Sometimes the Darkness

If I have enough fuel, I will fly to Nairobi as soon as I deliver the children and the two of you. You see, I have virtually no standing here. I have obtained a work permit through the church as a contract employee. The church can offer me no protection and won’t. Under the circumstances, I wouldn’t. Once back on the ground, the plane is vulnerable, a sitting aluminum duck. If I lose the plane, I’m already a prisoner. An old white American is easily spotted in Sudan. Probably as easily hated, I expect. That fact, and the fact that I have little resources available to me mean that I would not make it out of the country. I’d eventually be caught maybe killed. The plane is my salvation. If I lose the plane, I lose my freedom. We must know what we will be facing and have a plan ready for what is to come, if we get back at all.” Hanley looked at the nun and then off into the bush, staring at nothing, feeling again that he was in a dream, unable to control what was happening to him, helpless and stupid, hating the feeling. Hanley’s head snapped up and he said, “Unless you come with me. Jumma, you could wait it out in Kenya, wait until the uproar dies down, then return. You could do that. Think about it,” Hanley suggested.

“Things will never die down in Sudan,” the young African said.

Dust swirled across the Savannah, its swirl broken only as it passed behind a bush or one of the sparse trees that dotted the barren earth around them. It was the dry season, and an especially dry one it was. Hanley wondered for an instant if the dust meant more than just the wind moving the parched earth or was it the dust kicked up by the feet of people fleeing the madness that was what was left of their lives. At that moment, an image of Carrie came to him, bundled in her pink winter coat and pants. She was wearing her Belinda Hanley expression, the same mixture of exasperation and impatience she shared with her grandmother when both were tired of having to deal with him. He loved his granddaughter so. Now, all he wanted was to see Elizabeth and Carrie again.

“Will you have enough fuel to fly to Kenya?” Sister Marie Claire asked him. The question brought Hanley back to the picnic table.

“That depends on how much time we spend on the ground at Kosit. We will fly in at dawn, with the sun just above the horizon and behind us. We want it to be in the eyes of anyone looking our way. We will fly out into the morning sun,” Hanley explained.

Jumma looked up and smiled. “God comes with the morning sun, does he not? He will be with us that morning. He will come out of the morning sun to help us rescue these children.”

Hanley looked at Jumma and smiled, saying, “I’ll keep the engines running as we load the children. I will stay in my seat while you and Jumma get them onboard. Just before we land, you will switch from the second seat to the open jump-seat next to Jumma. When I tell you, both of you will move to the rear hatch, drop the door and load the children. When they are onboard, I will move out and take off. You will need to make certain all the children are sitting down once they are onboard. Put their backs against the wall of the plane, trying to balance them by number along each side. Two things are absolutely essential, I believe. First, the children must be waiting as near to where I will stop the plane as possible. Second, there can be no hesitation when it comes to the loading. Once that door drops, the children must board as fast as possible. The Beech makes an awfully easy target. If there are soldiers nearby, we will have more trouble than we can handle.”

“I will speak with my contact about this when I can. Maybe in a day or two,” she said.

“Good. Okay. I have thought about when the best time will be to do this. All things considered, I believe that early morning, just after daybreak, will be the best. Moving the children through the night will provide some cover for the truck, especially if it can travel sparsely traveled routes. The children can sleep while traveling and be awake when the plane lands. Tell your people to have something sweet for them to eat when they wake up. We want them up and moving fast when they need to be.”

“What about guns? Should we take them?” Jumma asked.

“Do you have guns?” Hanley asked in return, a bit startled by the question.

“No, but I think we can find them if we need them. I know a man in Rumbek who may help us. He knows many people, including people who help the rebels,” Jumma said; he seemed forlorn to Hanley.

Hanley looked at the nun and said, “No guns. I know enough about them to be afraid of using them. I can fly a plane, but I can’t hit the broadside of a barn with a gun; no guns, okay?”

Sister Marie Claire nodded. A smile spread across her face as she watched Father Laslo leaving the dining hall door and walk toward them. She rose as he neared the table, but sat back down when he motioned her to remain seated. The young priest stopped behind Hanley, placed a hand upon the American’s left shoulder and said, “I see we are enjoying the fresh air of Sudan, is that right, Jumma?”

Jumma smiled and nodded, saying, “Yes, Father, we thought we would take our meal outside today.”

The hand squeezed Hanley’s shoulder a little. “Mr Martin, were you a pilot in the US military?” Father Laslo asked.

“No, I was never in the military. I was in college when Viet Nam