The Forgotten Land (2 page)

Kathy
switched off the radio and came in to see her mother sobbing on the couch. She
ran up to Judy and hugged her. “Don’t cry, Mum, please don’t cry.”

Brent
stood in the doorway, a sandwich clutched in one hand and honey dripping onto
the floor. He looked on with confusion. The world in which he lived was tearing
itself apart and he was thankfully still too young to realise it. Judy clutched
onto Kathy and rocked back and forth. She wiped her tear-stained cheeks. Would
he come home this time?

Judy
closed her eyes and tried not to think about it.

*
* * * *

Steve
sped down the outside lane of the highway towards the centre of Perth. He
didn’t know what the mission was about, but from the sound of the phone call it
sounded like he might have another war time deployment. It was every trooper’s
dream to go on at least one war deployment, but more than one was better than
excellent.

He
guessed it had something to do with Iraq. The Kurds had become a force to be
reckoned with apparently, killing all Iraqis in their sights. It had been
splashed all over the news for the last fortnight.

He
had enjoyed his time with his family, he always did. But Steve was one of the
uncommon men who found themselves in the ranks of the Australian Special Air
Service Regiment, the elite soldiers of the Australian Defence Force. The SASR
was one of the most elite units of any force in the world. America had some
excellent elite outfits, but they were on equal ground with the SASR.

Steve
had been in the SASR for almost fourteen years now and was one of the more
experienced men in the regiment. At thirty seven, he could still cover fifteen
kilometres on foot in under forty minutes. He pulled into the barracks and
drove towards the guard at the gate. He pulled out his identification, wound
down his window and stopped next to the “slot machine” as some called it. He
slipped the plastic card into the machine and slid it downwards. The machine
would read the barcode on his ID and check its authenticity. This all took the
space of less than a second. The barrier came up.

Once
he had parked outside the operations room, Steve walked up the small flight of
stairs and made his way to the briefing room door. He could hear muffled voices
inside. Sweeping his eyes across the room, Steve smiled. They were all old
faces.

He
had worked with these men on many occasions. So much so that many soldiers in
their squadron dubbed the small group “The Usual Suspects”.

Dave
Hill had a face like it had been chiselled from a rock face, the telling sign
that he was a desert specialist. In fact he had spent most of his SASR career
on courses in the various deserts around the world. He could have passed for an
Arab with his darkly tanned skin and black hair. At thirty one, with eight
years in the SASR under his belt as well as six years in three RAR (Royal
Australian Regiment) the Australian paratrooper regiment. Dave Hill was an
experienced, tough and disciplined soldier. Not a man for small talk, he only
ever spoke when there was something to say.

Will
McDonald was a well-built man of twenty five, and easily the youngest on the
patrol. He had brown eyes, a pleasant smile and a polite manner. Quite the
opposite of what most people thought constituted a soldier in the Special Air
Service Regiment. Before joining the SASR Will had spent five years prior as an
Assault Pioneer; demolitions were his specialty. When something had to be blown
up, his eyes would light up like a child’s. Consequently he could set up some
fairly deadly booby traps for the enemy to stumble upon. Most of the troopers
who came into contact with him when he first joined the ranks gave him a hard
time because of his mild manner.

What
they didn’t know was that he was a fearsome fighter with a short temper and
could become very aggressive, very quickly. One unfortunate soldier found this
out the hard way and spent the best part of a week in hospital as a result.
Will McDonald loved deception, particularly when it came to fighting and was a
fan of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. He had never lost a fight. Will was respected
by those who knew him.

Will
had explained to Steve once that by acting intimidated when someone threatened,
you were almost guaranteed a victory. Apparently this gave the attacker a
renewed confidence, which of course brought their guard down. Usually they
advanced towards Will further, trying to intimidate him more. However, it also
meant that the aggressor no longer expected a fight and that gave Will the
element of surprise. So in a few short seconds, without throwing a punch and
without the attacker knowing, Will had actually become the aggressor and his
opponent had become the victim.

It
was then that Will’s eyes hardened and he attacked. Steve had only seen him in
one fistfight. It had been in a pub and was not a pretty sight. It had lasted
only about ten seconds. Will then left quietly when the bouncers asked him to
depart. The man that had provoked him, however, took a ride to the hospital in
an ambulance. Will McDonald was a good man to have on side in a fire fight; he
fought like a rabid dog.

Scott
Gillman was rough as guts, with tattoos covering his arms and back. He had a
mouth like a sewer and spent most of his money pissing against a wall each weekend.
At the end of each weekend he always had a different girl in tow which the boys
constantly pulled the piss out of him for. It was a common joke that he had no
money because he got divorced fifty-two times a year.

Scott
switched on when necessary, but otherwise was always playing practical jokes,
getting himself in trouble, or trying to pick fights. He should have been a
sergeant by now, but he had clowned around so much that he had not advanced
beyond lance corporal. Usually within the regiment, men like Scott were
returned to their previous unit very quickly. What kept Scott within the SASR,
however, was that he could switch his mind set and focus completely on the task
at hand when it was time to be serious. That was what was required of all soldiers
and officers within the SASR.

He
had started on Will’s case when he had first joined the group, but had learned
very quickly to leave him alone. Today his face was focused. His main role and
the others hoped they would not need it, was linguist work. Scott had studied
two main, eighteen month language courses in particular. One being Indonesian,
and the other Arabic. He had also studied many less detailed six month language
courses and was able to talk his way out of trouble in most countries around
the world.

Matt
Russell, at twenty eight, was short and balding. He had the look of a slow man
old well before his time. However, he was in fact incredibly fit and built like
a bull terrier; his bright green eyes were alert, missing nothing. All the
soldiers present were trained medics, but Matt was a qualified field doctor as
well as a sharp shooter. He could remove an appendix out in the field if he had
to. He had joined the army as a medic, but had always taken an interest in
competing in every shooting event both military and civilian he was able to.

Within
two years he had been awarded the crossed rifles badge, an indication of his
skill with a rifle. Matt had been satisfied with his career as a medic for
close to five years, but something, not even he himself knew what it was, lit a
fire under him. From that day onwards, he went on every medical course he
could, even going so far as to begin an external, part-time degree in medicine.
To top it off, after he had completed his degree, he took on the field doctor’s
course. He passed successfully and it was then that he showed an interest in
the Special Air Service Regiment. For the next year he spent most of his time
on fitness and strength work and it wasn’t long before he cut an imposing
figure.

Whenever
the opportunity arose, he attached himself as a medic to infantry battalions on
exercise. He went out bush with them and participated in as much of the
exercises as he could. He did this to get a feel for infantry tactics as well
as to push himself even further with his physical and mental fitness. At the
end of the year he was the fittest he had ever been and had a good grasp of the
infantry, which gave him an idea of what he could expect in the SASR if he were
to get in.

Early
the next year he applied for the Cadre Course, the selection course for the
Special Air Service held in Perth twice a year. It was 21-days long and it was
not uncommon for most participants to lose at least ten kilograms during those
three weeks.

The
exercises were intensive and pushed the would-be troopers to their limits and
beyond. The last day consisted of a twenty-three hour force march, with one
hour’s rest at the halfway point. At the end of the force march, with usually
half the people left who had started out, a truck was waiting to drive them
back to base. As the exhausted soldiers approached, the driver started the
vehicle and drove off into the distance, disappearing around a corner. It was
the last test of mental strength. Often two or three people fell out in
desperation. Those with the strength to continue, hung their heads and kept
walking, eventually coming to a bend in the road where they could see the truck
about five hundred metres away. This time it did not drive off and the
survivors of the course clambered into the back, exhausted, filled with pain,
hungry and tired, but happy that they had got through. Out of the eighty-seven
that had applied for the course with Matt, only eight made the drive back to
base. Matt had made it and although he had only been in the SAS two years, he
was one of the best medics and one of the top ten sharp shooters the Special
Air Service Regiment had to offer.

Sergeant
Steve Golburn was the most senior soldier in the room. He was the team commander
and was looked upon almost like a father by the other soldiers. He had been
commander every occasion this small group had worked together. He had joined
the infantry as a boy soldier of sixteen with the specific intention of one day
joining the ranks of the SASR. Steve had been a bit of a lady’s man when he had
been younger, but then he had met Judy. Having seen action in Cambodia,
Somalia, Rwanda, East Timor, Papua New Guinea, Bosnia, the Gulf and more
recently Afghanistan, he was an incredibly experienced soldier and an obvious
asset to the Special Air Service Regiment. With fourteen years in the SASR and
five years in the infantry before that, he was no stranger to being on call
24/7.

“Well,
well, look what the fuck’n cat dragged in,” Scott said, chuckling. “Good to see
ya mate.”

“Good
to be here,” replied Steve. “So what’s the go?”

“Dunno
yet,” Will said. “Ben just got a call as he was about to fill us in.”

Corporal
Ben Miller was one of the intelligence soldiers, or “spooks” as they were often
called. If they needed maps, satellite images or weather reports he was the man
to see.

“How’s
the missus and kids going?” Dave Hill’s deep voice broke the short silence.

“Yeah,
they’re going really well, mate. Although they were a bit cut when Miller phoned
me and told me to get stage side.”

“With
you gone it’ll give her more time to get to know her new boyfriend,” Scott
laughed. No one else thought it was funny. “Shut up Scotty,” said Dave.

“Just
trying to lighten the fuck’n mood. Feels like some prick’s just died,” said
Scott taking out a packet of cigarettes.

“Not
in here mate,” Will said. “The room’s a bit small to be filling it with
shit-flavoured smoke.”

“If
you want to smoke go outside mate,” Steve said, taking a seat.

Scott
sighed. “All right, all right, point taken.” He put the cigarettes back in his
pocket.

“I’d
assume with all the coverage Iraq’s been gett’n, we might be heading for the
Iraqi desert,” Matt said looking at the members of the group.

“I
hope so,” said Dave. He had not yet passed up an opportunity to undergo desert
work. “Although it won’t be much of a desert this time of year.”

“A
desert’s a desert,” Scott said, with a matter-of-fact manner.

“No,
it’s not dickhead,” said Dave. “It’s summer here in the Southern Hemisphere, so
up there it’s winter. You’re looking at hot days and bloody freezing nights.
It’s not uncommon for it to rain, sleet and sometimes snow in the desert in
that part of the world during the Winter months.”

Scott
shrugged. “Ah, we’ll be right, a few electric blankets, a couple o’ wood stoves
and a few heaters should see us through.”

“Smart
arse,” said Will with a smirk.

“Righto,
sorry about the delay fellas,” said Ben Miller, closing the door behind him.
“Steve! Great to see you. Right, now that we’re all here I may as well get
straight into it.”

Miller
moved to the head of the table and laid out more maps, satellite images and
other pieces of information.

“Now,
if you’ve been watching the news, you’ll all know that Iraq is in a world of
shit, it’s falling apart by the day. The United Nations wants a peace-keeping
force in there immediately. They’ve already started sending advance troops into
Iraq, mostly Special Forces who are observing and communicating with the UN. As
you guys might know, the Kurds got their hands on multi-million dollar
equipment and weapons from the Americans. They’re now killing any Iraqi soldier
or civilian they come across. The whole country is quickly turning into a
disaster area. Not a good situation, obviously. To begin with, America refused
to help the UN. However, since then, they have offered one carrier task force
group which is two days from commencing operations, some transport planes,
about one hundred special-forces troops, five squadrons of attack helicopters, namely
Apaches and two squadrons of F-16 fighters. Okay so that’s where the country
stands at the moment.”