The Hundred Gram Mission (16 page)

One stepped around the sideways tank. A hatch opened and the driver tumbled out.

It picked him up, and flung him streets away.

The militia broke and ran. Cheering burst from Squads Two and Three, and they opened up on the fleeing men. Cai’s hearing slowly started returning. His assistant squad leader, Feng, came running up, smiling.

"We got them!" he seemed to whisper. 

Cai looked beyond him, down the road the militia had come.

"What about the last T-62!" he yelled.

Feng winced. "What about it?"

"My HUD and my radio are wrecked! Where is it!"

Feng pointed without passion, "Back there somewhere. Never made it past the corner."

"What!"

"I said it never made it past the corner!"

There was a deep rumbling. The men stopped and looked down the road. The X-45s in the street turned and looked.

The first X-45 disintegrated as the Abrams fired. The shockwave flung the second one aside, it crashed on to its back. Militia swarmed it, unloading their guns into the pilot. The Abrams shoved the wrecked T-62s aside like supermarket trolleys. Its matte black stealth panels slid away, and its AI-guns opened up.  Soldiers were smacked aside, blood spraying from their helmets and chests.

Cai and Feng crouched down in the dirt.

"How did we not know?" yelled Feng.

"It’s been jamming us, and matching a T-62’s signature!" Cai replied. "A little gift from the Egyptians!"

The main cannon fired again, the shock bounced them. 

"We can’t piece its armor! What do we do?" asked Feng.

"We run!" Cai got up on one knee, his other leg felt like jelly. Around him, men were already scattering, dragging wounded. Several men lay still, their bodies twisted.

"We run. We run and hope they chase us!"

"Sir?"

"We’re buying time for Xie to get out with the packages – the commissioner! If we can make it back to ‘11s, we can get out too."

"Sir!"

"What?"

"Your leg, Sir!"

He looked down. There was a gash in his fatigues, red pooled in the sand. He realized why he couldn’t stand.

"Oh for fuck’s sake."

The upgraded Abrams shoved the last tank aside and crushed its way forward. Cai stared down the barrel.

"Run, Feng."

"I will not, Sir."

He turned and smiled at him.

"Wish we had time for a cigarette."

The air shrieked above. Cai looked up, and saw a black wedge diving towards them.

He was knocked on his back by the explosion, dust and falling dirt filled his view. He felt Feng’s arm at his shoulder, pulling him up.

Fountaining black smoke, the Abram’s turret had been blown off. He looked up and saw the black wedge rising, and turning for another pass.

"Who’s is that? The Sudanese?"

"I don’t think so," said Feng. "That was a J-31, Shenyang. We didn’t sell them any."

From the east, they heard the drone of helicopters. They looked and saw four coming towards them. Most of the men started cheering and hugging each other.

"Sir!" a soldier came running up to them, his face a schoolyard full of smiles. "Sir! I can hear them all on my helmet radio, Sir!"

"That’s nice. You want to tell your sergeant and your corporal what the hell is going on?"

"They’re from the carrier
Liaoning
. The
Navy
is here!"

More men were cheering. Some of them started to sing. 

"Here," Feng handed him a cigarette. "You have time for one after all."

Chennai, India, 12 hours later

"Anjana Shetty, given the obvious danger, is the UN going to pull out of Sudan?"

"William Cartwright, BBC. What do you make of the Egyptian condemnation of the attack on your convoy?"

"Ms. Shetty, are you going to leave the UNHCR?"

Cameras flashed and boom mikes bobbed overhead.  News crews crammed around the hospital bed like bus commuters at rush hour.  The bed was raised so Anjana could sit up. The side table was piled high and spilling over with flowers. An IV drip went into one hand, Lakshmi Rao sat holding the other.

Anjana smiled weakly.

"I am not leaving the High Commission for Refugees. And the UN is not leaving Sudan. You have to understand, what just happened was not an outlier. Aid workers are attacked all the time. There is nothing safe about caring for refugees in Sudan. But also, we’re not safe talking about it, here in Chennai. Religious extremists can and will strike anywhere."

She cleared her throat and motioned to a pitcher. Camera flashes punctuated Rao holding a glass to the girl’s lips.

"Africa’s population has exploded," she continued. "Climate change has turned many croplands into deserts. Water wars will increase. Education, healthcare, clean government, these have become pipe dreams for many. The violent extremism I am a victim of, has been increasing in Africa and the Middle East, for fifty years. It will continue for another fifty.

"But we’re in this for the long haul. China has troops and America has drones, all over the world. Over a hundred nations are involved in peace keeping, nation building, and counter-terrorism. The world is in the greatest struggle it has ever known.

"Space is where we will win.  Every community resettled to an orbital habitat, is prospering. The more habitats we build, the more people we can lift – literally – out of poverty and hunger. That’s why I am not leaving. I have too much work to do."

She carefully turned to Rao, and the two hugged for the watching world.

"How did I do?" she whispered into Rao’s ear.

"Perfect," she whispered back, cameras flashing all around them. "Just perfect."

"Roshmita, how much longer are you going to sulk?"

The cozy kitchen smelled of fresh made, paneer rice. Above the counter a colonial-era cuckoo clock
ticked, tocked
.  A staring Shih Tzu sat beside the table, ignoring its own bowl in the corner. The young girl eating opposite Rao, gave her a dirty look. 

"Roshmita," Rao’s tone changed, "are you enjoying acting like a child? Are you trying to punish me? Cause it’s not working."

Roshmita looked down at her plate, but added a scowl to the experience.

"Darling, come on," Rao’s tone softened. "Please don’t do this. I love you very much, I did not try to or want to hurt you."

"I told you not to go," the teenager said at last.

"No one could have known that would happen."

"I knew it would happen!" she looked up, a glaring lion. "Isn’t your team worth anything? Aren’t they supposed to be smart? They didn’t see something like this coming? There’s a video out now of some imams putting a
fatwa
on you."

"I know about it, just ignore it. I’m a public figure; every public figure gets death threats."

"What is wrong with you?" the dog shrank back, startled. "You think what happened was random?  People tried to kill you, and when they failed, a holy call goes up on social media for some other asshole to ante up and try?
Someone is trying to kill you
."

The cuckoo clock filled their ears. The Shih Tzu made an exploratory whine. 

"I’m not going to go back there, Roshmita. Nothing like this will ever happen again. New York won’t allow it, even if I wanted to go to another warzone. We have bodyguards now, and the army has put up checkpoints on the street and near the office. No one is going to hurt me, darling. You have to believe this."

"What does it matter, helping refugees?"

"What?"

"What does it matter? For every person you send up, ten more hate you for being left behind. They blame
you
for their problems. Not themselves. Not a bunch of rich, dead, men from a century ago. You want that? Ama, just leave it. To hell with it."

"Roshmita, we can’t run from the world’s problems when they’re our problems, too. This city is half underwater. People in this country are hungry. If I just thought of myself – of ourselves – what kind of world would I be leaving to you? I’d be no better than my parent’s generation. I have a duty of care to you. I can’t just stop because it’s hard."

"You don’t think staying alive is part of that duty?"

"What happened in Sudan was a fluke. Even if someone is actually trying to kill me, they will never have an opportunity like that again. And we had the Chinese with us. They protected us. They gave their
lives
to save us."

"And how does that make you feel?"

Rao stopped and said nothing.

"What about your aide, Anjana Shetty?"

"Poor girl, she won’t be able to walk again without a cane.  She needs stem cell injections, it will take months before the nerves all grow back. Then the doctors say she’ll have a chance to walk normally again."

Roshmita shook her head. "I can’t believe you.  You think
that’s
what I wanted to know?"

"Well, what then?"

"Let’s put aside that your choices put her in danger. What was all that shit with you holding hands with her in the hospital? All that noble cock about ‘I will never stop, this is the long haul’?"

"Don’t you use language like that around me, young lady."

Her eyes slitted.  "I’d rather swear at my mother, than use someone’s injuries to play politics. You pitched her as a martyr, another Malala Yousefzai. You have men all over the planet jumping up and down. The brave, beautiful, girl with the big eyes that terrorists tried to murder! And what does she talk about from her hospital bed? Orbital habitats! Our last great hope! Have you no shame Ama? Have you
any fucking shame?
"

"Roshmita! I won’t warn you again!"

"Or what?" Roshmita got up.

"
Sit down!
"

"Or
what
? You’ll get someone else crippled to save the loving Human Race?"

"You horrible, horrible child. All you can think of is yourself."

Roshmita’s eyes filled. She stormed out of the kitchen, then Rao heard the front door slamming.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The Shih Tzu whined again, and put its paws up on her knee.

Abdul Kareem Al-Rashid, II

Zinjibar, Abyan Governorate, Yemen

"I don’t understand. Hisham failed. Why are you rewarding him?"

In the courtyard, an elderly man was feeding some goats. Children screeched and giggled, and ran across the grass and were gone. A large portrait of the Ka’aba hung over an archway.

"Wahlid, Sudan landed in our laps," replied Kareem. "An opportunity that was not of our making. It was high risk, but I decided it was worth it. Hisham did what he could. The failure is mine to bear. I made the decision to chance it."

"That’s it?" his son threw up his hands. 

"Yes, that’s it. Now this Indian group we found is much better placed. They’re all nationals so they can move around freely. Parts of India are very chaotic – they can operate from a slum a few streets from her, and no one will ever know."

Wahlid shook his head. "The Eritreans have been at war for three years –and they were incompetent. Hisham even got them a modernized tank, and they still failed. How is an untested Indian group we’ve not heard of, going to do better?"

"Do you feel you have a better idea?"

"Yes! Send me!"

"You?" he suppressed the smile, but not the frown.

"Yes, Father. Me.  I’ve been to Pakistan, to Kashmir. I know the culture, I can even speak some Hindi. It’s just like Urdu. Give me four men and I’ll kill everyone in her office."

Kareem said nothing. He turned his back and poured himself some red tea. Cardamoms and fennel floated to the top, cluttering his reflection.

"So, what do you think?" asked the boy.

Kareem sipped his tea. "The language they speak in Chennai isn’t Hindi, it’s Tamil. Chennai is in India’s southernmost state. Kashmir is its
northernmost
state. How can you say you know the culture? You don’t even know the map."

Wahlid scowled.

"This is why I want to work with the Indians. They have local knowledge and assets. We can give them equipment, resources, training. In partnership we can do far more than we could on our own, Wahlid."

"Partnership? Like our partnership with Sukarno? Outsiders only help us as far as it advances them to do so. Once they have all they need, they abandon us, or worse. We should have learned that lesson. Why do you rushing to repeat it?"

"Sukarno had his own vision, that’s true. In the short run, working with him was an expensive and bitter failure. In the long run though, it was helpful. We need to worry about the long run, Wahlid. The 21
st
century is the great fast. Its hardships are awakening our fellow Moslems. With that in mind, consider our legacy in South East Asia."