The Peacemakers (13 page)

Allston sucked in his breath. She was one of those women who looked beautiful in hats. Vermullen studied the two officers. There was no doubt that Allston liked what he saw, and she was a welcome contrast to the wiry and intense maintenance officer, Susan Malaby. “Welcome to Bumfuck South,” Allston said.

Jill pushed the hat back and let it hang between her shoulder blades like she had seen others do. She stood. “Thank you, gentlemen. Please excuse me, but I have a report to write.” She walked out, leaving a wake of silence.

Allston hit the ‘page down’ button as he read Jill’s preliminary report on the incident at Wer Ping. It was amazingly concise and complete. She had gotten the operation absolutely right, and, as she was not an aviator, that impressed him. “I wish I could write half as good,” he told her.

“Thank you, sir. I had a lot of practice in Afghanistan debriefing missions.”

“I appreciate you showing me this,” he said. He knew that she was under no obligation to show him the report of investigation. “Will you go final with this?”

“I need to interview the UN relief mission in Addis Ababa before I do that.”

“I’ll lay on a C-130 to take you there ASAP. Don’t wear ABUs.”

“I don’t have a Class-A uniform,” she said. “My other bag hasn’t caught up with me.”

“Well, good luck with that one.” He smiled at her perplexed look. “Our masters in Addis Abba are not used to seeing a working uniform.” He changed the subject. “I hope you don’t mind sharing a trailer with Colonel Malaby and Captain Jenkins.” They were the only other female officers in the detachment.

“It’s okay,” she said. “The other girls are all sharing one of the smaller tents.”

“Well, there is safety in numbers.” Psychologists have different names for the problem of fraternization on isolated assignments, which Allston preferred to think of as ‘the only available woman syndrome.’ Most women officers had no trouble handling the attention that came their way, but young girls on their first enlistment often fell victim to the situation and got into trouble, pregnancy being the most common result. He wasn’t running a Club Med and knew the havoc a bikini could cause.

Jill sensed what was bothering him. “Not to worry, sir. The studs have all been identified.” She was honest with herself and admitted that under different circumstances, and in a different place, she would be interested in the tall and lanky lieutenant colonel. Very interested. But their differences in rank and position were insurmountable barriers, and she had heard of his reputation. “Besides, I’ve seen what pair bonding can do to a unit.”

Allston was even more impressed. Like the Marines, she understood it was loyalty to your buddies and your outfit that mattered in combat, and that a pair bonding of any kind weakened that loyalty, usually with one result – increased casualties. “Good luck in Addis and hurry back. We can use an Intel officer around here.”

SEVEN

Wer Ping

B
ermaNur reined in his horse and joined the other recruits at the rear when the large band of Janjaweed entered the village. He was resigned to the dust and the biting jabs at his manhood the veterans flung at him because he was certain that Allah’s wrath would descend on his tormentors and he would be raised high above them. The teenager made a show of it and imitated Jahel’s laughing manner and the way he rode his horse. Unfortunately, BermaNur’s mount sensed the teenager’s exhilaration and responded, prancing and kicking in excitement, making it hard to control the animal. BermaNur sawed viciously at the reins as the other recruits laughed, adding to his chagrin. He ignored them for, regardless, he was riding with the Fursan, the cavaliers of the Baggara. Nothing else mattered and he was where he belonged. His honor had been restored. In his euphoric state, he didn’t understand that Jahel had changed his tactics and was massing the Janjaweed to challenge the Americans and the French peacekeepers. In Jahel’s scheme of things, the recruits were cannon fodder.

Jahel stopped at an open area and pointed out the nineteen patches of dark, blood-stained earth that stretched out in a neat row. Many of the stakes that bound the men were still in the ground. He laughed when he described how the men had begged for mercy and then shrieked in pain when they had been emasculated and left to bleed out. Each pool of blood marked where a man had died. “We found a way to stop their screaming,” Jahel said, relishing the memory.

“Who buried the vermin?” a rider asked.

“The French pigs,” Jahel replied. “They buried everything, even the animals. But we will not bury them.” He laughed. “We will leave them for the jackals.” He nudged his horse and cantered deeper into the destroyed village, finally stopping at the charred remains of a hut. He spoke in the boring voice of a teacher as he described how two girls and their mother had been raped and then burned alive in their home. “It was a tiring day proving our manhood.” He laughed. “BermaNur, be patient. You will have your chance.” He moved on. BermaNur ignored the patronizing jibe and paused as he rode by the hut. He had never had a woman and he breathed heavily in anticipation. His brow furrowed as his eyes swept the blackened remains of the hut. It looked vaguely familiar, but he never made the connection that his mother and sister lived in one just like it. He moved on, following the others.

Jahel shouted in jubilation when a white C-130 flew past the village as it descended. “It will lead us to the Dinka!” He spurred his horse into a gallop and led the Janjaweed out of the village, following the aircraft.

Near Wer Ping

Bard Green turned two miles short of the village and rolled the Hercules out on a heading of 125 degrees. It was his first solo mission as an aircraft commander and he was worried. He couldn’t find the relief camp. “They said it was ten miles southeast of Wer Ping,” the copilot said. “It should be on the nose.”

The flight engineer unbuckled his seatbelt and stood with his head against the overhead panel to get a better view of the terrain. A hot wind was driving dust into billowing, rolling ripples along the ground. “Eleven o’clock,” he said. “North of the river. Two clearings shaped like a dumbbell.”

“Tallyho,” Green said. He gave a thumbs-down gesture indicating they were going to land, and called for the before landing checklist. Green entered a tight orbit around the clearings. Now he could make out an area that had been cleared of brush and rocks for a landing strip. It was short and narrow but he could land. “Damn, where did all the people come from?” Tribesmen were streaming out of the bush and blocking the landing strip. “Where do they expect us to land?”

“Fly a low approach,” the copilot said. “They’ll get the idea.”

“Flaps fifty percent,” Green called, slowing the Hercules to approach speed. He turned final and descended to 200 feet as he flew over the startled tribesmen. Their upturned faces were a blur, but the flight crew had all experienced the look of hunger and despair that haunted their existence. “On the go,” Green called, fire walling the throttles. He circled to the left so he could see. “I think they got the idea.”

“I don’t know,” the copilot said. “Do we have enough room?”

Green studied the makeshift landing strip. “Yeah, I think so.” The copilot rechecked the landing gear and placed his left hand over Green’s right hand on the throttle quadrant. Green flew the Hercules onto the exact spot where he wanted to land and planted the big aircraft in a controlled crash. The main gear absorbed the landing shock as he slammed the nose down. He jerked the throttles aft and lifted them over the detent, throwing the props into reverse to drag the big cargo aircraft to a stop.

Suddenly, the Hercules jerked and skidded to the right, running off the packed dirt landing strip. “Differential thrust!” the flight engineer shouted over the intercom. One of the propellers on the left had not gone into reverse, which let the two propellers on the right create more drag, flinging them to the right. Both pilot’s hands bounced off the throttles, and before Green could regain control, they hit a large boulder, shearing off the nose gear.

Green managed to grab the throttles and throw all props out of reverse as they skidded into the fleeing tribesmen. They felt a quick series of bumps before running over a four-foot deep depression in the ground. The left wing dipped down and the outboard propeller hit the ground. The recoil of the impact rocked the plane to the right and the right wing went down causing that outboard propeller to strike the ground. But this time a prop blade shattered and ricocheted into the wing, puncturing the fuel tank. Fuel streamed out as the Hercules rocked back to the left. The right wing lifted high into the air as the fuel ignited and the left wing crumpled under the impact. The aircraft came down again as the nose plowed into a deep gully. Now the tail came up and stood the Hercules on its nose. For a fraction of a second it stood there, poised on the verge of going over. Then it fell back on its belly, still right side up as flames engulfed the right wing.

Staff Sergeant Loni Williams was strapped into a parachute jump seat on the cargo deck and the first to react. The moment the aircraft stopped moving, he was out of his seat and checked on the loadmaster, Louise Colvin. She was stunned but conscious. Williams grabbed her by the arms and dragged her over the cargo pallets to the crew entrance door aft of the flight deck. He pulled the emergency handle and jettisoned the door. He pushed her out and crawled onto the flight deck as smoke filled the aircraft. The two pilots and the flight engineer were slumped forward, bloody and unconscious. Williams pulled the flight engineer back, released his straps, and heaved him towards the ladder leading to the crew entrance door. “Lou!” he bellowed. “Gimme a hand!” Williams was all motion as he did the same with the copilot. Now he was coughing and couldn’t see as he fumbled for Green who was still strapped into the left seat. He managed to drag him out of his seat and over the flight engineer and copilot who were lying on the deck.

Williams scrambled down the ladder still holding onto Green and threw him out the open crew entrance. He turned and reached into the smoke that had engulfed the flight deck. He grabbed both men and pulled for all he was worth. He stumbled out the hatch backwards dragging the two men and tripped over the inert Green who was still lying on the ground. “Lou! Get your ass over here!” He dragged the copilot and flight engineer clear of the smoke billowing out of the aircraft as the loadmaster came running back. “About fuckin’ time!”

Williams fell to his knees coughing and retching from smoke inhalation. He looked up as the loadmaster disappeared into the crew entrance door. A moment later, she emerged out of the smoke carrying a first aid kit and her survival vest. Together, they carried the two pilots and flight engineer to safety.