Run With The Brave (11 page)

Ryder cursed a full moon illuminating the lake. Instead of losing themselves under cover of darkness they had no choice now but to try and outrun the pursuers.

Each of the closing vessels had turned off searchlights in preparation for action, and at approximately 1,500 yards, the two dark shapes veered away from each other to mount a two-pronged attack.

Ryder swore under his breath. He looked at the approaching craft now within range, felt the adrenaline pumping, and opened the throttle full out, at the same time shouting at Kellar to open fire with the 75mm stern gun.

The gun boomed and seconds later a small column of water spouted up in front of the nearest vessel approaching on the port quarter. Almost instantly the gunboat on the port beam opened fire, sending a shell whistling overhead to explode in the water astern.

At less than 1,000 yards the craft coming straight for them on the port beam veered a few degrees, enabling her to use the gun in the stern; but before she could open fire, Kellar sent another shell over and scored a direct hit midships, destroying the bridge. The men cheered; one down and one to go. Ryder could hardly believe their luck.

A shell from the remaining gunboat landed just in front of the bows, drenching Sicano and the bridge. Ryder instinctively swung hard to starboard and then back again to port. The other gunboat, veering to port at the same time, now lay directly in their path.

With the stern gun unable to fire forward, Sicano raked the launch with cannon. Tracers found their target and he kept on firing until the boat turned away.

At that moment the disabled gunboat, wallowing astern, blew up with one tremendous roar, illuminating the whole scene and showering debris over the water.

Now on the port bow the remaining boat swung wide and came again, this time bearing down on the port beam, firing rapidly.

The water around Ryder's fast-moving vessel erupted every twenty to thirty seconds, and cannon shells and tracers strafed the port hull with relentless ease.

Suddenly a blinding flash, followed by a loud crack, and the boat lurched violently to starboard. When the smoke cleared the dazed men on deck picked themselves up and saw that a hit had been received midships completely wiping out the cannon. Miraculously, Sicano was unhurt and no one else had been injured.

Ryder quickly regained control and brought the craft round until the stern faced the pursuing gunboat; this reduced the vessel's profile and made it impossible for the following boat to use its stern gun, although cannon kept hammering away. They were now well into the waters of the eastern arm.

Suddenly, two white flares from the shore burst overhead, illuminating the sky and the two boats locked in mortal combat on the smooth silvery waters below.

The pursuing craft saw her advantage and swung to port, at the same time rapidly firing the gun in her stern. Ryder immediately veered to starboard, managing to maintain the distance, and the awkward firing angle between them, but not for long. The crew of the gunboat handled the launch well, gradually reduced the gap and kept firing no matter how hard he tried to evade and stay on their bow.

Ryder willed Kellar to score another hit before it was too late. If the pursuing boat got ahead the only remaining gun would be useless and they could be picked off at will.

The cannon fire on the port side was now so intense the men sought cover below deck or on the starboard side, cockpit and superstructure providing protection. Ryder guided the boat by secondary controls forward of the bridge. Kellar remained at the stern gun keeping within the protection of the 75mm's shield.

A shell hit the steel mast carrying the communications antenna and radar scanners, exploded and sent two-thirds crashing down onto the port side, midships. There it hung at 60 degrees, not quite severed and causing a definite list; the tip, which had bent on impact, cutting the water and greatly reducing the gunboat's speed.

The flares died but were quickly replaced by two more, bursting low in the space between the two boats.

Ryder came out of a sharp turn to port and swung immediately back again to starboard just as Kellar rammed home another shell and pulled the trigger.

A column of white water spouted up immediately in front of the bow of the attacking craft, now abreast on the port beam. Seconds later, an orange flash engulfed the bow and the whole boat seemed to rise right out of the water and crash back down again, before veering sharply away to port to abruptly stop, bow partly submerged.

Everyone cheered and those below came up on deck relieved at the sight of the stricken boat now well astern.

More flares burst overhead.

The whole situation was fraught with danger.

Fehed yelled at Ryder. “The lake, it's under radar scan; every move we make is monitored – they'll be waiting for us the moment we land. Soon Iranian gunboats will arrive!”

Suddenly, the sound of tortured metal rent the air as the broken section of mast separated away from the base and crashed over the side, causing the boat to surge rapidly forward, freed from the drag.

Everyone went below, except Kellar who remained at the gun in the stern. Ryder continued to steer at maximum knots down the eastward arm using auxiliary controls, keeping the gunboat in the middle of the two-mile-wide stretch of water.

The Americans and Israelis studied the shoreline maps as best they could in the bouncing vessel and dim red light of the forward cockpit, concerned what would happen once they reached the end of the lake. Brady turned to Ryder crouched over the controls. “A few more miles and we should abandon close to the south shore,” he shouted above the roar, pointing at the same time to the dark shoreline on the starboard side.

“I'll reduce speed as much as we dare,” Ryder shot back. “Set the controls and send her the rest of the way down the lake after we go over the side in the inflatable. Hopefully, they'll think we're still on board.”

“The flares – they'll see us,” was Brady's frantic reply.

“We'll go between flares – no choice.”

Ryder focused back on the controls; he too had been worrying what would happen once they ran out of fuel – it was getting low. Immediately, he gave orders to check if the inflatable on the starboard side had avoided damage, praying it had as the attacking boats had been to port nearly all of the time.

Brady came back shortly with the good news that it was still intact; the central cockpit structure and a metal security casing had protected the inflatable from direct pounding and from flying metal. Relieved, Ryder ordered him and Kellar to make it ready and prepare to abandon ship at the first opportunity. This they quickly did by removing the casing and unhooking the black rubber raft from its frame and securing flat to the deck before retreating below to retrieve the outboard motor.

Back on deck they fixed the outboard in place and skilfully lowered the inflatable over the side securing it to the bouncing gunboat with ropes. Minutes later, within several hundred yards of the shore and at half throttle, the gunboat rounded a promontory and the flares suddenly stopped. With only moonlight now bathing the waters, this was their chance and Ryder did not hesitate. Reducing speed to eight knots, he ordered everyone on deck to abandon. Despite the low rate of knots it was a dangerous manoeuvre, even for those well practised. As they began to clamber in under the shadow of its hull, Saad, the last, suddenly slipped on the gunnel and fell into the turbulent water but was quickly grabbed and pulled out by Tariq and Fehed before he fully went under.

Meanwhile, Ryder, praying the flares would hold off a little longer, jammed the wheel in place with a metal crowbar to send the vessel straight up the lake, opened the throttle and made a mad dash from the cockpit. Out on deck, as the gunboat rapidly gathered speed, he leapt into the bouncing inflatable to only just clear the gunnel and almost capsize the raft before landing sprawled headlong amongst its occupants. Kellar hurriedly cut the rope securing the raft to the bow and Shiron did the same at the stern. Brady then opened the outboard throttle and steered straight towards the shore, now less than 400 yards away. The black silhouette of the gunboat raced away across the waters and more flares began to burst overhead, illuminating the speeding vessel. Ryder hoped it would be well down the lake before the fuel ran out and hoped those scanning the waters would be fooled into thinking they were still on board.

In the relative darkness outside the light thrown by the flares, they reached the shore, slid into the shallows and dragged the raft over gravelled ground to hide amongst thick bush. Then, with one last look at the empty gunboat in the distance, still surging its way down the lake, they struck out south-east into the rolling foothills of the Zagros Mountains, towards what Ryder hoped was the Iranian border.

Mist clung heavily to the trees and shrubs, undisturbed by a gentle breeze. Ryder hoped for more snow, but the sun rose high in a clear sky removing that possibility. For three days after leaving the lake they had trudged almost non-stop through forested hills and over rocky, snow-swept terrain. According to the GPS, together with using manual calculations, Ryder determined they were some forty miles inside Iran, heading south-east at altitudes varying from 3,000 to 5,000 feet above sea level. The terrain reminded him of the Brecon Beacons where he'd spent many hours training carrying heavy packs; this was a lot easier, but infinitely more dangerous. The Americans and Israelis seemed to be coping well with the extreme conditions, too, but he could see the strain was beginning to tell on the Iranians, especially Afari. Periodic sleet and high winds had increased the wind chill factor and despite all being adequately clothed, Ryder was concerned hypothermia could soon become their main enemy. Fortunately, shelters so far had protected them from the elements, but food had run low, leaving only what remained of the deer to chew. In these barren hills and steppes game appeared scarce and Ryder wondered how they would replenish what little they had. Unless they could maintain a supply of food their chances of survival were slim.

Since escaping the earthquake, they had been on the run now for fifteen days, travelling more than 250 miles averaging some sixteen miles a day. That was a good tab given the circumstances and Ryder hoped it could be maintained or even bettered. It was a small miracle they were still going after the condition they were in when the truck crashed and from what they had suffered under their captors. The stress of the journey so far had certainly sharpened him both mentally and physically; the damage to his body now mostly healed. Should they succeed and return safely he could at least retain some semblance of respect in that he had helped the Israelis to attain their goal. He wondered how long it would be before the four remaining Iranians, especially Afari, dropped off the gruelling pace and what their reaction would be once they realised the Gulf was not the objective. However, the longer they held on, the better. The more firepower available, the more chance there was of success.

Cresting a narrow ridge, the group began to descend into yet another valley when Ryder suddenly called a halt, pointing to a hut nestled amongst thick bush and scrub, 300 yards down the slope. He could just make out the circular earthen structure, easily missed had it not been for the wispy smoke spiralling from the centre of the dome.

“Dwelling?” questioned Shiron.

“Yeah, and that means food,” Kellar replied.

Ryder didn't hesitate, ordering Saad and Tariq to go down and scrounge as much food as they could while the rest waited.

When the two men were within fifty yards of the dwelling, four large dogs came bounding out, followed by several men and a handful of children. After a brief exchange of greetings they were led inside.

Five tension-filled minutes passed before the two came out again, each carrying a small bundle, and made their way back up the slope.

“Did the best we could,” said Tariq on reaching them, a little out of breath. “Some cheese, grain cakes, but that's it. Plenty of mouths to feed in there, including goats.”

“What about a goat?” Ryder asked.

“No. We tried everything. They're Luri shepherds and the few in the pen are all they have left for winter. They'd probably let you have their women before the goats.”

“Hey, make a deal pronto,” Kellar quipped.

“If you saw the women, you'll probably prefer the goats,” said Saad.

Afari threw him a withering look.

“We have enough meat for one more day, and that's it,” Sicano announced.

“Then I say we go down and grab us a goat,” shot Shiron.

“They have rifles. They would use them if they had to,” said Tariq.

“Okay, we'll take one,” Ryder said firmly, “we need a diversion to get everyone away and move in. Anyone butchered goat before?”

Tariq and Saad said they had.

Ryder turned to Brady. “We'll go with them. The rest of you will make noise over there,” he pointed to the open ground sweeping away from the dwelling. “We'll manoeuvre round behind the dwelling and when the time is right, move in. You two,” he glanced at Tariq and Saad, “grab the first goat you can lay hands on and get out fast. If anybody is still inside, no killing; silence, yes, but no killing. We want to be in and out quickly and without problems. Is that understood?”

Tariq and Saad nodded they understood.

“Good! Let's do it.”

Ryder watched until the others were well down the slope before he, Brady and the two Iranians slipped silently away to the right under cover of bush, along a trench-like depression, arriving minutes later behind the dwelling. From here they could see and hear the others shouting and rolling in the dirt and patchy snow making a great deal of noise in the process.

Men, women, children and dogs burst from the dwelling and ran frantically towards the sound. Ryder waited until the Luris were well away from the dwelling then leapt up and rushed for the entrance.

The stench inside stung his nostrils, but eyes quickly adjusted to the gloom to see goats milling around in the open pen at the rear of the half-circular compartment.

Tariq together with Saad, lunged forward and fell determinedly amongst the bobbing, bleating beasts. Within moments Tariq waylaid a white billy, threw it over his shoulder and made for the entrance followed by Ryder and the others.

Suddenly Brady gave a cry of alarm.

Not 10 feet away stood an old man, propped against the door to an adjoining compartment, rifle levelled directly at Brady's chest.

A split second later the gun went off. Brady was thrown violently backwards and crashed heavily to the floor.

Panic gripped as the old man fumbled desperately to inject another bullet into the chamber of the .303.

Before anyone could react he swung the rifle up again.

In one swift movement, Ryder raised the rifle slung around his neck and fired.

The old Luri staggered backwards, a bullet between the eyes, and crumpled to the floor.

Sweeping Brady over his shoulder, Ryder hurriedly rushed for the entrance, staggered out and ran on up the hill, hotly pursued by the Luris alerted by the gunfire, themselves being chased by Kellar and the rest. The dogs jumped and barked loudly around the Luris, thinking the whole thing was a game. Catching up with the shepherds, Kellar forced them at gunpoint back to the dwelling.

At the ridge, Ryder gently laid the sergeant down and fell to the ground gasping. The American was bleeding badly and Afari did her best to staunch the flow using bunched cloth pressed tightly against the wound.

The rest arrived.

“What happened?” Kellar growled, looking at the mess that was Brady's right shoulder.

Ryder quickly explained.

“How bad is it?”

“Looks bad but only a flesh wound, bleeding heavily,” Afari replied.

“Can he be moved?” Ryder asked, concerned at the need to get away quickly; the shooting would undoubtedly bring others.

Whilst Afari tended the American, Tariq quickly sliced the throat of the bleating, struggling goat and hung it on a nearby tree branch to bleed out.

Brady struggled to get up. “Put more pressure on the wound,” he winced, “I'll be okay. Help me up. We can't hang around, for sure.”

Afari applied more cloth and pressure to the wound and then put the arm in a makeshift sling before helping the American to his feet. But he was shaky.

Ryder turned to Kellar. “Can you carry him?”

The big American nodded.

“Okay, let's move,” ordered a relieved Ryder.

With Brady slung across Kellar's shoulder and the goat on Tariq's they fled the ridge, Ryder acutely aware that distance was necessary for as long as strength permitted.

* * *

In the remote highlands, Ryder led the others in single file, trudging relentlessly through the scrub, tussock and stands of firs, negotiating slopes strewn with rocky outcrops and narrow, rippling streams. The goat was gutted and butchered at the first opportunity and the meat shared out equally. They covered many miles without encountering a single soul, not daring to remain long in one place to rest in the daylight hours and travelling only at night. Despite the hardship of the terrain they maintained a steady pace and Brady, after the second day, could thankfully manage unaided; his wound improving with the careful attention of Afari using lichen with medicinal qualities to stop infection, learnt from her father. The men looked like a bunch of brigands with weapons, scruffy, ill-fitting clothes and stubbly beards.

On the third day out from the Luri hut they came to a black tarsealed road that snaked through the centre of a narrow valley they would have to cross if to maintain a south-westerly direction. It was the first sign of civilization since the hut. In the distance could be seen a truck and a car travelling away from their position.

“Looks fairly new with those white line markings – even has crash barriers,” said Sicano.

“Pretty open down there too,” said Kellar. “If we're gonna cross, maybe we should wait till nightfall?”

It was early afternoon; Ryder didn't want to hang around that long. The two vehicles had vanished over the horizon and the straight road as far as the eye could see both ways was empty, although it did sweep behind a prominent bluff in the distance to their right. “No, we'll take our chances and cross now.”

With that they followed Ryder down the slope.

When they were less than thirty yards from the road a truck suddenly swept round the bluff followed by another, then another. Although well in the distance on the straight road, those driving the front vehicle would easily see the group if they attempted to cross or tried to run for what little cover there was.

Ryder immediately fell to the ground and crawled to a shallow depression with the rest hard on his heels. The dip, thankfully deep enough, with clumps of tussock at the base and on the rim, gave at least some form of cover several yards away from the road. He slowly popped his head up between the long grass and, using binoculars, scanned the oncoming trucks. “Fuck. Military,” he said, more to himself than to the others.

“How many?” shot Shiron.

“Three big bastards.”

“Carrying troops?”

“Maybe, can't tell.”

The Israeli swept his glasses over the trucks and moments later, “Definitely troop carriers.”

Oh, shit.
Ryder turned to the Americans. “If we're spotted, it's all over.”

“What the fuck are troops doing in this remote area?” Kellar asked.

“Military exercise maybe?” offered Sicano.

“In these remote mountains?” questioned Shiron.

Ryder now clearly heard the roar of the diesels. “Maybe they're here to hunt us down?”

“No, I don't think so,” said Fehed, “we are still not that far away from the Iraqi border. This road would frequently be used by the military. As you have seen for yourselves the region is rugged and roads are few and far between, using these highways is the only way to move troops and equipment fast between centres. They could be heading anywhere up north.”

Ryder hoped he was right; he was about find out. “Okay, here they come. Keep close together; hug the ground.” He prayed they would merge in with the mottled colours of the earth and tussock and that those in the vehicles would not be paying too much attention to the immediate surrounding land.

A thundering roar as the first of the three trucks came level to where they lay. Ryder gripped the butt of his rifle and awaited the sound of screeching brakes; it never came. The second truck swept by, then the third much to his relief. Ryder waited until the last had disappeared and all was clear before he stood and, with the rest, made a dash across the road, not stopping until they were well into the trees on the rising ground almost at the other side of the valley.

Twenty-four hours and some twelve miles later, after spending most of the darkness hours sleeping, another obstacle presented itself: a narrow bridge, some seventy-five yards long, spanning a deep gorge and guarded by troops on the far side. From a vantage point overlooking, Ryder scanned the metal structure and in particular the small complex of huts and a guardhouse on the far side.

“Why guard the bridge?” Kellar asked.

Fehed replied, “Because it is the only bridge going north from the military airfield at Dezful, and a likely target for insurgents. MEK have tried twice without success, as you can see.”

“How far does the gorge run?” Ryder asked, hoping they might avoid crossing.

“Many miles,” said Saad.

Ryder lifted the glasses and scanned the gorge both ways for as far as he could see; no likely crossing points, nothing obvious anyway. He swung back to focus on the buildings where the guards were. Two timber sheds, sat on a flat section of land beside the road with smoke coming from a central chimney, filled the lenses. Two canvas-covered army trucks sat behind the buildings and several soldiers could be seen milling around. Moving to the right he settled on a small guardhouse by the bridge with a lifting barrier where two soldiers in greatcoats stood watching the road. Pointing towards the buildings he asked Shiron, “What d'you make of those?”

“Bunk houses. Could house maybe fifteen to twenty men, and that guardhouse is probably manned every hour of the day and night.”

“Won't be easy getting past that many,” said Sicano. “Maybe we should look for another way.”

“The gorge both ways is pretty steep and rugged as far as I can tell,” said Ryder. “My guess is we'll have to travel miles out of our way over difficult ground to find one.”

“We should cross the bridge,” said Kellar.

Ryder, after viewing the ruggedness of the gorge, was now resigned to taking the bridge. He looked at the others, “What do you think?”