African Dragon (20 page)

53.

Wong Fu-jia was so angry he broke the stock of his assault rifle off against a tree trunk. He had tried, now too many times to count, to reach Shen Xun-jun and gotten nothing. They were now miles out of their way, stuck in swampy marshland with vicious mosquitoes, venomous snakes, thorny plants that were cutting everyone like bayonets, and a myriad of wild animals that remained unseen but were so loud they were terrifying even to men with weapons.

Wong Fu-jia was already anticipating what would happen. The attack would fail and Shen Xun-jun would blame him for not being in the proper position at the right time. He had considered trying to reach the Ministry of State Security to ask for further instructions, but to do so would show a lack of leadership, if not outright incompetence. No. Wong Fu-jia would not allow himself to be the scapegoat. They would push east along the river, no matter how brutal the trip was, and then sweep through the city annihilating everyone in their path as they moved towards the rally point.

Fu snapped at his officers to push the men harder—they were wasting too much time. The long columns of men stretched out almost a half mile along the Congo River. A dozen mercenaries from neighboring Angola served as scouts a few hundred yards ahead of the main column. Wong Fu-jia barked at them on his radio to find an easier route.

With his night scope, Hodges watched the dozen scouts move through the jungle. These guys were pros, no doubt. They were quiet and concealed, and moved effortlessly through the heavy underbrush. Occasionally, an animal would run out from cover, and the group would stop moving, get low in the brush, and watch carefully before moving again. If not for the fact they were still moving in the dark, it would have been difficult to spot them—a wonderful thing, night vision.

He spoke in the quietest of whispers, but the team heard every word in their ear pieces. “Twelve scouts. Seventy yards in front of my position, moving real quiet. Main body is still out of visual. We should take these out real quiet and set up an ambush route.”

“Affirmative,” whispered Mackey, ten yards to Hodges right rear. “Team one, flank left and get behind them. Team two, advance slowly.”

Team one, composed of Hodges, Jones, Woods, Koches, Jensen and O’Conner slipped quietly forward through the thick vegetation, silencers on their weapons and knives at the ready. The rest of the team moved quickly to the right and took positions of concealment.

With their night vision, team one moved quickly towards the enemy scouts, who didn’t have the luxury of seeing well in the dark. Their only night vision was from the moon. One-by-one, they moved up behind the last scouts in the group, and began taking them out silently with their knives. By the time the remaining scouts reached team two, there were only four left, and those four still didn’t know their comrades were already dead. Ripper and Moose killed three with their K-Bar knives, and Chris shot the last one with one silenced pop in the dark. The entire ambush had lasted less than ninety seconds and had been almost completely silent.

The team left the dead scouts out in the open on purpose, propped up on thorny branches, to spook the column behind them. The enemy would be alerted to the team’s presence, but it would also make them stop and look around instead of just marching ahead at full speed.

Smitty rigged the few grenades he had left with trip wires along the path to the dead bodies, and the team melted back into the woods, heading back towards Kinshasa. They had gone less than a half-mile when they heard the first grenade go off. The PAC was close.

Cascaes put his hand over his throat mic and whispered to Mackey. “Skipper, we need to find out what’s going on. Kuwali needs to have his men on the way here
now
, before the PAC reaches the city.”

“Roger that. Let’s try Dex. He’s going to be pissed. We’re in a safe area further south, remember?” replied Mackey.

The Team kept moving as Mackey called in on his secure satellite phone, Cascaes holding the folding satellite dish as they walked. “Dex, we need a sit-rep on Kuwali’s forces. The PAC is maybe a mile from the city and moving fast.”

There was a pause as Dex realized the team was obviously following the PAC’s movements. “Mack, I hope you’re not thinking about trading bullets with a few thousand mercenaries.”

“Negative. We’re just observing from a safe distance, but Dex, you have to get Kuwali to mobilize his troop now before the PAC gets into the city. They’ve already massacred a few farms along the way. In another twenty minutes they’ll be in the suburbs. For Christ sake, get a fire mission in here. I can give you exact coordinates!”

“Mackey! I told you! Kuwali won’t authorize a bombing run outside his capital.”

“Oh, no? Well, you tell that idiot that tomorrow it won’t
be
his capital!”

“Mackey, your job is to keep your people safe. I ordered you out of that area. I have no way of extracting your team if anyone gets hurt out there! Now quit fucking around and get out of there.”

“And Kuwali’s army?”

“We told him everything you told us. They’re mobilizing.”

“And when exactly do they plan on getting here?”

“I don’t have that information,” said Dex, trying to hide his own frustration.

“Twenty minutes, Dex. That’s how long before the next genocide starts. And you could have stopped it with a couple of Tomahawks or a couple of jets! Out!”

Cascaes didn’t have to ask. He just folded up the satellite dish and shoved it into his pack. “Now what?”

“We’d be a speed bump—nothing more,” said Mackey quietly.

“So we just split and let them start butchering their way to the capital?”

Mackey looked Cascaes in the eyes, and without saying a word, flipped his night vision goggles back down.

54.

The PAC forces caught a break. They cleared the marshy mess and found themselves in an open area along the river. Wong Fu-jia instructed his officers to pick up the pace over his radio. A moment later, a frantic voice reported finding the dead scouts. A few seconds later, an explosion ripped through the forest. The troops held their fire and moved around quietly. It was a booby-trap, nothing more. The second explosion killed another two soldiers, and a few soldiers fired blindly into the woods before being ordered to stop. The army stopped moving and remained in firing positions.

Wong Fu-jia was outraged. Who was responsible? Kuwali’s forces or outside meddlers? He radioed Shen Xun-jun yet again and got nothing. Fu moved through the jungle at a run until he was at the front of the column that was now scattered and ready for an assault. One of his Chinese officers saw him and reported back what had happened.

“The sun will be up in another two hours. Perhaps we should wait until we can see,” said the worried lieutenant.

Wong Fu-jia pulled a map from his pocket. He opened it and showed the rally point to the lieutenant. “We have less than an hour to be
here
! They need to move now! We stop for nothing. Kill everything you see, do you understand?”

The lieutenant snapped a salute and ran off to the point of the column, shouting orders in Chinese and terrible French. The PAC soldiers began lighting torches. This is what they had been waiting for—the moment when the marching turned to fighting or—in this case—slaughtering.

The Team was watching from a small hill and saw the flames light up in their night vision. One at a time, hundreds of bright orange balls popped on below as soldiers lit their torches.

Mackey barked at his team. “We’ve got maybe an hour of darkness, people. This is our only chance to delay them. When the sun comes up, they’re going to come out of the woods fast and furious. Hodges, you and Jon stay here and we’ll move north towards the river to try and buy some time. When they get close, you boogie, you understand? We’ll rally here,” he said, pointing to a location south of their current location on his map.

Jon pulled his spotter scope as Hodges began preparing his sniper rifle. They had good cover behind some large boulders and trees, and plenty of targets below, less than a mile out. Mackey and the rest of the team ran off towards the river. As they ran down the hill, they saw the first farmhouse go up in flames maybe a mile away.

55.

The PAC forces had fanned out in a line that extended half a mile across, moving quickly east towards Kinshasa like a plague. Outside the city, tens of thousands of small homes had been built in what equated to American “suburbs,” but they were extremely primitive. Most of the homes were corrugated metal or wood in various stages of decay. The streets were dirt roads, and most homes lacked running water and electricity this far from the city.

The PAC soldiers were animals that were now unleashed on a sleeping population of civilians who were unarmed and unsuspecting. There had been peace in the country for years now, and the Congolese had no chance to defend themselves. The soldiers began bursting into homes and slaughtering whole families in their simple shacks, moving from house to house, killing and burning. A few soldiers took the extra time to rape victims along the way, but for the most part, the PAC moved quickly.

Hodges looked through his scope and tried to find Chinese faces. They wanted the officers. Take out the leadership first, and hope that Kuwali’s forces would arrive like the cavalry in an old western. Jon spoke quietly as he scanned with his spotter scope.

“Got one. Come right. Twelve hundred yards. Near the little yellow shop.”

Hodges scanned right and found the yellow building. There were several bodies in the dirt road out in front. A Chinese soldier stood with his hands on his hips, watching the chaos around him in the light of the burning homes.

“Got him,” said Hodges quietly.

“Twelve hundred yards, wind quiet at less than 2 knots,” said Jon.

Hodges squeezed gently and hit the Chinese officer right in the face, dropping him like a stone. Jon continued to find officers and radio operators, and Hodges did his best to keep up, nailing everything that was marked by Jon. Most of the PAC soldiers were too busy murdering civilians to notice an occasional soldier’s body in the road.

Mackey and the team worked their way down towards Kimbwala, where they could see the glow from numerous fires. The sounds of machine gun fire had people up and out of their homes, running towards Kinshasa barefoot with only the clothes on their backs. Anytime the refugees spotted the team, they panicked, but the team just pointed towards Kinshasa and told them to run.

“Stay together! These streets can meander anywhere—use the main road to keep your bearing, but stay together!” Automatic gunfire interrupted him. The team hustled around the shacks and crouched, looking for targets. Occasional screaming told the story of what was happening nearby. Mackey could see his team getting angry at the massacre and yelled out to them. “We can’t save them all, and we can’t save
any
if you’re dead! Be smart! Stay together and remember that this is a delaying action! We’ll fall back house to house when they get here!”

Moose was shoulder to shoulder with Ripper behind some cinderblocks that were maybe going to be a house one day. Moose deployed the bi-pod under the M240 SAW and readied for an assault. “Happiness is a belt-fed weapon,” whispered Moose.

“Except when you’re humping it in a hundred degrees,” replied Ripper.

“
So
worth it,” whispered Moose.

The team was hunkered down, ready, when a wave of humanity crashed through them. Thousands of villagers began streaming towards them, many carrying small children. Their faces showed an understanding of what was behind them—Rwanda and their own civil wars were well remembered. Cascaes spotted Theresa’s face, showing her horror at the panic stricken civilians.

“Hey!” he snapped, “Stay frosty! It’s the shit
behind
them you better worry about!”

“Aye, aye,” she shouted back over the noise that was getting louder. “I’m good.”

Koches came running up the street with the fleeing villagers. He ran towards the house where Mackey and Julia were set up and screamed over the noise. “Right behind me! Prepare for assault!”

“There’s fucking civilians everywhere,” said Jones. “How are we supposed to shoot the enemy?”

The words weren’t out of his mouth when the civilians in the road began falling down all over each other. Machine gun fire behind them was nonstop as the PAC soldiers simply annihilated everyone in front of them. Rounds began impacting the shacks and bricks that the team was using as cover.

“Fuck this,” mumbled Moose. He aimed over the downed civilians and began firing short controlled bursts at the PAC soldiers running down the road towards them. At first, the PAC soldiers didn’t realize they were being hit, as they hadn’t anticipated any kind of resistance. When a dozen or so of them were dead in the dirt road, the others began screaming and taking cover. Ripper fired his grenade launcher at a few groups of soldiers, the deafening explosions sending bodies flying.

“Okay! That’s it! Fall back!” ordered Mackey.

The team fired their weapons as they moved backwards, house to house. The PAC was getting close, and the stream of enemy soldiers seemed to come from everywhere. Up on the hill, Hodges kept firing until he ran out of ammunition—a first for him. One hundred and thirty rounds, and one hundred and twenty-two killed enemy soldiers.

“That’s it, Jon-O! I’m out!” Hodges snapped the lens covers on the M40A5 sniper rifle and shouldered it. Jon tossed him an M-4 carbine, and the two of them began making their way down the hill towards the fighting. They’d find a spot and wait for the others to fall back to their position in the designated rally point. As they moved down the hill, they could see thousands of fleeing Congolese racing through the streets towards the capital.

56.

Wong Fu-jia was listening to one of his officers talking a hundred miles an hour about enemy fire. It was infuriating. He slapped the man’s face so hard the lieutenant almost dropped his weapon.

“We have three kilometers to go before the sun comes up! You need to move faster!” screamed Fu. The soldier bowed and ran off, more afraid of Wong Fu-jia than of enemy fire, which is exactly how the military is supposed to work.

The city was ablaze, and there was now plenty of light. Wong Fu-jia wasn’t interested in excuses. He followed the sounds of machine gun fire and screaming, bringing up the rear of the attacking army. Up ahead, his soldiers continued the carnage, the death toll now into the thousands among the civilians. Certainly, the capital should be under attack from Shen Xun-jun’s troops, but what of the president and prime minister? They needed to be taken out quickly for the plan to work.

Fu tried to reach Shen Xun-jun once again and got nothing. There was nothing to do but attack. Fu radioed his second in command, who didn’t respond. He wanted to smash the radio into a million pieces but needed it. He cursed and called the captain on the far right flank, who reported heavy casualties. Someone had been firing at them, and several Chinese officers were dead. Fu was screaming.
Who was firing?
This was a bunch of villagers! It had gotten to the point that he had no choice. He was without any information whatsoever. He would have to call the Ministry of State Security.

Fu found an abandoned shack and stepped over the bodies inside to a table. He pulled his satellite phone and prepped his call until whimpering interrupted him. He stood, alarmed at first, until he saw it was a small child, still in the arms of her dead mother. She had also been shot, but not mortally, and was crying. Fu pulled his sidearm and shot her in the forehead, then sat back down and dialed the number with a knot in his stomach. He was transferred and put on hold and transferred yet again, until he had the commander responsible for monitoring the attack. Wong Fu-jia explained that he had been unable to reach Shen Xun-jun all night and morning, and they were facing resistance, although they didn’t know from whom. Where was Shen Xun-jun?

The commander was very quiet when Fu finished his report. It was very unusual for an operative in the field to call into headquarters directly. He made Wong Fu-jia wait while they tried to reach Shen Xun-jun from headquarters. They tried several times and got nothing. Fu was told to wait. Deep inside the Ministry of State Security, special officers adjusted their live satellite feeds to the last know GPS coordinates of Shen Xun-jun’s army and began scanning the route he was supposed to take. It was hundreds of kilometers, but with the last known GPS location, it narrowed the search to a much smaller area. As Fu paced around the small hut trying not to step in blood, the officers in China stared in disbelief at the shattered column that had been Shen Xun-jun’s army.

The Chinese officials in the Ministry conferred for several minutes before coming back on the phone.

“It appears that Shen Xun-jun’s army has been attacked and destroyed.”

That hung in the air for a moment. Shen Xun-jun had thousands of troops. How could they be destroyed?

“By who? When? How is that possible?” Fu was shouting in anger more than really asking questions.

“The Americans most likely. We’ve been monitoring activity on their amphibious group near the coast. Will you be able to finish your mission without Shen Xun-jun’s troops?”

Fu kicked over the table. He walked outside into the burning village. A soldier was raping a woman on the floor of her shack while two others watched and waited for their turns. This wasn’t an army. How could he take the capital with this bunch of undisciplined animals? He thought about the repercussions of returning to China having failed to achieve total victory.

“I will continue to fight towards the capital. Will we have support from anywhere else?”

There was silence, followed by a quick, “No.”

Fu hung up and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He sat on a stool and smoked, staring at the dead mother and child on the floor near his feet. The background noises of screaming and gunfire all melted together as he pictured his own family. Failing his objective would not go well for them. He drew deeply on the cigarette, flicked it into the pool of blood, and exhaled. Drawing his sidearm, he stepped outside into the chaos.