PRIMAL Vengeance

Chapter 45



Abyei District, South Sudan



"I want to help you rescue Bishop." Jonjo was driving the pick-up as it bounced along a rutted bush track. A handful of SFF fighters were huddled in the tray, wrapped in blankets to ward off the early morning cold.

"You're already helping. The more Janjaweed your men kill, the less we'll be up against." Mirza was sitting next to the young warrior in the cab as they drove towards the extraction point. As a precaution against possible Chinese informants, they reduced the new SFF recruits' exposure to PRIMAL's tilt-rotor aircraft.

"I know the ground better than anyone," continued Jonjo.

"True, but you're responsible for the lives of nearly a hundred men now. You cannot simply run off and leave them. They need you."

The SFF ranks had continued to grow and although Jonjo was only sixteen the militia relied on him to conduct operations with Mirza. Another SSF veteran had stepped up to replace Garang but it was Jonjo who was leading ambushes and exacting a heavy toll on a number of Janjaweed patrols.

"A few hundred meters ahead, Jonjo."

The bush thinned out and Jonjo stopped the truck.

"Promise me you will come back," demanded Jonjo. "We need your help."

"I'll come back, my friend. I just need to make sure Aden is OK."

"Yes, I know. You're his guardian angel."

"In a way, yes."

He jumped out of the truck and grabbed his equipment from the men in the back. They clambered over each other to shake his hand and wish him well. Throwing his gear over his shoulder, he headed off into the bush.

"Mirza," Jonjo yelled after him. "Remember to wear your talisman."

The PRIMAL operative gave him a thumbs up and disappeared into the vegetation, heading for the clearing on the other side.

The pick-up waited until the sound of an aircraft could be heard in the distance before heading back in the direction it had come from.

Dragonfly came in low over the treetops, its giant props hammering the surrounding trees with their wash. The grey-colored tilt-rotor touched down and the side door slid open. Two men clad in camouflage uniforms and chest rigs jumped out, weapons held at the ready. They moved to either side of the aircraft, scanning for threats.

Mirza keyed his headset. "Dragonfly, this is Mirza. Permission to board."

"Permission granted."

Mirza emerged from the bushes, walked swiftly to the side door and clambered in. As he secured his gear under the nylon webbing seats, the two armed men climbed back into the aircraft, sliding the door closed behind them. They dropped into the seats securing themselves for take off.

The aircraft's engines roared and Dragonfly lurched into the air. It gained speed before the giant blades pitched forward and the flight smoothed out.

"Hey, Mirza, gut to see you again." One of the men leaned forward, offering his gloved hand. He was tall and lanky with straw-blonde hair, hard Aryan features and a thick German accent.

"Good to see you too, Kurtz." Mirza and the former GSG9 operative were firm friends, training together regularly in the arts of covert entry and electronic surveillance.

"I also am glad to see you, comrade." The other man grabbed Mirza by the hand and pulled him out of his seat embracing him in a bear hug. Aleks was a former Russian intelligence operative. Sporting a shaved head and a heavy beard, he looked like the type of man you'd find clad in a heavy flannel shirt swinging an axe on an Alaskan pine plantation.

Both men had been recruited through proxies on a previous PRIMAL mission. Under the leadership of Bishop they had thwarted the attempts of a Ukrainian arms dealer to deliver a WMD into the hands of Iran's most fanatical leaders. Both men had joined PRIMAL under Bishop's recommendation and they loved him like a brother.

As Dragonfly climbed into the morning sky, Mirza briefed them on the situation. The newcomers had arrived from a people smuggling mission in Europe, one that had been put on hold given the current situation.

Aleks poured coffee from a thermos and they clustered around an iPad as Mirza outlined the key locations and events of the last seven days.

At the end of the brief, the cockpit door opened and Mitch joined them. "Righto, lads, we ready to get this show on the road?"

"Who...who's flying aircraft now?" A look of concern passed over Aleks' features.

Mitch laughed. "Keep your alans on, mate. She can fly herself." He pulled a Pelican case out from under one of the seats and sat down on it. Mirza handed him the iPad. He selected the aircraft's network and opened the intelligence package the Bunker had sent him.

"I wish we were here on better terms, lads, but it's not the case. Let's get right to it. They're holding Bishop at this oil refinery." He zoomed the map in. "Last night we intercepted a call between Yang and his boss indicating they're going to move him today to Khartoum. Their plan is to scoot down to this airfield, marry up with a flight and transport him up north." Mitch traced the route from the PETROCON facility down to a small dirt strip located approximately 15km southwest of the refinery.

"Do we have any other intel confirming the move?" asked Kurtz.

"Sure do. There's a flight banging in to the airfield today at 1030 hours." He pulled his iPRIMAL out of the thigh pocket of his flight suit and checked one of his notes. "A Fokker 50 scheduled for a touch down and then onflight to Khartoum. Matches up with their plans. I'll also have a UAV watching the refinery to confirm any movement of prisoners." He turned his attention back to the iPad. "Intel guys reckon a full road move would leave them exposed. That's why they've opted for a short trip to the airfield. They know that once he's in the air, we've run out of options."

"That's a valid assessment," added Mirza. "The SFF have ambushed a few convoys on the northern route."

"Da, it makes sense to me," said Aleks. "So where are we going to hit them?"

"The airfield, chaps. We've got a little under an hour to fine tune the plan and execute it. Not much time, I know, but this will be our best opportunity to free Bishop."

"Clocks ticking, ja. Nothing like a bit of pressure to bring out the best in us," added Kurtz.

"For Bishop, lads," said Mitch.

"For Bishop," they echoed.