DARK HEARTED (The COIL Series)

by Telbat, D. I.

  Approaching Kalma from the west, and then driving past a small refugee camp, it seemed that no one paid them any mind. It was possible that the inhabitants were already starved to death, Corban considered, but they couldn't stop. They had nothing to offer these poor people yet.

  #######

  June held her NL-3 rifle across her lap, trying to imitate what the others did as close as possible. It hadn't taken her long to recognize that Brauch seemed to be the most skilled operative among them. He rarely spoke as his chin was tucked and his eyes were constantly sweeping and studying their surroundings. The next best was Scooter, June decided, but he wasn't quite as smooth as the German. Scooter had his own style, and though the others said that he was a remarkable marksman and disciplined soldier, he had a careless air about him—most often evidenced by his mouth.

  Across from June, Corban was dozing as he leaned against the back of Bruno's seat. Corban carried two NL-3s, but June wasn't sure the aging man even knew how to use them. His pack was as heavy as the others who were younger—and twice as heavy as hers was—but judging by his physical appearance, she figured he wouldn't be able to carry it very far. She knew he was almost sixty. How did he expect to keep up with them?

  Bruno also had two NL-3s on the floor next to his field pack. He was part of the old assault team with Scooter. June had heard them talk about it, so she knew Bruno could handle a rifle. Still, she wasn't sure whom she wanted to stay closest to for safety. She hoped nothing dangerous happened at all and she wouldn't have to witness all-out warfare, as she had been so willing to do when she was safe in the States.

  #######

  "Boss," Bruno called. He stopped the van.

  Corban woke and leaned between the two front seats, keeping his head low in case an adversary was looking into the cab. He saw Bruno's concern. Before them was an ocean of single-roomed, plastic-roofed shelters. Dust-blown and foot-trodden, the road abruptly became a trail as it wound through the camp. Cattle and a few chickens moved between the dwellings, guarded protectively by starving refugees. The animals were obviously their last possessions. By the look on the few faces that Corban could see, the animals would not last the day. The people would need to butcher the animals to eat if they still had the strength to lift a butcher knife.

  "This is Kalma," Corban informed. "Drive through to the center of the camp and try not to stop." He sat back down as the van chugged forward. "These people are starving. If you begin to give them your rations, you won't be able to stop and we'll add your corpse to the rest of those who have no food. Keep your rations to yourself while we're in the camp. We can't save them if we have no food for ourselves. Do your job. That's all. When we're pulling out, give them the shirt off your back and the canteen off your shoulder, if you want. Just don't do it before we've finished the job."

  No one said anything. They didn't even nod in acknowledgement. Corban knew it was a harsh order, but he was right.

  The Kalma camp was eerily quiet for housing nearly one hundred thousand people. It was the hottest hour of the day. Most everyone would've normally been in the shade; there still should've been renegade children darting about. Yet there were no children chasing chickens or laughing as they played tag. They were on their deathbeds—though not even on real beds.

  Watching June from the corner of his eye, Corban wondered how she would handle this exposure to the real world. She pressed her eye against a bullet hole in the side of the van, silently watching the camp as they passed through utter squalor. The few people they could see had bloated bellies, and flies swarmed their eyes, mouths, and nostrils. After a few minutes, June turned away.

  "I can't bear this sight any longer."

  "But you will," Corban assured. "You'll step up with us because no one else in the world can or will, ugly as it is."

  "Here we go, Boss," Bruno announced. He stopped the van with a squeal of brakes.

  Peering through the windshield, Corban saw the Red Cross emblem on a green army tent and a tattered aid banner on a makeshift, metal building.

  "Everyone out," Corban instructed. "We're on foot from here."

  Brauch and Scooter opened the back doors of the van and they all climbed out. A dozen curious refugees gathered to see who the strangers were.

  June followed Brauch as he and the others secured a perimeter around the van. There could have been Janjaweed rebels around, though Bruno said he hadn't seen any armed horsemen on the drive in. Burdened with his pack and dressed in rusty-tan fatigues as the others, Corban approached the aid building. The door opened. Corban stopped and aimed his primary NL-3 rifle. A tanned white man raised his arms and froze. He had a brown beard, but the hair on his head was white and thinning. His eyes saddened at the sight of their assault rifles.

  "Roger Weston?" Corban queried.

  "Yes, I'm Roger."

  Lowering his rifle, Corban slung his weapon over his shoulder and offered his hand.

  "My name is Corban Dowler." Roger lowered his hands slowly and hesitantly shook Corban's hand. "This is my team. Have you been in touch with the oasis? I don't see a drop-zone or a signal site set up yet."

  "Drop-zone? Signal?" Roger shook his head wearily. "What are you talking about? I haven't heard from the Nile for two days."

  "They were supposed to call you about an air drop. Did you get your wife out? Is there anyone else here?"

  "Um…" Roger put his hand to his brow. He frowned. Starvation obviously plagued him, as well. "Judy's out on her rounds. Two babies were born in the last week, but there's not much she can do. Who did you say you were?"

  "Let's go inside." Corban took Roger by the arm and led him out of the sun into the building. Inside the small warehouse was a table, a few empty crates used for chairs, and two cots against the back wall. At one time, there were probably food pallets littering the dirt floor, but no longer. Taking off his pack, and, against his own orders, Corban pulled out a granola bar. "When was the last time you ate, Roger?"

  "We…ate our last cornmeal two days ago."

  Corban opened the wrapper and handed the bar to Roger.

  "Split this with your wife. Eat it slowly."

  Just then, the door opened and a thin, young woman with white-blond hair strode into the building. She looked as weary as her husband did.

  "Roger, what's happening? I'm not leaving these people!" Dropping a medical tote bag, she crossed the floor to her husband. He split the granola bar and handed her half. Tears flooded her eyes. "Who are you? We forbid guns inside this camp. Everyone's already dying. You don't need your weapons."

  "A plane is dropping food by parachute at dawn tomorrow. My team and I will be out fighting off the Janjaweed. I need you two to set up a drop-zone and food dispersement site. Gather your strongest dozen or so refugees to help you. Hopefully we can avoid any riots or hoarding. You two have done this more than I have. We're only here to make sure…"

  As their jaws slowly worked on their granola bars, they stared at him as if in a daze.

  "On second thought, you two find me when you're ready. Just rest. We'll get started. You're gonna be okay now. So are your people."

  Nodding, Corban patted Roger on the shoulder, and exited the building. He climbed on top of the van and surveyed the view around him.

  "Anyone in the Red Cross tent, Bruno?"

  "A bunch of kids lying around. Empty, otherwise. Oh, and about twenty cases of expired malaria vaccines."

  "All right. This camp is under the Westons' care, but they're in about the same shape as everyone else here. Scooter and Brauch, you two set up post on the east edge of the camp. It's about a quarter-mile that way. Take everything you have and dig in. The rest of us will set up the drop-zone here then join you."

  Brauch and Scooter jogged away. June and Bruno stepped closer to Corban.

  "Normally, when the supply trucks roll in here, they're three or four deep and piled high," Corban explained. "It makes for simple, mobile distribution. But we don't have that luxury. We're getting corn, rice,
and potatoes in fifty-pound bags. Realistically, we can't expect much to hit the drop-zone exactly, so we'll need to gather everything that drops and get it to the site we're going to clear right now. As soon as Roger and Judy can join us, we need them to organize the refugees to help gather and disperse the food once it rains from the sky. All these nearby shelters need to be moved back. I want one hundred square yards, with the aid building in the middle. Okay, let's get going. This needs to be ready by midnight so we can join Scooter and Brauch. The Janjaweed could show up at any time. And pray that the provisions drop on target."

  #######

  Bruno went northwest and Corban walked southwest to begin clearing back the huts, but June didn't move. She wasn't sure how to uproot the inhabitants when they didn't speak the same language. Watching Corban duck into the nearest hut, she decided he knew what to do, so she joined him at the shelter doorway.

  "Food," Corban said repeatedly as he routed four children and three women. They could barely stand on stick-like legs and the children began to cry. "June, help them gather their things. Use sign language. Once we move them, they can have their houses back."

  June put a hand to her nose. It smelled like feces in the shelter, but she couldn't dwell on it. Corban disappeared into the next shelter. Holding her breath, June rolled up two rags that may have been blankets at one time, and set them in a woman's arms.

  "Come." She motioned to the door as if they were going for a journey, then made eating gestures. "Food. Eat. Come on."

  Already, she was sweating. It was over one hundred degrees, and there didn't seem to be any air movement.

  Corban and June worked in tandem down one line of shelters. Those in the next shelters walked or crawled to their own doors to see what was happening. Some didn't move, even refused, having given up on life, their minds shutting down as starvation, a hungry beast itself, completed its curse.

  After they'd cleared ten shelters away from the intended zone, Corban put his shoulder against the first shelter and broke its earthen seal. Using handholds on either side, Corban and June picked up the dwelling and shuffled, skidded, and pulled it ten yards to the west to rest only a yard from its neighbor. Thus, the next shelter had to be moved twice that distance west.

  By the time they started on the second row, several men who had a little strength seemed to understand their intentions and joined Corban and June in their endeavor. Others helped Bruno, as well, and eventually, Roger and Judy came out to interpret and comfort the people being disturbed. Children who couldn't rise to their feet tugged on June's clothes from their knees as she passed them, weeping for food and attention.

  As soon as Roger and Judy had control of the situation, Corban announced that they were no longer needed in camp. He, June, and Bruno joined Roger and Judy in the center of the football-field-size drop-zone. Judy pointed at the sky, assuring a group of refugees that food would rain from the sky the following day. Roger had rounded up thirty of the stronger men and women he knew personally and gave them the responsibility of gathering the food sacks once they floated to the ground. Though they were the strongest of the refugees, they would still need to carry the fifty-pound sacks in pairs, or by threes.

  "Just before dawn," Corban said to Roger, "I want you to light fires on the four corners of this zone—anything to help guide our pilots to this section of the camp."

  "Who are you people?" Roger asked in bewilderment. "We were already preparing ourselves to meet our Maker."

  "You contacted us a few days ago."

  "I contacted everyone I ever knew for help a few days ago. Which ones are you?"

  "We're COIL."

  "Oh, you came to help in Ethiopia two years ago. And you bought us a couple plane tickets out of the country before we met the machete. I thought you guys were Christians." He eyed the rifles with concern.

  "These have non-lethal projectiles, like tranquilizers," Corban explained. "Don't worry. No one's dying tomorrow. At least, not on the enemy's side."

  "Tranquilizers." A smile cracked the man's lips. "That's ingenious."

  "Roger, you know what you're doing better than we do here, so we'll go now. We have to go dig in and wait. Pray for us; we'll be praying for you."

  "Thank you so much." Roger gave Corban, June, and Bruno each an embrace. "God bless you and keep you safe!"

  June followed as Corban led the way out of camp at a brisk walk. It was sundown and they hadn't taken a break since arriving, but Corban seemed as charged as if he'd just climbed out of the van. Each of them applied earpieces as they arrived at the edge of the desert.

  "Scooter, report."

  Three hundred yards to the north, a camouflaged figure stood and waved from his trench in the ground.

  "All's clear, Boss. Nothing moving. Over."

  "Brauch?"

  "Nothing. Over," the German replied from nearly a quarter-mile to the south.

  "Let's get in position before it's too dark. You two maintain our flank. We'll go out about two miles. I'm point. Bruno, you've got our six o'clock position."

  Corban and Bruno tightened up their pack straps. June followed suit, then Corban started east at a jog. She pushed herself to match his rapid pace a few yards behind him. Bruno padded softly in the rear. Far to the left and right, Scooter and Brauch paralleled them step for step.

  Fifteen minutes later, Corban called a halt. Winded, he took a knee. June and Bruno did likewise, though June nearly collapsed.

  "Brauch, move two hundred meters south. Scooter, two hundred north. Let your superior rifle range cover the gap. Dig in and stay alert. Sleep in shifts. Thirty-minute reports. Go."

  Bruno split away to join Scooter to the north. Corban walked south with June to join Brauch. It took ten minutes to find the German. He was already digging a foxhole with an entrenching shovel. Sitting on their packs, Corban and June ate their evening meal as Brauch finished his hole. Darkness consumed the desert as Corban began to use the same shovel to dig his own foxhole fifty yards ahead and north of Brauch. With the darkness, came the chill of the night.

  June welcomed her turn with the shovel and looked forward to relaxing in the safety of a foxhole. She dug in fifty yards behind and north of Corban. It took a half-hour to dig it as Corban had instructed her—large enough for two bodies in case someone had to retreat to her hole.

  Finished with her refuge, she dropped her pack inside and collapsed in the three-foot deep by four-foot wide earthen bunker. She was hauling out her night vision scope equipment when Corban knelt next to her dirt mound.

  "Brauch's taking first watch until oh-one-hundred," he said in a low voice. "You take one to four, then wake me. Can you handle that?"

  "Yeah. No problem."

  "You doing okay?"

  "Pretty tired already. And a little worried about Memphis and Johnny."

  "They'll be okay. Johnny does this all the time, and Memphis, even though he's still a beginner, he can fly a trashcan through a sandstorm. You might regret it, June, but I'm glad you decided to come along with us. You did a good job back in camp. With your help, we're saving thousands of lives."

  "I keep saying this: it's hard to imagine continuing a life as a reporter in the city after seeing all this. In a way, I don't want my tour with you guys to end."

  "Do you have your med-pak handy?"

  She patted her breast pocket.

  "Morphine, gauze, tourniquet."

  "If Brauch and I get taken out, you're still within range of Scooter, so he can cover you if you want to retreat back to the camp. You were an Army Reservist, and you've seen your share of blood, so I won't kid you, June. This operation is life and death. Any other ops commander would give you a cyanide pill right now, because of what will happen if the Janjaweed get their hands on you—I don't need to spell it out. But better and stronger than a cyanide pill is faith in Jesus Christ. We may meet our end here, so make sure you're straight with the Lord when you're at the end of the end. In situations like this, a man or woman is forced to contemplate e
ternity and standing before God Almighty."

  "Getting straight, you said. I don't really know how to get straight with the Lord. I mean, you're talking about prayer, right?"

  Corban slid into the foxhole next to her.

  "It's all about accepting the fact that Jesus died on the cross for you, June. You have to make a conscious decision to live for Him rather than yourself from now on. After that, God's Spirit comes to live inside you. What happens next is rather natural if your faith is genuine. He'll guide you through the obedience of following the Bible's plan of sanctification."

  "That's it? No baptism? No ceremony?"

  "No, it's that simple." He chuckled. "It's all about the heart, the inner-man or woman. Jesus did the rest on the cross. All that other stuff that other religions teach can't save a person. If it could, we wouldn't need God; we'd only need to do a little ceremony. There are other things God asks us to do as symbols and reminders of His Son's sacrifice, but that stuff can come later as you grow spiritually closer to Him."

  "Did Chloe know this would happen? Did she let me come along with you guys because she knew I wouldn't be able to refuse a change of lifestyle?"

  "Is it that obvious?" Corban chuckled again. "She probably had a pretty good idea what would happen. Between you and me, I took in someone last year who was trying to kill me. Once he saw the power of God using us, and how we risked our lives for others, I think his perspective on life changed, too."

  "What happened to him?"

  "He…helped us. Obviously, he didn't kill me. I like to think he's out there somewhere doing the right thing. But, why I'm saying this is, like him, you're seeing God working in us. Ten years ago, I wouldn't have risked my life for a bunch of starving refugees."

  "That's what I want, that kind of passion, what you guys have. The connection with God to know with such conviction what to do. The selflessness. It's real. I know it is. I've been with you guys long enough to know that you're not faking."