The Forgotten Land (43 page)

“Brought
the slashers I see. Nice,” said Pup.

Pup
had given them the nickname ‘slashers’ following a rumour about two companies of
Ghurkhas that had been involved in a fire fight with the Taliban in
Afghanistan. After they were beaten, the Taliban threw down their weapons and
fled. Dropping their own weapons and packs, the first company of Ghurkhas drew
their Kukris, small, curved, wickedly sharp knives and ran after them. They
caught the Taliban and cut every man’s throat. The second Ghurka company, who
had been in depth during the fight, collected the first company’s dropped
weapons and packs and linked up with their comrades.

“Thought
they might come in handy,” Breckner smiled.

“Always,”
chuckled Pup. “My grandad fought beside ’em in North Africa during World War
Two. He reckons after the battle they’d go out at night and cut off the dead
Germans’ ears and noses and hang ’em on their belts as trophies. Ferocious
little bastards.”

Pup
went over to the Ghurkhas.

The
deep throb of the helicopter could be heard before it was seen. Breckner
watched the Chinook taxi towards the Lynxs. There were three 7.62 mm mini guns
on the Chinook, one on the ramp facing rearwards and one on each side of the
aircraft. It was a large, cumbersome helicopter, but in the right hands it was
very fast and could be flown at incredibly low altitudes.

The
rotor of a Lynx began to turn slowly, but the velocity of the blades increased
until the rotors were a dark blur. A moment later the rotors of the second Lynx
began to turn. In the distance, hovering into view behind the three British
helicopters were two Apaches.

Major
Breckner had asked for an Apache and a Cobra, but two Apaches would be just as
good. He watched the Apaches turn and accelerate into the distance, until they
were black blobs on the horizon. It was possible they were not the gunships
assigned to the mission so the escort he had requested was yet to arrive.

“This
way please, Sir,” said a young soldier dressed in British desert cams, but with
a bright orange safety vest. But as they said, “safety first”, thought Breckner
as he eyed the bright orange vest.

“Right
let’s go you lot!” roared Breckner.

As
they walked out onto the tarmac towards the helicopters, the soldier with the
orange vest gave each soldier a pair of small foam cylinders that would be
their hearing protection.

Breckner
climbed aboard the closest Lynx and strapped himself in. Once all the men had
boarded and were strapped in, the two helicopters taxied out towards the main
runway. Breckner noticed the Chinook clawing its way into the sky ahead of
them.

Major
Breckner grabbed a pair of headphones hanging from one of the seats. But they were
not plugged in, so communication with the aircrew was impossible.

One
of the loadmasters, pointed at a plug just above his seat. Breckner plugged the
head phones in and immediately heard voices.

“...bearing
of three five zero,” he heard.

“Where
are the gunships?” he asked. No answer.

The
loadmaster indicated that Breckner needed to push a button attached to the lead
to communicate.

Breckner
nodded. “Where are the gunships?” he asked again.

“They’ve
gone ahead to clear the way. Apaches are a lot slower than us, we’ll catch them
in no time.”

This
surprised Breckner. He thought the Apache was one of the fastest helicopters in
the world.

“So
the Apaches are slow?” he asked.

“Not
particularly, but just not as fast as us. Chinooks and Lynxs have been known to
outrun their Apache escort on more than a few occasions, particularly on
medivac missions when they didn’t have time to wait around,” replied the voice.

“Is
that you Locky?” he asked.

“No,
Locky is on the other aircraft,” was the reply.

They
lifted off and accelerated violently. Breckner felt his legs and feet growing
heavy as they gained altitude.

“Eyes
out, go instant,” said the voice.

Breckner
watched as the loadmaster on each side of the aircraft cocked their machineguns
and flicked the safety catches off.

The
helicopter levelled out and Breckner watched the dark bitumen of the runway
disappear below them, followed closely by the outer perimetre fence of the
base. They were now in open territory and were fair game. At least that is how
it felt.

Leaning
forward he looked out the open side door and could see the distant Chinook
ahead of them, hugging the mountains. Dark fumes spewed from the engines as its
rotors violently whipped the air. He blinked almost in disbelief as he saw all
three mini guns briefly open up on the Chinook, flames and trace rounds
belching from each weapon.

“What
happened there?” he asked, not enjoying the feeling of no longer being in
control. If they were hit, or the pilot made an error, then he would most likely
die, and he would not have any say in the matter.

“Just
a test fire,” came the reply.

Moments
later the machineguns on either side of the Lynx opened up briefly, their noise
just audible over the scream of the engines. They were travelling at close to
three hundred kilometres an hour now and the ground was zipping by in a blur.
This was oddly comforting to the Royal Marine officer as an enemy soldier on
the ground would need to be exceptionally skilled to time a rocket to hit them
or even come close. He decided he would pass the message along, when they were
ten minutes out, so that they could ready themselves.

“Twenty
minutes to target,” said the voice.

The
aircrew were all wearing helmets with dark visors hiding their faces, so it was
difficult for Breckner to know who had spoken. But being so far from their
destination, he decided not to pass the message on to the other soldiers beside
him who could not hear the radio.

Breckner
was amused to see one of the Ghurkhas had gone to sleep.

He
grinned.

Breckner
was still grinning when he saw a group of people on the ground. It seemed that
they were running towards cover, but the helicopter was travelling so fast he
could not be sure. As the group were almost out of sight he caught a puff of
white smoke.

“Rocket,
break left!” roared the voice in Breckner’s ear. Before he knew what was
happening, the straps of his seat belt dug into his body as the aircraft was
thrown to the left. The RPG tapered off to the right. A thin wisp of white
smoke trailed behind the small warhead as it slammed into the side of a
mountain.

“Nice
of the escort to leave us that little surprise,” a voice said.

A
dark rage burned inside Breckner, urging him to go back and face the men who
had almost killed him.

“Speak
of the devil,” said another voice. In the distance Breckner could see the
Apaches.

Within
five minutes they had caught up with their escort, who were flying low to the
ground and as fast as they were able. One of the Apaches ascended quickly and
fired a rocket that tore through the air at a blistering speed before plunging
into a distant, abandoned building.

“Oh
to have their rules of engagement,” said another voice. The British helicopters
were not allowed to engage an enemy unless they were fired on first, but the
American escorts were a little less rule- bound, which in some circumstances
tended to save lives.

“Ten
minutes to target.”

Breckner
tapped the man beside him and held up ten fingers. The message was passed along.
The soldiers checked and rechecked their weapons and gear. This would be a
tough fight; they would be landing and dismounting in the middle of a fire
fight and the chance that they would be shot down or killed was very real. The
Ghurkhas were kneeling beside the doorway, holding onto one another. Their eyes
squinted against the wind created by the rotor chop.

Pup,
on the other hand, was still snoozing, with his mouth slightly open and his
rifle across his lap. Breckner himself remained in his seat. If the chopper
took evasive manoeuvres again, he did not fancy taking a dive out of the door
from fifty feet at three hundred kilometres an hour.

The
Marines were moving towards the doorway on the opposite side. They moved
quickly and efficiently, kneeling closely behind each other and holding onto
the air frame to steady themselves.

When
they were two minutes out the helicopters slowed and let the gunships move
ahead. Breckner unstrapped himself and knelt down beside the Ghurkhas, checking
his weapon. As they accelerated after the diminishing gunships he flicked the
safety catch off and readied himself. The adrenalin was beginning to pump. They
came over a sharp rise before descending abruptly on the other side. Breckner
regained his balance. The gunships opened fire. Puffs of smoke obscured them as
they fired rockets one after another. Before the rockets landed and shielded
his view, Breckner saw a mass of enemy, including APCs and a tank, gathered
about two hundred metres from a small clump of rocks. From behind this cover a
small amount of return fire was holding the attacking force at bay.

As
the helicopter descended, throwing sand and dirt into the sky and obscuring
everything from view, Breckner was ready to exit behind the Ghurkhas. As they
descended to six feet and before they had begun to move, Pup launched himself
from the aircraft, hitting the ground in a roll and coming up sprinting.

At
three feet, the Ghurkhas exited and ran into a defensive position. Breckner
followed. About one foot from the ground and fully unloaded, the Lynx ascended
fast, banking away from the fire fight. The door gun burst into life with
orange flames blasting from the barrel and empty cartridges cascading from the
weapon.

With
dust and sand obscuring the view, Breckner dived to the ground with a grunt and
looked around.

The
cloud of dust had begun to settle but was still thick enough that they could
move forward quickly. As they exited the concealment of the brown out, the
Ghurkhas went to ground, spreading themselves out and moving towards the enemy
at a blistering speed. The juddering roar of the helicopters was distant now.
The gunships banked sharply towards the enemy. The methodical thump of the
thirty millimetre chain guns burst into life. He was too far away to see the damage
the chain guns dealt amongst the enemy but realised some were still alive as
tracer rounds began zipping over his head. Breckner threw himself to the
ground. Arching his neck, he could see Pup sprinting forward like a mad man,
heaving a grenade towards the enemy as he ran then disappearing from sight as
he went to ground. The white phosphorous grenade exploded a moment later
sending streaks of hissing phosphorous through the air. The WP grenade blotted
the enemy from view and Pup was on his feet once more, sprinting like an
Olympian. Within less than half a minute Pup was with the Australians,
hunkering down beside them behind the cover of the rocks. Breckner shook his
head.

“Bloody
crazy,” he said, following the Ghurkhas’ assault as they moved to outflank the
enemy.

Breckner
took in the battle field. The APCs had been disabled and could not move, but
their huge 25mm forward facing guns were booming their wrath up to the small
group of Australian soldiers. Occasionally bursts of dark diesel fumes blasted
from the exhaust pipes of the APCs as they tried to turn and bring their
massive forward- facing guns to bear on the new threat. Only one managed to
move slightly, before its mangled, broken track dug into the ground, stopping
it from turning. About two hundred metres from the Australian position there
was another stand of rocks where a moderate body of Iraqi soldiers were firing
through the air towards the new assault. Twice Breckner threw himself to the
ground as rounds whizzed or cracked dangerously close to him. Breckner could
not see any movement from the tank at all. Either the crew had climbed out to
escape or had been killed. The latter he doubted. The Australians would have
had to be very good to disable a tank.

The
American soldiers were fire-and-moving very quickly. The Delta Force operatives
in particular were moving at a blistering pace. The  Ghurkhas continued
 moving  fast and  effectively.  Their weapons were never
silent as they laid accurate suppressive fire amongst what was left of the enemy
group. Return fire was still thick and the bullets cut the air above their
heads.

Adrenalin
fuelling him, Breckner sprinted forward and dived behind a small outcrop of
rocks. A loud ricochet ripped past his head as an enemy bullet glanced off a
rock close to his face.

“Let’s
have ya!” Breckner shouted, as he pushed himself to his feet and sprinted
forward. More enemy fire burst around him.

Everything
was silent, apart from his little area of the battle. He had forgotten about the
helicopters and was no longer aware of the American soldiers pushing forward on
his right flank. The Ghurkhas had moved ahead of him in aggressive bursts,
their blood fury driving them towards the enemy. Breckner was no longer keeping
up with them. For him this had become a private war; a private war that seemed
to run in slow motion.