Run With The Brave

by Run

  The Pave Low eventually flew over the border and into Iran only 80 feet above the ground and a 100 feet below standard radar cover from most of the land-based systems. As they hugged the rolling hills between the surrounding mountain peaks at almost 140 knots, the pilot and co-pilot, wearing the latest night-vision goggles providing excellent peripheral vision and wide field of view in sharp hues of green and black, checked and re-checked the GPS and radar, relying solely on the scopes and instruments to guide them accurately in the low cloud conditions which now prevailed. Fifty miles into the journey they reached the western edge of Lake Urmia, Iran’s largest salt-water expanse. Ryder watched through the windows as they skimmed over the dark waters, guessing at no more than 10 feet above the surface, hoping too that the Tabriz network had had time to organise at such a short timeframe. Visions of no one meeting them at the RV plagued him but he managed to push them to one side. For the most part, the flight so far had been one of silence as the men mentally prepared for the insertion. The next twenty-five miles over the salt-laden water went swiftly; the helicopter eventually reaching the far side, hurtling over salt-flats then on over empty, undulating, rocky landscape; hills, valleys and marshland covering most of the remaining 125 miles to the RV without incident.

  Soon the helicopter’s inertial navigation system, computing velocity and movement, informed the pilot the distance to the RV point was now less than ten miles.

  In the distance, Ryder could see through the windows traffic headlights moving along the main Tabriz/Tehran highway and again the worry as to whether or not they would be met flooded his mind.

  Shortly an irregular curve of green smudges came up on the terrain-following radar and the map co-ordinates indicated the insertion point lay only minutes ahead.

  “RV, bearing zero-eight-zero,” called the co-pilot.

  “Roger that. ETA: two minutes,” the pilot acknowledged, turning the Pave almost 90 degrees due north and flew directly towards the landing point.

  Heat images of two parked vehicles and four humans standing close by filled the radar screen and instantly the coded signal came through.

  Relief washed through Ryder – plus a surge of exhilaration.

  “Contact, RV signal confirmed,” voiced the co-pilot.

  “Roger. Prepare to land,” replied the pilot.

  Seconds later, the Pave hovered 20 feet above the ground for several seconds in a swirl of dust and sand before landing not far from the parked vehicles and the waiting men.

  The helicopter engines powered down but kept ticking over as the back ramp came down. The flight crew wanted to be airborne as soon as possible; Iranian jets could swoop down at any time.

  Ryder quickly disconnected himself from the aircraft’s comms system, sprang down the ramp, and immediately recognised the leader of the main cell in Tabriz running towards him. They embraced and after a short exchange, Ryder signalled okay to those in the chopper. The Americans quickly emerged, carrying two wooden crates housing the nuclear devices. Short introductions and the crates were then hurriedly placed into a prepared false-floor compartment in the back of two battered, canvas-covered Mercedes trucks. Captain Cane and five of his team then clambered into the nearest; Ryder and the rest into the other.

  After less than three minutes on the ground the helicopter’s engines powered up and the Pave rose into the air and veered westwards into the darkness.

  With headlights turned off the two diesels accelerated towards a highway not far in the distance. They reached the smooth tarseal strip in minutes and swung eastwards, merging in with the fairly light traffic, headlights now on full beam. Through the open back of the front truck, Ryder sat tensely watching the second truck and other vehicles further behind following as it gained speed along the straight open road. Nobody spoke, remaining deep in their own thoughts accompanied by scratchy Arab music emitting from the driver’s cab.

  After almost an hour into the journey an unexpected checkpoint came into view at the junction with the main Tabriz/Tehran highway heavy with traffic. Ryder, in the front truck, looked though the hatch at the rear of the driver’s cab and expressed alarm. Trucks only were being directed into a checking lane, other vehicles were being waved on through.

  He reached for his Beretta, as did the others.

  “Put them away,” the cell leader shouted over the roar of the diesel, “Do not be concerned. These makeshift military checkpoints are frequent due to the sanctions imposed by your governments. Smuggling is rife from Turkey. Powerful mullahs and generals openly set these up to control the flow; lining their own pockets, you might say. Few of us are able to gain access to Western domestic technology, so they make the most of it.”

  “Fuck, we’ve hardly arrived,” shot Lieutenant Owen. “If they search us we’re gone.” He injected a bullet into the Beretta chamber.

  “You heard what he said, Lieutenant. Put it away,” Ryder shot back, not impressed. “The devices are well hidden, unless they remove the floorboards we’ll be ok. If they do, then you can start shooting.”

  The Lieutenant looked hard at him and, for a moment, Ryder thought the American was going to challenge him, but the cell leader intervened, “Have papers ready and say as little as possible. Leave everything to me,” he said, cooling the situation, as they pulled over into a line of several trucks. He then moved and sat by the tailboard, and the American put the Beretta away.

  Ryder’s truck, followed closely by Cane’s, edged towards the checkpoint. Five long minutes later four soldiers, semi-automatics slung over shoulders, sidled up to Ryder’s vehicle, two either side, the one nearest to the driver demanded to see his papers. On presentation the soldier took time studying the documents and, finally satisfied, handed them back and he, with the others, strolled to the rear. Ryder nervously fingered the grip of his Beretta under his shirt. He became more alarmed when, through the cab hatch, he saw in headlights further up the line, soldiers mingling about and two heavy army vehicles crammed with troops out to one side. The cell leader threw a worried glance at the others and ranted at the soldiers for the delay they were causing. The four soldiers, ignoring him, lowered the tailboard and displayed their disappointment in a string of epithets and rude gestures once they saw it was empty of merchandise. They ordered everyone out and demanded to see papers whilst two of the soldiers clambered up into the back. Ryder felt the adrenaline pump as the two inspected the wooden floor; he prayed they would overlook the concealed compartment.

  To the throb of diesels and sound of Arabic music, four more soldiers sauntered arrogantly up to Captain Cane’s truck and demanded to see the driver’s papers. Two detached themselves as the papers were handed over and went to the rear. They lowered the tailboard, the occupants were ordered out and papers called for. Once this had been done, and they seemed satisfied, one soldier climbed up and began to tap the floor with the butt of his rifle.

  Suddenly a shout, then another – much louder this time.

  Ryder knew instantly the hidden compartment in Cane’s truck had been discovered. Without hesitation he drew the Beretta, turned, and shot out the headlights of Cane’s vehicle. At the same time, Kellar put a bullet into the soldier inside the truck and another commando dropped the man standing beside him.

  Before the two soldiers by Cane’s truck, and the soldiers with Ryder, could react, they too were swiftly gunned down.

  One fast-thinking soldier, however, managed to fire off a few rounds, killing Lieutenant Owen instantly before he took a bullet to the head from Ryder.

  Up the line, soldiers rushed towards the trucks, crouching and weaving between the vehicles, firing erratically as they advanced.

  Hurriedly stripping the dead of weapons and ammunition, at the same time returning fire at the approaching troops, Ryder, Cane and the remainder of Detachment A then scrambled into the two Mercedes. In the rear of the front truck, Ryder and those with him readied themselves for a firefight whilst Brady jumped into the cab, pushed the driver aside and took the wheel, pow
ering the diesel forward. Cane and Kellar did the same in the truck behind, Kellar at the wheel.

  Ignoring other traffic coming both ways and causing mayhem as vehicles careered off the highway to avoid collision, they swung the heavy vehicles out of the line, across the broad expanse of tarseal and roared on into the surrounding barren landscape followed not long after by the two parked army trucks hard on their heels.

  In the desert darkness, Ryder’s truck veered away from Cane’s as they raced, zigzagging madly over the shale-strewn, uneven terrain. Ryder, using rifle and ammunition taken from the dead soldiers, kept up continuous fire at the headlamps and black mass of the pursuing vehicles. The vehicles were closing rapidly, issuing heavy fire. The commando next to Ryder jerked and screamed as half his head was blown away, and another beyond him threw up his arms and toppled over the side head first onto the sand. Even in these most desperate of times, his thoughts were on the nuclear devices; they could not be left to the Iranians. He rushed to the shattered rear window of the driver’s cabin, bullets zipping through the canvas cover and off the metal all around.

  “The code – quick, give me the code to disable the nukes!” he screamed at Brady.

  “Negative! Negative!” Brady screamed back, desperately trying to keep the bouncing, swerving vehicle under control.

  What the fuck! Is he refusing?

  He tried again, “Give me the fucking code, soldier; we ain’t got time to play games. The bastards find these nukes we’ll pay with our lives!”

  “I told you, Negative,” the American spat, turning quickly and giving Ryder a wilting look, “It’s NEGATIVE! NEGATIVE!”

  Ryder got the message, felt foolish, then turned and, with the help of one of the commandos, ripped up the floor and broke open the casings to expose the smooth, dark grey metallic spheres, so small yet capable of such devastation once armed. He flipped open the lids on top of the two spheres, entered the required code and pushed down the red button marked: ‘Destruct’. Within seconds the contents, including firing mechanism, miniature computer and flotation devices melted away. Then, in the darkness, with the help of the others, he tossed each as far as he could away from the careering vehicle.

  Over the roar of the truck, engine revved to the max, and the crackle of machine-gun fire filling his ears, Ryder hoped Cane would do the same in the bouncing, zigzagging truck not far ahead. He need not have worried; the American had systematically destroyed the spheres and cast them out into the darkness at the same time as Ryder.

  Minutes later, under a fusillade of fire, he watched Cane’s vehicle, peppered by machine-gun fire, suddenly veer out of control, all tyres on the rear wheels completely shot away. The big Mercedes careered on for several hundred yards, skewing and throwing the captain and the others all over the rear making it impossible to return accurate fire before it hit a rock, flipped over on to its side and screeched to a halt in a shower of steam and sand.

  The pursuing truck quickly caught up and skidded to a stop alongside. Troops piled out and surrounded the crippled vehicle. Amidst shouting and brutal treatment meted out by their captors, Cane and the others were quickly disarmed, rounded up, bound and herded into the Iranian truck.

  Ryder’s Mercedes sped on hotly pursued, Brady straining to maintain control. Ryder lay flat to the boards returning fire protected only by the low metal sides and tailboard. Bullets whined and ricocheted everywhere off the framework. The vehicle swung hard right down into the protection of a flat, shallow wadi and raced along its bed for less than 200 yards before the engine finally gave out and the battered truck rolled to a halt.

  Leaping from the wreck, Ryder and the remaining Green Berets ran for the edge of the wadi in a desperate attempt to escape, but it was futile. No sooner had they reached the base when the two pursuing trucks, headlights blazing, raced towards them and skidded to a halt. Heavily armed troops disgorged, fanned out and clambered down into the wadi. Sporadic fire ensued and incoming rounds sprayed the ground all around where they sheltered. They were quickly surrounded.

  Ryder, still dazed from the impact, considered, for a brief moment, to make one last stand and take as many with him as possible, but with only a little ammunition left saw it was hopeless. He felt despair; the going from this point on would be tough if he lived through this; he feared for his life. All he could do now was hope for a political exchange, but even that was a remote possibility. Throwing down his rifle he stood and raised his arms, expecting a bullet at any moment. The others followed and soon all were brutally rounded up, bound and frogmarched to join Cane and the rest. With Lieutenant Owen dead, together with the two commandos who died in the fleeing trucks, only Ryder and nine of the original twelve-man American team were now left.

  Operation Overflow had come to a premature and ignominious end.

  6

  Under a clear blue sky, Afari Asgari watched with a mixture of hate and fear as the late model Mercedes turned into the local market place; a wide street teeming with people and lined with colourful stalls. Her hate burned fiercely from the death of her parents by the brutal ruling regime and her fear from what might happen if she failed to succeed at what she was about to do. These emotions were mitigated a little at the thought her actions might, in no small way, help to destroy Iran’s ambitions to become a major nuclear power. Her target, the vehicle with a police motorcycle escort, which slowly pushed its way through the noisy throng; in the rear sat the leading scientist controlling Iran’s nuclear weapons programme. The current president, although seemingly wanting better relationships with the West, was unable to thwart these ambitions coveted by the opposition and the hawks within his own party. But most importantly, he did not have the backing of the supreme religious leader – the ayatollah. These factions wanted beyond all else to exert total power over the region, and Afari, along with many others in the MEK (People’s Mujahedin of Iran), wanted no part. Today the scientist would pay for his role in these ambitions.

  Controlling her fear, she stepped out from her vantage point into the milling crowd and headed towards the vehicle, praying the others were ready. Concealed within her jilbab she carried a small but powerful pre-set magnetic charge. The vehicle slowed; she got closer – heart pounding.

  Suddenly, the Mercedes halted to avoid the lead police motorcyclist from being bowled over by melons cascading in large numbers from a collapsed stall. Fellow conspirators had done their job; now it was her turn. The rear police escort pushed his motorbike forward to help his fallen colleague, leaving the rear of the vehicle unguarded. In the confusion, Afari jostled her way to the side of the vehicle. Here, amongst the pressing humanity, she quickly removed the compact bomb through a slit in her robe, glanced around to see if anyone had noticed, and then, in one swift movement, placed it up inside the rear wheel rim. She felt more than heard the solid clunk of metal adhering to metal before hurriedly stepping away, turning and vanishing into the throng. The shaped charge would direct the explosive power to inside the vehicle which would hopefully kill the occupants but theoretically leave nearby people and traffic unscathed.

  She walked briskly away through the narrow alleyways of District 10, and headed for her small apartment in Qazvin Avenue. She knew the area well having been brought up in the teeming alleyways of this southern part of central Tehran. Petite and attractive with soft, rounded features and piercing hazel eyes, she was only fifteen years old when her mother and father died. Resolved to avenge their deaths she joined the MEK at eighteen and had been involved in guerrilla warfare against the oppressive regime ever since. Now twenty-five, she had become a hardened insurgent in her native land. She believed the ruling elite ignored the people at their peril and had hoped that by now the Israelis would have bombed the nuclear manufacturing plants out of existence, finding it hard to understand why they continued to hold back. In conjunction with Israel’s Mossad, the MEK’s focus was on destroying the current regime’s nuclear ambitions, and the assassination of one of its scientists would help to make that p
ossible.

  Afari eventually reached her apartment building and was about to enter when she heard above the noise of the traffic, a dull boom someway in the distance. She smiled. Arriving at the first floor, she entered the apartment and suddenly froze. Standing in the small lounge were three men. One held a silenced pistol levelled directly at her chest.

  Fear and panic seared through her – VEVAK, Iran’s secret police. She had dreaded this moment, knowing one day it had to come.

  The man with the gun asked for ID; the hardened features of the other two held her firmly in their gaze. She raised her handbag and was warned not to do anything silly. She handed over her driver’s license.

  The man glanced at it and then threw it on the table.

  He flicked the gun up and down indicating for her to empty the rest of the contents of the bag onto the table. She did so.

  One of the men sifted through the jumble and indicated nothing of interest.

  Then the third said abruptly in a thick accent, “You are a terrorist, accused of crimes against the State.”