Task Force Intrepid (The Gold of Katanga), page 2
Even though he was settled, the sounds of war never left him. He kept in contact with the men he had served with and after 9/11, the call came too often and was too lucrative to pass up. A couple of jobs a year and the Farm would prosper.
Closing in on 50 years of age, his body felt the effects of a life lived on the edge. Ibuprofen, pain killers when needed and simply compartmentalizing any pain that affected him was his coping mechanism. None of which affected his five day a week regimen of running and calisthenics. Five miles each morning and a grinding but functional bodyweight program kept him fit and able to keep up with men half his age and often run them into the ground. He had been blessed with good genetics but had built a mental and physical toughness that can only be forged under the greatest of tests.
Enjoying the morning and his coffee, his cell phone rang. It was a simple flip phone. He had no use for the new smart phones unless it was for operational reasons. The ring tone belted out, When the Saints Go Marching In, the Regimental song of the Rhodesian Light Infantry, nicknamed The Saints. Only Jim Hadley would be calling him this early.
“Kruger.”
“Hadley here. How is Kansas?”
“Good as can be.”
“I’m calling you on this one Will. It’s urgent and fits your skill set. The pay will cover your bills at home for a long time. I have four men who have signed on. I won’t take this job unless you go. You are my Africa Team Leader and we don’t go unless you do.”
“Go ahead.”
“It’s the Congo. Katanga. Everything is supposed to be on the mend there with the Army starting to reform and getting proper training. Mining is the only economy that country lives off of. A substantial group of Rebels attacked two mines in Southern Katanga owned by Katanga Resources, a subsidiary of Anderson and Lee Mining. They are not sure if groups from neighboring countries have decided that they are done with peace and intend to increase the flow of minerals back home or it’s a new group within the country. They have taken over the two mines and the worst part of it is they have put ransom money on the few westerners there, a small group of doctors and missionaries. The doctors are sometimes employed by KR. They are Americans and Canadians. The State Department won’t touch this with a ten foot pole.
“They are citizens, what is the issue?”
“It would look bad for US forces to help a mining company get back their gold. After that missionary couple in the Philippines were kidnapped and husband was killed by friendly fire, the powers that be are hesitant to just swoop in and start shooting with something connected to big business. It seems that there has to be a pure humanitarian mission to get boots on the ground. It’s a joint business with the DRC’s government and Katanga Resources. Kabila’s administration owns 10% plus any other fees they demand. The missionaries are on the backburner and the mining employees are mainly Australian and American. However, Katanga Resources got a tip from an associate that we operate in that part of the world and to give us a call. They want this group put down straightway.”
“What do you have in mind?” Kruger replied.
“We need to get the team together and you are the Boss on this one. They want us to get the two mines back and if possible, the missionaries because they help the mining sector quite a bit with medical care. Payment is up to us. Stock, Cash or Gold. The Special Forces have had FID teams there recently to help develop a light infantry battalion but the word from Langley and the Pentagon is no American involvement on this one and the Congolese agreed to handle any follow up measures. Quite frankly, I don’t think they want any dead Americans in the Congo for resources.”
“Where are we going to meet and when?”
“At the Center in Dallas. Tomorrow.”
“Roger that, Out.”
Kruger finished his cup of coffee and went back inside. His wife Jen was awake and beginning to make breakfast. “Good morning, honey,” she said.
She is more beautiful than the when we first met, he thought. They had met under horrid conditions in a UN compound in West Africa. She was an aid worker for the UN High Commission on Refugees helping document people and reunite families that were torn apart by the RUF of Sierra Leone. Her long black hair was pulled tight into a pony tail and accented her long neck and perfect bone structure.
In Africa, she was like most Westerners. Believing that if they just worked together and talked about things, they could solve man’s inhumanity to man. He asked her how long she had been in Africa and what her job was. When she returned the question, he tried to sidestep the issue, telling her that he was doing work for the Government of Sierra Leone.
With his overgrown blond beard, utility clothing and hardened features of a soldier, she seemed a bit disgusted.
“You are a mercenary aren’t you? Most South Africans, especially ones with an Afrikaner accent aren’t here for humanitarian reasons.”
“Depends on what you call a mercenary. I’m contracted to the Government of Sierra Leone to help their Army get control of their country and rid the place of these butchers and rapists,” he said defensively.
“Well, I guess it takes all kinds.”
“Sometimes killing the bad guys is the only solution. The UN hasn’t succeeded in doing anything to get rid of the RUF. They were brought to their knees by a ‘Mercenary’ outfit and had a peace treaty signed. The second the Mercenaries, as you call them, left we are back in the same mess.”
She cast a dirty look his way. “I take it this isn’t your first time.”
“I’m from a Boer family who migrated to Rhodesia before Mugabe murdered my family and stole our farm. This continent is my home. I can’t fly off to America when my three month refugee tour is over. I have nowhere else to go.”
“I was raised on a farm,” Jenny said with a hint of sympathy.
Jen’s eyes showed some interest at his response and they went to have dinner in the UN compound. Kruger had found a bright spot in his tour of duty. A year later, married, with a new baby they left Africa and moved to her hometown of Wichita, Kansas. They bought her father’s farm. Her parents were nearing retirement and none of the sons had wanted to take it over. It was just right for some cattle and crop growing. He wouldn’t need to soldier anymore if he chose. He had found some of the peace that had escaped him since his teenage years.
As they finished up breakfast, he decided to tell her. “Hadley has a job. I need to be in Dallas tomorrow.”
Jen’s face turned into a gallery of worry. “Willem, when is this over? Things are going well here. You don’t need to keep taking contracts.”
“Jen, it’s a short job. There is a mob that has over taken some of the mines in Katanga and kidnapped some missionaries. No one knows the area like I do. We will probably do some reconnaissance and advising and let the Congolese forces do the dirty work.” He lied to calm her. He knew what would have to be done.
“This has to end someday, Willem.”
“It will, sooner rather than later, I’ve had enough war to last a lifetime but if I can do some good for us and those hostages, I will.” He embraced her and went to his war room and began to pack. He spent the day with his son and wife, outlining what needed to be done while he was gone. His son was a teenager and was used to his Dad leaving for weeks at a time. After dinner he packed the truck and said goodbye to them both. If he couldn’t fit them into his rucksack, they had to stay behind.
Chapter 3
Willem Kruger enjoyed the drive down Interstate I-35 at night. Wide open lanes and being able to do 75 mph and not worry about being ambushed or worse, a speeding ticket. He had packed light. Packing was simple for him. He had his bug out bag that contained a few personal items and everything he needed in case of an emergency. The work items he needed couldn’t be taken aboard a commercial airline and would get him arrested if pulled over. However, being prepared for anything, he included two handguns. One on his person and one within reach below his seat. He preferred the P228 Sig Sauer 9mm for its compactness and reliability.
He thought about his wife and son but only briefly. He was ready to go operational and he couldn’t afford the extra baggage if he was to do his job. Even when he wasn’t sure what the job was. Once deployed, it was the mission, the men, and himself. In that order. Nothing else existed.
Security and Logistics Enterprises Worldwide was headquartered in an industrial warehouse park near the DFW airport. Security measures in the building were tight and thorough; it included a small sound proof pistol range, armory, security cameras and a very touchy alarm system. A perfect place to blend in. The only signage was decals on the front door. SLE Worldwide, Inc.
He pulled into the parking lot as dawn broke and shut down his Ford 350 crew cab. Two other vehicles were there. Hadley’s Prius and Salvo’s 1968 Camaro. For all the money Hadley made, the Prius seemed more like a cover story than his real preference.
Kruger punched in the security code and walked in. Salvo was in the conference room. It was SLEW’s boardroom with a long oval table, plush chairs and two big screen TV’s on opposite walls. The company’s computers and communication gear lined the wall. Some was for the company and the other for Hadley’s addiction to the stock market.
“Hey mi amigo, another day another peso,” said Juan Salvador. The retired Delta Force operative looked every bit of twenty nine though he was forty’ish. Lean through the midsection, wide shoulders and thick neck. Jet black hair closely cropped and a handsome face, he could get on in the club as well as the battlefield.
“Ah, Salvo, what have you been up to?” Kruger dropped his pack and took a seat at the conference table.
“Doing some traveling and making acquaintances of some lovely Co-Ed’s.”
“Right, Bru. A lover, not a fighter.”
“And you?”
“Farming and building rifles for a few clients.” He mainly outfitted big game hunters with long range precision rifles. It supplemented his income and was a relaxing hobby for him.
“Willem the Farmer and Gunsmith.” Salvo shook his head with a smile.
“You’d be surprised what a quiet life can do for you.”
Hadley walked into the room with his laptop and sat down. He had been the perfect CIA officer. He looked nothing like one. Especially a Special Activities Division Officer. He was barely five seven and maybe a buck fifty. Long since bald, he sported glasses that accentuated his large nose and big ears. He had started out as an infantry officer in the Marine Corps in Vietnam. After his first tour he had become a member of Force Recon and went on to serve another two tours. Disgusted with the outcome of the Vietnam War he resigned his commission. As he walked out the gate of Camp Pendleton for the last time, he was greeted by a recruiter for the CIA. A warrior at heart, he was soon funneled into the shadow world of the CIA. He worked in Africa, Southeast Asia and the Middle East. He retired in 2000 and concentrated on building his financial empire. The GWOT had brought him back into the business that offered lucrative deals but he could no longer operate at sixty years of age. With his lifetime of clandestine work, contacts and knowledge he started Security and Logistics Enterprises, Worldwide. Now nearing seventy, he still had the piss and vinegar but knew where his strengths lay.
SLEW took contracts for all sorts of work but mostly small in scale and required the best in the business. The bulk of his operators worked Personal Security and advising Third World militaries. Considered a small fish in the world of Private Military Companies, he became a choice for operations that walked a fine line between the law and necessity. He maintained a small cadre of special men within the company who worked High Risk, Highly Deniable jobs that the CIA didn’t want to touch or expose to Congress. Their internal operational name was Task Force Intrepid. No discernable contact existed between the Agency and SLEW. Nothing in paper or electronic records connected the two. Word was passed and he negotiated with foreign governments or private business. The Defense Department and the CIA were taken out of the administrative loop. The men he hired were seasoned professionals. A tour or two in the sandbox didn’t cut it. Only the most experienced, unique individuals were employed. The professional soldiers who instinctively ran to the sound of gunfire remained.
No applications were accepted. SLEW contacted them, not the other way around. Each operator on his payroll had a story. Due to the nature of what they did, the money was unmatchable. The smart ones who spent a few years with him never needed to work again. The cost of doing business without U.S. Government oversight achieved a higher level of pay for the company and a reduced cost to the host governments. Working in mineral rich countries, deals were made that tied into SLEW’s financial health. Their holdings in the mining sectors were controversial but Hadley did his best to avoid adding misery to the lives of workers.
“So, last week an exploratory project in southern Katanga was overrun. They apparently were mining gold in two locations near the border of Zambia, outside Kolwezi. Katanga Resources report that an entire platoon of police officers and twenty or so miners were killed at each location. Five Western engineers were killed as well. The mines are fairly new. The group brought in their own men to operate the machinery. An attack on KR’s HQ outside of Kolwezi was repelled by security forces. They have some South African muscle there. We don’t know how big this group is but they believe this could be a revamp of any number of militias from the past.”
“A small group of missionaries and doctors are being held too. They had no security. We are presuming they are still alive. They are requesting a ransom of two million dollars for the missionaries. AFRICOM has advised the Kabila Administration that their Rapid Deployment Battalion, the 391st Commando isn’t fully prepared for this type of operation. Contractors put a Company sized group of men through a Ranger style course last year. The Agencies assets could get these mines back and free the missionaries but the risk of American involvement in a war in the Congo has been forbidden by the President. Training is as far as they are willing to go. ”
“Our mission is narrow and we are not going to go outside of it. After you regain the mines, Congolese soldiers will be on standby to come in and hold the mines and if possible, if they are still alive, get the missionaries out. You will have to assess the situation on the ground to see if it is possible to mount a rescue. All the equipment you need is going to be provided by KR’s Security Team and I’ve contacted our aviation asset to provide insertion and extraction if needed.”
“Who is going?” Salvo asked.
“Blake, Colin and Mike. Willem is team leader and you are 2IC if Willem goes down. I tracked Colin down in Bali. He was on some surf expedition. Blake and Mike will be a day or so behind you. You all will fly commercial to Kinshasa and Katanga Resources will be flying you to Kolwezi.”
Hadley felt good about the team. They had worked together several times. He considered them his Dream Team. American, British, Australian and South African backgrounds brought together the skills of all of the Western Armies elite tactics and experience. These men were not dependent on laser guided bombs and complicated electronics. They were guerilla warriors. Their skills were that of a light fighter who depended on his wit and his ability to soldier.
The legions of Special Forces in the United States and Great Britain relied heavily on modern technology and for good, effective reasons. The technologies being used helped force multiplication and preservation of soldier’s lives. The type of jobs that SLEW contracted for usually required the skills of a guerilla and the ability to ‘out G the guerilla’. He had learned that lesson the hard way in Vietnam. By the time the Americans had men with the experience to operate above the ability of the VC, they shut down the shop and threw away the key. He had spent time with the Australians in Vietnam who differed greatly from their American counterparts. The basic elements of Counter Insurgency they practiced and implemented proved their effectiveness far outweighed their numbers. Small teams relentlessly patrolling and tracking over a week to ten days, keeping a low profile and gaining valuable intelligence. Only when they made heavy contact were company and battalion sized forces called in. Force Recon operated on many of those principles and saved the lives of many Marines. Early in the war, as a regular infantry officer just out of Officer BASIC, he saw the Army send battalions thrashing through the jungle and walk right into traps and devastating ambushes laid by the NVA and VC.
The men he chose had those skills. This mission would require intelligence, patience and the ability to make decisions and once committed, they all possessed the embodiment of Violence of Action. He had no doubt that this would be a successful mission.
****
“Is everything in order? Is the team ready?” asked Cyrus Cummings, a former high ranking official at the Defense Intelligence Agengy. He had known Hadley for decades. They had a long running relationship throughout their careers. Their careers had taken place during the same time periods and often involved the same operations. Both men had been involved in the Cold War and the evolution of modern Special Operations. He was also a silent business partner with Hadley.
“It’s a go. Kruger of course is leading the mission. It’s a perfect job for him. Getting him back in Africa is a good start. One step at a time. Anyone on the team is capable of being Team Leader. Salvo is 2IC,” Hadley replied.
“There aren’t many men left like Kruger. 15 years ago, they were a dime a dozen if you could get them to work for American interests. Most are too old or dead. How he has survived this long and still in the game is… unique,” Cummings said thoughtfully.
