The Forgotten Land

The
Forgotten Land

KEITH
MCARDLE

National
Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:

Author: McArdle, Keith, 1978-

Title: The forgotten land / by Keith McArdle.

ISBN-13:
978-1466444867 (pbk.) ISBN-10: 146644486X Dewey Number: A823.3

LCCN:
2011960066

BISAC:
Fiction / Action & Adventure

A copy of this
publication can be found in the National Library of Australia.

Copyright © Keith McArdle 2011

Keith McArdle asserts the moral right to be
identified as the author of this work.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names,
characters and incidents portrayed in it, are the work of the author’s
imagination.

All rights
reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the
author.

"Front cover
photograph used with the permission of the Australian Department of Defence.
The views of the author do not reflect those of Defence or Government policy
and the military response is not necessarily a true and accurate reflection of
current or previous Defence procedures."

Cover design by Najla Qamber

http://najlaqamberdesigns.blogspot.com

Connect with me online:

Website:
http://www.keithmcardle.com

Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/theforgottenland

Twitter:
https://twitter.com/KeithAuthor

Smashwords:
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/92623

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I
would like to especially thank Dave Sabben for the time and effort he put into
helping me with this project. As a young bloke I always had a great interest in
the many stories of the Australian Army not only surviving, but succeeding in
battle against insurmountable odds. The Battle of Long Tan is certainly no
exception, and to have a Long Tan veteran offer me some very helpful
suggestions and advice, was a great honour.

Thanks
also to my editor Anna Kassulke of ‘Word Story’, and my proof readers, Simon
Knight, Cameron Evers and Peter Massicks.

DEDICATION

For
my beautiful wife, Simone: my rock and my best friend. Regardless of what was
happening in our life, you never stopped believing in me.

PROLOGUE

Thousands
were dead, or dying. It was a disaster! Following the terrorist attacks on
America on that fateful day in September 2001, the United States military was
determined to capture the mastermind behind it all. A man whose name the world
would never forget. Osama Bin Laden.

Somalia,
Afghanistan and Pakistan saw large numbers of U.S. troops deployed in search of
the rogue. The President’s advisers had under their employ a veritable army of
faceless, nameless men and women who fed them information and advice from
around the world. Within ten days of the atrocity at the Twin Towers, the
President’s advisers were convinced that it was possible Bin Laden may have
fled to Iraq. Seven hours later Iraq was under increasing scrutiny and within
twelve, the President had given the go ahead to begin operations.

Rather
than send more troops into Iraq, the American Department of Defence began
injecting enormous funds into the Kurdish community, asking them to hunt for
Bin Laden.

If
they ceased their search, even for a day, the funds would be cut off. Kurdish Peshmerga
Forces began purchasing high-tech weapons from America in large quantities.
That was when the trouble started. The Kurds had been persecuted by the Iraqi
government ever since Iraq had become a country in its own right. Saddam
Hussein was unrelenting in keeping with this historical “tradition”. During the
Iran- Iraq war thousands of Kurds, including women and children, had been
gassed under Hussein’s orders. The Kurdish people wanted revenge and it came in
the form of US greenbacks. Fierce urban warfare erupted in the streets of every
major town and city. The Iraqi Army fought well, but was on the back foot from
the beginning. In almost every fire fight they were forced to withdraw from the
ceaseless Kurdish onslaught. Within four weeks, the Iraqi Army was no longer a
cohesive force. Pockets of Iraqi soldiers continued to fight doggedly, but they
were quickly overwhelmed. Iraqi civilians were persistently slaughtered and
that was when the fleeing began. Tens of thousands of people streamed from the cities,
piled onto trucks, walking, travelling any way they could to escape the new
threat. Some of these convoys were ambushed and people were slaughtered without
mercy.

The
country was beginning to fall apart. The UN announced it would restore peace
and stability (or the little peace and stability Iraq had before the fighting),
but they knew if they moved in they would not be a peace-keeping force. They
would be a peace-making force and that went against everything for which the
United Nations had been created.

However
it was the only way to regain some semblance of order in Iraq.

CHAPTER
1

GENEVA

“What
can America offer this peace-keeping force?” the chairman of the UN spat,
looking at the representative for the United States of America. The chairman’s voice
was easily identified, with its heavy French accent.

“Unfortunately,
we have our carrier groups tied up in support of our troops in Afghanistan and
Somalia. 130,000 regular troops, 80,000 support personnel, 27 land based
helicopter squadrons and 9,000 Special Forces soldiers are involved in the
effort. We are way beyond our budget as it is, so unfortunately we cannot offer
any assistance in this matter.”

The
American representative leaned back in her chair. It was obvious America did
not want to help, however they wanted Bin Laden and by stopping the Kurdish
uprising, they would be working against themselves. After all, the Kurds had
promised they would be on constant lookout for him.

Cameron
Eves, a well-spoken Australian, almost smirked as he

watched
the chairman hold back a rebuttal. A tall, stocky man, Eves was clean shaven
with dark curly hair, his eyes glinted with intelligence but his face gave away
nothing. He wore a black business suit, a mobile phone resting near his left
hand and a glass full of water stood by his right. In plain clothes, enjoying
his weekend with his wife, he looked like a typical surfie.

Very
few people knew he frequently attended United Nations meetings, representing a
well- established western country. Even fewer would think that someone who
preferred to wear board shorts and old shirts on his days off could have that
many letters after his name. Cameron knew as well as any of the representatives
there, that America’s military budget was a bottomless pit. To them, 290,000 defence
personnel, a carrier task group and 27 helicopter squadrons was a Sunday stroll
in the park.

The
Americans had managed to put half a million defence personnel and thousands of
strike planes and attack helicopters into Iraq in the early 90s. The cost was
probably somewhere in the vicinity of several hundred billion dollars.

“So
far we have several very generous contributions, but we need more ground
troops, specifically specialist soldiers,” the chairman turned towards a
mahogany lectern. A well-built soldier was making his way up the dais as the
chairman continued, “I shall leave that up to General Billiar to explain.”

“Good
morning,” the General began, his accent one of a well-

educated
Englishman. What was also immediately recognisable, however, were the medals
worn on his jacket, there was enough of them to sink a small battle ship.

“My
name is General Billiar. Now, we have a situation here in Iraq and a very
serious one I might add. A minority group, the Kurds, heavily persecuted for
many generations have been given state-of-the- art weaponry… a lot of it.” The
General’s eyes rested on the American representative for a moment before he
looked away. “The Iraqi Army has been annihilated, and the Kurds, who are being
trained and led by the Kurdish Peshmerga Forces, are now killing or shooting at
any Iraqi person they come across. Not a good situation, the whole country has
become destabilised and the civilian death toll has been estimated at 50,000
and rising by the day, in fact by the hour.”

“What
we need are specialist soldiers, Special Forces if you like, who can get in
close and observe. If the situation becomes volatile and there is no civilian
activity in the area they will rectify it as they see fit. A peace-keeping
mission will not work, we need to take a tough stand, but we also need to be
careful. We know the Iraqis will be opposed to our presence, however, we have
no idea how the Kurds view us. If they see us as an enemy or a threat then we
have two opponents to contend with. It could get messy.”

“Once
we know through our special forces on the ground exactly what is going on then
our next main objective is to re-stabilise the country, get the people back
into their homes and try to establish a good relationship between the Iraqis
and the Kurds. It’s going to be a tough and lengthy operation. Now what we need
from you are Special Forces soldiers, trained in desert warfare. We need to
observe hostile activities first to get an idea of what is going on. We’ve
heard the rumours, but we need them substantiated. The Special Forces soldiers
will be our eyes and ears.”

Several
representatives raised their hands. The chairman made a note of the number of
hands and which country they represented.

“Now
we need to befriend the Kurds,” continued the General, “offer them something
that will subdue their urge to kill every Iraqi on the spot. There is an Iraqi
General, Muhammad Al-Hazareen, who is responsible for the majority of
atrocities against the Kurds within the last fifteen years. If we capture him
and bring him to trial then this may be enough to appease the Kurds. We will
need to make the trial very public too, perhaps with regular pamphlet drops
over Kurdish territory with updates on the trial. After all not everyone will
have a TV.”

“As
far as our intelligence and sympathisers can gather, Al- Hazareen’s being moved
to a small town called Barzan for his protection. The town is in northern Iraq
near the Turkish border. There is usually a very strong Kurdish presence in
this area, but currently most of these people are in the southern areas of Iraq
creating havoc. As far as we know, any Kurds in and around Barzan have been
told that Al-Hazareen is a Kurdish commander secreted there to avoid capture by
the Iraqi Secret Police who want his head. Pretty clever really.

“We
need a small Special Forces unit to go in, capture Al-Hazareen and bring him
out. The danger of this mission will be great and if it is not planned
thoroughly, the soldiers will come back in wooden boxes no matter how good they
are. I want to make that very clear. It is a very dangerous mission, but one
that is important with respect to the United Nations’ involvement in this area.
We need a representative to put soldiers forward.”

Several
reps grabbed their mobile phones and talked hushed tones. One by one they hung
up. For a moment there was silence in the large room. The General’s eyes moved
slowly over the representatives.

It
seemed to General Billiar that no country would offer their soldiers willingly.
It was quite understandable given the task they were to perform. But, unknown
to anyone there, Cameron Eves was still on his phone. When he hung up he looked
at the General and slowly raised his hand.

“Sir,
I believe we can do it,” Cameron Eves’s Australian accent broke the silence.

“Special
Air Service Regiment?” asked the General. “Yes, Sir,” replied Eves.

The
Australian SASR had already gained an impeccable reputation with their
involvement with the anti-terrorist force in Afghanistan some months before. In
particular Operation Anaconda.

When
that operation began, small patrols of Australian SASR moved well forward of
the advancing US soldiers and set up observation posts under the noses of the
Taliban. They reported their observations of enemy movements back to the
Americans who then had detailed knowledge of enemy positions, how strong their
enemy was, what weapons they carried and the state of their morale. The
Australian SASR had played an integral part in the success of the operation,
including calling in air and artillery strikes.

The
General nodded. “Excellent. That is all, thank you ladies, gentlemen and Mr.
Chairman for your time today.”

The
General took up his papers and left.

*
* * * *

Steve
Golburn was relaxing in the afternoon sun, turning sausages and watching his
two children play. Kathy, his ten-year-old daughter, was teasing her younger
brother, Brent, with a beach ball. Brent was two, with brown curly hair like
his father and determined to get his hands on the ball. Kathy put it on the
ground in front of him and as he ran towards the ball, she snatched it up and
ran away giggling. Brent’s face darkened. Kathy ran to a tree and playfully
bounced it on the ground like a basketball. She was an attractive girl with
straight blonde hair and blue eyes. She looked like a younger version of her
mother.

Steve
leaned forward and took his sunglasses off. Brent’s face was red, and tears
weren’t far away.

“Kathy,
stop teasing him. Let him have the ball,” Steve said. The sausages were almost
done and the sizzling smell wafted through the air. There were three other
barbecues around them, all overlooking the beach. It was the perfect place for
a Sunday afternoon family outing. The distant laughter of children could be
heard on the soft breeze. Five or six kids were playing in the sea.

Steve
was a well-built, fit man who walked with a confident swagger as if he was
without a care in the world. He loved being with his family, after all he was
away almost eleven months of the year with work.

“Almost
done?” Judy asked as she put the tomato and barbecue sauce on the table.

“Pretty
much,” Steve looked across at his wife. They had forgotten to take the sauces
with them when they parked the car. Judy had walked back to get them and looked
like she needed a drink. Steve poured her a glass of chilled white wine from
the esky. She smiled as he handed it to her.

“Dad
this is no fun,” Kathy said, sitting with her legs crossed and her chin on her
hands. Brent was giggling as he kicked the ball, running after it and kicking
it again.

“Watch
out Manchester United,” chuckled Judy.

“Why
don’t you go and kick the ball with him,” said Steve. He got up and took a gulp
of his VB.

“Ah,
that’s better,” he said.

“Hey
I forgot to tell you,” Judy said, leaning forward. “You know how I was going to
ask for that pay rise on Friday?”

“That’s
right I forgot to ask you about that. How did it go?”

Steve
listened as she revealed the story, noticing how the sun shone from her hair, and
how she touched him on the arm at a particularly important part of the story.
She was just as beautiful now as the day he married her.

Judy’s
mobile phone rang cutting in on the conversation.

“Hello?”

“Are
the sausages done, Dad?” Kathy asked as she placed the beach ball on the ground
nearby and sat on it.

“Ah,
okay,” Judy sounded disappointed.

“Yup,
almost,” he said turning the sausages once more, before arranging them on a
plate. “In fact, they’re ready right now,” he added.

“Err,
yes he’s right here,” said Judy passing the phone to Steve. She did not look
happy. “It’s work,” she said.

He
stopped himself from swearing. “Steve Golburn here.”

“Sergeant,
it’s Corporal Miller here. Sorry to disturb you, but something’s come up. It’s
urgent. We need you in here within the next hour for a quick brief.”

“This
ain’t no exercise is it?” Steve asked looking down at his wife.

She
looked away at this and shook her head.

“No
mate, this ain’t no fucking exercise.”

Their
marriage was already under stress and this was the last thing Steve wanted to
happen. It had got to the stage where Brent thought that Steve was just a good
friend who came to visit every now and then. Kathy enjoyed seeing her father
but she could quite easily survive without him and had done since she was born.
None of this seemed to bother Steve, but Judy knew it hurt him, even if he
didn’t show it.

They
packed up the plates, wrapped up the sausages and left, their Sunday afternoon
in tatters. When they got home, Steve saw them to the front door, kissed the
children and then hugged and kissed Judy.

“I
shouldn’t be too long baby,” he kissed her once more.

 She
was trying hard not to cry. “How long will you be gone this time? Two months?
Six?”

Bloody
hell, here we go, Steve thought, but he knew it was just as hard on Judy
looking after the kids by herself as it was for him on operations. He took a
deep breath.

“Don’t
do that, not now honey. Listen,” he took her hand, “I’ll be back as soon as I
can,” he said and pulled her to him. He kissed her quickly and then left.

Judy
took the kids inside. She sat down on the couch. She couldn’t believe this was
happening. Steve had only been home three days after a two-month exercise.

“Mama,
I hungry,” blurted Brent, putting a hand on her knee.

“Don’t
worry Mum, I’ll make him a sandwich,” said Kathy, leading Brent to the kitchen
by the hand.

“And
now we’re at number twelve on the all-time old classics countdown. Civil War by
Guns ‘n’ Roses. This song came out in 1991 and went straight to the top 40,
here it is. Stick around, there’s more to come…” Kathy had flicked on the radio
as she made her brother a honey and peanut butter sandwich.

Judy
could just make out the words of the song. “Look at your young men fighting,”
the voice was gentle, matching the soft guitar work. “Look at your women
crying. Look at your young men dying, the way they’ve always done before.”

Judy
buried her head in her hands and sobbed. She tried to get a hold of herself
before calling out, “Kathy, turn the radio off please, Honey.”