African Dragon

by David M. Salkin

  “Yeah, well if you get jammed up and United States Marines end up shooting at Chinese Nationals, we have World War Three on our hands.”

  “I thought you said the Marines wouldn’t bail us out?” asked Mackey.

  “I said don’t count on them, but they’re off the coast now, and the president has been taking a hard line at the UN. The chief has called on the General Assembly to step in and put down the PAC forces to assist the legitimate government of the DRC, and of course the UN says there are no reports of violence. China has been ‘blocking US interference’ and criticizing more US intervention around the world. Shocking, huh?”

  “Yeah, great humanitarians, those Chinese.”

  “Anyway, the president has stated publicly that the United States will not allow guerrillas to overthrow the DRC, and has acknowledged US forces are offshore in the region. That went over real big with China at the UN, who came out and said it has humanitarian relief efforts going on in the DRC and will protect its people from any outside violence. To the UN, it sounded like protection against the PAC—to the president, it sounds like protection against us.”

  “And what about the Congolese president? What’s he saying?”

  “Both President Kuwali and Prime Minister Gugunga have made public statements that they believe the Chinese are meddling in the DRC’s governmental affairs and said they would expel any Chinese supporting the PAC movement. Of course, they have no way of doing that unless they go to war with the PAC right now, which they aren’t ready to do without foreign aid. So, as usual, everyone will watch and do nothing unless the president sends in the Marines. Interesting little powder keg you all are sitting on.”

  “No kidding,” said Mackey. “Does President Kuwali know that the US has friendly forces here?”

  “No,” said Murphy. “You guys don’t exist.”

  “Okay, so President Kuwali and Prime Minister Gugunga will keep begging for help from the UN that won’t come, while the Chinese prepare to overthrow them and set up their own little government to have access to the raw materials they want, and we are going to sit back and do nothing?”

  “As of this moment, I have no idea what we’re going to do. Like I said, POTUS has announced to the world that the Marines are nearby. The problem is China may now move troops into the area to protect its ‘relief workers.’ We aren’t sure how fast they’ll do that, but if they move quickly, we’ll have our marines looking down gun barrels at Chinese troops. That’s a scenario that no one wants. Ever hear of the Korean War? For now, I think you guys should sit on that airstrip and see what’s going on. We need to know what they’re bringing in. We’re realigning spy satellites to try and monitor the area, but it will take another couple of days. By then, they could have a tank division flown in.”

  “Roger that. Okay, we’ll pull shifts and sit on the airstrip. We did ask about your missing agent in Buwali, but the folks there don’t know what happened to him. He’d been there before—they ID’ed him, but they either don’t know or they won’t say where he is now.”

  “Poor bastard. If the Chinese have him, for his sake, I hope he’s dead.”

  25.

  Nigel Ufume was still on the porch of General Shen’s cabin drinking gin and tonic when the general and his officers pulled up in the truck. Nigel was completely drunk and made no attempt to conceal it from the stuffy Chinese officers. General Shen walked over to Nigel and put his hands on his hips. He was not pleased with the glazed look in Nigel’s eyes.

  “The airstrip is finished. We will get these people fed and begin educating them,” said Shen Xun-jun with disdain. “They must be willing to fight for the PAC—and for us. You, Mr. Nigel, you must talk to your people. It’s why you’re here. And you must be sober when you do it.” With that, he smacked the bottle off the small table next to Nigel, sending it crashing off the porch.

  Nigel would have protested, but General Shen was obviously angry about his drunkenness, and standing there with his officers behind him, he was not to be messed with.

  Shen Xun-jun stared at him for a long moment, and then spoke quietly. “The Africans will be fed well tonight. And then you will address them. You will be properly dressed and sober, and you will gain their loyalty and respect. Or I don’t need you.”

  The words “or I don’t need you” were a shot across the bow for Nigel. The General had just told Nigel in no uncertain terms that Nigel would use the Congolese heritage to bond with “his people,” or he would be feeding the jackals on the African plains. Shen Xun-jun walked into the cabin with his men, leaving Nigel alone on the porch. Nigel stood from the rickety chair, almost falling, and stumbled towards the camp mess tent. As one of the “officers” of the camp, he could take food whenever he wanted. He decided a small meal and lots of coffee would be the next thing on his “to do” list.

  Inside the cabin, Shen Xun-jun sat at his desk with his officers seated around the room in front of him. Sergeant Major Han turned on their secure laptop and sent a message to Beijing informing their superiors of the airstrip’s completion and asking for an exact delivery time. General Shen was surprised to hear that the planes were loaded and fueled, and would be leaving for the Democratic Republic of Congo within a few hours. The Intelligence officer spoke directly to Shen Xun-jun, asking him specifics of what they had planned and when. Shen Xun-jun explained that they would be moving on the capital city as soon as the heavy weapons arrived, and planned on taking out the president and prime minister within the first day of open hostilities. His plan was approved, and the phone went dead.

  Shen Xun-jun turned to his sergeant major and told him to have his men begin the “feast and celebration” preparations.

  26.

  Ripper and Moose, who almost always worked together, whether on land or in the water, were wearing their ghillie suits and watching the aid station from a half-mile out. It was near eighteen hundred hours, and the pair had been hunkered down for almost two hours, babysitting the airstrip and camp. They took turns watching through powerful sniper/spotter scopes. Their mission was recon only, avoiding hostiles and leaving no trace of their visit. The team would be working in shifts, non-stop, keeping tabs on the airstrip and the camp.

  “Little fuckers sure are busy tonight,” said Ripper quietly. “Looks like a real party down there.”

  Moose was watching also. “Yeah. I was thinking…”

  “I thought I smelled something burning,” interrupted Ripper.

  Moose ignored him. “We had a pretty good party the day we left to come here, right? I mean, lots of food and booze from the boss. A little ‘send-off.’”

  Ripper mulled that over. “You think something’s up? They getting ready to make a move?”

  Moose frowned. “I only have about three hundred rounds. Think we can take ‘em?”

  “Abso-fuckin-lutely,” answered Ripper dryly.

  Moose smiled, because he knew Ripper was serious in his own mind.

  “We better call this in,” he said quietly, and then activated his earpiece and throat mic that transmitted to their fish farm.

  “Hey boss, you on?” he asked quietly. It was so quiet where they were lying in the grass he felt like he was shouting.

  “I read you,” said Mackey’s voice.

  “Looks like something is up. Big party or something. Looks like everyone is eating and dancing and having a good ol’ time down there. And there are a shit-load of ‘em boss. Men, women and children. Like a few villages worth,” whispered Moose.

  “What’s your take?” asked Mackey.

  “Not sure what to make of it. Maybe they do this every night, for all I know, but I was thinking it might be the big send-off before they get busy, know what I mean?”

  “No planes, right?”

  “Correct. Negative on the airstrip. Just a big cookout. Hey—wait one. Out.” Moose cut his call off and watched closer as the crow
d apparently stopped partying to stand up and gather at the open end of the camp. Chinese officers were walking out with an African. Ripper ID’d him first.

  “Fuck! They got Nigel! He’s still alive!”

  The two of them watched in silence as the officers and Nigel Ufume stood at the end of the large parade ground and the thousands of Africans stood and gathered to listen. Moose tapped Ripper on the shoulder and started moving forward, cautiously but quickly, towards the camp. The two of them moved through the tall grass mindful of sensors and booby traps, but saw nothing other than scrub vegetation. They continued until they were only a few yards from the recently cleared airstrip, not more than a hundred yards from the wire fence that surrounded the camp. They froze and watched. To their amazement, Nigel did not appear to be a captive.

  One of the Chinese officers began yelling through a bullhorn in French. Ripper and Moose looked at each other, not understanding a word.

  “Boss, you on?” asked Moose.

  “Roger that,” said Mackey.

  “Get Julia on the horn to translate. Some shit is going down, and I am looking at Nigel Ufume standing with the Chinks at the head of the class.”

  It took a second for Mackey to say it over in his head. “Confirm. You have Nigel Ufume ID’d?”

  “One hundred percent, Skipper. And he does not appear to be a captive. They are addressing the crowd. Get Julia.”

  Mackey passed the headset to Julia, who was sitting next to Cascaes in their hut. “Translate!” he yelled as he handed her the headset.

  Julia popped the headset on and closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on the voice in the distance. It was difficult, but she could make out some of it. First, a voice, speaking French, that had to be a Chinese officer. He was introducing someone that sounded important, but she was losing parts of it. Damn. The voice was so muffled and far away. She commented out loud about how hard it was to hear.

  Mackey spoke into his mic. “Moose, can you get any closer? It’s hard to hear.”

  Moose couldn’t hear him, because he had taken his earpiece and throat mic which were connected by a wire, off, and was holding them up towards the camp. Ripper answered Mackey instead.

  “Skipper, we’re at the edge of the runway. If we try and get any closer we’ll be in the open. We can move up a little, but not much. If we try and circle around, it will waste too much time. We might miss the whole thing. And there are guards up in the towers.”

  “Okay, be careful. You get spotted and we’re cooked.”

  Ripper belly-crawled to the edge of the airstrip with Moose right next to him, holding up the mic towards the camp. They were voice activated unless you held down the button, so Moose had to hold the mic “open” and aim it at the camp, which was a bit awkward. Miles away, Julia strained to hear the speech. It was now another man, who spoke much better French and did not sound Chinese. Ripper interrupted her thought.

  “Skipper, that’s Nigel—he’s making a speech to the Africans.”

  “People of the Congo! It is time we took back our country! Together, we have worked to build an airstrip. We will have weapons soon that will make our army invincible. We will take back Kinshasa. We will arrest the traitor president and his prime minister, and we will restore good government to our country. These men have robbed our treasury! They have lied and cheated you out of what is yours! We are a great nation and the time for living in mud huts is over! Your children starve and the government does nothing! But tonight—did you not eat well?”

  (The cheering was loud, even from far way.)

  “Yes! You ate well! Our new army has been trained well! You have new weapons from China that are better than the government’s, and you are ready to fight for your country! For your families! For your future! Fight with us, and never go hungry again! We will have medicine, doctors, schools, everything we need!”

  (More cheering.)

  Julia was trying to repeat what she heard each time Nigel waited for the crowd’s cheers to settle down. Mackey and Cascaes were frowning as they listened. The shit was about to hit the proverbial fan.

  They listened for almost another thirty minutes while Nigel whipped the crowd into a frenzy, ultimately ending up in dancing and singing and occasional gunfire as soldiers fired into the air and danced with their families. Shen Xun-jun almost cracked a smile as he congratulated himself for including Nigel in his plans. When Nigel was finished he walked out into the crowd, very pleased with himself and his sea of supporters. Shen Xun-jun watched with interest as Nigel shook hands and worked the crowd like a seasoned politician, smiling and complimenting the soldiers, women and children. The Congolese ate it up, smiling and praising him, patting his back, shaking his hands and chanting patriotic slogans about the People’s Army of Congo.

  Shen Xun-jun leaned over to Major Wu. “‘President’ Ufume apparently believes he will be running this new country.”

  The major smiled and bowed his head, understanding the general’s amusement.

  Back at the fish farm, Mackey, Julia and Cascaes sat on the woven mat that was their floor. “Unbelievable,” said Mackey. “Fucking guy flipped on us.”

  “What if he is just trying to get in closer?” asked Cascaes. “You know, make it look like he’s flipped…”

  “Bullshit. He knows protocol. He would have called in. And if for some reason he couldn’t, he would have gotten a message through his network out here. And, on top of that, the company sent another guy in here before me to try and find Nigel. He has apparently dropped off the face of the earth, too, and I’m now I’m thinking Nigel is responsible for that, too. This fucker is dirty. I’m calling it in.”

  Julia looked at Cascaes sadly. “I agree, Chris. Good agents get in close, but they follow protocols. He’s been missing for way to long, and his speech sounded way too good. He sounded like he believed what he was saying.”

  Mackey had Dex Murphy on the secure phone. “Hi, Boss. I hope I’m interrupting something good.”

  “Actually, I am sitting with the Deirdre Gourlie at the A-Desk. We are waiting for new satellite pics to come online. Should be pretty soon.”

  “Oh, good,” said Mackey sarcastically. “You can zoom in and take a picture of Nigel while you’re at it.”

  “You found him? Is he alive?” It was Deirdre’s voice, sounding excited.

  “Oh, yeah. He couldn’t be better. I hope you’re sitting down,” said Mackey.

  There was a brief pause, then Deirdre’s voice again. “What’s going on, Mac?”

  “Nigel has gone to the dark side, no pun intended. We just heard his rousing speech to the PAC. He was standing with the Chinese ‘peace corps.’”

  A longer pause, then Murphy’s voice. “Mac? You’re saying that Nigel Ufume has doubled on us? You’re sure on this?”

  “Well, let’s see. The guy that we were worried about being tortured and pumped for information—that guy, yeah, well, apparently he is pretty damn healthy. I have two of my men watching him right now. They are sitting on the airstrip waiting to see what ‘Santa Kwong’ is going to bring on his sled.”

  Mackey could almost hear Dex and Deirdre shaking their heads in disbelief.

  “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Sounds like he is running for class president, by the way. Looks the Chinese and ol’ Nigel have a little deal of their own worked out. They must pay better than you do.”

  “Everybody pays better than we do,” said Dex and Deirdre in unison like they had rehearsed it.

  “So now what? We can’t take him out. He’s in the middle of the camp with about ten thousand Africans.”

  “Just try and keep tabs on him,” said Dex, sounding very tired all of a sudden. “Let us know the minute you see a plane. We need to know what they are doing over there. Satellite feed should go live pretty soon. We see anything important, we’ll holler. Out.”

  Dex and Deirdre looke
d at each other and shared a collective, “Shit.”

  27.

  Eric Hodges and Earl Jones quietly worked their way through the brush up behind Moose and Ripper’s position, but stopped well shy of the airstrip. They would be on watch when the sun came up, and had to stay further out. Hodges quietly called in to Moose and Ripper over their throat mics to tell them of their arrival. Moose and Ripper quietly moved away from the strip and linked up with their replacements. It was almost one in the morning.

  “We’re happy to see you guys. Almost time for our naps. Oh, and by the way, there are about ten thousand Congolese on the other side of that fence, armed with brand new assault rifles. Have a nice day,” said Moose as he quietly moved past the two replacements.

  “Gee thanks, Moose,” said Hodges.

  “You goin’ soft in your old age, Moose? We figured they would have surrendered to you by the time we got here. You turn into a pussy, man?” asked Jones with a broad smile.

  “Actually, Ripper wanted to pick a fight, but the boss said recon only, so I had to hold him back. Besides, the plane didn’t arrive yet—it wouldn’t be a fair fight. When the reinforcements arrive, then we’ll assault.”

  The four of them exchanged quick fist bumps, and Moose and Ripper slipped away into the dark. Jones and Hodges added more local grass and brush to their ghillie suits and lay down to set up their high-powered spotter scopes. Even in broad daylight, they would be invisible.

  The camp had settled down several hours before. The Africans, having worked like animals on the airstrip, and then having eaten a huge meal, were all fast asleep. Jones and Hodges passed a very boring night, taking turns with one hour naps. The red sunrise at a little after oh-five hundred was the signal that naps were over. They lay in silence, watching the Africans waking up slowly. A very long line slowly formed at the mess tent as thousands of Africans waited patiently for their morning meal. The Chinese would keep them very well fed and happy before putting weapons in their hands and sending them out against the government troops.