Task Force Intrepid (The Gold of Katanga), page 17
“RPG! RPG!” scremed Colin into his mike. He spotted a man coming out of a hut about 60 meters from the Team. His shot hit the man a split second after the RPG’s trigger was pulled.
Everyone in the building reacted by hitting the deck. Kruger and Simmons covered the missionaries and told them to get down. The rocket propelled grenade exploded into the southeast corner of the building sending fragments of brick and metal everywhere. The concussion stunned everybody in the building.
Kruger felt stings over the backside of his body. He moved both of his feet to make sure that he was not seriously wounded. He had to pop the smoke grenade. The whole corner of the building was taken off but was not facing the bulk of the Rebels. All the men were shaking off the explosion and returning to their guns.
His rifle had been torn from his hands. Looking behind him he found it. He pulled out a M713 Ground Marking grenade round from his vest and chambered it in the M203 launcher under his R4, walked to the window and fired it north. It detonated on the ground thirty meters north of the building. “Thunderbird 1, location marked, over.”
“We are two minutes out Whiskey Kilo. Keep your heads down.”
“Roger that,” Kruger replied. The smoke began to diffuse itself into the air and spread obscuring the vision of the Rebels and the Assault Force.
“Foxtrot 1-6, do you read me?”
“Roger that.”
“Two minutes…Acknowledge.”
“We are prepared to move. I can hear the chopper now.”
The fire outside the building began to taper off. Kruger addressed everyone in the building. “We have a chopper coming in to lay down covering fire for the Commandos to move up to us. Everyone needs to keep their heads down and make themselves as small as possible. Consolidate your ammo while there is a break. Mike, how are we looking?”
Simmons had been looking at the wounds on the missionaries and trying to comfort and motivate them. His experience as a medic in combat environments told him that the key to surviving was a positive mental attitude. These were not soldiers. They were a broken and abused group of people who were not hardened to death and destruction. There was still the possibility of having to make a run for it with hostiles on their trail. He had mainly been talking to the leader of the group, Doug.
“These bastards have done a number on the ladies. But they are going to live and they all appear to be mobile.” He had given pain relievers to all of them. Mild doses because their stomachs were probably very upset due to stress, dehydration and lack of food. “Doug here has done a great job of keeping them together,” he said trying to reaffirm their confidence. Nine in all, it would be tough to get them all moving as a group. He made sure he never mentioned Samantha’s death. He wanted each of them to start and continue to become selfish. Selfish to live and trust the Team.
Salvo looked out of the blown wall. “Sergei is coming, everybody move to the far wall and get under something!” The men helped the women move to the farthest corner away from the battle and flipped tables on their side to help shield them from any flying debris.
Sergei came across the frequency. “Foxtrot 1-6, we have smoke in sight. Bravo, are we clear on the demarcation line?”
“Affirmative Thunderbird. Make it rain, OUT.” Kruger responded.
The Puma was again hugging the ground headed due north. Sergei had taken off his NVG’s as the sun had started to show itself over the eastern horizon. Veermak and Bouwer were slung into each side of the open side doorways with their PKM machine guns locked and loaded. Sergei had a visual on the firing line of the Commandos and the building that the Team was in. Once he crossed over the Commandos he eased off the throttle and pitched upward, elevating the chopper above rooftop level then nosed down. A split second after they passed over the school house, the Gunners let loose in fully automatic fire. The Puma crawled at about thirty five kilometers an hour through the smoke saturating anything and everything.
The South African crew members, unable to get clear visuals on their targets made patterns trying to cover as much area as possible, hoping for hits. Once the Puma had come to the end of the village it banked to the west across the river and sped away.
Kruger and Salvo now waited near the blown out corner for the African Soldiers to make their way to them. Much to their relief the effectives of the platoon began appearing out of the grass and sprinting towards the building. Lieutenant Kava was in the lead spraying forward with the AK-74. Two machine gun crews flanked him, their guns hung from a long sling, firing from the waist. Major Bell also appeared and hobbled over to the building.
Kava had his men take cover behind the second building to their south. It had sustained damage as well. A quick peek inside told them that it was probably their headquarters. Kava looked quickly through the hole in the wall and saw no one.
“Thunderbird, the men are with us. Can you make one more pass, over?”
“Negative on that Whiskey Kilo. The smoke is starting to clear. We can’t afford any RPG’s, over.”
“Understood, Thuderbird. We will take it from here. Expect evac shortly, over.”
“Roger that.”
The Commandos started to move forward in fire teams of three, fanning out across the breadth of the village. Shots echoed immediately. Push those bastards away from us, Dammit, Kruger thought to himself.
“Bell, get in here,” Kruger called out to the limping Major.
“It missed the artery, thank God,” Bell said as Kruger helped him through the hole in the wall. “They froze up. Half the Platoon is dead or wounded,” he said stunned. It was obvious that he was going into shock from blood loss. He had had presence of mind to put a tourniquet on his leg but it was a clean shot though the muscle. Another inch and his femur would have shattered and he would have bled out.
“Simmons…..”
“Got him Boss,” Simmons said helping the limping Bell over to the corner. He immediately hit him with some morphine. “This will help you calm down.” He then took his scissors out and cut his trouser to get a good look at the wound.
McGee had taken the PKM from the Major and checked the ammo. “I’m about sick of this shit. I’m going to finish their fuck ups and get the fuck out of here.”
“I’m with you, Bru,” Johan said. He gave the SAW to Salvo and picked up his R4, filled up his webbing with magazines and looked at Kruger.
“Stay in contact and you better not get fokken killed. You are on loan and I’m not paying the remainder of your contract if you die,” Kruger said seriously.
Blake and Johan went out through the wall and disappeared from Kruger’s sight.
Chapter 23
Francois Malouff lay hidden underneath the brick rubble of their operations center. His own man had fired the RPG. He cursed him silently. When the rocket propelled grenade exploded, damaging both the Operations and school building, he lay dazed but was not seriously wounded as he had been hiding in the far end of the building. The fire outside was so thick that he dared not go outside and risk being shot. He had waited for a lull to slip out and make for the trucks.
He and Kwon had a bug out plan that didn’t include his men. They were expendable. He was not. To the east of the camp they had camouflaged two trucks and had agreed to meet there in case of an attack. They would flee to the east, then north to the airstrip and meet their plane. It had been scheduled for 0900 hours that day.
Unable to sleep, he had been in the ops center going over coded emails with his contacts in Uganda and Kenya to smuggle the Gold off the continent. It amounted to a rucksack full of gold. They estimated it to be around 60 pounds worth of gold after it was purified. Its market value was over a million dollars. With their syndicate, he made more off of the missionaries than their operation against the gold mines. Even with all of the commissions and payoffs, he would still profit.
His happiness ended with the assault on the camp. He patiently waited for the right time to make his escape. The firing was moving away from the buildings and farther into the village after the chopper had come through. He decided it was time to make his move. Delicately extricating himself from his position, he grabbed an AK-47, a bag of grenades and put his rucksack of gold on.
He could hear the mercenaries in the school house but their attention was focused north. Climbing over a partially collapsed wall he went toward the river, his AK shouldered and ready. He moved south along the river and turned east and headed up a washout. The lifeless bodies of the Commandos that his men had shot gave some satisfaction. Continuing on, over dead men, he stopped. One of the men was still alive. The Commando sat in the grass holding the bandages over his stomach. The soldier saw him and began to open his mouth to yell but nothing came out. He was nearly dead. He reached for his rifle next to him but Malouff closed the distance quickly and pushed him onto his back and pinned him there, putting a hand over his mouth.
“So you big bad Government Commandos come to kill me and my boys, eh?” Malouff said as he leaned down and whispered into his ear. “You see them boys over there? They are dead. I’m going to make things easy for you.”
The Commando struggled for his rifle as he saw Malouff draw out his knife. “If I had time, I would cut your heart out and fry it with pepper and rice. But I have no time today.” Malouff now took his knife and dug it into the dying man’s juglar vein and sliced upwards. “Close your eyes, soldier boy.”
The young soldier struggled no more.
****
Colin Taylor had never had an engagement like this. He was down to his final five bullets. Thirty five Rebels had been dispatched. In the confusion of battle no one stopped to find the source of fire that disintegrated and dismembered their fellow combatants. With Kava’s men now advancing and the gun run from Sergei, the Rebels had started to retreat towards him. He decided to save the rounds unless a team member was in danger. He picked up his R4. Abelo and Kawbe were concealed and had been very disciplined to Colin’s orders, even when they saw that their brothers in arms were being shot. The footpath ran up and over the ridge and into a depression that ran into an embankment. There above, the MG team was set up to shoot south and the trackers to the east. A classic L shaped ambush.
“Whiskey Papa, do you read me over?”
“Roger that, give me a sit rep, over.”
“Things are about to heat up here. My team is in position. The Rebels are moving my way, how copy?”
“Roger that, no prisoners, Lone Wolf, over?” Kruger said sternly. Fleeing criminals often had the habit of laying down their arms when the saw no chance of escape. Things had progressed too far to worry about the lives of men who had butchered and raped without remorse.
“Roger Wilco,” Colin replied
The smoke had cleared enough to see Rebels heading up through the brush and into the ambush. Colin moved north to get out of the trackers field of fire. The Commandos were still clearing hut by hut. Blake and Johan were working as a team cleaning out pockets of defenders. The standing orders had been to let the runners run, anticipating that the stop group would catch most of them.
The first group up the hill were dodging bullets that kicked up dirt around them. The Commando’s marksmanship still left something to be desired. Colin counted six. He was in visual contact with the stop groups and warned them that they were approaching.
A ragtag group, dressed in everything from full BDU’s to T-shirts and flip flops, they were walking their last few meters. The tactical training of the Commandos in ambushing was unknown to the Team. Colin hoped that they would allow them to crest the hill and seek cover near the embankment and linger to mount a rear guard action.
As they came over the hill, the six of them stopped and dropped to prone positions to look back over the camp and assess the situation. They were shouting amongst themselves. Their voices were full of panic and confusion.
Their conversation was cut short by the fully automatic bursts of the PK machine gun, Kalashnikovs Machine Gun was fully manned with the gunner and the assistant feeding belt ammunition. Abelo and Kawbe also unleashed their AK’s on the prone men. The machine gun traversed across the line of men with their backs to the embankment. Small geysers of blood erupted from the backs of the men. They ceased to move. Abelo stood up and walked in firing on full automatic, making sure they were dead. A perfect ambush. The Rebels had no chance to react.
Kawbe rushed to assist Ableo to drag the bodies farther into the grass so as not to be seen by anyone else who would climb the hill.
****
Johan and Blake had never worked together before. But they spoke the universal language of western style close quarters combat. Blake had run the ammo dry from his gun and reverted to his R4. Neither man was content to allow their fates to be decided by men that had faltered under fire. The remaining Commandos were scattered with Lieutenant Kava, pushing the Rebels farther and farther out of the village. They relied on superior fire power by ripping rounds through huts, rolling in a grenade and then checking inside for anything else living.
Immediately, Johan noticed that they were missing possible hiding places. They decided to move up the Eastern side of the village. Deliberate in their decision making, they moved toward a hut that had shown no sign of Commando damage. The dying embers of a fire and cooking utensils were still untouched in front of it. It was larger than the others and was likely the quarters of a higher up in the gang. As they closed in on it, they heard something rustling around inside.
“Mate, we have someone in there,” Blake said.
They both shouldered their rifles and approached it from the side. Moving quietly toward the hut, they crouched near the wall and listened. The voices were low but neither of them understood Lingala. They heard the unmistakable sound of magazines being inserted into rifles.
Not one to wait, Johan motioned to Blake that he would enter the door with Blake as number Two. Quietly, they moved along the wall toward the door. Blake had his hand on the shoulder of Johan and gave a squeeze, signaling that he was ready whenever Johan was.
Johan fluidly moved into the door and toward the far wall scanning his sector. Blake peeled off and pivoted to his side. What they saw stopped them from shooting. Only the trained and in control operator would have been able to make that momentary decision to withhold the bullet. Three figures were at the far end of the hut with AK-47’s rising to fire.
Two of the men were standing on each side of a very young man. He looked to be no more than 12 years of age. His face was terrified. Both Blake and Johan started to scream at them.
“Put your weapons down!”
“Don’t do it mate!”
A standoff occurred. The man on the right pulled the child in front of him. The operators continued to shout in their most intimidating voices with their muzzles pointed at the men. The Rebels had not yet raised their guns but held tightly to them. They knew they had a bargaining chip. In most African wars, a child soldier would present no moral quandary. They would die the same as a full grown man. The western sensibilities of the Blake and Johan were putting themselves in jeopardy.
The Rebels started shouting back at them. The man holding him slowly put his rifle to the child’s head and motioned for the white men to leave. That was not going to happen. Growing impatient with the situation, Blake fired two rounds into the man with the child then one shot to the head of the Rebel on the left.
The young boy jumped in terror and began to raise his rifle. Johan darted forward and kicked the rifle out of the boy’s hands. He shouted at Johan in Lingala, pushing him. Johan grabbed him by the collar and led him to the door.
“Cover me bru, we are going to drop this one back at the Alamo,” Johan said.
“Right behind you, move fast,” Blake said.
The boy soldier was not being very cooperative but Johan tightened his grip and drug him and double timed. The southern area appeared to be clear. Blake scanned in a semi-circle, finger tightly on the trigger.
“Coming in!” Johan warned as he went back into the school building. “We captured this one. Couldn’t shoot him Boss. You are probably going to have to restrain him.
“Well done, Johan. I’m afraid that some of the dead out there haven’t started shaving yet. Nothing we can do about it,” Kruger said. With so many adult males dead from the warfare and disease, criminal militias raided villages and stole children. The girls became sex slaves and the boys became killers. However, they weren’t here to save the world and it was time to get on with it.
Simmons had assessed all of the missionaries and they were mobile enough to get to the RV and away from their nightmare. Besides the bruising and cuts, all the women were dealing with infections. Both from being raped and cut up. They would receive medical care in Kolwezi. It was almost time to call in Sergei.
****
Kwon waited patiently for Malouff in their hide. He could only wait so long before he would have to go on his own. If Malouff had survived and escaped, there was a second truck. He turned on the Hi Frequency radio and went to the main communication channel and initiated contact.
“This is North Wind, I repeat, this is North Wind, do I have a copy?” The radio crackled as he waited for a reply. He repeated his callsign again and waited.
“I read you North Wind. What is your situation, over?”
