PRIMAL Vengeance

Chapter 27



SFF Village, Abyei District



"There's too many of them." Garang watched the approaching Janjaweed through a pair of high-powered binoculars. He, Bishop and a five man team were in the first of the security positions on the high ground above the point where the track entered the half-basin. Mirza, Jonjo and another group of SFF fighters were further up the ridgeline. Behind them, on the soccer field, Jess was coordinating the evacuation of the last of the women, children and wounded. Mitch had already managed to fly one group out and had dropped them at the abandoned village.

"They must have been reinforced," Bishop observed, watching the dust cloud through the scope on his AK.

"We need to pull back now," Garang said. "Your plan is not going to work!"

"You want to run? I can guarantee that your man, Sagrib the headhunter, is out there and you want to run?"

Garang dropped the binoculars to his side, his square jaw clenched as he contemplated the opportunity to kill the Janjaweed commander.

"If you want to run, Garang, we need to go now. Once their heavy weapons are in range, we're going to have to commit." Bishop didn't lift his face from the scope.

The SFF men looked at their leader with questioning faces.

"No, we fight."

"Roger." Bishop reached down to the switch of his radio. "Mirza, you are free to engage."

"Ack," the PRIMAL operative replied.

Through his magnified scope, at fifteen hundred meters out Bishop could see the details of the vehicles on the track. Heavily armed buggies led the convoy, a pair in front and one on either flank, easily keeping pace on the rough terrain. As they approached the dominating ridgeline they slowed down, their gunners scanning the high ground.

"Ground crew, this is Dragonfly. I'm five out for the final load." Mitch's radio message blasted in through Bishop's headset.

"Dragonfly, you're gonna have to hurry up. We've got a hundred plus tangos descending on our position."

"Acknowledged, old man. I've got throttles to the stops. Will be coming in hot and fast. Jess, are you ready for pickup?"

There was a pause and Jess's feminine voice joined them on the airways. "Yes, Mitch, we're ready. I've got a total of fifteen here not including me."

"Jess, this is Aden. Things are going to get really ugly. Make sure you are on that flight."

Bishop pushed the evacuation of the civilians from his mind. He needed to focus on slowing the Janjaweed advance.

There was a sharp crack of a high-velocity bullet as Mirza fired his Barrett .338 from further back on the ridgeline. Down on the track one of the Chinese buggies swerved off the road, its driver shot through the chest. The long range weapon fired again and the gunner collapsed on top of his heavy machine gun.

The Janjaweed responded by blazing away at the high ground with everything they had. Rounds smashed into the hillside all around the SFF men. Splinters of metal and shards of rock sizzled through the air as they hunkered down in their sandbagged pits.

"I think you got their attention," said Bishop over the radio.

"Yes, sorry about that."

The fire slackened off, dwindling to a trickle, and then stopped. The Janjaweed trucks continued their advance, following the buggies, all the machine gunners vigilant for another attack. The convoy started moving through the narrow gap between the river and the ridgeline.

"OPEN FIRE!" screamed Garang, depressing the trigger of his PKM. His men opened up with rockets and automatic bursts, sending a stream of lead down onto the Janjaweed.

Bishop fired his AK between two rocks, staying behind cover as the Janjaweed responded with even heavier fire than before. Chinese heavy machine gun rounds smashed into the SFF positions. The men had prepared them well, digging into the rock with shovels, using sandbags to reinforce, and camouflaging them with rocks and vegetation.

Next to Bishop a Dinka fighter with a RPG sat up to fire a rocket and a round hit him with a wet slap. He disintegrated as it impacted, spraying his remains across the rest of the terrified fighters.

In the background Mirza's rifled boomed time and time again, spitting high-velocity rounds with lethal accuracy. Bishop hunkered behind his rocks and shifted his view from the immediate battle to the rear of the convoy. Through his powerful binoculars he watched a large truck swing off the track. Men piled out the back of it, carrying equipment. It was well outside of their weapons' range, at least three kilometers away.

The convoy of Janjaweed had slowed to a standstill, however the weight of return fire began to overwhelm the SFF defenses. The heavy machineguns on the Chinese-built gun buggies out-ranged the SFF weapons, and their large caliber rounds smashed through the rock and sandbag protection of their positions. Mirza and Jonjo's group were getting hit particularly hard; higher up, their position was more exposed and easier to identify. Only the bravest of the SFF fighters were still returning fire. After the death of the rocketeer, most did not dare to lift their head above cover.

"Ground crew, this is Dragonfly. I'm two minutes out and coming in fast." Mitch broadcast.

"Roger, Dragonfly," Bishop said. "Things are getting pretty heavy here. You need to be in and out sharpish."

"Not real keen to be on the ground long, old man." responded Mitch.

Jess's voice came through on the radio. She was waiting at the soccer field, the remaining women and children with her. "We're ready to go, Mitch. Just get her down and I'll do the rest."

"Roger. Coming in fast."



***



Sagrib got behind the heavy machine gun mounted to his buggy, swinging the long barrel up to the high ground. The enemy sniper had killed his own gunner, forcing him to take over. He depressed the double triggers and the QJG heavy machine gun rocked the buggy as it unleashed a volley of rounds. His men were blasting away at the rocky feature, chewing up rounds. They needed to suppress or clear these positions so he could push forward into the village itself. He stopped firing to lift his radio to his face. "WHERE THE HELL ARE MY MORTARS?" he screamed.

"Firing now," was the reply from the mortar line.

Three large explosions blossomed out of the bush to the right of the convoy, well short of the intended target. Shrapnel whistled over Sagrib's head. "Idiots," muttered the Janjaweed commander.

"Add 100, walk the rounds onto the target," he passed to his Chinese-trained mortar crew over the radio.

The next volley of bombs were still at least 300 meters short, but in line. He grinned. The mortars would walk forward and push the Dinka scum from the high ground down into the village, pounding everything to smithereens. His men would sweep forward and clean up what was left.



***



"MORTARS!" screamed Garang. Dust mushroomed up on the grassy plain far in front of them. "We need to withdraw!

He made to stand but Bishop held him down. "We're not going yet. They still need to adjust and we need to buy Mitch more time!"

Another volley of rounds crumped in, even closer than the last.

"Mirza, make ready to pull your team out," Bishop transmitted.

The sniper's .338 boomed again from up the ridgeline. "Mirza here. Good to go when you are."

Down on the track the Janjaweed vehicles had slackened their fire. The gunners were conserving their ammunition, waiting for the mortars to finish the job. Bishop's team continued to fire on the vehicles. Out of rockets, they were limited to bursts of AK and PKM fire, inaccurate compared to Mirza's deadly .338.

"Jess, this is Dragonfly. Thirty seconds out," Mitch's voice came over the radio.

None of the fighters on the ridgeline could hear the tilt rotor as it descended on the village. The noise of gunfire blocked it out.

"Make it snappy, Mitch. We need to pull out," Bishop yelled into his mike.

Another volley of high explosives landed less than a hundred meters away. Dust and smoke swept their position like a cloud, obscuring them from the vehicles below.

"All teams pull back," ordered Bishop.

Garang and his men did not need to be told twice. Under the cover of the smoke and dust, they turned and sprinted from the high ground. They followed a goat track that wound down towards the back of the village and up to the defensive positions they had prepared at the high ground to the rear. Mirza's .338 boomed for a final time as his group pulled back, dropping behind the ridgeline, out of view from the approaching Janjaweed.

As the SFF sprinted back, Mirza and Jonjo broke away, running down towards the first line of huts. Bishop did the same thing, hitting the edge of the village hot on their heels. Dragonfly was on the soccer pitch, it's giant propellers beating the air as Jess hurried the final villagers into the hold. The downblast of the rotors lashed her with dust as she threw the last child through the door and dove in behind him.

Bishop sprinted into the first cluster of huts where Mirza, Jonjo and a four-man fire team were waiting. "Take cover," he screamed, sliding into one of the hastily dug fox holes.

The tilt rotor lifted off as the first mortar rounds hit the edge of the village. The blast wave lifted the aircraft off the ground and shrapnel sliced through the air around it. For a split second it lingered in the air, almost as if it would fall, then with a roar the blades tipped forward and it accelerated across the river and out of harms way. Tracer fire arced after it, falling short as it gained speed and disappeared over the horizon, trailing a thin line of black smoke.

"See ya soon, guys," broadcast Bishop as he hunkered down in the bottom of his shallow hole.

"Keep your head down, old man, and I'll see you soon for a Guinness," responded Mitch before he was out of radio range.



***



"They're running," said Sagrib to his mortar team. "Increase your rate of fire. Drop everything you have!"

Mortar bombs whistled overhead, landing inside the Dinka village. Dust and smoke ballooned up out of the bowl of death as the high explosives pummeled it.

Between blasts Sagrib could hear the sound of aircraft engines. He slewed his gun from the ridgeline to the direction of the sound. A strange-looking aircraft raced out of the smoke. He thumbed the triggers of his machine gun and sent a stream of heavy caliber shells racing towards the target. The airplane gathered speed and disappeared over the treetops. The Americans had fled, he thought, leaving the Dinka to fend for themselves.

As the Janjaweed mortars pounded the little village, Sagrib prepared his vehicles for the final assault. His four remaining Chinese buggies would lead. Bristling with heavy weapons, they would clean up what the mortars had missed. Next would come the dismounts; almost a hundred Janjaweed would sort through the scraps.

He grinned as the mortars rained down hell on the village. In the dust he could see mud huts exploding as they were hit. He imagined the shrapnel slicing through the bodies of Dinka women and children. Today was a good day, he thought.



***



Bishop's day was not going so well. He was lying in the bottom of his shell scrape as high explosives slammed into the earth around him. The explosions threw shrapnel into the mud-brick walls, the blast blowing the flimsy structures apart.

"Garang, any chance you can get a shot on those tubes?" he screamed over the radio as a bomb exploded near him, showering everything in dirt.

"Negative. They are out of range. Even from the other side of the ridgeline we couldn't reach them."

More mortar rounds rained down on the village as Bishop, Mirza, Jonjo and the other SFF men weathered the turmoil and the earth shook. They could scarcely believe the amount of ordnance the Janjaweed was throwing at them.

"This is less than pleasant." Mirza still sounded deadly calm.

"I'm beginning to think this part of the plan sucks balls," replied Bishop between blasts.

"You always have such a way with words," joked Mirza."

Jonjo looked at the two like they were mad.

A scream filled the air as one of the SFF cracked. He jumped out of his protective hole and sprinted away.

Bishop cautiously peered over the edge of his scrape, saw the man and swore. A mortar bomb ploughed into the earth in front of the soldier, flinging him through the air like a rag doll. He landed in a crumpled heap ten meters from their pits.

It was Mirza who leapt from safety and grabbed the man by the shoulder straps of his webbing. He dragged him as fast as he could, pulling him as he struggled backwards toward his shell scrape. He was only meters from safety when a bomb exploded directly in the hole. The blast threw him forwards, slamming him into the ground and knocking him unconscious.



***



As Mirza lay immobilized the men on the mortar line were preparing to drop another brace of rounds down their tubes. The three Chinese-built 82mm mortars were lined up in a clearing two kilometers from the village. The Janjaweed crew was being supervised by a pair of Yang's Chinese mercenaries. They helped make adjustments to the deadly weapons while the Arabs dropped the milk bottle-sized rounds into the tube.

"Fire!" screamed one of the mercenaries.

Bombs slid down the tubes, hitting the spigot in the bottom and detonated with a loud crump, the projectile launched skyward by the blast. Within a few seconds the bombs landed inside the village and the Arabs rushed to prepare more rounds.

They worked quickly, taking turns to rest as they unloaded the mortar bombs from the PETROCON heavy truck, prepared the charge bags and fuses, and then passed them down the line to fire. Consumed by the task at hand, ears deafened by the constantly firing mortars, none of them noticed the predator sneaking in behind them.

The 7.62mm minigun that hung from Dragonfly's nose was a recent modification. The aircraft was designed to be a business jet, not a gunship. Mitch had added it more to facilitate hot extractions than any intent to hunt targets on the battlefield, but today, hunt it did.

Belching flame, the gun raked the mortar position with tracer and lead. A long burst danced across the mortar tubes and their crews, chewing men into mince and equipment into confetti. A second burst tore the Chinese truck to shreds, detonating the stacks of mortar bombs it was carrying. The explosion was enormous. In the blink of an eye the entire mortar crew was obliterated. A massive blast wave rocked the tilt-rotor and the aircraft hovered for a second before it continued forward, following the track towards the village.

"Good shooting, Jess. How much change have we got left?" Mitch asked the doctor sitting in the aircraft's co-pilot seat. "Number should be in the bottom right of the screen."

"500, give or take a few."

"Enough for one pass." The British pilot tipped the stick forward. "We're going in hard and fast. It's up to you to make them count."

Jess nodded, focusing her attention on the gun camera's LED screen, a red cross-hair showing where the rounds would land. Her finger pressed the trigger gently, taking up the slack. She had been surprised by how simple the system was to use. It had taken literally seconds for Mitch to explain it. She simply pulled the trigger and the ballistics computer ensured the bullets landed on target; not dissimilar to the games her first boyfriend used to play on his console. She had never been that good at them, but now she was making a reasonable showing and freed up Mitch to concentrate on getting them in and out in one piece.



***



Sagrib waved his men forward, leading the assault from his gun buggy. He had lost communications with the mortar team, but it didn't matter. They had done their job; the village was a smoking ruin. His gun buggies were leading, dismounted infantry fanning out on either side of the track. The four-wheel drives brought up the rear. The whole formation moved forward at a fast trot so that the foot soldiers could keep up.

"Behind us; an aircraft!" warned one of his men. Sagrib spun his machine gun to the rear. A sound like a swarm of giant mechanical bees filled the air. Rounds stitched the ground and the tilt-rotor thundered over. One of the jeeps bounced as the line of bullets smashed through it, splattering the crew all over the surrounding infantry. Sagrib tracked the fast-moving craft, his heavy machine gun bucking as he sent automatic fire streaming towards the target. The small plane seemed to lurch as a number of rounds struck its body. Then it was gone; out of range.

Sagrib surveyed the damage. Despite the overwhelming firepower, the aircraft had achieved little. One of his four-wheel drives was knocked out of action and no doubt the mortar crew was dead, but he still had most of his foot soldiers. He yelled out to his men and kicked the back of his driver's seat to get them moving. The fight would continue.



***



"Mirza, wake up! Wake up!"

He felt like he had been slapped in the face with a bag full of hammers. His brain hurt, even more than the time Bishop had forced him to drink shots in a bar in Thailand. Mirza's eyes blinked open and he was greeted by Jonjo's concerned look.

"What happened?" Mirza asked as he tore the radio headset from his ears. The sophisticated buds had protected his ears from the blast, but now they were broken and useless.

"Mortar—caught you in the open."

"Is your man alright?" Mirza hauled himself to his feet checking his body for holes.

"He is alive but we might be in trouble. The Janjaweed are coming!" Jonjo pointed towards the noise of approaching vehicles and automatic gunfire.

"Mirza! Quit slacking off and get back in the fight," screamed Bishop, shooting his AK. He was crouched behind the remnants of one of the huts firing single, aimed shots.

Mirza grabbed his weapon from the dirt, pulled back the cocking handle, checking there was still a round in the chamber as he ran over to Bishop's position. As he orientated himself, he could see the village was a total shambles. The huts had all been flattened, thatch roofs blown off, pieces of mud walls all that was left of the simple dwellings. The scene looked like a battlefield from a World War One movie.

Jonjo followed, and when they were next to Bishop he unslung a bulky weapon and handed it to the PRIMAL operative, along with a bandolier of magazines.

"Thanks, mate." Bishop inspected the M25 'Punisher' grenade launcher. The forward team was now down to just Bishop, Jonjo and Mirza. The other SFF fighters in their group carried their injured man to the rear to meet with Garang and the main body of fighters.

"What happened to the mortars?" Mirza asked as they waited for the enemy to join the party.

"Mitch and Jess smashed them up with Dragonfly," said Bishop.

"Jess? When?"

"While you were knocked out."

Mirza shook his head in disbelief. "Only you can arrange for us to be saved by a beautiful woman!"

The growl of engines grew louder and an increase in gunfire grabbed the attention of the three men. They positioned their weapons on the remnants of a thick mud wall and waited.

A line of infantry came first. They had moved to the front of the formation, clearing the wrecked huts methodically, crouching low, running from cover to cover. Dark-skinned Arabs clad in a motley array of camouflage uniforms, wielding everything from AK47s to G3s and Uzi submachine guns.

The skirmish line was backed up by four heavily armed gun buggies and a line of battered four-wheel drives and trucks. The gun buggies nosed down the track in pairs, letting the dismounts work their way forward.

Rounds snapped through the air as the Janjaweed fired at shadows. They were 200 meters from Bishop's position when he ranged them with the Punisher's high-tech sighting system.

Bishop fired four grenades in quick succession and the two others opened up with their AKs, spitting suppressed rounds at the Janjaweed.

The Punisher grenades airburst above the forward line of Janjaweed, spraying them with a hailstorm of shrapnel. Men collapsed screaming as tiny fragments of metal tore into their skin. Mirza and Jonjo's accurate gunfire sent the rest scrambling for cover.

"Go, go, go!" ordered Bishop as he loaded another of the chunky magazines into his weapon.

Jonjo withdrew first, Mirza covering him with controlled bursts.

Two of the Janjaweed buggies pushed forward, their gunners opening up. Rounds stitched the ground around Jonjo as he sprinted for the safety of the next line of huts.

Bishop launched a grenade at the trucks. It exploded short, kicking up dust and debris. The gunner lost his aim and swung his weapon towards the new threat. Mirza hit him with a burst from his AK. The Arab dropped in the turret ring as bullets slashed through his body.

"We need to get the hell out of here!" screamed Bishop. Lines of Janjaweed footsoldiers had already cleared through the first lot of huts and were pressing forward. A pair of armed jeeps had moved around to the flank and threatened to cut them off.

Bishop ducked as rounds slammed into what was left of the mud wall he was using for cover. He felt the tug of a bullet passing through his pants leg.

Mirza crouched next to him, calmly changing the magazine on his weapon.

"We've got cover!" yelled Mirza as Jonjo opened up from his firing position to their rear.

Bishop launched three more of the explosive shells from the M25, pulled a smoke grenade from his chest rig and lobbed it towards the Janjaweed. "Let's go!"



***



Smoke billowed from the grenade obscuring the fleeing men. Sagrib fired his machine gun into the haze, hoping for a lucky shot.

"Keep going, you lazy swine!" he screamed at his men. "They're trying to get away."

More grenades started spewing smoke deeper in the ruined village. The entire basin was rapidly filling with a thick cloud that obscured all movement. There was no doubt in Sagrib's mind the Dinka were trying to slip away. He jumped down from his vehicle, unslinging his AK, and jogged forward with the first line of men. The other Janjaweed fell in behind, ready to reinforce their leader.

His men fired at shadows in the smoke, pumping trees and damaged huts with savage bursts of fire. They encountered no enemy and picked up their pace.

Sagrib and nearly sixty fighters surged forward like wolves on the trail of a wounded deer, desperate for a kill. Behind them their vehicles kept pace, heavy machine gunners scanning for targets.

The Janjaweed cleared the last line of ruined huts as the smoke started to dissipate. Sagrib halted his men. There was no sign of the Dinka villagers or fighters.

Vehicle tracks disappeared in the tall grass and onto the sandy track that went through to the other side of the high ridge. Dust hung in the air and the growl of a four-wheel drive could be heard further down the track.

"Bring up the trucks." Sagrib waved his men forward. The Janjaweed vehicles accelerated down the track, technicals, buggies, and Chinese jeeps bunched up, the wolves eager to continue the pursuit.

Out on the flank, one of the Janjaweed foot soldiers stopped to scan the high ground. A sound had drawn his attention, the sound of metal scraping on rock. He shaded his eyes from the sun. In the shadow of a boulder was a shape that looked like a man. The shadow moved. The Arab raised his weapon and a single shot drilled him between the eyes.

The ridgeline came alive with muzzle flashes as Garang's men opened up on the Janjaweed. Dismounted infantry fell like straw under a farmer's scythe as 7.62mm rounds cut through their ranks. RPG rockets streaked through the air to slam into the Janjaweed trucks, setting fire to ammunition, fuel and flesh.

One of the jeeps reversed, accelerating away in a cloud of red dust. The gunner and occupants fired full automatic at the SFF positions to buy the driver time. The jeep looked as if it would escape, then bullets slammed into the bonnet and it stopped dead, the engine block shattered. The driver exploded into a spray of crimson as .50 cal rounds ripped through his body.

The Wildcat emerged from a patch of vegetation, thin trees pushed to the side as Bishop maneuvered it to another firing position. Mirza was manning the machine gun and ducked a branch as they left the concealment of the trees. He fired the big .50 cal again, blasting the Janjaweed jeep. The Raufoss rounds tore into soft metal, the incendiary bullets setting plastic and nylon alight. Within seconds it was ablaze, any surviving occupants running for their lives.

"Stand and fight!" Sagrib cried, trying in vain to rally his men. "Fire back at the Dinka pigs!"

Overwhelmed by the ferocity of the ambush, many of the Arabs turned and fled. One of their groups held ground using a heavy truck as cover, trying to suppress the Dinka positions. Hopelessly exposed, they died as automatic fire continued to riddle the remaining vehicles.

In a matter of seconds the battle had turned against the Janjaweed. Sagrib fired the last of his bullets into the hillside and ran back into the ruined village with the remainder of his men. At least half his fighters were still alive, those outside the Dinka killing zone. Sagrib knew that without his leadership, they would flee but under his command they could still regroup, withdraw and fight another day. The Chinese could supply more guns and Omar would send reinforcements.

He made it as far as the first hut when his legs were knocked out from underneath him, sending him face first into the dust. The Janjaweed leader rolled onto his back and looked down at his legs in horror. His right shin was shattered, his foot attached with shreds of flesh and cloth, the boot and severed foot sitting at right angles to his leg. He rolled onto his stomach and started crawling, leaving behind a thick wet trail in the dirt.

"Cease fire! Cease fire!" Garang's voice echoed across the high ground. The SFF guns fell silent and once more the village was still. Only the crackle of burning vehicles and feeble cries of the wounded could be heard.

The Dinka warriors rose from their ambush positions on the high ground. They chanted in their local tongue as they walked down through the killing ground. Flitting through the smoke like wraiths, they used their bush knives to dispatch the wounded Arabs.

"Once more we dance into the jaws of death, only to escape and live to fight another day." Bishop joked from the driver's seat of the the Wildcat.

"Some a little closer than others." Mirza rubbed his forehead where the blast had slammed him face first into the ground.

Jonjo laughed in the front seat. "Nothing to fear. I told you the talisman would protect you." He grinned as he jumped out of the truck and moved down the track to where the Dinka were gathering, their chants filling the air.

Mirza reached for the bullet that hung from his neck. Despite his body heat it still felt cold to the touch. He stared at the thirty men jumping and chanting at the edge of the village.

"We need to get the men together and leave, Aden." Mirza's voice was calm. "We may have won this battle but the war is far from over and this is the first place the next Janjaweed army is going to look."

"Too right. I'll get Garang. You organize the drivers." Bishop got out and made for the chanting throng of Dinka. As he got closer, he noticed all of the men had gathered around a single body. He shouldered his way through.

Lying in the middle of the men, a look of rage on his waxen features was Sagrib.

Garang was there, chanting with the rest of his men. His face was contorted into a mask of rage and hatred. Bishop grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Garang, we need him alive and we need to go," Bishop yelled into his ear.

"NO, HE DIES HERE!" Garang screamed at Bishop.

"He has intel. We need to get it out of him." Bishop grabbed the muscular African by his vest and shook him. "You give me thirty minutes and I'll have enough info to take this to the next level."

Garang contemplated the PRIMAL operative's words. He looked across at Jonjo. The young soldier was the only Dinka warrior who had remained calm. While the others chanted, he stood silently staring at the Janjaweed commander.

"Very well, he comes with us. Bring the vehicles."

Bishop strode into the circle of Dinka to where Sagrib lay. Despite his mangled foot, he was still conscious. He spat as the PRIMAL operative inspected his wound. Bishop leaned forward and punched him in the face, knocking him out. The Dinka fell silent, watching as Bishop worked a tourniquet over the Arab's wound and tightened it, cutting off the flow of blood.

"Grab what weapons you can. Burn the rest," Garang ordered his fighters. "We're leaving!"