The Peacemakers (54 page)

“Boss, I ain’t got a clue.”

Allston gave the sergeant his best grin. “Play it by ear.” He climbed into the pilot’s seat and cranked the turboprop to life as he adjusted his NVGs. He glanced back at Williams to see if he was ready. The sergeant was sitting Buddha-like sideways on the cargo deck, the tie down strap across his lap, and facing out the left side of the aircraft. The Shipon was clutched tightly to his chest. “You ready?” Allston shouted.

“Do I have to do this?” a very worried Williams shouted back.

Allston ignored him and pushed the throttle forward. The Porter roared out of the hangar straight ahead, across the parking ramp. Allston pulled back on the stick and they broke free of the ground before reaching the runway. They climbed into the night.

Beck’s aim was good and the Shipon hit the tank on the driver’s side. A secondary explosion washed over the legionnaires huddled in the DFP as an artillery round cooked off inside the tank. A pillar of flame lit the night. Vermullen snapped up his NVGs, lifted his head above the revetment, and quickly scanned the scene in front of him. He pulled back to safety as a burst of machine gun fire ripped harmlessly into the sandbags above his head. “I count nine more Type 62s,” he said. The Russian-designed and Chinese-built Type 62 main battle tank was the mainstay of the Sudanese Army. “Range, 800 meters. The clever devils know they’re out of range and are regrouping.” Another burst of heavy machine gun fire cut into the DFP. Beck gave him a questioning look. “And you think we should do the same,” Vermullen said.

“They know we’re here,” Beck said calmly as he reloaded the Shipon.

Vermullen made a decision. He keyed his tactical radio but the jamming was still intense. He addressed the two legionnaires by their first names. “Henri, alert the DFPs on our left that we are going to pull back through the minefield when I fire a green starburst flare. Phillip, do the same on the right. Go.” The two legionnaires rolled out the back of the DFP and disappeared into the night.

“What about Captain Bouchard?” Beck asked.

“You were trained as a medic. Go take care of him and move him to the hospital as soon as you can. Go.” Beck didn’t hesitate and followed the other two legionnaires, leaving Vermullen alone. He laid his last missile next to the loaded Shipon. Diesel engines roared, shortly followed by the clanking of tank tracks. His lips cracked in a little smile as he sighted the Shipon and fired.

Allston inched the Porter down another ten feet and skimmed the ground as they flew towards the river. He pulled up to clear a low tree and bright flames from a burning tank washed out his NVGs. Allston snapped them up as his eyes adjusted to the night. He inched the Porter back down and chanced a look towards the burning tank. A line of tracers cut the night and he followed them back to a moving shadow – another tank. “Tallyho the fox!” he called. “Time to rock and roll. Williams, you ready?”

A simple “Yeah” answered him.

Allston climbed a hundred feet and set up a left pylon turn. Williams fired two seconds later. Allston dove as the missile streaked towards the tank. The tank fireballed.

Below him, Vermullen’s missile cut through the night and another tank exploded in flames. “Someone down there can shoot,” Allston shouted. “Oh, shit!” He counted seven more moving tanks in the burning light. “We’re engaged.” He pulled back on the stick and the Porter climbed steeply. He immediately leveled off and set up a left pylon turn around the lead tank. Two lines of tracers reached up and bracketed the slow moving Porter. Williams fired.

Vermullen reloaded and sighted the Shipon on the lead tank. He depressed the fire lever to the first detent. The sound of the Porter’s turboprop engine stopped him and he released the lever, not firing his last missile. The flash of a missile launching lighted the Porter as the missile homed on the tank. Vermullen grunted as the tank disappeared in a bright flash and a thunderous explosion. Flames reached into the night sky and smoke rolled over the other tanks, obscuring them. The air cleared and he saw a burning hulk where four men had lived and breathed moments before. The turret was upside down thirty yards away with its 100mm rifled gun skewered into the ground, canting the turret in an upward angle. The searchlight mounted on the turret was still on, casting a bright light on another tank moving towards him. Not believing his luck, Vermullen quickly sighted on the tank. He depressed the fire lever. The sight stabilized and he mashed the lever. Again, the missile tracked true as more machine gun fire ripped into his DFP. He hunkered down as the tank erupted in a double explosion, deafening him. It was his last missile and Vermullen dropped the tube. He picked up his FAMAS and came to his feet in one fluid motion.

A tank was advancing directly towards him with a squad of soldiers following close behind. He laid a fresh magazine on the sandbag beside him and hummed a refrain from an old song. “
Non je ne regrette rien,
”