The Forgotten Land (11 page)

“You
right?” Steve looked over his shoulder at Matt.

“Yup,”
replied Matt.

The
shock of Dave’s death had not hit any of them yet, but Steve knew it would.
Dave was a big loss. Working in small units for long periods of time built up a
rapport amongst soldiers, so much so that they were not just good mates, but
brothers. Dave’s years of training and experience, had been snuffed out in an
instant because an enemy soldier had taken a random shot.

Steve
stamped on the accelerator. He turned around and headed back the way they had
come. They had about six kilometres of rough terrain to cross before they
reached a dirt road leading north towards the steep mountain ranges to their
right. Beyond the mountains was Turkey.

Steve
worked up the gears, as the vehicle sped across the landscape towards freedom.
He accelerated to just under 130 kilometres an hour, which was about the Land
Rover’s maximum speed. The ride was rough and Steve was not particularly
careful about avoiding small holes or rocks. He swerved violently around wadis
or deeper holes, careful not to allow the rear end to slide out of control.
They had not yet seen the vehicle in pursuit of them, but Will and Scott were
eager to give it a warm welcome with the machineguns.

Matt
was crouched down behind Steve’s seat trying to get some cover from the wind so
he could use the radio effectively. He had also clamped one hand firmly upon
Dave’s body so that it did not bounce or slide out of the vehicle.

“Black
Dog this is Bravo One, we need air support now, over!” “Roger Bravo One,”
responded the strong American voice, “the birds are on their way, ETA to your
previous grid about five minutes. Do you want them at your previous grid?”

“Acknowledge
that Black Dog, send them to previous grid. We have vehicle in pursuit and they
should see it from that posi—”

“ENEMY!”
shouted Scott and the .50 cal roared into life. Hot, empty cartridges spat out
of the ejection opening, some spilling out over the side of the vehicle, others
rolling around on the floor. Steve flicked an empty cartridge that had landed
in his lap over the side of the vehicle. Will’s gun opened up moments later.
Both weapons were pointing out towards the left, barking angrily at something
Matt could not see.

“Black
Dog contact, wait out,” Matt shouted over the noise. He looked up at Scott.

Scott
pointed and continued to fire. Matt shifted into a position where he could see
beyond Scott who was firing long bursts from the .50 cal. They had driven
beyond the forest that had hidden them from view and out onto elevated ground
that looked down on a flat plain below them that rolled towards Barzan in the
distance. A white four- wheel drive ute was tearing across the lower plain
straight towards them. It was returning fire. It looked like there was a .50
cal gun mounted on the back of the vehicle, as the firer was standing in the
tray of the ute. Matt watched as the tracer rounds from the enemy gun hung in
the air for what seemed several seconds before accelerating rapidly towards
them and flying over their heads with lightning speed. Firing from a moving
vehicle was difficult, but Will and Scott’s fire was fairly accurate – either
zipping close to the pursuing vehicle, slamming into the ground in front of it
and sending up small showers of dirt or, as far as Matt could see, actually
hitting the vehicle.

The
ute was still about 800 metres behind them but it was slowly closing the
distance. Luckily the operator behind the .50 cal seemed to be relatively
inexperienced and was certainly overexcited, as the rounds sprayed wildly from
the weapon. The closest the Australian soldiers had come to being hit was a
tracer, probably along with seven or eight bullets that passed about three
metres above their heads.

“Black
Dog, this is Bravo One, where’s our bloody air support?”

Matt
was yelling over the noise of the guns.

“Roger
that, ETA about 2 minutes, meantime hold on, the cavalry’s comin’.”

“Acknowledged,
we are in a camouflaged Land Rover, travelling north. We are being pursued by a
white four-wheel drive ute.”

“Matt
how’s that air support comin’?” shouted Steve. “Two minutes!” he responded.

Steve
slammed on the brakes. Scott almost slid from the gunner's seat, Matt slammed
into the seat in front of him and had the wind knocked from his lungs. Steve
sent the vehicle skidding to the right and brought it around onto the dirt road
they had been aiming for. He began accelerating rapidly north towards the
mountain ranges, to Turkey and to their escape. Matt grunted as he tried to
pull Dave’s corpse back into the Land Rover. The body had half slid over the
side and Dave’s legs were dangling precariously close to the road below them.
With one last heave, Matt hauled the corpse back inside where he arranged the
ground sheet over the pale body and tucked the edges back in.

Scott
continued to send lethal volleys towards the chasing vehicle.

Will’s
gun could not swivel beyond the 10 or 2 o'clock positions and so the Mag 58 sat
uselessly, steam rising from the red-hot barrel. The chasing ute was about five
hundred metres behind them now and still closing.

Matt
grabbed Scott’s Minimi and turned around, burying his knee into the soft
cushioning of the seat to steady himself. Bringing the weapon to bear, he fired
the Minimi in short bursts. It was almost impossible to fire accurately, but it
was better than nothing.

A
popping sound came from behind Matt and he watched the 40mm grenade arc steeply
into the air dropping down about 50 metres in front of the vehicle and
exploding on impact. He turned to see Will quickly reloading the grenade
launcher, smoke coming from its barrel.

“Fuckin’
hell!” shouted Scott.

Matt’s
heart sank as he looked into the distance at Barzan. Speeding out of the small
town were four armoured personnel carriers. There had been rumour of a large,
well protected surface-to-air missile pad some distance outside Barzan, but the
spooks had not been positive. It was well protected to stop Kurdish militants
from infiltrating the area, and it had been placed in Northern Iraq to take out
allied aircraft flying in from Turkey. Each APC would carry around ten to
fifteen men and this time they would be fully trained soldiers, not just
inexperienced militiamen. They looked like the Russian-made BMP, a reliable
armoured vehicle. The APCs were still a good two or three kilometres away, but
they were giving chase.

Although
80 kilometres an hour was probably just beyond the maximum speed of an APC, if
the Land Rover was damaged and could no longer travel, they would have to move
on foot. The armoured vehicles would then be on them in minutes.

The
Land Rover was sitting on about 128 kilometres an hour, but the faster ute was
closing the distance and was almost three hundred metres behind them now. The
.50 cal machinegun boomed furiously.

“A
Javelin would be handy right about now!” shouted Will.

“Tell
me about it! I didn’t think we’d need the 66s, let alone a Javelin!” yelled
Matt.

“Lucky
he’s a useless shot!” roared Scott, before returning fire in a long burst.

Matt
was trying to shoot out the tyres of the enemy vehicle, but at that distance it
was almost impossible. Another popping sound rose over the loud rattling of the
.50 Cal and another grenade arced over Matt’s head, travelling quickly towards
the ute. The chasing vehicle swerved as the grenade exploded to its right. The
driver almost lost control of the vehicle as the back end started to slide out,
but he regained control.

Matt
threw the Minimi back onto the floor of the Land Rover and picked up the radio.

“Black
Dog, this is Bravo One. I have an addition. We now have four armoured vehicles
in pursuit, over.”

“Roger
that Bravo One, hang on, we’re coming.”

“Thanks,
out.”

“Gotcha!”
roared Scott, sending a long burst towards the chasing ute.

Matt
picked up the Minimi again and turned to see what the shouting had been about.
He watched the vehicle do something he was sure the driver would regret for the
rest of his life. He brought the four-wheel drive to a skidding halt.

Matt
thought Scott had hit the driver, but he realised the .50 cal had gone silent.
Without a gunner, the vehicle was nothing more than a target. The white ute was
beginning to turn around and head back to Barzan when Scott and Matt opened up
simultaneously. The Minimi and .50 cal rounds tore through the thin metal skin
and through soft flesh beyond.

Another
metallic pop came from behind them, This time the 40mm grenade had found its
target in the rear tray of the ute and exploded violently. As the smoke from
the impact drifted away, they saw the white vehicle rolling slowly and
aimlessly away from them, its occupants most certainly dead.

The
APCs were still coming towards them in an extended line, with dust streaking
behind them. The Land Rover had dropped to about 80 kilometres an hour now, as
the engine strained to climb the steep mountain ranges. The sky was still a
dark, dirty colour, the threat of snow only about half an hour away.

A
white blur flashed overhead followed by a zipping shriek. Scott on the gun facing
rearwards was the only one to see it. The APC on the right flank exploded
violently, flipping into the air through a wall of black smoke and flame. It
was almost like a toy an angry child had thrown. The APC slammed into the
ground, cart-wheeling several times across the arid plain before coming to a
rest on its roof. Then the sound of the distant explosion hit them; it was deep
and powerful, like a mighty god striking a giant bass drum. The Apaches were
obviously here somewhere firing on the APCs, but had not shown themselves.

Scott
missed the second flash that shrieked past them at almost 5,000 kilometres an
hour, but neither Scott, Will nor Matt missed the destruction of the second
APC. The armoured vehicle disappeared in a mix of dark smoke, flying dirt and
orange flame. One of its tracks was ripped away by the explosion and sailed
through the air like a girl’s hair ribbon caught in the breeze. The vehicle
ploughed into the ground nose first, its tail end on fire, its body broken and
twisted. The sound of the second explosion came to them, followed closely by
the deep booms of the 20mm cannons that were mounted on the two remaining APCs.
It was strange that they had only started firing on them now. Once again the
tracer hung in the air before accelerating towards them, roaring well above
their heads, the rounds were more inaccurate than the ute’s had been.

“They’re
firing at us!” called Scott.

“No
they’re not!” responded Steve.

Scott
turned to Steve and was about to ask what he was talking about when he saw
them. The two Apaches were no more than 50 feet from the ground and were coming
towards them fast. Dark fumes were blasting into the air from the exhausts on
either side of the engine. They had a threatening, demonic look about them. A
bright flash came from the side of one of the Apaches and another missile
streaked through the sky over their heads, making its way towards the remaining
APCs pursuing the Land Rover, before murderously slamming into a third APC. The
air erupted with noise as the 30 mm chain gun on the second Apache boomed into
life, the bullets tearing into the already destroyed white ute that had been
chasing them.

The
two aircraft roared over the Land Rover, the high pitched scream of the turbine
engines adding to the helicopters’ threatening demeanour.

The
other soldiers watched as the Apaches split up, one banking sharply to the
left, spraying one of the stricken APCs with armour- piercing 30mm rounds. The
other Apache fired on the fourth APC, destroying it with violent ferocity. It hovered
over the flaming, smoking shell spraying it with 30mm cannon fire. The flame
coming from the gun mounted on the underside of the aircraft was nearly a metre
long and was awesome to watch. Steve kept his eyes on the road.

The
helicopters moved over each APC, firing down upon them with their 30mm cannons,
making sure no one inside had survived the initial explosion. With this
completed they flew towards Barzan, obviously scouting for any other enemy
activity.

The
soldiers lost the Apaches as the Land Rover moved higher up into the hills into
thick woodlands. The trees cut off any view of the town as well as the
helicopters that hovered near it. The vehicle climbed higher, and for a second
Matt got a glimpse of the Apaches. They had split up and were heading slowly
back towards them. It seemed they were looking for any other enemy in the
general area that might threaten the soldiers’ escape.

It
was incredible the amount of firepower the gun-ships carried.

They
had taken out four APCs, laden with armed soldiers in less than a minute.
Something cold struck Matt’s face. He looked around at Scott, who was still on
the gun facing the rear. He assumed Scott had spat in the wrong direction, but
he had not. Another snow flake landed on Matt’s cheek.

Within
the space of five minutes, the snowfall had thickened to the point where they
could only see about forty metres ahead. Steve had dropped the speed back to
about 60 kilometres an hour and they prayed no other enemy had decided to
follow them.