Читать книгу The Doctrine of Presence - Benjamin Vance - Страница 16

We moved our new vehicles under cover of darkness. We had basic supplies, and off-loaded what we had on the two heavily loaded SUVs and put it in, and on, the Unimogs before we left the air strip. It hardly made a dent in the spacious interiors of the big vehicles. Fredo, Leo and I drove a Unimog each, and they were a pleasure. The empty SUVs were left on the air strip where Andy assured us they would be safe. After we were sure our large vehicles would be far enough away from prying eyes the next morning, we put them in a “U” arrangement facing out for quick movement.

We fed Tink, fed ourselves and bedded down for what was left of the night. Our employees chose to stay in one vehicle, which I approved conditionally, and the rest of us split the other two. Gimp and I bunked in the same vehicle. The next morning broke cool and clear with somber red clouds to the west. Exotic smells are the thing I remember most about Africa, especially coffee perking over burning exotic woods in the morning. I heard the pleasingly familiar moans and groans and cursing of men getting down from the Unimog ladders and hitting the ground, heading for a bush to relieve bladders. Somehow … even then I sensed we were home.

I gathered more wood for a small fire, since nothing tastes better than coffee over a campfire. I guess everyone else agreed. Apparently N’tolo, Michaele and Stretch were coffee drinkers as well. They brought the big blue coffee pot filled with water and placed a grate over the fire. The men seemed to work as one person. It was a new technique I hadn’t seen from them before. In fact I had not seen them work together at all. I think our new status impressed them … profoundly. They weren’t alone; none of us had ever seen an outfit like ours.

We had a leisurely breakfast; well some of us did. Fredo was worried about Tink’s milk spoiling. I told him to put it in the refrigerator. He politely asked, “What fuckin’ refrigerator?”

“The one in your Unimog, under the second bunk. It’s horizontal, and OD green. Did anyone open the cab-over locked hatch?”

Fredo turned and practically ran up the ladder into the big shelter mounted on and over the Unimog cabs. I heard him babbling to Tink after he got inside. Leo said, “Daiwee, we need to go over these rigs with a fine-toothed comb, so everyone knows what is what before we pull our first mission.”

“Yeah, and I want Fredo to find the locators on these things and disable ‘em. I don’t want anyone knowing where we are, unless they have satellite viewing capability or we want ‘em to. Do we have commo with Andy?”

“Yeah, he left us a frequency to call him on, why?”

“Once we get the locators out of the mogs we can identify the tops of the mogs in some way so our friendlies can ID us from a satellite if they want. Al Qaeda is not stupid.”

Once breakfast was cleaned up, we toured our new homes. One was a bit different. By chance, it was the one I drove. All three had four bunk spaces; two permanent and two quickly convertible, sort of like a Recreation Vehicle. There was a small stove, bathroom, refrigerator and heater, lots of storage and over-the-cab space. There were also large camouflaged steel cargo corrals on each roof with a steel access ladder. I could see where a civilian design would sleep six or eight people.

In two of the Unimogs, the space above the cab was filled with night vision devices, scopes, camoflage masks, mosquito nets, wet weather gear, and weapons and ammo; lots of weapons and ammo. Everything was in slide out drawers and multiple compartments. Not a single round nor weapon had any identification stamped scratched or machined. It was definitely spook stuff; we were the spooks. On the mog I drove, the space was filled with sophisticated communications devices from squad band headsets to satellite cell phones and area radar warning devices. Fredo took an inventory of the commo devices. He was like a kid at Christmas, explaining everything to Tinker Belle mostly.

After a cursory inventory, we drove to a more remote area of the park, and closer to Lake Amboseli. We found the only way we could effectively reconnoiter an area was to drive up a hill and scope the area for good cover. Maps of the area and even Google Earth were not as current as just looking. Elephants do a lot of damage during the dry season and we could definitely see where they’d been. They can completely change a landscape. The closer we got to an area of the lake that had good tree cover, the more elephant sign we saw and smelled. We decided to check the area on foot for human sign.

We left Fredo and Gimp in camp with our employees, and three of us headed out with tactical gear and our rifles. Greenie assured us the sniper rifles were L115A3 Brit sniper rifles in .338 caliber. Since nothing was marked, I had to take his word for it; he was the best. We took our day sights which he said were Schmidt and Bender, and I thought, “Who gives a shit?”

All I knew was that I did not like bolt actions the same way Leo liked them. I liked rifles that emptied their magazines in about two seconds flat while I reconnoitered by fire for possible bad guys. I chose a good old M-14 look alike with a thirty round clip and a lever that switched from semi-auto to “rock and roll”. I knew, and loved, “rock and roll”.

We all carried nine millimeter pistols that even Greenie didn’t know were fully automatic. We failed to check earlier and when Greenie test fired his and emptied his clip in two seconds, we all yelled and laughed and patted him and ourselves on the back. However, after some deep reflection, we thought to keep them holstered except in a case of dire emergency. That was simply too much firepower to take lightly ... at the time.

* * *

We remained in that second location, making one short and one long patrol each day and finding not much at all until the morning of the fourth day. We all woke up to the bellowing of elephants. We cautiously opened up to find we were surrounded by a large family of females and young ones. They were not aggressive at all; just curious about the big green vehicles. One of the young females scratched her trunk on the front bumper of one mog. It rocked a bit but took the scrubbing graciously. We noticed one special little one who must have been only months old. He had a wound to his left rear foot that looked like the result of a bad toe nail day. Of course there wasn’t a damn thing we could do about it except photograph it and sympathize.

Everyone was very quiet while the elephants were present. When they moved on toward the lake, we started talking and laughing all at once; except Koinet Sankaw. He watched them go with something on his face akin to … sadness? That expression prompted me to get to know our employees better, especially since only five of us were armed to the teeth at the time. Gimp and Fredo had been closer to the men over the three days that Leo, Greenie and I had been patrolling. I talked it over with the other four; we were going to have to take the full measure of our African gents. We devised a gentle plan to do so.

The three had been sticking mainly to their own vehicle and to themselves, especially since Andy’s visit. I understood they were apprehensive and couldn’t appreciate all they knew about our mission. They hadn’t been given succinct rules or even duties. The paucity of direction stemmed from us needing to quickly settle into the capabilities and functionality of our equipment and mission. We decided each member of our team would brief the gents on our mission and would outfit them with our choice of weapons, and commo gear. We had a meeting to do just that. I started by asking each man to introduce himself and give us a brief history and personal capabilities appropriate to our mission as they understood it.

I asked Michaele Okeke to go first. He was not as talented a speaker as he was a worker. I suspected it intuitively, due to his shyness, but his normal conversational English was pretty good. When he tried to speak as the center of attention it was a different story. He slowly and haltingly related his time in South Africa, from birth in the north to education, to battles under apartheid to job as ranger to job as bounty hunter for poachers. His English got better, the longer he spoke. Questions were asked, and answered to everyone’s satisfaction as far as I could tell.

I asked Mr. Sankaw to go next and he readily complied. His English was impeccable, along with the British accent. He was obviously from Kenya. He was well schooled and a bit haughty because of it, I thought. He had been a guide in Amboseli, Magadi, Tsavo and Natron. He said he knew Amboseli and Magadi better that anyone, but he did not like Tsavo due to tribal rivalries. He said he was Kikuyu or Agikuyu as the tribe is sometimes called, and had been closely associated with Mao Mao. There were some people in eastern Kenya that he did not trust, and since he had his family’s scarification on his face, it would be hard for him to hide his origins. I believed him, to an extent, especially when he stated he was not married. I began to sense there was much more to that small man than met the eye, and ear.

Mr. Owusu said he had been born in Angola, but escaped to a better country in 1988. He talked of his spiritualism, his gift of healing powers granted by his mother’s father, and he explained how he and Michaele had been drawn together through their rivalry over a woman whom they later found was married. They both had a good laugh about it. Mr. Owusu did not like guns or killing, but he did like beautiful women. He explained that South Africa had the most beautiful women in the world. Mr. Sankaw disagreed with him, and stated that Kenya should have that status. The three, and Fredo, agreed there were also many beautiful women in Kenya.

After they talked, I briefed them on the bare essentials of our mission and that the Kenyan government knew of our mission, but would surely deny it. After I promised to make each one a member of our team, I gave them the chance to decline and be driven out of the park safely. None wanted to leave; all three seemed excited. I’m pretty sure now, that I saw tears in Koinet’s eyes then. Greenie issued weapons and ammo to Koinet and Michaele. N’tolo Owusu took a beautiful stainless machete with scabbard, and attached it to his chest in a creative way so it could be pulled down and out in a flash. I noted he did not like weapons, but certainly knew how to use them.

After we became a semi-homogeneous group, I saw a need to sight in our weapons. Greenie prepared some decent targets and placed them against a hill at about two hundred meters according to our range finders. I could barely see the targets without my scope. Greenie went first, to the dismay of those of us who had seen him shoot previously. Surprisingly, he hit the targets two out of twenty times. He blamed his featureless weapon of course.

Our black cohorts did fine, with about ten of twenty each. After their scopes were adjusted they did very well. They both chose what Greenie said were AR-15s in 5.56mm, modified with 24 inch fluted barrels. They treated their weapons like rare jewels. I’m sure they didn’t realize the weapons were theirs for life, even though I emphasized it. I noted mentally that the adjustable stocks were just what Koinet needed.

I did as well as the others after my scope was adjusted. I loved the solid kick of my M-14 or whatever it was. The ammo was marked on the boxes with a simple stamp, but the first ones I loaded up puckered me up some because I wasn’t sure they wouldn’t blow up in my face. There was a big difference in what Gimp and Leo wanted to shoot and what I chose. Mine was .308 and theirs was .338. Never the twain shall meet, especially in the wrong rifle chamber even with the same powder load.

Leo shot seven rounds. He got the scope dead on at 200 meters and that was enough for him. Gimp pushed his own chair up and used the attached bipod Greenie made for him. It took him three shots to zero his weapon. He put five more into the same holes as the first three. It amazed everyone, but that was Gimp, ex-Marine Sniper. Our African gents needed a lot of practice before they would be able to hit well, so we planned on it. On the way back to our camp, Leo reminded me that we still had to sight in our night scopes. All I could say was, “Poor Greenie.”

Once everyone was comfortable with their rifles and side arms, we had to instruct our African friends how to use back packs, water bladders, sunscreen (yes sunscreen), head sets for communication, and Global Positioning System (GPS) units; a challenge for anyone. We were cross trained and ready in about a week and even Mr. Owusu voiced an interest in learning how to shoot, “… the nice rifles.” It was a pleasant vacation which was about to come to a close.

We were visited by none other than Chief Warden Donald Alden. We heard his rover about a mile off and figured it was an official who heard our daily shooting. We were wrong; a tourist had heard the shooting and reported it, thinking it may be poachers. I warned Fredo to hide Tink, but he had already done so. Leo took to the hills just to be sure he had our six. The Warden had a driver and when he pulled up it was obvious he was in a good mood. His ruddy face was smiling and he looked on the verge of breaking out in a great case of goose-bump excitement.

The Warden shook every available hand until he saw Sankaw. His face went solemn as he and Sankaw approached each other. He shook hands with the small man and said, “Brother Koinet, I was very sad to hear about your father. Is your family doing all right? How’re your mother and brother?”

Sankaw said, “Yes, thank you for your concern Chief Warden. Everyone is fine as far as I know. My father, God rest his soul, is buried in the family plot and my mother is staying with my sister in North Nairobi. My brother-in-law, the attorney, will take good care of my mother … for now. My brother is better, thank you for asking Chief Warden.”

Warden Alden explained to the group that he and Sankaw went way back to his early hunting days. He met Koinet when he first arrived in Kenya and they were caught up in the vague aftermath of the Mao Mao debacle. He’d used Sankaw on about every serious poacher hunt in the last fifteen years. One could tell the Warden was itching to ask about the new vehicles and dispense with the old times, so when we got a break in the conversation I asked if he’d like a tour. He did and was duly impressed.

Of note, he never asked why we had the new Unimogs. He stayed and had supper with us and enjoyed the camaraderie though. During our meal, we heard an insect-like dik dik dik coming from inside Fredo’s Unimog. Fredo excused himself and went into the vehicle to feed a hungry Tink. Upon his return, he said he had to turn off an alarm. Everyone laughed. The Warden told us he assumed Fredo had become papa to a young Dik Dik. Fredo was embarrassed, but relieved the Warden was not going to try to take Tink. Thinking back on it, we may have buried the Warden out there if he’d tried.

Before Alden left, he got solemn faced and informed us that three tuskers had been killed two days before, within 11 kilometers south of our location. Hackles went up when I realized why he visited our camp. Apparently, he was inferring we had a job to do.