Read Online Raven Strike by Dale Brown and Jim DeFelice - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dale Brown and Jim DeFelice
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the fighting over the past two years. Relatively peaceful now. Two rebel factions share control. One’s religious. The other’s just crazy.”
Nuri had been in Duka twice. He’d had dealings with a man named Gerard, who was the unofficial head of a band of rebels from a tribe whose name—phonetically, “Meur-tse Meur-tskk”—was bastardized by Western intelligence services into Meurtre Musique—“murder music” in French.
The group was actually a subgroup of the Kababish tribe, with a historical connection to French colonists or explorers who had apparently intermarried with some of the tribe during the eighteenth or nineteenth century. It was now more a loose association of outcasts and their families than an extended family, too small to have any influence outside the area where they lived.
The other group—Sudan the Almighty First Liberation in the Name of Allah, to use the English name—was larger, with informal and family ties connecting them loosely to other groups around the region. Like Meurtre Musique, the members were Islamic, but somewhat more observant. Despite their name, they were not affiliated with the powerful radical Islamic Sudan Brotherhood, which was a dominant rebel force in the south.
Meurtre Musique and First Liberation ran the city; the only government presence was a police station “staffed” by a sixty-year-old man who spent most of his time in Khartoum, the capital well to the west.
“You think we can get into the city with the Osprey?” Danny asked.
“Attract a hell of a lot of attention,” said Nuri. “We’d be better off going in low-key, or maybe waiting until night and scouting around.”
There was a short, loud scream from inside the hut. A string of curses followed.
“Sounds like Sugar fixed the princess’s shoulder,” said Nuri.
“What’s her story, you figure?” Danny asked.
“Besides the obvious fact that she’s a bitch?” Nuri shook his head. “Women officers are all one of two kinds—either they use sex to get what they want, or they play hard-ass bitch. She’s the second. We should get rid of her. Shoot her up with morphine and pack her off. The shoulder’s the perfect excuse.”
“This is her operation.”
“No, it’s our operation,” said Nuri. “Her operation ended when the aircraft crashed and we were called in to clean up. I don’t like the fact that it’s walled off, Danny. There is a huge amount here that they’re not telling us.”
“I know.”
Sugar came out of the building. She was smiling.
“Done,” she told Danny. “She didn’t want to wait for the aspirin to take.”
“She gonna be all right?”
“ Phhhh. That attitude tells me she wasn’t all right to begin with. I’m gonna get some chow and get some rest, Colonel, all right?”
“Sure. You setting up your own tent?”
“You got that right. I’m not sleeping with those pervs. No way, Colonel.” She thrust her finger at Nuri in mock warning. “And you watch yourself, too, Mr. Lupo.”
Sugar exploded with laughter and sauntered away.
Danny picked up the small touch screen and looked at the satellite image. The warehouse where the UAV was located could be attacked easily enough, but he’d prefer to make the assault at night for a host of reasons, starting with operational security. The question was whether they could wait that long.
“How likely are they to move the UAV, you think?” he asked Nuri.
“I have no idea. We don’t even know who has it. If it’s one of these groups, they won’t bother. They have no place to go with it. If it’s just someone moving through—which I doubt—they’ll probably wait until nightfall and start out again. In that case, they’ll be easy to take on the road. Shoot out the driver, grab the bird, and go home.”
“What about Li Han?”
“It could be him,” said Nuri. “This isn’t a Brother village, though. He’d be a fish out of water.”
“Isn’t he already? Being Chinese?”
“True. Maybe
Nuri had been in Duka twice. He’d had dealings with a man named Gerard, who was the unofficial head of a band of rebels from a tribe whose name—phonetically, “Meur-tse Meur-tskk”—was bastardized by Western intelligence services into Meurtre Musique—“murder music” in French.
The group was actually a subgroup of the Kababish tribe, with a historical connection to French colonists or explorers who had apparently intermarried with some of the tribe during the eighteenth or nineteenth century. It was now more a loose association of outcasts and their families than an extended family, too small to have any influence outside the area where they lived.
The other group—Sudan the Almighty First Liberation in the Name of Allah, to use the English name—was larger, with informal and family ties connecting them loosely to other groups around the region. Like Meurtre Musique, the members were Islamic, but somewhat more observant. Despite their name, they were not affiliated with the powerful radical Islamic Sudan Brotherhood, which was a dominant rebel force in the south.
Meurtre Musique and First Liberation ran the city; the only government presence was a police station “staffed” by a sixty-year-old man who spent most of his time in Khartoum, the capital well to the west.
“You think we can get into the city with the Osprey?” Danny asked.
“Attract a hell of a lot of attention,” said Nuri. “We’d be better off going in low-key, or maybe waiting until night and scouting around.”
There was a short, loud scream from inside the hut. A string of curses followed.
“Sounds like Sugar fixed the princess’s shoulder,” said Nuri.
“What’s her story, you figure?” Danny asked.
“Besides the obvious fact that she’s a bitch?” Nuri shook his head. “Women officers are all one of two kinds—either they use sex to get what they want, or they play hard-ass bitch. She’s the second. We should get rid of her. Shoot her up with morphine and pack her off. The shoulder’s the perfect excuse.”
“This is her operation.”
“No, it’s our operation,” said Nuri. “Her operation ended when the aircraft crashed and we were called in to clean up. I don’t like the fact that it’s walled off, Danny. There is a huge amount here that they’re not telling us.”
“I know.”
Sugar came out of the building. She was smiling.
“Done,” she told Danny. “She didn’t want to wait for the aspirin to take.”
“She gonna be all right?”
“ Phhhh. That attitude tells me she wasn’t all right to begin with. I’m gonna get some chow and get some rest, Colonel, all right?”
“Sure. You setting up your own tent?”
“You got that right. I’m not sleeping with those pervs. No way, Colonel.” She thrust her finger at Nuri in mock warning. “And you watch yourself, too, Mr. Lupo.”
Sugar exploded with laughter and sauntered away.
Danny picked up the small touch screen and looked at the satellite image. The warehouse where the UAV was located could be attacked easily enough, but he’d prefer to make the assault at night for a host of reasons, starting with operational security. The question was whether they could wait that long.
“How likely are they to move the UAV, you think?” he asked Nuri.
“I have no idea. We don’t even know who has it. If it’s one of these groups, they won’t bother. They have no place to go with it. If it’s just someone moving through—which I doubt—they’ll probably wait until nightfall and start out again. In that case, they’ll be easy to take on the road. Shoot out the driver, grab the bird, and go home.”
“What about Li Han?”
“It could be him,” said Nuri. “This isn’t a Brother village, though. He’d be a fish out of water.”
“Isn’t he already? Being Chinese?”
“True. Maybe
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