African Dragon

by David M. Salkin

  The general stood, hand on his hips, and screamed a salutation to his army. “People’s Army of the Congo!” His colonel, speaking through a megaphone, translated into French. When he did, the six thousand men began cheering. (It seemed like the right thing to do.) “Our army grows stronger every day!” After translation, this was also met with a great cheer. “We have great weapons coming to defeat the worthless regime that is destroying your country.” Another cheer. “We have two planes coming in seven days, and you will make a road for them to land on.” No cheering, just confusion. Many of them had never seen a plane up close.

  Shen Xun-jun walked back and forth, very agitated. “Tonight, we will have a great feast to celebrate. And then tomorrow we will begin working. Anyone who works on this road will get double rations. That includes your families. They may work as well. We need lots of workers.” This translation took a few minutes to sink in. One of the Africans screamed out that they could bring their families to work, and they would all get double rations—this led to the loudest cheer yet. Shen Xun-jun grunted. Perhaps this would work after all.

  Shen Xun-jun stormed off the parade ground to his cabin to pick the best location for the airstrip. The ground was fairly flat around the camp, which was good, but it was also covered with large rocks, stands of trees and underbrush that would all have to be cleared. He walked into the large cabin that housed himself and all of his officers, and sat at a large table across from Nigel Ufume.

  17.

  Jon and his dive team chugged back to the fish farm wearing big smiles. Their first day of fishing had proven to be very successful, and they had thoroughly enjoyed the dive. As they slowly pulled in next to the rickety wooden dock by Fish Central, a few of the others walked out to meet them. Most of the team was sitting around the fire eating lunch together.

  Eric Hodges and Earl Jones, the two marine recondos, helped secure the boat and tie it off.

  “So how was it?” asked Hodges. “See any crocs?”

  Jon laughed. “No, man, no crocs. But we caught a ton of fish. We might actually have a good little business going here.”

  They bantered back and forth for a while, and then began the process of unloading the live fish. The Canadians that had run the farm before them had devised an ingenious way of unloading the fish without having to remove the fifty-gallon drums from the boat. At almost nine pounds per gallon, a fifty-gallon drum was pretty darn heavy when it was full of water and fish. Instead of unloading the drum, a large open pipe was extended from the “fish corral” to the boat. The pipe, or half-pipe, really, was full of water. The men merely re-netted the fish, dropped them into the half pipe, and let them swim to the large holding tub at the other end. Any fish that were reluctant to move along the pipe were merely “shooed” along by hand. In less than an hour, all three drums were emptied of fish, drained, and then refilled with fresh lake water for the next day.

  Jon was supervising the men when two boats paddled into the dock. One small canoe was manned by a single fisherman; the other older man had brought his son with him. As they tied to the dock, they began speaking in French to Jon, who began waving frantically to Julia to come and translate. She was sitting with Chris Cascaes and the others back at the campfire.

  The men pulled up large nets that were full of live fish, being towed behind their canoes, and began emptying the fish into the half pipe. They had obviously done this many times before with the old Canadian crew that was here before. They were finishing up when Julia arrived with Cascaes. She greeted them, and received giant smiles and two men speaking at once, obviously excited to see the woman who spoke French again. They chatted for a while and then the men waved and said goodbye, rowing off towards Buwali again.

  Julia looked over at Jon and said, “Well, bwana, looks like you are officially a fisherman.”

  “The drivers from Kalemie will be here in another day or two to transport the fish to Luano Airport,” said Cascaes. “Good job. You look like you’ve been doing this for years, which is exactly what we were hoping for.”

  Jon thanked him and told him a little bit about the dive, and then the four divers unloaded and cleaned off their gear. They brought the tanks back to the compressor at Fish Central to be refilled for tomorrow’s dive. Cascaes told Julia to get in the dive boat. He wanted to take a quick scout up north towards Buwali to see what the coast looked like. Jensen offered to drive the boat again, but Chris told him to finish up here, and he’d be fine.

  Julia hopped in and cleared the lines while Chris cranked up the outboard. They chugged off out into the lake turning north. Chris stood at the center console of the open boat and Julia walked up behind him. When they were out of sight of the fish farm, she put her arms around his waist and rested her head against him. Neither of them spoke for a while as they enjoyed each other’s company and beautiful scenery of the giant lake. The water was smooth and there was barely a breeze.

  “Where are we going?” Julia finally asked.

  “Nowhere,” said Chris, smiling, as he turned the throttle down to its lowest speed and turned the boat out towards open water. He turned around and started doing what he had wanted to do since arriving in Africa a few days earlier. Julia was just as anxious as he was, and it wasn’t more than a minute before both sets of clothes were on the floor of the boat, beneath the bench seat where they were entwined. The rocking of the boat was not from the waves.

  18.

  Shen Xun-jun sat across from Nigel Ufume and pulled out his cigarettes. Although he couldn’t speak French, Shen Xun-jun’s English was excellent.

  “We have a new challenge, Mr. Nigel,” said Shen Xun-jun.

  “And what is that, general?” asked Nigel.

  “Our shipment of heavy weapons will be arriving here by plane. We need to construct an airstrip big enough for large transports to land.”

  “You have over six thousand men here. It doesn’t sound like too big a problem.”

  Shen Xun-jun exhaled a blue smoke ring. “We will have our soldiers bring their families here. We will have ten thousand laborers here by the day after tomorrow. Even without tools, they will be able to provide a runway for our planes.”

  Nigel reached for his own cigarettes. “What are they sending?”

  “Not enough, I’m afraid,” said Shen Xun-jun. He was being uncommonly candid with his newest ally in the PAC rebellion. “The present government does not have much of an army, but they do have some light tanks and armored personnel carriers. We have no air support, no artillery, and a few thousand soldiers who can’t shoot very well. Unless we are able to take Kinshasa with total surprise, we will have a problem.”

  Ufume exhaled his cigarette and leaned closer to the general. “If the PAC fails to take out President Kuwali and Prime Minister Gugunga we’re all dead men. The cabinet ministers are weak. They will flee or sign on with us, but Kuwali and Gugunga have loyal supporters. They must be killed the first day of fighting or everything we have worked for will fall apart.”

  Shen Xun-jun sat back and crossed his legs, eyeing the Congo-born American. “Then I suggest you make sure it happens.”

  Ufume scowled. “It will be difficult. I will need to move on the president’s residence at night. If one of your officers will lead another force at the same time and take out the prime minister, we can take the capital in one day. If we televise our new government the next morning with our army in the streets, Kuwali’s army will disappear instantly.”

  The general pondered that and spoke quietly, “And you are sure that these Africans have no attack aircraft anymore? Our intelligence reports indicated MiGs.”

  “Whatever aircraft they had are either scrapped or aren’t in flying condition. Not in almost five years. They have half a dozen transports and a few helicopters, but they are not armed. Our biggest problem will be their tanks, which are ancient, but still effective against light infantry. That’s why I need yo
ur officers to lead a few platoons against the prime minister’s residence at the same time I take out President Kuwali. With both the president and prime minister taken out, the army won’t move against a large force in Kinshasa—not even with tanks. They’ll fold.”

  “You are betting our lives on that, Mr. Ufume.”

  “Will you give me some of your officers to lead the other platoon?” asked Nigel, growing impatient. He was already growing tired of this Chinaman, and was second-guessing his ability to work with them once the government was changed.

  The general looked into Nigel’s eyes and finally agreed. “I will have Major Wu lead the second attack platoon against the prime minister. He will bring Sergeant Major Han as his executive officer. You will coordinate with them at the appropriate time.” He drummed his fingers against the desk. “Beijing was very specific about not wanting Chinese participation in military action. My men will be advisors only, although they will be armed for self-defense.”

  “I understand,” said Nigel. In other words, he thought to himself, if anything goes south, they are outta’ here.

  “And when will you want to begin military operations? These Congolese soldiers still need much training,” said the general.

  “As soon as the weapons arrive, I would like to attack. The longer we wait, the more chance there is of American intervention. The UN will do nothing, but I’m sure the Americans are already here looking for me. And you,” added Nigel, to remind the general that they were in this together. “It won’t take the Americans long to find this compound. You can’t hide a few thousand soldiers from their satellites.”

  The general smiled. “You speak like you are no longer an American,” he said, suspiciously.

  “I stopped being an American the minute I decided to join the PAC revolution. I’m in up to my eyeballs now, general. I will either help my people rebuild this country and become a first world nation, or I will be dead right alongside you.”

  The general looked surprised. “Your people, Mr. Ufume? You consider yourself a Congolese?”

  Nigel scowled, annoyed at the man’s accent.

  “I am Congolese, general. My parents went to America after I was born. But I am home now. There’s no excuse for what I see when I look around this country. The Americans say they support this government and the people—but nothing improves. Perhaps a communist government is what these people need. The current democracy is a joke. It’s corrupt and does nothing for these people.”

  “Well, Mr. Ufume, China will be a good trading partner with the new People’s Republic. We will pay fairly for the raw materials we need, and with your help, the new government will rebuild this country’s infrastructure.”

  Nigel laughed, and the general gave him a quizzical look.

  “We will not be “rebuilding.” We will be starting from scratch. There is very little here worth keeping. We will build a modern nation. It is time for the mud huts to go away. There’s no excuse for not having running water that’s safe to drink, or electricity in every village.”

  The general smiled as he thought about his own native China—the world’s largest superpower—that still had many villages that didn’t have electricity or running water. In fact, the issue of water pollution was reaching epidemic proportions all over China. Most of China’s rivers around the cities were so polluted, not only was the water unfit for drinking, but even for watering crops. Shen Xun-jun stood up and walked to a desk where he pulled out a topographical map that showed their compound.

  “We will find the most level field and construct the landing strip according to the prevailing wind. These transport planes are very large and heavy and will require extra-long runways. They will also need the wind in their nose to take off.” The general rolled up the large map. “Come, Mr. Ufume. We will find a place for our new airport.

  19.

  Julia and Chris were still naked, curled up in the hot sun on one of the side benches of the dive boat. She was lying in front of him, using his arm as a headrest. They were both smiling and soaked with sweat.

  “Twice in thirty minutes—how old did you say you were?” she asked playfully.

  “I’m a SEAL. We train very hard,” he joked.

  “Yes, key word ‘hard,’” she said still smiling. She rolled over and crawled on top of him, kissing him for a long time.

  “Careful or I’m going to try for three,” he said.

  “I dare you,” she said with a smile, and started kissing him again. She was a pretty darn good kisser. She felt him responding under her and started laughing out loud. “I think I’m going to lose the dare, huh?”

  “I’m pretty sure,” he whispered as he started kissing her neck. “I’ve been looking at you without touching for over a week. I have to make up for lost time.”

  She moaned softly as he kissed her neck and reached down to make sure she lost the dare.

  Back at the fish farm, Mackey was in his mud house on the phone with Dexter Murphy back in Langley. They spoke via secure satellite uplink phone, and all things considered, the sound wasn’t bad.

  “The Marines are off the coast of Tanzania, but they have no orders. They are currently being told to sit tight. They have helicopter transports, but it would take hours of ferrying them in to have an effective force in-country, which means they can’t be dumped in the middle of a hot spot. While President Kuwali has repeatedly asked for our help in putting the PAC out of business before anything happens, there have been no reports of violence yet, and so far there is no support for sending in the Marines. What are you hearing over there?”

  “So far, nothing. We did a little recon and took a look at the PAC base. There appears to be a sizeable force there. Definitely too large a force for us to go toe to toe with unless we have the Marines,” said Mackey. “We’re still feeling our way around here. We’ll head out to some of the villages and see how active the PAC has been with recruiting. I’m not sure where public sentiment is around here. These places change governments like you change underwear.”

  “No sign of Nigel?” asked Dex.

  “Negative. We’ll start digging today and tomorrow. So far, we’ve been taking it slow, trying to look like fishermen and maybe make some friends at the next village. ‘Buwali.’”

  “Okay, Mac. Be careful. The PAC may have ears everywhere. If anything changes on the political scene over here, I’ll let you know. I’ll wait to hear from you. Out.”

  Mac ended the call and put the phone back into its small case in his pack. He walked outside and found Moose. “Where’s Cascaes?”

  “He went north to take a look around. Took the boat with Julia.”

  Mac and Moose looked at each other for a few seconds. Finally Mac cracked a smile. Moose leaned closer and spoke quietly, “Maybe I could take Theresa and check south later,” he said.

  “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. How are we supposed to stop a fucking revolution with half my team trying to get laid?” He laughed and shook his head. “Make sure you put gas in it when you’re done.”

  Moose held back his grin. “You wanted something else?”

  “Yeah, in between everyone getting laid, perhaps we can take a drive over to Buwali and meet our neighbors. I’d like Cascaes and Julia with me when I go. He bring a radio?”

  Moose fought the urge to grin. “I don’t think so, sir.”

  “Oh great, his highness doesn’t wish to be disturbed. When he gets back, have him get his ass over here.”

  Chris dove into the lake, still naked, followed by Julia. They splashed around for a few minutes to cool off and take their “post-marathon” bath, then kissed for a while before climbing back up onto the boat.

  “We better get back,” said Cascaes. “Mac is gonna be pissed. I wasn’t counting on being gone so long.”

  “Just a quickie, huh? That all I’m good for?” Asked Julia as she punched his arm.

 
; He laughed. “Only the first one was a quickie,” he answered as he pulled his shorts on. He revved up the outboard and headed back towards the fish farm at full speed. Julia sat towards the bow, allowing the wind to dry her hair. Chris watched her from the center console, still smiling, and decided he would have to marry that woman one of these days.

  They slid into the dock, surprised to see Moose standing there waiting for them. Moose threw Julia a line and helped them tie off the boat as Chris killed the engine. Moose helped her off the boat then spoke quietly to Chris.

  “Hey, Skipper, Mac wants you up at the hut ASAP. I think he’s a little pissed.”

  Cascaes said, “Oh, great” under his breathe and hopped onto the dock.

  Moose added, “And he said to bring Julia. I think you guys are heading out to meet the neighbors.”

  Chris and Julia walked quickly up to the huts, where Mac was sitting outside drinking coffee. Mac looked at them, but refrained from lacing into them. Instead, he just said, “I’m glad you two are back. We’re going to take a drive to Buwali and I need your language skills, Julia. Grab sidearms and keep them concealed. As soon as you are good to go, we’re out of here. By truck, Buwali is at least twenty minutes.” Mac cupped his hands and screamed over to Jones and Koches, “Yo! Koches! Jones! On me!”

  They dropped the firewood they were gathering and jogged over to Mac.

  “What’s up, boss?” asked Koches, with Jones right behind him.

  “Grab sidearms you can conceal and a sack of rice.” The sacks were thirty pounds each, and were left over from the Canadians. “We’re taking a drive to Buwali.”

  The five of them met at the old pickup truck five minutes later. Julia’s hair was still damp, and both she and Cascaes had that “just-fucked-look.” Mac hopped behind the wheel and Cascaes rode shotgun—with a shotgun. Behind him, Julia sat next to Koches. Jones was seated in the back of the pickup on top of the large sack of rice.