PRIMAL Vengeance (3) (18 page)

       "I think you got their attention," said Bishop over the radio.

       "Yes, sorry about that."

       The fire slackened off, dwindling to a trickle, and then stopped. The Janjaweed trucks continued their advance, following the buggies, all the machine gunners vigilant for another attack. The convoy started moving through the narrow gap between the river and the ridgeline.

       "OPEN FIRE!" screamed Garang, depressing the trigger of his PKM. His men opened up with rockets and automatic bursts, sending a stream of lead down onto the Janjaweed.

       Bishop fired his AK between two rocks, staying behind cover as the Janjaweed responded with even heavier fire than before. Chinese heavy machine gun rounds smashed into the SFF positions. The men had prepared them well, digging into the rock with shovels, using sandbags to reinforce, and camouflaging them with rocks and vegetation.

       Next to Bishop a Dinka fighter with a RPG sat up to fire a rocket and a round hit him with a wet slap. He disintegrated as it impacted, spraying his remains across the rest of the terrified fighters.

       In the background Mirza's rifled boomed time and time again, spitting high-velocity rounds with lethal accuracy. Bishop hunkered behind his rocks and shifted his view from the immediate battle to the rear of the convoy. Through his powerful binoculars he watched a large truck swing off the track. Men piled out the back of it, carrying equipment. It was well outside of their weapons' range, at least three kilometers away.

       The convoy of Janjaweed had slowed to a standstill, however the weight of return fire began to overwhelm the SFF defenses. The heavy machineguns on the Chinese-built gun buggies out-ranged the SFF weapons, and their large caliber rounds smashed through the rock and sandbag protection of their positions. Mirza and Jonjo's group were getting hit particularly hard; higher up, their position was more exposed and easier to identify. Only the bravest of the SFF fighters were still returning fire. After the death of the rocketeer, most did not dare to lift their head above cover.

       "Ground crew, this is Dragonfly. I'm two minutes out and coming in fast." Mitch broadcast.

       "Roger, Dragonfly," Bishop said. "Things are getting pretty heavy here. You need to be in and out sharpish."

       "Not real keen to be on the ground long, old man." responded Mitch.

       Jess's voice came through on the radio. She was waiting at the soccer field, the remaining women and children with her. "We're ready to go, Mitch. Just get her down and I'll do the rest."

       "Roger. Coming in fast."

***

       Sagrib got behind the heavy machine gun mounted to his buggy, swinging the long barrel up to the high ground. The enemy sniper had killed his own gunner, forcing him to take over. He depressed the double triggers and the QJG heavy machine gun rocked the buggy as it unleashed a volley of rounds. His men were blasting away at the rocky feature, chewing up rounds. They needed to suppress or clear these positions so he could push forward into the village itself. He stopped firing to lift his radio to his face. "WHERE THE HELL ARE MY MORTARS?" he screamed.

       "Firing now," was the reply from the mortar line.

       Three large explosions blossomed out of the bush to the right of the convoy, well short of the intended target. Shrapnel whistled over Sagrib's head. "Idiots," muttered the Janjaweed commander.

       "Add 100, walk the rounds onto the target," he passed to his Chinese-trained mortar crew over the radio.

       The next volley of bombs were still at least 300 meters short, but in line. He grinned. The mortars would walk forward and push the Dinka scum from the high ground down into the village, pounding everything to smithereens. His men would sweep forward and clean up what was left.

***

       "MORTARS!" screamed Garang. Dust mushroomed up on the grassy plain far in front of them. "We need to withdraw!

       He made to stand but Bishop held him down. "We're not going yet. They still need to adjust and we need to buy Mitch more time!"

       Another volley of rounds crumped in, even closer than the last.

       "Mirza, make ready to pull your team out," Bishop transmitted.

       The sniper's .338 boomed again from up the ridgeline. "Mirza here. Good to go when you are."

       Down on the track the Janjaweed vehicles had slackened their fire. The gunners were conserving their ammunition, waiting for the mortars to finish the job. Bishop's team continued to fire on the vehicles. Out of rockets, they were limited to bursts of AK and PKM fire, inaccurate compared to Mirza's deadly .338.

       "Jess, this is Dragonfly. Thirty seconds out," Mitch's voice came over the radio.

       None of the fighters on the ridgeline could hear the tilt rotor as it descended on the village. The noise of gunfire blocked it out.

       "Make it snappy, Mitch. We need to pull out," Bishop yelled into his mike.

       Another volley of high explosives landed less than a hundred meters away. Dust and smoke swept their position like a cloud, obscuring them from the vehicles below.

       "All teams pull back," ordered Bishop.

       Garang and his men did not need to be told twice. Under the cover of the smoke and dust, they turned and sprinted from the high ground. They followed a goat track that wound down towards the back of the village and up to the defensive positions they had prepared at the high ground to the rear. Mirza's .338 boomed for a final time as his group pulled back, dropping behind the ridgeline, out of view from the approaching Janjaweed.

       As the SFF sprinted back, Mirza and Jonjo broke away, running down towards the first line of huts. Bishop did the same thing, hitting the edge of the village hot on their heels. Dragonfly was on the soccer pitch, it's giant propellers beating the air as Jess hurried the final villagers into the hold. The downblast of the rotors lashed her with dust as she threw the last child through the door and dove in behind him.

       Bishop sprinted into the first cluster of huts where Mirza, Jonjo and a four-man fire team were waiting. "Take cover," he screamed, sliding into one of the hastily dug fox holes.

       The tilt rotor lifted off as the first mortar rounds hit the edge of the village. The blast wave lifted the aircraft off the ground and shrapnel sliced through the air around it. For a split second it lingered in the air, almost as if it would fall, then with a roar the blades tipped forward and it accelerated across the river and out of harms way. Tracer fire arced after it, falling short as it gained speed and disappeared over the horizon, trailing a thin line of black smoke.

       "See ya soon, guys," broadcast Bishop as he hunkered down in the bottom of his shallow hole.

       "Keep your head down, old man, and I'll see you soon for a Guinness," responded Mitch before he was out of radio range.

***

       "They're running," said Sagrib to his mortar team. "Increase your rate of fire. Drop everything you have!"

       Mortar bombs whistled overhead, landing inside the Dinka village. Dust and smoke ballooned up out of the bowl of death as the high explosives pummeled it.

       Between blasts Sagrib could hear the sound of aircraft engines. He slewed his gun from the ridgeline to the direction of the sound. A strange-looking aircraft raced out of the smoke. He thumbed the triggers of his machine gun and sent a stream of heavy caliber shells racing towards the target. The airplane gathered speed and disappeared over the treetops. The Americans had fled, he thought, leaving the Dinka to fend for themselves.

       As the Janjaweed mortars pounded the little village, Sagrib prepared his vehicles for the final assault. His four remaining Chinese buggies would lead. Bristling with heavy weapons, they would clean up what the mortars had missed. Next would come the dismounts; almost a hundred Janjaweed would sort through the scraps.

       He grinned as the mortars rained down hell on the village. In the dust he could see mud huts exploding as they were hit. He imagined the shrapnel slicing through the bodies of Dinka women and children. Today was a good day, he thought.

***

       Bishop's day was not going so well. He was lying in the bottom of his shell scrape as high explosives slammed into the earth around him. The explosions threw shrapnel into the mud-brick walls, the blast blowing the flimsy structures apart.

       "Garang, any chance you can get a shot on those tubes?" he screamed over the radio as a bomb exploded near him, showering everything in dirt.

       "Negative. They are out of range. Even from the other side of the ridgeline we couldn't reach them."

       More mortar rounds rained down on the village as Bishop, Mirza, Jonjo and the other SFF men weathered the turmoil and the earth shook. They could scarcely believe the amount of ordnance the Janjaweed was throwing at them.

       "This is less than pleasant." Mirza still sounded deadly calm.

       "I'm beginning to think this part of the plan sucks balls," replied Bishop between blasts.

       "You always have such a way with words," joked Mirza."

       Jonjo looked at the two like they were mad.

       A scream filled the air as one of the SFF cracked. He jumped out of his protective hole and sprinted away.

       Bishop cautiously peered over the edge of his scrape, saw the man and swore. A mortar bomb ploughed into the earth in front of the soldier, flinging him through the air like a rag doll. He landed in a crumpled heap ten meters from their pits.

       It was Mirza who leapt from safety and grabbed the man by the shoulder straps of his webbing. He dragged him as fast as he could, pulling him as he struggled backwards toward his shell scrape. He was only meters from safety when a bomb exploded directly in the hole. The blast threw him forwards, slamming him into the ground and knocking him unconscious.

***

       As Mirza lay immobilized the men on the mortar line were preparing to drop another brace of rounds down their tubes. The three Chinese-built 82mm mortars were lined up in a clearing two kilometers from the village. The Janjaweed crew was being supervised by a pair of Yang's Chinese mercenaries. They helped make adjustments to the deadly weapons while the Arabs dropped the milk bottle-sized rounds into the tube.

       "Fire!" screamed one of the mercenaries.

       Bombs slid down the tubes, hitting the spigot in the bottom and detonated with a loud crump, the projectile launched skyward by the blast.  Within a few seconds the bombs landed inside the village and the Arabs rushed to prepare more rounds.

       They worked quickly, taking turns to rest as they unloaded the mortar bombs from the PETROCON heavy truck, prepared the charge bags and fuses, and then passed them down the line to fire. Consumed by the task at hand, ears deafened by the constantly firing mortars, none of them noticed the predator sneaking in behind them.

       The 7.62mm minigun that hung from Dragonfly's nose was a recent modification. The aircraft was designed to be a business jet, not a gunship. Mitch had added it more to facilitate hot extractions than any intent to hunt targets on the battlefield, but today, hunt it did.

       Belching flame, the gun raked the mortar position with tracer and lead. A long burst danced across the mortar tubes and their crews, chewing men into mince and equipment into confetti. A second burst tore the Chinese truck to shreds, detonating the stacks of mortar bombs it was carrying. The explosion was enormous. In the blink of an eye the entire mortar crew was obliterated. A massive blast wave rocked the tilt-rotor and the aircraft hovered for a second before it continued forward, following the track towards the village.

       "Good shooting, Jess. How much change have we got left?" Mitch asked the doctor sitting in the aircraft's co-pilot seat. "Number should be in the bottom right of the screen."

       "500, give or take a few."

       "Enough for one pass." The British pilot tipped the stick forward. "We're going in hard and fast. It's up to you to make them count."

       Jess nodded, focusing her attention on the gun camera's LED screen, a red cross-hair showing where the rounds would land. Her finger pressed the trigger gently, taking up the slack. She had been surprised by how simple the system was to use. It had taken literally seconds for Mitch to explain it. She simply pulled the trigger and the ballistics computer ensured the bullets landed on target; not dissimilar to the games her first boyfriend used to play on his console. She had never been that good at them, but now she was making a reasonable showing and freed up Mitch to concentrate on getting them in and out in one piece.

***

       Sagrib waved his men forward, leading the assault from his gun buggy. He had lost communications with the mortar team, but it didn't matter. They had done their job; the village was a smoking ruin. His gun buggies were leading, dismounted infantry fanning out on either side of the track. The four-wheel drives brought up the rear. The whole formation moved forward at a fast trot so that the foot soldiers could keep up.

       "Behind us; an aircraft!" warned one of his men. Sagrib spun his machine gun to the rear. A sound like a swarm of giant mechanical bees filled the air. Rounds stitched the ground and the tilt-rotor thundered over. One of the jeeps bounced as the line of bullets smashed through it, splattering the crew all over the surrounding infantry. Sagrib tracked the fast-moving craft, his heavy machine gun bucking as he sent automatic fire streaming towards the target. The small plane seemed to lurch as a number of rounds struck its body. Then it was gone; out of range.

       Sagrib surveyed the damage. Despite the overwhelming firepower, the aircraft had achieved little. One of his four-wheel drives was knocked out of action and no doubt the mortar crew was dead, but he still had most of his foot soldiers. He yelled out to his men and kicked the back of his driver's seat to get them moving. The fight would continue.