AMIRA by Matthew Betley (feel good books to read .TXT) 📕

the space with a dim glow.  As the person in charge of the food supplies, she’d volunteered to sleep in one of the tents where the food had been stacked.  She’d told her co-workers and the medical staff she’d be able to prevent any theft – which had plagued other humanitarian efforts – but the real reason was to afford her the privacy her real job required, as she was on-call for the agency twenty-four-seven.

She entered the password on her encrypted IBM Toughbook connected via cable to a small SATCOM antenna and generator just outside the tent.  The chat window popped up, and she read the message.  South Sudan rebels attacked and captured the Paolich oil pumping station 5 miles to your southwest.  Multiple casualties.  Workers being held in the barracks.  Estimated 10 enemy with small arms and automatic weapons.  They’ve shut off the pipeline.  Sudanese government coordinating a response, but they won’t be able to reach the pumping station until tomorrow late in the day.  Acknowledge. 

Amira typed, Acknowledged, hit send, and waited.

We need you to infiltrate the pumping station, eliminate all hostiles except one, and get the oil turned back on. 

Amira considered for a moment, and responded, Why leave one alive?

Because you need to send a message to the rebels that attacks like this are not in their best interest this close to the referendum.  We’re in negotiations with the GOS over a potential new oil field, and if you succeed, it will go a long way in achieving the US’s larger objective.  Please confirm. 

Amira knew everything on the continent was about oil and other natural resources.  Mission confirmed.  All objectives understood.  I’ll reach out once it’s over.  Out here. 

Good luck.  God speed.  Out. 

Amira moved with purpose to a dark-green, footlocker-sized Pelican case with a spin-dial padlock.  She entered the combination, lifted the lid, and smiled at the contents, pale-blue eyes glinting in the warm glow.  Tools of the trade. Time to get your game face on.

Chapter 7

Paolich Oil Pumping Station

0403 Local Time

Asim Dafalla exited the operations center and stared upward into the African darkness overhead, the stars of heaven shining brightly upon him on the unusually clear November sky.  The seventy-degree temperature felt cool on his dark skin, and he inhaled the humid air.  I should be resting.  Omar would want me to.  Tomorrow will be a long day. 

Omar Bol, Asim’s best friend since the two were boys, was the leader the of the assault force that had captured the pumping station less than twelve hours ago.  Unlike Asim, Omar was fierce and merciless, which explained why four of the security personnel at the station had been gunned down during the attack.  Asim had quietly watched as one of the guards had tried to surrender, only to meet his fate from a barrage of AK-47 bullets from Omar.  He’d felt sympathy for the guards, but he’d hidden his feelings, less Omar accuse of him of having mercy for the enemy.  In Omar’s view, the enemy was everyone associated with the pumping station, whether it be the workers, the owners, or even the few local Sudanese who were employed by Petrodar.  They were thieves stealing the lifeblood of the earth, oil that should’ve been used to improve the living conditions of those who lived above it.  But that will all change, starting today, Asim thought.

Omar had contacted Petrodar and informed them that the flow of oil was over.  Their employees would remain hostages until southern Sudan was free from the iron fist of Khartoum.

When asked what demands he had, Omar had laughed.  “Independence after the vote next month.  Until then, your employees are mine,” and he’d disconnected the SATCOM phone call.

The plan was simple – hold the facility until the referendum was over and then demand improvements in the local infrastructure and living conditions for the residents of Paolich.  And it was Asim’s job to ensure that both their fighters and the hostages had enough food and supplies to last the next month.  They knew about the USAID camp at the airport, and Asim planned to take four men with him to obtain the supplies, peacefully, he hoped.

He looked west across the facility, the structures jutting up into the night sky.  It was eerily quiet, as they’d rounded up all the workers and placed them in a barracks adjacent to the operations center on the east side of the compound.  Several of his fighters, believers in a free South Sudan, stood watch, while the other members of the assault force slept and patrolled the grounds of the facility in teams of two.  Asim would figure out a permanent schedule tomorrow once the adrenaline from their victory had worn off.

He stretched his arms, his AK-47 slung over his shoulder.  Might as well take a walk and enjoy the silence while I can. 

Chapter 8

0415 Local Time

Amira studied the facility, patiently assessing the best infiltration point.  The sprawling compound was a maze of buildings and pipes built around three enormous oil storage tanks – one next to the other in a row – that stood several stories and towered over the rest of the structures.

While there had been threats to the pumping station, the rebel assault had been the first actual attack.  The isolation of the location had added a false sense of security, one the rebels had exploited on their first try. As a result, the facility had only been protected by a small cadre of armed guards whose effectiveness had obviously been insufficient for the task at hand, considering four of them were now dead. Nothing like a homerun your first at bat in the Big Leagues of terrorism, her father would’ve said.

She glanced at her watch.  She had less than two hours before morning nautical twilight would begin, when the horizon would start to glow with the imminent sunrise thirty