African Dragon

by David M. Salkin

  The sound of a truck engine starting up was loud in the quiet African countryside. Both Jones and Hodges readjusted their scopes to find the source of the noise—a small Jeep filling up with Chinese officers.

  “Small guy in the back. He must be ‘the man,’” whispered Jones.

  “Roger that,” whispered Hodges. “They look a little excited, huh?”

  Jones watched as the Chinese men seemed to wave their arms and speak frantically about something. The sound of aircraft approaching answered that question. Hodges was on the horn immediately.

  “Boss, you awake?” whispered Hodges.

  “It’s me,” said Cascaes. “Mac is asleep. Whatcha’ got?”

  “Aircraft. Three transports coming in. Big ones, Skipper.”

  “Okay, sit tight and watch carefully. Count personnel getting off or on and see if you can ID weapons systems. We’ll be there soon. Out.”

  Hodges and Jones stayed motionless, watching as the three huge transports circled over the camp. The Jeep drove quickly alongside of the strip, and a Chinese officer lit oilcans that were alongside the runway to help the pilots lineup the dusty path.

  “I’m so dumb,” said Hodges. “I thought they were garbage cans.”

  Jones smiled, he hadn’t even noticed them.

  As soon as the cans were lit, the officer threw a green gas canister at one end of the runway to indicate wind direction, and the Jeep moved out of the way. Thousands of Africans from the camp began streaming out towards the runway, all eyes fixed overhead. Many of them had never seen a plane before up-close.

  The lead transport dropped down and slowed its engines as it lined up the airstrip. It came in low and slow, its massive wings teetering up and down in the crosswinds. It was huge. As its nose gear touched down, dust and dirt flew high over the plane, making it disappear for a moment, until the plane bounced above the cloud, only to touch down again and again. It rumbled down the dirt runway, looking slightly out of control until it was able to brake and reverse its huge turbine engines and come to a stop at the very end of the path. The pilot drove off the runway and continued out of the way, turning his plane to face the camp so the nose of his plane could be raised to unload the mystery cargo inside.

  The second plane came in like the first, also fighting the crosswinds and now had to contend with large “divots” in the runway left by the previous aircraft’s huge tires. It bounced harder and higher than the first plane, also almost out of control. The pilot fought against the controls as his massive plane swerved all over the dirt. By the end of the runway, he was under control and slowed down enough to avoid the first plane, now raising its huge nose-cone.

  The third and last plane came in slightly steeper than the first two. The pilot had been told of the difficulty and the crosswind, but was still having trouble lining up the dirt path, now partially hidden by the clouds of dust, dirt and smoke from the fires alongside that were supposed to be helping, not hindering. As the first pilot looked up at him, he called him on the radio, screaming for him to abort and pull up. It was too late. The third plane hit the runway much harder than the first two and bounced wildly, spinning to the left. When it touched down the second time, the tip of the long right wing smacked against the dirt runway and snapped, throwing debris hundreds of feet into the air, some of which was sucked through the giant turbine engines. The explosion was immediate, and the plane bounced a third and final time, this time completely out of control, with the tail coming up over the nose.

  The third touchdown was directly on the roof of the pilot’s cockpit, situated to the top rear of the deployable nose assembly. The pilot and crew were killed instantly as the weights of the cargo and aircraft drove through the front section of the plane in a few seconds. By the time the tail section was sliding through the nose, the plane exploded with such force that everyone in the camp was knocked off of their feet. Those Africans who could get back up did so, and ran as fast as they could in every direction. Jones and Hodges covered their heads and waited as the massive shock wave rolled over them.

  It was several more seconds before they could hear again. Jones looked over at him and mouthed, “Holy shit.”

  Hodges called back to the fish farm, almost three miles away.

  “Skipper, you there?” asked Hodges.

  “What the fuck was that?” yelled Cascaes, having heard the massive explosion all the way back at the fish farm.

  “You heard that?”

  “Damn right! What the hell is going on? You guys under fire?”

  “Negative, Skipper. The last of their three planes just crashed coming in. Wish we could take credit for it, but it wasn’t us.”

  “Holy, shit,” said Cascaes. “You guys okay?”

  His answer was a series of secondary explosions as weapons and ammunition on board all started going off at the wreck site. Hodges and Jones covered their heads and ears and waited for the long series of explosions to finish.

  “Damn, Skip. I don’t know what they were carrying, but whatever was on board, that aircraft is cooked. That’s probably a good thing from the sounds of it.”

  “Roger that. Are you safe in your current position?” asked Cascaes.

  “Not sure, Skipper. There are villagers running everywhere. They aren’t on us yet, but I think we better boogie outta’ here.”

  “Okay. Get your asses out of there. Either find a safer spot where you can still see, or just get your asses home. Satellite should be able to help us out now anyway. Stay low. Out.”

  Hodges and Jones crouched in the tall grass, looking like clumps of grass themselves, and moved quickly away from the camp towards the woods a few hundred yards away. Back at the camp, the Chinese officers regained their feet, and the two surviving planes moved slowly away from the fire, bouncing over the scrub floor of the African countryside to a safer location. The tail section of the second plane was severely damaged from flying debris, and would make a lovely addition to the African countryside, as its flying days were now over.

  A voice whispered in the earpieces of Hodges and Jones. It was Moose. “You guys okay?”

  “Roger that. What’s your twenty?” asked Hodges.

  “Coming up behind you in the woods I think. We heard the explosion—didn’t know it was a plane until we ran back here. We were a mile away and that was still loud,” said Moose.

  “Yeah, plenty of secondary explosions. We’re under the big, dead tree, meet us over here,” said Hodges. The four of them met at the tree and then set up their high-powered scopes again. They watched as the Chinese officers tried to restore order amid the chaos of thousands of terrified villagers running in every direction. The wrecked plane continued to burn wildly, sending up thick black smoke that would be seen miles away—and that worried Shen Xun-jun. He screamed at his officers, who in turn relayed instructions to the Africans to begin unloading the other two planes, while others tried to throw dirt on the burning wreckage. Sergeant Major Han ran full speed to the command cabin to call Beijing and notify their superiors of the catastrophe with the third plane. They wouldn’t know what was lost until they unloaded the first two and took some kind of inventory.

  The PAC soldiers, more afraid of Shen Xun-jun than of the fire, calmed down and began making a long line from the open nose of plane one all the way back into the camp. Boxes were being unloaded and passed along the long line. The larger crates were stacked and awaited the truck from camp. With two huge planes to unload, the men would be there for hours. Unfortunately for the four members of the team watching from the woods, they couldn’t see anything other than crates of various sizes. They were happy to report back to the fish farm, however, that no tanks or armor drove off the planes.

  28.

  Cascaes and Mackey sat together and called Langley, where Dex Murphy and Deirdre Gourlie were sitting with Darren Davis watching a bank of televisions showing still photos and live
images of the Democratic Republic of Congo.

  Mackey spoke first, “Boss, we’ve got news.”

  “Good,” said Dex. “Because we were getting ready to call you. What the hell just happened over there? You start World War Three already?”

  “Sir?” asked Mackey, not sure how Dex could know what had happened before he even told him.

  “I am looking at the satellite feed of the camp, and it looks like you crazy fuckers just shot down a plane.”

  “Negative, sir! We have men observing only. The third plane crashed upon landing. My men report major secondary explosions. We’re almost three miles away and could hear and feel the explosion.”

  “I’m sure. It lit up like a Christmas tree on the sat-pics,” said Dex. “What can you tell us about the cargo?”

  “Not much, other than lots of crates. Most likely individual heavy weapons, or maybe crew served stuff. No armor or vehicles, and no Chinese troops. But, there were a shitload of boxes, boss. Probably a few million rounds of ammo. Not sure what was in the third transport, but whatever it was, it made a good sized black cloud. If there was armor coming in, it’s gone now.”

  “Okay,” said Dex. “Just keep tabs on our friends over there. Any more word on Nigel?”

  “Nothing new to report. He’s still at the camp with his army and new best friends.”

  “Okay,” said Dex. “I need Cascaes a second.”

  Mackey passed the phone to Cascaes. “Boss wants to speak to you.”

  “Cascaes here,” he said.

  “Bad news, Chris,” said Dex, who rarely called him by his first name. “I regret to inform you that Major Adam Stone passed away last night in his sleep. A doctor at the hospital called your number and it was forwarded to your office mailbox.”

  Chris felt his eyes water, and said, “Thank you. Is that all?”

  “That’s it. Stay in touch. Sorry to have to tell you. Out.”

  Cascaes handed the phone back to Mackey and walked outside. Julia had seen his face and followed him out to the quiet African morning.

  “Everything okay?” she asked quietly, putting her hand on his arm and not caring who saw.

  “Pop’s gone,” he said quietly. “Won’t even be there for his funeral. Not sure who’ll be there, really. Most of his friends and family are already gone.”

  Julia rubbed his back. “At least you got to say goodbye,” she said quietly. “Come on, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

  They walked over to the campfire, where Jon Cohen and his crew were just pouring some of the dark coffee and eating breakfast bars.

  “Hey, Skipper,” said Jon. “Just heading out to dive. Wanna’ come do some fishing.” His smile was genuine. He sure did love being underwater.

  “I’d love to,” said Cascaes, “But I’m afraid we’re going to be a bit busy today. The PAC received their shipments last night. Well, two out of the three, anyway. That explosion was the third plane landing poorly.”

  The men around the fire smiled.

  “So what now?” asked Jon.

  “You go fishing and act like everything is normal. We’re going to stay out of camp today in case the Chinese or PAC comes snooping around. They come by, you just stick with your story. We’ll have you covered. Anything goes bad, we’ve got your back, but remember, we don’t want to engage them yet, so stay cool.”

  Chris and Julia drank some coffee and chatted with the rest of the team as they joined the campfire for coffee and MREs. By oh-eight hundred, Mackey walked over and sat on an ancient log by the campfire that served as a chair.

  They finished breakfast and discussed how they would spend the day. Cascaes related to Mackey that hanging around camp wouldn’t be smart after the fishing expedition’s run-in with the PAC. They also didn’t love the idea of having all of them hanging out too close to the PAC camp. They were a large group in broad daylight and it was too easy to be spotted. They decided to gear up and split into two groups. One group would cover the camp and Jon’s team, the other would campout closer to the PAC camp and relieve the observation teams in shifts. As they say in the army, “hurry up and wait.”

  29.

  United Nations General Assembly, New York City

  The Ambassador from the Democratic Republic of Congo had just finished a passionate speech accusing the Chinese of supporting the People’s Army of Congo, the rebel army that threatened his country’s stability. He went so far as to cite an explosion near the “rebel base” that witnesses say was the crashing of one of several planes that violated the DRC’s airspace without authorization. He had spoken for almost twenty minutes, at one point screaming and pointing at the Chinese delegate, who merely removed his headphones and sat glaring at the African. When he was finished, the Chinese ambassador put his headphones back on and demanded a chance to reply to these outrageous accusations.

  For the next thirty minutes, the Chinese ambassador berated the Congolese ambassador for being completely unappreciative of their humanitarian efforts in his country. He insisted that the current regime of the DRC was corrupt and afraid of the fact that the people of his country were demanding changes. He made reference to the accident at the humanitarian aid station that cost the lives of several heroic Chinese relief workers who were bringing in food and medicine. That comment was interrupted by the DRC ambassador who was screaming that “rice doesn’t send fireballs a kilometer into the sky.”

  The Chinese ambassador ignored him and kept on speaking, explaining that thousands of Africans were starving, and that China was sending an example to the world of how a great nation was helping a weaker one recover. He used the spotlight to take a potshot at the United States, saying that while some nations only seek to invade or help those countries that serve their own interests, China was helping one of the poorest nations on Earth, and wanted nothing in return. They were merely trying to help.

  That sent the Congolese ambassador over the edge. He threw off his headphones and began screaming. Eventually, the ambassador from South Africa, seated next to him, held him back and calmed him down. The Chinese ambassador smiled and continued.

  “The ambassador makes wild allegations. Does he offer any proof? Has there been violence in the Democratic Republic of Congo? No. There is no rebel army. If people protest against the government, it is only because of the government’s corruption and inability to govern. China will continue to help the refugees and starving children of the Congo as long as the people continue to ask for our help, which they do daily. Perhaps it is time for President Kuwali to step down. I ask the other nations of the UN, have you heard reports of war and violence in the Democratic Republic of Congo? Have you seen China do anything other than help a weaker nation during its time of crisis? No. You have not.”

  The American Ambassador to the United Nations, Ted Rogers, was quick to respond when the Chinese ambassador was finished. “The United States recognizes the right of the legitimate government of the Democratic Republic of Congo to defend itself against rebel guerrillas. Should the Congolese government request our help, the president would consider sending American troops to maintain order. We have marines nearby that can be called in should the situation arise.”

  The Chinese ambassador rose to his feet and pointed at the American. “China has relief workers in the Congo. It would be very dangerous for the United States to send troops to the Congo, as China would be forced to defend its citizens and also send a defense force. If the Congo needs help, it should be from the United Nations, not the United States!” (Knowing full well that the UN would not be prepared to send any forces back to the DRC.)

  The posturing continued for another hour, and, at the end of the session, there was no final conclusion. The secretary general warned both the United States and China that their troops’ presence in the DRC would only antagonize the tensions between the two superpowers, and the DRC was best left to solve its own internal prob
lems. There had been no confirmed reports of violence in the DRC, and therefore, the United Nations could not afford to send in troops at this time, as their resources were already spread so thin. The Chinese ambassador smiled, then left to call Beijing and report his success.

  30.

  Shen Xun-jun was furious and screaming at his officers to push the men harder. The Africans were still unloading the two planes, as the third wreck continued to smolder. The fire had been so intense that much of the plane had actually melted. Occasionally, rounds would go off and the Africans would dive for cover, dropping crates and boxes and infuriating Shen Xun-jun even further.

  Mackey happened to be watching when one of the crates was dropped and three RPGs fell out of the case.

  “RPGs,” he said quietly to Cascaes. “Look for similar crate sizes and count. Looks like six to a crate, two layers of three each.” They watched for a while until the crates changed shape.

  “I counted fifteen,” said Cascaes.

  “Okay, so that’s ninety,” said Mackey. “Plus however many they already had brought in. That’s enough to make some noise.”

  “And some big holes,” said Cascaes.

  Julia was looking at the destroyed plane when she spoke up. “Look into the smoke, inside the plane. Looks like trucks or something were inside,” she said quietly.

  Mackey and Cascaes readjusted their view. It was hard to see anything inside the billowing black smoke, but there were destroyed vehicles inside.

  “Good catch,” said Cascaes. “Can’t tell what it was, but you can bet it was light armor. They must be pissed. Probably why he had trouble landing—must have been heavy as hell for that dirt runway.”

  Mackey was smiling. “I bet that puts a crimp in their plans. Looks like three vehicles were in there. There weren’t any on the other planes—they didn’t spread them out. Knuckleheads.” He smiled.