The Forgotten Land (10 page)

The
dull roar of a 40mm grenade exploded, sending up a thick cloud of dirt and
acrid, dark smoke. The distinctive bark of the Minimis continued as Dave and
Scott poured a murderous barrage on their pursuers. The fire fight was so
intense that it was difficult to hear the shots of individual weapons. The
noise was a continuous roar of violence.

Steve
saw four Kurds dart behind a thick tree for cover. The ear- ringing BOOM of a
66 ripped through the air and the rocket sped towards its target, slamming into
the ground just behind the tree where the Kurds had taken cover. The explosion
sent a shock wave through the ground and blew the tree apart.

Smoke
covered the scene for several seconds. Moments later, two of the Kurds stumbled
out, one with his face a mangled mess. The other militiaman had blood pumping
from his arm, his shirt was ripped, his chest was bleeding and his face was cut
to bloody ribbons. He had left his weapon behind and was staggering around in
confusion. Bullets ripped into both men and their torment ended before their
bodies hit the ground. The two remaining Kurds who had taken refuge behind the
tree must have been torn apart.

“Stoppage!”
roared Dave. He cocked his machinegun and flicked it open to inspect the
ammunition belt. Stoppages occurred if dirt, grit or rocks got stuck in the
working parts.

“Get
that gun up!” shouted Steve, as Matt sprinted back and dived to the ground,
providing covering fire for the next man to move back.

The
Kurds were still in the fight. Several militiamen kept up a sustained rate of
fire from behind the destroyed truck and another eight or nine mimicked the
Australian soldiers, only they were fire-and- moving towards the withdrawing
men.

“Almost
up!” Dave yelled, flicking out a piece of bent belt link that had caught up in
the working parts. Dave’s machinegun burst back into life, ripping into the
chest of a Kurd running towards a tree. The man went down. His face planed into
the earth and the forward momentum sent his body skidding a metre before it
came to a limp halt.

Steve
sprinted back, threw himself down and kept his head down as several rounds
hissed past him. Another round cut the air near him with a loud WIZZ, another
zipped by cutting a sapling in half. If they did not take out the Kurds rapidly
or withdraw far enough for their enemies to give up the chase, it would only be
a matter of time before one, several, or all of the members of Steve’s patrol
were killed.

Surprisingly,
the Kurds were fire-and-moving well, but they had one weakness. Steve knelt up
briefly, took aim through his 40mm grenade site and pulled the trigger. The
hollow, metallic THUNK sent the small projectile cutting through the air
towards its target. Steve dropped as the air around him once more came to life,
with bullets zinging and zipping past. He did not see the grenade’s flight, but
he heard it explode. Kneeling up briefly, Steve fired three short bursts in
quick succession, covering Scott and Will as they sprinted back. The churned
dirt, thrown up by the grenade was still falling to earth and black smoke
drifted up into the tree tops. Steve saw with grim satisfaction that the
explosion had killed three Kurds. The Kurds’ weakness was that they were too
close together, as Steve’s grenade had just proven.

The
five men of call sign Bravo One took up a total ground area of over 50 metres
across their axis of withdrawal, whereas the four or five remaining Kurds
intent on advancing towards the Australians took up less than 20 metres. They
were bunched up and unless they spread out and were very good, they would be
dead within the next – BOOM.

An
ear shattering explosion ripped chunks of bark from nearby trees. The body of
one militiaman somersaulted limply through the air, landing with a dull thud
behind some bushes. Will lowered his weapon, reloaded his 40mm grenade launcher
and sent a second grenade into the Kurds moving towards them. It exploded
violently, bringing their advance to a halt as it savagely ripped the life from
the only man to survive the previous explosion.

With
most of the enemy either dead or wounded, Australian fire was directed towards
the now sporadic fire coming at them from the few militiamen behind the distant
truck.

The
five Australians had fallen back quickly and efficiently during the fire fight
and were now over three hundred metres from where the ambush had begun. The men
of Bravo One fell back but continued to pour a ruthless barrage of firepower
upon the destroyed vehicle below.

*
* * * *

Bullets
thudded into, and around the truck, kicking up dirt, puncturing tyres and
ricocheting off the thick metal hood. The three Kurds, who had so confidently
sustained their firepower on the area where they could see their enemy
sprinting away from them, were now cowering behind the truck. One man had his
head in his hands and was screaming his fear into the dirt. His AK47 lay
uselessly beside him as bullets screamed and whirred by. One of them leaned out
from behind the safety of cover and fired a long burst from a rifle. A fine
spray of blood erupted from his leg and he fell back, clutching the limb.
Before his comrades could pull him back into cover, more bullets stitched his
chest and he fell limp, his dead eyes staring up at the dark grey sky.

The
remaining two screamed at one another, yelling, arguing. A faint whistling cut
the sky and grew ever louder. Deciding that it was best to move from cover and
retreat to Barzan any way they could, the first peered slowly around the side
of the truck.

All
he could see was the green of the forest and dead comrades littering the forest
floor like scraps of paper on a street pavement. Although the air was still
thick with enemy bullets, there was no sign of the men they had been fighting.
It was almost as if they were fighting ghosts or wraiths from days long gone.
But one thing was for sure: if they did not move, they would be dead within
minutes.

The
whistling was more a dull scream now. With a shouted word of encouragement to
his friend, the first man launched himself into the open and began sprinting
for the distant town. The second man followed instantly, his eyes wide with
fear. With a whistling shriek, the 40mm grenade round slammed into the ground
and exploded between the two running men, cutting them down mercilessly.

*
* * * *

The
roar of the fire fight subsided, until only the screaming of the wounded and
the shouts of the hidden remained. Occasionally an AK barked into life, but the
few Iraqi militiamen who were still able to fight were petrified. They knew
they would be dead within seconds if they stepped into sight. The Australians
continued to withdraw, firing sporadically at possible enemy positions or into
the wounded left in the open.

Within
seven or eight short minutes the fire fight was over and the Kurdish militia
who had so confidently sat in the back of the truck only quarter of an hour
before had been massacred. What was still of concern to the withdrawing
Australian soldiers, however, was the fact that the uniformed men who had
appeared from the truck alongside the militiamen had not shown themselves.
Steve’s gut instinct told him that they had not withdrawn but had moved into a
point of ambush further up the hill.

The
soldiers carefully patrolled towards the dead ground. Will was sent forward to
scout the area, and when no enemy were spotted, he signalled for the others to
advance. The group slowly, silently, moved down into the dead ground, leaving
the moans and screams of the enemy wounded behind them.

Keeping
their spacing, they patrolled quietly, listening and watching for the enemy.
Each soldier patrolled their arcs as they moved. Watching one’s arc meant a
soldier's weapon was pointing where he was looking. The angle of arc ranged
from 3 o’clock to the right, all the way through to 9 o’clock to the left.

If
the soldier leading was covering his right of arc, the soldier immediately
behind him was covering his left of arc and the soldier behind him was covering
his right of arc. These arcs changed constantly so that as the patrol moved
forward they all smoothly covered from left to right at different intervals.
The man at the rear covered a 180-degree arc, looking for enemy behind them.

Will,
who was lead scout, stopped and held a hand up to halt those behind. He took a
knee and pointed his thumb towards the ground. It was the signal for enemy. He
could see the enemy through a small gap between two shrubs. One of them had
obviously been wounded during the previous fight and lay motionless on the side
of the ridge. Will watched him for a long time through the ACOG sight, but
could see no chest movement to indicate he was breathing. The ground around him
was soaked with blood. Another two were lying nearby, one clasping his leg
tightly with blood streaming between his fingers, the other was still, his dry,
dead eyes staring up at the sky.

Two
others were close by. One was writhing in pain and clutching his thigh.
Shrapnel had entered his leg. The other knelt over him clamping a hand on the
wounded man’s mouth so he did not cry out.

The
Australians opened fire almost at the same time, bullets tearing into yielding
flesh and violently ripping life from bodies. The wounded man was quickly
silenced forever, but the unwounded Iraqi managed to fire an instinctive burst
before a bullet entered his throat and others slammed through his face
shattering his skull. The burst he had fired, however, caused a terrible toll.

“Dave’s
dead!” called Matt, with an edge of disbelief in his voice.

“He’s
dead, man!”

From
where Matt lay, Dave appeared to have taken a 7.62mm round through the face,
which had taken half his head with it. He lay in a bloody heap to Matt’s left.

Matt
sprinted towards Dave, diving to the ground beside him. He rolled him over and
automatically checked his breathing. Nothing. He checked his carotid pulse,
again out of instinct more than anything. Nothing. He swore. Matt pulled Dave’s
weapon from his dead hands and slung it. He quickly tucked the spare belt link
into his own webbing and ripped free Dave’s dog tags, placing them safely away
in a pouch.

“Christ!”
snarled Steve. “We’ll come back for him, let’s move!”

As
scout, Will led the way out towards the Land Rover, followed by Scott, Steve and
Matt, who brought up tail end charlie. They patrolled fast enough that they did
not make too much noise. Each man was at least fifteen metres from the next,
giving each other plenty of space. The small group had almost reached the top
of the hill where they knew the ground would flatten.

Just
another hundred metres beyond that would be the wadi where the Land Rover was
hidden. Within a minute the soldiers were in the wadi. Will and Matt moved to
the Land Rover while Steve and Scott provided cover from the 12 and 6 o’clock
positions on the lip of the wadi. Will and Matt moved quickly. They walked
round the vehicle, checking the tyres and the equipment. Matt lay on his back,
pushing himself carefully under the vehicle to check the underside, while Will
checked under the hood.

It
was important to check the vehicle for booby traps before mounting and heading
off. It had been left here unguarded for nearly 24 hours and the enemy could
have placed anything on it during that time.

“We’re
clear!” called Will.

Steve
sprinted down and climbed into the driver’s seat. Matt and Will also mounted
the vehicle. Scott would continue to provide cover until the engine turned over
and they were ready to drive off.

Will
moved into position behind the forward-facing gun, ripping off the canvas cover
and cocking it. Matt jumped on the .50 cal, making it ready to fire.

“We’ve
got company!” called Scott from the lip of the wadi.

Steve
froze, his right hand on the ignition key, his left foot pressing the clutch to
the floor and his left hand resting on the gear stick. He cocked his head and
heard the faint, familiar noise of a diesel engine, before it faded again in a
light breeze. Regardless of any enemy, he was not going to leave one of his
soldiers behind.

“We’ll
grab Dave first, then we’ll piss off!” he called, turning the key and revving
the engine. “Right, Matt, get off the 50 cal and let Scott on.

I
want you to get on the radio and call in some air support. We’re in the shit
and we’re sinkin’ deeper by the second. If we don’t get support soon we’re
gunna be stuffed.”

“Got
it,” Matt said, sliding over into the rear passenger seat while Scott climbed
up onto the .50. Steve dropped the Land Rover into first and planted the
accelerator. The vehicle lurched forward, the wheels skidding for the first few
metres before finding their grip. Within seconds the Land Rover was moving
rapidly up and out of the wadi.

Steve
did a U-turn, skirted around the edges of the wadi and accelerated rapidly
towards Dave’s body.

They
covered the ground quickly and came to a skidding halt beside Dave. His skin
was mottled and almost purple in colour. The ground around him stained with
blood. Scott hauled the body across to the Land Rover and lifted it into the
rear of the vehicle, before climbing back up onto the .50 cal. Blood and brains
were slowly oozing out of the bloody hole in Dave’s head. Matt pulled out a
ground sheet and laid it over the corpse, tucking the edges under the body to
prevent the sheet from flying away while they were driving.