PRIMAL Vengeance

Chapter 5



PETROCON Oil Refinery, Kordofan District, Sudan



The PETROCON refinery was located in Sudan within fifty-five kilometers of the still disputed Abyei border region. Constructed, manned and owned by PETROCON it towered over the surrounding bushland, a monument to Chinese engineering. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week it belched flames and smoke into the clear blue skies and spilled oil on the red soil. A tall chain fence shrouded in plastic adorned a wall of earth, protecting the expensive infrastructure from any threats. The only parts visible were the tall smokestacks, huge oil tanks and the pipes that led to the oil fields. Animals and locals alike avoided the area, terrified of the flames and smoke that spewed from its burn-off towers.

Jonjo lay in a patch of thick bush watching the Chinese security detail patrol the strip of earth that surrounded the facility. They were dressed in black fatigues and walked casually, their assault rifles slung. It was early morning, just after dawn. The air was still and the smell of fuel hung heavy in the air. He lay hidden in the undergrowth, his AK47 cradled in his arms, his sharp eyes watching every move.

The four man security team stopped periodically to scan the landscape, searching for any sign of an intrusion. They moved along the same packed-earth trail, weapons hung casually over their shoulders. Jonjo shook his head slowly. These men had no place in the African bush. They walked straight over the tracks he had attempted to hide the night before; a good bushman would have seen the subtle disturbance and known something was amiss. Not these men. Jonjo had seen better bush skills from ten year olds.

Despite his youth the Dinka warrior was a veteran of the civil war and an experienced bush scout. Five long years ago, at the age of twelve, a raiding party had snatched him from an orphanage and he had been destined for a short life of rape and abuse. It had been the Dinka who had ambushed the raiders and freed him. It was the chief who had taken an AK47 from a dead man and placed it in his hands.

As the guards disappeared around the corner of the facility Jonjo relaxed and reached for his backpack. Inside were his supplies, food, water, radio and few spare magazines for the AK. He rummaged through it and pulled out a battered exercise book and a pencil. Flicking it open he turned the pages past where the doctor, Jess, was teaching him to read and write. At the back of the book he had drawn a map of the refinery. Despite a lack of education Jonjo was a talented artist, one of the reasons that Garang had given him this mission.

The sketch map that Jonjo had drawn was detailed. It showed the perimeter fence with its fixed guard boxes and the heavily guarded front gate. He had measured the size of the facility, it was four hundred paces on each side.

The previous night he had crept across the oil-stained clearing, sliding alongside one of the pipes that brought the crude oil from drill rigs in the south. Scrambling up the bank of earth topped with the wire fence, he had peered through a tiny tear in the thick black material to see what was inside. The bright lights had revealed a miniature city: machinery, towers covered in lights, rows of box-like buildings. Back in the safety of the bush he had marked the positions of the tanks and pipes, as well as the car park filled with trucks.

Jonjo checked his sketch map again and identified a number of suitable locations to stage fighters, marking them on his sketch map with an X. The plan would be to ambush a petrol tanker as it came through the entrance; with any luck it could set fire to the whole base. Garang's instructions were clear; he wanted to attack the refinery, not the pipelines or drilling sites. He wanted a spectacular attack to draw more fighters and support to the newly formed South Freedom Fighters.

The SFF scout left his hiding spot and worked his way back around the facility to the side overlooking the front gate. The dirt road snaked in between a set of heavy concrete blast walls covered by two guard towers. Heavily armed security personnel were posted to search every vehicle that entered.

Jonjo slid forward on his stomach into the hide he had constructed the day before. He pushed cut branches forward for concealment as he watched the comings and goings of the refinery. He wanted to wait for an oil tanker in order to observe how the security detail reacted to the vehicle leaving the facility. Then he would head south, back into radio range with Garang and the rest of the SFF.

The growl of vehicles alerted him to the approach of a convoy, not yet visible from his position. As the sound grew louder Jonjo could see that the guards at the checkpoint had retreated to their firing positions. The convoy drove into sight and he could see why. They were technicals, battered Toyota Hiluxs and Landcruisers with heavy machine guns bolted to their trays. The five trucks were filled with armed men. Even at this distance Jonjo could see the men were Arabs; there was no doubt: the dark skin, the head-scarves. He reached for his AK; they were Janjaweed.

He watched the standoff at the gate. One of the Chinese mercenaries had come forward to confront the men. Jonjo waited for the shooting to start. The weapons on the technicals were pointed at the towers, the facility security forces ready with their own weapons. What were the Janjaweed thinking, Jonjo wondered. Were they raiding the refinery? Demanding protection money? Surely they weren't working together.

With a wave the security guard confirmed Jonjo's worst fears. One by one the trucks snaked through the security checkpoint and into the facility. He watched the last of the convoy disappear and crawled back to where he had left his pack. He threw it over his shoulder and trotted off away from the refinery, back towards the border. If the Janjaweed were working with the Chinese, he needed to get into radio range and let Garang know as soon as possible.