Helen and Lynn suspended their medical duties to join the spectators.
Jesse motioned for Rigby to step forward. “You go first.”
Rigby set his rifle in the crease of his shoulder and placed his face against its walnut stock. He had already calculated the bullet drop, which made a leaf on the tree above the bottle a perfect target. Exhaling, he put the crosshairs on the leaf and began to squeeze the trigger. The earsplitting crack sent a cloud of fruit bats into flight. Monkeys screeched and baboons barked. The whiskey bottle moved from the bullet's airstream, but didn't break. He frowned and handed his rifle to Jesse. “Whatever you do, don't hit Otto's airplane.”
Jesse waited for the mayhem to settle before squinting through the scope. He held the gun rock-solid against his chin. The sound of the shot echoed through the jungle. The bottle disintegrated. When Jesse heard Lynn cheering, he turned, but she stopped her applause and looked down.
“You beat me fair and square. That was a damn fine shot. Now, I want you to tell me the truth. Where were you trying to hit that buffalo?”
“What buffalo? I was so scared I don't remember pulling the trigger.”
“The truth becomes you, Spooner. Why don't you take care of the real reason you came back?” Rigby nodded at Lynn.
Jesse walked over to Lynn. They talked briefly before moving to one of the tents. Helen put her arm around her husband's neck and pulled him down to whisper in his ear. “You haven't changed one iota in thirty years. You've never lost a shooting contest in your life. You missed that bottle on purpose, didn't you?”
“You know it and I know it, but let's keep it between us girls,” he confessed. “Helen, I couldn't find a better man to cover my backside.”
***
Lynn studied Jesse's face. He sat down and propped his elbows on his knees. She got down on the floor in front of him and crisscrossed her legs. “What made you come back?” she asked.
Jesse stood up and looked out at the setting sun flirting with the top of the jungle canopy. With his back to her he answered. “I've been thinking about us, you know, about what we talked about. Lynn, it won't be easy. People will stare. They'll whisper behind our backs. If we do have kids, they'll get teased.”
“I've seen mixed couples make it. Besides, I'm a Louisiana coonass. I'll bet my great grandfather was blacker than yours.” She moved next to him and rested her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her waist. They stood together watching the orange equatorial sun slip behind the trees. There was no need to speak.
***
The men drove out of the hunting camp two hours before sunrise. Rigby wanted to avoid seeing Max Turner. He had no illusions about Turner. Max was despicable, but Rigby didn't buy Lynn's chilling account of Max's intentions. How could a father kill his own son?
After four grueling hours of driving, they hid the truck in some acacias. It gave them time to rest, and it gave Spooner a chance to teach them how to aim and fire the fifty-calibers.
As they got ready to leave, Rigby described what they might face. He remembered large sand dunes at the south end of the refugee camp. Rigby would walk into the camp alone, in case the camp was controlled by the Janjaweed. Dutchy and Jesse could use a dune as an observation point. If something went wrong, they would have to leave him.
Jesse made a weak argument that he should be the one to walk into the camp, but Rigby's exasperated expression dissuaded him. “If you stripped naked and we had time to burn those tribal markings into your face, you might pass for a Dinka. Of course, you'd need to shed thirty kilos.”
“It was a stupid idea. Let's forget I mentioned it.”
“Well, it was a lovely gesture. Don't you agree, Dutchy?”
“Jesse looks more like a Zulu,” the Dutchman bellowed.
“We could use some Zulu warriors, right about now,” said Rigby.
***
The landscape turned crueler as they drove eastward. They had been driving for ten hours when Dutchy noticed the feathery wisps of campfire smoke on the horizon. Rigby turned to a more southerly heading. A short time later, he spotted the sand dunes that overlooked the camp.
He stopped at the base of the dunes. “All right boys, this is as far as we go. Let's climb so we can get a looksee.”
They waded up in the heavy sand and crawled the last few feet on all fours. The men slithered up to the edge and looked down at the camp. Rigby used his binoculars to scan the area. He whispered to Spooner. “It looks harmless enough. Keep an eye on me. If I drop my weapon and hold up my hands, you'll know it's not going well. Wish me luck,” he said. He stopped and turned to face them. “Jesse, remember our agreement. Make sure the girls get back to Zimbabwe. Dutchy that goes for you too.” He took a deep breath and rolled over the edge.
Spooner re-focused the binoculars on Rigby as he watched him struggle down the slope. He scanned the tents and tarpaulin-covered lean-tos. The area was teeming with hundreds of Africans. Many of them huddled around the cooking fires. A few boys played soccer. Older boys tended a small herd of goats and some hollow-rumped cows.
The children saw Rigby first. They ran away screaming. Tall African men poured out of the tents and started to climb up to meet him. Two of the men were carrying old rifles. Everyone in the camp was pointing and yelling. Spooner handed the binos to Dutchy and picked up his rifle. He zeroed in on the man closest to Rigby. He pushed the safety off and set the crosshairs on the man's head.
“Whatdayathink, shall I drop him?” Before Dutchy could answer, Rigby turned around and waved. Jesse let out a sigh. “That was close.”
It took thirty minutes to drive around the dunes. By the time they arrived at the camp's barbedwire gate, it was almost dark. Cheering children and old women gathered around them as they climbed out of the truck. Rigby stood between a white man and a young African couple. He was not smiling.
“Jesse Spooner, Dutchy Bosshart, this is the elusive Mr. Arthur Turner. And these are his friends, Abel and Tabitha Deng.” Both men stepped forward and shook hands with Arthur and Deng.
Arthur Turner was distinguished-looking with affable blue eyes. There was an aura of serenity about Turner that Jesse found puzzling given the chaos of his surroundings. When Jesse noticed Rigby's dire expression, he realized something was wrong.
Rigby put his hand on Arthur's shoulder before speaking. “Mr. Turner has just informed me that he has no intention of leaving the Darfur. As a matter of fact, he says he's prepared to die here. And if the information I just received from the young Mr. Deng here is correct, he may get his wish in short-order.”
Turner motioned for them to step into his tent. “I'd like to offer you a drink, but the best I can do is warm water.”
A young girl ran out of the crowd and latched onto Rigby's leg. He reached down and picked her up. She was the girl his wife had treated for sleeping sickness. He handed the girl back to her mother. The woman pressed a gift in Rigby's hand.
Once they were inside, Turner continued. “There's no need to upset these people. They've suffered enough. At this point, I'm not sure much can be done for them. We've survived attacks in the past, but we hear this one will be brutal. Gentlemen, these people think you're here to save them.”
“What's he talking about?”Spooner asked.
Rigby outlined what Abel and Tabitha had told him. The Janjaweed was planning a massive attack on the refugee camp. In twenty-four hours, three groups of armed militiamen would sweep into the defenseless camp from three directions. They would charge their war camels and decorated horses into the tented city, killing as many Africans as possible. To make it even more horrifying, the Sudanese military had provided three Chinese attack helicopters.
Jesse glanced at the crowd gathered outside. All of them were dressed in rags. Many of them leaned on walking-sticks. Their lives were so bleak, yet they appeared hopeful.
When Turner spoke, his words were strangled with emotion. His beleaguered expression was illuminated by a campfire. “Mr. Croxford, you need
to take your friends and leave. The Arabs usually attack in the afternoon. Just be sure to tell the rest of the world what they're doing to us.”
When Croxford spoke, it was as if Turner's warning hadn't registered. “So Deng, how many Arabs were in the group you encountered?”
“About fifty,” he answered, glancing at Tabitha for confirmation. She agreed.
“So that's one hundred and fifty Arabs, plus the three helicopters. Boys, I guess the odds could be worse, although I don't see how. Jesse, at first light you get in the Rover and hightail it out of here. This is more than you bargained for. I won't think any less of you.”
“Does that mean you're staying?” asked Turner.
Jesse stepped forward before Rigby could open his mouth. “Mr. Turner, we're all staying.”
Croxford shook his head and grinned at Jesse. “Just when I think I've got you figured out, you throw me a bumper. Don't look so dumb-founded, a ‘bumper' is a term we use in the great game of cricket.”
“I need one of your cigarettes.”
“I didn't know you smoke.”
“I never have, until now.”
“I've got a bottle of whiskey under the front seat. Spooner, it looks like I'm gonna make a proper African out of you yet.”
***
Rigby, Dutchy and Jesse marched around the camp perimeter twice before daylight. The desert morning was crisp in the predawn darkness and the sand was still dewy. As the light broke, Rigby spotted a snake eagle soaring high above the dunes searching for geckos. He started to identify the bird for Jesse, but hesitated. By the time he turned around, the bird had vanished in the smoky haze.
The men attracted a mob as they inspected the camp's defenses, or lack thereof. The refugees chattered optimistically and seemed almost giddy. Their spirits had been buoyed by the men's interest in their welfare. When they arrived back at Turner's tent, he was already busy treating sick Africans. Tabitha handed them mugs of hot tea.
“Good morning, Arthur. I trust you slept well,” said Rigby. “And you, Mr. Croxford, how did you sleep?” Turner answered, tearing a long strip of surgical tape from its roll. “I've never had a better night in my life. I could get accustomed to living in the desert. What about you, Jesse?” “I'm getting that queasy feeling again. Helen warned me about your exuberance.” “I have surveyed the upcoming battleground and I've found a flaw in the Arab's battle plan,” Rigby said. “How do you even know their plan?”
“The key is in the terrain. Think about it, Spooner, an army of three outnumbered by one hundred and fifty bloodthirsty, screaming Arabs. And Spooner, you will have been a part of it.”
“I can hardly wait,” said Jesse.
Croxford walked to a sandy spot in front of the tent and drew an outline of the camp. At one end he heaped a pile of sand to replicate the sand dunes. He pulled Dutchy forward and pointed at the sand map. “Dutchy, assume you were a Janjaweed commander. From what direction would you attack?” The Dutchman looked down at the map and scratched his head. “I would come from this direction and trap the Africans against the dunes.”
“Don't you see? They're the ones who'll be trapped.”
“I'm sorry,” said Jesse, “I don't get it.”
“Don't worry, it'll all come together. Gentlemen, let's get to work.”
***
Abel called for the Dinka men who owned firearms to assemble. A dozen tribesmen came forward with five antique rifles and seven shotguns. The women, children and elderly who were physically able to run would gather at the base of the sand dunes at the first sign of the Arabs. Tabitha took charge of those too weak to walk, directing them to hollow out shallow bunkers under their tents. Arthur Turner suspended his medical duties to lead a work detail digging trenches at the foot of the dunes. Spooner and Croxford climbed to the crest and dug two foxholes twenty meters apart, connected by a ditch.
As Jesse watched the preparations unfold, he realized Rigby's strategy was brilliant. If the Arabs took the bait and attempted to trap the Africans against the sand dunes, they would find themselves targets in a perfect field of fire. The militiamen used the weapon of choice for most Third World countries, the AK-47. It was an ideal weapon for close combat, but no match for the long range of the M-24 rifles. They would also be disadvantaged by trying to shoot uphill from galloping camels and horses. Rigby had carefully estimated the height of the dunes and found the distance to be beyond the accurate range of the Kalashnikovs. If things went according to plan, the defenders would wreak havoc on the Arabs with total immunity. There was only one stumbling block: the attack helicopters.
It was no secret, that the success or failure of the plan lay squarely on Spooner and Dutchy. They would be firing the fifties, and would have to disable the helicopters. If they could shoot one down, the remaining helicopters might turn and run.
Jesse practiced aiming the Barrett at one of the tents below. Thinking about the imminent violence made him feel weak. He distracted himself by thinking about Lynn.
***
The Hunting Camp
When Lynn heard the thumping of a helicopter, her heartrate quickened. She watched the helicopter turn back up into the wind, hover and then momentarily disappear in a dust cloud before touching down. Max and two people exited the Jet Ranger before its rotor stopped. Otto hobbled down the makeshift runway to meet Max and the woman with him. A second man lagged behind, struggling with some duffel bags.
As soon as they were clear of the rotor, the pilot increased the throttle. The helicopter lifted off, dipped its nose and headed back in the direction of Uganda. It took them a few minutes to walk from the far end of the dirt airstrip to the tents. Helen whispered, using her hand to block the sound. “Lynn, he's got your sister with him. God, I wish my husband was here.”
“Good morning, Dr. Croxford,” said Max, looking over the top of his sunglasses. “Sorry to pop in on you like this, but I've been worried sick. Otto tells me your husband isn't here.”
Helen's response was interrupted by Lynn, who ran forward to embrace her sister. Max glared at the two women as they walked hand in hand behind the tents.
“Mr. Turner, I'm expecting my husband anytime now. Hopefully, he'll have your son with him.”
“Otto says the refugee camp is a short flight from here. You wouldn't object if we fly out and make sure everything's running smoothly. I've endured this nightmare for so long, I'd like to be reassured. I'm sure you understand.” Max appeared distracted and moved away from Helen to look over her shoulder at the sisters. He studied them for a few seconds before speaking. “Oh Dr. Croxford, I almost forgot, I don't know if you remember Bob.”
Reluctantly, Helen accepted his handshake. “I think you met my husband in the Bahamas.” Bob's grin disappeared.
“My husband gave explicit instructions. He wanted Otto to stand by in case there's an emergency.”
“Nonsense. You can use my satellite telephone to contact your husband,” he said, nodding at Bob, who showed her the phone.
Max put his arm around Helen and started her in the direction of the plane. “Well now, I guess we've fixed that little bump in the road. Otto, get the plane ready. Bob, if you'll get the girls, we can be on our way. Please, after you,” Max said to Helen, picking up her medical bag.
***
General Nur pointed at a herd of elephants browsing on an island in the Sudd. The dominant bull whirled around to challenge the strange noise. He shook his ears and trunk like a dog shaking off water. The rest of the herd encircled him. In Arabic, Nur instructed his helicopter pilot to make a low pass. Chang gave him a thumbs-up response, but showed little enthusiasm. He reclined his head and closed his eyes. One hour later, the pilot flared to land in the middle of an Arab militia camp.
Ali Osman stooped to avoid the whirling rotor blades and helped General Nur and Nelson Chang exit the helicopter. The men came forward and gathered around them. Nur waited for the whining turbine to winddown before speaking. “In the name of Allah, today you will destroy
the black seed that has soiled our beloved country. You are doing God's work by exterminating the defilers. Feel no remorse in killing the infidels. Spare no woman or child, as their offspring will continue to plague this land.
“This man is a friend of the Sudanese people,” he continued, introducing Nelson Chang. “We will pay each of you twenty thousand dinars for the work you will do today, and we will pay the additional sum of two hundred thousand dinars to any man who brings us proof that he has killed one of these two Americans.” He passed out pictures of Arthur Turner and Jesse Spooner. “The Americans are sworn enemies of Islam.”
The assembled Arabs fired their weapons in the air and gave a trilling ovation. Osman dispersed his men and turned to Nur. “A scout has informed me the American known as the Khawadja is with the savages. The camp is undefended. The Prophet himself could not have designed a better place to trap the Zurgas. In the name of Allah, I pledge my life. My men will corner them like rats and cut them to pieces. If it pleases the general, I would like to postpone the attack until tomorrow morning.”
“Why not attack now?”
“Our camels and horses will have better footing in the wet morning sand. And the rising sun will be at our backs. They will be expecting an afternoon raid. Better to surprise them.”
Nur was conflicted by different motivations. The attraction of a soft bed and his mistress in Khartoum was potent. He was about to over-rule Ali when he envisioned Nelson Chang spending the night in the desert. He could almost hear him complaining. Witnessing Chang suffer was too good to pass up.
Nur's disfigured face twisted badly as he addressed Ali. “Osman, I may have underestimated your abilities. Your plan is excellent. I couldn't have designed it better myself. When this is finished, you should consider a career in the Sudanese Army. I have a place for a man with your talents.”
“I will order some of my men to construct a place for your sleeping,” Osman offered.
“Nonsense, we shall sleep under the stars with the rest of the men.” The general laughed inwardly at the thought of Nelson Chang sleeping in the open.
The Lion Killer (The Dark Continent Chronicles) Page 22