CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Night relished the feeling of the cold water against his naked skin in contrast to the aggressive African desert sun that was now lowering, like a ball of flame melting into the earth, for another day. The sun beat against his skin for a few more moments. He dived as deep as he could into the pool of water that had formed at the base of a mountain and broke the surface once more. The rest of the men had opted to stay at the FOB and check weapons and equipment. Night though, instinctively knew to take the opportunity to freshen up. It had been a long day for him, full of raw emotion, at one point he was convinced his fiancée had been murdered by the man he now steeled himself to kill. He savoured his time alone, so he could clear his thoughts, focus and ready himself for battle.
So far, Night thought to himself, the General had conducted a near flawless operation, following all the SOPs (Standard Operating Procedures) for launching a clandestine mission. Adequate anti-surveillance measures were carried out prior to all the men being aboard the transport aircraft. Importantly nobody aboard the plane except the General and the pilot knew their exact destination and final landing location. Not one person was allowed to keep their mobile phone with them. None of the operators knew the exact location of where the FOB was or even where the area of operation would be. And perhaps most significantly the golden rule was observed – the men and the weapons were brought together at the last possible moment, only hours, if not minutes before incursion. And this in spite of the fact that the operation was technically legal and carried out as private security operators under contract from a recognised authority to recover stolen property.
Night finished his desert dip and returned to base some 20 minutes later, his mind clear and ready to engage uSathane and his minions. He found that Shaka was talking to the four members of the Special Task Force. Shaka called him over to join them.
“This is Michael Night, he is my brother” said Constable Shaka. “Mike this is Kalahari,” and introduced him to the highest ranking member of the STF men, a Warrant Officer.
“Yes I know who you are Sergeant Night. They call you and your men the Black Bastards. Yes we have heard many stories about you. And if memory serves me correctly we have actually met before, on duty” said Kalahari.
“That’s right Warrant. In Sandton, there was a hostage situation about a year ago. We held the perimeter and waited for you boys to arrive via chopper. You went in and killed the hostage takers. I must say Warrant I have never seen a squad of operators move with such incredible, violent, speed. I was impressed.”
“Thank you Night. And yes your observation is correct. We move with blistering rapidity. That is our Ace in the hole and that is what makes us deadly. Now let me introduce you to my men. I know you haven’t met them before as they do not work openly, if you get my drift, so I will simply stick to call signs.”
Kalahari had an Aryan look about him. At least the Western notion of what an Aryan looks like, made prominent by the Nazi ideology. He had blond hair swept back against his head. Piercing blue eyes. Sharp and rugged facial features. He stood at exactly six foot and had broad shoulders and was well muscled, as all STF men are. His skin was a dark beige, almost the colour of desert sand. Night thought this was perhaps the most likely reason for the Warrant Officer’s nickname.
Kalahari introduced his men, by call sign. Which meant nothing, so Night didn’t take note and realised he was studying Kalahari perhaps a little more closely than he would have liked to have shown.
“Yes Night, the call signs mean very little. But do I detect that you distrust me?”
“No. I just like to know who I am about to go into battle with, to face a Colonel they call the Devil with a platoon of his infantry under his command, in the middle of the desert.”
“Indeed. But as I am sure you will agree, words, or indeed appearances, in situations like these mean little. Action is everything.”
Tony made an announcement for all the men to stand parade in the tent for briefing in ten minutes.
“It’s time to prepare for combat” said Night.
The men moved into the temporary structure and changed into the prescribed fighting gear. Black combat boots, black cargo pants, black TRU combat shirts with a high neck and long sleeves.
Night and Shaka and the majority of the other men had no need to change their pants as they were already wearing what was needed. Most tactical operators seemingly dressed and indeed thought alike. The men all had to remove their shirts to place on the prescribed uniform. And all of the men took the opportunity to assess the fitness and strength levels of their comrades. Night had come to understand this phenomenon. It occurred in changing rooms, in police stations, army barracks and gyms all over the world. Men, especially modern day fighting men took the occasion to judge the man next to them, to gauge his life experience and on this occasion the bodily display of the experiences of combat was obvious.
With the exception of the colossal Zulu, every one of the operators was in the ideal fighting range of the modern day tactical operator in terms of height and weight. All between five foot nine inches and six foot one inch, all weighed in between 75 kilograms and 100 kilograms. They were all fit and explosively powerful and had an array of battle scars, mainly, as to be expected, visible on the back and chest. Bullet wounds and knife lesions adorned each man’s body as a sort of battle testament of honour. A rite of passage and proof of knowledge of hostilities between mortal men.
“Where are the other two SF boys?” Night asked Kalahari.
“They are on recon. The bomb maker and a sniper scout. They got in, kitted up and headed off. They will surely paint us a pretty picture and take up effective positions to prepare the ground for us.”
Night noted the remaining two Army men talking to the General. The older man was deep in conversation with the General.
“That’s Echo Bravo and his second isn’t it?” asked Night.
“Indeed. We are in legendary company. This should be quite the contact!” smiled the STF operative.
Night liked this Kalahari man. He was a good guy. A dangerous, good guy.
“Gentlemen, parade!” said Tony, taking up the duty of the RSM (Regimental Sergeant Major).
Within moments the men had formed three lines of three with the towering Shaka taking up the single position at the back of the parade.
“AANDAG! Officer on parade.” commanded Tony.
The men, as one, stood to attention and saluted the General. Their Operational Commander began his mission briefing. There would be no white boards, no elaborate diagrams or aerial maps. These material things would leave a traceable trail of paper. There would be no sophisticated modern technology to make up a mission Control. Just one verbal briefing. The men were highly trained operators and they were all experienced enough to build their own mind maps and operational diagrams. This was Africa after all.
“At ease gentlemen” said Arosi.
“About five minutes ago our first bit of INT came in on our target. Two of our Mike Romeo men have eyes on. Since night has fallen digging has ceased and our target and his men have retreated to their structure for the night. As we had hoped and planned for, they are now indulging in alcohol and other drugs. They have however left sentries. Eight perimeter guards in total, two per side, North East South and West. The camp site itself is not too dissimilar to our own except that they have two tented structures and not one. The smaller of the two we assume, at the moment, until we receive confirmed INT, houses their leader - the Colonel they call uSathane, the man we are after.
“In front of his tent and to the right of it is a larger marquee that we believe houses the majority of the men. We confirmed at the time of their border crossing that there are indeed 24 in the Colonel’s platoon. That makes 25 men we need to kill today, we take no prisoners. Earlier aerial photography of the camp site shows they had ten of the platoon working as labourers extracting the quarry, operating the heavy earth moving equipment, digging and carrying the loot into the t
rucks. These men we can expect to be in the main shelter, either sleeping, exhausted, drinking or smoking. We know that these men are the lowest ranking and most inexperienced of the lot, hence the reason they have been demoted to miners. They are pushed hard all morning and all day and should be easy to deal with. But we will take nothing for granted. So that leaves seven men we need to eliminate. We know two men stay at the side of the General at all times and we expect them to be with their master in his quarters. The remaining four set up a defensive guard at the front of the camp. They do this as they form a physical barrier to the rear of the camp with their nine vehicles and the large earth moving machine. We suspect they have done this to try and entice an attack from the unprotected rear, which in fact they have actually heavily booby-trapped with explosives.
“So we will attack them from the front, head on. We know from the border crossing and intelligence reports that they only have AK47s and nothing else, nothing of heavier calibre and nothing smaller. We know this because the same contact that supplied us our weaponry supplied our enemy their arms as well. We also know that their ammunition is limited. Two magazines per rifle. So a protracted engagement is not a possibility. Any questions so far?”
“Yes General, a question and perhaps a suggestion,” said the 2IC to Echo Bravo, the former Army SF man. “Why don’t we just bomb the crap out of the camp – we have sufficient ordnance? Or just lay down heavy and uninterrupted 7.62 gunfire and cut them down behind their thin and soft tented fabric. We would slaughter them and minimise our own risk of casualty.”
“The short answer is that there is a possibility of civilians being on site. Either hostages or machine operators or miners -We have not been able to completely rule out the possibility of innocents being on location. And secondly because where would be the honour in that? Besides this is a legitimate engagement carried out against known criminals under a legal contract and if we are successful I suspect our suited politicians, who gave us the unofficial amber light for this operation, may decide to bask in the light of the glory our success will inevitably bring. So achieving our objectives by using the least amount of force possible is highly desirable. Any other questions?”
The General paused only momentarily and then continued.
“None. Good . Now, we have split our force into three command groups. The first group led by Echo Bravo of Mike Romeo will take care of Intelligence gathering, reconnaissance, sniping and explosives. Their task will be to take out the perimeter patrols. That’s eight men. The second group will be led by Kilo of the STF. Their job will be to take out the guard of four men who protect the front of the camp and then to move on into the main shelter and eliminate the ten labourers, who will be armed and by this time alerted to our arrival by the sound of gunfire; you will need to be fast Kilo, but I know that’s exactly your game. That’s 22.
“The third group will be led by Mike November. Your task will be to eliminate the target. Tango Tango will join your three and act as your sweeper. So dovetail behind the STF men and break ranks only after the initial four have been removed then move directly to the smaller tent which shelters the Colonel. It will be in front of you and to the right of where the STF men move. I will be in a OP (Observation Point) with the scout sniper and will redirect any team to assist where necessary or to take over from an objective that seems to be at failure point. I however know that this will not be the case as you will all succeed in accomplishing your respective objectives. Any questions?”
“Yes General. I do have a query” said Night. “I must tell you that I had a failure to fire while on target, our target, previously. My weapon was later proved effective and I did squeeze the trigger. I hasten to add that I do not believe in witchcraft but I feel I must point this fact out and it needs to be addressed.”
Night knew he risked looking weak and superstitious by saying what he had just said but he felt it was worth the hazard as not bringing this fact up could prove even more perilous. The group were silent for only a moment and then to Night’s great relief Kalahari spoke.
“I agree. General, we cannot ignore this point and I hasten to add that the same thing happened to me. We had uSathane under observation and launched an operation against him. We cut down his men in seconds. But I had a clear shot on the Colonel with my MP5 and I squeezed the trigger and fuck all happened. The Colonel escaped.”
“You are both right gentlemen and all the Intelligence reports I have seen about uSathane reiterate this point. Perhaps it’s muti perhaps it is a different form of witchcraft or perhaps it’s just coincidence. But to be sure I want every one of your men to carry a large combat knife, Mike November. I have four that will be issued to you with your rifles. If bullets fired from a gun can’t kill the bastard death by knife will have to suffice. I suggest going for the man’s neck Mike!”