The Forgotten Land (8 page)

The
room to the left, contained four beds, in bunk bed style, one set against each
wall. Apart from that, the room was Spartan. Within the second room slept two
Iraqi soldiers. Their weapons, obviously the AK47, were leaning against the
wall nearby. The rifles looked to be clean and well maintained. The soldiers’
boots and uniforms were in immaculate condition. An iron and ironing board were
located in the room. It’d seem the Iraqi government has sent eight soldiers as
a bodyguard for the General. No doubt they’ll be disguised as Kurdish Army, as
will the General himself. The first two of these eight are obviously part of an
advance party, probably protecting the house from possible break and enter by
the locals.”

“Now
this poses a problem, because when the time comes to infiltrate and take the
General with us, we’re most likely gunna be faced with eight professional
soldiers with AKs.

There
is no way, unless we drug him somehow, that the General will go quietly out of
that house. Therefore he will probably wake the soldiers on the lower level. If
a contact follows, it’ll probably alert the thirty militiamen sworn to protect
Hazareen. As you can see it could turn very nasty, very quickly, so our
preparation needs to be solid. We need to be able to react immediately and
confidently to any situation.”

Will
tore a page from his notebook and handed it to Steve. “Having said that, this
is a rough hand drawn map of the house, using information gathered from the
recon of the target building.”

Steve
and Dave copied the map in their own notepads. It was important that they know
the layout of the house. When the time came for the group to make a move on
their target, each man needed to move within the building quickly and
confidently. Matt would also copy the map down once he had been relieved from
sentry.

“Are
there any questions?” Scott asked, looking around at the group.

Steve
and Dave remained silent. They knew that within 48 hours they would probably be
walking into a possible death trap. It certainly had all the elements of a
grand cock up as the Poms would say. But in Steve’s experience anything could
be done if it was carefully and meticulously planned.

“Right,
we’ve got the heads up,” said Steve. “Now we’ll go into the planning phase. I
want your opinions and thoughts, no matter how stupid you might think they are
because, believe me, if we bugger this one up then we’ll get to push up daisies
from the inside of a pine box under six feet of cold dirt. I want everything
covered, everything.”

With
that, the soldiers began their plan that would see them capture an enemy
officer and escape by vehicle without detection. Either that, or capture an
enemy officer and fight their way out before escaping by vehicle perhaps losing
several members along the way. It was going to be a challenge, but it was not
impossible.

As
the sun rose, heating the bone numbingly cold air, five members of the
Australian SASR quietly planned their upcoming mission.

The
Iraqi government was not to know that had General Al-Hazareen been left in
Baghdad with Kurdish militia pushing in, eager to exact their revenge upon the
Iraqis, he would have been safer than he was in Barzan. Much safer. Why would
he be safer in Baghdad than in the sleepy little town of Barzan, hundreds of
miles from the violence?

The
answer was a small hidden observation post on the outskirts of that little
town.

CHAPTER
5

The
morning was chilly, the sun giving off no more warmth than an electric heater
in a snow blizzard. According to the American spooks, it was heading towards
one of the coldest winters in Iraq and although it had already snowed lightly,
the soldiers knew they had not yet seen any real winter weather. With dark grey
clouds closing in from the north, they knew they were in for more snow. It was
almost time to move in and capture their target and the men were eager.

Steve
cocked his head as he heard the faintest sound of a strained, whining engine in
low gear. The noise faded and returned with the cold breeze but continued to
grow louder. It was the engine of a four-wheel drive and it was heading in
their direction. Scott slowly turned himself to face the sound and brought the
Minimi up into his shoulder. He calmly stared down the ACOG sight, waiting. The
others remained silent, covering their arcs. Was it a local farmer? Soldiers? Could
it in fact be the General?

Growing
louder, the white Toyota Land Cruiser came into sight. It strained up over a
wadi and disappeared into its depths, the engine pitch rising as its speed
increased. The vehicle began to strain again as it climbed up over the opposite
lip of the wadi and continued on. It was heading parallel to them, to the right
of their position, which was cause for some relief. But the Toyota was only
about thirty metres away. This could not be Hazareen, as the vehicle was
heading south. Hazareen would be coming from Baghdad which was the opposite
direction. Could they have doubled around the village to come from the opposite
direction in order to reinforce the story of the heroic Kurdish General seeking
safety in Barzan? Possible, thought Steve.

They
could hear the loud voices of the people inside, talking and laughing. Looking
through his scope, Steve counted four people, the driver, one passenger riding
in front and two in the back.

The
passenger riding in the front turned his face towards them, hawked and spat out
the window. He coughed another one up, hawked and spat that out the window
before looking away. For a moment Steve thought the man had seen them. At this
range it would be difficult but not impossible to see the desert camouflage net
that covered their observation post. Steve tensed. The passenger who had
coughed his lungs up whipped his head around again and was staring in their
direction. He must have issued a command to the driver because the Toyota came
skidding to a halt. The man was pointing and with the engine now quietly idling
it was possible to hear him speaking.

“Scott
what the hell’s he saying?” hissed Steve quietly.

“Can’t
make it out…he’s talking about a dog…for fuck’s sake. That mongrel dog’s right
out in front of the cam net,” Scott swore savagely. “We should have killed it
when we had the chance,” he hissed.

The
dog that had padded out to investigate Scott during their patrol of Barzan in
the early hours of the morning now stood panting less than fifteen metres from
their position. It was looking back towards Barzan. The occupants of the
vehicle were laughing then suddenly one of the rear doors of the vehicle flew
open and a soldier ran out towards them, grinning and firing his AK47 in the
air. The animal tucked its tail between its legs and ran, ears flat to its
skull. They laughed harder, cheering the man on in loud voices. The soldier was
still coming towards them fast, firing short bursts above his head as he
approached.

Steve
lay still and kept his crosshairs on the man. The dog was long gone and the man
was about the same distance from their position as the animal had been moments
before. Outrageously unfit, he was puffing hard but still grinning. He waved
back at the Toyota and shouted something at which the other men laughed. Steve
noticed that he wore the uniform of an Iraqi but the rank slides, corps badge
and cap had been altered so he looked less like an Iraqi soldier and more like
a soldier of the Kurdish Army. It was possible then that one of the occupants
of the vehicle was the General himself.

Steve
hoped the Iraqi would turn around to his right before making his way back to
the vehicle. In this way he would present them with his back as he turned,
making the chances of him spotting the Australian observation post slim at
best. If he turned to his left, he would be facing their OP. Steve maintained
the crosshairs over the man’s chest, waiting, watching, silent. The Iraqi
soldier took a deep breath and let it out quickly, his AK47 now slung and his hands
on his hips. He looked out towards the direction the dog had fled, chuckled,
shook his head and turned around. He turned to the left.

Stopping
mid stride, the grin on his face vanished as he saw the cam net and the
soldiers within it. His eyes widened. Scrabbling for his AK, he caught hold of
it and – Steve fired two shots into the soldier’s chest. The man crumbled to
the ground.

“Contact,”
roared Will, pushing his M4 through the cam net, taking aim and firing a
grenade at the motionless vehicle. Several of the Iraqis were shouting as doors
were thrown open. But before they had time to dismount the vehicle, the
projectile zipped in through the open rear door the now dead man had left open.
It exploded with a loud crescendo that shattered the silence of the chill
winter morning. Scott opened up with short bursts from his Minimi, the bullets
slamming through the front and rear doors of the vehicle. If the grenade had
not killed the three men inside, then the Minimi had.

“Let’s
go! Let’s go!” shouted Steve. Dave, Minimi in hand, pushed his way out the
small opening in the cam net. He sprinted back, going to ground to cover the
six o’clock position. Scott followed him, running forward, diving to the ground
covering the twelve o’clock position.

Will
was up. He tore out the pegs that held the cam net in place, tied them together
and shoved them in his pack. While he did this, Steve gathered the cam net,
rolled it tightly and tied it to the outside of his pack. Matt was on his guts
in the middle of the whirlwind of activity taking place around him. He had a
radio handset pressed his ear.

“Zero
Alpha, this is Bravo One, over.”

He
paused. Nothing. “Zero Alpha, Zero Alpha, this is Bravo One, this is Bravo One,
over.”

Another
pause . . . more silence. “Shit!” He changed radio frequency to the alternative
frequency, brought the handset to his lips and pushed the transmit button.
“Zero Alpha this is Bravo One, over.”

Nothing.
He would have better luck with the more powerful antennae attached to the Land
Rover, but he couldn’t wait that long. Breathing calmly, he changed frequency
to the American radio frequency. The Americans only had one frequency, which
was easy to memorise. They only had one, unchanging frequency as they had high
tech equipment at their end that would detect any unwanted visitors tapping in
to listen to their airwaves.

If
it detected unwanted listeners, it would locate where the intruders were and
calculate whether it was within enemy territory. If they were located within enemy
territory it would send a way-point to the Air Force base in Turkey. An air
strike would take off within three to five minutes. Since they were using a
relative short distance radio frequency, the unit tapping into their frequency
would more than likely be an enemy, not a teenage kid in New York City playing
a prank. Unfortunately the Australians could not afford this kind of
technology.

Matt
pressed the transmit button. “Any call sign this is Bravo One, over.”

“Roger
Bravo One, this is Black Dog, go ahead.” The American accent was thick. It was
music to Matt’s ears.

“Black
Dog, this is Bravo One, we are a ground call sign, have been compromised, enemy
follow up imminent, need assistance, over.”

“Copy
that Bravo One, we have two birds of prey on the tarmac. If you get in a tight
spot, give us the word.”

Will
tapped Matt on the shoulder, it was time to go. Both men stood and moved back
to the waiting soldiers. The pace was quick as the soldiers made their way
towards the Land Rover five hundred metres away.

As
they moved, Matt continued. “Black dog, appreciate that, grid 2649 1720, read
back, over.”

“Roger
Bravo One, I read back 2649 1720.”

“Black
Dog, will keep you informed as our grid changes, over.”

“Copy
that Bravo One. This is how it’s going down: these birds are going airborne.
They will wait at the border. Will cut down air support delay if air support
required. Do you copy?”

“This
is Bravo One, acknowledge your last, appreciate assistance, out.”

The
American airbase at Colemerik in Turkey was at least 140 kilometres from Barzan
in Iraq. By fighter aircraft that represented a delay of several minutes, which
was nothing to worry about. However Black Dog had been concerned about delay.
Therefore the air support, would probably be helicopter gun-ships, probably
Apaches. An Apache would cover that distance at battle speed in about 21 or 22
minutes. In a fire fight, anything could happen in that time. Having the
choppers waiting at the border, ready to go, would mean a delay of several
minutes before they arrived.

The
five soldiers were making a bee line towards the Land Rover that had been left
at the bottom of a wadi the night before. They were moving at a force march
speed, around eight kilometres per hour.

They
had covered almost five hundred metres and were beginning to move up a steep
incline in the terrain. It was the last hill before they reached the flat
ground that led to the hidden Land Rover. Will, bringing up tail end charlie,
turned mid stride as a powerful diesel engine could be heard in the distance.
It was obviously a long way off, but it was gradually becoming louder.

“We’ve
got a follow up,” he shouted to the four soldiers in front of him. Steve
glanced over his shoulder as he walked. An old truck travelled towards them
from the town, a thick trail of dust behind the vehicle. This was not good. At
best, the air support was still 17 or 18 minutes away. The vehicle must have
been alerted after the shots earlier. The truck was moving towards them
rapidly, probably close to

80
kilometres an hour, which was a murderous speed considering the wadis and rough
ground. The good news, Steve decided, was that apart from the driver, the
vehicle might be empty. He strongly doubted it though.

“Let’s
prepare a welcoming committee!” shouted Steve.

Without
hesitation, the five soldiers sprinted in an extended line, found cover behind
trees or rocks, dropped their packs and waited. Matt pulled his pack towards
him. The radio was attached to the front of the pack by several quick release
clips. He unclipped the radio and pulled it out. The radio was stored within
its own smaller pack that could be slung onto an operator’s back. Matt pulled
it onto his back and attached the hand piece to the front of his webbing for
easy access. If a fire fight was to commence with the Iraqis, their packs would
have to be left, but the radio would need to be taken with them. Matt hoped a
fire fight would not happen as the patrol was well hidden.

Luckily
they were near the border of Iraq and Turkey and not only was it mountainous
terrain, but it was also fertile. The hill they had been climbing was covered
with vegetation, trees and tough native grass that concealed them. They could
have kept moving away from their pursuers, but movement increased the risk of
being spotted. The soldiers kept at least ten metres from each other, because
if a grenade exploded amongst them, only one or two of them might die rather
than the entire patrol.

Will
and Steve pulled out the rocket launchers they had stored under the top flap of
their packs. The 66 or light anti-armour weapon was simply a short, round tube
that fired a small unguided anti-armour rocket. It was a one-shot, throwaway
weapon. To fire the rocket launcher, it had to be extended to its full length,
after which an aiming sight popped up at the front and rear of it. American
soldiers had used the 66 with great effect during the Vietnam War. Surprisingly
it had also been used against them many times by the Viet Cong. The VC used the
discarded, empty 66 tubes as improvised mortar tubes. After this was
discovered, the Americans smashed, bent or buried their empty 66 tubes.

Matt
and Will pulled the 66s open ready to fire and engage the approaching enemy.
Firing a rocket launcher in the prone position was awkward as the soldier was
forced to lie in a semi “L” shape. If he was right-handed, his legs were pushed
at an angle to the left, while his body remained straight. If he did not
position his legs at an angle to his body, the back blast from the rocket
launcher would burn the back of his legs.

The
men could not see if the truck was carrying troops, but it would be naive to
assume a vehicle would approach without carrying armed men to investigate the
shots. The soldiers assumed the worst as the truck came closer. The roar of the
engine was much louder now and was clearly straining as the vehicle moved
across the terrain, bouncing and rocking on its old, worn suspension. Startled
birds took off into the sky. The vehicle came to an abrupt stop beside the
white Toyota. The passenger flung his door open and ran to the stricken
vehicle. He peered in through the driver’s side window before turning round and
gesturing towards the idling truck. He was shouting something, but the hidden
Australians could not hear what he was saying.