Distant Annihilation. (Tarquin Collingwood Adventures Book 1)

by Azam Hossain

  “.................where he served for 4 years before transferring to the Bundesnachrichtendiesnt BND. Served in the Balkans, Cambodia and Somalia. Have also taken part in covert operations in the Middle East and engaged in espionage in Eastern Europe. I have participated in exercises with the Norwegian Army in the Arctic and the US Marines in the Horn of Africa. I am Major Rudolf Hoffman von Weizsacker at your service.”

  He gave a little bow with a nod of his head. The only thing missing I thought, was him clicking his heels together.

  Travers and I stood up and in turn we both shook his hand and I proffered the greeting, “Guten Tag, freut mich,” to which von Weizsacker smiled in appreciation, whilst Travers introduced me as Captain Tarquin Collingwood and the three of us sat down.

  “Vell we meet at last Herr Collingwood,” smiled von Weizsacker as he looked me directly in the eyes, “A Lieutenant of mine was due to come on this mission, but he got injured. So imagine my delight, when I vas told that the British had a man who could replace him.”

  “I hope I am equal to the task,” I said meekly.

  “I have no doubt of it! It should be a great adventure!” he continued jovially, “We are in the service of our respective countries: you for the Queen and I for the Vatterland. If we succeed it will be for the glory of our countries and our names will be revered. If we fail we should almost certainly die, but think what a noble death it will be. Remember your Horace? Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.”

  Travers called over a waiter to whom the Major muttered something in the local tongue and in a moment what appeared to be a martini arrived. Travers and the German then fell into conversation.

  Initially I felt somewhat overawed by his military credentials, which he had so theatrically enunciated to Travers and I. He outranked me. Spoke excellent English - Azaki and heaven knows how many other languages. I did not doubt his courage or his ability in covert operations, weapons handling and sabotage. In fact I should have been reassured and comforted at the thought of undertaking such a mission in the company of someone so clearly well qualified. However his glory or death speech alarmed me. He might want to laugh at death and even welcome it, so enamoured was he of a place in Valhalla, but I would rather be around for a few more years yet. Whilst I was under no illusion that this was a dangerous undertaking, I still felt that with good planning, expertise and luck we had a decent chance of making it out of this uncivilised backwater - so much so that I could see myself sipping a Pimms back in England and laughing at my folly in ever coming here.

  CHAPTER 13 – BAND OF BROTHERS.

  The next morning after breakfast I checked out of my hotel and Travers picked me up with Ismail driving up front. Except this time Ismail was wearing native headdress and clothing. I was wearing a native frock coat, a shawl and a scarf called a Keffiyeh; which resembled more of a teacloth than haute couture. Travers gave me my gun and tracking device and thus saved me the journey to the Embassy. We drove out of Kushanbay in a north westerly direction, where just outside the city we would rendezvous with von Weizsacker. The buildings thinned out as we got further from the city centre. This country was so wretchedly poor that it was quite common to see beasts of burden on the roads: bullock carts, horse drawn carriages and even the odd camel for the love of god. The weather was cool, although the sky was a brilliant bright blue and sunny.

  “Ismail will be your personal guide and bearer. He’s also rather handy with a gun. You will find him indispensable,” Travers advised as we drove.

  If Travers could vouch for him then I was content. After all, if I had to venture into these desolate places the least I could do is have a native to fetch and carry for me.

  Soon we were out of the city and there was barely a building or a vehicle to be seen. One could see mountains and large hills in the distance on either side of the road - the terrain for which Azakistan was famed. We turned off the main highway and drove down to what amounted to little more than a dirt track. I noticed that the road was descending, after a few minutes the ground before us opened out in to a large clearing nearly 200 metres across. We had entered what looked like a former quarry or certainly some kind of depression with the rocky walls rising to varying degrees all around us. Ismail stopped the car and turned the engine off. We got out of the car and looked round; initially I could see no one. There was not a sound to be heard but for the light breeze of the wind. Then just behind an outcrop of rock over yonder to our right appeared von Weizsacker. He called out to us and then walked towards us and pointed to his watch. As he got closer I could see that he was wearing boots, cargo pants, sunglasses, and a desert camouflage jacket under which we wore a shirt and cravat.

  “Good morning Major,” said Travers smiling.

  Major von Weizsacker looked annoyed, “Good morning, you are I am sorry to say late.”

  Travers looked pained, whilst Ismail was indifferent.

  “We are here now meine Kamaraden,” said I attempting to defuse the German’s irritation.

  He looked at me sternly for a second and then as if he realised the crassness of his reprimand smiled and said, “Forgive my manners. You are right.”

  I reciprocated his smile and we shook hands. Just then I heard a car engine start. A 4 wheel drive (4WD) Toyota appeared from the rocky outcrop behind which the Major had appeared a moment earlier. It drove slowly towards us; its roof rack was holding cargo covered by tarpaulin. The vehicle stopped when it got to us and two men got out. One was a local man with turban like headgear a shirt and baggy trousers. He had a pock marked face and had a swarthy look about him - god only knows from where von Weizsacker found such a roguish looking individual. From the other side of the vehicle a fair skinned stocky European man appeared, wearing trousers and a Khaki jacket.

  Von Weizsacker turned around to see them dismount and then turned back to us and said, “May I introduce our companions on this mission, Aziz our cook and driver and my Sergeant - Lothar Mueller.”

  Once the introductions were over we made our preparations before setting out. I resolved that I should do some target practice to acquaint myself with my weapon. Every good soldier knows the maxim “look after your weapon and it will look after you.” I took my Glock 19 pistol and ammunition to a quiet part of the quarry, where I carefully loaded the pistol and took aim at part of the wall and fired. I could judge my marksmanship by the puff of dust where the bullet hit the rock. I fired the gun holding it with just my right hand and then holding it with both hands – single shots and then several shots in quick succession. The acoustics of the area caused each bullet I fired to echo momentarily around us. Initially, I was concerned that I might attract unwanted attention, before realising that we were probably miles from anyone.

  I returned to the vehicles where the six of us gathered around the front of the Toyota as Major Von Weizsacker briefed us, maps unfurled over the bonnet.

  “We are now here,” he began pointing to a depression just off the main road leading northwest out of Kushanbay towards the province of Faryab, “We will travel along this road - the Faryab highway up to this point.”

  He was indicating an area just inside the border of the province of Faryab where it began to get mountainous and the road climbed up snaking its way around the side of mountains. “From here we will be too conspicuous to continue by road, especially as they are patrolled by Mesud’s men and there are also bandits to contend with. So at this point here just off the Faryab Highway we vill take this dirt track from where we vill transfer from 4 wheels to 4 legs,” he turned and smiled at me, “I understand you are from a cavalry regiment?”

  “Err yes........but we only ride on ceremonial occasions. The 9th Berkshire Hussars last used horses in combat in the First World War,” I explained.

  The Major resumed, “We will switch to horses here with all our equipment and then ride over some mountain passes and through the Qursani Valley and then from there by foot to the Bactria Valley here,” his finger indicating our progress, “and then to o
ur target for the.........how you say.........the culmination of our trip, where success or defeat await us.”

  A cold wind blew suddenly and brought me out in goose bumps. I looked around at the others and judging by their faces I deduced stoicism and grim determination. Perhaps, I consoled myself, they were also wary of the challenge and dangers before us. It occurred to me that if we failed and perished the whole thing would be hushed up and the attempt to blow up the site would never be acknowledged by our governments. My body may end up in an unmarked grave assuming it did not end up as carrion. I was not afraid of death. It was the ignominy of no funeral, my body being defiled and no burial site where my family could come to mourn that bothered me. Such an outcome was too horrid to be borne. No I resolved! I would have to succeed: or at the very least live one way or another and in so doing I would have to be ruthless, selfish and kill whatever got in my way. There were I decided, no rules of engagement by which I was to be bound. Kill or be killed!

  I suddenly had a bit of inspiration. I rummaged around in my rucksack. I had two tracking consoles. Jim Travers approached, “Well I suppose this is where we part,” he said extending his hand. I grabbed it and we shook hands.

  “Thanks for all your help Travers,” I beamed, “After all this is over I want to be picked up and rescued or my body recovered, either way I want to be back in England.........here keep track of me - literally,” I handed him a plastic card which contained the details of my GPS console password, account number and other details which would enable me to be pinpointed through a laptop connected to the internet. He assured me that he would faithfully ensure that my whereabouts would be known 24 hours a day.

  “Give my regards to Guy and Ollie.”

  “I shall. I look forward to meeting you again, when you can dine out on the adventure you are about to undertake,” Travers said. He got into the car and left. The Major, Ismail and I waved him farewell as we watched him depart.

  After we gathered up all our gear and final checks were made, the five of us got into the Toyota. I switched on my tracking device so that Travers would be able to pick up my signal and then proceeded to conceal it about my person, along with my newly purchased 6 inch knife and my Glock. Aziz drove. Von Weizsacker sat next to him, Mueller and I were in the back and Ismail was sitting on the roof above the luggage. Our luggage was numerous and amongst other things consisted of tents, camping equipment, food, clothing, explosives, electronic triggers, guns, and ammunition.

  Mueller lit up a cigarette as we left the quarry and joined the main highway. “So vhat is your purpose here Herr Kapitain,” he sneered in my direction, “Do the British not think we can do this ourselves? Or is it that they must take the credit for the actions of others?”

  We were risking our lives together in a common enterprise and this unfriendly aside was hardly an auspicious beginning. It occurred to me that this might be the true thoughts of the Germans as regards my presence, except that von Weizsacker was probably too much of a gentleman to reveal them.

  “I am sure we shall all work together to ensure success Sergeant Mueller. You can be assured that I am here on my own merits, no doubt you will see that in time,” I said as diplomatically as I could, whilst trying to conceal my resentment at the sheer cheek of such an outburst from someone so decidedly beneath my rank.

  The Major then uttered a rebuke to Mueller in German, to which Mueller reacted by sulking, turning to stare out of the window.

  The roads in this part of the country near Kushanbay were long and straight, with mountains always in view in the distance; their views enhanced at this altitude by near faultless brilliant blue skies, with barely a cloud to blemish them. Snow capped peaks became apparent later; after we had been driving for a couple of hours. After a few moments of discussing our military careers at the beginning of our journey, hardly a word was said in the car between us and then as if to break the monotony, up ahead on a straight stretch of road we could see a road block with a queue of vehicles waiting to be inspected. Aziz slowed down as we joined the queue and everyone in the car suddenly gathered their wits and became alert. Our whole mission could be over before it even started. How did I ever agree to such folly? I felt for my passport should I be required to produce it. I began to perspire and foolishly thought of grabbing my Glock, before realising that such imprudence would only succeed in getting me killed. There were several military vehicles and about a dozen soldiers scattered around most of whom were carrying machine guns. I chastised myself for my momentary panic and then composed, looked at the soldiers with my military eye as we neared the front of the queue. They looked poorly trained, many were conscripts; and judging by their kit were poor excuses for their profession and not a patch on a British soldier. Such shortcomings could often be attributed to a poor officer class. Von Weizsacker looked calm and unflappable - what that portended was anyone’s guess. In any event my innards tightened as we made it to the front of the queue and an officer approached the front passenger door. Von Weizsacker smiled and outstretched his hand through the window, the officer looked taken aback but shook hands and they spoke in Azaki. It was clearly a friendly and jovial chat. The Major smiled and even Aziz said something. The officer who looked very undistinguished, thin and brow beaten stood aside and called out to the other soldiers and we were waved through. The road block removed, we drove on.

  I turned back and looked, as it diminished into the distance and then turned to von Weizsacker, “What did you say?”

  “Bravado and confidence can get you far in this world Captain Collingwood,” said he turning around to me and grinning at his triumph, “Psychology – did you not learn anything of it? I could tell he was a poorly paid and pathetic creature, not a natural soldier. I merely exuded confidence and told him I was a friend of General Nazarbayev, who commands the army in Northern Azakistan – or the parts they are able and brave enough to command. Such a cowered creature would not have dared to have searched or questioned us, believing me to know his commanding officer. To do so would have dishonoured the General and that officer knew it. The customs and traditions of these people and their tribes Herr Collingwood are curious at best and at worst nothing short of barbaric.”

  As we drove on the scenery gradually changed; mountains that were previously in the distance became closer, the roads turned and twisted and were rarely straight as we ascended up the sides of hills and mountains and travelled through gorges; at the bottom of which were fast flowing rivers carrying water and detritus down from the peaks in the distance. The people also changed, more of them Aryan and fewer Mongoloid. More conservative and Muslim and less secular as evinced by burka clad women. We stopped at a vantage point off the main road for a refreshment break in late afternoon, with the shadows lengthening. There was no one here but us, nor could we see anyone as far as the eye could see in any direction. Here Aziz made some hot sweet tea on an improvised camp fire and we ate some dates. It was noticeably colder at this altitude. I shivered standing outside the Toyota and put on additional layers of clothing under my native shawl and frock coat realising that it would be far colder in a few hours as the evening progressed. The others smoked, whilst I looked at the rugged and unforgiving scenery around us, holding my hot cup in both hands. It was in such passes, peaks and valleys that others before me had risked their lives and perished in Central Asia “playing” the Great Game for England. My priority was to ensure that my bones did not rest here as theirs did.

  CHAPTER 14 – DEPRIVATION AND DEBAUCHERY.

  It got dark quickly after we resumed our journey. It was now too cold for Ismail to be perched on the roof. So he sat in the back between Mueller and me. The cold only accentuated my hunger pangs, not having eaten properly since breakfast. The only illumination we had was what the moon afforded us and the headlights of our own and other vehicles. The roads were hazardous, especially where there were steep precipices on one side, ensuring certain death below. And that was even before one considered the often reckless and inconsid
erate driving of the natives. I looked out at the peaks in the distance, mostly in silhouette and could not help but think that this landscape had a haunting beauty and mysteriousness about it, which was only matched by its hostile and perilous terrain.

  We passed a sign which informed us that we had entered Faryab. We had not seen a soul, nor even a solitary house or a roadside shack for several miles; anything could happen to us and no one would be any the wiser. We slowed down and turned off the road into a bumpy dirt track that descended a few feet. As we turned into a bend the main road went out of sight, obscured by rocks. This road, if it could be dignified with such a name, was so atrocious that we had to slow the Toyota to barely a walking pace in order to negotiate the rocks and undulations in order to make progress. I was afraid that an axle might break. Aziz cursed.

  “Are you sure that this is the right way?” I asked.

  “Do not worry Collingwood. I do not make such mistakes,” The Major said reassuringly.

  The road became smoother and Aziz increased our speed. It appeared we had come through the difficult part. Aziz built up speed as we entered a large expanse with intermittent hills on either side. I peered out of the window; it felt bitterly cold. In the distance straight ahead I could just about make out the peak of a tent. We slowed down as we approached and I could make out the shapes of some people and horses. We stopped and got out. Aziz turned off the engine and the silence spoke of our isolation. I shivered and cursed. Two men approached almost at a run, wearing native garb. Aziz greeted them and they started unloading the Toyota.