“Okay, so it looks like the PAC is going to have somewhere around ten thousand heavily armed infantry, with light artillery only. They won’t have anything heavier than mortars or RPGs most likely. What do you think the president’s troops have?” asked Cascaes.
“According to Langley, their air force has a few old helos, nothing armed. No operational combat fixed-wing at all. Maybe a half dozen forty-year-old tanks, and some poorly equipped. Maybe a few APCs. If they’re going to prevent a coup, they need to hit this base now while they’re all still here. If this army moves out into the countryside, they’ll pop each village along the way until we have another Congo war.”
“Send in the Marines?” asked Cascaes.
“Above our pay-grade,” said Mackey. “When we get back later, we’ll check in with the boss. Of course, by the time someone makes a decision, it’ll be too late.”
“Think we could move in at night with some explosives? Disrupt their camp, break moral a bit, inflict some casualties…” said Cascaes.
“I know we could get it done, but once we go there, the fish farm is closed and we’ll be running from an army of pissed off, well-armed guerrillas. Unless we coordinate with the regular army and have them move in after we get things started.”
Cascaes spoke quietly, “I know—still above our pay-grade. I just prefer being on offense.”
“I hear ya,” said Mackey.
The sound of trucks in the distance caught everyone’s attention. They all went prone and concealed themselves better as the sound grew louder. It was a small convoy of light trucks flying the government’s flag.
“Speak of the devil. This ought to be interesting,” said Mackey. “Looks like the president is doing a little recon himself.”
Cascaes scanned the camp. They had heard it too—maybe seen the dust. “We have movement in the camp,” said Cascaes quietly.
Shen Xun-jun was screaming orders at his officers, who were then screaming at the Africans still unloading the planes to hurry up. Several officers had run inside the fence to organize a few platoons of infantry and had them run out to the airstrip in defensive positions. By the time the trucks were a few hundred yards away, and slowing down, Shen Xun-jun’s men had made a decent showing of discipline. There were several thousand armed men now scattered around the camp. The convoy couldn’t have numbered more than a hundred soldiers.
The lead vehicle continued towards camp while the other five open transports spread out and stopped, allowing the soldiers inside to unload and take up positions behind the trucks. The Jeep in front, obviously with an officer or government official continued slowly towards camp. One of Shen Xun-jun’s men used a bullhorn to scream in French that the camp was a secure area and to turn back. The Jeep ignored them and continued to get closer. Two of Shen Xun-jun’s commanding officers walked slowly out towards the airstrip where their men lay spread-out with assault rifles locked and loaded. They repeated the order to turn back, which Julia translated. Again, the Jeep ignored them.
When one of the officers pulled out a sidearm and aimed it at the Jeep, it stopped moving. A single man got out and walked up to the Chinese officer. Cascaes was too far away to hear their conversation.
31.
The colonel from the DRC Army was very nervous as he walked towards the PAC camp. Two Chinese officers were standing before him, aiming a pistol at him. He put on his best game face and tried to sound tough.
“By order of President Kuwali, you are to put down all of your weapons. You are assembled here illegally, and you will be arrested if you do not cooperate.”
The Chinese officer smiled and lowered his weapon. “We are operating an aid station for the Congolese people. You are interfering with humanitarian aid to your own people. We have a security force here to protect the food against those who would steal it. I suggest you return to you vehicle and leave at once.”
The colonel spoke a tribal language to his driver, who picked up a camera and began filming the “aid station.”
“What do you think you are doing?” asked the Chinese officer, who walked quickly to the driver. “Give me that!”
The driver kept filming, his hands shaking.
The colonel stepped in front of the Chinese officer. “We are government officials and have a right to film what you are doing here. You are interfering with a government investigation. Step away!”
The two Chinese officers spoke quickly to each other in Mandarin. They had been told by Shen Xun-jun to avoid gunfire if at all possible. After a few seconds of debate, they stepped back.
“You have been warned. Our security force is here to protect the supplies. If you return, we will have no choice but to protect ourselves and the civilians.”
They eyeballed each other for a few more seconds, and the colonel returned to his Jeep, his uniform soaked with sweat. As he hopped into his seat, he barked the order to “drive,” and they sped off towards their own convoy. He had survived the ordeal, and had what he needed. The president would show the UN and the world the film of the PAC forces and Chinese officers, assuming he was still in power in the coming days.
The convoy sped off to Kinshasa as fast as it could move.
***
“That must have been an interesting discussion,” said Cascaes quietly.
“He had a camera,” said Julia. “They had serious balls.”
“Yeah, I thought for sure they were all dead when he started filming. The Chinese must be getting ready to move quickly, or they never would have let them go.”
“Or they need more time,” said Julia. “Maybe they’re waiting for more supply planes? Stalling? Trying to stick with their story as long as they can until they are totally prepared to take on the army?”
Mackey was watching lots of activity in the camp, as platoons of soldiers began opening crates of weapons.
“Keep four men here to keep tabs, and we’ll get back to the farm. We need to update Langley.”
Cascaes pulled Moose, Ripper, Hodges and Jones aside and told them to sit tight and keep track of whatever weapons they could see. They would be in contact soon. With that, Cascaes, Mackey, Julia and Theresa quietly snuck out through the small forest back towards the fish farm.
By the time the four of them returned to the fish farm, it was midday and blistering hot. They each drank a few liters of water and collapsed on the straw mat inside the command hut, where they called Dex Murphy again. As they set up their secure phone call, Julia groaned exhaustedly.
“As soon as we’re finished, I’m jumping in the lake,” said Julia.
“I’ll be right behind you,” answered Cascaes, hoping for a few minutes alone with her. Mackey pretended not to hear, wishing he was enjoying himself on this mission as much as they were.
Murphy answered the phone while eating a doughnut and drinking coffee—the breakfast of champions.
“Morning boss,” said Mackey.
“And how’s it going on your side of the world?” asked Murphy. “According to our satellite pictures, nothing has blown up in at least a couple of hours.”
“Yeah, well, it’s still early. Listen, the plane that went down, it had what looked like three armored vehicles in it. They were the only ones. The PAC will have a hundred RPGs or more, plus plenty of squad sized automatic weapons. They won’t run out of lead for another six months, either. The Chinese brought in plenty of ammunition. Also, something interesting happened while we were there.”
“I’m all ears,” said Dex, munching his doughnut.
“The DRC sent a guy over with a set of brass balls and a camera and filmed their operation. The Chinese exchanged words with them, and the Vegas money was on the DRC officer getting his head blown off, but nothing happened. He left with his camera.”
“Interesting. The DRC was just making noise at the UN late yesterday. They were talking about the plane crash right after
it had happened, so they must be watching over there, too. You see any DRC forces nearby?”
“Negative contact, and we’ve been sitting on the airport twenty-four-seven for over two days. The Skipper and me were thinking we should hit them before they get armor support flown back in. It will take another day probably. We could go in tonight and ‘disrupt’ things a bit. They won’t think it’s us—they’d blame the DRC.”
“I’m not sure. I’ll have to ask the director. You were sent there to find out what you can about uranium and to rescue Nigel, not start a war. And just so you know, the Chinese at the UN still deny any involvement with the PAC forces.”
“War is coming anyway, boss. We’re just trying to even the odds a bit for the DRC army. The PAC looks pretty well trained. And there sure are a lot of them. The Chinese can say whatever they want, when that tape gets aired, it will be pretty clear what’s going on over there. I think it will push up their timetable.”
“Okay, sit tight for now and stay near the phone. I’ll get back to you ASAP. And Mac, you’re sure about Nigel, right? I mean, the guy’s been with us a long time. A-desk is pretty upset. She trusted him.”
“Boss, if he hasn’t changed sides, then he’s the best agent I’ve ever seen. Academy Award material. Sorry, boss. He’s flipped, man.”
“Okay. Let me get to the director. He’s up to his ass in alligators, as usual.”
“Roger that. I’ll have a couple of the guys snoop around near the uranium mine and see if they find out anything.”
“Okay, just stay low. Out.”
Mackey hung up and looked at Cascaes. “Okay—enjoy your swim. Take an hour off, grab some chow and pick three guys to go uranium hunting.”
“Guys?” asked Julia sarcastically.
“You can take Julia, too, if you want.” He looked at her. “If you aren’t afraid of your hair falling out.” He looked at Cascaes, whose cropped head was getting thin on top. “I wouldn’t worry about yours too much.”
“Fuck you,” said Cascaes with a smile. “I’m gonna’ go jump in a lake.”
“I’ll protect you from alligators,” said Julia, getting up off the floor mat.
“Who is going to protect him from you?” asked Mackey, with a knowing smile.
She winked and tussled Mac’s longer salt and pepper hair. “Jealous,” she whispered.
“You bet your ass, he replied.
32.
Julia and Chris had gone for a long swim, found a secluded spot, and got reacquainted. When they were finished, they swam back to the fish farm and found Jon and his crew sitting down for lunch. They joined them for a meal of MRE’s, improved with some fresh barbequed fish.
“Bony little fuckers,” complained Jon, spitting tiny fish bones out of his mouth.
“Yeah, but tastier than the plastic hotdog looking thing I just ate. What the hell was that, man?” asked Ryan O’Conner.
“I think the package said ‘beef’ on it—it just didn’t say from what animal. Stick with the fish, man,” said Ray Jensen with a laugh.
“You guys seen Ernie P. or Smitty?” asked Cascaes.
“Down in Fish Central, playing with claymores. I think those two guys are fucking crazy man. They are getting this place rigged to repel a major assault.”
“That’s what they get paid to do,” said Cascaes.
“Yeah, Skipper, but these guys are nuts. They were taking stuff apart and making their own explosives and shit. They’ve got wires and sensors running all over camp. While you guys were out at the airstrip, Smitty and Ernie were busy. I mean, don’t get me wrong—I appreciate the help, since it’s our asses on the line if the PAC comes cruising in. But damn—I’ve never seen anybody do this kind of shit. Those guys engineers?”
Cascaes laughed. “I told you—Department of Defense.”
“Oh yeah—spooks like Mackey,” laughed Jon. “That explains it.”
Cascaes laughed. “They were imbedded with Rangers in Afghanistan for two years. Making ‘things that go boom’ is a specialty. You think only the Iranians know how to make IEDs?”
“Yeah—that’s a good word for it. Improvised Explosive Devices. That is definitely what this shit is—improvised. I just hope I’m not in camp if those two fuckers start setting shit off. This whole place is going to be one big black hole.”
“Okay, you have my curiosity piqued,” said Cascaes getting up, tossing his unfinished fish into the fire. “Come on Julia, let’s go get our other two volunteers.”
Julia and Cascaes walked down to Fish Central, the large fish packing building on the lake that would serve as a final defensive position if the shit hit the fan. When they walked in, sure enough, Smitty and Ernie had taken apart a dozen Claymore mines and had parts everywhere. They were laughing and joking as they worked.
“You two guys enjoy your work way too much,” said Julia.
“If you can’t have fun at work, why work?” asked Ernie, with a fuse and wires between his teeth. Ernie P. was a short Hispanic man with a bright smile and brown eyes that smiled when he did. For a good-natured guy, he was as deadly as they came.
“What the fuck are you doing with my explosives, sir?” asked Cascaes with a smile.
“Improving on them, Skipper,” said Smitty, holding up a large bucket of chain links.”
“Ah, I see,” said Cascaes.
“You see what?” asked Julia, confused.
“Watch and learn,” he answered. “What’s the container?” he asked Smitty.
Joe Smith held up a large metal box that had once housed something mechanical in the fish farm.
“Gotcha. How many?” asked Cascaes.
“A dozen,” said Smitty, then he flashed a smile. He really did love blowing things up.
“Damn. They really did pack a lot of shit into our SCUBA crates,” answered Cascaes.
“Chris, you want to fill me in?” asked Julia.
“You see, my dear,” he said dramatically, “Our ingenious friends over here take a Claymore mine, which is a shaped anti-personnel charge designed to throw hundreds of small ball-bearings…”
Smitty cut him off and walked over with steel balls in his hand. “Allow me, Skipper,” he said with a bow. “The M18A1 fires seven hundred spherical steel balls over a sixty degree fan-shaped pattern approximately two meters high and fifty meters wide at a range of fifty meters. It is effective up to a hundred meters, although the optimum range is about fifty meters.”
Ernie P. walked over with chain links in his hand. “Your very devious team mates have combined several claymores with chain links and assorted metal odds and ends with increased shaped charges to double the field of fire and effective kill zone. By the time we are finished with camp, we will want the PAC to attack us.”
“You may want to be in Tanzania when we set this puppy off though,” said Smitty.
“Wow,” was all Julia could muster.
“Yet again, I leave a beautiful woman speechless,” said Smitty with another dramatic bow. “Now if you will allow me to continue my work, I have lots to do.”
“Okay,” said Cascaes. “You have just gotten yourself out of a scavenger hunt for uranium. Keep up the good work and I’ll find another victim.”
Chris and Julia walked back out, up the small slope towards the campfire. “Holy crap, Chris. Those guys know their shit, huh?”
Cascaes smiled. “This team was picked from the best of the best Julia, including you. If they tell me this place will be covered, I will take that to the bank. They were pretty famous in Kost, back in Afghanistan. Set up an ambush and took out a few hundred Taliban soldiers in a series of controlled blasts. The Rangers they were with were damn good, and they all said that they’d never seen anything like those two. I’m glad they’re with us.”
She smiled and whispered, “I’m glad I’m with you.”
He winked
and fought the urge to kiss her since they were near the campfire.
“Okay boys, I hate to break up the diving for the day, but I need two of you to come with us. Smitty and Ernie are busy, and Moose, Theresa, Hodges and Jones are at the airfield. Who wants to dry out for a bit?”
Jon nudged Pete McCoy. “C’mon Petey, we’ll give R and R some R & R.”
“R and R?” Pete asked.
“Ray and Ryan.”
Pete didn’t complain. “Aye, aye. I always wanted to go on safari anyway.”
Cascaes smiled. “Hopefully we won’t see lions—just uranium mining activities. Bring the cameras; we’ll be linking directly to Langley.”
“How far a hump?” asked Pete, planning gear in his head.
“Probably five to eight klicks. The mine is north of Lubumbashi, and a bit west. When we came up from the airport, it was on our left about two klicks. We’ll be humping in the hottest part of the day, so bring plenty of water. The walk back should be cooler.”
“We’re carrying, right Skipper?” asked Jon.
“I won’t walk out of my hut to take a piss without a sidearm around here,” said Cascaes. Then he looked at Julia. “Excuse the expression,” he added.
“No problem. When I take a crap in the woods, I bring a grenade,” said Julia. Jon and Pete cracked up.
“I’ll hang with you anytime, lady,” said McCoy.
She blew him a dramatic kiss. Cascaes smiled and switched back to serious mode. “We’ll carry assault rifles and silencers, night viz in case we run late, commo equipment, local currency, water and food for two days.”
Pete and Jon were making the mental list, and then hustled off to load packs for the four of them. They had served as SEALs with Cascaes as their commander for almost eight years, and would follow his orders to their deaths. They had extreme confidence not only in their own abilities, but in his command experience and expertise. As they hustled off, Julia spoke quietly to Chris.
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