Peter Savage Novels Boxed Set

by Dave Edlund

  They watched as the escaping figure paused just outside the tent, a solitary dark figure crouching low to the ground. Then it scurried away from the tent, rushing toward the wadi, heading south to escape the camp.

  The figure stopped again, at the fallen and weathered tree, next to the aged mass of roots that had once held the tree firmly to the ground. Crouching, apparently sensing that a roaming guard was approaching, the figure was all but lost against the dark undefined clutter of roots and tree trunk. Using another tent for screening from the guard, the figure hid, waiting to move on.

  “Peter, what do you want to do?” prompted Gary.

  Peter paused, waiting and watching. “Wait, not yet,” he answered.

  The eastern sky was getting brighter as the earth rotated toward the sun at a thousand miles per hour. Soon, the bright yellow sphere would peak above the horizon. Initially just a sliver of light, growing quickly in size and blinding brightness. Come on! the words screamed in Peter’s head. Even though the air was relatively cool, he was perspiring heavily—rivulets of sweat running down his forehead. He wiped away the salty liquid before it got into his eyes. His heart pounded in his chest, hoping beyond all hope that the shadowy figure that had just escaped from the tent was Ethan.

  The specter squatting next to the fallen tree began to move again. Everyone watched, willing it to move when the coast was clear and to freeze when it wasn’t. But the escapee had no idea there was anyone on the ridge watching. The figure could not communicate with them to know when it was safe to move and when it wasn’t. Peter knew that the odds were not good for whoever was trying to escape, and yet he still prayed it was Ethan—for that would mean Ethan was alive and within reach.

  The camp was relatively open; the tents were placed a good distance apart and there were no bushes or rocks or trees to shield movement throughout the camp. This allowed the two roaming guards and the one stationary guard to be rather effective. They were armed with automatic rifles and Peter had to assume that whoever was trying to escape was not armed at all.

  Come on, sun. Come on! Peter kept thinking to himself. It was close now, maybe another two minutes and the first slice of intense light would appear at the horizon, just above the snipers’ heads.

  The figure rose up and began to run, first circling around the large root ball of the fallen tree and then running full out, trying to put the encampment as far behind as possible, for the coming light would not be at all helpful. The fleeing person covered 30 yards, making for the small bushes in the wadi, when the first guard spotted him. The guard never sounded the alarm, he simply raised his rifle and fired a short burst at the running figure. The bullets all impacted the dirt, forward and to the right of the runner, kicking up small puffs of dust where each bullet cratered into the ground.

  The figure immediately darted to the left, away from the bullet impacts. The sound of gunfire drew the other guards’ attention, and soon they also spotted the escaping prisoner. One of the guards recklessly fired from the hip, the bullets completely missing their mark.

  “What do you say, boss?” Todd broke his silence.

  “Shit!” exclaimed Peter.

  “Care to be more explicit?” Gary asked. “They’ll cut him down if we don’t do something.”

  Peter looked over his shoulder. It was almost time. He could just make out the beginning of the sunrise. Within a minute at most they would have the cover they needed. Only they didn’t have a minute.

  “Todd, you take the guard on the far right. Gary, you take the one on the far left. I got the middle guy.” There was a momentary pause before Peter finished the order, each man using the time wisely to draw his rifle in tight and settle the cross-hairs on his respective target. “Okay, on my mark… now!”

  The rifle shots were simultaneous, and an instant later the three guards fell to the ground. Peter immediately chambered another round and was searching for new targets. The gunfire had awakened the remaining Janjaweed and they were beginning to pour out of the tents, startled and confused. They were carrying automatic rifles and firing blindly in all directions. The runner continued down the wadi away from the camp.

  One shot at a time, the militiamen were falling to the sniper fire coming from the eastern ridge. The sun cast a brilliant yellow-white light at exactly the level of the eastern horizon, masking the muzzle flash of the weapons; the echo bouncing off the opposite bank of the wadi further served to confuse the Janjaweed. Shot after shot, the Americans continued to pick off the militiamen running about. The rifle fire continued from the eastern ridge, and more Janjaweed went down one by one.

  But Peter knew they would not remain invisible forever. As the sun rose higher, someone finally spotted the flash from one of the rifles and all of a sudden a dozen assault rifles began firing at the three men. The shots were not well aimed, and they all missed, but it served to keep Gary, Todd, and Peter down as miniature fountains of sand and dirt erupted all around them.

  “Hamaad, now!” Peter shouted into the radio.

  The trio could only occasionally rise to take a quick shot, and their hit rate had gone way down. But then Hamaad’s men charged down the western ridge and started to shoot their weapons into the Janjaweed, who were mostly facing away from this new attack.

  The SLM rebels came in fast and hard with weapons rapidly firing a deadly spray of bullets. All of these men had lost family members to the Janjaweed and seen their villages burned to the ground. Their hatred fueled their fury.

  The Janjaweed broke off from the eastern ridge assault to face this new threat. Gary, Todd and Peter didn’t waste any time getting back into action. The Janjaweed number had been reduced to half of the initial estimate, and yet they still outnumbered the SLM soldiers.

  Hamaad’s rebels were yelling and firing as they rushed toward the militiamen. But the Janjaweed were experienced fighters and were not easily intimidated. They quickly regrouped to face the charge. The handful of SLM rebels had no cover to hide behind as they ran down the western ridge toward the encampment. They would have been annihilated had it not been for their three guardian angels firing once again from the east.

  One by one, the trio of snipers took careful aim and felled more militiamen. Then Peter noticed the motion of a lone guard at the tent where the hostages were believed to be held. Peter aimed and squeezed the trigger on his Weatherby rifle. Less than a second later the large bullet blasted through the guard’s chest.

  Quickly two other Janjaweed soldiers ran for the tent. Peter reasoned that they wanted to use the hostages as shields and to barter for surrender. They had to be stopped. He aimed at the closest and fired. BOOM! The report was deafening and the guard fell. Peter cycled the action of his rifle, ejecting the spent cartridge and slamming the bolt forward to load another.

  Then he shifted and took aim on the remaining guard. He was closing on the tent and was carrying his rifle low and pointed forward, at the ready.

  Peter steadied himself…

  Tracking the running guard…

  Gently squeezing the trigger…

  Click! It was the worst sound he could imagine. The chamber of his rifle was empty, and he had no time to reload.

  Peter’s heart sank as he frantically yanked the bolt back, a litany of curses unconsciously rolled off his tongue. He inserted another round into the chamber, now taking precious seconds to reload the rifle magazine. And yet he knew he would be too late. He rammed the bolt home and looked through the scope at the guard who was now only feet away from the tent.

  Suddenly… BOOM!… and the guard fell. Peter glanced to his left. Gary had also been tracking the guard as he ran toward the tent; in the second it took Peter to reload, Gary had taken him down. Peter momentarily lowered his head in relief, but only for a moment—Hamaad and his men still needed help.

  By now the SLM rebels were within the camp, and the fighting was reduced to very close quarters shooting and hand-to-hand combat. Still outnumbered, the SLM fought violently and ruthlessly, and with
the advantage of precision fire from the high ground to the east. Every time a rebel was about to fall to a militiaman an unexpected bullet altered the outcome. The fighting continued until only four Janjaweed warriors remained. Realizing they could not prevail, they dropped their weapons and raised their hands, preferring to surrender than to die.

  Peter, Todd, and Gary stopped firing and surveyed the scene before rising and beginning a slow trot down the ridge to the camp.

  The remaining militiamen were rounded-up into a group surrounded by the SLM rebels. Having just achieved victory against overwhelming odds, the rebels relaxed somewhat. That was the only mistake they would make.

  One of the Janjaweed dropped his hands and slipped a grenade from underneath his robes. He had just pulled the pin when an SLM soldier saw what was about to happen and pulled the trigger on his rifle, killing the militiaman instantly. The grenade dropped to the ground, the pin still clutched in the fingers of the dead man.

  Shrapnel from the exploding grenade sliced through the remaining Janjaweed militiamen, killing them and three of Hamaad’s men instantly, and wounding six more.

  Peter and the others ducked at the sound of the explosion, bringing their rifles to the ready. As the dust settled, they could clearly hear the screams of the wounded. Peter saw the ripped and bleeding bodies. Picking up the pace, he ran down the slope to the camp, followed closely by Todd and Gary.

  Hamaad was spared injury and ordered his remaining men to treat the wounded. Peter and his friends ran to the hostage tent. They pulled the flap to the side and looked in. Huddled together, terrified, were four Americans. Peter scanned their faces, but Ethan was not there. His heart sank.

  “I’m looking for my son. His name is Ethan Savage. Do you know him?”

  Joe nodded, “Yes, he escaped this morning just before the shooting began.”

  Peter dropped the flap and turned to Todd and Gary. “Let’s go,” and he started jogging south toward the wadi, in the direction they had seen the runner depart just before the fighting began.

  They traveled down the wadi approximately a mile when they stopped to catch their breath and have a drink of water. “He couldn’t have gone too far,” Todd said encouragingly between drinks of water.

  “We have to keep going; we’ve got to find him,” Peter said, already starting forward again.

  And then Peter heard the sweetest sound he could imagine. “Dad! Is that really you?” It was Ethan. He came out from behind a tight knot of bushes a few yards away in the wadi.

  “Ethan!” Peter rushed to greet his son. “Are you hurt?” Their embrace brought rare tears to Peter’s eyes.

  Peter held Ethan by the shoulders and stood back, at arm’s length, looking over his son for signs of injury. “Are you alright?” he asked again.

  Ethan nodded, “Yeah, Dad. I’m fine.” He didn’t look fine. His right cheek and eye were bruised pretty badly, and there was a long cut on his forehead right at the hairline.

  “How did you know where to find us?” Ethan asked, still not fully believing his father had rescued him.

  “I got your message and had some help. The Janjaweed have made lots of enemies, and one of those enemies was quite willing to help us.”

  Peter handed Ethan his canteen and he took a long drink. Then Ethan noticed Todd and Gary and recognized his Dad’s friends. “Hello Mr. Porter; Mr. Steed.”

  “Man, are we glad to see you!” greeted Gary.

  Ethan nodded. “Thank you… thank you so much.” He almost choked on the words, trying to hold back tears that were welling up in his tired blue eyes. “We were being held for ransom, but they were planning to turn Joe, Brad and me over to someone named Colonel Ming… and Wendy and Sam were to be sold into slavery. We owe you our lives.”

  “Your friends are alright. Can’t say the same about those damned Janjaweed, though.” Todd looked over his shoulder in the direction of the camp.

  “Come on, son. Let’s meet your friends and I’ll introduce you to Hamaad.” Peter placed his arm around Ethan’s shoulder as they walked back to the camp.

  Chapter 16

  Darfur

  June 12

  “Dad, this is Wendy… Brad… Joe… and Sam. Samantha Ward is our manager; she also recruited us at the U of O,” Ethan explained as he introduced his friends. They were huddled together under the shade of a large acacia tree.

  “This is my Dad and his friends, Mr. Steed and Mr. Porter.”

  “Please, call me Peter,” he said as they shook hands.

  They all looked very tired, faces uniformly smudged with dirt and dried sweat stains. Both Wendy and Sam had shoulder-length hair that was matted and stringy. Bruises were evident on everyone’s face, especially Wendy and Brad. Brad seemed to fair the worst—he sported a swollen right cheek as well.

  “How can we ever thank you? You saved our lives. I overheard the Janjaweed discussing our fate yesterday,” Sam said, her voice drifted softer, the thought clearly very disturbing.

  Gary broke in. “You don’t need to go into it—Ethan explained. It’s all over; you’re safe now. We can go home.”

  Those few words energized Sam and the others. The effect was almost instantaneous as they realized they were no longer captives. Each looked up with relief and new-found hope.

  Wendy, a brunette who reminded Peter of his daughter, was nodding her head, smiling and crying at the same time. “Thank you… thank you.” With the back of her hand she wiped away the tears before continuing. “Does my mother know that you’re here?”

  Peter was confused. “No. Who is your mother?”

  “She’s a Congresswoman from California—San Diego. I thought maybe she helped you organize this rescue team.”

  “No, these men are my friends. They came because I asked for their help.”

  Wendy nodded understanding, but Peter wasn’t convinced and suspected she was in shock. “Look, Wendy, I’ve never met your mother. But I’m sure she will be relieved and very happy to know you’re safe. As soon as we get back to Hamaad’s camp we can use the radio—I’m sure we can get word to your mother.”

  Then Joe stepped forward, extending his hand again to Gary, Todd, and Peter. “If you hadn’t come along when you did… well, I don’t know what would have happened. We—Sam, Ethan, and me—we were trying to escape. We had a plan, and—”

  “They almost shot me,” Ethan interrupted. “It didn’t work. We all would have been killed.”

  Joe averted his eyes to the ground, rubbing his shoe in the dirt. He knew Ethan was right.

  “Come with me,” said Peter. “I want to introduce all of you to a friend of mine, and a friend of yours.”

  Peter led the group the short distance to Hamaad. He was talking to his second-in-command when they walked up. Feeling Peter’s presence, he completed his conversation and turned.

  Hamaad was surprisingly cheerful. Seeing that Peter was accompanied by his compatriots and the American hostages, he said, “I just ordered my second-in-command to drive the trucks up to the acacia grove.”

  Peter nodded in response.

  “I see you have found our lost children!” Hamaad smiled broadly.

  “Hamaad, I’d like you to meet my son, Ethan.” They shook hands.

  “And this is Wendy… Joe… Sam… and Brad.”

  Ethan didn’t hesitate; he knew he owed much to Hamaad. Looking the SLM commander squarely in the eyes, he said, “It’s an honor to meet you, sir. I can never thank you enough for what you and your men have done to free me… and my friends.”

  Hamaad’s face lost its shine as Ethan finished. He glanced over his shoulder at the bodies of his comrades lying on the dusty, parched earth.

  “We hate the Janjaweed. It was the right thing to do. No thanks are necessary.”

  Ethan, Joe, and Sam all looked beyond Hamaad toward the dead and wounded SLM soldiers. The deceased had been laid side by side. A few of the bodies were covered in dirty linens; others had a shirt or jacket draped over their faces. The wou
nded soldiers were sitting quietly in the shade.

  “Hamaad, I can never repay the debt I owe you,” said Peter.

  “But you already have. We have defeated these Janjaweed. That is payment enough.” Hamaad spoke very philosophically. His family gone, the only reason the former teacher had to live was to fight and to kill his enemy. This singular need filled the void in his life. It wasn’t much, but it was sufficient.

  “Your father is a good leader, Ethan. You and your friends should be very proud of him; never forget this day.”

  That pushed Ethan over the emotional edge and as he nodded in agreement, tears streamed from his eyes. Even Joe’s macho veneer cracked as his eyes moistened and he wiped away a tear.

  “We’re very sorry at the loss of your men,” replied Peter.

  Hamaad shrugged his shoulders ever so slightly. “We are used to suffering and dying. It is what Allah wants us to do—it is our destiny. We do not know why… but we do it well.”

  Peter remained silent. Yes, Hamaad’s people had been subjected to a life that was intensely cruel and harsh. But what could he do—what could anyone do?

  He brought his mind back to the present. The wounded still needed care, and he desperately wanted to get Ethan away from the camp, to get him started on the journey back home.

  “Hamaad, are there any other Janjaweed patrols nearby?” Peter asked.

  “You are worried of a counter attack?”

  “Yes, I am. The sound of the battle will have carried far. We need to get out of here and retreat back to your camp. I don’t feel secure here, and we need to get your wounded evacuated.”

  “This was a rogue group. They were not functioning within the structure of the main battalion commanded by the demon Korlos. But you’re right; we should be moving on.”

  Peter scanned the southern horizon, searching for any sign of danger, but no threat was visible. He couldn’t explain it, but a feeling of foreboding had suddenly come over him.