The Lion Killer (The Dark Continent Chronicles) (29 page)

A
li Osman waited for his men to end their morning prayers. The men rolled up their prayer rugs and tucked them behind their saddles. Ali walked down the line of Arabs standing at attention. He stopped to examine each man's weapon. Some of them had decorated their horses' rope halters with red-and-black tassels. The horses pranced restlessly. The camel riders rubbed their animal's necks to reassure them.

The Africans called them, “the faceless devils of the night.” They were dressed in dark robes. Black turbans covered their heads and faces. Their eyes remained hidden. Ammunition bandoliers crisscrossed their chests. Some of them wore long, hooked knives with ornately carved handles. Satisfied with his inspection, Ali mounted his kneeling camel. The men followed him into the desert.

***

The Sudanese helicopter pilots used flashlights to complete their preflight inspections. The flickering campfire illuminated the snarling lion's head on the general's command helicopter.

General Nur felt revitalized after sleeping in the desert. He could hardly contain himself as he watched Nelson Chang wading towards him in the sand. Nur had given Chang a midnight dissertation on identifying poisonous snakes and scorpions. When the general learned that Chang was up all night, he was delighted.

“I trust you rested well?” The general asked Chang who grunted, but didn't answer.

Chang asked his own question. “How long before you attack?”

“In two hours, it will all be over. The savages will scatter when the first shot is fired. They have no stomach for fighting. It might take us a few hours to round up and kill the survivors. My helicopter should have you back at your hotel in Khartoum before sundown.”

“I'm only interested in the two Americans. Make sure your men bring me proof.”

“Their fate has been written. If the Americans are with the
Zurgas
, they're dead men.”

Chang's stomach grumbled. The general smiled as he watched Chang walk to the edge of the camp. When he heard Chang interrupt his urinating to break wind, he had to choke back a belly laugh.

***

Arthur woke Rigby before dawn. His news caused Rigby to explode in rage. He paced back and forth like a caged leopard, chiding himself and cursing the other men. Sometime during the night, Max Turner and his bodyguard had stolen a Land Rover and sneaked out of the camp. To make things worse they stole two M-24 sniper rifles. Arthur apologized for his father's cowardice, but Rigby took the blame. The loss of the firearms had a devastating effect on the defenders' morale.

Jesse put his hand on Rigby's shoulder. “At least we still have the fifties.”

Rigby lit a cigarette and offered one to Jesse, who declined it. “I dreamed of Sam last night. He was trying to tell me something, but for the life of me I can't make heads or tails out of it.” He inhaled deeply then let the exhaled smoke drift to check the wind direction.

“By God, I've got it! Help me,” he yelled at Dutchy, picking up one of the fifty-calibers. They scrambled down the sand dune's face. Some of the refugees met them at the bottom to help carry the ammunition cases.

“Arthur, if you were gonna hide during the attack, where's the safest place?” Rigby asked, leaning forward to hear his answer. “Underneath one of the vehicles. The trucks are the only valuable assets. It's a big deal to capture an undamaged Land Rover.”

Rigby needed to make a change in the camp's defenses. He ordered the men to park the two Land Rovers in plain view at opposite ends of the camp. He was betting the attack helicopters wouldn't fire on the trucks. The Arabs would have already inventoried the trucks and would be including them as part of their spoils. His plan was to station Jesse and Dutchy behind the trucks in the open, armed with the Barrett fifties.

Jesse was troubled by Rigby's last minute change in his firing position. “I think the easiest shot for me would be a head on shot. Let's assume the helicopters will be flying directly at me. It would be a level shot if I stayed on top of the dune.”

“You're wrong. Sam talked to me in a dream last night. It would be like trying to shoot a charging lion with a straighton head shot. Your target size is too small. Besides, most of the armor plating is in the nose. We need to give you a broadside shot. I'm betting the helicopters will hover right about there.” He simultaneously pointed out two spots, one with each hand.

“So, your plan is based on a dream?” Jesse asked Rigby.

“I'll tell you what Sam used to tell me. He used to say, ‘You're not a real African. There are some things you'll never understand.' If my plan works, we'll catch them in a crossfire.”

“And if it doesn't?”

“Never show indecision going into battle. It weakens the soldiers' fighting spirit.”

“What soldiers?”

“What the hell happened to humor in the face of peril?”

***

Abel tapped Croxford on the shoulder. When he didn't turn around, Tabitha pushed Abel to be more insistent. “Not now, Deng. Can't you see I'm busy?”

Arthur Turner interceded on Deng's behalf. “Rigby, I think you should hear what he has to say.”

Deng told him about how they found Osman dying in the Sudd. He described how they treated the Arab's head wound. He also detailed their violent encounter with him in the desert. Croxford listened politely, but showed little interest in Deng's story until he mentioned the rumor about the Arab being heralded as a religious prophet by the Janjaweed.

“You're telling me the Arabs believe this Osman is protected by Allah?” When Abel and Tabitha both nodded affirmatively, he continued. “So if we shoot the bastard, the rest of them might lose a little of their enthusiasm. Well, it's a long shot—figuratively speaking. Could either of you recognize Osman?”

“I could,” Tabitha snapped, stepping forward. “He rides a light-colored war camel. His yellow saddle blanket is decorated with red ribbons.”

“We need an edge. This just might turn the fight in our favor. I want both of you to stay close to me. Your job will be to identify Osman. Oh, there's one more thing we need to discuss. Arthur, we could damn sure use your help.”

“Just tell me what to do.”

***

As the grayish dawn shrugged off the night, Abel pointed at a tiny speck wavering on the horizon. As it came within binocular range, they recognized it as a green Islamic pennant carried by a camel rider. A Dinka tribesman blew a bull's horn to alert the camp. The deep, reverberating sound had a chilling effect on the refugees. They looked like a nest of disturbed fire ants as they ran to take up their assigned positions. Two attack helicopters popped up over a sand dune. A third helicopter hovered slightly higher in the middle. Their spewing exhaust fumes mildly distorted the image, but the three wingless machines resembled angry wasps.

As the Janjaweed got closer, they fanned out into a broad battlefront line with the slower camels in the middle and the swifter horses on the flanks. Their pace was a slow, plodding walk. Osman was careful not to expend the animals' energy too early, knowing the footing would be difficult in the desert sand. The attack helicopters flew zigzag patterns over the outer reaches of the camp to discourage any refugees from fleeing. At first, the general's command helicopter stayed behind the advancing raiders. But his pent-up lust for bloodshed caused the general to order his pilot to fly nearer to the action. When he noticed Nelson Chang squirming in the backseat, he ordered his pilot to fly even closer.

The Arabs stopped on a rise. Osman and the two militia commanders rode up and down the battle line exhorting their men. One helicopter made an initial strafing run down the first line of resistance. The machine-gun bullets kicked up sand before striking two tribesmen. Armed refugees fired their rifles, but the helicopter was flying too fast. Rigby grimaced watching them waste ammunition.

The Arabs raised their rifles and kicked their animals into a slow trot that quickly converted into a gallop. They used trilling war cries to petrify the Africans. Usually their screaming would scatter their victims, but not this time.

When Rigby sensed his men's resolve weakening, he climbed out of the ditch and screamed back at the Arabs. He raced up and down the ditch, inciting his men to taunt the attackers. His belligerence was contagious. Some men hooted and hollered insults. A couple of them pulled up their robes and bared their asses at their adversaries. The rest of the refugees got caught up in the show of defiance. Their rumbling roar startled the Arabs, causing them to slow their charge back to a trot.

Rigby jumped down into the ditch. The closest attacker was the man carrying the green Islamic flag. The bullet hit the man high on the shoulder knocking him out of his saddle. The startled camel bucked and kicked in protest. The shock of seeing their flag bearer go down slowed their charge to a walk. The leaders began threatening their men, pressing them forward. The Janjaweed had blinked. The hesitation caused the lead helicopter to overrun the militiamen.

Dutchy swung his Barrett fifty like a fly swatter, but he made the error of zeroing in on a target too close. The nearness of the helicopter made its image unfocused. He fired aimlessly without success. Jesse, more familiar with the weapon, opted to forgo firing at the helicopter flying directly overhead and concentrated on the same one Dutchy was trying to hit.

C'mon Spooner, you can do this, he thought. He kept the optical range finder locked on the helicopter's turbine engine. He was careful not to flinch from the anticipated kick of the big gun. He squeezed the trigger with increasing pressure. The muzzle flash obscured his target. “How could you miss?” he yelled at himself.

But he didn't miss. White smoke trailed the helicopter as the Chinese pilot fought to regain directional control. It yawed slightly before narrowly missing a sand dune. The pilot noticed a drop in the rotor thrust. He scanned the gauges before instinctively pulling the collective pitch lever up and pushing the nose over to land. The helicopter slammed into the desert floor. The crash wasn't violent enough to produce an explosion. From a distance, the landing appeared normal and didn't discourage the Arabs.

Rigby fired his sniper rifle. He knocked three Arabs out of their saddles so fast they almost hit the ground at the same time. Abel and Tabitha reloaded his weapon as fast as they could and handed it back to him. He fired six more times before he missed. The miss made him curse himself. He was accurate again, hitting three more attackers.

When Osman realized the shots were coming from the top of the sand dunes, he ordered fire on Rigby's position. The incoming rounds kicked up sand.

The raiders were beginning to overwhelm the defenders. The Arabs breached the first line of defense and rode into the center of the camp firing at the fleeing refugees. Men from both sides went down.

Dutchy grabbed his .570 nitro express and ran straight at the attackers. His discharge scattered the Arabs, but as the smoke cleared they encircled him.

Smoke from the burning tents blanketed the camp. Rigby used his scope to scan for targets. He saw Arthur kneeling over a wounded man with Dutchy standing next to him. Through the smoke, he saw a man riding a camel towards Turner. Tabitha grabbed his elbow causing him to lose the image. “That's him!” she screamed pointing at Osman. She stood up to point, but Abel pulled her down.

When Rigby refocused, he realized Dutchy was trying to reload. In the same view, he saw Osman kick his camel into a trot. Osman raised his AK-47 to fire point blank into Arthur's back, but Dutchy used his rifle as a club and smacked him in the face. He slumped over in his saddle for a second, then fell, unconscious, at Turner's feet. Rigby dropped two more Arabs trying to sneak in behind Arthur. Dutchy turned and fired at an onrushing Arab without bringing his weapon to his shoulder. The blast lifted the man up into a cloud of white smoke.

Having seen one of his helicopters crash, General Nur pressed his own pilot into the fight. The helicopter zoomed in over the camp. The pilot turned up into the wind and hovered at the exact spot Rigby had predicted. He banked as he prepared to launch his missiles into the refugees cowering at the base of the sand dunes. Rigby was so close he could see Nur and Nelson Chang glaring at him. He fired his rifle, but the small caliber rounds ricocheted off the armored fuselage. “Come on, Jesse!” he screamed.

It was a perfect shot for Jesse. He used the snarling lion's shoulder as his target. When the incendiary round exploded, it blew shrapnel into the pilot. A muscle contraction made him yank back on the control stick, putting the helicopter into a spinning vertical climb. Billowing black smoke poured out of the windows. Both Nur and Chang wrestled to take control away from the pilot, but his death grip was iron-tight. The helicopter floated momentarily, rolled over on its back, then death-spiraled to the ground. It exploded in an orange fireball.