The Hundred Gram Mission

by Navin Weeraratne

  "Xie, she needs a medic," said Zhou.

  One visor nodded to another, who then ran up to Zhou and the aide. He studied her wound carefully and pulled out a roll of bandages.

  "She going to be okay?" asked Private Gao.

  "I’m fine," said Anjana weakly.

  All heads turned to hers.

  "You speak Mandarin?" demanded Zhou.

  She smiled. "No one has ever called me a swan before."

  Corporal Xie tapped his helmet comm and mumbled an acknowledgement.

  "Sir, we need to go," he turned to Zhou. "The convoy is under attack."

  "RPGs?"

  "Tanks."

  Out of the ruins came the Eritrean, Savior’s Protectors Army.

  Captain Gebremichael commanded almost a hundred men armed with RPGs and assault rifles. The darling of his force though, was a 120mm, pickup-towed, mortar. It was an old piece captured from the Sudanese. He preferred it to the 81mms the Egyptians would sometimes give them as scraps. With HE rounds, and if Johan was aiming, it cracked tanks.

  Johan was aiming, but Bazen the idiot had aimed too, and fired. The ambush had failed and the peacekeepers were going to escape. Unless of course, Selassie’s tank platoon stopped them.

  When it was all done thought Gebremichael, he would cut off Bazen’s hands.

  "Dragon Two, is the Crane up yet?"

  The ZBL-11 swerved, hard. The soldiers were thrown against their restraints, the VIP squealed. It barreled down the side street, clipping a mud hut. The building exploded into sand.

  "This is Dragon Two," said the Lieutenant’s helmet comm. "Crane launched, eyes are in the air, over."

  A 3d overlay of the battlefield appeared in Lieutenant Lee’s helmet HUD. Some markers were green, the largest ones tagged ONE, TWO, THREE. The rest were blue, tagged with question marks. Then they started flipping red. Tags appeared over them; RPG1, RPG2, ARMR1.

  ARMR2.

  ARMR3.

  ARMR4.

  ARMR5.

  ARMR6.

  "Fuck."

  "Dragon One, this is Three. We have visual on enemy armor - just T-62 antiques, over. Shall we engage?"

  "No, you crazy bastard! All squads, deploy smart smoke and begin microwave jamming. Dragon Three, rendezvous at the location I’m pinning now," a yellow marker appeared near the town center.

  There was a shrieking outside the APC, followed by a loud pop.

  "What was that?" the VIP’s eyes were wide as saucers. She clutched a stanchion with both hands.

  "Smart smoke launcher," said the reporter. Lee was pleased she was mothering the head of the UNHCR. "A packet of chaff and timed mini-flares just got fired into the air. The APC is pumping dirty smoke now, right into the air. The mix will make it hard for anyone to see or target us."

  "What makes it smart?" demanded the High Commissioner.

  The reporter looked stumped.

  "Dragon One this is Silk One," said Zhou. "Enemy contacts driven off. One KIA, and the small package is damaged, over."

  "Silk One, this is Dragon One. Is the Mengshi recoverable?"

  "It should be fine, but we’ll need an exo-armor to flip it."

  "Strip what you can, and then get the small package to the rendezvous point."

  "Anjana," the Indian woman touched his arm. "Is she alright?"

  "She’s asking about her aide," said the reporter in Mandarin.

  "Tell her that she’s injured, but she’s okay."

  The reporter turned and spoke to the Commissioner, in English. Immediately, the Indian woman started to wail.

  "What the hell did you tell her?"

  "What you said. She thinks we’re going to die."

  "Don’t talk to her anymore."

  There was a pause. "Lieutenant, are we going to be alright?"

  "Don’t talk to me anymore."

  Minutes later, the APC began slowing. "We’re coming up on the town center," yelled Private Lo, the driver. "Crane drone shows no hostiles."

  The APC stopped, and the hatches opened. Lee slung his rifle and climbed out.

  The dead town’s square was an uneven space with patches of stubborn grass. Two other ZBL-11s were parked, their soldiers dismounted. Two riflemen with a recoilless launcher were sharing a cigarette. A marksman prone on a ZBL, scanned the surroundings through his scope.

  A knot of men had formed around two crouching exo-armors. The pilots had climbed in, helpers snapped clasps and lowered helmets. Servos whined as they got to their feet. One pilot thumbs upped – his frame parroting him with its dinner plate-sized hand. The other drew its two-meter long rail rifle.

  On the ground with her back against the Mengshi, was the small package. A crouching soldier taped a saline pack above her, a medic took her pulse. The commissioner ran over.

  "Is she alright?" she demanded in English.

  The soldiers looked up at her blankly.

  "I’m okay," said Anjana weakly but smiling. "Just a deep cut. I lost some blood but I’m feeling much better now."

  "Poor child! You should drink some water. Have you drunk any water?"

  "Yes Commissioner."

  "In this desert you should drink twice as much."

  "I’m alright Commissioner."

  "I’m so sorry I brought you into this."

  "It’s alright Commissioner, sometimes things just happen."

  "She needs to let you rest," said the medic in Mandarin.

  "I know," Anjana replied.

  "What did he say? He took your pulse now, yes? Is your pulse normal? Do you need blood? What’s your blood type?"

  "He said everything was fine, and not to worry."

  Rao made a face. "Not to worry? People are trying to kill us all, and he says not to worry."

  "So what’s the plan?"

  Lee stood in a circle with his squad and assistant squad leaders. Any others free to attend were gathered as well. The black, X-45, exo-armors towered over everyone else. Someone was passing around a cigarette.

  "The smart smoke cloud is thinning, and it won’t be long before a technical comes driving up to see if we’re here," Lee began. "The radio and microwave jamming prevents them from spotting for their mortar. But, accurate or not, it’s a real danger. While they have it, we’re on the back foot. Once we escape, it’ll try and pick us off as we leave."

  "And there are the tanks," said Zhou.

  "Now that they aren’t right behind us, I’m not worried about them. It was a bad ambush, let’s make them pay for that. Sergeant Cai," he turned to a crooked-nose man, "The Crane shows the tanks are still in a group, moving single file. Your fire team will kill the lead tank. Corporal Feng’s team will kill the rear one."

  Sergeant Cai nodded. "Second Squad will get it done."

  "Lin, Zheng," he looked to the two armor pilots. "Hit the trapped tanks on their flank."

  "Understood," said Lin. "What about the rest of my squad?"

  "I want them attached to Third Squad. Sergeant Han?"

  "Yes Sir?"

  "Your squad has to protect Second Squad and the armors. Whatever it takes, make sure they don’t get flanked. Don’t get distracted by the tanks, your job is killing interlopers. Use the heavy machine gun and automated grenade launcher to kill, drive off, and discourage their infantry."

  "Shall we give Second our recoilless rifle?"

  "Yes. And all your HEAT[xxxvi] rounds, too."

  "What about us?" asked Zhou.

  "Corporal Xie’s team will be on an ’11 with the packages. Once we engage, the enemy will start converging. Jamming won’t matter: they’ll follow the sound. Xie, you keep your eyes on the Crane drone feed. As soon as you see them abandon a roadblock, you get the hell out. Don’t stop till you reach Atbara."

  "Yes Sir."

  "Zhou, you’ll take his Mengshi. We’re going to go kill that mortar."

  "We?"

  "That’s right. You’re a man down, and I’m coming with you. Does anyone have any questions?"

  "Just one," said Zhou. "D
oes anyone know what’s happened to us?"

  "We can’t get a response on any of the radios, but that doesn’t mean they don’t know. If we’re being jammed then we’ve already missed our first check in. A satellite or drone will come and take a look. We’re also overdue at the camp. People know."

  "All we’ve seen are guys with hand-me-down AKs and some ninety-year old tanks. If they can jam our communications, doesn’t that mean they have an advanced asset?"

  Lee paused. "I didn’t think of that. Yes, it does. The Crane doesn’t show anything, so it’s probably just a transmitter on the back of a technical. Anything else?"

  Silence.

  "Alright then, let’s go kick them in the balls."

  "Here they come!"

  At the intersection, men appeared wearing track suits, white robes, and sandals. Most carried rifles, some carried RPGs. Clattering behind them, the first tank turned on to the street. Its treads and hull were dust stained, the Arabic markings painted over.

  It was followed by a second, third, fourth, fifth. More infantry piled into the street, staying close to walls. Others walked between the tanks, using them for cover. Cai counted forty men.

  The Type 99[xxxvii] recoilless gun team tracked the lead tank, tilting their weapon after it. The gunner looked down the sight, holding his breath.

  "Where’s the last tank?" hissed the loader.

  "Just focus!" Cai hissed back.

  "They get any closer, we’re going to get seen!"

  It was a real danger. His own men and all of Third Squad were ready, but no one was to open fire till the tanks lit up. If they were spotted, the tanks would bolt – or charge.

  He activated his helmet radio.

  "Feng, this is Cai, Feng? Feng!"

  There was a bang! and the rear tank stalled. Men ran and started yelling, someone was wailing. Black smoke started rising from its open turret.

  Dust and smoke erupted around him as 99 fired. It slammed into the lead tank, tearing through its front armor. The tank veered to the side and crashed into a mud building, bricks cascading over it. Men were scattered by the blast, the yelling and screaming became panicked.

  Two full PLA rifle squads opened up on them.

  Green recruits running in the open were quickly picked off. Cai shot two – there were so many. Others were shot trying to drag the wounded to cover. A survivor in the street wailed to his fellows. Two made a quick dash for him.

  Hsss. Hsss.

  They collapsed as they reached him, something invisible punching their heads. Smoke rose from perfect holes. The wounded man looked at them and screamed with new energy.

  "Nobody finish him," said a man peering down the scope of a marksman’s laser rifle.

  A greener force might have broken and fled, but the Savior’s Protectors Army had been at war for three years. From darkened windows and collapsed roofs, they returned fire. Bullets zipped around Second Squad, Cai crouched against the ruined wall. He felt bullets thudding on the other side.

  A shockwave knocked him back and his ears exploded. He saw the marksman flying backwards, crash, roll, and lay still. Two soldiers ran to him and dragged him away. Further away, a second RPG hit.

  "Support weapons," Cai yelled, "Any time you fuckers!"

  The second T-62 began forcing the wrecked one aside. Its gun turned and raised to face the peacekeepers.

  Explosions cracked the air. The militia men jumped up and grabbed their weapons.

  "That’s close by," said the loader. Before him the 120mm was unlimbered and deployed, facing towards the fighting. The spotter climbed the roof of their technical and peered with his binoculars.

  "What do you see?" demanded Bazen. Behind him were two technicals, both mounting machine guns. Twelve men stood by them, rifles and light machine guns ready.

  "Just smoke," said the spotter. "If Selassie’s boys were firing, we’d see bigger explosions."

  "Then they need us!" Bazen turned to the men behind him. "Get on the trucks! We’re going to help our brothers!"

  The three mortar crew looked at each other.

  "But Bazen," said the gunner, "You’re supposed to stay with us."

  "Shut your stupid mouth! I won’t be sitting out while our brothers are fighting for their lives. Let’s go!" he ran to a technical and climbed into the passenger seat. The 4x4s awoke and growled, soldiers ran and jumped aboard as they left.

  The mortar crew looked back at each other, again.

  "Well now what?" asked the gunner. "Do we just sit here, unprotected?"

  An engine growled suddenly, coming from the opposite side.

  "I hope that’s Gebremichael," said the spotter. "I can’t wait to tell him." He turned and raised his binoculars.

  The QJZ-90 tore him apart. The Mengshi blitzed around the corner, and Zhou opened up again. Six hundred rounds a minute tore into the two men. The Mengshi drove up and Lee jumped out, grenade in hand. He shoved it down the mortar tube and ran back. The tube coughed and fell on its side, smoking. The Mengshi turned and left.

  "Move! Move!"

  Cai ran under fire, other men scattered with him. The blast pitched him forward and slammed him to the ground. His HUD spider-webbed and died, he tasted blood in his mouth. His chest burned and his hearing was gone.

  Get up.

  He forced himself up somehow, his legs, jelly. Two men rushed to him, his ribs were stabbing daggers as they dragged him to cover.

  The T-62 turret turned for its second shot.

  There was a flash and a crash, and the turret rocked loose. A second crash and it popped off, altogether. The X-45 armors came into view, like striding ogres. Shoulder-mounted auto-guns chattered and men screamed. A man was dragging himself aside, legs ruined. A ‘45 veered gently, stomped hard on his head, and kept moving. Rail guns held like rifles, they fired them as they walked. Gyros compensated and computers did the rest. The fourth T-62 began venting black smoke from its turret.

  The last tried reversing and shoving aside the wrecks pinning it. The armors stowed their guns over their backs like broadswords, and loped towards it. They grabbed its moving treads, and tore them right off. Then they braced against it like peasants with a stuck cart, and pushed it over.

  One stepped around the sideways tank. A hatch opened and the driver tumbled out.

  It picked him up, and flung him streets away.

  The militia broke and ran. Cheering burst from Squads Two and Three, and they opened up on the fleeing men. Cai’s hearing slowly started returning. His assistant squad leader, Feng, came running up, smiling.

  "We got them!" he seemed to whisper.

  Cai looked beyond him, down the road the militia had come.

  "What about the last T-62!" he yelled.

  Feng winced. "What about it?"

  "My HUD and my radio are wrecked! Where is it!"

  Feng pointed without passion, "Back there somewhere. Never made it past the corner."

  "What!"

  "I said it never made it past the corner!"

  There was a deep rumbling. The men stopped and looked down the road. The X-45s in the street turned and looked.

  The first X-45 disintegrated as the Abrams fired. The shockwave flung the second one aside, it crashed on to its back. Militia swarmed it, unloading their guns into the pilot. The Abrams shoved the wrecked T-62s aside like supermarket trolleys. Its matte black stealth panels slid away, and its AI-guns opened up. Soldiers were smacked aside, blood spraying from their helmets and chests.

  Cai and Feng crouched down in the dirt.

  "How did we not know?" yelled Feng.

  "It’s been jamming us, and matching a T-62’s signature!" Cai replied. "A little gift from the Egyptians!"

  The main cannon fired again, the shock bounced them.

  "We can’t piece its armor! What do we do?" asked Feng.

  "We run!" Cai got up on one knee, his other leg felt like jelly. Around him, men were already scattering, dragging wounded. Several men lay still, their bodies twisted.<
br />
  "We run. We run and hope they chase us!"

  "Sir?"

  "We’re buying time for Xie to get out with the packages – the commissioner! If we can make it back to ‘11s, we can get out too."

  "Sir!"

  "What?"

  "Your leg, Sir!"

  He looked down. There was a gash in his fatigues, red pooled in the sand. He realized why he couldn’t stand.

  "Oh for fuck’s sake."

  The upgraded Abrams shoved the last tank aside and crushed its way forward. Cai stared down the barrel.

  "Run, Feng."

  "I will not, Sir."

  He turned and smiled at him.

  "Wish we had time for a cigarette."

  The air shrieked above. Cai looked up, and saw a black wedge diving towards them.

  He was knocked on his back by the explosion, dust and falling dirt filled his view. He felt Feng’s arm at his shoulder, pulling him up.

  Fountaining black smoke, the Abram’s turret had been blown off. He looked up and saw the black wedge rising, and turning for another pass.

  "Who’s is that? The Sudanese?"

  "I don’t think so," said Feng. "That was a J-31, Shenyang. We didn’t sell them any."

  From the east, they heard the drone of helicopters. They looked and saw four coming towards them. Most of the men started cheering and hugging each other.

  "Sir!" a soldier came running up to them, his face a schoolyard full of smiles. "Sir! I can hear them all on my helmet radio, Sir!"

  "That’s nice. You want to tell your sergeant and your corporal what the hell is going on?"

  "They’re from the carrier Liaoning. The Navy is here!"

  More men were cheering. Some of them started to sing.

  "Here," Feng handed him a cigarette. "You have time for one after all."

  Chennai, India, 12 hours later

  "Anjana Shetty, given the obvious danger, is the UN going to pull out of Sudan?"

  "William Cartwright, BBC. What do you make of the Egyptian condemnation of the attack on your convoy?"

  "Ms. Shetty, are you going to leave the UNHCR?"

  Cameras flashed and boom mikes bobbed overhead. News crews crammed around the hospital bed like bus commuters at rush hour. The bed was raised so Anjana could sit up. The side table was piled high and spilling over with flowers. An IV drip went into one hand, Lakshmi Rao sat holding the other.