by Chap Harper
The two body guards or para-military guys were a little more difficult. Henri’s friends in the DRC Army warned him to be very careful. The military couldn’t trust their own troops with rebel forces infiltrating the DRC army at all levels. Henri obtained the names of two brothers who worked well together and had moved to the DRC from Haiti. Like most fighters from Haiti they did have a connection to Papa Doc’s old Ton Ton Macoutes, called FRAP in the 1980s and 1990s. People persisted in using the old title which was officially out in the 1970s. No one could tell the difference—still brutal, bloody and final.
The brothers were Jean-Jean and Osse Belcourt. They were about five foot ten inches, stocky, plenty of gold teeth, and looked very much alike except for Osse having more scars on his face. Both looked battle tested, but not as much as Devil Man and Jackie. They flew to the Kisangani airport on the helicopter Henri had arranged. They wore camo, with no military insignias, patches, or identifying markings on their clothes. Neither spoke English—Creole and French only.
Lu’s jet landed about an hour after the helicopter arrived with the chopper pilot, Bonte Ballo, greeting the group on the tarmac. He explained in French about the two mean looking military men, whom he didn’t much care for, who were seated in the helicopter. Roland was elected interpreter and could hold his own in a Creole conversation. Lu and her friends received their visas and went smoothly through customs aided by a well-placed call from Henri. Soon they were loading on the helicopter, a five million dollar Bell 412 beauty that could seat fifteen people in comfort. Bonte explained that one of the many mining companies in the Congo owned it and rented the craft out to reduce the cost of maintenance.
Sitting in the last two seats were the two trained killers. Assuming they spoke French or Creole, Roland went back and introduced himself and the others on board. He found out that Creole was preferred, and although they were polite, neither Osse nor Jean-Jean stood up when the ladies came back to greet them. There was a reason. Osse held a M16 in his lap, a large knapsack filled with ammunition and what looked like grenades. Jean-Jean had two weapons; one was on his lap and the other in the floor next to him. The one he held was a HK416 assault rifle, and near him on the floor was a Barrett .50 caliber semi-automatic. Both had pistols and knives, and Roland thought the two brothers might be able to overthrow a small country.
Roland had not had a chance to talk to Lu when she was not in a mood to injure someone, so he felt the time had come.
“Lu, we have only talked over cocktails, and since the revelation that we were hired by Barbos, I have not had a time to personally apologize to you. Please accept my regret for not finding out more about our employer and what he was up to. In the back of my mind I knew something had to be bad for someone to spend that much money on us. He never even met us.” Roland looked Lu squarely in the eyes, his handsome face close to hers.
“Roland, you good looking hunk! How could I stay mad at you? Just a few days ago we were trying to get Zoe to let us share you while our husbands were away.”
“I hope she said yes!” he said laughing.
“She is one selfish woman.” Lu winked at Zoe.
The helicopter was in the air and heading towards the coordinates Lu had given Bonte. They had about three hours left before sunset, so they had to find the place or set down in a clearing and wait for sunrise.
The big Bell helicopter could do almost three hundred miles an hour, which gave the group hope they could reach their destination. Lu started passing out sandwiches and drinks. She asked Roland to give out the food to the Neanderthals guarding the small arsenal at the rear of the craft.
About an hour into the flight, Lu looked down and saw a large field where a helicopter and a single engine plane were preparing to take off.
Chapter 22
Quarry Landing
In order to translate, Modesto placed himself between Devil Man and Jackie in the helicopter. The noise level was so high, little conversation occurred during the flight. Chris and Mit were sitting next to a Congolese doctor who spoke some English and wished to be called Dr. Devine. He spent most of the trip with his nose in a Native Congo Diseases book. Rounding out the passengers on board was a geologist, riding shotgun. For Peter Vuuren, this was an adventure of a lifetime. A recent graduate, the ink on his Master’s degree was still wet. On previous field trips to South Africa, he had mainly been to the DeBeers mine for a tour that anyone could book. His background included touring a gold mine, where cyanide leaching had taken place for almost a hundred years. The area around the gold mine looked like the surface of the moon. Peter had eagerly anticipated this trip to an almost inaccessible area of the Congo, where danger lurked behind every rock and tree.
Sony and Carol were on the helicopter with another archeology and anthropology specialist from New York City named Charlie Summers. She looked like a Charlie, wearing baggy jeans and a camo inspired bush jacket. Her face looked as though makeup might not do any good, but her clothing and hairstyle made it hard to tell if she had good features or an attractive body. Her hair was cropped short and pressed down by a floppy jungle hat. She wore huge sunglasses and smelled like she fell into a vat of Deep Woods Off. No one had seen her smile. Since she was packing what looked like a 9mm, and a huge knife that Jim Bowie would have lusted after, most were afraid to talk to her. If something feminine existed, most suspected it was hidden in her G.I. Joe boxers.
The other three passengers consisted of a mining engineer from the Democratic Republic of the Congo by the sole name of Jemi, and two geologists: Darley from Haiti, and Rick, hired by Haiti from Cal-Poly in California. Both were older and experts in their fields.
The third helicopter was more of a supply craft with two mechanics onboard from Haiti: Patrick and Junior. Since Bruny was aboard this was considered the lead chopper. Loaded to the point of bringing down the helicopter at any time, its contents included tents, food, cook stoves, mining equipment, generators, fuel, cots, sleeping bags, scuba tanks, air compressor and tools—both electric and hand-held. This craft would make runs back to Kisangani for more supplies as needed.
All three copters had spotted the huge walled structure and were picking places to land. Everyone knew if they landed on the black pitchblende, they would have their asses scorched, so they steered clear of that spot. The copters landed about one hundred feet apart, leaving ample room still available in the massive enclosure which was about 1000 feet in diameter.
Slowly, people emerged from the aircrafts, bending down as if the whirling blades might decapitate them, though they were ten feet off the ground. If, however, the pilot were to droop the blades by turning off the engine, one might possibly run into a blade if walking up an incline. The biggest danger was walking into the tail rudder blades. The pilots kindly warned all the folks leaving the plane.
Bruny started to tell everyone where he wanted the tents set up, but his first order of business was to put Devil man and Jackie on the wall by the front gate. He instructed the two mechanics to cut some trees outside the enclosure and build ladders for the inside climb to the top of the twenty foot walls. Snakes were everywhere, and the killing began with machetes whacking away at cobras, bush vipers, and other deadly serpents. Snakes were especially numerous close to the blue hole in the middle of the quarry. No one set up tents anywhere close to the water.
About twenty miles away the caravan of trucks and Humvees had reached the end of the logging trail. The men exited the vehicles and adjusted the loads in their packs for a two day trek through wet jungle. Most of the men, except for a few guides and language experts, were military types. The military men from the Congo and the para-military men from Haiti could communicate a little, but Creole was a problem for the Congolese. French was a somewhat common language. Two Congolese were assigned to lead the group through the jungle to the Aruwimi River. One could speak some of the dialects of this part of the Congo, including the difficult pygmy language. Rishi held a degree in social studies from a college in Kinshasa and had also spent a year livi
ng with local tribes. Isaac, the other guide, had survival training from the DRC Army.
Isaac was the leader and established his dominance by having everyone fall in and come to attention. He barked out orders for the hike and warned about elephants and natives with shot guns and poison arrows.
“I doubt we will see any of the Efe tribe of pygmies, and if we do, hopefully, Rishi can talk to them. We brought gifts to keep them happy. Keep in mind they have lived in this jungle for 50,000 years or more. This is their home. If they decide to attack and anyone gets an arrow, we will treat you with an antidote and antibiotics. If you were in the Kalahari Desert, there are tribes that make their poison from a beetle dust that will kill an elephant and has no known antidote,” he said in an attempt to make them feel good about pygmy poison.
On that happy note, he pulled a compass and GPS from his pocket. Then he pointed them in what he felt was the direction of the river, leaving two guards with the vehicles. Rishi walked next to him and kept his eyes peeled for anything that moved. Everyone had guns strapped to their shoulders. They had a few hours before sunset and really wanted to make some distance on their first day.
The group walked single file most of the time because of the thick jungle growth. With packs and guns weighting them down, coupled with rain, their progress was slow. Isaac had to declare rest periods far more often than he wished. He could pinpoint where they were on the trail by using his GPS tracker. Without the tracker, they probably would have circled back on themselves and spent the rest of their lives waterlogged and confused. As dark approached they found a place in the jungle where the trees were spaced more generously. Isaac laid out the camp and posted guards in shifts. He called Bruny on a sat phone and gave his position and likely time of arrival the next day. The men were happy to have small pup tents and to get out of wet clothes. They built fires and put clothes on sticks in a futile attempt to dry them out. Shortly after setting up camp a herd of forest buffalo showed up to bed down at their favorite jungle hotel, only to find smelly humans had taken their spot. Several shots over their heads convinced them to find other lodging.
Most of the tents set up at the quarry were two-man styles with sewn in floors. Bruny had a large command tent that held six cots, and there was a big supply tent that protected supplies from the relentless rain storms that came and went almost every day. Chris and Mit shared a tent. Modesto bunked with Rick James, the California Cal Poly Graduate. They had California in common.
Charlie had no other female to share a tent with, so she agreed to stay with Peter Vuuren, who would have shared a tent with Big Foot to be a part of the expedition. Neither was married or likely to mate with anyone soon. Peter was a geologist nerd who was also a Trekie and a Star Wars fan. Most hot girls walked long paths around him to avoid his type.
Charlie was a male want-to-be, a sort of a non-sexual androgynous female. Neither Peter nor Charlie seemed to have joined the normal human race. They seemed unlikely to break through any time soon. However, they spoke to each other. They had a realization and a bond, like a secret society of misfits. Like pandas in a zoo, there was the off-chance they might notice they were different sexes. Peter was unfolding a Darth Vader poster to hang in the tent, when he noticed the sound of a helicopter.
Bundy ran out of his tent and yelled at the two Haitian guards to be on alert. Both were standing in the front of the gigantic iron wood doors, watching the men construct a ladder. Rather than exploring, everyone was putting up tents and stashing supplies. Bruny had ordered everyone to set up camp first.
The Bell helicopter set down some distance from the other three, and kept the blades moving while seven people exited the aircraft. The two Rambo types stood out front, hoping they could shoot somebody. Behind them, emerged Lu, Angel, Gretchen, Zoe and Roland. The pilot stayed put, wanting no part of whatever was going to happen. There was a déjà vu feeling of the gunfight at the OK Corral, like the first wave of men hitting the beach on Guam.
Chris was the last out of the tent and saw Modesto and Mit walking towards the girls. He saw Lu in the distance, and knew his ass was in for a chewing. Possibly, she would just shoot him. He would have to listen to the lecture. She looked really pretty, in tight camo pants and a tan cotton sweater that allowed her shape to stand out in its glory. Her long black hair was tied with a ribbon that was…yes—it was camo too. But beyond how beautiful and color-coordinated she might appear, there was a look on her face that said “death to everyone.”
“Chris! You sorry sack of monkey shit!” With that statement she slapped Chris in the face, something she had never done. He turned his head and appeared to be shocked but didn’t try to stop her. “You lying snake fucker!” She struck him again across the face so hard that blood seeped from the side of his mouth. “You deceitful weasel dick! How could you keep this from me?” She then slammed her fists into his chest and began to cry—something she rarely did.
Chris knew there would be retribution for not telling her about the expedition, but not this severe. He tried to hug her, but she pulled away and walked over to the edge of the stone cottage crying uncontrollably. If Chris tried to get close to her she pushed him away and screamed at him. He had known her for many years and he had never seen this side of her. Chris knew her temper had an extraordinarily long cooling time—but this was beyond his comprehension. He slid down the wall of the stone house and sat near her, but saying nothing. Chris was lost and no matter how many times he said he was sorry, it didn’t seem to help. Their friends backed off and let them have their space. After what seemed like an hour, but was really just several minutes, she turned in his direction.
“How do you expect me to trust you again? The one sure thing we had in our marriage was trust.”
“Lucero, my God, I’m sorry. I am asking you to forgive me. I don’t ever want to see you like this again.” Chris was grappling for some words that would work.
Lu slid down the wall of the house and set next to Chris, but at a distance. Slowly, she began to talk in short sentences, and Chris answered her questions in a calm voice. He never showed any anger towards her. After a long time, Chris retrieved her luggage and took it to his tent. They were not seen again that night, and it was for sure no one was willing to get in the middle of the fight.
The other two men took their butt-chewing in stride. Soon Bruny came over to find he had eight more people to house and feed. Angel explained they had brought tents, sleeping bags, and some food.
The sleeping arrangements were undecided, but it was clear, had there been living room couches, the three men would be on them tonight.
In the distance, Bruny heard a sound. He pointed to a southerly sky. There was a small helicopter and a single engine plane. They both buzzed the enclosure and flew north.
“Who the hell was that?” Bruny asked.
“Barbos and his family of rat fuckers would be my guess,” Angel said.
Bruny quizzed the group and learned about a man who would strike when he felt everyone had their pants down and steal everything that wasn’t nailed down. Bruny told everyone to finish setting up camp and sent the two new military men to trade the watch with Devil Man and Jackie. Once they met each other, there was a lot of yelling and loud talking. They had been friends back in Haiti.
As soon as the last tent was staked down, darkness fell. New relationships were created and old ones were healed—some more slowly than others.
Chapter 23
UCFF Plans
The truth is strange. Many people believed that the Lord’s Resistance Army, led by Joseph Kony, had a religious purpose. Kony and his forces have no agenda—no goal—no moral excuse for what they did, except power over anyone they encountered. Murder and rape placed Joseph Kony at number one on the world’s list of international criminals. Most countries didn’t care about him, as long as he didn’t interfere with a needed supply of oil, natural resources, cheap labor or goods. Kony was just a bad guy in the jungles of far-off African countries, which may change
their names every year or so.
Joseph Kony was an unhappy man. He was that way most of the time, but when two of his good men failed to report on a timely basis, it meant they were dead.
Kony didn’t have any forces in the part of the Congo where all these people congregated, but he did have contacts within a rebel faction operating close by. Rebel groups are as numerous as start-up businesses. A group of natives get their hands on some guns and call themselves liberators, while they steal, murder and rape their own people. Not much different from a bunch of guys in the hood, deciding to get together and hold up a liquor store.
If they were good as rebel combatants, others joined. If they weren’t crafty and clever, the DRC military would wipe the jungle floor with them. The rebels Kony knew included ex-LRA members, along with soldiers from the Hutu “Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda,” and the Rwandan backed M-23. Primarily the rebels had been in conflict with the Allied Democratic Forces-National Army for Liberation of Uganda Islamist forces that had some ties with al Qaeda and of course the Congolese Government troops, along with some United Nations Organization Stabilization Mission to the Congo or MONUSCO UN troops. Although the names of an opposition might change through the years, there was very little variety in the small wars they fought. Decades of conflict had made “warring” part of the landscape in Africa.
The “Ituri Conflict,” occurring in the northeastern region of the DRC, was the scene of many battles among rebel groups. About one hundred miles upstream from the quarry, the Aruwimi River ran into the Ituri River and smack dab through the war zone. On the other hand, thick jungle and lack of military targets kept the quarry section of the Aruwimi River free of fighting.
Hordes of scientists awaited the end of conflict to begin exploring most of the Congo basin, eager to discover and classify yet unknown plant and animal life. Pygmies reported a new giant chimpanzee, large enough to kill a lion. Natives still speak of the elusive Mokele-Mbembe, or dinosaur they claim to have seen. Undoubtedly, surprises were in store for experts to examine.
