“Actually, with well-placed rumors on the jungle telegraph,” Toby added. “And a little encouragement.” From the look on Sutherland’s face, he didn’t have a clue and an explanation was in order. “The jungle telegraph is Africa’s internet. It is word-of-mouth news transmitted by merchants and truck drivers who move about. Market places are the URLs.”
“I get it,” Sutherland said. “The market places are where information is stored and disseminated. Major Sharp tells me your wife is shopping today, so I assume she is gathering news.”
“Not quite,” Toby explained. “She’s pumping information, actually misinformation, into the system.”
“Just like the internet,” Sutherland added, understanding the analogy.
Toby nodded. “The mission buys a lot of food and supplies from the local vendors, which creates goodwill. Right now, D’Na is spreading the rumor that the South Sudan’s People’s Liberation Army intends to attack tomorrow morning, and it’s payback time.”
“Because the South Sudanese have been losing big time,” Sutherland added.
Toby had to make the lawyer understand the stakes. “If you call genocide, ‘losing’ then they are losing big time.”
A high-wheeled pickup loaded with crates of food drove up, and a big, raw-boned woman got out. She gleamed with vitality and, like most Dinkas, her hair was cut short. Toby visibly relaxed. “My wife, D’Na,” he announced. She motioned for the four young men dressed in civilian clothes to join her as she came into the revetment. They all gathered around a large-scale map of Malakal as she filled them in. From the concise way she briefed the men and commanded their attention, there was no doubt she was an accomplished and experienced leader.
D’Na’s first stop had been at the stall of an old woman, Malakal’s most famous fortuneteller and traditional healer. D’Na had whispered the rumor that the South Sudanese were going to attack the SA garrison, and then gone about her business. But she also carefully marked the location of every Sudanese Army checkpoint around the market. By the time she was finished, the market was buzzing with the rumor. “I counted six checkpoints,” she told the men. She carefully marked the six locations on the chart and turned to the four young men. “Go,” she ordered. “Do not spend time talking to the girls. Make sure the soldiers see you and then leave. Get back here as soon as you can.” The four men were all smiles as they left.
“Who are they?” Sutherland asked.
“South Sudanese from Juba,” Toby explained. “You can’t tell it, but every Dinka and Nuer in Malakal will know they’re from a different tribe.”
Sutherland understood. “Confirmation of the rumor. So what happens next?”
“We wait,” Toby replied.
Two hours later, the young men were back, still smiling. They reported they were seen scouting the Army checkpoints and were as popular as Ebola fever.
“Now the next phase,” Vermullen said. He keyed his handheld radio. “Freedom Flight, Freedom Flight, this is Wink One transmitting in the blind. You are cleared to drop. Repeat, you are cleared to drop.” He ended the transmission. “I hope the SA monitored that,” he said. “Have you ever seen an airdrop from the ground?” he asked Sutherland. The lawyer said he had not. “Then you will find it most interesting.”
“Who’s being dropped?” Sutherland asked.
“South Sudanese, of course,” Vermullen replied. He led the way to his Panhard and climbed in the back with Jill. Sutherland sat in the passenger’s seat and Beck drove. “Colonel Allston is flying the C-130,” Vermullen explained, “and the parachutists are South Sudanese recruits we have trained. It is what you Americans call a Hollywood jump. They are jumping without equipment.” They made the drive to a large open area four miles south of Malakal.
The sun was setting when Sutherland saw a single C-130 approach from the west. It passed overhead as jumpers streamed out both aft jump doors. Within minutes, the jumpers were on the ground and gathering up their parachutes. They quickly double-timed into the brush and disappeared. “More confirmation of the rumor?” Sutherland asked. It was a rhetorical question and he knew the answer. “So what now?”
“We have dinner,” Vermullen replied. “Colonel Allston will be joining us.”
“So what happens next?” Sutherland asked.
“We wait.”
Jill relaxed into her chair and cradled her wine glass in both hands. As always, Vermullen was the perfect host and the dinner superb. She was content to listen as the four men talked. They were an odd mixture; the small and wiry Toby, the scholarly and reserved Sutherland, the lanky and edgy Allston, and the dominating presence of Vermullen. There was no doubt they were a band of brothers, complementing each other, yet different. She looked up to see Sutherland studying her. “Major Sharp, there is something I’ve been wondering about. Why did you show me all this?”
She decided to go with the truth. “Two reasons. First, we need a friend at court. Second, I trust you.”
“What a nice compliment,” Sutherland replied. “Colonel Allston, you know General Richards and I need to get to Addis Ababa as soon as possible. All your C-130s are sitting on the ground but you won’t release one. May I ask why?”
“Because we are going to need them,” Allston answered. He checked his watch. “If Colonel Vermullen’s plan is on schedule, it won’t be too long.”
“So we wait,” Sutherland said. He held out his wine glass to be refilled.
Allston’s communicator buzzed just after midnight. He glanced at his dinner companions as he listened. “They’re here,” he announced.
“At the risk of sounding very stupid,” Sutherland said, “I’m guessing your guests are Sudanese Army troops from Malakal demanding you evacuate them to safety.”
“Very good, Colonel,” Vermullen replied. “You have deduced our little plan.”
“May I make a suggestion?” Sutherland asked. “Reverend Person, it would be best if you disappeared at this point.”
“You are afraid our guests will not arrive safely at their destination?” Vermullen wondered.
“The thought has crossed my mind.”
“I did consider it,” Vermullen explained, “but this is better.”
“I’ve got to see this,” Sutherland said, now totally hooked.
“We better get going,” Allston said. Toby stayed behind as they piled into their trucks and drove for the airstrip.
A very agitated Major Waleed was waiting for them. He paced back and forth beside his silver-blue Mercedes Benz sedan. “Do you always ignore the presence of your superior officers?” he snarled.
“My apologies, Major,” Allston replied, ignoring Waleed’s arrogance. “But we were not notified you were coming and were entertaining our guest, Lieutenant Colonel Sutherland.” He went through the formal introductions. “How may I help you?” Allston asked.
“I have been ordered to report to Khartoum and require you fly me there immediately.”
Allston looked at the soldiers Waleed had brought with him for muscle. They were all armed and milling around the C-130s. If the Jungle Telegraph was correct, they were all that was left of the garrison. “Yes, of course we can do that. We can also take your men, if you require.”
“I demand it,” Waleed said. “And my car.”
“Yes, we can take your car,” Allston said. “But weight will be a problem. You must either leave some men behind or your heavy weapons and much of your baggage. I will let you decide who stays and you can give the appropriate orders to your men. We can start loading immediately.” Waleed’s left eye ticked nervously. His soldiers wanted out of Malakal as badly as he did and were not in any mood to be left behind, especially when they could argue the point with an assault rifle. Allston offered him a way out. “Perhaps it would be best to let us handle it. I’m sure everything will go smoothly as long as we get everyone on board. And of course, your car.”