by Harold
“Well, I’ve said it before but it bears repeating. You did a fine job in Pakistan. Would you be interested in another contract?”
“Ah, yes, sir. Depending on what it involves. I’m not much interested in security work, you know.”
“No, we’re putting together a training package in Africa. Several months, probably. If you’re interested, ask Peggy to give you the briefing sheet on Chad.”
“Chad! My God.” He laughed. “I haven’t left anything there, Admiral!”
Derringer chuckled in appreciation of the sentiment. “Neither have I, Steve. But you know the State Department pays us pretty well these days.”
“All right, sir. I’ll take a look.”
* * * *
It was a three-ring briefing, rare even for a fairly small organization such as SSI.
As director of operations Frank Leopold sat at the head of the room, flanked by Sandra Carmichael, foreign ops, and Omar Mohammed, training. The team selected for Chad occupied the first two rows of chairs. Leopold scanned the faces, mostly familiar: Gunny Foyte, J. J. Johnson, Bosco, Breezy, Martha Whitney, and two newbies from Bragg: newly retired NCOs Christopher Nissen and Joshua Wallender.
Michael Derringer slipped into the back of the room. Few noticed, and those who did see him knew his intent. He was there to observe and learn rather than command.
Leopole stood to make the introductions. “This is the first time the Chad team has been fully assembled, though most of you are well acquainted. I want to introduce our two newest members, Staff Sergeants Chris Nissen and Josh Wallender. They’re fresh out of Fort Bragg, both experienced Special Forces operators. Gentlemen, welcome to SSI.”
Martha Whitney turned in her seat and pointedly looked Nissen up and down. Clearly she liked what she saw. “Hey bro,” she beamed.
Nissen fidgeted slightly. His wife, Shawna, could have given Halle Berry a run for her money, and he was not looking to round out his romantic resume.
Leopole added, “Chris is a weapons instructor and medic who speaks pretty good Arabic. Josh is rated in French and specializes in communications. They’re both well qualified for this mission, and we’re glad to have them aboard.”
He turned to the rest of the audience. “Very well. This meeting will familiarize you with most of the background information on the contract. As you know, it’s a training mission, administered by the State Department, to assist Chadian government forces in developing a greater counterinsurgency capability. Since it’s an overseas training operation it comes under Lieutenant Colonel Carmichael and Dr. Mohammed, and I’ll turn it over to them.”
Sandy rose to her feet. “What do we know about Chad?” she asked rhetorically. “Well, I went to the CIA World Factbook site, which is more current than any almanac. Here’s the short version.” She activated her PowerPoint display, beginning with a map of northern Africa.
“Geography: Chad is bounded by six countries: Libya, Niger, Nigeria, Central African Republic, Cameroon, and Sudan. The area is almost 500,000 square miles, nearly twice the size of Texas. There’s mostly desert in the north, mountains in the northwest, arid plains in the middle, and lowlands in the south.
“Chad was a French possession until 1960 but the next thirty years involved civil war and border feuds with Libya. There was a general settlement in 1990 with a constitution and elections in ‘96 and ‘97. But the next year another internal dispute broke out and continued until 2002. The government and the rebels signed agreements that year and the next but there’s still unrest.
“The government’s controlled by one of the minority factions, but it has enough support to stay in power. There’s been widespread reports of human rights abuses including murder, kidnapping, torture, and extortion. Some military and security forces have been named in specific complaints.”
Bosco raised a hand. “Then why are we helping those people?”
Carmichael blinked. Then she blinked again. “Why, Mr. Boscombe, I do believe you are naive.”
Bosco gave an exaggerated flinch. “Uh, yessma’am. Gotcha.”
Carmichael grinned. “Check. It’s the same old story with PMCs. Deniability. The U.S. Government does not want to appear too cozy with an oppressive regime, so DoD and State call us. Since we’re not wearing the uniform of the day, we’re ‘clean.’ “
Bosco persisted. “But like, what’re we really doing? There must be something more than teaching border guards how to intercept bad guys. I mean, they don’t need us to do that.”
Carmichael squinted behind her glasses. Sometimes Bosco actually showed signs of latent intelligence. “Well, we’d have to discuss it eventually so we might as well explain it now.” She paused, looked at Leopold and Mohammed, and received nods in return. She activated her laser pointer.
“The crucial area is here in the north, along the Libyan border. There are uranium deposits there, and nobody wants that material getting to the wrong hands—including the U.N. So our job is actually more than counterinsurgency. It’s interdiction of illicit strategic materials. Which is why our clients need to be more capable than the regular army. They’re likely to run up against some aggressive, capable opponents.” Like ex-Foreign Legion troops who’ll work for anybody.
“Anyway, you’ll receive more briefings as you get closer to deploying. Meanwhile, here’s the background.
“Demographics: the capital is N’Djamena, over here in the far west just beneath the lake, population at least six hundred thousand. The official languages are Arabic and French. There’s no state religion but the population is over half Muslim and one-third Christian, mostly Catholic. Life expectancy runs forty-seven years.
“Chadian rebels have used Libya as a base for cross-border raids, and there’s a long-standing dispute with three other countries over demarcation lines on Lake Chad. More importantly, huge numbers of refugees have entered Chad from Sudan, where there’s an ongoing famine. The region has what I’d call biblical problems: droughts and locust plagues.
“Population is now pushing ten million. There’s a couple hundred ethnic groups with the Saras the biggest, over twenty-five percent. Most of the population is in the southern half or less, since the north is part of the Sahara Desert. There’s about 120 languages and dialects but less than half the people are literate.
“Health concerns: malaria, meningitis, hepatitis, and typhoid, among others. About five percent of the population has HIV or AIDS.
“In short, it’s a mess.
“Government: officially Chad has a bicameral legislature but only the National Assembly is seated. The Senate hasn’t been formed. Anyway, there’s half a dozen political parties. In ‘05 they passed a referendum allowing the president to run for a third term.”
Bosco wrinkled his forehead. “What’s bicameral?”
Johnson gaped. “Geez, man, didn’t you take civics in high school?”
“Hey, I studied football and basketball and cheerleaders. Not necessarily in that order.”
Johnson suspected that Boscombe was playing dumb again, for reasons personal and obscure. “Bicameral, as in bi, as in two, you know? Two houses in the legislature, like Congress and the Senate.”
“Oh. Gotcha.”
Carmichael regained control of the discussion. “The president is basically a strongman, the latest in a long line. The military is more or less loyal to him, as are the police forces as long as they get paid regularly. In turn, the government doesn’t look too closely at how some soldiers and policemen make extra income. In dealing with government officials, always remember that Chad is one of the two most corrupt places on earth.
“Economy: Chad exports cotton to Europe and Asia but only about three percent of the land is under cultivation. So far the greatest export potential is oil, and that’s a growth industry but the country doesn’t have much infrastructure to exploit it. The exchange rate is around 550 francs per dollar.
“Infrastructure: only 267 kilometers of paved highway—that’s, what? Maybe 150 miles. There
’s fifty airports or at least landing fields, seven with paved runways. Fortunately cell phones and Internet access are pretty reliable.
“Military concerns: the longest border is with Libya, up here in the north.” She tapped the map, indicating the east-west line. “The Aozou Strip was a disputed area for years, mainly because Colonel Qadhafi wanted the natural resources in the area. That includes the uranium deposits I mentioned. Anyway, Libya occupied the strip in 1972 and there was off and on combat for about fifteen years. In the mid eighties we gave Chad enough help to drive the Libyans out, but they still claimed the strip. Finally, both sides agreed to arbitration and an international court declared that the Aozou belonged to Chad.”
Foyte asked, “What kind of help did we provide, Colonel?”
Carmichael consulted her notes. “Mostly basic stuff: small arms, antitank weapons, medical supplies, even uniforms. I’m told that we put a Hawk antiaircraft battery in the capital but evidently it wasn’t there very long. The biggest thing apparently was training and contract maintenance.”
Bosco nodded. “Some things don’t change.”
“Plus ç a change,” Johnson interjected.
Breezy wrinkled his brow. “Say what?”
“Plus ç a change, c’est la m ê me chose.” Mohammed nodded toward Johnson. “It means, the more things change, the more they remain the same.”
* * * *
Huddled in the corner, some of the worker bees commiserated after monitoring the meeting. “Hey,” asked Breezy, “are we gonna have to learn French or something?”
J. J. Johnson tried to imagine Mark Brezyinski getting his tongue around a European language. It just did not compute. He replied, “Well, besides me, our French-speaking liaison used to be with the Agency. She’s a . . .”
“She?”
“Yeah, she. As in, female. As in, La Belle Dame Sans Merci.”
“Hey, I never read much Tennyson,” quipped Breezy.
Johnson tried to keep a straight face. “Keats would be glad to hear that.”
“Why’s that, dude?”
“Like, he wrote it, dude.”
Bosco went on point. “What’s she look like? I mean . . .”
Johnson nudged his colleague. “You mean, does she look single?”
Breezy snorted. “Hell, man, he means, like, does she look female!”
Johnson, who had met Martha Whitney, allowed himself a conspiratorial smile. “Affirmative on both counts.”
“Well, when you gonna introduce us?” Bosco demanded.
“Tous en temps utile.” Noting the vacant stares of the two commandos, Johnson added, “At the right time. Dudes.”
* * * *
17
SSI OFFICES
Daniel Foyte convened the next briefing with Omar Mohammed alongside as SSI’s chief training officer. They sat at the apex of a semicircle of folding chairs.
“Okay” Foyte began in his gravelly baritone. “This briefing will focus on specific mission objectives so it’s more detailed than the overall brief that Colonel Carmichael gave us.”
He referred to his notes, once neatly typed but now littered with pen and ink hieroglyphics. He felt odd sitting; he was accustomed to standing or kneeling from twenty years of addressing Marines in classrooms, tents, oases, triple-canopy jungle, and other venues.
“First a little more about Chad’s military structure.” He turned to Mohammed. “Doctor?”
The urbane Iranian-American required few notes. He began, “The armed forces consist of the army, air force, and gendarmerie, plus more specialized units such as National and Nomadic Guard, which is a border force, the Rapid Intervention Force, and regular police. Presumably the most ‘elite’ unit”—he etched quote marks in the air—”is the presidential guard.”
Chris Nissen raised a hand. Though brand-new to SSI, he was not shy. “Excuse me, Doctor. Does the intervention force deploy outside Chad?”
“Not that I know of,” Mohammed replied. “I infer that it’s an internal unit. For what it’s worth, it was originally formed as the Republican Guard.” After an ironic response from the audience, he added, “Any similarity to the Iraqi organization of the same name is probably intentional.
“Current military spending runs a little over one hundred million dollars. To put that in perspective, it would not buy much over half of an F-22 stealth fighter.
“The military has a draft for twenty-year-olds for three years,” he continued. “Officially, enlistments are accepted at eighteen, but in truth there’s no minimum with parental consent. You will be dealing with men at least in their second tour.
“The Air Force has no combat aircraft: mostly C-130s, An-126s, and even some C-47s. Helicopters are Alouette IIIs.”
Mohammed shifted his weight, speaking extemporaneously. “Now, here’s some background. There’s been speculation over the years why the Reagan administration was so eager to help Chad against Libya. Aside from Qadhafi’s blatant aggression, there didn’t seem much reason for our intervention, even though we were allied with the French. Far as I know, neither of us needed much African uranium, and that caused some raised eyebrows. But I think that the critics overlooked something pretty obvious: if we didn’t need the stuff, other places did.”
Nissen said, “So it was in our mutual interest to keep the Strip out of Libyan hands.”
“Just so.”
Foyte resumed the briefing, turning to his bread and butter: hardware.
“The Chad Army is pretty much a hodgepodge as far as small arms. There’s no standard infantry rifle: depending on the branch and unit there’s M16s, AKs, FALs, Sigs, and G3s. Squad automatics are RPDs, RPKs, and even some old M24/29s.”
Breezy asked, “What’re those, Gunny?”
“They look like the British Bren Gun: a 7.5 mm with top-feed magazine. They replaced the Chauchaut after World War I.
“For the units we’ll train, I’m recommending standardization on the Heckler-Koch system. That means G3s and HK-21s, with obvious advantages: same 7.62mm ammo and the same operating system. That roller-locking action can be hard for low-dedication troopies to maintain but the guns are reliable as tax time. They’ll keep working with minimum maintenance.”
“Why not M16s?” asked Joshua Wallender. “I mean, we know them inside out and they’re easier to shoot than the .30 calibers.”
“Concur, as far as you go. If we could ever use decent 5.56 ammo, something designed to kill people rather than meet some pussy standard in Sweden—which hasn’t fought a war in about two hundred years—I might consider M16s. However, in this case we’re contractors to the U.S. Government, so we gotta abide by its regs.
“But the big problem is that we’re working in Chad. As in, desert. As in, sand. As in, major malfunction. M16s just aren’t reliable enough.”
Wallender ventured another query. “Well, why not AKs? They work everywhere.”
Foyte was slightly disappointed in the new man. A veteran NCO should know the reason. “Because the opposition likely uses them. No point giving the guerrillas more guns and ammo that they can use.”
Wallender seemed to blush slightly. Foyte predicted that he would shut up for a while.
“Now, personally, I trust AKs and I like FALs,” Foyte enthused. “And I really like Sigs. Good sights, good trigger. But FALs aren’t a lot better than ‘16s in the desert and I’ve never used Sigs in that area, so I don’t want to be the one who’s experimenting. So we’ll use G3s and related systems. We’ll get up to speed on those before we leave.”
Mohammed interjected. “If I may add something.”
Foyte nodded.
“Because of the language situation, we should review the course material even if the Chadians will not see it. I can work with the French and Arabic speakers to standardize phraseology.” He glanced at Johnson, Nissen, and Wallender.
Breezy leaned toward Bosco and muttered, “Ignorance is bliss, dude.”
Foyte speared the former paratrooper with a Parris Island
glare. “Something to add, Brezyinski?”
Breezy sat upright. “Ah, nosir. Gunny.”
Foyte walked in front of the rostrum and leaned forward, hands akimbo. “Oh, come now, my boy. You would not interrupt Dr. Mohammed unless you had something significant to contribute.”
Bosco smirked behind one hand, enjoying his pal’s discomfiture.
“Ah, I was just remarking to my esteemed Ranger colleague here that I consider myself fortunate not to be bilingual. Sir.”
Foyte squinted as through a rifle sight. “How many times do I gotta say it? Don’t call me ‘sir’ . . .”
