PRIMAL Vengeance

Chapter 19



Juba and SFF Village, South Sudan



Bishop had set up a basic office in the safe house. He sat on a folding chair, his state-of-the-art laptop open on a cheap plastic table. The little shack Mirza had rented suited their needs despite the meager facilities. It had an enclosed garage for the Wildcat and was a distance from the town center and most of the local activity.

His first business was to email Mitch the equipment order. From Addis Ababa in Ethiopia, Mitch immediately confirmed he had most of the gear and could make the delivery. With that part of the operation in order, all Bishop needed was to wait for Mirza to get back from his search for another vehicle.

As Mirza scoured the city for a four-wheel drive, Bishop used his laptop to pull up imagery of the coordinates Garang had given them. His computer had already hooked in through the satellite node in the Wildcat and downloaded the latest regional imagery direct from the Bunker's servers.

The SFF base was a small village on the bank of a river. A dirt track ran through the center of less than thirty grass huts. Bishop noted a football pitch in the middle of the village; the open space would be useful as a landing zone for Dragonfly. The village was isolated enough that the aircraft could approach without attracting undue attention. He sent a quick follow up email to throw in a couple of soccer balls into Mitch's delivery.

The village's river cut through what looked like half a huge crater. Millions of years ago a meteorite must have slammed into the earth at an angle, creating a huge ridge of high ground to one side. Over the years weather had broken down the other side of the crater until all that was left was a half ring of rocky ground that bumped up against the river.

Bishop marked the image on his screen, using a program to place defensive symbols on the graphic. The river was a natural obstacle protecting the western flank. The rocky outcrops that horseshoed the eastern flank provided excellent early warning and defense. The only infiltration points into the natural fortress were the openings that the river had cut into the basin and the track that paralleled it. He could see why Garang and his men had chosen this village as their base of operations. A small group of fighters could easily defend it against a larger force.

Mirza returned after an hour, a brand new Hilux pickup parked outside the front. Finding a decent truck had been easy since he had been willing to pay a premium.

They went north immediately, Bishop in the Hilux, Mirza in the the Wildcat. They paid little attention to the obvious poverty as they drove out of Juba and and into the African grasslands. This was Africa. Buildings were mostly shacks and the cars on the dirt roads were barely serviceable. There was no sign of oil money in this part of the country.

Bishop led as they approached the village. His iPRIMAL was mounted to the dash with velcro, keeping him on the route. A kilometer out they rounded a bend on the sandy track and halted at a checkpoint. Armed guards confirmed they were in the right area and they were waved through.

From the track the high ground that ringed the village was even more dominant. Rock outcrops jutted into the skyline and ran down a ridge towards the river, flattening out where the rough dirt track followed the riverbank.

Bishop brought the Hilux to a crawl as they drove though the gap between the high ground and the river. He scanned the ridge; sure enough, there were a number of defensive positions covering the approach. He could not see fighters, but he knew they would be there, ready to turn the pass into a killing zone.

The village looked the same as the others they had passed through. Mud walled huts, thatched roofs, dust, chickens and cattle penned in yards constructed with branches.

Children gathered to welcome the new arrivals. Twenty or so malnourished kids swarmed the two trucks. Their yells brought some of the locals from their huts. Tall Africans clad in bright robes approached cautiously. For a medium-sized village there were remarkably few people. Bishop guessed that most of the villagers had left the area; those that remained were probably families of the SFF.

A fighter clad in camouflage pants, boots, bare chest laden with bandoliers and talismans, waved for them to stop. Bishop pulled the Hilux in next to three older, battered pickups and the SFF UNIMOG truck. Mirza parked the Wildcat alongside and both of them got out. Garang, Jonjo, Jess and a few others appeared from the largest of the huts.

"Two trucks; this is a good sign," Garang greeted them as they alighted.

Other SFF warriors spilled out of the shacks and joined their leaders. They were a mixed bunch; some wore camouflage uniforms, others were dressed in jeans. Many had talismans hanging from their necks and gold bands around their wrists. They carried the usual weapons: beaten and worn AKs, PKMs, RPGs and G3 assault rifles.

The PRIMAL operatives carried their AK104s slung. Bishop was wearing a simple chest rig: a handful of magazines and a few grenades. Mirza opted for a lower profile satchel of grenades and magazines. Bishop called it a man bag.

"One of them is for your men." Bishop tossed the car keys to the SFF leader.

He caught them with a grin, strode over to the truck and looked into the tray. The smile faded. "Is this a joke? It is empty. Where are the weapons?"

"Inbound." Bishop pointed out to the east.

On cue, Dragonfly roared around the ridgeline and swept low over the township. Every set of eyes was on the craft as it circled wide and began its approach.

Mirza trotted out on to the soccer pitch, smoke grenade in hand. He dropped the canister on the ground and it spewed out a stream of thick green smoke.

"Your pilot is mad. There's no room to land here," yelled Garang, waving his hands.

Bishop smiled.

Mitch brought Dragonfly in hard and fast. The giant blades spun skywards as it crossed the river. The down wash whipped debris into the air as it swooped down onto the soccer pitch. A wall of dust lashed the watching villagers and SFF men. The blades flattened the instant the wheels hit the dry grass of the pitch. Mitch cut the engines and the cloud of dust settled as the black blades gradually spun slower.

Fighters and villagers alike ran to the edge of the field, cautious of the sinister-looking blades.

The side door slid open and Mitch jumped down into the dust. He was dressed in a similar fashion to the other two PRIMAL operatives. A compact P90 submachine gun hung from his shoulder, a matching FN Five-seveN pistol on his hip. A cream-colored scarf was wrapped around his neck, the end cast over his shoulder.

Mirza stepped forward to greet him. "Welcome to Abyei District, Mitch."

"Thank you, my good man."

Bishop greeted the bearded PRIMAL pilot and all round tech head with a handshake.

Garang and his fighters tentatively walked over to the aircraft.

"This… this is amazing!" Jonjo broke the ice as he patted the side of the aircraft. "What is it called?"

"Oh, she's a humdinger alright," Mitch said. "We call her Dragonfly." Mitch shook the young African's hand. "We'll have to get you up for a flight."

Jonjo shook the pilot's hand, eyes wide with amazement.

Bishop introduced Mitch to the group, explaining the role that the aircraft would play in their operations against the Janjaweed. Most of the villagers gained enough courage to approach the tilt-rotor but they stood at a respectful distance as the SFF and the PRIMAL men talked.

Mitch noticed some of the youths creeping closer and he broke away from Bishop's briefing, climbing back into the aircraft. He returned a few moments later with a large cardboard box. Reaching inside he pulled out a soccer ball and rolled it towards the group of children. They squealed in delight and he gestured for them to take the box. Within seconds children were kicking soccer balls around the PRIMAL aircraft.

"What about our weapons?" Garang asked suspiciously. "Or is it just toys?"

"Keep your panties on, old chap, we've got your kit," responded Mitch.

The PRIMAL team quickly unloaded the aircraft, handing the plastic cases and wooden crates out through the side hatch, stacking them on the field. By the time the aircraft was empty there were two piles, one of wooden crates and the other rugged black plastic cases.

Mirza dragged one of the plastic cases clear of the pile and opened it. The SFF men gathered around as he removed a SA-18 Surface to Air Missile from the protective foam.

"IGLA-S, very easy to use. Very deadly to all but the fastest aircraft," explained Mirza. "I can teach you how to use it in a matter of hours."

"A gift from one of our friends in the Ukraine," added Bishop.

"Can it kill a helicopter?" asked Garang.

"It'll blow the sucker clean out of the sky," said Bishop.

"Very good. What else did you bring?"

"This pile is for you, my good man," pointed out Mitch. "Four PKMs, a handful of RPG launchers, ten new AK104s and a bucket load of ammo. I've got a few bags of gear in the back as well: chest rigs, radios and the like."

"And the plastic boxes?"

"Ah, that's something very special." Mitch opened one of the boxes so Garang could see what was inside.

"Plastic plants?" The SFF leader looked up. "You brought us plastic plants."

Mitch pulled the 'plant' out of the box. "It's not a plant, it's a UGS: an unmanned ground sensor. This smart little weed uses a whole bunch of sensors to tell us where the bad guys are."

"So you plant these near roads and they tell you where the Janjaweed are moving?" asked Garang.

"On the money, champ. Your men do the planting and we monitor them from back here."

The scientist opened another box and pulled out a laptop. He powered it up and showed Garang the interface.

"I dropped a sensor in around the border yesterday. This one is pretty similar, a little tree with a sensor-activated camera. It pinged through these images this morning."

Mitch scrolled through the pictures; the quality was sharp. The sensor had orientated itself towards a river crossing where a track sloped down into the water. The camera was able to capture stills of vehicles as they slowed to ford the shallow creek. The images showed a variety of trucks and four-wheel drives, most of them laden with Janjaweed warriors.

"Stop!" Garang jammed a finger into one of the images. "It's him! That f*cking murderer!"

The screen showed a heavily armed jeep crossing the creek. In the passenger seat an Arab had stood up to guide the driver. His face could be clearly seen above the windscreen; it was Sagrib, the man who had beheaded the Dinka chief and beaten Garang nearly to death.

Bishop glanced at Mitch. "We're going to need more firepower."

"I've got plenty of stock in Addis Ababa. I'll do another run. Got some new toys that should do the trick." Mitch was using a Lascar hangar in the Ethiopian capital to stockpile equipment and fuel for the operation. "In the meantime there's a fifty cal in this lot for the Wildcat."

"Sounds good, we need to keep it light and mobile. These guys don't have the vehicles to go head to head with that!" He pointed to the heavily armed jeep on the screen. "Ambushing and dismounted ops are going to be the key."

Bishop looked up and caught the eye of Jess. The doctor had been hanging towards the rear of the group, silently watching the unloading of the weapons of war. "Throw in some medical and humanitarian supplies as well. We need to earn the trust of the villagers. Clean water and some lighting would probably be a good start."

"Roger. If I get airborne now, I'll be able to come back in under darkness. I'll grab some cam nets and arm up Dragonfly as well."

"Good call, I think it's going to get a little hairy around here." Bishop looked at Garang; the man was still fixated on the photo of the Janjaweed leader.