The Forgotten Land (44 page)

He
lined up a distant enemy in his sights and fired several shots before his
weapon fell silent with a metallic click. Breckner slapped a fresh magazine
into the weapon, brought it back into his shoulder and fired again, watching
the enemy soldier clasp his shoulder and fall from view. Sprinting forward,
Breckner again dived to the ground, skidding for almost a metre before opening
fire.

The
Ghurkhas moved into his line of sight. Breckner rolled onto his side and looked
up at the distant helicopters. The Lynxs and Chinook had moved away from the
battle and were waiting for the extraction somewhere out of view, at least that
is what he assumed. Roaring low and fast came the gunships, their chain guns
singing with methodical thumps. The protected enemy were fast diminishing in
number.

The
Ghurkhas were almost on top of the enemy now, closely followed by the
Americans. The Marines had fought their way into a position about a hundred
metres behind the enemy and were prepared to cut them off if they tried to
withdraw. The small group of Iraqis, broke and ran, some dropping their weapons
and discarding their ammunition. The Marines shot them mechanically as they
retreated, their blood soaking into the desert. Breckner watched Pup move
carefully forward from cover to survey the enemy position.

Pup
moved slowly, with his weapon pulled to his shoulder. He was aware, however,
that there might be one or two lying on the ground who were still alive and
eager to kill an infidel before they died. Pup was unsure of one man who was on
his back, eyes closed and with his weapon nearby. Pup fired a shot into the
side of the man’s skull. Coagulated blood and brain matter oozed slowly from
the hole.

Another
enemy soldier was groaning softly as he dragged himself away from the scene of
carnage. Pup knelt down beside him, cradling his rifle in his arms and reaching
down to take a hold of the man’s arm. “Hang on there, we’ll get you some help,”
he said softly, ripping open a trauma bandage. Gently rolling the man onto his
back, Pup saw he had taken a large chunk of shrapnel through his belly and most
of his small intestines were hanging from the wound. Dirt had worked its way in
and Pup knew there was no chance of fighting the infection that would come. The
man would die slowly and in agony. Kneeling down and discarding the bandage, he
rested the soldier’s head on his knee.

The
man was talking rapidly in Arabic.

“Any
of you boys a medic?” he called to the American soldiers nearby.

None
were. He was about to shout out to the Ghurkhas when one of the Australians
knelt by him.

“Morphine?”
the Australian asked, looking at the enemy soldier. Pup nodded.

As
the Australian soldier administered an overdose of morphine, Pup talked softly
to the soldier, reassuring him. The man’s eyes which were full of pain and fear
slowly closed as the drug took effect. His breathing became slower and
shallower and eventually stopped. Pup placed the man’s head gently on the ground.
The two soldiers moved away. Within minutes the transport helicopters had
landed, sending dust and dirt skyward. The gunships hovered nearby, watching
for any threat. Five minutes later, the desert was silent, apart from a soft
wind that massaged the dust and gently fluttered the uniforms of the dead.

CHAPTER
21

Major
Breckner was on board the Chinook with the Australians. The beast lifted from
the ground and accelerated away violently. The most dangerous times for a
helicopter were landing and taking off, which was why the approach to or
departure from an area was often fast, violent and uncomfortable.

SAS
soldiers often dressed in full Arab clothing when they were out on patrol so
they blended in with the local communities, but the soldiers here were dressed
like nothing he had ever seen before. They wore strange shirts, long pants and
heavy woollen cloaks that were clipped at their left shoulders by large metal
or wooden brooches. Two of these were shaped like hammers, another shaped with
the face of a snarling man and the third was shaped like a ship. Tied to the
outside of the soldiers’ packs were sheathed swords, but he must have been
mistaken. What he found strangest of all was that the dead soldier they had
dragged on board was dressed in normal Multi Cam uniform. It was obvious he had
been dead a long time. Something was amiss here but Breckner could not work out
what it was.

The
rear gunner was sitting on the ramp looking out, whilst towards the front of
the helicopter were two side gunners, one facing left, the other right.
Breckner sat down beside the soldiers, who all looked exhausted. The strangely
comforting hint of fumes and engine heat drifted in from the opening at the
rear of the huge helicopter.

Steve
was beside one of the side gunners.

“Hey!”
he shouted.

The
gunner looked round.

“Can
you tell the Apache boys to put a couple of rockets into our Rover?”

The
gunner shook his head.

Steve
yelled over the engine noise and this time the gunner gave the thumbs up and
spoke into his microphone.

Within
a minute the Apaches had each launched a rocket into the doomed Land Rover and
laced the stricken vehicle with their chain guns, demolishing it and preventing
it from falling into enemy hands.

There
was also a young woman with them. She was beautiful, and well developed
Breckner noticed appreciatively. She carried an edge of strength about her. She
too was dressed rather oddly, and was carrying two long daggers and three
smaller ones across her chest.

Breckner
leaned over to the soldier beside him.

“Matty
Breckner,” he shouted, holding out his hand.

“Matt,”
replied the soldier. “Thanks for getting us out of the shit, mate, dunno if we
would have lasted much longer.”

“You
did well lasting as long as you did!” Matt shrugged. “Luck I guess,” he
grinned.

Breckner
nodded but he knew damn well it was more than luck. The Special Air Service
were some of the finest soldiers in the world, and although the soldiers looked
exhausted, they still carried themselves well. Their faces were weather worn,
but their eyes still had that sharp glint that he often saw in the special
forces community. No matter how tired they were, or how hard they had been
pushed, that cunning gleam remained in their eyes along with the promise of
sudden violence if things went wrong.

Breckner
clumsily worked his way to the next soldier.

“Matty
Breckner.”

“G’day,
mate, Scotty,” the soldier shouted back, taking Breckner’s hand in an iron
grip. “Saved our arse back there, thanks for that.”

“We
tried to get here as fast as we could,” shouted Breckner, “but you know how red
tape can be, we had to put the team together behind the head honcho’s back.”

“Love
your work. You’ll have to introduce me to your head honcho when we get back,”
he grinned.

Although
the soldier was grinning, Breckner could see the hint of violence in Scott’s
face.

“I
don’t think that’s a good idea,” yelled Breckner, “he’s going to be pretty
annoyed we went without permission.”

“He’s
going to be annoyed?” shouted Scott. “Want me to smack him out for ya?”

“Would
love you to, but it’s not worth the paperwork.”

Scott
roared with laughter.

Breckner
became aware of the pungent aroma of cigarette smoke.

Scott
lifted a cigarette to his mouth and took a long drag.

Breckner
was about to grab the cigarette, but a soldier from the opposite side of the
helicopter beat him to it.

“You
bloody crazy?” shouted the soldier, throwing the cigarette on the floor and
extinguishing it beneath his boot.

 “Sorry,
Steve, didn’t know,” Scott said.

 “All
this thing is,” Steve yelled, gesturing at the helicopter, “is one big fuel
tank. All ya need is a spark in the right place and we end up a fire ball in
the sky!” Steve roared. “Can’t you wait half an hour?”

“Yeah
righto, Steve, point taken, mate.”

“Just
wait until we land, mate, and I’ll buy you a pack myself, you can smoke ’til
the cows come home,” Steve sat down again.

Breckner
sat beside him. “Breckner,” he shouted, holding out his hand again.

“Steve,
how are ya?” shaking the offered hand. “Not bad, are you in command?”

“Yeah,
apparently,” Steve said. “So what happened out there?”

Steve
shrugged. “Bit of this, bit of that, you know how it is. We had a bit of a
disagreement with the Iraqis. Lucky you guys showed up when you did.”

The
response didn’t satisfy Breckner, but he was not surprised. Operational
security was paramount.

Breckner
made his way to the last soldier, who was quietly cleaning his weapon. The
woman, he noticed, was sat very close to him. She looked terrified.

“Matty
Breckner.”

“Will,”
the man shouted back with a nod of his head.

“Having
a good day?” Breckner realised how stupid the question sounded.

“Bloody
oath, I am now!” Will shouted. “You blokes showed up just in time. Now I get to
go back home!”

Breckner
looked down at the dead soldier hidden beneath the ground sheet.

“What
was his name?”

“Dave!”
replied Will. “Good bloke and a bloody good soldier. Not many like him, know
what I mean?”

“Unfortunately
I do,” shouted Breckner. “A lot of good men have died under my command. Too
many.” “What unit you with?”

“Three
Commando Royal Marines,” Breckner responded. Will nodded. “How long you been in
Iraq?”

“We’ve
been here for over five months now,” shouted Breckner. “Our rotation will stay
for another two or three months before going home.”

“Nice!”
Will replied.

Then
he noticed Breckner watching Heleena curiously.

“She’s
never been on a helicopter before!” Will grinned, placing an arm around her.
She gave Will a faint smile.

The
Chinook suddenly banked steeply to the right and the right- hand side gun
opened up. The gunner was aiming at something low to the left. He was firing in
long bursts, his gun tracking to the centre and to the right as they flew past
the threat. The rear gun opened up a moment later. Spent cartridges cascaded
from the gun and disappeared over the rear ramp, or bounced and rolled on the
floor. There were several flashes dangerously close to the rear ramp that may
have been tracer from ground fire, but Breckner could not be sure. The rear gun
continued to fire, falling silent only when an Apache gunship came into view.
The Apache turned steeply and flares burst from its flanks as its massive gun
opened up towards the ground in a roar of noise. The Chinook banked steeply to
the left and the Apache disappeared.

Breckner
clung to his seat as the chopper ascended and descended over a sharp mountain
peak. This was a much different ride than he had experienced on the way in to
the target area. The Chinook was just as fast as the Lynx, but even at speed
was dangerously manoeuvrable.

They
flew low and fast, the desert almost a blur beneath them. Again the Chinook
ascended sharply, banked hard to the right and descended down into a deep
valley. Leaning forward Breckner caught a glimpse of one of the Lynxs. A hint
of fumes trailed the air behind the smaller chopper, but it was gone as the
Chinook turned sharply again. Breckner’s stomach felt worse for wear, he looked
at the Australian soldiers to see they were enjoying the ride.

Will
leaned towards him. “You look sick, mate!” “I feel it!” Breckner shouted back.

“This
is better than flyin’ straight and slow. We’ve got less chance of coppin’ a
bullet!”

Breckner
was about to respond but the Chinook ascended violently. This time the
left-hand gun began firing and the smell of cordite filled the Chinook. The
noise was somehow comforting. The rear gun came to life again and as the
Chinook slewed to the left Breckner caught a flash of the Lynx again. Behind
it, just for a moment, he saw an Apache fire two rockets in quick succession. A
series of dull thuds mingled with the scream of the engines and flares streamed
from the Chinook. Breckner watched the flares descending lazily towards the
ground, before the aircraft turned violently to the left.

“Wish
I knew what was going on!” shouted Breckner looking around for a headset.

Will
shrugged. “No point worrying. We ain’t in control any more. We get hit, then we
get hit, nothin’ we can do about it.”

Breckner
nodded. What the soldier said was true; their lives were in the hands of the
pilot, the weapon skills of the gunners and whoever was firing at them from the
ground.

The
Chinook banked murderously. Dave’s corpse slid across the floor and came to
rest with a dull thud against the side of the aircraft. The soldiers had
boarded quickly so there had been no time to secure the corpse properly.
Breckner struggled to hold down some vomit.

“I’ll
warn ya, mate, I’m a sympathy spewer, so if you go and I catch a whiff, sure as
shit I’m goin’ as well,” he laughed.

Breckner
nodded.

“Go
get ‘em boys!” shouted Scott from the other side of the Chinook.

Breckner
saw both Apaches accelerating away from them towards a group of small dots on
the ground. As he watched the dots, that must have been enemy soldiers, he saw
a burst of dust, a puff of smoke and a rocket zipped into the air from the
ground. It was wildly inaccurate but a second came close to one of the Apaches,
forcing the gunship to fire flares whilst swerving away. Both Apaches opened up
together and four rockets screamed towards the enemy, obliterating them from
view in one huge explosion.

“Suck
that up Mohammad!” roared Scott.

The
Chinook continued to dodge and weave through deep valleys until they eventually
came to their destination. They landed gently on the tarmac at a massive base
on the outskirts of Basra. The American Apaches roared past as the Chinook’s
engines shut down. Breckner clambered to his feet as the engines fell silent.

“You
look green, mate,” said Steve in the deafening silence. “Thanks,” muttered
Breckner with a smile.

Breckner
helped carry the soldiers’ packs out of the aircraft, but as he turned back to
the aircraft for more equipment, he heard a familiar voice.

“Major
Breckner!” the voice shouted. “Major Breckner!”

Breckner
watched Major Douglas stride across the tarmac towards him.

“I
told you I’d go with or without your permission Barry,” called out Breckner.
“These boys were in the shit, and we had the capability to help them.”

“I
did not authorise this mission!” screamed Douglas.

“Whether
you did or not—” Breckner began. “I did not!” roared Douglas.

“Your
pilots did a splendid job, if it’s any consolation,” said Breckner, maintaining
calm.

“I
don’t care what they did!” yelled Major Douglas.

“Apparently
not,” said Breckner, trying to push past the infuriated officer.

Douglas
pushed Breckner back. “I’ll have you on a charge!” Douglas yelled.

The
aircrews from the Chinook and the Lynxs approached the altercation in an effort
to back Breckner.

“Oi!”
yelled a voice. Steve stopped beside Breckner. “What’s your name, mate?”

Major
Douglas looked Steve up and down. “Sir, to you!” he shouted. “And who might you
be! You’re dressed like—”

Steve
stepped forward until he was nose to nose with Douglas.

The
Major fell silent. “I said,” replied Steve, “what’s your name?”

“Major
Douglas,” replied Douglas, trying to stand tall.

“Not
your rank dickhead, your name!” Steve roared.

“Who
the fuck do you think you are?” shouted Scott, striding towards Douglas with
clenched fists.

“Stay
outta this!” yelled Steve, his eyes fixed on the officer.

“Barry,”
growled Douglas. “Barry?” Steve repeated. The officer nodded.

“Right,
Barry, come ’ere,” said Steve, moving away. When Major Douglas did not make any
effort to follow, Steve turned, grabbed a fist full of the officer’s shirt and
pulled him along behind him. “I said come ’ere!”