Don Pendleton - Armed Resistance

The signal came: a sudden squelch of the radio in his ear. Taha left the cover of the rocks and moved toward the camp perimeter. Many of the sentries were weary and unprepared for the sudden ferocity of Taha’s assault. As the men entered the camp, stepping inside the defensive line of men spread across the perimeter, the peaceful solitude of the encampment erupted into chaos. One of the Lord’s Resistance Army guards looked Taha in the eye a moment before the warrior leveled his SKS assault rifle and squeezed off three shots. The 7.62 mm rounds cut an ugly pattern in the man’s belly and dumped him onto his back.

Taha turned toward his next target only to discover a very young man who could not have been more than fifteen, but the subgun clutched in his fists knew neither age nor restraint. Taha grimaced even as he fired a short burst that blew the young man’s head apart. Blood and brain matter erupted from the stump of his neck, some of it landing in a nearby cook fire, and the boy’s body followed a moment later.

Taha scooped up the submachine gun, quickly inspected it in the light of the flames now immolating his enemy’s small body and realized why its profile had looked so familiar. It was an M-16 A-3 assault rifle, carbine model with stampings from the U.S. military. The markings surprised Taha so much he nearly lost his life with the distraction. Two LRA members rushed him, the muzzles of their weapons leveled in his direction and winking with the first shots. Taha threw himself into the sand and triggered both of his weapons simultaneously. The rounds managed to stop one of the LRA terrorists in his tracks, but the second evaded by jumping to the right.

Unfortunately neither of the men was at a distance that made using his assault weapon practical and they both committed to a grappling match simultaneously. His opponent was younger and much faster, but Taha had strength and experience on his side. Even as the knife blade sang from the man’s sheath and swung in for the soft tissue of his belly—the blade glinting wickedly in the light of the fire—Taha managed to get inside the attack. Using a move shown to him once by an American mercenary, Taha twisted the arm and hand in a downward motion while stepping between his opponent’s legs. He then twisted in the opposite direction and brought the hand upward while sweeping the outer leg. The force of the sudden reverse in motion effectively dumped his enemy onto the ground, and Taha followed with him. He let his weight do the rest of the work and buried the knife blade into the man’s chest to the hilt.

Taha scrambled to his hands and knees, beads of sweat immediately forming across his head and exposed arms, perched over the twitching body of the man. Taha vomited onto him as the fear and adrenaline nearly overtook his system and caused him to pass out. Head swooning and eyes watering, Taha took several deep breaths and in spite of himself got to his feet. He stood unsteadily for a moment before realizing if he didn’t recover now he stood the chance of being overcome by additional enemies. Taha searched frantically on the ground until he located his weapons, retrieved them and moved off in search of more men to kill.

Taha made it through the camp in no time and realized that the battle had barely begun before it ended. Taha located Kumar and ordered him to give the signal the group should rally. When they were assembled and a head count was taken, Kumar advised his brother that all were accounted for and only one man was wounded.

“Only one?” Taha repeated.

“They were of no significance, this enemy force,” Kumar replied.

Another loyal fighter named Sadiq added, “These were hardly men, my friend. I have fought the dogs of Lakwena before, and these men were untested. They are almost children that were left behind to hold this camp.”

None of this made sense to Taha. He looked at Kumar. “A decoy?”

“I have never known them to do anything like this before, my brother.”

“Nor have I,” Taha said with a vigorous shake of his head. He held up the M-16 A-3 for the men to see. “I also took this off one of the Lakwena fighters. It is American-made and a forgery I seriously doubt.”

“Why would Americans equip our sworn blood enemies with weapons to fight us? They will hardly even provide General Kiir with equipment we’ve requested. Have they switched their allegiance?”

“I do not have an answer, Kumar,” Taha said. “But it is not of great importance right now. Begin searches on the remainder of the camp and see if we can find any clues as to the direction they may have gone. Also search the body of every man here. If you find any alive, see if you can revive them enough to question them. I want to know if any of the others have American weapons on them. General Kiir will want to know this and any intelligence that we can take will help us. Let us not return to our leader empty-handed.”

With a nod from Taha to signify he had finished giving orders, the men scattered across the camp and began to search the bodies for any information. Taha doubted they would find any—it wasn’t like the Lord’s Resistance Army to leave behind anything of value.

His unit had learned of the camp from a young girl, a villager who managed to escape notice and waited in the weeds for three days straight, afraid to show herself even after she saw Taha’s force arrived at the village. Of course the little girl had been able to tell them absolutely nothing of the size of the force or the weapons they were carrying; such things were not naturally part of a young girl’s life and should never have been. Taha had been unable to imagine what that poor, motherless child had witnessed. The Lakwena dogs committed atrocities against the females while the men and boys of the village watched helplessly, tied down to stakes or herded into pens where they had their feet cut off and the wounds cauterized by hot brands so they didn’t bleed to death.

Instead they died by infection and dehydration, an unimaginable death so horrific it made Taha want to be sick again.

As Taha inspected the weapon in his hand once more he wondered if there was a grain of truth to Kumar’s accusation. Were the Americans supplying their enemies with guns? It made no sense to him. He knew a few Americans—mercenaries from a paramilitary company who had come to advise General Kiir and bring supplies and equipment. There was no benefit to Americans, military or civilian units, for the fighting to continue among the various factions in Sudan. In fact, quite the opposite since Sudan hosted resources and other valuable commodities of great interest to American companies and their foreign investors. They had always demonstrated a willingness to do what was necessary to resolve the civil strife that threatened stability in the region.

No, it did not make any sense for them to help the Lord’s Resistance Army.

There had to be another explanation. He would ask General Kiir to make contact with his friends in the United States. The general had contacts through the CIA operative working out of the capital. These men would know what to do—they would be able to provide answers to this mystery.

And perhaps they would help.

CHAPTER TWO

Stony Man Farm, Virginia

The help would come in the form of the five men who sat awaiting the arrival of Harold Brognola and Barbara Price.

Many briefings had occurred in the confines of the War Room, as well as a good many debriefings following more successful missions than any of those men cared to count. Their presence signaled the results of what just one man can do when he’s trying to make a difference. The covert unit at this table, Phoenix Force, had been born from the courage and bravery of the inimitable Mack Bolan. Bolan’s war started against the American Mafia but eventually broadened to a fight against worldwide terrorism.