Don Pendleton - Armed Resistance

“We must walk from here,” Kumar said.

McCarter ordered the team to go EVA, unload the vehicle and wipe it down for prints before questioning Kumar on their next move. It wasn’t that he mistrusted the guy as much as he wanted to know what they could expect to face out there. “Hoofing it across this kind of terrain at night isn’t exactly what we had planned, mate. We’re not equipped for a hike.”

“This is not a problem,” Kumar replied. “There is clothing in one of the bags for all of you, and I think you’ll find that it all fits. General Kiir was notified ahead of time of your arrival, so we planned all of this. You’ll find boots and fatigues, and drop bags for the clothes you are wearing. They may stay with this vehicle and all of your belongings will be delivered to Khartoum, where we were informed you would make your exit.”

“What about the rental?” James asked.

“We have friends here,” Kumar said. “Do not worry, gentlemen. They will pick it up and return it to the rental company.”

“How far do we have to go?” McCarter asked.

“Samir is less than three kilometers, on the other side of the border. We are now a half kilometer this side of my country, so we should be able to pass under cover of darkness without raising attention.”

“What if we encounter border patrols?”

Kumar laughed. “We have much greater worries than the border patrol. While there is a ceasefire between my people and the government of my country, we know that they still hire the Lakwena at times to do their dirty work. The patrols of these fighters, many of them barely men, are vigilant and familiar with the borderlands. They will be vigilant and they will not attack with warning, neither will they take prisoners. The ones who raped my sister and killed by mother and father are led by a man named Bukatem, Lester Bukatem. He has many who answer to him and he is feared in these parts.”

“Lester?” McCarter interjected. “That doesn’t sound much like an African name.”

“Many of the people here who end up in the refugee camps take on English or American names in the hope their real identities aren’t discovered,” Gary Manning pointed out. “These people live under constant surveillance or are perpetually targeted by the Lord’s Resistance Army. I’d venture a guess that this Bukatem was conscripted as a child and brainwashed to fight for the LRA during the 1990s, when the conflicts were still in full swing.”

Kumar nodded. “That is right. In fact, we were raised in the same village as this man. My older brother once called him friend. Now he is our enemy and if we ever make contact with him, I can guarantee he will experience a slow and dishonorable death.”

“Let me be clear with you, bloke,” McCarter said. “There’s no room in our mission here for your personal vendettas. We appreciate the help, but if you plan on using us to seek vengeance on this Lester wanker you’d best just put the idea out of your mind. We’re here to do two things—find out what happened to the man you call Joe and shut down the weapons pipeline to the LRA from the States. That’s it.”

Kumar didn’t look offended but when he replied his voice took on an edge. “I intend only to help you, American. There is no reason to tell me what my duties are. But you should know that my people must first swear fealty to our own because they are defenseless and God demands we protect the innocent.”

This was something with which McCarter could empathize and he nodded in acknowledgment. They understood each other.

As soon as the group had changed into their fatigues and stored their gear, they set out single file. Encizo took point. They didn’t know what they would encounter and it wouldn’t do for Kumar, the only one who really knew where to go and was intimate with all sides of this fight, to buy the farm for that very reason. Hence, McCarter put Kumar between him and Encizo, and the remaining Phoenix Force warriors followed, each careful to put at least ten yards between each man.

A steady rain had begun to fall, only making more precarious their already treacherous journey through the mountainous jungle terrain that made up the border between South Sudan and Uganda. For each man to know where the one in front of him was, since the cloud cover had suppressed what little moonlight might have illuminated the trail, the Phoenix warriors wore small LEDs that clipped to the backs of the military webbing that held their side arms and canteens. A long-life watch battery powered the dim light that glowed in a suffused red, just enough for a follower to see but virtually undetectable from observers at the front or side of the team. Each man carried a spare in his pocket, as well, in the event that his primary gave out.

McCarter hoped they wouldn’t be there that long.

As they traveled, his keen senses staying attuned to their surroundings, the Briton began to wonder what they were walking into. He didn’t mistrust Kumar—hell, the chap seemed cooperative and decent enough—but he couldn’t figure how Bukatem, or anyone in the LRA, would have known Leighton worked for the CIA. Not unless somebody told Bukatem. McCarter hated to think Leighton might have been betrayed by this mysterious British agent, who was most likely attached to either SAS or MI6. McCarter didn’t want to believe a countryman would betray a fellow agent but he also knew the rules were much different in the world of espionage.

In either case, the mission had suddenly become more complex. McCarter didn’t like complicated; the Phoenix Force leader liked simple. In fact the bloodier simple it was, the better. Unfortunately it didn’t appear things were going to get simpler.

After more than three hours of traveling, the entire crew drenched and worn down, McCarter was about to call for them to stop and rest when the staccato of autofire resounded from somewhere ahead of their position. McCarter couldn’t be sure of the distance, since sounds were difficult to judge in the dense foliage of the jungle, not to mention the dark. The reports of weapons were especially deceptive because they bounced off obstacles like trees and boulders, and were suppressed by the canopy of intertwined branches overhead. These factors usually made them closer than they sounded.

McCarter signaled the others to form on Kumar’s position and then moved forward to converse with Encizo.

“How far ahead, you think?” he asked the Cuban.

“Maybe fifty yards,” Encizo replied. “Hard to tell.”

“That’s about what I figured.”

“Sounds like quite a firefight, too.”

“Stand fast,” McCarter ordered. Encizo nodded and the Briton returned to Kumar. “We anywhere near our rendezvous point?”

“Very near,” Kumar replied with an anxious nod.

“Okay, it sounds like your brother may have hit some trouble.”

“I would agree.”

“We’re going to help him but we’ll do it my way. Understood?”

Kumar mumbled something McCarter deemed as affirmation.

McCarter turned his attention to Hawkins and James. “You two swing around on the west side and see if you can flank the fire zone, but don’t engage until you get my signal.”

“And what’s that?” James asked.

McCarter grinned wickedly. “You’ll bloody well know it when you hear it. Go.”

The pair moved off and McCarter tugged Manning’s shoulder to indicate he should stick close to Kumar. “Give us ten seconds, then follow on our position. Make sure you keep your fields of fire away from Hawk and Cal.”

Manning nodded.

McCarter turned and moved back to Encizo’s side. He reached to his belt and held up one of the M-69 fragmentation grenades that had been procured for his team by Kumar’s contacts in Uganda. “We’ll go in using the Old Fifty-One. You ready?”