PRIMAL Vengeance

Chapter 52



Souq Arabic Market, Khartoum



Mirza threw the distraction grenade as far as he could. It arced out of the entrance to the foodstuffs hall, landed on a hawker's awning and detonated, spitting sparks as it erupted in a volley of simulated gunfire. Simultaneously he dropped a smoke grenade and kicked it under a bench laden with dried fruit.

The sounds of gunfire panicked the entire market. The Sudanese people were accustomed to the horrors of war and needed no prompting to escape. The food hall burst into turmoil as people pushed each other out of the way, fleeing the gunfire.

Aleks reached out and grabbed Bishop's arm, dragging him into a narrow corridor stacked with bags of rice. Bishop swung his fist and Aleks caught it with his other arm. "Aden, it's me. It's Aleks."

Bishop looked into the big man's face and a grin spread across his own. "Thank God! It's so f*cking good to see you." He wrapped his arms around the Russian. "Aleks, how the hell did you get me released?"

"Prisoner swap," said Aleks. "No time for details." He dug into his satchel and handed Bishop a robe. "Put this on."

As they sorted Bishop's outfit, two African men shoved their way towards them, pistols drawn. Smoke had filled the stalls and the gunmen fought through the rush of people, angling towards where Aleks and Bishop were. They were not the only ones hunting. Mirza let the crowd push him towards the two men and his suppressed .45 compact spat twice, two neat holes appearing in his robe. Both gunmen collapsed in front of the alley. Mirza stood over them and fired a shot into each man's head.

"We need to move." He gave Bishop a nod as he stepped over the corpses.

"Weapon?" asked Bishop. His game face replaced the look of relief.

Aleks handed him a handgun and three spare clips. He stuffed them into his pants under his robe.

All three men were now dressed in traditional Arabic garb and sported beards. They would be difficult to spot.

"Kurtz, are you in position?" Mirza broadcast over his radio.

"Jawhol, I'm positioned due west of your current location. If you keep moving in this direction you will hit me in 400 meters."

"What's the reception—" Mirza paused as the PETROCON helicopter roared overhead. "What's the reception party going to be like?"

"About twenty heavily armed police, half a dozen PETROCON dummkopfen and that damn helicopter. It's good though. I have arranged a little surprise for them." The German laughed manically.

The three men kept moving with the crowds as they surged toward the exit. Aleks hung back with Bishop as Mirza pushed forward to scan for hostiles.

"They're checking everyone as they leave," transmitted Mirza. Ahead of him Sudanese policemen armed with AK47s were checking the faces of everyone. They were even forcing women to one side where a female officer was inspecting under their burqas.

"Our disguises are not that good. They will find us," said Aleks.

Mirza was only a few meters from the police now. Aleks and Bishop were half a dozen people behind. Bodies pressed up against them, forcing them into the checkpoint.

"Kurtz, I think it's time for that distraction," said Mirza.

"Ja, standby."

Mirza was nearly at the front of the line. "Kurtz, now would be good."

"Ja, ja, I am on it."

The man in front of Mirza was eyeballed by a policeman as he moved forward. Mirza bowed his head and stepped forward, his right hand gripping the pistol under his robe.

The explosion caught Mirza by surprise. Across the street a car detonated in a massive ball of flame. The guard dropped to the ground and Mirza stepped past him, turning down the street. He glanced over his shoulder; Aleks and Bishop were doing the same.

Further up the street another vehicle exploded with a huge fireball rolling up into the air. People were screaming and shouting. The bedlam from the market had now spilled onto the streets.

"Jesus, Kurtz, we wanted a distraction, not a massacre."

"Keep your panties on, Mirza. All bang, no blast. Just for show, ja!"

Mirza double-checked his iPRIMAL. The evac site was only a few blocks away.

"Kurtz, are you at the RV?" he asked.

"Affirmative. RV is secure."

"Roger, we're five minutes out."

"I'll pass it on to Mitch," Kurtz said.

They chose a less direct route to the rendezvous, using alleyways and back streets to minimize the possibility of running into any of the Sudanese security forces. A helicopter could still be heard overhead but the streets they chose were empty; the explosions had sent people scurrying for their homes.

The rendezvous was a drab-looking building, three stories tall with a large flat roof. It towered over the surrounding single-story compounds. Solidly constructed, it looked like it had once housed a workshop of some description. Chua's agent in Khartoum had located it, leasing it for a month to ensure it was empty.

Mirza rapped his knuckles against the heavy steel door. It creaked open and Kurtz greeted them with a broad smile painted across his face. "You liked my fireworks, ja?"

"You're nuttier than a squirrel turd, Kurtz!" said Bishop. "But yeah, I liked your fireworks."

"So you OK, Boss?" asked the German as they made their way up a staircase to the top floor of the building.

"A few scratches and a couple of bruises, mate. I'll live." He limped up the stairs, his bare feet leaving specks of blood on the concrete.

The top floor of the building was a single room. Someone had ripped out all of the furnishings, the broken windows suggesting everything had been thrown onto the street. There was a box sitting in the middle of the floor. Inside it was fresh fruit, a pair of slip-on shoes and bottles of water. Next to the box were two AK47s and a pile of magazines.

"Chua, no doubt. Thinks of everything." Bishop slipped the shoes onto his battered feet. "Perfect fit!"

"Aleks, Kurtz, long arms on the windows," Mirza ordered.

The two men grabbed AKs, loaded them and positioned themselves at the openings, watching the street below.

"Aden, there is something I need to tell you," Mirza said softly.

"Yang told me Jess is dead. It's true, isn't it?"

"It was my fault, I...we..."

"That's bullshit, Mirza, and you know it," Bishop said angrily. "Yang's men killed her and we will make them pay. It is that simple."

Mirza nodded, noticing his friend had tears in his eyes.

"Achtung! Panzer!" screamed Kurtz from his window.

"English!" Bishop yelled back.

"Tank!" confirmed Aleks. "And that damn helicopter."

Bishop sprinted to the window. Sure enough, at the end of the street sat a Type 88 main battle tank.

"Zhu's really pulling out all the stops isn't he?" Bishop said. "Anyone would think we've got something he wants."

"Ummm, we kind of do, boss!" said Aleks. "We've got his son."

Bishop looked confused. "Then who did you swap for me?"

"Someone Chua found on Chinese Facebook," explained Mirza. "Kurtz, how long till we evac?"

The German consulted his watch. "Four minutes."

"INCOMING!" screamed Aleks, diving from the window.

The entire building shook as a 105mm round slammed into the bottom floor. The explosion sent dust rolling up the staircase and left their ears ringing.

The loud bark of an AK47 added to the calamity as Kurtz fired his weapon at full-automatic down the street. "Mutter f*ckers!"

"Upstairs! Go, go, go! We've got ten seconds!" Mirza ordered, knowing a follow-up shot from the tank would not be far behind. "Autoloader," he explained as he grabbed Bishop by the arm and dragged him up the staircase onto the roof. They dove to the ground and Aleks slid in next to them.

Kurtz was still firing his weapon out the window below.

There was another boom as the tank fired. The round slammed into the weak concrete, blowing a hole in the side of the building. Kurtz sprinted across the floor for the stairs as it collapsed behind him. He barely made it, hitting the stronger staircase as the entire centre of the building collapsed.

"We need to get out of here," he screamed. "The whole building is collapsing."

"Da, thanks Einstein," said Aleks.

Another round slammed into the building, shaking its foundations.

"One minute," announced Kurtz.

"COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP OR WE WILL FIRE AGAIN!" the megaphone on the helicopter hovering above the tank blared.

"It's that cock sucker Yang," said Bishop. "How the hell did he find us?"

"Must have tracked us with the chopper," Kurtz said.

"Give me the AK," Bishop said, reaching out for the German's weapon.

"No," snapped Mirza. "There will be time for revenge but now we need them to think we're going to surrender. We need to buy time."

"F*ck that!" Kurtz swore as he knelt over the lip that ringed the roof and fired another burst from his AK.

Bullets snapped over their heads as the Sudanese Police returned fire.

"Another excellent idea," said Aleks as they all pushed their bodies flat against the dusty concrete.

"THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING. COME OUT NOW WITH YOUR HANDS UP OR WE WILL FIRE!"

Slowly the four PRIMAL operatives got to their feet.



***



Yang watched them from the helicopter, satisfied he had them trapped. He hit the transmit button on his radio and ordered one of the police squads to secure the building and arrest the fugitives.

Zhu would be happy; they would now have three more prisoners to negotiate the release of Ping. That meant he could let The Butcher wring as much information out of Aden as they wanted.

He looked down into the alley and watched the Sudanese Police work their way towards the building. After their last run in with Aden and his colleagues, they were taking no chances.

"Put us down behind the tank," he ordered the pilot. Yang wanted to be on the ground ready to greet Aden, and he smiled at the thought of victory. In his pocket his phone buzzed. He unfolded it, pulled off his headset and held it up to his ear.

"Hello!" he yelled into the phone over the helicopter's noise.

He cupped his hand over the phone pressing it up against his head.

"Yang!"

"Who's this?"

"It's me, Aden."

Yang laughed. "You have rung to surrender?"

"Not really. More to say F*ck YOU!"



***



"Thanks," Bishop tossed the phone back to Mirza. "Kurtz, time check."

"Now!" the German announced.

The tilt-rotor appeared from behind the building as Kurtz spoke. Its blades thrashed the surrounding streets with downwash sending a cloud of dust billowing out from the extraction point. It hung in the air like a predatory bird, its weapon pod unsheathed like a set of talons.

The roar of the minigun filled the air as the remote system poured rounds into the Type 88 tank. The stream of armor-piercing rounds lashed it, smashing sights and tearing antennas.

Mirza, Bishop, Aleks and Kurtz clapped their hands to their ears as thousands of casings cascaded down on top of them, a shower of hot brass.

Inside the tank the crew cowered as the deafening blast of rounds slammed into the armor. The crew commander jerked at the trigger, sending a final round downrange.

It screamed down the alley past the SWAT team and slammed into the bottom floor, tearing the guts from the building.

"MITCH, WE NEED EXFIL NOW!" Mirza screamed into his radio.

"Wilco, chaps."

The PRIMAL pilot fired one last burst, this time at the PETROCON helicopter that was landing behind the tank. The helo jolted and dropped, crashing into the street.

Mitch brought Dragonfly down on the flat roof, hovering with wheels inches off the surface. The building gave a groan and a shudder.

"She's gonna go!" yelled Bishop as he leapt through the door and into the aircraft. Kurtz was hot on his heels, throwing himself inside. Aleks followed him, barrelling into the cabin.

With a shudder, the entire building slipped sideways, the roof dropping from horizontal to a 45-degree angle. Mirza slid, scrabbling for a foothold.

"COME ON!" Bishop screamed from the doorway.

Mirza yelled as he sprinted as hard as he could, driving up the rooftop as it started to collapse. He reached the edge and leapt into the air, hitting the lip of the aircraft's door with a thud. As he slid backwards, Bishop grabbed him and hauled him into the cabin.

"Punch it, Chewie!" Bishop yelled.

Mitch gave his best impression of a Wookie as he pushed the aircraft's throttles forward. Dragonfly's engines roared as the props transited forward rocketing the little craft beyond 300 kilometers an hour.



***



The PETROCON helo lay crumpled in the middle of the street, rotors bent and ruined. Yang had been thrown free and lay stunned as he watched the rescue in disbelief.

Twice now Aden had escaped him. The man was a walking, talking wrecking ball and Yang's aching body would not let him forget it. The Chinese operative rose stiffly to his feet, the pain reminding him of other humiliating defeats. A blown up cargo ship, shot down attack helicopter, and now shot down again; Yang wasn't sure if he was more furious or shocked at the turn of events.

For a few seconds he contemplated calling the Sudanese Air Force and scrambling jets to interdict the tilt-rotor. He shook his head. What would that achieve? Aden and his men may die, but he would be no closer to revealing the identity of their shadowy organization.

His phone started ringing. It was Zhu. Yang took a deep breath and answered the call. At least he had one last chance to seek vengeance and redeem himself.