Armed Resistance. Don Pendleton

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      STONY MAN

      When the Oval Office needs covert rapid response to avert disaster, Stony Man gets the call. Handpicked, the best of the best in cyber-intelligence and commando warfare, this elite squad fights by a code of duty and dedication to holding the line between the free world and violent extremists.

      ARMED RESISTANCE

      Sudan’s political situation is a nightmare. Guerilla forces specializing in human trafficking and black market arms rule in the violence-torn region. With members undercover inside a military arms depot in Mississippi, weapons are being diverted to the rebels profiteering on human misery. Able Team moves in stateside, while Phoenix Force goes deep into the bloodiest regions of Sudan and Uganda. It’s a grim race to find a kidnapped CIA agent, a cache of human cargo and an arsenal of stolen weapons bound for illegal sale. Stony Man is hunting predators who kill for profit and pleasure—battling long odds to bring some justice to a ruthless land.

      “There’s trouble!”

      Manning’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror.

      James turned to glance through the back window and spotted the dim points of headlights. A jeep appeared to be closing on them fast. It could only mean police. In other countries they might have stopped, but this time they had to consider the Sudanese police on the opposite side of the fence. A good number of those in uniform were little more than thugs, and out here the Phoenix Force warriors couldn’t consider them soldiers on the same side. They would avoid a conflict if at all possible but not at the risk of failing in their mission. Lester Bukatem and his LRA guerillas were a threat that had to be dealt with, and neither Manning nor James would let police officials detain them, friendly or otherwise. Chances were good this meeting would result in their arrest and possible confinement without cause.

      “If we stop, we’re dead,” James said.

      “Then I won’t stop.”

      Armed Resistance

      Stony Man

      Don Pendleton

       www.mirabooks.co.uk

      Special thanks and acknowledgment to Jon Guenther for his contribution to this work.

      Contents

       CHAPTER ONE

       CHAPTER TWO

       CHAPTER THREE

       CHAPTER FOUR

       CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

       CHAPTER FIFTEEN

       CHAPTER SIXTEEN

       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

       CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

       CHAPTER NINETEEN

       CHAPTER TWENTY

       CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

       CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

       CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

       CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

       CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

       EPILOGUE

      CHAPTER ONE

      South Sudan

      Two hundred miles north of the border with Uganda a biting wind swept across the desert, wending its way through the rock formations and echoing like howling spirits.

       No matter how much time Samir Taha spent in this environment he never really became accustomed to it. Even after six years spent fighting in the barren and rugged terrain of his homeland, the legends still gnawed at his spirit. For Taha and his men, the wind carried the souls of those who had gone before and fought for liberty and freedom for those in South Sudan.

       “You hear them again?” a voice whispered.

       “I hear them often,” Taha replied, although he didn’t look at the man who spoke. He need not look his brother in the eye. Kumar knew better than anyone else the things that troubled him.

       “You know I do not believe in the spirits,” Kumar said.

       “I have never asked you to believe in them, merely respect those of us who do.”

       “But to what ends?”

       “I do not wish to discuss this here and now,” Samir said, waving his brother to silence. “Now be still.”

       Satisfied there would be no further outbursts from his young and rather impetuous sibling, Samir Taha returned his attention to the camp ahead. Their intelligence had always been good in the past where it concerned those godless bastards who chose to traffic in innocent women and children. It had been difficult to gain support from government officials. Taha wished he could have recruited more men from their own ranks for this mission but General Kiir had refused to provide them. They were a ragtag bunch, to be sure, undisciplined and poorly equipped. Only half of the assault rifles they carried, Kalashnikov variants, were even capable of full auto fire.

       A good number of them were semiautomatics—7.62 mm SKS-style rifles smuggled from connections in China or American-made AR-15s chambered to fire .223 cartridges. The remaining soldiers carried pistols and knives, and the ammunition situation was plain abysmal.

       Taha had even begged the general to part with a couple of AK-47s but the old man wouldn’t hear of it.

       “We have no reason to believe your intelligence is good,” General Kiir had told him. “If you do this then you do it voluntarily. I cannot risk it as a sanctioned mission.”

       The general’s lack of support infuriated Taha