He reread the message, made a few corrections, and hit the send button. Ten minutes later, he received a subpoena.
Mission Awana
The sun was setting and the last C-130 was inbound for the day when Allston read the message from Fitzgerald. He was sitting at his desk in the Ops Center and Jill was standing at the big boards marking in the latest numbers. Allston read the total; the four Herks had flown nine sorties and airlifted another 1013 Dinka and Nuer to safety for a grand total of 26,337. It was all they were going to get. “Major Sharp,” he called. She turned and he spun his laptop around for her to read the message. “It doesn’t get much more specific,” Allston told her. “Judging by the language, this one is for the record.” Without a word, she read the message.
Consider this an order to immediately evacuate Mission Awana. Sudanese Army is moving into position on the north side of the White Nile opposite Mission Awana. Expect an attack at anytime. Janjaweed are maneuvering in force south of Mission Awana. Estimated strength approximately one thousand (1000). Reply immediately upon receiving and state intentions. John M. Fitzgerald, General, USAF Chief of Staff, USAF
“Have you replied?” she asked. He shook his head. “Play it straight,” she counseled. “The bureaucrats in the Pentagon and the crowd across the River will Monday morning quarterback it to death.” He spun the laptop around and typed a reply. He showed it to her before hitting the send key.
Your message received and understood. Will commence evacuation as required immediately after coordinating with Col Pierre Vermullen, La Legion Etrangere, UN Peacekeeping forces, and Reverend Tobias Person, Mission Awana. David O. Allston, Lt. Col. USAF Commander, 4440th Special Airlift Detachment
She fixed him with the steadfast look he had come to expect. “Keeping your options open?” He gave her his best fighter-pilot grin as he hit the send button. “I always considered an order as a point of discussion. We need to talk to Toby and Idi.” He printed out the order.
“They’re at the hospital,” Jill said.
Nothing on Vermullen’s face betrayed his thoughts as he read Fitzgerald’s order. He passed it to Toby who read it twice. “You don’t have much of a choice,” Toby said.
“Actually, I do,” Allston replied. “I will evacuate as many folks out of here as we can. So what are we looking at?” Toby ran the numbers. There were just under two thousand men, women, and children at the mission, and approximately three thousand more in the refugee camp. “Plus two hundred legionnaires,” Allston added.
“We’re not leaving,” Toby said, his voice quiet but sure and unwavering.
“The Legion is also staying,” Vermullen announced.
“That’s crazy,” Allston protested. “It’s going to be a bloodbath.” But he knew neither man would budge. “At least, evacuate everyone who wants out.”
“Certainly,” Toby agreed. “But I don’t think you have much time.”
“What about arming convoys?” Jill asked. “We can move a lot of people in the next twenty-four hours.”
Toby shook his head. “Even if we had the trucks and busses it would be too dangerous. A convoy returning from Juba was due in this afternoon and there’s been no word. The jungle telegraph says the Janjaweed have cut us off to the south, the same as your message.”
Allston made a decision. “Okay, here’s the drill. I’m flying the 4440th to Juba tonight. I’ll keep a small contingent here and start a shuttle; evacuees out and fly in whatever support the South will give us. The birds can refuel at Juba, and we’ll keep at it as long as the runway here is open.” The details were quickly arranged. “Major Lane will take the Irregulars to Juba and run the operation from there. I’ll stay here and keep the shuttle going from this end.” He turned to Jill. “Let’s go do it.” The two hurried to the Ops Center to set the evacuation in motion.
An hour later, the advance party of crew chiefs and mechanics, along with their baggage, tools, and spare parts, started to load the first Hercules. Lieutenant Colonel Susan Malaby counted heads and sorted out who would shuttle out and who would stay at the mission. She was not surprised when Loni Williams and four crew chiefs volunteered to stay. The two majors who ran Logistics and Facilities conferred and decided which of their troops would stay behind to keep the shuttle going. Like Maintenance they had plenty of volunteers. Master Sergeant Jerry Malone clumped into the Ops Center in full battle gear and caught Allston’s attention. “Like Malakal?” he asked.
“Just like Malakal,” Allston confirmed. The security cops would be the very last to leave — on board a C-130 if they were lucky.
“Got it,” Malone replied. He snapped a salute and left.
Major Dick Lane was next and told Allston that the aircrews were all gathered and ready to go. Did he want to say anything? Allston did. He went into the big room where his pilots, flight engineers, and loadmasters were waiting. For a moment, he couldn’t find the right words. Supposedly, these men and women were not the elite, the fighter pilots or the bomber crews, but were trash haulers who moved cargo. They had flown day after day with skill and determination, at the risk of their lives, and had done everything he asked of them.
Now he was going to ask for more and there was no doubt they would give all they could. “You all know the situation,” he began, “so I won’t try to blow smoke up your backside. The next few days are going to be tough, and most of you are going to get shot at and some are going to be hit. But we’ve got a job to do and with every sortie you fly, you save innocent men, women, and children from certain death.
“I seriously doubt that the generals and politicians back home give a damn or care about the Dinka or Nuer. But I’ve seen way too many starving babies, shattered men and women without hope, and mutilated and desecrated bodies not to care.”
“That’s why we’re the Irregulars, Colonel,” a voice from the back called. A rumble of approval swept the room and kept growing, and Allston knew, without doubt, that he was in the company of heroes.
“Okay,” Allston said, “forget about the twelve hour crew duty day. This is a max effort and fly as long, and as safe as you can. I’m not asking you to fall on your sword and self-destruct, just give it your best shot. Show the world what the Irregulars are all about.” He looked around the room, taking them in. Jill stood by the door, her eyes shining. “That’s it, folks. Let’s make it happen.” The Irregulars came to their feet and trailed out the door. He caught a glimpse of Marci Jenkins as she tried to blend in and sneak out.
“Captain Jenkins,” he called. “Wait up.” He walked towards her, his anger growing with each step. “Didn’t I order you to leave?”
“You did, sir.”
He pushed his face close to hers, their noses an inch apart. “Then why are you still here?”
“Sir,” Jill called, “I have it on the best of authority that a direct order is a point of discussion.”
He whirled around and glared at her. She cocked her head and smiled sweetly at him and, for a moment, he was speechless. Then, the irony hit him. Marci Jenkins was doing exactly what he would have done. He turned back to the pilot. “Report to Major Lane and tell him I said to fly your pregnant ass off.”
“Yes, sir,” Marci said.
“And you,” he said to Jill, “be on the first shuttle to Juba.”