Richard Herman - The Peacemakers

Fitzgerald breathed easier and broke the connection. With a little luck, he’d have the 4440th out of the Sudan by Monday. He called up a file on the quadrennial defense review and shifted his attention to the future of the Air Force. He worked that problem until his intercom buzzed. It was Richards. He took her measure as she entered his office and reported in. “You’re here late for a Friday.”

“Yes, sir,” she answered. “I’m looking for a new assignment.”

“There’s not much going for flag-rank military-political affairs officers.”

“There’s a position in Brussels with NATO that’s opening up.”

“That’s an intelligence function.”

“Yes, sir. I started out as an intelligence officer.”

“But got sidetracked,” he said. He sensed that he was talking to a different person. It was testing time. “I don’t trust you but I did hear your testimony in front of the committee. What you did took guts. You made a powerful enemy today and you can kiss any thoughts of promotion goodbye.”

“I am aware of that. But I need to make a difference, accomplish something worthwhile before I retire. This is my last chance.”

“Why the sudden change?”

She knew it was a fair question. “I saw what Allston did in the Sudan. I totally misjudged him.” Fitzgerald didn’t respond and waited. “All I saw was arrogance and disrespect. He’s profane and crude, and, well, a womanizer, but he saved lives.”

“And he’s aggressive.” Fitzgerald waited, almost convinced. “And?”

Richards had to make the general understand. “I’ve never met anyone like him. I can’t stand him… he’s everything I disapprove of… but the way the Irregulars follow him…” her voice trailed off.

“It’s called leadership.” He made a decision. “Don’t disappoint me in Brussels.”

“Thank you, sir. I won’t.”

Fitzgerald watched her leave, struck by the irony of it all. Because of Allston, she had been challenged and emerged a better officer. An inner voice told him she had changed. But would she revert to type? He didn’t know but the same voice told him it was a chance worth taking. He spun around in his chair and switched on the TV. He settled back to watch Tara’s special on his peacekeepers.

An announcer read a news flash. “This just in from the Hague in the Netherlands. The International Criminal Court has issued arrest warrants for the three UN commissioners in charge of the Relief and Peacekeeping Mission of Southern Sudan. The United Nations has pledged to fully cooperate in any investigation and end the corruption that has marked the relief operation in Addis Ababa.”

“Yeah, right,” Fitzgerald mumbled to himself.

Mission Awana

D’Na walked down the ramp of Lane’s C-130 closely followed by twenty-two rebel soldiers. She hurried over to her husband and stood close. They talked for a few moments as forty-five walking wounded boarded the aircraft. Stretcher-bearers were next as they carried twelve critically wounded up the ramp. Allston keyed his handheld radio but the frequency was immediately jammed. He ran up the crew entrance steps and climbed onto the flight deck. “What’s happening at Juba?” he asked Lane.

Lane turned around in his seat. “D’Na bribed the right folks and got the field open.” He looked at his watch. “Another Herk is inbound in about forty minutes. There should be one arriving about every forty to fifty minutes.”

“Any more reinforcements coming?”

Lane shook his head. “That’s it. I’ll keep the Herks coming as long as the field is open.”

The loadmaster stood on the flight deck’s ladder. “We’re loaded and good to go,” he shouted over the engine noise.

Lane gave the sergeant a thumbs-up and extended his hand to Allston. “Thanks, Boss.”

Allston was puzzled. “For getting your ass shot off?”

“Naw. That goes with the job. You’re the best man I’ve ever worked for and I’ve done things here I never knew I could do.” They shook hands.

Allston bolted down the ladder and out the crew entrance door. He ran for the battered Land Rover where Williams was waiting. “You should be in the hospital,” Allston told him.

“I’m okay. I just got a gash in the love handle on my left side and lost a lot of blood. They gave me a transfusion. No way I’m gonna hang around a hospital when I can walk.” He drove slowly through the night towards the mission. “Are we gonna make it, sir?”

Allston caught the ‘sir,’ which was not like Williams at all. The sergeant had to be very worried and Allston went with the truth. “I don’t know. Look, you should be in a hospital, not here. I’ll get you out on the next bird.”

“If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’ll go when you go.”

Allston didn’t have a reply.

Daybreak was less than an hour away when the third C-130 landed, lights out. Williams and a crew chief used lighted wands to guide the pilot through the turn. The aircraft’s ramp was already down and refugees streamed on board. Allston ran on board to speak to the pilot. “Where’s Jenkins?” Allston asked.

“She’s flying the next bird,” the pilot replied, “with Bard Green. We’re taking gunfire on final and the jamming is getting pretty damn bad. We could sure use radios to

warn the next Herk.” Williams was still standing in front of the Hercules and gave the pilot a thumbs up. Another 145 refugees were on board. Allston clambered off the Hercules and ran clear as the pilot released the brakes and taxied out.

The rattletrap Land Rover drove up and Jill motioned to him from the driver’s seat. “The listening posts are reporting tanks in the water. Idi is on Charlie Ring running the show from there.”

“Are we still in contact?” Allston asked.

Jill shook her head. “Jamming and the landlines are cut. We’ll probably be in mortar range in a few minutes.” She was very worried. “Colonel, this could be a final effort.”

“If it’s a do-or-die, they’ll be doing the dying. Williams! Get your body over here.” He ran for the shed where the Porter was parked.

Williams moved slowly, unable to catch Allston. “Get in,” Jill ordered. He did and she drove after Allston.

“I’m not going to like this,” Williams complained.

Allston was pushing the doors of the shed back when they arrived. He checked the Porter’s cargo compartment as Williams crawled out of the Land Rover. “We need Shipons and weapons,” Allston yelled. Jill gunned the Land Rover and headed for the mission. The rumble of explosions echoed in the distance and the two men hit the ground when the Paladin’s cannon roared. Before they could move, another mortar round hit the ramp. The Paladin fired again and it was quiet.

“Damn,” Williams cursed. “Now we gotta fill in the hole.”

Allston was worried. “Right where the C-130 stopped. They’ve got the range.” They pushed the Porter out of the shed and Allston did a careful preflight, checking if there was any major damage. Other than numerous bullet holes in the left side of the fuselage, the aircraft was undamaged. He turned to Williams. “You good to go?”

“Boss, do I really have a choice?”

“Sure you do. I can always get Major Sharp.”

“Yeah, right,” Williams groused. “She’s back.”

The Land Rover slammed to halt beside the Porter and Jill motioned to the Shipon and Stinger in the rear seat. “You’ve got two rounds for each one. That’s all I could find,” she told them. She crawled out and handed an M-16 and two clips to Allston.

“Well done,” Allston said. He handed her the flare pistol from the Porter. “A Herk is inbound. Stay here and don’t let it land. They’ve got a spotter directing mortar fire on the air patch. We gotta take out the bastard to get the field open.” He climbed into the pilot’s seat and hit the starter button, spinning the turboprop to life.