“Boss, there’s over a hundred Janjaweed in the area. I morted one and they’re pissed.”
“Help is on the way,” Allston told him. He keyed the intercom. “Loadmaster, please have Colonel Vermullen come to the flight deck. Marci, go common.” Again, she punched at the radio and switched to the UHF frequency the C-130s used to communicate between themselves. He keyed the radio. “Gizmo Two, how copy?” Lane confirmed the radio transmissions were loud and clear. “Roger,” Allston replied. “Hold clear of the area, above the cloud deck. I don’t want the Janjaweed to know you’re here.” Less than a minute later, the big Frenchman climbed onto the flight deck. He had shed his parachute and most of his gear in order to move around. Allston quickly briefed him on the number of Janjaweed Williams had seen. “We may have to fight our way in.”
Vermullen snorted. “What is this ‘we,’ Yank?” He hunched over the navigator’s table with G.G. and studied the chart. “I’ll parachute in with my team to secure the area and evaluate the situation on the ground. Hold the other aircraft in reserve.” They were on the same wavelength.
“May I make a suggestion?” Marci said. “It would be nice to have some firepower on board when we land to extract you.”
“What are you thinking?” Vermullen asked.
“Leave a few shooters on board.” She pointed to the emergency escape hatch above their heads. “We can put one in the top hatch, sort of like a nose gunner, and have a couple more on the ramp, like last time.”
Allston reevaluated the young woman. She was definitely showing fangs, which he liked, and was much more aggressive than many of her male counterparts. Allston turned to Vermullen. “We can do that. Colonel, what do you think?”
Vermullen studied the overhead hatch. “How will he get up there?”
“The loadmaster can rig a ladder,” Allston told him.
“I’ll detail three shooters to stay behind,” Vermullen said.
“No volunteers?” Allston asked.
Vermullen snorted. “No parachutiste trusts a pilot to safely land. It is much safer to bail out.”
“Tell them not to shoot off a prop,” Allston replied.
Williams voice came over the Guard channel. “Gizmo One! We’re taking fire from the brush and tree line north of our position.”
Vermullen studied the terrain below. “Where exactly are they located?”
Allston keyed the Guard channel. “Loni, give us a flash.” Again, Williams used the survival mirror.
Vermullen pinpointed his location. The Americans were in an open area with a clear field of fire between them and the Janjaweed. The legionnaires would have been sitting ducks if they had parachuted in as planned, but Vermullen was a master tactician and quickly worked the problem, his eyes darting from the chart to the terrain below. It was time for Plan B. “The wooded area behind the Janjaweed blocks their field of fire.” He pointed to an open area. “Captain G.G., can you insert us in that small clearing behind the Janjaweed?” G.G. assured him he could. “C’est bon. We will attack them from the rear. Once we have their undivided attention, Major Lane can insert Major Mercier and his parachutistes to secure the Americans and the landing area. If our luck holds, we can drive the Janjaweed towards Mercier.”
“The old hammer and anvil works every time,” Allston said. He relayed the plan to Lane who was orbiting fifteen miles to the south. “Gizmo Two, you’re cleared to ingress the area. Drop on Williams when I clear you.”
“Turning inbound now,” Lane replied.
G.G. stood behind the copilot as Allston maneuvered the big aircraft, lining up on an open area north of the brush where the Janjaweed were hiding. When G.G. had his bearings, he jumped into his seat and drove the crosshairs on the radar display over the small clearing where Vermullen wanted to be inserted. “Sandwich time,” the navigator said. At exactly four nautical miles out, G.G. called, “Two minutes.” The loadmaster, Staff Sergeant James MacRay, reported that Vermullen was standing in the jump door and the legionnaires were ready to go. Allston dropped the Hercules to 800 feet above the ground. “One minute,” G.G. called.
“We’re taking ground fire,” Marci said.
“Colonel Allston,” MacRay said, “the jumpmaster said to descend to 600 feet. They want minimum time in the chutes.”
Allston descended 200 feet, and was flying straight and level as G.G. counted down. “Green light,” the navigator said. The C-130 shifted as the forty paratroopers marched swiftly out the two jump doors, twenty to a side. Allston jinked the bird hard to avoid ground fire as he climbed.
“Merde!” the French jumpmaster in the rear shouted over the intercom. “MacRay fell out the door! I see his parachute.”
“Fuckin’ lovely!” Allston roared. “I thought he was tethered in.”
Vermullen’s paratroopers were out of their harnesses and advancing on the Janjaweed in small groups within seconds after hitting the ground. It wasn’t the glamorous, shoot from the hip, Hollywood portrayal of combat but a methodical and purposeful clearing action. The legionnaires directed their fire in mutual support, rapidly reloading, and always moving forward.
Lane’s voice came over the radio. “Two minutes out. Got you in sight.”
“You’re cleared to drop,” Allston radioed. “Get as close to Williams as you can.”
“I’ve got a bright flash from the ground,” Lane replied.
“That’s your target,” Allston told him. He was well clear of the Janjaweed and orbited to the north as Lane’s C-130 ran in, also at 600 feet and 120 knots.
G.G. watched Lane’s C-130 as it over flew Williams’ position. “He’s not dropping.” A parachute popped open in the Hercules’ wake. “No! No!” the navigator shouted as more parachutes deployed. “They blew it,” he moaned. “They’re gonna land a half-mile long.”
Unaware the Americans were uncovered, Vermullen and his legionnaires drove the Janjaweed out of the brush. “Vermullen’s driving ’em towards Williams,” Marci warned.
“Got ’em,” Allston replied. His eyes narrowed as he calculated the distances. The Janjaweed would overrun the survivors before Mercier’s legionnaires could reach them. “We’re landing,” he announced. “Jumpmaster, I need a shooter on the flight deck and two on the ramp.”
“I’ll rig the ladder.” G.G said. He disappeared onto the cargo deck as the French jumpmaster climbed onto the flight deck with his snub-nosed FAMAS G2 assault rifle and two bandoliers of ammunition. G.G. shoved a ladder onto the flight deck and worked to erect it as Allston turned short final, the aircraft’s nose high in the air. G.G. reached up and opened the top hatch.
“Hold on!” Allston ordered. He planted the C-130 hard and reversed the props with the aircraft’s nose still in the air. A cloud of dust roared out in front of them as Allston stomped on the brakes. They were still moving when he turned the nose toward the approaching Janjaweed. “Shooter in the top hatch.” The jumpmaster scrambled up the ladder and braced himself as he fired in short bursts. “Cease fire!” Allston shouted as he played the throttles and brakes to pivot the aircraft around. The C-130’s tail swung towards the Janjaweed and the shooters on the ramp under the tail opened up as Vermullen’s legionnaires reached the brush line and joined in, catching the Janjaweed in a deadly crossfire.
However, the Beggara were skilled fighters and returned fire as they mounted their horses and ran for safety. Two horses and their riders went down. One horse was up without its rider and bolted clear. Its tall rider stood up, unhurt, and looked calmly around.
BermaNur saw Jahel’s horse in full gallop with no rider, and without thinking, chased after it. He saw Jahel stand and veered to his right, racing for the tall sheik. Bullets zipped over his head and one ripped across his shoulders, barely breaking his skin. Jahel saw him and stood rock still, not moving as round after round missed their mark. He casually extended his right arm as BermaNur closed the distance. At the last possible moment, BermaNur slowed his horse and grabbed Jahel’s hand. The sheikh swung up in an easy motion and straddled the horse behind the saddle as BermaNur dug his heels into the horse. They raced for safety. “From today,” Jahel said, “you will join my bodyguard and ride beside me.”