Chapter 46: Escalation and Pacification

“We’re having some problems down here, Mike. The Sudanese government forces and their sponsored militias are getting heavy-handed with the local population, in an attempt to drive us off,” Eric Stridehorn, commander of the Peace Rangers explained.

“Heavy-handed? In what way, Eric?”

“Last week we had three different attacks against villages just north and east of our operational area. The attackers swept in, located the village leaders, and executed them all on the spot. Then they rounded up several hundred of the population, herded them to the outskirts, and started marching them west towards the closest refugee camp. They sent a vehicle ahead with a message for the UN mission director running the camp: surrender the camp and withdraw your people!“

“Just like that? What was their intent with the people they captured?”

“Human shields. They force-marched them toward our camp, some sixty-five kilometers from where they started. Anybody who fell down or couldn’t keep up was pulled to the side and shot. The rest kept walking. When I got word of what was happening, I dispatched Llama teams to deal with them.”

“Did that work? You should have been able to neutralize them, disable their systems, and round them up, right?” Mike asked.

“Mostly. We swept in, stunned all the armed elements we could see, and we tried to avoid affecting the captives. But there’s an ugly development, Mike. They were waiting for us. The moment our guys uncloaked to land and help the captives, two different teams of rebels were waiting off at a distance, concealed in foxholes under camouflage covers. They attacked. The moment they could see us and get a lock, they fired shoulder-mounted surface to air missiles. We lost two Llamas out of six that were there.”

“Damn! Fatalities?”

“Thankfully, no. The crew were wearing their desert suits, armored and fitted with the first-aid systems. They rode the crippled Llamas down and impacted pretty hard. Most of them were shaken up pretty badly, and some were unconscious and unable to get out right away. The four surviving craft split and went after the shooters. They took ‘em alive and got the missile launchers and a couple of extra missiles. A distress call brought another flight, and a medevac shuttle for our hurt guys. In the end, we were able to deal with everybody; we got the captives back to their village, and the bad guys to the prison camp.”

“Eric, this is ugly, as you say. They’re responding to our methods. That’s not good, but I should have expected it,” Mike answered. “What about the weapons. Can you tell me anything about them? Any idea where they came from?”

“If you’d asked me earlier, I’d have guessed they were Russian. But these aren’t Russian. They’re Chinese. Latest technology, and damned accurate. They’ve got one hell of a punch!”

“Chinese? Crap, Eric! That doesn’t make sense! We haven’t known of any Chinese weapon sales or agreements in that region. This is something new.”

“We got some intel out of the unhappy warriors we took in. They just got ‘em, Mike. And don’t believe that these happy warriors won’t drink when their Imam isn’t around. One of ‘em was a little more cooperative when we got him alone. We filled his belly with hot food and got him loosened up on booze. He was happy to boast that their new friends were promising a way to drive the godless aliens from their lands. We asked if what they’d been carrying that day was part of it. He confirmed it. And he said there was a lot more where that came from!”

Michael sent a request to Pietor’s team for intelligence gathering. He wanted any communication intercepts, weapons shipments, or meetings between Chinese and Sudanese government delegations monitored.

‘Just what the hell are they playing at?‘ he wondered. He was getting an uneasy feeling. It wouldn’t be the first time a major power decided to engage in a little proxy confrontation to defeat or weaken a perceived threat before having to deal with it on their home turf. I suppose they’re wanting to see how some of their weapons might do against our technology, he thought. We’ll need to stop it, somehow. And they’ll never admit sticking their toe in to test the water.

“Eric, we’re sending you a couple of Interdictors with extended capabilities, and extra armor. I want you to go fishing. Use these guys as bait, and when you get a bite, here’s what I want you to do!”

The old combat veterans wouldn’t be refused. Clarence ‘Tib’ Tibbets and Arnold ‘Chuck’ Briggs insisted on piloting the bait missions. They ignored Mike’s protests, insisting that the younger pilots didn’t have the combat experience or knowledge of foreign enemy weapons systems to guarantee success without “getting their tender asses shot off!“ is how Chuck phrased it.

“All right. But you’ll wear the damned desert armor suits, and never go alone. Always go in pairs, always with a wingman, damn it!” Mike roared at them both.

He stomped off, half in anger. Damned stubborn old fools! Their wives, and all of our mates, will never forgive me if some damned Chinese missile smokes ‘em! he growled to himself.

“We’ve got evidence of truck-mounted SAM batteries (surface to air missiles) moving at night, and digging in under camouflage nets during daylight hours,” Eric reported to Mike. “They’re using a new phase-modulated radar system, which I’d not be concerned with, but we’ve decided to take no chances until we know more about it. We don’t want to risk giving anything away that they don’t need to know,” he explained.

“So, Eric, what is your operational plan for these portable SAM rigs? And where are they going with them?” Mike asked.

“As far as tracking goes, they’re headed right for the nearest staging and supply base. I think that they’re wanting to knock down some C-130 transports, and I’ll bet they’re hoping to lure and destroy one of our Interdictor craft, catching us flat-footed in our so-called ‘safe’ zone.”

“I’ll just bet you’re right. So they bed down before dawn?”

“Yep. They find a gully or depression, something they can burrow down into and throw their camo nets over. We’ve also noticed they’re using heavy foil blankets over the truck engines to suppress the residual heat. I guess they want to mask their heat signatures just after digging in, to defeat any early-morning infrared detection from patrol craft or satellites.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” Mike acknowledged. “Won’t keep us from finding them, though. Okay, have Tib and Chuck go in after dark with their Interdictors. Let one of ‘em run uncloaked, to see if the SAM crews are running a threat scan while moving. Have the other fly wingman, cloaked as cover. Let’s play with these guys to see what sort of detection capabilities they’ve developed. Encourage the guys to tease hell out of ‘em. Provoke ‘em, but don’t get too bold!”

“Right. There are very few old bold pilots, but he should know that. He’s already an old pilot!”

“You’d think, but sometimes us older guys get forgetful and we make mistakes,” Mike warned. “Anyway, whenever they’d gotten a good handle on whatever responses the SAM crews are capable of, short of lighting up and firing a missile, go in and stun their asses. Try not to EMP the gear. We’d like to take it intact. I’m curious to see how far the Chinese have come with their SAM technology, alright?”

Ambassador Jacques Levant welcomed the Chinese Ambassador, Cheung Jianjun, to the Swiss Embassy. He’d arranged the private meeting to present material of a most urgent and sensitive nature, his private secretary had informed the Chinese embassy aide. He emphasized that no less a personage than the Chinese Ambassador himself must attend, and he must come alone. The matter was to be revealed to no one else, and certainly to no lesser official.

“Ambassador Levant, I have come in person as you requested. I trust that this matter is of no small import. I must protest this imposition upon normal protocol,” Jianjun said, stiffly.

“Come into my private office, and you may judge for yourself,” Jacques answered, leading the way.

Jacques did not offer tea or refreshments. Instead, he motioned the Chinese official to a chair facing a wall-mounted display screen. Jacques remained standing, picked up a remote control, and started a video recording.

A wide shot of a desert scene showed three heavy missile launch vehicles parked closely together in a narrow, brush-lined gully. Camouflage-patterned netting was thrown loosely off their sides, indicating they’d previously been covered. Soldiers and crewmen were off to one side, separated into three groups, sitting on the sand.

As the camera zoomed closer on the figures, it showed that some were African in Sudanese government forces uniforms, and some were Chinese, wearing coveralls and rank insignia. All had their arms secured behind them. The camera panned from man to man, pausing to show each face in full close-up, and moving down to show rank and unit patches on their collars and shoulders.

Once every man had been identified, nine Chinese and fifteen Sudanese, the camera moved to a detailed examination of the missile-launch vehicles: all markings, numbers, control panels, compartment interiors, and the truck interiors. It was obvious that everything was labeled in Chinese and Sudanese.

In a final view, the camera lifted high above the scene and panned around in a location shot to show the surrounding territory. Distant ridges and landmarks indicated the type of terrain and gave significant clues to actual location. Finally, an overlay of GPS coordinates gave a precise location.

Ambassador Cheung Jianjun sat stiffly, silently in his chair. He stared straight ahead.

“I am not the source of this information, Ambassador Cheung. I am merely the messenger. What you have just seen is the entire message. I have nothing else to pass on, nor have I been requested to elicit your government’s response. Nothing further is to be said, on either side,” Jacques said.

“Oh, forgive my oversight. There is one statement I’ve been asked to tell you. The vehicles and weapons systems are forfeit. The Chinese crew will be interned for the duration of the hostilities. That is all. Do you have any questions, or a statement, sir?” Jacques inquired.

The Chinese Ambassador rose as stiffly as he’d been sitting, spun on his heel without looking at Jacques, and marched without comment from the room. He threw open the Embassy doors when he reached them and gestured sharply for his driver and vehicle. He never once looked back.

“Well, we can take comfort in the fact that all the Chinese have managed to do with their new SAM radar systems is to extend their range by twenty percent, and they’ve improved the scan resolution. They get better target definition. But they still don’t have a chance of painting our cloaked ships. Not even close,” Mike told his command staff back in Geneva. “The bad news, though, is that the new missile explosives package is about twice that of the earlier models. We don’t want any Llamas or Interdictors getting hit by one of these new missiles. So, that means we’ve got to be more careful about sweeping the area before anybody uncloaks! Now I’m not saying these missiles can destroy one of our craft, but as their shoulder-fired version demonstrated, they can sure ding us with a solid hit. So, be careful out there!” Mike ordered.

“Michael, this Eric down here at Main Base. Got a minute?”

“Surely for you, anytime, Eric. What’s happening down there,” Michael answered from their estate quarters north of Geneva where he and Dee’rah had gone for a bit of down time, trying for quality time together without the insane pressures of the African air mission, and an increasingly tangled web of world politics.

“Remember when you gave that little speech awhile back, setting the rules for our aid mission down here? Something to the effect of ‘there’s enough ignorance, superstition, bigotry, tribal feudalism, avarice, thievery, slavery, female mutilation, pig-headed religious intolerance, generational enmity, and enough hateful behavior in that region to confound anyone’s best efforts, and that’s among the good people who we’re all trying to save’ and you added that our mission was to provide force protection? We would, and I quote you: ‘not get involved in social reformation. Not even a little.‘