African Dragon

by David M. Salkin

  “Mac, you okay out there?”

  “Roger that. We’re fine. Took out an enemy patrol, and Moose and crew just got back intact. We’re going to truck it over to the train station and try and beat the PAC to Kinshasa. Where are you? What’s the story with Zabanga?”

  “We’re in a plane heading to Kinshasa. The target was eliminated,” he said, not wanting to use Zabanga’s name in front of the pilot.

  “A plane?”

  “Yeah, I just created the first Congolese Air Force. Made this pilot a general,” he said loudly. The pilot heard him and smiled for the first time this trip.

  “We will refuel in Kananga and be in Kinshasa by sun-up. The PAC will be at least two days out. I’m going to try and arrange for an airlift for you guys after we arrive. Keep moving west and keep track of where you are. I will hopefully be sending you a lift.” He eyed the pilot, who heard him and looked worried.

  “Okay, stay in touch. And stay out of sight in Kinshasa.”

  “Yeah, we’ll stay outside the city until we have a plan put together. Ten thousand against a dozen…we need a really good plan. Out.”

  45.

  Shen Xun-jun’s PAC Forces

  Shen Xun-jun called Wong Fu-jia from his command vehicle as they moved westward in a seemingly endless convoy to Kinshasa. The vehicles were a mixture of Chinese “deuce and a half” cargo trucks and old pickup trucks, many with machine guns mounted in the bed. All of the trucks were overfilled with PAC soldiers. Before leaving the camp, the trucks had been covered with tarps with large Red Cross symbols on them. “China Relief Mission” was written underneath in five languages. Shen Xun-jun led the procession in his Jeep, the only vehicle that looked military, but armed escorts in this poor country were a common sight.

  Shen Xun-jun held the same rank as Wong Fu-jia, but had seniority, and was therefore running the operation as commander of all forces. Wong Fu-jia’s PAC forces were smaller than Shen Xun-jun’s, but he had been fortunate enough to organize mercenaries and professional soldiers, compared with Shen Xun-jun’s large army that couldn’t shoot straight. Wong Fu-jia’s aid answered the radio and handed it to his general.

  Shen Xun-jun updated Wong Fu-jia that they were assembled and heading west. He also informed him that Americans were snooping about and had visited the mining operation. He had sent Sergeant Major Han with a small patrol to find the Americans and bring them to him, but so far, had been unable to make radio contact. He was getting nervous about that.

  Wong Fu-jia and his rebel force were currently camped twenty miles south of Kinshasa in a heavily wooded area to avoid being spotted. His troops were ready; they just needed the RPGS, mortars and heavy machine guns that Shen Xun-jun would be bringing.

  Shen Xun-jun advised Wong Fu-jia that once they made it to Kinshasa, Nigel Ufume would be leading a small group into the city at night to move on the president while he was at his residence. With a well-coordinated attack using heavy weapons, they could destroy the entire compound before the presidents guards had time to launch a counter-attack. This would happen at oh-four-hundred when almost everyone would be sound asleep. By the time the sun came up, the larger force under Major Wu would be seizing the “Palais du Peuple,“ Congo’s version of The Capital. Li’s troops would execute everyone they saw, inflicting heavy enough casualties in the government to cause chaos and lack of leadership.

  Wong Fu-jia would then move in at daybreak with his force, at the fastest speed possible, killing everything that moved as they made their way towards the presidential palace. By inflicting huge casualties on the civilian population, the PAC could cause enough panic to demoralize whatever government forces might still be forming up under whatever leadership was left. With the president and prime minister both dead, the Palais du Peuple under PAC control, and the city burning, Shen Xun-jun anticipated the overthrow would be over by sunset. The civilians would flee the city, and the official army would be right behind them in tatters. The PAC would then declare themselves as the new interim government, and call for an immediate election. The election would be rigged so that Mboto Kangani would be the new president, and Lucien Zabanga prime minister. And they would answer to China.

  Up on the side of the small mountain overlooking the lights of Kinshasa, Wong Fu-jia strolled through his small army. He watched the mercenaries sharpening their knives and machetes and cleaning their weapons, and felt extremely confident that his men would roll through the city. The hardest part would be maintaining their discipline to avoid the raping and pillaging that was so common in the African wars. Once these men smelled blood, they would be difficult to control. He smiled. In the worst case scenario, he would simply allow them to do whatever they wanted. They would remain loyal and happy, and Wong Fu-jia would be a hero of the Chinese people.

  46.

  Sunrise Near Kinshasa

  The pilot was exhausted and worried, but kept it to himself. Julia had fallen asleep against Chris’s shoulder, and he was happy to have her next to him so cozily. Hodges was out cold across the center two seats, and Jones was sitting up in the co-pilot’s seat. The pilot had stopped once in Kananga to refuel, which had been a little hairy since the team was in uniform, but it was dark and they were in and out quickly. It was almost five-thirty in the morning, and the pink sunrise was spreading across the purple African sky.

  The pilot spoke out loud to anyone who was listening. “We’re getting close to Kinshasa. I’ll have to radio in to the airport soon. I never filed a flight plan for this airport and they aren’t expecting us. What do you want me to do?”

  Cascaes was in the rear row of the six-seater. “Head northwest and look for a place to set down. I’d like to be within five miles of the city limits, to the south, but not too close to any population.”

  The pilot banked right and headed northwest, dropping his altitude to only a thousand feet. He scanned beneath him, trying to find a smooth place to set down that seemed isolated. There were small mountains just west of their location, with many small areas of broken forest south and west of the city between the mountains and the city limits of Kinshasa. It would be remote enough for his passengers, but finding a flat level field would take some time. The landing at night had been terrifying the night before, and he never told the team just how close he came to crashing. It had been the bounciest, hardest landing of his twelve year flying career, and certainly couldn’t have been very good for his plane. The pilot flew low and slow, studying his instruments and the ground below him.

  Julia woke up and remembered where she was, then gave Chris a little squeeze. Hodges happened to turn around at that precise moment and “busted” her. She blushed.

  “Just stretching,” she said.

  “I had night vision, remember?” he said with a laugh. She didn’t get it at first, then realized that Hodges and Jones probably saw everything that was going on “under the cover of darkness” last night while they waited for the plane.

  Chris couldn’t help but laugh. “What happens in the field stay in the field,” he said. “Classified.”

  “Roger that, Skipper,” he said, and turned back around. They all began looking out the windows, scanning the land below them for a suitable place to land and wait for Mackey and his team. Hodges mumbled a quiet, “holy shit,” and ripped into his backpack, pulling out his sniper scope and removing the lens caps quickly. He looked back down through the scope and scanned the forest below them.

  Cascaes announced to the pilot and his crew, “Come on, general. Land this plane. Once we hit the ground, we hunker down and stay out of sight all day until the rest of the team gets up here and links up. Hodges, get Dex back on the phone. The PAC could be here by tomorrow if they travel all night.”

  Less than a mile to their west, the PAC force under Wong Fu-jia force hid in the woods, looking out to the city of Kinshasa.

  47.

  White House Situation Room Mi
dnight

  The joint chiefs stood up when the president hustled in with the secretary of state and his chief of staff. Dexter Murphy stood next to an air force general, with whom he had been discussing air assets. Additional staffers had not been invited, and the meeting was considered top secret.

  The president asked everyone to be seated and opened the briefing. Dex Murphy stood and approached a map of the Republic of Congo that was displayed on a very large screen. The image was a live satellite picture, superimposed with city names, major roads, international boundaries and major geographical features. As intelligent as the President of the United States was, his dealings and knowledge of the PRC was limited.

  “Mr. President, the Chinese have mobilized the PAC forces and are heading west towards Kinshasa at this moment. Our satellite teams have them here…”

  He dialed in a computer and the screen zoomed in on a road near the town of Kananga.

  “We’ve confirmed with our limited assets in-country that a very large convoy of trucks is headed west. They’re using Red Cross relief as cover, but it’s them, one-hundred percent.”

  The room watched as Dex zoomed in and showed a live view of a convoy, several miles long. “We estimate their force, based on observations on the ground by our own team, to be somewhere between eight and ten thousand troops. These aren’t highly trained soldiers, but they’re heavily armed with new Chinese weapons and ammunition. Most likely have a large supply of mortars, RPGs, heavy machine guns, et cetera. The only good news is one of the Chinese transports crashed while landing, and apparently had light armor vehicles, which they haven’t been able to replace.”

  Dex turned around and faced the room, placed the laser pointer on the table, and took a breath. “The bottom line is this, Mr. President. You have to make a decision now about whether or not you want to prevent the current government from being overthrown. The Chinese will have their own people running things within a week, unless we prevent it now. Once the Chinese are entrenched with the PAC government, they have access to the world’s largest supplies of uranium, plutonium, and many other rare earth elements that are strategically important. The gold, platinum and diamonds are just a bonus.”

  The president nodded thoughtfully and sat in silence a moment. He then addressed the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “General Rogers, if we were to take action to intercept the convoy, what are our options?”

  The general cleared his throat. “We can certainly destroy the column before it gets to the city—there are plenty of open areas where we can minimize any chance of civilian casualties. But we can’t shoot up a bunch of Chinese officers and think there won’t be major consequences.”

  The president smiled. “General, I spoke with the general secretary yesterday and voiced my concerns over Chinese military actions in the DRC. President Jin was very clear that there are no Chinese military advisors there. They have an aid station, only. That being the case, if we were to destroy the PAC forces en route to the capital, we know we won’t be hitting any Chinese officers.” He folded his hands and looked seriously at the general. “Options?”

  General Rogers nodded. “PHIBRON Five, our amphibious assault squadron is four hundred miles off the coast with the 11th Marine Expeditionary Force. That’s over fifteen hundred combat-experienced marines, with enough Sea Knight helos on board to get them deployed immediately. The USS Makin Island has five AV8-B Harriers with air to ground capabilities. In short, we can destroy the convoy with the Harriers, and reinforce Kinshasa with ground troops if necessary. From ‘Go’ to target should be less than thirty minutes for the jets.”

  The president stood. “Gentlemen, please remain here for a bit. I’ve got a couple of phone calls to make.” He looked at his chief of staff. “Susan, get President Kuwali on the horn.”

  Ten minutes later, the president sat in the Oval Office speaking to President Kuwali. It was six in the morning in Kinshasa. While President Kuwali spoke excellent English, he used a translator anyway, to be sure everything was perfectly understood. Kuwali listened to the entire briefing without saying a word, paying close attention to the location and size of the PAC forces that were heading his way. He was more than happy to accept the United States’ offer of military support.

  48.

  Southwest of Kinshasa

  09:00

  Cascaes sat with Julia, Hodges and Jones in a remote, forest outside of Kinshasa. The sun was low in the morning sky, and the four of them cleaned weapons, ate MRE’s and monitored the radio. They had paid their pilot two thousand dollars US, which was several month’s salary. Cascaes promised the pilot another five thousand on top of that if he would fly to Niemba, due west of the fish farm, and pick up the rest of the team and return them to this location. While the pilot understood what he was doing was obviously dangerous and suspicious, seven thousand dollars was impossible to turn down. He shook on the deal, and headed back on the long journey back towards Lake Tanganyika to get the others. His return would get the rest of the team back in time for dinner.

  Hodges handed the satellite phone to Cascaes, who was sipping coffee on a large boulder, admiring the mountains to their west. It was Dex Murphy back in DC.

  “Just finished with the Big Boss. Operation Dragon Catcher is a go,” said Dex. “Air assets will be en route to meet the PAC out in the open when the convoy reaches the chosen location. In another few hours, this whole thing will be over before it starts. When the target destruction is reported back to us, we’ll let you know. You’ll either be tasked with visual confirmation, or more likely, given a rendezvous point where Sea Nights will pick you up and bring you out to the Amphibious Assault Group.”

  Shen Xun-jun’s PAC forces had driven all night stopping only to refuel. As the sun broke the horizon, Shen Xun-jun cursed the lousy Congolese roads. It would have been a far journey on a good highway, but bouncing along roads that went from asphalt to gravel to dirt and back to asphalt was making the driving torturous and slow.

  Shen Xun-jun radioed to Wong Fu-jia. “We’re moving slower than I expected. These roads are worthless. We’ll continue without stopping, but we may not make it by tomorrow morning.”

  “Has anyone stopped you or asked questions?” asked Wong Fu-jia.

  “No. Police in a couple of villages tried to ask questions, but I shooed them away. Their security is worse than their roads. How long will it take you to get from your position to your targets?”

  “We’ll be moving in the dark on foot, so it will be slow here as well. I estimate ninety minutes.”

  “Unless you hear otherwise, the timetable remains the same. I still can’t reach Sergeant Major Han’s patrol, though. It’s troubling.”

  “Radios and phones in this country may have trouble with signals.”

  Shen Xun-jun frowned. “I’m speaking to you without a problem. And Sergeant Major Han’s radio was fine prior to reaching the camp.”

  “No matter what, we must continue our mission. We don’t need Sergeant Major Han for that.”

  Shen grunted. “I’ll contact you by nightfall with our location. We should still make Kinshasa for our oh-four-hundred strike.”

  49.

  USS Makin Island

  Captain Simms sat with his XO and senior chief in a command room watching a live feed from a UAV they had launched an hour earlier. A pilot sat in front of them, flying the UAV. It was cruising at thirty thousand feet, and was so small that it would be unnoticed on the ground. Its cameras, however, were powerful enough to zoom in and pan around to view the convoy of vehicles that snaked along a dirt highway called the N-1. The convoy was halfway to Kinshasa in a lowland area of gently rolling hills, small forests, and villages of brown mud huts every twenty miles or so. It was a desolate part of the country, and an excellent place to drop a few thousand pounds of high explosives that would utterly destroy two miles of convoy.

  “What have we got on the Harri
ers?” asked the captain.

  “Squadron commander has them armed with MK-20 Rockeyes,” replied the XO.

  The MK-20 Rockeye was a cluster bomb that opened up to deliver 247 armor piercing bomblets. It had been used extensively in Desert Storm, and had proven extremely effective in destroying tanks, APCs and anything else that dared move across the desert. Each aircraft carried six Rockeyes, which mean 5,928 armor piercing, high explosive bomblets would be hitting the column.

  “Location looks clean. Have the UAV sweep a few miles in all directions, and if it’s clear of civilians, release the hounds,” ordered the captain.

  “Aye, aye, captain,” replied the pilot, who continued to fly the small aircraft on his mission while the XO radioed the flight deck and had the Harriers readied for takeoff.

  50.

  General Shen was looking at his laptop, confirming his position on his map. They were on the N-1, a godforsaken, never-ending road in the middle of nowhere, almost twenty miles from Luputa, the nearest village. The sun was up, and it was a hot day out in the lowlands. The trucks lacked air-conditioning, and the men were hot and tired as they rumbled and bounced.

  Shen Xun-jun was antsy, and called Wong Fu-jia again to make sure his troops were still undetected. Wong Fu-jia was annoyed at being “checked-up on” by another general of equal rank, and made no attempt to hide it.

  “You just get here on schedule, and we’ll be ready. Can’t you move any faster?”

  “I told you, the roads here are terrible!” Shen Xun-jun stopped and looked up. Four objects in the sky formed a tight diamond shape, leaving white contrails behind them in the clear blue sky. They were getting larger. Shen Xun-jun’s face showed his confusion. Where would jet aircraft come from?

  “The Americans!” He screamed. His driver looked up at the aircraft that Shen Xun-jun was staring at.