The Forgotten Land (6 page)

The
noise of the five departing aircraft gave way once more to the thunderous roar
of the numerous aircraft awaiting take off from the airbase. A low-pitched
shriek filled the air, putting the noise at the base to shame as six
Euro-fighters cut the sky in close formation. They appeared above the thick
trees that concealed the airbase from Steve’s sight. The aircraft rapidly
climbed to altitude and within minutes were tiny specks against the sky.
Another sustained roar grew above the mixed noise and two air to air refuellers
lumbered into the sky, a light brown smudge of burned fuel streaming from their
huge jet engines.

“Someone’s
about to get their arse kicked,” chuckled Scott from beside Steve.

“Tell
me about it,” shouted Steve as the loudest roar he had ever heard thundered
across the sky. He could feel the power vibrating through his chest. Scott said
something else, but it was lost in the noise.

The
perpetrator showed itself, a B-52 heavy bomber cut the sky, on its way to
deliver a pay load of devastation. Three more B-52s took off and as their size
diminished in the sky and their noise faded, the airbase which had emitted a
dull roar was now a soft burr. Steve watched as sixteen Blackhawk helicopters
departed, closely followed by seven Chinooks. Leading the convoy were nine
Apaches and five Cobras.

With
the main event now over, the noise from the airbase was almost nonexistent. The
soldiers packed their gear away and walked to the Land Rover. As he pulled the
parachutes away, Steve could see no obvious damage to the vehicle. Detaching
the vehicle from the skidboard, he climbed into the driver’s seat and turned
the key. The vehicle started first time.

“Nice
one,” said Dave.

As
the engine was left to warm up, the soldiers detached the parachutes, packed
them away and placed them in the back of the Land Rover. They would drop them
off at Colemerik where, hopefully, the parachutes would make their way back to
the American riggers in Qatar.

They
drove towards the airbase at a sedate fifty kilometres per hour, giving the
British soldiers guarding the gate plenty of time to see them. The last thing
they wanted was the British to think them a threat and open fire. Coming to a
gentle stop near the gate, Steve nodded at the nearest guard.

“G’day
mate,” he said.

“Afternoon,
Sir. May I see your identification please,” the guard was clearly aware that
the soldiers before him were not British. He kept one hand on the SA-80 assault
rifle slung across the front of his body.

“Yeah
no worries,” Steve held the ID card up for the guard to inspect. The others
followed suit.

“Thank
you, Sir, which unit are you with?”

“We’re
with the Australians,” answered Steve.

“Oh
okay,” replied the guard, who was clearly not aware there were any Australians
on the base. In truth there was only a token Australian force in Colemerik. The
majority of them, including six Australian FA-18 fighters, their pilots and
ground crew, had not yet arrived.

The
guard nodded at the other British soldiers, who raised the boom gate to let
vehicle pass. Steve drove through with a nod of thanks and the soldiers found
themselves travelling on a long, flat, winding road towards the distant
buildings of Colemerik. One kilometre to their right was the flight line, where
huge numbers of aircraft were lined up in neat rows. There were fighters,
fighter control, transport, bombers, helicopters. Steve saw most of them
originated from NATO countries.

The
Australian area was miniscule compared to the other forces inhabiting
Colemerik. It was called Camp Linacre, but with only an advance force
populating the area, Steve and the others had plenty of room to relax for the
night. They met some of the Australians at the mess that night and made small talk
over dinner. The SASR soldiers did not talk about why they were there or when
they would leave, but the other Australians knew who they were. They also knew
that before long Steve and his soldiers would be in circumstances far more
dangerous and far less comfortable.

CHAPTER
4

As
a deep blue tinge gave the eastern sky a touch of light, the Australians were
returning from the mess after breakfast. Colemerik was quiet, apart from the
dull burr of what sounded like a C-130 Hercules as it rumbled into the sky,
delivering supplies or bleary eyed troops somewhere in Iraq. Within twenty
minutes, as the sky turned a dull pink, the soldiers were under way. They had
shredded their identification cards and burned them. Nowhere on their person
did they carry any indication of rank or identity. It was common practise in
case of capture. They drove for almost ten minutes, passing only two other
vehicles, before they reached the southern gate, which was guarded by four
soldiers.

“Thanks
fellas,” Steve said to them as he drove through the raised boom gate.

They
nodded and watched with interest as the Land Rover headed south towards the
border. By the little he could see of their uniforms in the poor light Steve
thought they were Danish soldiers.

By
sunrise they had driven almost an hour and a half. They were keen to cross the
border quickly and without drawing attention. By mid morning, they had driven
over the border and into Iraq. They kept well clear of roads or populated
areas, instead driving on low ground making sure they were not silhouetted
against the skyline.

Around
lunch time, Steve stopped and watched a drove of distant goats with interest.
He turned the engine off. A young goat herder was walking behind them,
occasionally hitting the nearest goats with a stick and driving them onwards to
some unknown destination. The boy seemed bored. Watching in silence, the
Australian soldiers had their weapons ready. Priority dictated that their
secrecy and anonymity were more important than the boy’s life. If he noticed them,
he would die. They watched the boy and his goats until they had disappeared
from sight.

Engaging
the ignition, the engine sprang to life and Steve accelerated gently, keeping
to a sedate pace to avoid kicking up too much dust. Three more times they were forced
to either stop or deviate from their route in order to evade goat herds or tiny
villages.

“Hold
it!” hissed Scott at one point, flicking off the safety catch and swivelling
the fifty calibre machinegun to bear down on a smudge of dust. Steve stopped
the Land Rover. The dust was growing closer and the sound of an engine came in
intermittent burbles as the gentle breeze blew towards them.

Within
minutes an old, decrepit looking truck, probably of Russian origin came into
view.

“One
occupant,” spoke Will softly, as he stared through the binoculars.

Matt
brought his weapon up resting it across his knees in such a way that he looked
unthreatening, almost complacent, but could react quickly if the situation
turned sour.

The
vehicle came to a screaming halt beside the Land Rover. An Iraqi man with a
full beard grinned out at them, his arm resting on the door. The grin vanished
as he saw the foreign weapons and he became wary.

The
Iraqi spoke quickly, he seemed agitated. Scott replied calmly.

Nodding,
the man continued to watch them silently.

“What’d
he want?” whispered Steve.

“Wants
to know where his son is, he should have herded fifty head of goat back home by
now. Apparently the monthly markets are the day after tomorrow,” replied Scott.

“You
tell him we don’t know?"

“Yup.”

“So
what now?” whispered Steve.

“What
now? He thinks we’ve either kidnapped or killed his son. Matt get ready to drop
him.”

“Way
ahead of ya,” replied Matt calmly.

The
Iraqi’s face was solemn now, even angry decided Steve. The newcomer shouted at
them, his eyes betraying his anger.

Scott
shouted back, his hands splayed out before him in a gesture of innocence. He
was trying to defuse the situation, but failing. The man climbed out of the
vehicle, an AK-47 clasped firmly in his hands. The Australians held their fire.
Scott continued to try to dissuade the man. The Iraqi spat a comment in reply
and with a snarl raised the weapon to his shoulder. A single rifle crack broke
the moment. The man dropped to the ground in a lifeless heap. Matt slowly
lowered the M- 110 sniper rifle from his shoulder.

“Fuck
it!” snarled Scott. “Stupid bastard should have listened to

me!”

“Yup,
he should have,” said Steve and accelerated away, leaving the abandoned Russian
vehicle idling gently. And a corpse lying face down in the sand.

They
drove fast now, blistering along at up to a hundred kilometres per hour when
the terrain allowed.

Steve
did not want to risk the gunshot being heard by local inhabitants who might be
curious enough to go and investigate. When they were almost twenty kilometres
from the site of the altercation, Steve slowed to a more sedate pace and they
drove without seeing another soul for what seemed an eternity.

“If
I was a God, there wouldn’t be a chance in hell I’d take mortal form in a shit
’ole like this,” Scott grinned, looking at the others. “Give me surf, sand and
hot chicks any day of the week.”

“Well
you’ve got plenty of sand, mate,” chuckled Steve.

The
sun began to retire throwing a blanket of dull orange to the west. As hues of
deep pink began to outweigh the orange they came upon the distant village of
Barzan. Parking the vehicle in a deep, protective wadi hidden from view, the
soldiers donned their packs and walked closer to the village. When they had
covered close to five hundred metres, which took almost an hour of slow
patrolling, they decided to set up an observation post. Dave was sent forward
to select an area for the OP. Having spent most of his SAS career in deserts
worldwide, Dave did not pull any punches when it came to his incredible
knowledge about the desert. Once he had chosen the perfect location, the rest
of the patrol advanced and began quietly digging a wide depression out of the
sand. A desert camouflage net over the observation post gave them concealment.
When the sun rose in the morning, no one would be the wiser that the
Australians were there, keeping watch over the village.

Intelligence
said General Al-Hazareen was to be hidden in the

village,
but whether he had arrived yet was still not confirmed. The half moon was still
high in the sky, but when the cold sting of early morning bit through anything
but the toughest clothing, the moon would have slid beneath the horizon. It was
then that Scott and Will would go on a recon patrol into the village in search
of the General. It was their task to find out if he had arrived, and if so,
where he was hidden and how well he was guarded.

“You
blokes hit the sack, I’ll keep watch for now,” said Steve unslinging his weapon
and dropping his pack quietly in the sand beside him.

“Matt,
you’re up next, I’ll wake you in a couple of hours.”

“Yup,
righto.”

As
the others settled down in their sleeping bags, Steve lay down on his stomach,
brought the Minimi into his shoulder and looked out towards Barzan. The Minimi
light machinegun was always used as the weapon of choice during piquet. The
rising moon was bright, making the need for night vision almost unnecessary.
However the leader of the SASR patrol was not willing to take any chances. The
pale light of the moon could play tricks with the eyes, either making something
appear where there was nothing, or hiding someone or something that was there
from view.

Steve
scanned the horizon slowly, keeping his ears open for any unusual sounds that
could mean their situation was about to take a turn for the worse. As the
minutes ticked by, his mind turned to his family. He missed Judy and the kids.
If he were not careful, before he knew it his children would be adults with
their own lives. His marriage was under stress and he knew that if he did not
spend more time with them he probably would not have a family. He was due for
five weeks leave and was seriously considering taking it when he got back.

Judy
wanted him to quit the army and rejoin the civilian world. Steve was strongly
opposed to the idea and the couple had argued about it, sometimes savagely. The
SASR came first and family second. That had always been the unwritten rule
within the ranks of the Special Air Service Regiment and probably always would
be. Although he loved his family, he was dedicated to the regiment. It was a
mentality that many wives and loved ones had a lot of trouble understanding.
Understandably, for this reason the divorce rate within the regiment was
unbelievably high. Steve knew if he did not begin spending more time with his
wife and children, he would be divorced.

It
was not only his immediate family that suffered either. He had not seen his
parents for almost three years. Nearly two and a half years had passed since he
had spoken to his brother, let alone visited him. But then it was the price one
paid for entering a unit such as the SASR. And it was a price that he and many
of his colleagues were willing to pay.

*
* * * *

At
0100 hours Will, followed by Scott, moved out of the observation post and made
their way slowly towards the distant town of Barzan. Few lights shone in the
small township, but in the little light thrown by the stars, the outskirts were
still visible to the naked eye. However, with the night vision goggles on,
Barzan was clearly visible to both soldiers. No residents were moving around
and all looked quiet.

These
were ideal conditions for the mission Will and Scott intended to undertake. As
they moved closer, the challenging bark of a dog broke the silence, the sound
echoing out into the stillness of the night.

Without
taking his eyes from their destination, Will signalled for a halt and both men
went down on one knee. The dog barked again, this time sounding a little unsure.
The sound faded into silence and both soldiers waited quietly for two minutes,
before slowly rising to their feet and continuing towards the town.

Apart
from their weapons, the soldiers hoped they would pass as Iraqi locals. They
were hoping that any enemy that they might come into contact with would take
little notice of their weapons. But they were hoping that in such a small town,
few people would be awake at 1:00am.

It
took them almost an hour of slow patrolling to reach the outskirts of the town.
Once they had travelled into Barzan, Will moved away into the shadows of the
buildings, crouching low. He continued to patrol parallel to Scott who had
slung his weapon and tucked his night vision goggles out of sight and was
strolling casually along the road. Will was Scott’s cover man should he get
into a tight spot. If a sleepy Barzanian resident were to glance out the
window, they would just see an Iraqi man out on a night’s stroll. It would look
more suspicious were they to see what looked like two Iraqi militiamen armed to
the teeth patrolling as if they were intent on killing someone.

Scott
was careful not to put any buildings or objects between himself and Will as he
moved. They were closer to the building within which they had been told General
Hazareen was, or would be staying. It was their mission to infiltrate the
house, find out if he was there and then leave. Tonight would not be the night
they grabbed him; it was simply an intelligence gathering patrol. The more
information they had with which to work, the better their chances of success.

A
dog padded out of a nearby house and made a beeline for Scott.

Will
went down on a knee and brought his weapon to bear, sighting it at the animal’s
thin body. Scott held out his hand and let the dog sniff it. The animal moved
tentatively forward, sniffed his outstretched palm, wagged its tail and moved
closer. Scott patted its head then continued on. The dog was statue still,
watching the departing man, its ears cocked. It stood without moving for nearly
a minute, before turning and trotting out of sight behind a nearby house.

Will
slowly rose and moved on quietly. Scott was standing with his hands on his hips
with his back turned to his slowly advancing comrade. He gazed at the stars
with feigned interest. In reality, Scott was waiting for the patrolling soldier
to catch up with him.

Without
looking around, Scott continued strolling towards their destination. They were
much closer now. The pair moved on for another ten minutes before they rounded
a corner. Will saw movement ahead. It was a man with his back to them. The
acrid aroma of cigarette smoke drifted through the air. Scott immediately
changed direction towards the Iraqi. Will almost chuckled as he realised that
Scott probably wanted nothing more than to steal a smoke off him. But he
probably had not seen the man as quickly as Will’s night vision eyes had. In
such a small town, it would be suspicious to ignore a person, even at such an
early hour of the morning. The man coughed and spat, before turning towards
Scott as he heard him approach.

“As-salaam
alaykum,” Will heard Scott speak, waving at the man.

“Peace
be with you,” Scott said in Arabic, waving at the man as he advanced.

The
Iraqi man responded in kind.

“I
arrived yesterday afternoon visiting my sister who has just moved here,” Scott
began. “I’m so excited to see her again that I could not sleep. I haven’t seen
her for nearly ten years now, would you believe? Excuse my poor manners, I am
Ahmad Dhabi,” said Scott smiling cheerfully, his face hidden within his shamag.
He could not remember whether Iraqi people shook hands when introducing
themselves, so he simply fell silent.