The sharp bark of a machine gun reached inside the com center. “That sounds like a SAW,” Allston said. Was it Williams? Now the gunfire tapered off, punctuated with the occasional sharp staccato of the SAW. They waited. More pleas for help from the wounded flooded the radios.
“Is it over?” Lane asked. That one question burned white hot and demanded an answer. Allston remembered what Jill has said about Toby’s sources. He made a mental note to set up a liaison between the mission staff and his Ops Center. Lacking any other ideas, he called the hospital and a woman answered. She spoke English with the distinctive accent and lilt of a Dinka. He asked if Toby was there and if they needed help.
“We can take care of ourselves, Mr. Bossman. We have five wounded here, and Doctor Person is stitching one closed now. You must not worry so much about us. This attack is over.”
The sharp, distinctive rattle of an AK-47 carried over the telephone, putting a question mark to the woman’s confidence. The sudden quiet was deafening. “That’s good to know,” Allston allowed. Silence hung in the air. Was the attack over? “By the way, have we met?”
“Oh, no, Mr. Bossman. I’m D’Na. Sometimes, I am called Mrs. Person.” She broke the connection.
Allston shook his head. You learn the strangest things at the damnedest times, he thought. The radio came alive as reports started to come in from around the mission. The horsemen had vanished and the casualty count was steadily increasing. A security cop burst into the com center. “We’re bringing a prisoner in,” he said. “He’s wounded but conscious.”
Allston ran outside as a pickup drove up. Loni Williams got out and and dragged a man out of the back. “Look what I found.” He hauled his prisoner to the steps, and held him up by his collar. It was the Janjaweed Allston had shot. Allston hurried down the steps to finally take a good look at the teenager. It was BermaNur.
“I’ve seen him before,” Allston said, turning to the boy. “You were at Abyei. Then you tried to hose us down with an AK-47 at that refugee camp.” BermaNur heard the one word he understood — Abyei. He spat at Allston.
Williams slapped the side of BermaNur’s head and spoke a few words in Nuer. The boy snarled an answer. “He says you and that whore you were with should have died at Abyei.”
“Ask if they are going to attack again,” Allston said.
Williams barraged the teenager with questions but got nowhere. “He’s being stubborn, Boss.”
“Damn. We’ve got wounded out there we need to bring in.”
Williams dropped the Baggara to the ground and stood with his back to Allston. He stepped on the teenager’s wounded leg, and slowly applied pressure as he repeated the same question over and over. BermaNur screamed with pain, cursing the Americans.
“What the hell are you doing?” Allston shouted. Williams didn’t answer and pressed down even harder. Allston finally realized what Williams was doing and grabbed him by the back of his collar. He jerked hard, pulling him off the Janjaweed.Williams bent over and pulled a knife out of the bloody bandage around the Janjaweed’s leg. He handed it to Allston. “He’s talking, Boss. He says that Jahel will feed us to the ants.”
“I’ve heard that name before,” Allston said.
Again, Williams spoke to the teenager, and, again, BermaNur snarled an answer. Williams stepped forward. The teenager held up a hand and started talking. Williams listened and asked a few questions. Finally, the teenager was finished. Williams spoke quietly. “According to our friend here, Jahel is the leader of the Rizeigat, the finest horseman of the Baggara, and the avenging sword of Allah. He says there were many martyrs today and we will be dead meat when Allah wills. I’m thinking we hurt them pretty bad, so I don’t think it’s gonna be today.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Allston said. But the relief he felt was evident on his face. He keyed his communicator. “Dick, start bringing the wounded in.” The iron band of command that held him tight eased. It would never totally go away, but for a few moments, he could breathe easier, gaining a second breath and the strength to continue. It was a hellish burden few men or women could bear, but it was one he willingly accepted. He closed his communicator and turned to the sergeant. “Sergeant Williams, don’t ever do that again.”
“Yes, sir. But I got you some answers.”
NINETEEN
Mission Awana
“Ouch!” Toby ignored Allston’s protest and continued to probe his leg. “What school of medicine did you graduate from?” Allston asked. Toby continued the quick exam, pushing and poking at Allston. It was old-fashioned, hands-on medicine because of the Mission’s limited X-ray facilities and laboratory. Those were saved for the serious cases and Toby was satisfied that it was only a bad bruise. He told the lieutenant colonel to get dressed. “I didn’t know you were married,” Allston ventured.
“Sure am. Got one kid, a boy. D’Na keeps everything on track here. It’s a cultural thing.” Allston wasn’t sure he really understood for he thought that women were subservient in Dinka society. Toby laughed, sensing Allston’s confusion. “She’s my warrior queen and office manager.” He washed his hands. “Use ice packs to get the swelling down. Come see me if it starts to feel warm, or if you run a temperature.”
Allston’s communicator buzzed at him. It was Malone with the news that he had discovered how the Janjaweed had gotten inside the mission compound. “On my way.” He broke the connection. “Thanks, Toby.” Another thought came to him. “Do you have a casualty count?”
“All told, nine killed, twenty-five wounded, two seriously who I don’t expect to make it.”
“What about the Janjaweed?”
“Eight of the dead and sixteen of the wounded were Janjaweed. One Dinka was killed and five were wounded. Only four of your troops were wounded, none seriously. It could have been worse, much worse. The jungle telegraph says this was a disaster for them. Sergeant Malone and his cops did a great job.”
“I’ll relay that to Malone. What about the Janjaweed I shot?”
“He’ll make it. The wound was far from fatal.”
For a reason he didn’t understand, Allston felt better. “Thanks again.” He walked to the bunker Malone used for his command center. His left shin throbbed as he hobbled along. Before long, a group of children surrounded him and followed along. One little girl held his hand as two boys mimicked the way he walked. Malone was waiting for him and chased the kids away after passing out some hard rock candy he had received from home. “Whatcha got?” Allston asked.
Malone led him inside where a security cop and a maintenance crew chief were waiting. “This is Sergeant Lee Ford, one of my flight commanders,” Malone said, “and Sergeant Wayne Byers from Maintenance. They were teamed last night and posted out for guard duty.” He tapped a wall chart that showed the numerous defensive fire positions the security police were digging on the mission’s perimeter. “They were assigned to the DFP nearest the river. They fell asleep and the Janjaweed forded the river and slipped past them.”
“Who reported they fell asleep?” Allston asked.
“I did,” Ford, the security cop, replied.
“Ah, shit,” Allston moaned. He sat down, his leg hurting even more. “Call Colonel Malaby. We need to sort this out.”
“She’s on the way,” Malone said. As Byers was assigned to Maintenance as a crew chief, Malone had anticipated Allston would want her involved. As usual, the hyper lieutenant colonel arrived in overdrive. She listened impatiently as Malone repeated how the Janjaweed were able to attack because the two men had fallen asleep on guard duty.
Allston told Ford and Byers to wait outside and out of earshot. They double-timed out. “What do you recommend I do?”
“Nothing,” Malaby said. “Look, my people have not let up since we got here. They’re turning aircraft, digging foxholes, filling sandbags, and then standing guard duty. They’re dropping in their tracks. Just how much more do you expect of them, Colonel?”
“It’s the same with my cops,” Ma
lone said.
Allston pulled into himself. He was pushing his people to the limit and then asking for more. What right did he have to demand the impossible? How much more could they give? “Call them in,” he told Malone. The two men marched in and stood at attention. “I don’t have to tell you how serious this is,” Allston began. “I also know there are extenuating circumstances, and that we got lucky with only four of our troops wounded. But an innocent Dinka was killed and five were wounded because of you. In your favor, you came forward and blew the whistle, even though that meant incriminating yourselves. Is there anything else you want me to consider in your defense?” He waited to hear what they had to say.
Ford gulped. He came to attention. “No excuse, sir. I’m learning to speak a little Dinka… I’ll take any punishment you give me… just don’t send me home.”
“Same for me, sir,” Byers said.
“Why should I keep you here?” Allston asked.
The cop’s answer surprised Allston. “Because my buddies are here and I won’t let them down again.”
“Same for me, sir,” Byers said. He was a man of limited vocabulary but he spoke to C-130s with a rare understanding.
“Give ’em to me, sir,” Malone said. “They’ll wish you had court-martialed their sorry asses instead.”
“Colonel Malaby?” Allston asked.
“Okay by me. I got more crew chiefs than I need, which, by the way, we need to talk about.”
“Sergeant Malone, “ Allston said, “you got ’em.” He stood and hobbled outside, his leg feeling much better. Malaby was right behind him.
“Colonel Allston,” she called. He waited for her to catch up, which given her normal state of hustle, took two seconds. “Sir, thank you.” Before he could ask what for, she said, “Do you have an extra hat?”
Allston couldn’t believe it. “Is mine okay?” He held out his bush hat. She ripped off her blue beret and jammed the bush hat on her short-cropped hair. “Why?”
“That was the right call in there.” Her words were matter-of-fact but the way she held her head said it all. “We flew over two thousand Dinkas to safety yesterday. For the first time in my career, I’m doing something that really matters.”
“Welcome to the Irregulars, Colonel Malaby.” He saluted her.
~~~
Allston sat in Toby’s office and flipped through the after action report detailing the raid and what they had learned. It was the second time he had read it and was looking for a specific item. He found it. “Excellent work, Major Sharp. Get this on the wires ASAP.” He handed the report to her. “There is one thing that I want to be sure I’ve got right. You shot and killed the three Janjaweed who made the mistake of breaking into the guesthouse.” She only nodded, not wanting to discuss it. “Okay, one last question. Where did you learn to handle a weapon like that?”
Jill’s chin came up and she fixed him with a determined look. “Sir, I can’t answer that.”
“Can’t or won’t?” he asked. She didn’t respond and he tried to stare her into talking. It didn’t work. “Let’s start over,” he finally said. “You took out three of the eight bastards we morted. Further, you fired six times and all six bullets found a target. You did this in near dark conditions.” His eyes blinked as he connected the dots. I can’t believe I’m so stupid, he thought. “And you are able to run around with the locals all by yourself as if you were a native.”
“I do speak Swahili, sir. And I am picking up a little Nuer.” The last was an understatement.
“True,” Allston conceded. “And you know things. According to Colonel Vermullen, you’re wired into the jungle telegraph. You may well be, but I think there is a better reason.” He waited for her response. Again, he was greeted with silence. “Major Sharp, I think you know people.” Again, no reply, and his frustration level ratcheted up a notch. “There are obviously things I don’t know about you and what you are doing that can affect our mission here. I need to know and it’s time you came clean.”
“I can’t do that, sir.”
He didn’t know what to do. She was a vital member of his staff and he doubted that he could replace her with anyone half as competent. But did he completely trust her? He didn’t have an answer and needed to think about it. When he was completely honest with himself, he did like her. But that had little to do with his job. Or did it? “Major Sharp, you puzzle me, and that’s a problem. Dismissed.” She spun around and rushed out of the room.
She stopped in the hallway, her back to him. Just as quickly, she returned and shut the door. She stood in front of him as tears coursed down her cheeks. “Five years ago, I was recruited by the Boys in the Basement as a special agent.” Allston had heard of the Boys and suspected they had a connection to Special Operations and Intelligence. “Part of my training,” she continued, “involved extensive weapons training. I was recruited primarily based on my language skills… and for other reasons…” She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “African men find my type of figure appealing.” She was brutally honest. “Sexually.” She paused, her face now hard as stone. “For two years, I was on special assignment in Nairobi.”
An inner voice warned Allston to drop the subject, which, like a fool, he disregarded. “You were engaged in humint?” Humint is human intelligence or old-fashioned spying. A little nod answered him. “A Kenyan?” Her eyes said yes. Then he knew. “Why are you telling me all this?”
“Because, I…” her voice trailed off. Then, very firmly, “Because I’m ashamed of what I did. I seduced a nice man with a lovely family. Like an idiot, he talked too much, trying to impress me. He was taking kickbacks from OPEC and Iran, supposedly for his tribe. But instead of funneling the money to his tribe, he used most of it to buy off rival tribes so they would cooperate with him in the national government. It was a very dangerous game if his tribe discovered what he was doing. I reported everything he told me. The CIA picked it up… I was sent home.”
“And the prime minister ended up dead,” Allston said. The Kenyan press had reported it as a suicide but there were many rumors to the contrary.
“Then his clan butchered his family.” Her voice was shaking. “Because of the money.”
Allston didn’t know what to say. He managed a lame, “It wasn’t your fault.”
Jill stood there, now dry-eyed and composed. “Yes, it was. Will there be anything else, sir?”
For the first time, he saw her for what she was, a very attractive, intelligent, and competent woman who got caught up in a situation beyond her control, and was now paying the price for it. For her, responsibility came with the job. “Thank you for your candor, Major Sharp. I hope we can still work together.” She spun around and walked out, leaving him alone. “Damn,” he muttered. Why did she tell me all that? he thought.
~~~
Vermullen led the tour around the refugee compound with Allston and Malone as he pointed out the defenses the legionnaires had built with overlapping fields of fire. “Great work,” Allston said. “Can you work up a plan for us?”
“It would be my pleasure,” Vermullen replied. “How many men can you commit?”
“Right at a hundred men and women,” Allston said. Vermullen didn’t reply at first. He had never used women in a combat role and didn’t want to start now. Allston decided the timing was right and ventured, “I was hoping we could integrate our forces into a defensive plan. Again, Vermullen was silent. Allston plunged ahead. “I know the emphasis you put on training, but perhaps now is the time to…” He deliberately left the proposal open. Did the Frenchman understand that the time for training was at an end?
“It is not what you think,” Vermullen said. “We have been training the South Sudanese.”
Allston was shocked. Training the southerners was a direct violation of the UN peacekeeping mandate. “Does the UN know?”
“Of course not,” Vermullen replied. “Let me work on a plan. Can I use your Major Sharp and Sergeant Malone?”
“You’ve got ’em.
”
~~~
Allston sat in the corner of his makeshift operations center at a small table that served as his office. While he didn’t have the privacy he often needed, he was at the heart of all activity and wired in with operations and maintenance. The downside was that he was too available for anyone who came in, and he had to tune out distractions so he could focus on whatever task demanded his immediate attention. “Colonel Allston,” Jill said, breaking his concentration. He looked up. She was standing a respectful distance away with a beaming Loni Williams.
“Whatcha got?” he asked in a friendly tone, trying to close the gap that was looming between them.
“The kid you shot is talking,” Williams said. “You wouldn’t believe what this Jahel guy is like.”
“Yeah, I would,” Allston replied. “He’s a first-class bastard.” He kicked back in his chair and interlaced his fingers, tapping his thumbs together. “I hope you’re following the Army Field Manual on interrogation.”
Jill answered. “Yes, sir, we are. Sergeant Williams is much more fluent in Nuer than me but I monitor the interrogation. His name is BermaNur, and he’s seventeen years old. The raid was more than a hit and run. You were the target. That’s why they hit the guesthouse.”
Allston’s stomach disappeared, and, for a moment, he was speechless. “Well, that certainly made my day. Anything else?”
“The SA,” Jill continued, “is going to cross the White Nile and reinforce Waleed. Probably in the next week or so.”
“How would a seventeen-year-old kid know that?” Allston asked.
“He doesn’t,” Jill replied. “But he said the SA promised Jahel he could sack Malakal as soon as they found a ford for the SA to cross the White Nile. That fits with what we’re hearing on the jungle telegraph. Also, the townspeople are leaving Malakal in droves, and that Waleed’s men are deserting in mass. He’s down to less than two hundred men.” She let him digest the news. “I’m just connecting the dots, sir.” She checked her watch. “Colonel Vermullen will be here in a few minutes. He’s got a defensive plan worked out, and he asked for the Reverend Person to be here.”
The Peacemakers Page 25
