The Forgotten Land (40 page)

“Bravo
One, I fuckin’ hope so,” crackled the Australian voice, “because our vehicle’s
disabled and we’ll be dead by nightfall.”

“Did
he just swear over the radio?” warrant Officer Blamey asked.

Before
Stuart could reply, Blamey was coming towards him. “Tell him to mind his ratel
procedure,” Blamey said.

It
took all Stuart’s willpower to stop himself answering back. These poor bastards
were fighting for their lives and all Blamey was worried about was swearing
over the radio.

“Warrant
Officer Blamey!” Captain Otter called out. Otter shook his head slightly and
said no more. Blamey obviously understood because he stormed back to his seat
in silence.

“Alpha
Seven Four, hold fast, we’ll get you out of there, out,” Stuart said, noticing
that Captain Otter was hovering over his shoulder.

“Their
vehicle’s out of action, Sir,” said Stuart. “They’ve got no way of getting out
of there.”

“I
heard. Is that their grid reference?” Otter asked, inspecting Stuart’s notepad.

“Yes,
Sir.”

“Good
job, Stuart, I’m going to make some calls.”

Captain
Jason Otter was quickly back at his desk and dialling a number.

“This
is Captain Otter, communications centre, which unit is on standby?” There was
silence for a moment. “Three Commando, Royal Marines? Good, good. Can you put
me through to their CO? Okay, thanks.”

The
phone rang several times before it was answered. “Major Breckner,” said the
gruff voice.

“Afternoon,
Sir, my name is Captain Otter, communications centre. I understand that Three
Commando is on standby?”

“That’s
correct,” Breckner said, “but my boys are out. They’re reinforcing a bit of a
shit fight out west and may not be back ’til the day after tomorrow.”

“Oh,
I see,” Otter replied.

“What’s
the problem?” asked Breckner.

“We’ve
got an Australian SAS patrol in heavy contact with the enemy up near Barzan.
Their vehicle’s out of action and they’re fighting pretty hard. They think
there’s a good chance they’ll be overrun by nightfall.”

“Right,”
Breckner said and paused. “Give me half an hour,” he said, “then give me a call
back. I might be able to pull together a multinational team.”

“Right
you are, Sir,” replied Otter.

Captain
Otter was back at Stuart’s desk. Stuart was on another call, something about a
water and food resupply near Basra. Otter waited for the transmission to end.

“Okay,
for the Aussie SAS, the British unit on standby are out, but their commanding
officer is trying to get a force together. I’ll speak to him again in about
twenty-five minutes.”

“No
problem, Sir,” replied Stuart. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Otter
nodded.

Poor
bastards, thought Stuart to himself, I hope we get to them in time.

Captain
Otter was thinking the same thing, as he filled out paperwork, replied to
emails and answered the phone. Just as half an hour passed, he picked up the
phone again.

“Major
Breckner.”

“Captain
Otter, any results on the multinational force?”

“Not
yet, I have tried pulling rank with no joy. I have a few more tricks up my
sleeve, however, give me an hour.”

“Sir,
with all due respect, another hour and we might be too late.”

“Trust
me,” said Breckner. “I have one last option to follow before all normal protocol
is satisfied. Then I’ll be free to speak to whoever the hell I please. Trust me
Captain Otter, I’m not going to let these boys die. Having said that, never
underestimate the SAS, British or Australian, those boys will fight hard.”

“I
have no doubt. I will call in an hour, Sir,” said Otter.

Captain
Otter carried on replying to emails and occasionally swearing at the odd
person’s lack of common sense. He spoke on the phone, sent faxes, made sure
Warrant Officer Blamey was not bludging and kept Corporal Evans up to date
about what was happening with the SAS patrol. Stuart had originally taken the
radio call and it was only fair he be kept in the loop.

*
* * * *

“Fuck,
I miss home,” said Scott, sitting against a large boulder and searching for
some cigarettes in his pack. “I could have sworn I left a pack in here
somewhere,” he muttered.

“Yeah,
me too mate,” Steve replied.

“What,
you got smokes?” asked Scott.

“No,
you drongo, I miss home too. Miss my wife and kids, can’t wait to see ’em
again,” Steve said, putting the mag 58 back together after cleaning it.

Will
was on piquet and was lying some twenty metres away, keeping a watch on the
distant tent city. Heleena was nearby, sharpening her knives.

“Are
we to die here?” she asked out of the blue.

“I
hope not,” replied Steve. “I don’t think we will, but,” he shrugged, “there’s
always that possibility."

Heleena
looked across at Will. Steve knew what she was thinking. They had only just met
and probably wanted to start a life together, but that opportunity might be cut
short.

“Listen,”
Steve touched Heleena’s shoulder. “We are gonna fight long and hard. We have
help on the way and if they hurry, we’ll be outta here before we know it,” he
smiled reassuringly.

Heleena
seemed relieved.

“Something
Will mentioned to me just before,” Scott said, looking at Will who was still
watching Barzan through a pair of binoculars. “If we get through this, how the
hell do we get Heleena through customs?”

Steve
shrugged. “I’ve thought of that myself. Got me stuffed, mate, if the worst
comes to worst, we could try stashing her away with the weapons, but that’ll be
a bloody long time without food and water.”

“My
brother-in-law works for ASIO,” said Matt. “You’ve never mentioned that
before,” Steve said.

“Didn’t
need to,” said Matt. “Plus they’re a bunch of secretive buggers, they’d prefer
you didn’t even know they exist.”

“That’d
be a cool job!” Scott grinned.

“Not
really,” replied Matt. “He’s based in Canberra, which is bloody cold, and he
works out of some dirty brown, multi-storey building. When he’s out in the
field he gets to do some cool stuff and go to some interesting spots. Doesn’t
talk about that side of things much though. Anyway he should be able to sort
something for Heleena.”

“What
is customs?” Heleena asked.

“Don’t
worry about it,” smiled Steve. “Everything is okay, you won’t need to worry.”

“Won’t
be long now,” said Scott.

The
soldiers knew it was only a matter of time before they came under attack again.

“I’m
looking forward to seeing home,” said Matt, filling up his magazines with fresh
ammunition.

“Ah-ha!”
Scott said. He had found a crushed, sorry looking pack of cigarettes and was
tearing the plastic wrapper away. He lit the first cigarette and inhaled deeply.
“Oh that feels good,” he said, exhaling slowly. Heleena shrank from the foul
smelling smoke. She coughed and looked at the cigarette with disgust.

Steve
stood up. Leaning on a boulder, he craned his neck and looked out to where
their original observation post had been. The tiny, burned out husk of the
white four wheel drive was still there, although as far as he could make out,
the bodies had been taken away. The devastated remains of the APCs were still
strewn across the desert, an epitaph to the brutal efficiency of the Apache
gunship.

“What
you gonna do when you get home?” Scott asked Steve through the cigarette smoke.

“Get
laid,” chuckled Steve, still staring into the distance. Scott grinned. “Sounds like
a plan,” he said, flicking the spent cigarette and taking out another.

“Feels
like a dream,” said Matt, putting the filled magazines away.

“What
does?” asked Scott.

“What
we just went through,” replied Matt. “I think I learned about the Vikings once
in year eight or something, but don’t remember much. We were told they were
blood hungry thieves, rapists and murderers.”

“Some
of ‘em were,” laughed Scott.

“Yeah,
true, but I never expected them to be,” he went silent for a moment, “shit I
dunno, so bloody courageous and hardcore. A lot of those poor bastards in the
cave died so we could get home. I only knew a few of ’em by name.”

“Yeah,”
said Scott, blowing smoke out slowly. “I know what you mean, mate, but I dunno
if too many died, by Christ did those boys know how to fight!”

“Won’t
argue with you there,” Steve said.

“We
got movement!” Will’s voice called.

The
good humour vanished.

A
moment later they could hear heavy diesel engines start in the distance.

“Here
we go,” said Scott.

“APCs,”
muttered Steve, watching the small vehicles move slowly out into extended line.

“How
many?” asked Scott. He cocked the mag 58 and made sure he had plenty of spare
ammunition close at hand.

“Eight,
probably full of infantry. Oh Christ,” said Steve, “and a medium tank.”

“You
fuckin’n what?” asked Scott, the cigarette dropping out of his mouth. “A medium
what?”

“One
medium tank,” replied Steve, picking the .50 cal up by the handle and jamming
it between a tree trunk and a boulder. He cocked the weapon. He would be able
to swivel the weapon marginally, which would be enough to provide heavy
suppressive fire. “Probably the same one that fired on us before we went on our
little adventure.”

“Fuck!”
shouted Scott. “I thought we had a chance with eight APCs, now we’re really
fucked!”

“Matt,
what’s the answer on our exfil?” asked Steve. “It’s make or break time.”

The
familiar adrenalin kicked in.

*
* * * *

“Sir,
how’s the exfil coming along for the Australian SAS up in Barzan?” Corporal
Stuart Evans almost shouted across the communications room.

“Excuse
me for a moment,” the officer said into the phone. He placed the caller on hold
and turned. “Why?” he asked.

“I’ve
just received a call from them, they’re saying that heavy armour is mobilising
against them. They haven’t got much time left.”

“Bloody
hell,” Otter swore. “Give me a second,” he said and snatched up the phone.
“Call you back in ten,” he said.

He
called Major Breckner again.

“Sir,
Captain Otter again here, I know it’s a little early, but have you got an
answer on that exfil for the Australian SAS up in Barzan?”

“It’s
in the works. I’m waiting to hear back from intelligence. If I don’t hear from
’em in ten minutes I’m going down there myself to find out.”

“Okay,
but can you make it five minutes?” asked Otter. “Why, what’s happened?”

“We’ve
just received information that Iraqi heavy armour is mobilising against them,
time’s running out,” replied Otter.

“Christ
almighty, I’ll head down there now in that case, I don’t want to let these boys
die as I’m sure you don’t.”

“You’d
be right there,” said Otter.

“I’m
heading down there now, Captain, keep me posted if anything changes,” said
Breckner. He gave Otter his mobile number, before hanging up.

“Okay,
Major Breckner is going to sort it out with intelligence. Tell them that the
exfil will be on its way shortly,” said Otter to Corporal Evans.

Stuart
nodded. “Bravo One, this is Alpha Seven Four, over.”

Almost
ten seconds passed before the crackling Australian voice replied, “This is
Bravo One, send us good news, over.”

“Alpha
Seven Four, cavalry is on its way, exfil will be outbound shortly, over.”

“Bravo
One, if you’re not here soon, don’t bother, over!” came the response.

“Alpha
Seven Four, we’ll be there shortly, good luck, out.”

*
* * * *

“Good
luck?” Matt said, slinging three light anti-armour rocket launchers over his
shoulder. “Good luck? That’s what ya say to someone going for a friggin’ job
interview!”

“Good
luck my arse,” Matt muttered, watching the Iraqi advance.

“What’d
they say?” asked Steve.

“Yeah,
on the way apparently.”

“They’d
wanna be, and fast,” Steve said. “We’re not going to hold these boys off for
long.”

The
thunder of the heavy diesel engines carried on the breeze, promising nothing
but death.

“Right,
Will,” Steve said, “come in. You other blokes close in too.” Steve waited until
they were all crouched in a circle. “Right, what do you all think? Start with
you, Scott.”

“We’re
fuckin’ rooted!” laughed Scott flicking another spent cigarette away. “No, seriously,”
he said, “we need to keep that armour as far away as possible. We’ve got eleven
sixty-sixes left so it’s possible we can knock out at least one track from each
vehicle.”