Sudan's tense frontline

Sudan's civil war has dragged on for decades

By Andrew Harding East Africa correspondent

The plane skidded along the dirt runway - and howled to a stop in a storm of dust.

The rear cargo door dropped open and we jumped out - ducking low - the giant propellers still spinning fast behind us.

Fifteen seconds later, the plane was already airborne again and we found ourselves standing alone in a long green valley.

A war as long and messy as this one does not stop overnight

Sudan is the biggest country in Africa. It tends to send journalists like me scurrying for the nearest atlas, trying to work out if it's six times the size of Texas or the same size as western Europe.

Anyway, it's big.

In case you're particularly interested in these things, the swamp we'd landed beside is roughly the size of France.

Half an hour later we were still standing alone on the empty runway watching the sun sink, and beginning to feel a bit stupid.

Then Deng arrived. Deng and his ancient, rust-rich, string-powered, prehistoric pickup truck.

Into the swamp

We climbed into the back, and set off along a dirt road which clearly thought it was some sort of elaborate show-jumping track, complete with ludicrous water hazards and deep ditches.

"It's OK," said Deng. And he was right - the pickup gamely cleared every obstacle the swamp threw at it.

We were heading towards a town called Torit in the far south of Sudan, not far from Uganda and the White Nile.

Torit was captured a fortnight ago by the Sudan People's Liberation Army - the rebels who've been fighting against the Islamic government in Khartoum for the past 19 years.

We did not get there that night. Instead after three hours driving - mostly in the dark- we pitched out tents under a tree, crawled inside before the mosquitoes could get us, and sat, munching on crackers and corned beef.

The next morning we found we'd picked up half a dozen hitch-hikers. Young men in casual clothes who swore they weren't rebel soldiers.

But wanted, for reasons they did not explain, to get to the front lines. They said they would help keep an eye out for helicopter gunships and bombers - a genuine threat in this area.

Stench of battle

An hour later, I smelt the first signs of battle. The stench of a dead body is something one never forgets. Rich, sickly sweet, intimate.

Both sides are anxious to seize more territory before a ceasefire kicks in, and just in case it does not

The corpses lay on the edge of a muddy trench. I counted six at first. Then more, half hidden in the grass.

This was a government garrison - grass huts, mortars, two anti-aircraft guns. We kept close to the road - worried about mines. The pickup crunched over a thigh-bone.

Two million is a semi-official death toll for Sudan's long war. Semi-official in the sense that its been repeated so often it has become a hard fact.

In reality it's only a rough guess - reliable statistics are as rare as tarmac roads in this part of Africa.

The true figure for Sudan may be even higher than two million - when you add in all the victims of hunger and disease who might have lived but for the conflict.

We arrived in Torit just before noon. Our hitchhikers promptly vanished into a crowd of SPLA rebels.

Everyone was smiling, still delighted about capturing the town, and talking confidently about more battlefield victories to come.

Odd really, given that the government and rebels are closer now than they have ever been to signing a comprehensive peace deal.

Rebel demands

Pushed by the international community, Sudan's Islamic Government has agreed in principle to many key rebel demands, including power sharing, religious freedom, and the right to full independence for the south, if the population there votes for it.

Continued fighting undermines the peace talks

But a war as long and messy as this one does not stop overnight.

Distrusting each other, both sides are anxious to seize more territory before a ceasefire kicks in, and just in case it does not.

The fighting undermines the peace talks, and so the proverbial vicious circle continues.

The local SPLA commander in Torit was just about to show us some of his prisoners of war, when we heard a droning high overhead.

"Bomber! Get down in the shelter!" We squinted towards the sky, looking for the Antonov plane. A silver streak in the clouds above us.

Then we waited in the dark, crowded bomb shelter. Two minutes later a grinning face appeared in the doorway. You can come out now. It's all clear. The plane has gone home.

But be careful. It may be back at any time.