Sudan

Sudan 1

The hot African sun bleached the desert around Blade a radiant whiteness. From under a shade tree at five A.M. made Blade blink. The entire HQ had fought Black Water tooth and nail for this contract; all members were yanked off other jobs and brought here. Blade was in charge for the ground and air elements. The Commodore was in charge of the two huge Battleships and the one ballistic missile sub, codenamed The Hoagie. Blade comfortably reflected on HQ’s meager beginnings. Well, he thought, enough of that no one else is going to get this show on the road. He left the shade tree to the 13 acre wide Oasis. Drab olive-green tents littered around the Oasis and in each two men were sound asleep, some snoring loudly, and then there were the helicopters, under cuttings from the trees around, and each one was selected by its pilot. There were MD-500’s, Mi-5’s, Cobra’s, and blade’s own pride and joy, A YAH-47 gunship. Also there was one Russian AM-34 stealth helicopter, Josef’s. Then there were Pooky’s squad of F-14 Hornets. Finally there was Czar’s tank Platoon led by Czar’s M-1 Abrams. Blade strode to the Alarm tower, He flicked the switch. Blann, Blann, Blann, All hands fall out, All hands fall out, Blann, Blann, Blann. The alarm roused the men in a hurry. And ran to the alarm tower, struggling with socks and boots, cursing the siren for yanking them from sleep, all wore the same tan, loose fitting, Jumpsuits. They gathered around the tower, all silent, listening. “All right all, Listen up! Shifty, what you got for me?” Shifty was a small and quiet man, Perfect for recon. He answered in a quiet voice. Blade grabbed a stick and drew in the dirt. All the men knew exactly what to do. “All right, get your game faces on, Move scum bags! Move!” Men scrambled from the tower to tanks, helicopters and jets. The whole morning became clouded with diesel fuel and the roaring of engines. Helicopter blades whipped through the air, creating a small dust cloud. Jet engines powered up and forced their cargo upward. The force was go. 2

The rebel faction, the Janjaweed, was just about to ride into a village that they thought was already bombed by a government helicopter. Another easy victory, gang raping all the women. What they didn’t know was the 5 helicopters had been blown out of the sky, the explosions they heard were missiles finding their marks. They took that for bombs being dropped. That would be their fatal mistake. The village was in the open, surrounded by a large pile of sticks. The rode down the mountain out in to the open and were confronted by a line of tanks. They charged. 3

“These guys are retarded or foolhardy. Either way open up and kill them all.” 4

Czar spoke, no emotion in his voice. Twenty tanks fired anti-armor rounds at the one hundred Jangawed. Mostly the rounds hit low, blowing up under horses feet, the blast and shrapnel going up through the horse and blasting the trooper apart. “Now men, use the small guns!” machine guns turned in the power seats. Levers were cocked back, loading the first round entering the chambers of M-60’s, RPD’s, and the one gattling cannon, rounds ripped through the air. Millions of rounds struck the Janjaweed. The boots stared open mouthed at the destruction the rounds were doing. One trooper was hit so many times there was a hole were his chest should be, you could see through to the other side, one trooper caught it in his head, and blew everything but his lower jaw off. The more seasoned gunners were more concerned about the guns, the cried out to each other, cursing a jam, popping open feed mechanisms and slapping in a new belt end over end the faulty cartridge flew through the air and came to rest on the desert. A spray of brass left the guns slowly collecting a small pile. Josef came forward, on his back there was Oxygen & Co2 tank, a World War II flame thrower, and his stain-less steel Russian lighter clicked, and a small flame burst a the end of the wand. The lighter was back in his pocket he pulled the trigger, flame burst from the tip of the wand, burning the air as flame shot out. A streak of orange-yellow descended on the still standing Janjaweed, one got near Josef, still spraying the deadly flame, the man rushed him with a knife. Josef swung the flaming tip of the wand at the man’s face, knocking him to the ground one shot of flame and he quickly joined the rest of the Janjaweed Platoon, burning. Josef swung the wand back and forth, spraying the now dead pile of Janjaweed. The last thing he did startled the Boots. He put out the ‘thrower and reached into his pocket and drew a Cuban cigar. That alone was not unusual, he always had a cigar on him, the unusual part was how he lit it, and he leaned forward, towards the burning pile of bodies, grimacing at the heat. He lit the Cigar of the burning bodies took a deep drag, and nodded to the flames, as if he was thanking them for the light, and casually walked back to the line of tanks. He then notated that one boot was shaking un-controllably he then offered a drag to the poor boy, who couldn’t have been more than 20. He took the cigar between trembling fingers and slowly inhaled. Josef then drew another cigar and lit that one off the boy’s, and they smoked while flames raged less than 100 feet away, on a light that was provided by dead men. 5