by Run
“No. I’m saying: it seems a little strange – too much of a coincidence maybe,” he replied, trying to stay casual. He decided he’d probed enough for the time being, hoping a seed had been sown that might just deter the culprit from taking further chances and make the others more aware of what each were doing. He changed the subject, focusing on Shiron, “How long you been with Special Forces?”
“Four years.”
“Sayeret Mat’kal?”
He nodded, intense brown eyes fixing Ryder in the firelight; cheek scar still prominent through the growing beard.
“Tough outfit.” The Israeli has done well to last that length of time, Ryder thought.
“You’re British Special Air Service; what you doing with American Green Berets?”
“Advisor,” he left it at that and moved on, “You orthodox or unorthodox?”
“Neither, I’m Christian – Catholic.” From the way he said that, sharp features seemingly softening, Ryder guessed Shiron might be devout, making him think about his own lack of faith, having lost it from a very early age in the mean streets of Brixton. “We may all need to believe to get through this one.”
“More likely lady luck,” murmured Brady.
“You religious, Frank?” asked Shiron.
Ryder shrugged, “Never tuned in to the bigotry and hypocrisy. Millions starve, the Pope preaches but never do we see any of that vast wealth he controls to ease the pain and suffering. All those different religions squabbling amongst themselves believing their way is the right way, turns me off.”
“Humanity needs to believe in something,” the Israeli countered, “otherwise there’s no point to all this. Believing is hoping!”
“I’ll go with that,” Brady added. “Believing, though, has to be above all that bible fable crap.”
“I take it you’re the same as Frank, Sergeant?” said Shiron, turning to Kellar.
“No… I’m Catholic like you, only I leave the practising to the priests.”
The Israeli then looked at Sicano, “What about you?”
“Agnostic… it’s all bullshit to me. More wars and killing are carried out in the name of religion than anything else as far as I’m concerned.”
“Never a believer?” pressed Shiron.
“Never gave a shit one way or the other; too busy making a life.”
It looked to Ryder that maybe he’d opened a religious can of worms by giving the Israeli a platform.
Shiron then turned and looked over the fire at the Iranians. “What about you three – Muslim?”
Afari said nothing, just nodded, hands spread to the flames. She looked worn out.
Saad, small frame hunched forward towards the fire replied quietly, “Buddhist.”
“Buddhism – unusual for an Iranian.”
He nodded. “Reason I was first imprisoned; my beliefs were not understood. They saw me as a danger to the regime. I became a so-called terrorist soon after. I am of the Mahayana sect. It teaches that salvation is possible for everyone and that suffering is inseparable from existence.” He paused and stared into the flames. “The cause of suffering is desire, and suppression of desire can be obtained through discipline. Perfect peace and bliss is our reward.”
“Suppression of desire where I hail from would be regarded as suffering to the extreme,” said Kellar, grinning.
“And where would that be, Sergeant?” asked Hellmann, speaking for the first time, brooding features glistening in the flames.
“Baltimore, Virginia.”
“Hey, small world,” the Israeli shot back, smiling broadly at the American. “I’ve a niece in Highlandtown, married name, Laid. You know her?”
“Can’t say I do, but with a name like that though, who’d forget?” Kellar replied, still with a grin on his face.
“For a pacifist, you’ve handled yourself well,” Shiron said to Saad.
“Don’t be misled. I have spent months in the hills, and even more in the stinking prisons. I’m hardened to pain and degradation; my beliefs make suffering a pleasure.”
The Israeli turned to Fehed, “Why were you in that hell-hole?”
The Iranian poked at the flames with a stick. “I was a pilot in the armed forces, flew helicopters for SF until falsely accused of associating with the MEK,” he looked away into the darkness. Moments later, he spoke with vehemence, “I was arrested; government henchmen killed my wife and child. I want revenge.” Fehed slammed the stick into the fire, sparks rose and he spat into the flames.
“How long were you in?” Sicano asked.
“I don’t know, maybe three or four weeks. Before that I was in a military prison for several months. They got nothing from me; probably why I was transferred to that shit-hole.”
“And in there?” pressed Sicano.
“Tried to break me, but the methods they used… ” he trailed off and put head into his hands. “It was only a matter of time before I would tell them anything they wanted to hear just to stop the pain.”
Ryder winced at the thought of what he had probably suffered.
“Why did you stay with us, instead of making for Turkey?” Shiron asked.
“The Turks would have handed me back for the sake of good relations. You are our best chance of obtaining asylum in the west when we reach the Gulf States.”
Shiron glanced at Ryder, murmured something about if they ever got there, and turned to Afari, but she was fast asleep.
Ryder decided to up the ante, looking at the Americans, he didn’t mince his words. “It bothers me how that psycho knew about the dams; he would’ve only known from one of us. I didn’t break. Did any of you?”
The three glanced incredulously at each other. Kellar gave him an angry look. “What the fuck you saying, Ryder: that one of us is a traitor?”
“We wouldn’t do that? You must be crazy,” shot Sicano.
Then Brady, “Even if it did happen, how the fuck does it affect what we’re doing now – unless you reckon one of us has been turned and is getting messages out somehow.”
The two Israelis threw each other a troubled glance; the Iranian men looked on, bewildered.
He wanted to tell them about the note but something urged him to hold back, at least for now. “Might explain why we seem to be constantly tracked; that it’s not just coincidence.”
“Frank, they found us – the plane, remember?” said Sicano. “So they know we’re heading south somewhere. Don’t need to be a genius to figure out possible routes through these mountains and send patrols out accordingly.”
Kellar, now a little calmer said, “Well, for what it’s worth, I didn’t.”
“Me neither,” Sicano followed.
Both then looked at Brady.
“Don’t the fuck look at me,” he shot back angrily, “no way did I tell’em.”
One of you did, so that puts each of you in the frame, Ryder thought, but he could not exclude the Israelis or the others, although the Iranians would be the last on his list. He needed tangible evidence before he could place blame.
The mood now was pretty sombre, and silence descended. Ryder’s probing had left him no nearer to discovering who the traitor might be. If he was to find out, he would need to hit on another way, and soon.
After a short while staring into the flames they eventually agreed the watch and turned in. The fire was doused as Ryder and Brady positioned themselves on the edge of the hollow taking the first watch, knowing they must remain alert for at least the next two hours. Both men stared silently through the light, swirling snow into the darkness, immersed in their own thoughts, hoping the night would pass without event. It kept bothering Ryder how many more notes might have been left for pursuers to find. He was still pondering this question, and more, when eventually Shiron and Hellmann took over the watch.
17
Ryder awoke abruptly in the cold grey light of dawn and immediately sensed danger. Instinctively he rolled then froze the moment he felt the icy end of a rifle barrel pressed against his temple. Fe
ar gripped as he looked up at the crouching, grim-faced soldier holding an AK47. A massive surge of adrenaline followed and the fear quickly turned into defence mode. He sensed the others were in a similar position. From the corner of his eye he could see Sicano and Kellar, both face down at the side of the hollow in an unconscious state.
Sicano groaned, turned over, and held the back of his head, followed a little later by Kellar, blood flowing from a gash on the forehead. Both men were roughly prodded up amidst confused shouting. The rest, too, were forced at gunpoint to their feet and all were herded into line, hands on heads, whilst two of the six-man patrol systematically searched each one, relieving them of all weapons.
Ryder’s mind raced, eyes everywhere for possible escape routes, but it seemed there was no way out of this one; they had paid heavily for the fire earlier and the venison fare.
The hollow was searched and all equipment stacked on the edge. Ryder watched in despair, shocked at the swiftness and stealth by which they had been overcome. Well and truly fucked now.
Afari cowered as two of the patrol holding her leered, one with the muzzle of his rifle nudging suggestively at her crotch.
The leader, a short, powerfully built man in dirty-white alpine fatigues with small, darting eyes, walked down the line studying each man closely, before turning and yelling orders. He looked tired, and from the appearance of the patrol, they had been away from base some time. Two of the patrol quickly emptied the contents of the group’s packs, filled two with all the captured weapons and hoisted them onto their backs. He barked again. Ryder and the others were then roughly roped together, pushed out of the hollow and marched down into the valley, led by the officer, with two of the patrol on each flank and one bringing up the rear. Haze shrouded the valley as they made their way slowly through the scattered trees and scrub heading north-west, the dark, brooding mass of the Zagros filling the horizon to the north and east. The sun climbed higher, slowly dispersing the haze, until the whole valley and hills surrounding came into focus. After what seemed like endless hours the tethered captives eventually arrived at three circular huts nestled at the base of a tussock-covered knoll guarding the end of the valley.
The officer leading disappeared into the nearest hut and returned shortly to herd the captives inside where they were penned with goats at the rear, still roped together. He then ordered the soldier carrying a transmitter to contact base for a helicopter to airlift them out.
The atmosphere inside the hut was smoky and fetid. The leader sat in the centre with the small group of Luris while the soldiers spread themselves around the circular space. Two women prepared food over an open fire and shortly bowls of gruel were handed to the leader and his men. The captives went without.
One of the soldiers nearest the pen quickly emptied his bowl, stood up and went over for more. Ryder, squatting next to the low wicker enclosure, looking for the chance to escape, attempted to loosen his bonds. He eyed the soldier’s rifle propped against the wall only a few feet beyond the enclosure. The rope binding his hands in front would not fully give despite his efforts. However, he gauged they were spaced far enough apart to just about fire the rifle if only he could get hold of it. It was now or never. Without hesitating, he leapt the barrier and lunged for the automatic, but was cruelly pulled up short by the taut rope joining him to Sicano.
The sudden movement jolted the others into action immediately as they realised what was happening and all lunged forward too, only to be brought down in a heap when Sicano, Hellmann and Kellar became entangled before any could jump the barrier.
In those few desperate moments, the Iranian officer sprung to his feet, quickly drew pistol, and in one swift movement, shot Brady dead as he tried to get over the barrier and dive to yank the gun away. He then swung and levelled his weapon at the others sprawled helplessly amongst the bleating goats until finally his men regained control, beating the captives back into the pen with the butts of their rifles. Trampled under the hoofs of the panicking goats, Ryder did his best to defend against the blows, devastated that his bid to escape had failed and that Sergeant Brady had paid the price with his life. Had he not attempted to go for the rifle the American would still be alive.
18
It was late afternoon the following day when the sound of an approaching helicopter roused the captives from their apathy. Immediately, they were ordered from the pen and herded outside. A red sun hung low in the sky and a strong wind whipped coldly down the valley. Ryder watched dispassionately, resigned to the situation, wishing now he had not embarked on this crazy venture; and to make it worse, knowing whoever the traitor was had won out. The grey helicopter descended like a huge insect to the thin carpet of white; powerful motors blotting out all other sounds and billowing clouds of snow high into the air.
The big Russian-built Mi-17 landed, the motors powered-down and remained ticking over as four armed men in white alpine fatigues sprang from the side and hurried towards the huddled group. A brief discussion between the patrol leader and one of the men and the captives were quickly manhandled towards the craft. Brady’s body was to be left, strongly objected to by the other two Americans, but they were ignored and for their trouble, beaten again. Ten minutes later, when all eight were on board, plus the ten soldiers and equipment, the pilot powered-up the motors and the helicopter soared back into the sky.
Ryder and the others held on grimly to overhead straps, watched closely by the soldiers positioned in the fuselage front and rear. Conditions were cramped and of the twenty people on board, only the pilot and co-pilot had room to themselves. Turbulence was bad in the mountain currents. In one particularly violent lurch, Ryder swung hard against a soldier who tried to steady himself, missed the metal fuselage rib altogether and bounced back, hitting Ryder squarely in the chest. He winced at the impact, raised hand instinctively to avoid a repeat and suddenly felt a grenade firmly within his grasp. Ryder did not hesitate; pulling the grenade from the clip, he pushed the soldier aside, removed the pin and held the grenade aloft for everyone to see, yelling at the same time for attention above the roar of the motors.
Horror registered on the faces of the soldiers when they fully realised what was happening.
Sergeant Shiron reacted first. Grabbing a rifle from the nearest man, he leapt to the flight deck and, in front of the dumbfounded pilots, smashed the radio equipment with the butt. Seconds later he yelled at the co-pilot to go to the rear and then placed the rifle muzzle against the pilot’s throat.
The helicopter bucked wildly, Ryder rolled with the lurch, one hand firmly gripping the overhead strap, the other clutching the grenade. He shouted orders at the others to strip the soldiers of weapons and anything else of use and keep them covered.
On the flight deck, Shiron, now in the empty co-pilot seat, surveyed the instruments. From his basic training in military helicopters he could see it was equipped with the latest enhanced navigational and infrared radar systems of the type used in the IF Super Frelons, and fuel gauges registered the tanks were almost full.
With the Iranians disarmed and guns trained on them, the captives were in full control of the rear. Ryder ordered Kellar to open the hatch so he could now get rid of the grenade. Edging his way towards the opening, recoiling as the icy blast hit him full on, he threw the grenade out as hard as he could to see it explode seconds later somewhere harmlessly below. He then joined Shiron on the flight deck, followed by Sicano.
“Do we have enough fuel to get us to the Gulf?” the American shouted at the pilot when he got there.
The pilot remained silent. Shiron replied instead, telling him the tanks were almost full, therefore theoretically they could. The Israeli looked desperately at Ryder.
“Do we have enough to take us to the objective?” he asked.
The Israeli nodded. “She’s also rigged for night flying.”
“Over these mountains?” shot Sicano, surprise on his face. “You fucking crazy?”
Ryder, adrenaline pumping, came to a decisi
on. “We’re going to finish the job.”
The Israeli beamed.
“Shit, Frank! We’ll be lucky to get over those fucking peaks!” Sicano shouted, losing it. “If the grenade explosion failed to be monitored, you bet MIGs will be up anyways once its established radio contact is lost and the blip on the radar is us. They’ll shoot us right out of the fucking sky.”
“Maybe, but we’re on our way,” Ryder shouted back through the roar, turning to the pilot and asking how far away they were from base. “Forty-five minutes,” he replied, adding that fighters would have already scrambled.
Ryder ordered the pilot to turn off the navigational lights then scanned the rapidly darkening horizon streaked in red and magenta through the almost vertical glass screen of the cockpit.
“How far to the peaks?” asked Sicano, a little calmer, staring intently out through the screen.
“Forty, maybe fifty miles on this course,” Shiron came back. “At this altitude, airspeed can be no more than a hundred. A little less than thirty minutes would see us in the high range.”
“If MIGs are on the way we can kiss State-side goodbye for sure,” the American replied, voice shaking.
“We’ve a chance, hugging the ground. It would be far too risky for them to attack us now in failing light. Once amongst those peaks they would definitely have to break away,” said Shiron, trying to reassure Sicano and give Ryder some confidence in his decision.
Ryder knew enough to understand they would be taking a tremendous risk flying the helicopter through mountain terrain in darkness, especially at high altitude where the weather could be so severe and unpredictable, but as far as he was concerned, he’d given his word to the Israelis; there was no turning back.
“Safer to dump the chopper; those mountains at night would be asking to meet our Maker,” pressed the American.
“Sure… sure it’s dangerous – extremely dangerous,” Ryder shouted, “but only a little more so than crossing the hard way. We’re not equipped to tackle the terrain on foot. This chopper provides the answer. It’s rigged for night flying and it’s bloody quicker than walking.”