirt as a barrage of bullets slammed into the earth, and the gunners manning the AAs adjusted their range.
The roar of the large guns was much louder now that the trucks were closer. “Aim for the gunners,” Peter yelled above the noise. The Americans altered their aim accordingly.
One militiaman fell, and immediately his body was unceremoniously dragged off the truck. Another man took his place and the gun chattered again.
Groups of Janjaweed clustered around the base of the trucks, shooting at their stubborn foe with their limited-range automatic rifles. The American riflemen maintained concentration on the real threat… those damned AA guns.
“Yeah! I got one!” Gary shouted to no one in particular.
“Only one? That’s number three for me,” Todd replied calmly as he rammed another round into the chamber and took careful aim.
Suddenly a stream of heavy-caliber bullets cut from left to right across the grove, striking three of Hamaad’s rebels.
“Down to my last five rounds,” Ethan calmly announced.
Peter only had four shots left. They were just about out of time. Once they ran out of ammunition, there would be nothing to keep the antiaircraft trucks at bay.
Maybe they’ll also run out soon, Peter thought. The AA guns were chewing up ammo at an extreme rate. Fortunately, the militiamen appeared to have little skill in using the weapons; otherwise they would have been shot to ribbons by now.
Then Peter saw an opportunity. One of the guns had jammed, maybe it was overheated. As the gunner was desperately trying to clear the jam, he exposed himself. Peter didn’t wait. Holding the cross-hairs about two feet above the target’s upper chest, Peter slowly squeezed the trigger. Everything seemed to move in very slow motion as Peter watched the rifle bullet strike the man in the abdomen. There was a bright splotch of red as the soft-point hunting bullet passed through him and he immediately doubled over as if struck forcefully by a baseball bat.
But a moment later he was pushed aside, landing on the ground in a jumbled heap. Another man climbed up and worked to clear the jammed gun. Peter took aim again, but before he could shoot the AA gun was back in action. Peter fired anyway and saw the round impact the ammunition can hanging off the side of the AA gun, hopelessly jamming the ammunition feed and unexpectedly taking the gun out of action.
Peter’s concentration was interrupted by a sudden cry from his left. “Ahhh… Damn it!” He glanced over and saw Gary cycling the action of his rifle with his right hand while using his chin and shoulder to hold the rifle steady; his left arm remained limp, extended on the dir
t in front of him. And then Peter saw the bloody and torn cloth on Gary’s left shoulder. Gary ignored Peter’s gaze, taking careful aim and firing.
“How bad is it?” demanded Peter.
“I’d be lying if I said I’ll live. But I came into this fight knowing that.” He kept clumsily cycling the rifle bolt and firing.
Despite the deafening sounds of battle, to his right Peter clearly heard the ‘click’ as Ethan pulled the trigger on an empty chamber. His son didn’t say anything when he looked down at the now useless rifle before him.
Then Todd announced he, too, had run out of ammunition.
Peter’s head spun as he scrambled to consider what they could do. What could he do? There had to be an answer. He analyzed the problem from every conceivable angle. There had to be a solution, right? His mind was running in circles. There was always another option, another possibility. He had believed this to be a universal truth. Only now it seemed to be a cruel lie—a deception born from the vanity of his belief that knowledge, technology, and determination could solve any challenge.
Now, with the lives of his son and his best friends on the line, he was at a loss for any scenario that offered even a slim chance of survival. He needed a miracle, but his faith had not been strong in a long time. How do I ask God for a miracle? How do I ask God to help me kill these bastards?
BOOM! The ground shook and the sudden new sound of explosions drew Peter back to reality. He looked around expecting to see his friend’s shredded bodies from a mortar or RPG attack. Finding no such carnage, he looked up the wadi and saw two of the AA trucks on fire. As he slowly tried to comprehend what had happened, the third truck exploded in a ball of fire.
“What the…?” Peter mumbled, still staring in disbelief at the burning wreckage.
“Nice shooting,” Todd chuckled, believing either Gary or Peter had landed a lucky shot.
“It wasn’t me,” Gary admitted.
The AA guns were silent, and yet there were still several dozen Janjaweed militiamen pressing the attack, sensing that their enemy was out of ammunition since their rifles had silenced.
As the Janjaweed advanced on foot toward the acacia grove, Peter regained focus and fired his remaining two shots, killing the two lead militiamen. His rifle now useless, Peter withdrew a Colt 1911A1 .45 pistol from the tactical holster on his right thigh. He saw that Todd had also armed himself with his sidearm, a Berretta 9mm.
Gary fired the last shot from his rifle and lowered his head, clearly suffering from pain and exhaustion. He tried to pull the revolver from his hip holster but rolled too far to his left and winced in pain.
“Let me help you,” Peter said as he reached over and pulled the large revolver from its holster, placing it in Gary’s right hand.
As Gary took the Python, he looked at Peter. “What did you do to knock out those trucks? Did you hit the gas tank?”
Peter shook his head, not understanding what had happened either. “I didn’t do anything. They just exploded.”
The Janjaweed continued to advance, faster now that the accurate rifle fire was no longer coming. Hamaad still had four of his men, but they were also out of ammunition. With no means of defending themselves, they all stayed hidden behind the trees. Occasional rifle rounds impacted the trees and dirt.
As the Janjaweed approached to within about a hundred yards, Gary raised the Colt Python and cocked the hammer. Looking toward Peter with a grim smile he said, “Is this where Butch and Sundance make their last stand?”
Peter chuckled, but he wasn’t sure why. They were facing death.
“I promised I wouldn’t utter any more morbid allusions, remember?”
“You’re off the hook. That deal was only if we live through this. Right now, that doesn’t look likely.”
They were both silent as they watched the enemy advance. Peter had no hope of hitting anything smaller than an elephant at 100 yards with his pistol, so he just watched and waited.
“You know, Gary, you’ve been like a brother to me.”
“I know. And you’re the brother I never had.”
Todd cut in. “Okay Butch and Sundance. Don’t go all sentimental on me. It ain’t over yet. The fat lady may be warming up, but she still ain’t singin’.”
Peter turned to Ethan, his face a mixture of regret and the love of a father for his son, a love without limits or qualifications. Never in his worst dreams had Peter imagined it would all end this way… in the dry desert of North Africa, thousands of miles from home and family. He wondered if his daughter, Joanna, would ever come to know what happened here… to understand why her father and brother never came home.
Battle sounds pulled Peter’s focus back to the advancing enemy. A barrage began to pepper the line of approaching Janjaweed warriors. The sound of explosions was quickly followed by a high-pitched buzz, the distinctive sound made by a minigun.
Like toy soldiers being swept over by a child’s hand, the Janjaweed fell to the onslaught. It happened quickly, and within a minute, they were all dead.
Chapter 19
Darfur
June 12
An overwhelming ringing assaulted Peter’s ears from the gunfire and explosions. Otherwise the surroundings had grown strangely quiet and still—Peter thought it to be the calm before yet another storm. Taking advantage of the unexpected reprieve, Peter crawled over to Gary’s position, followed by Ethan, while Todd kept watch, alert for yet another attack.
Between exhaustion and blood loss from the wound to his left shoulder, Gary didn’t look good. His eyelids partially covered his eyes as if he was about to blackout, and his complexion was extremely pale; his skin felt cold and clammy. His body was going into shock.
“We’re going to get you out of this, buddy,” Peter offered, but the conviction was lacking from his voice.
“Yeah, sure we are Sundance,” Gary replied weakly.
Peter reached over Gary’s back and probed gently at the ragged slash across the upper portion of his left arm and shoulder. It looked to be deep and long. Fortunately the bullet appeared to have missed bone; an inch lower and the round would have entered the upper part of his torso and exited through his pelvis, immediately killing him.
“Hamaad! Do you have any more bandages?” Peter called. Hamaad had been hunkered down in the acacia grove with his few remaining rebels.
Hamaad scrambled to Peter and slid to a crouch next to him, handing him a sterile, sealed bandage and a packet of powdered antiseptic; both appeared to be surplus military and decades old. Peter dressed the wound as best he could, tearing off Gary’s shirt sleeve and slicing it to strips so he could secure the bandage to the shoulder and arm.
“How come I can’t have a pretty nurse?” asked Gary weakly.
“Shut up and be grateful I don’t have to give you mouth-to-mouth.” Peter offered Gary some water from his canteen—he sipped eagerly. His blond hair was wild and wavy as ever, but his blue eyes were dull, and his face was smudged with grime and sweat; he looked to have aged ten years in the past seven hours.
“Look sharp… we got more company!” Todd announced firmly, but keeping his voice down.
As Peter looked up, Todd added, “To the west, beyond the ridge of the wadi.”
“Hell, why can’t we seem to get a break,” muttered Peter as he fumbled to check the safety on his Colt and moved closer to Todd. Ethan was already there, gazing forward and still clutching the empty rifle whose only use now was as a club.
“Where are they?” demanded Peter, not yet seeing the new threat.
Todd pointed without lowering his binoculars.
Peter squinted to make out any movement without the aid of optics; he had left his binoculars by Gary.
Todd lowered the glasses and offered them to Peter. Then he removed the Berretta from his holster and checked the magazine yet again. “Bring it on! I’m not out of fight yet!”
Peter adjusted the focus. There were now several armed men visible about 400 yards away and slowly walking alo
ng the west ridge; the same ridge that the Janjaweed cavalry charge had come over during the earlier assault, and from which Hamaad’s men had launched their dawn attack. The armed force was spread some distance apart and seemed to be in no particular hurry to reach the ragged group of Americans and SLM rebel survivors in the acacia grove.
As Peter continued to watch the approaching soldiers, Todd spoke again. “I say we find some cover in that grove and ambush them when they get within pistol range.”
Peter carefully studied the figures.
“What do you say, boss? We can’t take them on out here in the open. We’re down to only pistols now.”
Peter lowered the binoculars, but he was still looking at the approaching force, which numbered eleven men. There was an odd vehicle moving along slowly behind them, but it didn’t appear to have a driver. Peter wondered if it was a remote-controlled cargo hauler of some type.
Peter again pressed the binoculars to his eyes. “I think our luck has just changed,” he said, as if talking to himself.
“Are you saying those are good guys?” Todd asked in disbelief.
Peter nodded his head. “Certain of it. Those are the good guys. In fact, unless I’m mistaken, my friend Commander James Nicolaou is the point man.”
“Jim Nicolaou? Didn’t I meet him at the shop close to a year ago?” Todd recalled, his voice betraying a hint of disbelief.
“One in the same. See that man on point? The one with the cowboy hat?” Peter handed the glasses back to Todd so he could have a better look.
“Yep,” Todd answered.
“That’s Jim.”
“No shit… how did he find us out here? Not that I’m complaining.”
“Maybe he listened to me after all.”
“Sorry?” Todd wasn’t following Peter’s random comment.
“Right after I got the voice message from Ethan that he’d been kidnapped, I contacted Jim. He said he couldn’t help, and I’m afraid I had no patience with him. But I’m certain he was the anonymous organizer behind our meeting with Abdul Wahid el-Nur in Paris, and it looks like he arranged for more than just that meeting.”
