Relentless Savage

by Dave Edlund

  “Yes, night-vision goggles, from your American army. But only two sets and we don’t have any batteries so we cannot use them.”

  “Not to worry, we can provide batteries. Todd, you have some extra double-As?”

  “Sure thing,” Todd responded. “After we’re done here Hamaad, I’ll get you set up.”

  Peter pressed on. “Hamaad, you and your second in command take the NVGs. We’re going to be scoping out the camp from the east ridge. We don’t have any military gear, but our commercial night-vision scopes will be fine provided we can stay within 300 yards or so. We can use your portable radios to communicate and coordinate the assault.”

  “What’s the general idea?” asked Todd.

  “I’m thinking we watch these goons as the camp begins to come alive in the morning. Hamaad can tell us what tent the hostages are being held in… we should also see one or two guards at that tent. That will confirm we have it right. I want to use the element of surprise—rising sun at our back, long-range precision shots—to take out the guards and any other armed men in the immediate vicinity of the hostages. That should cause confusion and chaos. At that moment, Hamaad, I want your men to come in fast. Round up all the hostages and move quickly, double-time, to our position. We will continue providing cover fire.”

  Peter looked around at each face, locking eyes, searching for any indication of concern or disagreement. He didn’t see any, only solidarity.

  To be sure, he added, “That’s the best I can come up with. If anyone has other ideas, let’s hear them now. Once we get out there, it’s too late to have second thoughts.”

  “Sounds good to me boss,” replied Todd.

  “My men will be ready,” said Hamaad.

  Peter looked at Gary. He just stood there, hands on his hips. He almost looked bored.

  “Gary?” prompted Peter.

  “Let’s get the rifles sighted in. I say we check the zero at 250 yards, cold barrel and hot. I don’t know what distance we’ll be shooting at, but a 250 zero will give us an on-target hit out to 350, maybe 400 yards.”

  Peter smiled. “Agreed; but let’s be miserly with the ammunition when sighting in, okay?”

  The meeting ended and Hamaad went to brief his men while Gary, Todd, and Peter picked up their rifle cases and walked a couple hundred yards away from the camp. Gary paced off 250 yards and placed an empty wooden crate on the dirt and then on top he stood an empty cardboard box, originally used to package cans of fruit. Inside his rifle case were four paper targets. He always kept some there for trips to the range at home. With two pieces of duct tape he fastened one target to the cardboard box.

  Looking back to Peter he yelled, “Okay, what do you read?”

  “Two-hundred-sixty-three yards! Bring it in a little!” Peter yelled. He was using his rangefinder binoculars to measure the exact distance to the target.

  Gary moved the target closer, estimating the distance. “How about now?”

  “Two-hundred-fifty-two yards! Good enough!”

  Gary jogged back to join Peter and Todd on the firing line. They would sight in their rifles from a prone position as this was the position they expected to be in on the eastern ridge overlooking the Janjaweed camp. Actually, the process was more correctly checking the zero on the weapons, as they had already been sighted in. The main concern was whether the scopes had been knocked out of adjustment during transport. Each man fired two shots. The first shot would heat the barrel and possibly change the point of bullet impact, so the second shot proved how true the sight alignment was.

  Luck, combined with good quality equipment, was paying off. The scopes were fine and no adjustments were needed. This meant that their precious supply of ammunition was not wasted on adjusting the sights.

  “I know you both know this, but I’ll say it anyway. Just run a dry patch down the barrel—no oil.” Peter didn’t want to take any chances of oil fouling the first bullet in the morning; and with all the dust and dirt they were exposed to he didn’t want excess lubricant to hold grit in the action of each weapon. This was much more than their usual hunting trip; lives were at stake.

  As they gathered up their gear, Peter remembered how he felt on Chernabura Island when he was looking through the scope on his Weatherby rifle—the very same rifle he had with him now—at the terrorist threatening to shoot a U.S. marshal.

  “You know,” he began, and then paused, rethinking his words. “Tomorrow morning, you’ll be sighting in on men, not animals. This isn’t like hunting big game.”

  Gary clasped Peter’s shoulder. “We knew the stakes when we agreed to come along, and Todd and me… we’re big boys. Besides, I disagree with your assertion.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s pretty simple,” replied Gary. “As I see it, these Janjaweed militia have terrorized, murdered, raped, and kidnapped innocent men, women, and children. They’re holding your son and some of his friends against their will, and they’re talking of selling the women into slavery. All things considered, that makes them much lower than any animal in my book.”

  Peter tried once more. “You do understand they’ll also be shooting back at us.”

  Todd looked at Gary, and then turned to face Peter. Nodding, all he said was “Yep.”

  Chapter 14

  Darfur

  June 12

  “We have to get out of here!” exclaimed Joe. He and Sam were whispering to Ethan, trying desperately to avoid being overheard by the guard in front of the tent. Brad was snoring, which offered some cover noise. They were lying on reed mats laid out on the dirt. The tent didn’t have the luxury of a canvas floor.

  “So, what’s your plan?” asked Ethan skeptically.

  “We sneak out underneath the back wall of the tent. The stakes there can be pulled up easily. I already tested it. Then, we quietly make for the edge of camp. If any guards get in our way we just have to overpower them.” Joe made it sound like child’s play.

  “Sure, we just overpower guards with automatic weapons. Get real,” Ethan replied in a whisper.

  “Well, what’s your idea then if you don’t like Joe’s plan?” asked Sam.

  “I’m not the one who started this, remember?” Ethan said.

  “Shush, keep it down,” Joe admonished.

  “Well, I’m telling you that either we find a way to escape or we’re as good as dead. That’s what I heard them saying this afternoon.” Sam understood Arabic fairly well, though she only spoke a little bit. “They said that after the ransom was paid, you, Joe and Brad would be turned over to Colonel Ming. Wendy and I will be sold into slavery. I’d rather be shot than sold into slavery. Do you know what happens to women who are bought as slaves?”

  Ethan didn’t want to think about that.

  “Who’s this Colonel Ming, and what would he want with any of us?” Ethan asked, mostly to change the subject.

  “I don’t know. But everyone laughed when they said you would be given to Ming, so it can’t be good.”

  “So, what do you want to do?” Joe asked, counting on Ethan to come up with a better plan.

  After a brief pause, Ethan said, “Okay. You’re right. The only way out of the tent is under the back flap just like you said.” Joe smiled briefly at the recognition. “But we go one at a time. If we all go together we are more likely to be seen or heard. Then we need to make it to the trees along the wadi where there’s cover.”

  Joe nodded agreement. “What about Wendy and Brad?” They were both asleep… or at least pretending to be asleep.

  “You heard them last night,” whispered Sam. “They don’t want to go. They think they’ll stand a better chance staying put and don’t want to risk getting captured and beaten. If even one of us can escape from camp, we’ll have to find a way to get help and rescue the others.” The concern in Sam’s voice was evident.

  “All the more reason for us to go one at a time—it increases the chances that at least one of us gets away to call for help,” Ethan acknowledged. �
��Just remember, if any of us gets caught the guards will surely beat the hell out of all of us, right?”

  “Yeah,” replied Joe somberly. “So don’t get caught.”

  Ethan nodded. “Sure thing.”

  “Sam, do you have any idea where we are?” Ethan asked.

  She shook her head. Ethan thought they had ridden in the truck for about two hours. The dirt road had been very rough and he estimated that they averaged about ten, maybe fifteen, miles per hour. But since the truck was covered, it was hard to tell what direction they had traveled.

  “Okay. Then we need to go in different directions because we don’t really know which direction will bring us to help. Right?”

  Joe and Sam nodded agreement.

  “That will also lessen the chance that we all get caught once the guards figure out we’re missing,” Joe added.

  “Sure,” Sam agreed, “they’ll probably assume we’d stay together for safety.”

  “Okay. Unless one of you has a better idea, I’d say that Sam goes west, toward Chad. Joe, you go east—I remember looking at a map in the mess tent and there should be several villages to the east assuming we haven’t traveled more than 30 miles from the refugee camp. I’ll go south. North would only bring me further into Darfur where several villages have already been raided; south is likely to land me in the Central African Republic. Agreed?”

  Sam and Joe nodded again.

  “I know how to find west when the sun is up, but what about at night?” Sam tried to hide her concern, but it crept into her voice nonetheless.

  “It’s easy,” Joe replied confidently. “Just use Polaris to locate true north.”

  Sam hesitated. “I don’t think I know how to find the North Star.”

  “Do you know how to find the Little Dipper or the Big Dipper?” Joe asked.

  Sam nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

  “Okay. It’s the last star in the handle of the Little Dipper. Or you can follow the two stars on the edge of the ladle of the Big Dipper. Just imagine a line through those two stars and follow it past the opening of the ladle; they connect to the North Star.”

  “Can you do this, Sam?” Ethan asked.

  She nodded again. “Yes, I’ve looked at the Little Dipper a hundred times, never knowing that I was also looking at the North Star.”

  “What if one of us gets caught?” asked Joe.

  Ethan was grim. “Don’t let it happen. Best case is they move us to a different location. They’ll beat all of us for sure. Worst case is they kill us. I just hope that at least one of us makes it out. But if one of us does get out and calls for help, and yet they’ve already moved the rest of us to a new camp…” Ethan didn’t need to finish, Joe and Sam understood.

  “But if what Sam is saying is true,” Joe whispered, “then we really don’t have any choice, do we? We’re as good as dead if we stay here.”

  Ethan knew that Sam and Joe were staring at him in the darkness, but he couldn’t make out their facial expressions.

  “Sam, what time do you think it is?” Ethan asked.

  The Janjaweed militia had stolen all their watches, cell phones, and jewelry when they were captured. Apparently, the militiamen believed they could be both good Muslims and good thieves at the same time.

  “I can’t be sure; maybe 3:00 a.m.,” she answered.

  “Yeah, that’d be my guess, too,” Joe agreed.

  “All right then. Let’s rest for another couple hours. The guards will be getting tired so they may fall asleep, or at least not be paying as much attention. The relief guards won’t take over until after dawn. It shouldn’t take more than five minutes, ten at the most, to get away from camp. So we should stagger our breakouts by about five minutes. That will give the first person time to disappear into the darkness. We’ll have to estimate time, that’s all we can do. Who wants to go first?”

  “It’s your idea, you should go first,” said Joe.

  “My idea? You brought up…” Ethan couldn’t see Joe’s smile, but knowing he’d been played, Ethan agreed. “Fine. I’ll go first. Sam, you go second—and Joe, you go third. Now, let’s try to get some rest.”

  Chapter 15

  Darfur

  June 12

  Peter, Todd and Gary were stretched out on the eastern ridge overlooking the Janjaweed camp below. They were spaced about 25 yards apart and each had a generous supply of rifle ammunition. Arriving right on schedule at 4:00 a.m., they had snuggled into the earth, making themselves comfortable so they each could spy on the camp and, when the time came, place carefully and accurately aimed rifle fire on the militiamen. It would take Hamaad’s men another hour to circle around the north end of the camp to the opposite ridgeline, allowing plenty of distance so as not to be heard.

  The moon had nearly set, and the sky was as clear as crystal, the stars shining surprisingly bright—enough so that the commercial light-amplification night-vision spotting scopes revealed the detailed layout of the Janjaweed encampment. The three men on the east ridge of the wadi were using their see-in-the-dark capability to methodically survey the location of the tents, the number of guards, and the features of the terrain.

  The tents were pitched randomly on the level ground. A grove of trees to the right of the camp would offer some shelter from the relentless mid-day heat later in the day. Peter assumed the well, or spring, was located somewhere in the clump of trees. To the left of the scattered tents, seemingly marking the southern boundary of the camp, was a fallen tree lying across the dry earth. He thought the large log formed a convenient natural barrier to stop vehicles that might otherwise drive up the wadi unimpeded.

  Having settled in, there was nothing to do but watch and wait for the SLM rebels to arrive at the opposite side of the encampment. As Peter lay in the earth, he wondered if he could kill again. Then he thought of Ethan and the other hostages. At this moment what he wanted most was to be home, safe with his son.

  Before the emotion could well up inside him, Peter pushed away those thoughts, returning his focus to the camp below his position. It was not only Ethan and the other hostages who were relying on Peter, but also his friends who had followed him halfway around the world on a foolhardy mission.

  Yes, if I need to kill to bring my son and friends home, so be it.

  Todd was the first to spot the fleeting motion across the wadi on the opposite ridge; Hamaad and his men were just coming to position. Although they were over 500 yards away, Peter could barely make out their movements as they deployed across the ridge. Hamaad had only sixteen men, including himself. He had lost two more men yesterday to dysentery. Still, they were well armed with AK-47 rifles and each man had two or three full magazines. If they fought as well as Hamaad had claimed, then this just might work. It has to work, thought Peter.

  When Peter determined that Hamaad and his men should be in position, he called to check on their status.

  “Hamaad, are you in place and ready?” he whispered into the radio.

  “Yes,” was the brief reply.

  It was pre-dawn and Peter could easily see two guards slowly roaming around the campgrounds. Why can’t these guys just be atheists and drink themselves into a stupor before passing out? he thought.

  Gary called him on the radio. Whispering, Peter could barely hear his friend. They were using a single frequency so Hamaad would also hear. There were no secrets to keep, and coordination was of paramount importance.

  “There’s a solitary guard stationed next to one of the tents—the third tent from the left. None of the other tents appear to have a posted guard.”

  “Yes, I see what you mean,” Peter replied. “That must be where they’re keeping Ethan and the other hostages.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.” Gary put down the radio and raised his rifle, taking careful aim through the scope. The star light was sufficient to make out targets if there was a contrasting background. In this case, the guard appeared as a light-gray silhouette against the darker color of the tent and the ear
th.

  “I can take him out when you give the word.”

  “Not yet, Gary. Hold on. Let’s watch a little longer and see what happens—make sure we’re not missing something. Besides, we’re better off using the rising sun to screen our position. If you shoot now, the muzzle flash will give away our position.”

  They continued to watch and wait. Soon the horizon would be turning pale and then the sun would rise quickly. When the sun was just peaking over the horizon, the three civilian snipers would have their best advantage. But they would have to move fast because it would only take minutes for the sun to rise above the horizon, illuminating their position. They would be exposed on the open dirt.

  As the minutes ticked by, the eastern horizon was becoming grey, no longer pitch black, signaling the coming of dawn.

  Suddenly, there was movement from the tent where the guard was posted. From the eastern ridge Peter, Gary and Todd all saw it—a person crawling out from under the canvas on the far side from the guard. Peter tensed. He didn’t expect this. Someone—could it be Ethan?—was trying to escape. What should they do? If they fired on the guards below, their positions would be quickly revealed in the dim early-morning light since the muzzle flash from each rifle would be like a flash bulb going off in the approaching twilight.

  They watched as the escaping figure paused just outside the tent, a solitary dark figure crouching low to the ground. Then it scurried away from the tent, rushing toward the wadi, heading south to escape the camp.

  The figure stopped again, at the fallen and weathered tree, next to the aged mass of roots that had once held the tree firmly to the ground. Crouching, apparently sensing that a roaming guard was approaching, the figure was all but lost against the dark undefined clutter of roots and tree trunk. Using another tent for screening from the guard, the figure hid, waiting to move on.

  “Peter, what do you want to do?” prompted Gary.