Entry 42 – Backroom Deals
Ferguson was true to her word. The very next day, reinforcements started coming in – or rather, we began to depart to them. Murdoch pulled another proverbial rabbit out of his hat and surprised us with nothing less than a fleet of cargo planes full to the brim with military hardware of U.S. Army origin.
I often wondered what exactly is the nature of the relationship between Murdoch and the U.S. government. He clearly wasn’t an elected official, nor was he known of being a lobbyist. At the same time, he wielded tremendous influence without any public oversight – if the CIA wanted to appropriate such resources, they’d get mired in endless Senate hearings. Murdoch, on the other hand, could apparently snap his fingers and the military would do its utmost to fulfill his wishes. Makes you wonder what they were getting in return – I assumed it had to do with his technology and the way he used it. If he supplied them with accurate predictions, his goodwill credit might be nearly endless. After all – how can you defeat an enemy who knows your next steps before you even make them?
The same fact could be the answer to the question why they haven’t made a move against him. How do you even fight a person who has the means to dispose of future enemies who haven’t even gotten the idea to make a move yet? I have a strong suspicion that’s how Murdoch keeps everyone on the planet in check and why there are no traitors to his organization.
All that was going through my mind when I boarded the plane headed to Khartoum alongside Gail and the Perihelion troops who stayed with us after our unsuccessful attempt to ride south. Those who decided to leave, well, I heard Ferguson offered them a deal they couldn’t refuse but everyone was remarkably tight-lipped about the whole situation so I’ll just have to trust her to know what she’s doing.
Aside from people we’d getting more heavy equipment as well. Armor, engineering vehicles even. But of all the remarkable machines Perihelion managed to acquire, none stood out more than a single heavy Russian thermobaric rocket launcher. ‘For when shit really goes down,’ Gail remarked, wolf-whistling at the menacing shape deep in the shadow of the plane’s cavernous cargo hold. I couldn’t agree more. I almost wished something would go down just to see it in action.
