41.
The Fish Farm
It was almost eighteen hundred hours when Mackey’s handheld computer blinked to alert him that one of the sensors on the perimeter had been tripped. He and his men had scattered around the farm’s perimeter to watch for any movement. When his computer flashed, his adrenaline immediately started pumping. He whispered into his throat mic to his men.
“Be advised, sensors indicate movement to the north, eight hundred yards. I want everyone to get to Fish Central and prepare the boat. Prepare to be assaulted.”
Mackey and the rest of his crew sprinted through the jungle back into the camp and ran down to the dock. It was getting dark, particularly out on the lake. Everyone piled into the boat, which had been stockpiled with most of their gear, and Mackey took the helm and started the engine. Smitty and Ernie P. had opted to stay behind with SCUBA equipment. They would control the detonations from the water’s edge where they could see better, and then slip into the water and get out to the boat.
Mackey, Jon, and Pete headed out into the lake as fast as they could, knowing they would only have a limited amount of time before they had to kill the engines and hope they wouldn’t be seen out on the water. Smitty and Ernie P. hid beneath the old wooden pier and watched the village, waiting for the approaching vehicles to enter their extremely large kill zone. They had been methodical in their planning, and true to their nature, anxiously awaited the fruits of their labor.
Mackey called to Ernie and Smitty, speaking quietly into their ear pieces. “Multiple sensors lighting up at three hundred yards, they must have dismounted. Out.”
Smitty smiled and picked up his night vision binoculars, scanning the woods outside their small compound. He could see headlights in the distance.
“Got ’em. Looks like they are fanning out in the woods. We’ll be ready.”
Ernie opened a small computer screen and entered some codes to arm their explosives. His touchscreen monitor showed all of the sensors, lighting up one and two at a time as the enemy approached through the woods.
“Ooh, they’re so sneaky,” said Ernie sarcastically as he watched them getting closer on his monitor.
Ernie and Smitty allowed the guerrillas to get to edge of the camp unchallenged. Once there, he could see a Chinese officer directing squads into different parts of the village. Evidently, they planned on assaulting all of the buildings simultaneously, which would be perfect for their daisy chain. It seemed to take forever for the guerrillas to get into position. As they squatted outside the buildings preparing to enter, Smitty quietly said, “Now.”
Ernie touched his screen and set off multiple claymores that had been set in the woods facing both in and out. With a deafening roar, tens of thousands of ball bearings were sent through the woods and open center of the camp. The majority of the guerrillas disappeared in a cloud of human flesh. The screaming was as loud as the explosions, which were pretty damn loud. Those soldiers furthest from the forest edge assaulted the buildings to get out of the ambush, not realizing they were entering kill zone number two. The doors had been rigged, and as each cabin was entered, explosions rippled through the camp. With the woods exploding and the buildings blowing up, the only safe place to run was towards the river—towards fish central where Smitty and Ernie sat saving the best for last.
Ernie turned to Smitty and said, “This is it!” as he touched the final trigger and covered his ears, opened his mouth, and crossed his ankles. Smitty did the same thing, trying to protect his eardrums and family jewels from the huge concussion as their homemade explosions took apart the entire camp. Shrapnel, chains, ball bearings, nails, and whatever other scraps they had packed into the huge tubs of C4 screamed through the camp, slaughtering whoever was left, including Sergeant Major Han. It took a full minute for all of the pieces to float back down to earth. Smitty and Ernie slipped into the water and put on their BCDs and SCUBA masks, disappearing into the dark water of the lake before the last remnants of the invading army had even settled back down to earth.
In less than a minute, Sergeant Major Han’s entire patrol and the fish farm had simply ceased to exist.
42.
Residential compound of Lucian Zabanga
Hodges and Jones had set up their sniper position on a small hill a few hundred yards from the electrified fence around Zabanga’s large villa. Large bull mastiffs trotted along the inside of the fence looking as menacing as anything that might come out of the jungle. Chris and Julia had taken a position on the other side of the compound in the woods. With their high-powered binoculars and spotter-scopes, the two groups hunkered down and watched, waiting for a sign that Lucien Zabanga was actually there.
Inside his study, Zabanga sat at his desk smoking a very expensive cigar, trying to reach Shen Xun-jun. The phone at the aid station went unanswered, and now he was calling a cell phone number that was for “emergencies only.” Zabanga’s nerves constituted an emergency—he was getting panicky. He was relieved when General Shen answered the phone gruffly in French.
“It’s the tiger. Is this the Lion Hunter?” asked Zabanga.
“This is the Lion Hunter,” said Shin Xun-jun. “The hunt has begun. The lion and leopard will be skinned by tomorrow night.”
“The sooner the better. We had a visitor near the Lion’s Den. We had hoped to question him, but he’s dead. He must have friends nearby. I’m worried they know about the hunt.”
Shin smiled as they bounced along the dirt road in the dark. “There is nothing to fear. Another smaller hunting party is taking care of that problem as we speak. I expect to hear from them almost any time now. You’re in a safe location?”
“Yes. I’m out of the city. Call me when you’re close.”
Zabanga hung up the cell phone and poured a glass of twenty-year-old rum. As he puffed on his cigar, he wondered if he should have been more insistent on being named president instead of prime minister. Why should this man Mboto Kangani be allowed to run the country? While there would be plenty of money and power as the number two man, why settle for being number two? He decided the new president’s career wouldn’t be a long one. As soon as things calmed down, the new president would have an accident, and the prime minister would take control of the entire government. He smiled as he contemplated living in the presidential residence.
Lucian stood up and stretched, then walked out to the large open den outside his office. Three of his bodyguards sat by the fireplace drinking beer. They stood up when he entered.
“Tell Duma I’m hungry. Have him bring my supper to the back porch. There’s a nice breeze this evening.”
One of his men walked off to find Duma, the chef, while the other two men walked with Lucien to the rear porch. They lit the torches outside and walked the large rear yard of the compound, where the giant dogs trotted loyally alongside them. Lucien sat at the large table by himself, smoking his cigar and sipping his rum. It was a beautiful night, indeed. By tomorrow at this time, he would be on his way to becoming one of the richest men in Africa.
“Skipper,” whispered Hodges. “You seeing this?”
Cascaes was smiling from the other side of the compound. “Affirmative. Was just getting ready to call you. That’s the target. Confirmed. You’re cleared to fire as soon as you have the shot. Move to rendezvous point as soon as the target is eliminated.”
“What about his guards?” asked Hodges.
“You’re cleared to take out any hostiles. And do not allow them to release those dogs,” said Cascaes.
Jones began quietly giving Hodges the range, wind direction and speed, and Jones adjusted his scope. Lucien’s head was as clear as a close-up photo in the night vision scope. The man was actually smiling.
“This is for Cory, motherfucker,” Hodges whispered as he slowly squeezed the trigger. His silenced sniper rifle made a quiet crack, and a little less than a second later, Lucien Zabanga’s head exp
loded all over his table. He sat there, face down in his own blood and brains for almost ten minutes. Duma, the chef, walked out with a tray of food, at first thinking Zabanga was sleeping at the table after drinking his share of rum—it wouldn’t be the first time. When he saw the blood and brains all over the wall and table, he dropped the tray and began screaming.
The screaming brought barking dogs and running guards. As the guards ran to keep up with the dogs, Hodges tried his best to lead the fast animals correctly. He squeezed off a round, and although he missed the dog at which he was aiming, he hit the one behind it.
“God damn, those things are fast,” he whispered to Jones.
“Two more dogs in the yard, four guards I can see,” said Jones quietly. “Five hundred yards, wind speed is steady at is one knot, southeast.”
Hodges adjusted and fired, dropping another dog. He chambered another round as Zabanga’s guards hit the deck and began spraying random fire at the perimeter fence. They had no idea where the shots were coming from, and were panicking as they watched the last dog drop before it could be released at their attackers, dead before it hit the ground. Cascaes and Julia began firing short bursts from behind them, moving every few seconds. To the guards inside the compound, they appeared to be surrounded and under attack from a large force. The guards tried to get back inside the house but were hit with deadly accurate sniper fire. As soon as everything went quiet, Cascaes, Julia, Hodges and Jones packed up and began sprinting to their rendezvous point west of Zabanga’s villa.
Shen Xun-jun was getting anxious. There was still no word from Sergeant Major Han, and they should have made contact hours ago. He tried calling him on his radio and got no answer. He cursed under his breath as they plodded west. Where the hell was Sergeant Major Han?
He had no way to know a wild dog was trotting around with a piece of Sergeant Major Han in his mouth.
43.
On the Move
Moose, Ripper, Theresa, Lance, and Jake hustled through the tall grasslands and woods to get away from the PAC camp as quickly as possible. They had been extremely careful about covering their tracks and left no evidence of their visit. The patrols had driven past their stakeout location without even slowing down—they were safe for the moment. They headed back towards the fish farm on a course parallel to the path they normally used, but which was now being used by that convoy of six trucks loaded with fifty PAC guerrillas and two Chinese officers, including Sergeant Major Han.
The five of them moved single file quickly along the narrow path, they were at a brisk jog, but they had a long distance to cover by foot, so they paced themselves. After an hour of double-timing it, they took a break for water and rest. Moose called back to Mackey on his radio—the Chinese patrol could have arrived by now.
“Skipper, it’s Moose, you copy? You guys okay over there?”
“Moose, its Mac. Take a deep breath and relax. The enemy has been destroyed, over.”
“Destroyed? It’s all over?” Moose was stunned. The enemy patrol had outnumbered Mackey and his men by ten to one.
“Roger that. Thanks to our sneaky little bastards here in camp, it was all over before it started. They never got a shot off. We’re reassembling and awaiting your return. We’ll regroup and move out as fast as possible. Just return to base, ASAP! Out!”
Moose updated the group, who were as shocked as he was to learn that the firefight they were so worried about was already over. Smitty and Ernie P had evidently been very successful with their daisy chains and ambush. Even with the threat gone, there was no slowing down. Kinshasa was almost eight hundred miles to the west, and the PAC army had a large head start. They would need some serious luck to beat them to the capital.
44.
The Bush near Zabanga’s Residence
Cascaes, Julia, Hodges, and Jones headed to the rendezvous point quickly, winded and adrenaline pumping, but clear headed.
“We need their vehicle. We’ll head back to the house. I think we got them all, but move slowly. Find the keys, grab the truck, and get our asses to Lubumbashi to find that plane,” said Cascaes.
“There’s an easier way, Chris,” said Julia. She pulled out a card for the pilot’s charter service. Why not just have him pick us up and fly us back from here?”
Chris looked at her, feeling somewhat dumbfounded. “You think we could just call his cellphone?”
Hodges laughed. “Yo, Skipper—we have the satellite phone. We can call control in Langley; they call the pilot and say they’re us, and tell the guy to return to where they dropped us.”
Cascaes smiled, then to everyone’s shock, kissed Julia on the lips. “Brilliant!” he said with a laugh. “Hodges, do it now!”
It took almost ten minutes to set up the phone and track down Dex Murphy to explain what they needed. He was quick to follow along, didn’t ask questions, and placed the call to a cell phone in Lubumbashi himself. He told the pilot that he needed to be picked up at the same location, saying he was Chris Cascaes, and the pilot happily obliged, reminding him that, “I told you there was nothing out there.”
Dex called Chris back via satellite phone and confirmed their exit. The foursome moved back carefully to where they had been dropped off and set up a quick perimeter, watching all sides with night vision for movement. Zabanga’s guards were all dead. Only his chef remained, hiding under a table in the kitchen with no intention of doing anything until the sun came up.
Chris and Julia ended up moving closer in the dark. She leaned closer and whispered to Chris, “You blew our cover!”
He didn’t get it at first, then realized he had kissed her in front of Hodges and Jones. “Well, then screw it, if it’s already blown,” he whispered back and kissed her for a long minute. They both smiled in the dark.
“You’re bad news, mister,” she whispered.
“I love you,” he whispered back. “Want to marry me?”
He could see she was wondering if he was serious. “I’m totally serious,” he whispered. She smiled in the dark and moved closer until her shoulder was pressing against his. “Did you get the ring?” she said with a giggle.
“Well, we are in Africa. Maybe I can go dig for a diamond,” he whispered back.
“You can dig up anything you want, the answer is yes. But can we get home alive first?”
He kissed her quickly and said, “Yes. They continued to lay on their stomachs in the dark, scanning with night vision goggles as they waited for the plane.
“You’re so romantic,” said Julia quietly. “Maybe for our honeymoon, you can take us to Iraq or Somalia.” They both chuckled in the dark. Their relationship was anything but normal.
The hour passed quickly, with occasional kisses being sneaked, and Hodges and Jones checking in from time to time. When the plane could be heard, Jones and Hodges threw flares along a straight line in the level grass so the pilot knew where to land in the dark. It was a hairy landing for any pilot. This guy was pretty good after all. His plane came to a stop and the foursome ran to it. The pilot was shocked when his casually dressed passengers reappeared looking like the combat warriors they were, with weapons still out. He was alarmed, to say the least. He began waving them off.
“No, no! I don’t need any trouble!” he screamed over the drone of his prop.
Julia ran to him and smiled. “It’s okay!” she yelled. “No problem here, we just had to make sure everything here was okay. We’ll explain on the way back…”
As she spoke, the men piled in before the pilot could protest. The fact that their weapons were still out didn’t give the pilot much choice. He protested and tried his best to get them out of his plane, but he relented, turned the plane around and took off into the light breeze.
“We aren’t going to Lubumbashi,” said Cascaes. “Plug in coordinates for Kinshasa.”
“Kinshasa?” exclaimed the pilot. “I don’t have en
ough fuel to get to Kinshasa! It’s eight hundred miles!”
“You can stop in Kananga,” said Cascaes quietly. “We’re going to Kinshasa. Just outside the city actually. I’ll pick a place when we get close. No screwing around, buddy. And just so you know, the fate of your whole country rests on you getting us there. We are trying to prevent a coup, you understand? A war. Consider yourself the official Air Force of the Democratic Republic of Congo.”
“What war?” asked the pilot, very unsure of what he had gotten himself into.
“You ever hear of the PAC? The People’s Army of Congo?”
“No,” he said warily.
“Well, the Chinese government has built an army to take down your president and prime minister. The PAC will be attacking the capital within a few days. We need to get there before they do, you understand? ”
“President Kuwali and Prime Minister Gugunga are good men. Why would anyone want another war here? We’re still recovering from the last Congo War.”
“Money, power, raw materials—the usual story. Just get us there. You’ll be well paid. And then I have another job for you.”
Cascaes sat back and called Mackey from the satellite phone he assembled in the rear seat on Julia’s lap. They exchanged glances as he touched her legs. Mackey picked up the phone after a few rings.
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