PRIMAL Vengeance

Chapter 14



Juba Arms Bazaar, South Sudan



Garang's men had returned directly to their base, an isolated Dinka village hidden in a valley. He had let them rest, confident the location was well hidden from the Janjaweed.

While the fighters spent time with their wives and children, Garang had returned to Juba with Jonjo and Jess. After a long argument he had persuaded Jess to lend him money from the hospital's meager funds. Garang's supporters in the US had not sent any more cash.

Once Jess had returned to the hospital and handed over the money, Garang, together with Jonjo, headed into town in an attempt to purchase weapons and ammunition.

The phrase 'arms dealer' usually evokes images of warehouses stacked with guns and rocket launchers, dealers of death selling tanks and fighter jets to wealthy dictators. Juba's death merchants conformed with none of these stereotypes.

Garang and Jonjo wandered the narrow alleyway hidden at the back of Juba's traditional markets. They had paid the small fee to gain entry, stepping through the rusty corrugated iron wall as a guard peeled back a loose sheet.

The bazaar was merely a bunch of stalls selling the usual battered hardware. RPGs, PKMs, AKs and other weapons leaned on racks. Stacks of ammunition were piled high on makeshift tables. It was the same all over Africa; wherever there was conflict, opportunists made money hawking the tools of the trade.

Garang stopped at a stall well stocked with RPG rockets. He hefted one from the seller's bench and inspected it.

The owner offered another of the missiles to Jonjo. "Only the best rockets from Nubu's stall, yes?" said the shopkeeper.

Jess had only given him five thousand Sudanese Pounds and Garang wanted to ensure they got the best value for their money. The rocket he inspected looked in good condition: the end cap was in place, the body free of dents and scratches. Even the booster charges looked new.

"How much?" asked Garang.

"Five hundred each."

Garang gave Jonjo a sideways glance. The young man shook his head and placed the rocket back on the table.

The SFF leader handed his own rocket to the seller. "Too expensive." He turned to walk away.

"Four hundred!" The man reached out and grasped his arm.

"Two hundred," responded Garang, peeling the man's grimy hand from his shirt.

"No, no, no. Too cheap! These are quality. Russian made."

Garang looked the man in the eye. "We tend to use a lot of them."

Jonjo had already moved on to the next stall. The young soldier had picked up a Dragunov sniper rifle and was handling it like it was a precious artifact. Even in poor condition it was worth more than the entire SFF budget. Garang made a move to join him.

"OK. OK. 250." The trader was desperate for a sale.

"225 and I will buy ten," said Garang.

The man wavered as Garang walked away. "OK! OK!" he yelled after the SFF leader.

"Jonjo, pay the man. We will load the ammunition once we are done."

The young soldier nodded, laying the sniper rifle back in its rack.

Garang crunched the numbers in his head. The rockets were the most expensive component of the purchase. It had used up half his funds. He still needed to purchase a dozen boxes of AK47 ammunition and at least three boxes of linked ammunition for the PKMs. This would give the remaining SFF warriors enough to defend their camp and conduct some training. If he was going to launch any sort of offensive, he was going to need to find more money and more men—quickly. This was the part that had him worried. Perhaps Jess would be able to get funds from the NGOs. There was no way he was going to dip into his own savings without a guarantee from the oil companies.

Jonjo joined him at the next stall after paying the RPG salesman.

As they were inspecting ammunition, neither of the men noticed the eyes that watched them from across the market. A short, scruffy-looking African dressed in jeans and a t-shirt had been following them since they entered bazaar. He had purchased an AK47 and box of ammunition, then followed the SFF soldiers, appearing to be inspecting ordnance as he trailed them. At one stage he had held up a rocket, taking a picture of it with his mobile phone. Garang and Jonjo thought nothing of it; another purchasing agent buying weapons on behalf of one of many militias, private armies, security details or other armed groups that operated in South Sudan.

The man left the bazaar with his purchases, making his way back to his car. Within the vehicle he scrolled through the photos on his phone, selected one that showed the faces of the two men and sent it to the number he had been given. With any luck the bonus he would receive would be worth close to ten times what the AK and ammunition had cost him.