Part Nine
Cleaning Up the Mess
Two Sudanese soldiers untied and cut the duct tape from his arms, legs, and torso. Battutta, Shawn's sadistic torturer, looked at the men, "Turn him around."
They turned him around. To say they turned him was a misnomer. He was so exhausted they had to hold him up.
Battutta looked over his handiwork; the exhaustion, the fear, the degradation, "Hold him still." He took a small wooden rod and smashed it into Shawn's nose, flattening it, "There. That should send a message to anyone he meets to stay out of the Sudan."
The two soldiers lifted the bloodied crippled remains of what had been a vibrant fearless man, and carried him out to a waiting truck.
Considering Shawn's potential as a poster child for the Islamic Revolutionary Movement he was to be kept alive till such time they needed him to make a thorough public confession, rescind his heretical religious beliefs, and adopt Islam. Shawn was to be used not just as an example warning foreigners to stay out of the Sudan; he was also to be used as an international advertisement for the legitimacy of the Islamic faith, and the supposed legality of the terrorist forces opposing western intrusion.
He was thrown in the back of an SUV to be taken southwest through the central heartland of the Sudan to a southern military installation. He was to be kept there, just outside the town of al Ubbayid where he would be rehabilitated, nourished and completely brainwashed. It was a smallish Muslim stronghold, but well away from potential interference by Christian Dinkas or anybody else with an interest in causing trouble.
As the SUV rolled along the rutted roads the two soldiers commented to each other about the ultimate bad end their passenger was to face. They had no idea that, even in his distressed condition, Shawn was still alert enough to hear and understand everything they said.
------------
Kim had watched as the two women, Kia and Shai, had been carted off. He knew there was no hope of rescue if he tried any form of direct intervention. His best and probably only hope was to escape south and west.
He'd considered a move to the east toward Ethiopia, but trashed the notion figuring that's where they'd be expecting him. However, to the southwest was the Central African Republic. Economically that country was a basket case; relying very heavily on foreign aid. Luckily almost all the foreign sustenance that went to the C.A.R. came through the United Nations. Even better, the C.A.R. had been a French colony.
He knew, in spite of the popular notion, nearly all the former French colonies had very cordial relations with France, and that meant good relations with the West in general. Better still was the fact that Kim had a passable understanding of French, and French was generally the second language of nearly everyone in that country.
Best of all, the majority of the Central African population was Christian, and those that weren't retained their original religious beliefs. Islam was a distant third in the religious hierarchy of the country.
So off to the southwest Kim started. It wasn't long before he was able to latch on to a truck convoy loaded with merchandise headed west. He kept his mouth closed and his eyes open. He was lucky. The truck driver was a member of the Gbaya tribe, the C.A.R.'s largest ethnic group. The Gbaya and the other largest group, the Banda both had low opinions of the Muslim Sudanese. Kim had found safety.
After a four day trip across the arid southern Sahara Kim started to note an increase in vegetation. He knew he was getting close to his destination. There were no official border crossing points. The region was too lightly populated, but he knew when they crossed into the C.A.R.
They rolled into a small town. The change of scenery, and the greener environment was most welcome. His host, the driver, announced this was where he should get off. He pointed out a nearby residence where he would be welcomed, fed, and be given some fresh clothing. Kim was glad he'd scooped up a healthy portion of the money that had been lying loose at their lost campground. It seemed everyone everywhere recognized American money.
After a two day rest Kim found a ride into the main city of the C.A.R. and its capital, Bangui. He got there and located a UN station. From the UN site he was directed to a covert American military station. He got the officer in charge to listen, and pretty soon his story was relayed back to the United States.
Kim knew it wouldn't be long before the place would be crawling with U.S. military personnel. Kim, being a member of the R.O.K. secret service, had known for some time about Shawn's military connections. Kim also knew that old American credo, 'no man left behind' was the clincher that was going to save Shawn, Kia, and Shai.
------------
Back in the United States, in Washington D.C., the news of Shawn McClellan's survival shot through the tangled winding halls of the Pentagon like a bolt of lightning. CID headquarters contacted Delta, Delta made arrangements with air and naval forces. Seven days after Kim's first arrival in the Central African Republic two hundred elite U.S. shock troops had boots on the ground outside Bangui.
Maps were studied, intelligence reports were electronically transmitted back and forth between the USA and Bangui. By the eighth day the helicopters were already in the air.
------------
Shawn stumbled about in the hot, cramped, dirty cell. His nose had been partially repaired, and some medical attention had been given his other wounds. His genitalia were sore, but otherwise there were no side affects down there. He had no idea where he was, or whether he would last another day, but at least he knew he was still intact.
Suddenly all hell broke loose. From Shawn's tiny domicile all he knew was that thick clouds of dust whirled around outside. His small prison quickly became an unbreathable crypt. He heard the crackling sound of gunfire outside. He was instantly alert. Those weren't the deathly rattle of Russian manufactured AK47s . He was listening to the joyous rat-tat of American M16s. To his great joy he heard the shouts of orders and counter orders; all in English!
On the outside the two Delta teams assigned to rescue McClellan had already broken through the poorly guarded outer perimeter. Inside the main compound almost immediately the hired gunmen of the Sudanese military were either laying down their weapons in surrender, writhing on the ground in pain, slumped or lying on the soil dead, or in full flight.
The magical power of the United States had swept in and rescued an errant warrior. Seconds later Shawn found himself surrounded by American combat and medical personnel. Long festering wounds, savage torture scars, and the ravages of deliberate neglect were being ameliorated by the best hands in the world.
Alive! Shawn couldn't cry. His body was too dehydrated, but he could salute. He could hold an arm out and acknowledge the unmatched dedication and professionalism of the best troops from the best military in the world. Shawn McClellan had been saved.
As the helicopter carrying Shawn lifted off a smiling friendly face looked down on him, "You knew we couldn't let them have you."
Shawn reached up with his hand, "Kim!"
"We got you out. You're on your way home. I'm sure you'll have a lot to confide."
"What about Kia and Shai?' asked Shawn.
Kim wrapped a comforting arm about his best friend's shoulder, "We know where they are, and we know who has them. Their rescue is being handled through the United Nations. I expect they'll be in New York in a matter of days."
------------
Kim wasn't far off. His report to CID had been transmitted to world health organizations in New York, and the Ethiopian, Nepali, and the Republic of Korea's embassies.
The Sudanese government had been put on the spot. More than a score of nations, including leading Arab republics, were suddenly after them. Even more meaningful, the Sudanese military had to secretly admit to the rescue of the American. The Sudanese army had no idea where or how many US military units were already operating in the southern Sudan.
Just as scary secret intelligence reports had revealed that elite assault units of French Foreign Legion had quietly gone on maneuvers. Scarier still, reports had come in that pro-western Hindu Gurkha forces normally located in eastern Asia had disappeared. Intelligence reports from the Saudi government gave every indication they were somewhere in flight between southeastern Asia and Addis Ababa, capital of Ethiopia.
The Sudanese high command was rightfully correct to be afraid of the destabilizing impact of US Special Forces on the loose somewhere in their country. They had every reason to be genuinely alarmed about the unexpected disappearance of elite French Foreign Legion forces perhaps headed their way, but the movement of Hindu Gurkhas brought real terror. American troops were always tightly disciplined. They'd get what they were after and get out. French Foreign Legion forces were disciplined but distinctly anti-Arab. They'd get in and out with malice. But Hindu Gurkhas were not only highly disciplined, anti-Arab and anti-Muslim, but they were absolutely lethal. A handful of Nepali Gurkhas on the loose in the trackless wastes of the Sudan, Indo-Aryans all, could be devastating.
