African Dragon (12 page)

25.

Nigel Ufume was still on the porch of General Shen’s cabin drinking gin and tonic when the general and his officers pulled up in the truck. Nigel was completely drunk and made no attempt to conceal it from the stuffy Chinese officers. General Shen walked over to Nigel and put his hands on his hips. He was not pleased with the glazed look in Nigel’s eyes.

“The airstrip is finished. We will get these people fed and begin educating them,” said Shen Xun-jun with disdain. “They must be willing to fight for the PAC—and for
us
.
You
, Mr. Nigel,
you
must talk to your people. It’s why you’re here. And you must be sober when you do it.” With that, he smacked the bottle off the small table next to Nigel, sending it crashing off the porch.

Nigel would have protested, but General Shen was obviously angry about his drunkenness, and standing there with his officers behind him, he was not to be messed with.

Shen Xun-jun stared at him for a long moment, and then spoke quietly. “The Africans will be fed well tonight. And then you will address them. You
will
be properly dressed and sober, and you
will
gain their loyalty and respect. Or I don’t need you.”

The words “or I don’t need you” were a shot across the bow for Nigel. The General had just told Nigel in no uncertain terms that Nigel would use the Congolese heritage to bond with “his people,” or he would be feeding the jackals on the African plains. Shen Xun-jun walked into the cabin with his men, leaving Nigel alone on the porch. Nigel stood from the rickety chair, almost falling, and stumbled towards the camp mess tent. As one of the “officers” of the camp, he could take food whenever he wanted. He decided a small meal and lots of coffee would be the next thing on his “to do” list.

Inside the cabin, Shen Xun-jun sat at his desk with his officers seated around the room in front of him. Sergeant Major Han turned on their secure laptop and sent a message to Beijing informing their superiors of the airstrip’s completion and asking for an exact delivery time. General Shen was surprised to hear that the planes were loaded and fueled, and would be leaving for the Democratic Republic of Congo within a few hours. The Intelligence officer spoke directly to Shen Xun-jun, asking him specifics of what they had planned and when. Shen Xun-jun explained that they would be moving on the capital city as soon as the heavy weapons arrived, and planned on taking out the president and prime minister within the first day of open hostilities. His plan was approved, and the phone went dead.

Shen Xun-jun turned to his sergeant major and told him to have his men begin the “feast and celebration” preparations.

26.

Ripper and Moose, who almost always worked together, whether on land or in the water, were wearing their ghillie suits and watching the aid station from a half-mile out. It was near eighteen hundred hours, and the pair had been hunkered down for almost two hours, babysitting the airstrip and camp. They took turns watching through powerful sniper/spotter scopes. Their mission was recon only, avoiding hostiles and leaving no trace of their visit. The team would be working in shifts, non-stop, keeping tabs on the airstrip and the camp.

“Little fuckers sure are busy tonight,” said Ripper quietly. “Looks like a real party down there.”

Moose was watching also. “Yeah. I was thinking…”

“I thought I smelled something burning,” interrupted Ripper.

Moose ignored him. “
We
had a pretty good party the day
we
left to come here, right? I mean, lots of food and booze from the boss. A little ‘send-off.’”

Ripper mulled that over. “You think something’s up? They getting ready to make a move?”

Moose frowned. “I only have about three hundred rounds. Think we can take ‘em?”

“Abso-fuckin-lutely,” answered Ripper dryly.

Moose smiled, because he knew Ripper was serious in his own mind.

“We better call this in,” he said quietly, and then activated his earpiece and throat mic that transmitted to their fish farm.

“Hey boss, you on?” he asked quietly. It was so quiet where they were lying in the grass he felt like he was shouting.

“I read you,” said Mackey’s voice.

“Looks like something is up. Big party or something. Looks like everyone is eating and dancing and having a good ol’ time down there. And there are a
shit-load
of ‘em boss. Men, women and children. Like a few villages worth,” whispered Moose.

“What’s your take?” asked Mackey.

“Not sure what to make of it. Maybe they do this every night, for all I know, but I was thinking it might be the big send-off before they get busy, know what I mean?”

“No planes, right?”

“Correct. Negative on the airstrip. Just a big cookout. Hey—wait one. Out.” Moose cut his call off and watched closer as the crowd apparently stopped partying to stand up and gather at the open end of the camp. Chinese officers were walking out with an African. Ripper ID’d him first.

“Fuck! They got Nigel! He’s still alive!”

The two of them watched in silence as the officers and Nigel Ufume stood at the end of the large parade ground and the thousands of Africans stood and gathered to listen. Moose tapped Ripper on the shoulder and started moving forward, cautiously but quickly, towards the camp. The two of them moved through the tall grass mindful of sensors and booby traps, but saw nothing other than scrub vegetation. They continued until they were only a few yards from the recently cleared airstrip, not more than a hundred yards from the wire fence that surrounded the camp. They froze and watched. To their amazement, Nigel did not appear to be a captive.

One of the Chinese officers began yelling through a bullhorn in French. Ripper and Moose looked at each other, not understanding a word.

“Boss, you on?” asked Moose.

“Roger that,” said Mackey.

“Get Julia on the horn to translate. Some shit is going down, and I am looking at Nigel Ufume standing with the Chinks at the head of the class.”

It took a second for Mackey to say it over in his head. “Confirm. You have Nigel Ufume ID’d?”

“One hundred percent, Skipper. And he does not appear to be a captive. They are addressing the crowd. Get Julia.”

Mackey passed the headset to Julia, who was sitting next to Cascaes in their hut. “Translate!” he yelled as he handed her the headset.

Julia popped the headset on and closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on the voice in the distance. It was difficult, but she could make out some of it. First, a voice, speaking French, that had to be a Chinese officer. He was introducing someone that sounded important, but she was losing parts of it. Damn. The voice was so muffled and far away. She commented out loud about how hard it was to hear.

Mackey spoke into his mic. “Moose, can you get any closer? It’s hard to hear.”

Moose couldn’t hear him, because he had taken his earpiece and throat mic which were connected by a wire, off, and was holding them up towards the camp. Ripper answered Mackey instead.

“Skipper, we’re at the edge of the runway. If we try and get any closer we’ll be in the open. We can move up a
little
, but not much. If we try and circle around, it will waste too much time. We might miss the whole thing. And there are guards up in the towers.”

“Okay, be careful. You get spotted and we’re cooked.”

Ripper belly-crawled to the edge of the airstrip with Moose right next to him, holding up the mic towards the camp. They were voice activated unless you held down the button, so Moose had to hold the mic “open” and aim it at the camp, which was a bit awkward. Miles away, Julia strained to hear the speech. It was now another man, who spoke much better French and did not sound Chinese. Ripper interrupted her thought.

“Skipper, that’s Nigel—he’s making a speech to the Africans.”

“People of the Congo! It is time we took back our country! Together, we have worked to build an airstrip. We will have weapons soon that will make our army invincible. We will take back Kinshasa. We will arrest the traitor president and his prime minister, and we will restore good government to our country. These men have robbed our treasury! They have lied and cheated you out of what is yours! We are a great nation and the time for living in mud huts is over! Your children starve and the government does nothing! But tonight—did you not eat well?”

(The cheering was loud, even from far way.)

“Yes! You ate well! Our new army has been trained well! You have new weapons from China that are better than the government’s, and you are ready to fight for your country! For your families! For your future! Fight with us, and never go hungry again! We will have medicine, doctors, schools, everything we need!”

(More cheering.)

Julia was trying to repeat what she heard each time Nigel waited for the crowd’s cheers to settle down. Mackey and Cascaes were frowning as they listened. The shit was about to hit the proverbial fan.

They listened for almost another thirty minutes while Nigel whipped the crowd into a frenzy, ultimately ending up in dancing and singing and occasional gunfire as soldiers fired into the air and danced with their families. Shen Xun-jun almost cracked a smile as he congratulated himself for including Nigel in his plans. When Nigel was finished he walked out into the crowd, very pleased with himself and his sea of supporters. Shen Xun-jun watched with interest as Nigel shook hands and worked the crowd like a seasoned politician, smiling and complimenting the soldiers, women and children. The Congolese ate it up, smiling and praising him, patting his back, shaking his hands and chanting patriotic slogans about the People’s Army of Congo.

Shen Xun-jun leaned over to Major Wu. “‘President’ Ufume apparently believes he will be running this new country.”

The major smiled and bowed his head, understanding the general’s amusement.

Back at the fish farm, Mackey, Julia and Cascaes sat on the woven mat that was their floor. “Unbelievable,” said Mackey. “Fucking guy flipped on us.”

“What if he is just trying to get in closer?” asked Cascaes. “You know, make it
look
like he’s flipped…”

“
Bullshit
. He knows protocol. He would have called in. And if for some reason he couldn’t, he would have gotten a message through his network out here.
And
, on top of that, the company sent another guy in here before me to try and find Nigel. He has apparently dropped off the face of the earth, too, and I’m now I’m thinking Nigel is responsible for
that
, too. This fucker is dirty. I’m calling it in.”

Julia looked at Cascaes sadly. “I agree, Chris. Good agents get in close, but they follow protocols. He’s been missing for
way
to long, and his speech sounded way too
good
. He sounded like he believed what he was saying.”

Mackey had Dex Murphy on the secure phone. “Hi, Boss. I hope I’m interrupting something good.”

“Actually, I am sitting with the Deirdre Gourlie at the A-Desk. We are waiting for new satellite pics to come online. Should be pretty soon.”

“Oh,
good,”
said Mackey sarcastically. “You can zoom in and take a picture of Nigel while you’re at it.”

“You found him? Is he alive?” It was Deirdre’s voice, sounding excited.

“Oh, yeah. He couldn’t be better. I hope you’re sitting down,” said Mackey.

There was a brief pause, then Deirdre’s voice again. “What’s going on, Mac?”

“Nigel has gone to the dark side, no pun intended. We just heard his rousing speech to the PAC. He was standing with the Chinese ‘peace corps.’”

A longer pause, then Murphy’s voice. “Mac? You’re saying that Nigel Ufume has doubled on us? You’re sure on this?”

“Well, let’s see. The guy that we were worried about being tortured and pumped for information—
that
guy, yeah, well, apparently he is pretty damn healthy. I have two of my men watching him right now. They are sitting on the airstrip waiting to see what ‘Santa Kwong’ is going to bring on his sled.”

Mackey could almost hear Dex and Deirdre shaking their heads in disbelief.

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Sounds like he is running for class president, by the way. Looks the Chinese and ol’ Nigel have a little deal of their own worked out. They must pay better than you do.”

“Everybody pays better than we do,” said Dex and Deirdre in unison like they had rehearsed it.

“So now what? We can’t take him out. He’s in the middle of the camp with about ten thousand Africans.”

“Just try and keep tabs on him,” said Dex, sounding very tired all of a sudden. “Let us know the minute you see a plane. We need to know what they are doing over there. Satellite feed should go live pretty soon. We see anything important, we’ll holler. Out.”

Dex and Deirdre looked at each other and shared a collective, “Shit.”

27.

Eric Hodges and Earl Jones quietly worked their way through the brush up behind Moose and Ripper’s position, but stopped well shy of the airstrip. They would be on watch when the sun came up, and had to stay further out. Hodges quietly called in to Moose and Ripper over their throat mics to tell them of their arrival. Moose and Ripper quietly moved away from the strip and linked up with their replacements. It was almost one in the morning.

“We’re happy to see you guys. Almost time for our naps. Oh, and by the way, there are about ten thousand Congolese on the other side of that fence, armed with brand new assault rifles. Have a nice day,” said Moose as he quietly moved past the two replacements.

“Gee thanks, Moose,” said Hodges.

“You goin’ soft in your old age, Moose? We figured they would have surrendered to you by the time we got here. You turn into a pussy, man?” asked Jones with a broad smile.

“Actually, Ripper wanted to pick a fight, but the boss said recon only, so I had to hold him back. Besides, the plane didn’t arrive yet—it wouldn’t be a fair fight. When the reinforcements arrive, then we’ll assault.”

The four of them exchanged quick fist bumps, and Moose and Ripper slipped away into the dark. Jones and Hodges added more local grass and brush to their ghillie suits and lay down to set up their high-powered spotter scopes. Even in broad daylight, they would be invisible.

The camp had settled down several hours before. The Africans, having worked like animals on the airstrip, and then having eaten a huge meal, were all fast asleep. Jones and Hodges passed a very boring night, taking turns with one hour naps. The red sunrise at a little after oh-five hundred was the signal that naps were over. They lay in silence, watching the Africans waking up slowly. A very long line slowly formed at the mess tent as thousands of Africans waited patiently for their morning meal. The Chinese would keep them very well fed and happy before putting weapons in their hands and sending them out against the government troops.

The sound of a truck engine starting up was loud in the quiet African countryside. Both Jones and Hodges readjusted their scopes to find the source of the noise—a small Jeep filling up with Chinese officers.

“Small guy in the back. He must be ‘the man,’” whispered Jones.

“Roger that,” whispered Hodges. “They look a little excited, huh?”

Jones watched as the Chinese men seemed to wave their arms and speak frantically about something. The sound of aircraft approaching answered
that
question. Hodges was on the horn immediately.

“Boss, you awake?” whispered Hodges.

“It’s me,” said Cascaes. “Mac is asleep. Whatcha’ got?”

“Aircraft. Three transports coming in. Big ones, Skipper.”

“Okay, sit tight and watch carefully. Count personnel getting off or on and see if you can ID weapons systems. We’ll be there soon. Out.”

Hodges and Jones stayed motionless, watching as the three huge transports circled over the camp. The Jeep drove quickly alongside of the strip, and a Chinese officer lit oilcans that were alongside the runway to help the pilots lineup the dusty path.

“I’m so dumb,” said Hodges. “I thought they were garbage cans.”

Jones smiled, he hadn’t even noticed them.

As soon as the cans were lit, the officer threw a green gas canister at one end of the runway to indicate wind direction, and the Jeep moved out of the way. Thousands of Africans from the camp began streaming out towards the runway, all eyes fixed overhead. Many of them had never seen a plane before up-close.

The lead transport dropped down and slowed its engines as it lined up the airstrip. It came in low and slow, its massive wings teetering up and down in the crosswinds. It was huge. As its nose gear touched down, dust and dirt flew high over the plane, making it disappear for a moment, until the plane bounced above the cloud, only to touch down again and again. It rumbled down the dirt runway, looking slightly out of control until it was able to brake and reverse its huge turbine engines and come to a stop at the very end of the path. The pilot drove off the runway and continued out of the way, turning his plane to face the camp so the nose of his plane could be raised to unload the mystery cargo inside.

The second plane came in like the first, also fighting the crosswinds and now had to contend with large “divots” in the runway left by the previous aircraft’s huge tires. It bounced harder and higher than the first plane, also almost out of control. The pilot fought against the controls as his massive plane swerved all over the dirt. By the end of the runway, he was under control and slowed down enough to avoid the first plane, now raising its huge nose-cone.

The third and last plane came in slightly steeper than the first two. The pilot had been told of the difficulty and the crosswind, but was still having trouble lining up the dirt path, now partially hidden by the clouds of dust, dirt and smoke from the fires alongside that were supposed to be helping, not hindering. As the first pilot looked up at him, he called him on the radio, screaming for him to abort and pull up. It was too late. The third plane hit the runway much harder than the first two and bounced wildly, spinning to the left. When it touched down the second time, the tip of the long right wing smacked against the dirt runway and snapped, throwing debris hundreds of feet into the air, some of which was sucked through the giant turbine engines. The explosion was immediate, and the plane bounced a third and final time, this time completely out of control, with the tail coming up over the nose.

The third touchdown was directly on the roof of the pilot’s cockpit, situated to the top rear of the deployable nose assembly. The pilot and crew were killed instantly as the weights of the cargo and aircraft drove through the front section of the plane in a few seconds. By the time the tail section was sliding through the nose, the plane exploded with such force that everyone in the camp was knocked off of their feet. Those Africans who could get back up did so, and ran as fast as they could in every direction. Jones and Hodges covered their heads and waited as the massive shock wave rolled over them.

It was several more seconds before they could hear again. Jones looked over at him and mouthed, “Holy shit.”

Hodges called back to the fish farm, almost three miles away.

“Skipper, you there?” asked Hodges.

“What the fuck was that?” yelled Cascaes, having heard the massive explosion all the way back at the fish farm.

“You heard that?”

“Damn right! What the hell is going on? You guys under fire?”

“Negative, Skipper. The last of their three planes just crashed coming in. Wish we could take credit for it, but it wasn’t us.”

“Holy, shit,” said Cascaes. “You guys okay?”

His answer was a series of secondary explosions as weapons and ammunition on board all started going off at the wreck site. Hodges and Jones covered their heads and ears and waited for the long series of explosions to finish.

“Damn, Skip. I don’t know what they were carrying, but whatever was on board, that aircraft is
cooked
. That’s probably a good thing from the sounds of it.”

“Roger that. Are you safe in your current position?” asked Cascaes.

“Not sure, Skipper. There are villagers running everywhere. They aren’t on us yet, but I think we better boogie outta’ here.”

“Okay. Get your asses out of there. Either find a safer spot where you can still see, or just get your asses home. Satellite should be able to help us out now anyway. Stay low. Out.”

Hodges and Jones crouched in the tall grass, looking like clumps of grass themselves, and moved quickly away from the camp towards the woods a few hundred yards away. Back at the camp, the Chinese officers regained their feet, and the two surviving planes moved slowly away from the fire, bouncing over the scrub floor of the African countryside to a safer location. The tail section of the second plane was severely damaged from flying debris, and would make a lovely addition to the African countryside, as its flying days were now over.

A voice whispered in the earpieces of Hodges and Jones. It was Moose. “You guys okay?”

“Roger that. What’s your twenty?” asked Hodges.

“Coming up behind you in the woods I think. We heard the explosion—didn’t know it was a plane until we ran back here. We were a mile away and that was still
loud,
” said Moose.

“Yeah, plenty of secondary explosions. We’re under the big, dead tree, meet us over here,” said Hodges. The four of them met at the tree and then set up their high-powered scopes again. They watched as the Chinese officers tried to restore order amid the chaos of thousands of terrified villagers running in every direction. The wrecked plane continued to burn wildly, sending up thick black smoke that would be seen miles away—and that worried Shen Xun-jun. He screamed at his officers, who in turn relayed instructions to the Africans to begin unloading the other two planes, while others tried to throw dirt on the burning wreckage. Sergeant Major Han ran full speed to the command cabin to call Beijing and notify their superiors of the catastrophe with the third plane. They wouldn’t know what was lost until they unloaded the first two and took some kind of inventory.

The PAC soldiers, more afraid of Shen Xun-jun than of the fire, calmed down and began making a long line from the open nose of plane one all the way back into the camp. Boxes were being unloaded and passed along the long line. The larger crates were stacked and awaited the truck from camp. With two huge planes to unload, the men would be there for hours. Unfortunately for the four members of the team watching from the woods, they couldn’t see anything other than crates of various sizes. They were happy to report back to the fish farm, however, that no tanks or armor drove off the planes.