Chapter 15

(Authors Note: Content warning:

I was advised by one of my Editors to include this content warning.

Please be advised that if you are sensetive to the killing of a human, whether it is a good guy or a bad guy, then skip paragraphs 16 to 23 of this chapter.

Otherwise, enjoy this, near real, fiction fairy tale... )

(Five kilometres north of the Limpopo River, Botswana, Africa.)

The African dawn was about to bring the new day, but it was not yet light enough; only a slight colouring to the east, with a sprinkling of stars still visible overhead and to the west. There were no clouds in the sky. Today there will be a scorching sun, burning down out of the sky.

The night-life animals were all silently making their way to wherever they go to hide from the daylight. Some in trees; some into holes or burrows in the ground. Lions, with bellys full, from the night’s feast, would seek the shelter of shady trees. Leopards will climb into shady, full-leaved trees to rest out during the day. Only the ones unlucky in the hunt of the night, will pursue the hunt during the day.

In the muddy water-pools, hippos will wallow with only eyes, ears and noses breaking the surface of the water. On the banks of the Limpopo river, crocodiles will lay in the sun, baking their cold-blooded reptile bodies while controlling their body heat through open mouths. This will be the chance for the scavenger birds to cavort in and out the crocodiles’ mouths, picking scraps of leftover meat from between the crocodiles’ teeth. The age-old symbiosis between the crocodile and scavenger birds.

The new day was on the verge of being born. Silent in the birth, as the birds were still waking from the night’s sleep in cosy nests, it was that time of day that all was quiet. The darkness before the sunrise, yet light enough to start to distinguish between rocks and trees. Somewhere along the bank of the Limpopo river a lonely crocodile slipped back into the water.

In the deep shadows of the bush, there was another type of shrub around; a man-made shrub. With leaves of closely gathered canvas material shrouding the animal inside, it could not be seen by the casual eye. The animal itself was coloured by black and green and grey camouflage body paint, hiding its normal skin colour. There were a few of them. Forty in total. In two groups of twenty, lying in wait. Silent, not moving at all but for the normal breathing needed.

Each the animals, now known to be men in ghillie suits, was armed with FAL FN 7.62-millimetre assault rifles. There were two men with SG-43 Goryunov light machine guns, one each to a group. The soldiers were patiently waiting the command to infiltrate the camp at the foot of the slight downward sloping hill.

With the group that will penetrate the camp, three ghillie suit-clad figures were lying next to one another. Smaller in stature than the rest of the group, they were also armed: H&K M27 IAR 5.56 mm rifles and SIG Sauer P380-M17 in 9 mm parabellum as side arms.

One figure had a black coloured crossbow strapped to its back. One other figure had an assault rifle slung on its back, and holding in its hands a Barrett MRAD Mk 22 PSR, chambered for the .338 Norma Magnum round.

Under the ghillie suits, all three figures were dressed in black fatigues, black body armour, and black combat boots. No insignia of rank or unit. Black woollen full-face masks over their heads with only their eyes visible. If you looked closely, very closely, you might notice a slight blue or brown hue to their eyes. Maybe a strand of blond or brown hair escaping the uncovered part at the back of their necks. The Angels were here, waiting; anticipating the coming rush of the hunt. This time the hunt will be in the greying dawn of the new day.

There came a soft whistle on the morning air, as the sun peeked out over the hill to the east. The whistle grew in intensity to a roar as first one, then another jet passed overhead, low over the bush, out of the sun. Seconds later, all hell broke loose. Is this what Armageddon would sound like?

The jets swooped in low over the hill, fifty feet over the ground. As first, the Buccaneer and then the Impala, four hundred metres apart, reached the target area, fire and smoke erupted from their wings. Each aircraft fired their four type 155 Matra rocket pods in turn. Full salvos of eighteen rockets per pod streaked away towards the target, trailing grey-white smoke.

From the Buccaneer, seventy-two 68 mm rockets hit into the big hangar-like shack, blasting through the flimsy wood structure, and erupting in white-red fireballs. The shed, together with three trucks and fifteen tonnes of ivory tusks, were dissolved in the heat and fireball of the explosions. Shockwaves reached out, flattening nearby huts and anyone inside.

Then came the Impala. Repeating the attack, sending its own seventy-two rockets into the middle of the camp. Oil and fuel drums exploded, sending fire-streaking fuel and oil drums skywards, only to fall back and start secondary fires where the drums struck.

The Impala, trailing the Buccaneer, disappeared over the westward hill, leaving the target a burning, boiling fire ruin. Red-hot flames were shooting skywards, black smoke billowing up and blacking out the rising sun.

Silently, a signal was given, and the landscape came alive as bushes became live men rushing down the slope towards the burning objective.

Darya Kalondarova sighted through her scope, looking for any targets that would interfere with the assault. The rifle, stabilized on its bipod, gave no vibration or movement. Darya controlled her breathing. Looking through the Nightforce ATACR- 7-35 x 56 F1 Mil-XT rifle scope, she saw a figure coming out of a hut a little apart from the other huts. He was holding a Dragunov sniper rifle in his hands.

Instantly Darya placed the crosshairs on his chest, noting the rank insignia of a colonel on his shoulders. An officer. The figure stopped, bringing the Dragunov up, sighting on an unseen target and standing still just long enough for Darya to take the shot.

Darya took a deep breath and held it, then she took first pressure on the trigger. Darya’s only thoughts were that of the wind direction, the elevation of the target, and what the projectile was going to do. Trigger management and sight picture were part of her unconscious thoughts. She kept on depressing the trigger, slowly raising the crosshairs to the target’s head. Without warning the Barrett rifle spewed fire and recoiled in her hands, kicking back into her right shoulder. The .338 projectile sped away towards the target 480 metres away, reaching a velocity of 1023 metres per second (3360 ft/s).

Unheard by the human ear, the .338 projectile broke through the sound barrier, twisting many turns per second around its lateral axis. With miniscule little vortices in its wake, the projectile reached its target at an accuracy of 0.5 minutes of arc.

A slight soft “plop” was heard as the projectile broke through the skull bone of the target, vaporising the brain matter in its path. Now, slightly aerodynamically distorted and finding a denser medium than the air it passed through, the projectile started to wobble and tumble end over end. It exited the back of the human skull in a blur of blood, bone fragments, and brain matter. The velocity and impact forces expanded outward, to explode the human skull in a shower of matter and bloody fragments.

As Darya slowly exhaled, she saw through the rifle scope her target flicking its head backwards, then the head disappeared in a red and grey mist. The body followed, twisted around and dropped lifeless to the gravel outside the hut. The Dragunov rifle dropped to the ground, unfired. The sniping lasted less than two seconds.

“Jak pojon, ʙisjor cizhoi digar.” Darya said softly in the Tajik language, as she worked the bolt and ejected the spend .416 Rigby casing. (One down, many more to go.)

Beside her, on each side of her, Leah and Olivia smiled and high-fived each other over the still prone body of Darya between them. The Angels just scored their first kill in Africa.

Daiki and his companions did not leave straight away. They needed to see what was happening in the camp. Hiding the 4×4 in a clump of dense trees, they slowly made their way up the slope of the hill overlooking the still burning camp.

Daiki used his 16×50 field glasses to survey the camp. It did not look like much survived the carnage. A few trucks, military trucks, came and went and something was loaded. Daiki could not see what was loaded onto the trucks.

A little later, a MIL MI-8 “Hip” helicopter came and landed just outside the camp. Three people that looked like soldiers clad in overall black fatigues, climbed aboard the helicopter, then the helicopter departed to the north.

All became quiet down in the still smouldering campsite. Daiki and his companions waited another hour, making sure there was no movement in the camp. Slowly they made their way down to the camp on foot.

Down in the camp, they found no one. No bodies. Nothing. All had been carted away. In some places there were indications of spilled blood, but no bodies, alive or dead. There was no equipment; nothing was left. The camp was cleared. Daiki saw a hut a little apart from the rest of the group of destroyed huts. Cautiously, they approached the hut and went inside.

Inside the hut Daiki found that the furniture was all upended. There was a desk in one corner still standing, but the drawers were all out and the contents dumped on the floor. Papers, nothing of interest.

Daiki sighed. There was nothing left for him to form any idea of what led to this disaster. He turned and looked around the room. Something was sticking out from behind the open door. Daiki walked over to the door and closed it.

Daiki froze. Pinned to the back of the door, with a broken crossbow bolt, was a note. A note in Japanese. Red Japanese characters on a black background paper. Daiki read the Japanese figures: “Fuck with my elephants, and I’ll fuck with you.“

An ice-cold shudder ran down Daiki’s spine. Suddenly, he felt trapped. Was this a message from the black clad warriors he saw in the compound? Who were they? Ninjas?

Ninjas don’t use rifles; these had rifles. Daiki remembered the three figures stopping at the headless body. One picked up the rifle from next to the body, then proceeded to search the body, taking the sidearm and something else. Then they went into the hut. The black-clad figures were inside the hut for about twenty minutes before they emerged and went to the helicopter, then left. This is becoming a riddle.

Daiki took the note from the door, turned to his companions and said: “There’s a time to come, and a time to go. Our time to go has now come.”

(Japan; a little later that day.)

It was with mixed feelings that Haruki received the telephone call from his son, Daiki. It was good to hear his son’s voice and know that he arrived without adverse problems. But what his son told him, had him raging with fury.

The authorities had raided his source of quick money. They have chosen to strike with an airborne attack followed by a ground attack. They had destroyed his latest consignment. What had gone wrong?

Was it that the Major had crossed the border into South Africa and taken ivory from elephants in a national reserve? How did the South Africans dare to cross the border into Botswana and attack the camp? Was it a collaboration with the Botswana Government? While the air strike was done by SAAF aircraft, the ground attack was that by the Botswana Defence Force. This seems to be a collaboration of the two countries. And who were the three black-clad soldiers that Daiki saw?

And then the note. The note Daiki found while searching the camp after the attackers and a private Mil MI-8 helicopter had left. It looked like there were three military clad soldiers who got onboard the MI-8 helicopter. The three were dressed in black and not like the other soldiers. Who were they?

Who left the note and why? The note distinctly stated in Japanese, “Fuck with my elephants, and I’ll fuck with you!“

The note was left in plain sight in the Major’s cabin, pinned to the inside of the door with a broken arrow from a crossbow. Someone knew that the Major was not the one to run the ivory trade. No, the Major was only a pawn in the chess game. There were still the rook, the bishop, the knight, the queen, and the king in play. Now Haruki has sent the queen to Africa. Did he make a mistake? Who is the “my“ in “my elephants?”

The note was not handwritten, but printed from a computer on a laser printer. There was no way that Daiki, or he could have it traced. This was a professional hit. They know about him. The note meant that the ones that did the attack are out to get him. Can they strike here in Japan? Why was the note in Japanese? Was it to mean that the ones coming for him were Japanese? A rival in the business?

Haruki needs to do some planning. He needs to find out more about the so-called attack. Something does not seem right to him. If it is a business rival, then why do they have influence with the governments of two countries? Two countries that fight ivory trade. There’s a lot he needed of find out. While Daiki is in Africa, maybe he should set him up with any of the local cartels. Yes, let Daiki do the foot work out in Africa.

Haruki felt a little better. Not better, better, but just a little better. Haruki reached for his cell phone, lying to his left on his desk. First, he needs to call the ambassador.

Outside Haruki’s office window, far out to the west of the city, the volcano was lit by the setting sun and sending out lazy, hazy smoke. The slight breeze blowing over the city pushed the smoke out to sea. Today the city was smoke-free.

(Gabarone, Botswana. Cell phone call between Joe Franks and Don Lambert.)

Don was fuming. He never lost his cool before, like now.

“Why do you put surveillance on my guests, Joe?”

“Why not? They left with a truck to Mapungubwe. Why a truck if they are only tourists?” Joe asked.

“Why not?” Don counter asked. “They wanted to visit the place and learn about the people. While going there they took some provisions for my friends at Mapungubwe. Is that a crime?”

“No, just funny. Going to Mapungubwe, while you and Mai-Loan were out of the country together with that Dave guy and one of the other so-called tourists,” Joe said.

“And what exactly has this got to do with you?” Don asked.