Sunday in Sudan

PART ONE

2045

CHAPTER ONE

THE FALALAH

The ancestral campsite had been a tense place for two days running. Huge, strange sounding air trucks were landing about ten miles to the east and disgorging humongous amounts of materials. Soldiers, strange looking soldiers of many races seemed to be appearing everywhere, or at least that’s how some of the top Falalah scouts described the circumstances.

Sylken had been eager to see these sights for herself, but her father had her busy in the camp teaching some of the younger children the basics of explosives. In fact, she was in the middle of a bobby trap demonstration when she and her students heard an eerie buzzing noise unlike anything in their past experiences of sound. The closest similar noise she could recall was the humming noise made by a pestilence of beetles.

Sylken ordered her charges to lie flat on the ground, and she was just about to join them there when she spotted the vulture-sized, winged aircraft. It came to an easy landing on the fine sand, circled in a tight turn, and then rolled along as if sighted to the middle of the camp and right up to the largest yurt where the senior elder resided. It stopped at the door while hundreds of her countrymen looked on, their mouths agape.

Instinctively Sylken covered her head with her hands and awaited an explosion. One, then two male warriors fired off shots from their rifles at the mechanical bird, but it never wavered in its course even though at least one shot appeared to strike it. A different humming sound was added to the original and the top of the drone popped open. But instead of an explosion, a sheath of papers popped out and scattered, blown about by the existence of a rare light breeze that was caressing the encampment.

When Sylken heard no explosions and felt no reverberation to the earth beneath her, she raised her head and watched the papers come floating down all around her and the rest of the Falalah settlement. She caught one of the sheets out of the air. The paper felt different to her touch than anything she’d ever grasped before. It was finer, smoother and quite colorful.

Sylken picked up several of those that fell near her and compared them. They all appeared the same. The paper was bright red with black printing that spelled out a message in several languages. The young Falalah woman could barely read the part in Swahili, but she had no trouble with the Arabic section. From her limited Swahili reading ability, she did, however, conclude that each paragraph in the four different languages was a repeat of the same two-paragraph message.

It read:

People of the Falalah nation: Do not be afraid. WE COME IN PEACE. The United Nations has dispatched the Global Rangers into the Sudan to stop the incessant fighting between all factions.

The Rangers will provide equal security to all. All military forces must remain in their camps and fire their weapons in defense only. Ranger patrols will stop groups of more than three for identification and protection. We will contact your village in person very soon. Until then, all of your patrols must remain at least five miles from our camp.

AYSHAM KIM, COLONEL, GLOBAL RANGERS.

Most of the Falalah could not read any of the four languages on the paper, the Amharic, Arabic, Swahili or Tartar, but they found the sheets attractive and strong, so therefore potentially useful. After the bird-like drone had tossed its messages into the air, it spun about 180 degrees, did a short rolling take off and zoomed back up into the sky. It wavered once, apparently hit by another bullet but still flew on undamaged and oblivious to its observers and attackers. It winged off in the direction of the new intruders’ camp.

Sylken translated the message for her students. They all got a good laugh from it. She reconstituted her class, hushing the desire of the youngsters to jabber on more about the strange sight they had just observed. Although Sylken laughed outwardly along with them, inwardly she shivered involuntarily and had an uneasy feeling that her life was about to be changed. The descriptions she'd heard of these Global Rangers suggested to her that they could be a far more formidable foe than the Dinka, the Mahdi, or her other lifelong enemies. Who were these Globals? She wondered.

CHAPTER TWO

THE RANGERS

Aysham Kim was a boy colonel at the age of 28 and tabbed by most of his superiors and contemporaries as a water-walker, a future general and certainly a soon-to-be Mission Commander. He loved his work and did it with immense skill and professionalism. When notified of his command in the UN’s Sudan expedition, he’d been elated. He looked forward to his second tour in Africa, and had crammed himself with information from the master computers about the Sudan, its people, geography and dismal political history.

He had quickly concluded that the Sudan expedition was going to be a challenging mission. It seemed as if the people there had been at war with each other forever. One of the problems was that Sudan's borders, as was the case for most African nations, had been drawn by foreigners. In this case, the foreigners were the British, who had governed the Sudan in modern times until they were forced by economic reality to pull back from their colonies. In the deep past the Sudan had also been part of Egypt, the Ottoman Empire, under the thumb of the Mongol hordes, and ruled by Moorish warriors. It had been the scene of some of the worse massacres in military history.

Aysham surmised, however, that the military part of the problem would be the easiest to resolve. There were many combatants who disliked one another but they would be lightly armed in comparison to his forces. They would be using the weaponry of, at best, the 1990s and mostly of the 1970s and earlier. Of course, almost every Sudanese had a gun or two of some kind. One phrase Aysham had run across in his research of the Sudan seemed to be regularly repeated. It stated, In the Sudan only those with guns have any chance to survive, but even those not for long.

Aysham thought it would be his diplomatic compatriots that had the toughest assignment ahead of them. Somehow, they had to find a way to convince long term, bitter enemies that it was in their best self-interests to put aside their ill feelings toward one another and cooperate. Perhaps even to give up some of their cherished territory to the claims of their rivals.

It had been on this diplomatic side of the equation that the Globals had failed in Chad, and the situation in Sudan was remarkably similar. Why the powers-that-be thought the Globals could succeed in the Sudan after the failure in Chad struck Aysham as unfathomable. He felt, however, that his task of defeating the many armies was doable, and that he should leave it to others, hopefully now wiser heads, to take care of the negotiations.

The biggest division among the peoples of Sudan was between African and Arab. In a somewhat over simplification, it could be said that the Arabs ruled the north and the Africans the south. The Arabs were richer, most often stronger militarily and used to being the top dogs. Unfortunately, the rival groups were not only divided by their ethnicity but their religions as well. The Arabs were mostly Muslim while the Africans were predominantly Christian, Animist, or of globally lesser-known traditional beliefs.

There were several groups of minor actors who complicated the situation even more. These were tribes of people who were not clearly Arab nor African, Islamic nor Christian. Many did not belong to any major religious sect. Aysham’s Brigade of 5,000 men was slated to take up positions, forcibly if necessary, just slightly south east of the center of the Sudan in a region along the White Nile mostly populated for several centuries by a small tribe or clan of people known as the Falalah.

Some historians claimed the Falalah were out of Ethiopia and Amharic. While others argued that they were descendants of a group of Tartars sent south by the Great Kahn and then forgotten. Isolated from their own, they had intermarried with Arabs, Africans, Ethiopians and others, almost anyone who wandered through. The result was a mixed blood tribe that was independent and fiercely protective of their territory, as would befit men who had ridden at the head of the Mongol hordes.

Aysham ordered one man in each of his maneuver squads to learn the rudiments of the Falalah language, but he was then astounded to learn that in the entire UN library there was not one single rendering of a Falalah alphabet, much less a dictionary of their language. One of his linguistic specialists spoke Tartar, and they hoped it might serve them as a communication tool. Aysham was relieved to learn that at least some of the Falalah might speak Arabic and/or Swahili.

Colonel Kim and his band had arrived like locusts out of the sky. At first they had dropped out of the clouds via their large and small helicopters. These initial landings had been followed by huge transport ships which sat down on the minimal strip the original troops had prepared for their suppliers. Materials meant a lot to this kind of a strike force, and they needed tons to support them.

Aysham commanded only 5,000 men and women but unlike most armies in modern times almost all of them were considered warriors. Only a few represented the tail rather than the teeth of this fire-breathing dragon force. All Global soldiers, including the medical staff knew how to fight with most of the weaponry at their command and all were officers. Their basic weapon was a rifle, however, it was something to behold and gave each warrior as much firepower as a whole squad of twelve soldiers could have mustered twenty years earlier. To date, these UN forces had not lost a single battle nor taken notable numbers of casualties.

Their mission strategy was simple. First they would try to persuade the local military forces to cease all operations against those they considered enemies, remain in their camps and accept the protection of the Rangers. But if that persuasion failed the Rangers would pick the most opportune time to confront a particular force and then either accept their surrender, disarm them by superior firepower, or wipe them out if they refused to obey their commands.

To a rather unsophisticated enemy like they were expected to meet in the Sudan, Aysham’s unit might have looked vulnerable, at least to air power, but among his arsenal was a variety of air defense weapons that had proven incredibly effective yet almost invisible to any observer. He was also backed up some two hundred and fifty miles to the south by a huge air armada of the latest inner and outer space ships with incredible fire power, lightening speed of attack capability, and instant communication with his forces at all times. Most Global aircraft were magnetic powered, although they retained a few nuclear powered ones even while they were being phased out of service.

No Global military force had entered Khartoum, the capital city of the Sudan yet, but the chief negotiating team was on the ground there and meeting with representatives of the major fighting factions. The Islamic forces of the Mahdi faction controlled Khartoum. Several times in the last three decades the Mahdi had claimed control of all of the Sudan; in fact they did so now.

The reality was, however, that as one moved south from Khartoum the Mahdi sovereignty diminished at every mile marker, and by the time one reached the point where Aysham’s forces were building their headquarters, no group truly ruled and everyone lived or died by the law of the jungle.

Within Aysham’s control zone there were Mahdi military units, Falalah, and those of at least three separate African types. They usually fought whenever and wherever they encountered one another, and periodically one or the other of them launched raids against their foes’ strongholds.

In recent times the Africans, most often the Dinka, had more or less won dominion over this region, although a few months ago the Mahdi had reclaimed it with some significant victories. When the resources of those with more distant home bases ran low, for whatever reason, the Falalah most often gained the upper hand, but that was always a short-lived superiority. The Global encampment was located a mere ten miles from the largest known Falalah settlement, although it was really a stretch to call it anything more than a camp.

Aysham had personally picked the spot for his base and set their first goal. He wanted to win the Falalah over by a show of force. He had achieved success in the past by persuading the weakest of the combatants to place themselves under Global protection. Then, one by one he had moved up the power list of competitors, adding more and more people to his Rangers’ protected status. This put a squeeze on whatever group was the most powerful, causing them to conclude that the Rangers, plus the growing list of old foes who had sided with them, represented too much power to successfully resist militarily. This usually, but not always, set the stage for a cease-fire and an agreement to talk. Then, it was up to his diplomatic brothers and sisters to work their miracles.

Aysham’s troops had begun spying on the Falalah enclave by satellite even before they arrived. They knew roughly how many people were there and that they had little to no major weaponry like tanks and armored carriers. Indeed, the Falalah appeared limited to Vietnam War era rifles, grenades, a few bazookas, some even older grease guns, and less than twenty artillery pieces with very limited amounts of ammo for them. The Mahdi and even the Dinka had enough wealth and occasional outside support to buy weapons on the open armament bazaar, but the Falalah armed themselves almost exclusively via battle and ambush. Their society did not circulate money and quite possibly frowned on its use.

Immediately on arrival, Aysham had sent out patrols, squads of twelve men and women who were instructed to avoid contact and merely observe. The second day out, several of the patrols had spotted small groups of Falalah: never more than three or four man units doing reconnaissance from afar. One Falalah patrol came close to the Ranger base the second night, but it still distanced itself by more than a half mile.

That same second day on station Aysham had sent that small drone aircraft into the Falalah enclave to distribute the leaflets which Sylken and some of her compatriots had read. The leaflets, if the Falalah could decipher them, were designed to buy time for the Ranger force. Their aim was to prevent a shooting war from breaking out before they were in the best position to deal with it.

Early on a Sunday morning, their third night in camp with station prep-work still underway, Aysham was awakened by the sound of gunfire. He rose quickly and started to pull on his boots, after first carefully aiming a small laser instrument into them to zap any scorpions or other dangerous insects that might have encamped inside. So far such bites had been his forces only casualties.

The colonel’s first instinct had been to rush outside and find out what had happened, but he suppressed it. He dropped the boots back down on the sandy floor and leaned back on his pillow. Perhaps, he thought, it was a time to show his new unit that their commander trusted their skills. There was a night commander and another officer in charge of perimeter defense. They would contact him if they needed his counsel.

He thought sure he recognized the martial sounds. They almost all came from his Rangers' weaponry; their basic weapon called the MZ-99. But there had been a couple of shots in the group that were different, older guns, automatic weapons like he had often heard in Chad and Iraq, along with a couple of old fashioned grenade explosions.

Aysham waited for his phone to ring but it didn’t, and he heard no more shooting. Then he heard a ring next door in Rajani’s room. Rajani O’Brien was his second-in-command and an old friend. They had been reared in the same extended family and served together on three combat tours. Raj, as Aysham called him, had just earned his Lt. Colonelcy.

Good job, Raj Aysham mumbled to himself, having the troops report the news to you first and then deciding whether or not to awaken me is good staff work.

There were no more loud noises from the outdoors either, so clearly there was no crisis. The colonel lay back on his air mattress trying to go back to sleep, wondering what had happened and hoping for two things, no casualties, at least among the Rangers, and a prisoner or two from whom they might learn something useful.

As he lay there trying to get back to sleep, Aysham felt a bit sorry for any Falalah or other comparatively primitive soldier who might try to breach their defenses. They would be spotted by the Ranger’s electronic detectors very early on and then tracked by the Ranger perimeter surveillance team. The Ranger training procedure was to let such potential attackers come on in, thinking they were undetected. This would give the Rangers time to determine what they were up to and then spring a trap on them. Prisoners were often invaluable. Unfortunately, the fact that he had heard his men fire suggested that if there had been potential prisoners, they had not surrendered and may have been killed.

Aysham knew his Ranger forces were not trigger-happy, but when fired upon, they were trained to shoot back. If they shot, they were not picky about where they aimed, even though they were almost all expert shots. It was hard not to be Annie Oakley-like with their weaponry, especially at night when they could lock onto a target with their night rays.

At six thirty the next morning Aysham rose from his bed, dressed in his camp uniform and headed to the chow hall. One of the nice things about the Global force structure was that there was no need to provide separate dining halls for enlisted personnel and officers. Every Ranger was a commissioned officer and had the equivalent of a college degree in military weaponry, tactics and strategy as well as some real academic field from Engineering to Philosophy.

The base was humming already, and Aysham could tell it was hot, very hot, although it was quite early. He felt the heat on his face and hands but nowhere else. The Global camp uniform was made of a new material that adjusted to the temperature and kept one cool no matter the temperature or the humidity. The Global women especially loved their uniforms for wearing them almost eliminated the need for skin creams, even in the weird climatic places to which they always seemed to be sent.

The breakfast group of three that Aysham joined, two Majors, one of each gender, and a medical doctor, obviously already knew more about what had happened last night than Aysham did. It was Dr. Liu, a very non-Oriental looking black man with the first name of Pankrit, of course, nicknamed Dr. Pan, who enlightened Aysham about the early morning escapade.

I have the prisoner in the hospital. Has Raj told you about her yet?

Not yet. I heard the shooting, but when it died out quickly I figured I’d let the chain of command do its job. It’s a woman, eh? What nationality?

Based on my study of the folks around here, I’d say she’s definitely a Falalah. However, I’d expected most of them to have lousy teeth and rather bony bodies. Their diet can’t be all that nutritious, but that expectation was not borne out by this catch. Oh, she’s slender all right, too slim for good health probably, but...well, you’ll see, but I'm betting even Kimi would call her very pretty.

I haven’t seen her yet; except from night scope video but that’s sure the rumor, the female major at the table responded. Kimiko Goldenstein was an electronic specialist who had directed the surveillance of the attacking group that morning.

Did everything work right with your stuff? Aysham asked her.

Just like in the manual; it sure beats the K-06 equipment I had to work with in Equatorial Guinea. It’s too bad they didn’t surrender when ordered to do so. There were five of them and only one survivor. That may not endear us to the locals, but they were shooting and even charged our guys. Although I don’t think they knew where or how many of us there were.

Any of our people hurt?

The doctor answered Aysham. Clancy twisted an ankle in the melee, and the survivor gave Monique a bit of a tussle before she and Seigo trussed her up. She was quite a little fighter. They wounded her in both legs but she never quit resisting. We had to do surgery to remove bullet fragments from both her thighs, and I had to put a new kneecap in her left leg. Pan was speaking very matter casually since he was not a newcomer to combat.

She was still resisting when they brought her in. We had to strap her down and shoot her up in order to get her prepped for surgery. After the operation, even though they still had her restrained, she bit one of the nurses, Anders Gu.

At that point in the conversation they were joined by Mister Number Two, Lt. Colonel Rajani O’Brien.

So there you are boss-man, Raj uttered as he turned a chair around and straddled it with his long legs. He leaned forward with his hands placed across the top of the back of the chair.

"I’ve been looking for you. We got the prisoner you wanted last night, but so far I haven’t been able to communicate with her at all. I don’t think she understood a damned thing we said to her. I presume the Doc has already told you it’s a girl and a very pretty one at that—if you like them rather wild, that is.

By the way, Kimi, Raj went on after a pause that let the others think about his wild girl comment. "Hell of a job with the surveillance quip. You gave the troops everything they needed. Too bad the intruders were either unable to understand us or suicidal."

Kimiko nodded a thank you for the tribute to her job performance and went on rather daintily eating her eggs. Raj turned toward the doctor. When do you think I can try to interrogate her more thoroughly? I didn’t try very long this morning cuz your guys seemed eager to get her into surgery. Smith told me a while ago that she was now conscious but still groggy. Apparently, none of the medical staff think they’ve gotten through to her–other than by sign language.

The doctor looked at his watch, tapped it with his finger, and after it told him the time in a seductive voice, he answered. "I’d give her at least another three to four hours. There was nothing dramatic about her surgery, but we gave her heavy sedatives both before and after the knife work. We had to knock her out cold because we didn’t want her flopping about and resisting us on the optabe. I looked in on her just before I came over here. She’s just a kid, and her legs were torn up pretty badly. Of course, she’s a lot better off than her four companions."

Aysham interjected, Did you do the actual surgery, Pan?

Yep, Minerva and Sasha assisted. Her left leg was damaged more than the right, but both took a good hit. Baring any infection or some unexpected complication not now readily observable, she should regain full use of both legs. Although it will be a while before she walks without pain and stiffness.

Were you able to get a read from her as to the sort of general state of health of the Falalah people? Did you examine the others—the DOA’s from that viewpoint as well?

The others are waiting for me. I saw no reason to lose any more sleep over them. I was impressed with her. I mean we’ve already alluded to her looks. Even dirty, grimy, bloody and bruised, she’d be a knockout if she had the cosmetic advantages available on Global or in any other developed country. She was underweight but not excessively. I have a feeling maybe their soldiers eat better than the rest, or perhaps, after what that clan's been through the last several decades, only the fittest live beyond childhood and pass on their good genes.

From what I’ve read, they’re all soldiers as soon as they get strong enough to carry a gun, Kimiko entered the conversation again.

Aysham added, Yeah, an article I read said that their use of women as soldiers was a fairly new trend started out of necessity. Their total numbers are down significantly in this decade.

The doctor continued his thread of thought with a nod to Kim’s point. I mentioned she's just a youth. She could be fifteen to sixteen or at most eighteen-nineteen. It’s hard for me to be sure since I have no experience treating people from this area. Definitely a teenager though. She’s also a lot more light-skinned than I expected from the pictures I’d seen of Falalah. I do remember reading though that they’re composed of a real mixture of ethnic genes. I detect a tiny hint of Asian in her eyes.

There was a silence in which the group drank coffee or ate. Raj broke the interlude. So, you think we could try and question her before lunch, after, or what? I’m kind of eager. If these people are already attacking us, it behooves us, for their sake as well as ours, to reach out and try to make some non-martial contacts.

I agree, Aysham noted emphatically. She could prove very valuable to us if we can communicate with her. Interrogate her as soon as the doctor gives the OK, Raj, and if you fail to learn anything, how about letting me try. Could she be brought to my office about three or four?

We can do that. She could be zipped over in a chair. However, unless she’s changed her reactions, we’ll probably have to restrain her. If we don’t, she might hurt herself. Even tear open her sutures.

I’m curious as to why they’d send such a young female on a mission like this. Aysham speculated. Maybe it was a suicide mission, and they figure females are expendable. Were the others that young as well?

Like I said, I haven’t examined them yet, the doctor answered.

Kimiko added, I saw them on screen up close and personal, albeit at night. I’d say she was probably the youngest and definitely the only woman on the team.

Well, let’s find out, ASAP. Aysham rose, emptied his tray at a nearby garbage disposal and headed out the door. On the way out of the mess hall he raised his left arm and spoke into a wrist radio reporting his intended destination. I’m going over to the supply building to see how much progress we’re making.

CHAPTER THREE

THE PRISONER

At 3:25 on a Sunday afternoon, the phone in Colonel Kim’s office rang. It was Raj, and he reported a continued lack of success in getting through to the prisoner.

It’s like she understands nothing we say. We talk, but her eyes just wander from person to person, objects along the wall, etc. We’ve tried Arabic, Amharic, Swahili, Tartar, Russian, Dinka and a few international curse words. She may just be faking it, but unless we’re willing to use force, I think we’re wasting our time. You still want to see her?

Well, it has nothing to do with not trusting your skills, but what have we got to lose? She’s of no value to us if we can’t communicate. Did you try to scare her without actually harming her?

"We’ve aimed guns at her to try and get her to look at us and pay attention, but she just sort of dares us to pull the trigger with her eyes, and then looks away as if she doesn’t give a damn. I’ll bring her to your office, but remember she’ll be in restraints. Any time she’s been loose she’s tried to tear the bandages off her legs and take swings at anyone within range. If even just her feet are free she kicks out at us. I know it has to hurt her like hell, but that doesn’t slow her down. Frankly, we’re all impressed with