Distant Annihilation. (Tarquin Collingwood Adventures Book 1) (15 page)

We all stood askance wondering who the devil this was. He looked middle aged and moved steadily. Mueller kept his gun trained on him. He was scruffy, unshaven and bizarrely dressed. His face was wrinkled and weather beaten. Ismail shouted something to him in Azaki and the man gestured in supplication to indicate he was no threat.

“Some old fool,” sneered the Major.

Mueller holding his gun in one hand walked towards the man, and with his other hand raised the man to his feet shouting oaths in German. Mueller released his grip and started rummaging into the man’s belongings, as Ismail began quizzing him. Mueller finding nothing of interest in the man’s belongings turned away and put away his gun. Ismail after having exchanged a few words with him explained to us that the man was not a native – his Azaki being atrocious, but a wandering traveller dependent on alms for his keep. He reminded me of one of those austere half naked, Indian fakirs, who wonders around preaching and praying, living off the generosity of others. The rain had stopped and the Major ordered us to move on. I was the last to leave the cave and as I did so I turned to have one last look at this wandering hermit. There was something decidedly queer about him that bothered me.

It was good to get out of that stuffy and damp cave and breathe some fresh air. The Major and Ismail consulted one another and decided the course we would follow. The Major, I was pleased to see did not stand on heirs with Ismail or Aziz - he was quite willing to defer to native intelligence and had the humility to ask for suggestions or opinions when he deemed it necessary. This showed a complete want of arrogance on his part, that I thought boded well for the leadership of our endeavour. The going was good as we walked along the ridge at the top of the Valley wall. After awhile the Valley like some great river turned to the left. Here the Valley floor broadened out. At this juncture we came to a stop and I looked down at the Valley floor, despite the darkness.

The Major remarked, “If you look closely you will see that the Valley floor continues to decline at a slight gradient as it progresses.”

I noticed he was right and recalled my military training in Night Ops and Orientation.

I shivered at both the thought of how high we were as well as the cold. We walked a little further following the Valley wall, at which point we stopped. We looked further down the Valley; part of the wall curved around and in what must have been nearly a mile we could see in silhouette the top of Khazali’s Mound rising above the Valley floor. The feeling of being close to that which we had come to destroy was palpable. We walked further on and at this point we could see a distant light and some movement. The Major and Mueller produced Night Vision binoculars, which have Thermal Imaging from their rucksacks. These were state of the art, light weight small and black. They both scanned the entirety of the Valley walls around us and in the distance where we had seen the light. They made the occasional remark to each other in German, commenting on their observations. We stopped to snack on the nuts and dates and drank some of our water. We then resumed in order get to the point in the Valley wall opposite the Installation we had come to destroy. Ismail was sent ahead as an advance scout about 20 metres ahead of us. As we approached we could hear the faint sound of the machinery rising up to us. At the edge of the wall we saw the glow of lights illuminating the site; which was all the more striking given the surrounding darkness. And then we were confronted with the lights and the whirring of the machines as we reached our vantage point.

Crouching down, I looked across and what greeted my eyes was impressive and alarming. Set against the dark back drop of Khazali’s Mound, as bold as brass it was like any other construction site; there were several vehicles and a couple of cranes and workmen. I immediately noticed that about 50 metres above the site, there was an enormous tarpaulin canopy acting as a roof over most of the site. They were supported by metal columns driven into the walls, or the floor of the valley. They must exist to conceal the site from aerial surveillance. The floodlights were placed around the site – but under the tarpaulin covers. There were also tents, portacabins, latrines and a refectory scattered to the right as I looked. Far to the left there was an anti aircraft battery. Under the tarpaulin was a rectangular concrete base, about the size of a football pitch; in which there was a large circular outline in the centre from where the missiles would be launched from their underground silos. A separate rectangular “hole” surrounded by a balustrade was right next to the circular outline – a staircase. The base was sufficiently in front of the steep walls of Khazali’s Mound - to ensure the missiles had adequate clearance as they rose from the valley floor into the sky.

The Major was next to me on my left. As we apprised ourselves of the scene before us the Major said, “Take a good look Captain Collingwood. That is what we have come to destroy and inevitably we shall take some of those lives in the process.”

My heart beat a little faster as I surveyed the scenery in all directions on this cold evening pondering on how we would achieve our objective and then escape safely. Speaking softly the Major explained that there were about a couple of hundred workers, almost all of whom were Persians. They lived in Iran and were transported across the border each day and then back again by trucks and buses under the escort of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard (IRG). The journey lasted an hour and was therefore eminently commutable on a daily basis. He explained that judging by the few there at present they work in shifts from early morning until the evening. I asked about the tarpaulin cover and gave the Major my theory as to its purpose – he concurred entirely. Just then a wailing siren began to sound. This was the signal for the end of the workers shift. They stopped working and walked off the site from where they would be driven back into Persia. After the workers had left, surveillance of the site with our binoculars revealed about nine lightly armed men. No doubt there were many more who could be called upon should the need arise. They wore trousers and several wore parka jackets and had neat beards. The fact that they did not wear Azaki traditional dress rather confirmed the suspicion that they were Persians.

“Iranian Revolutionary Guards,” said Ismail under his breath looking down at them on my right with Mueller on his right.

My god the cheek of it I thought. These Persians and in particular the IRG have been supporting Hezbollah in the Lebanon, Hamas in the Palestinian territories and Insurgents in Iraq and Afghanistan; in particular killing British soldiers through Improvised Explosive Devices. I recalled that a couple of the soldiers I once served with in the 9
th
Berkshire Hussars had lost limbs in Iraq, this only heightened my anger and determination to thwart these despicable Persian designs. Wherever one found the influence of Iran it was poisonous, violent, anti democratic and just plain egregious.

Just at that moment the floodlights were switched off, leaving only some poor secondary lighting - just enough for the guards to be able to see each other. At that juncture Mueller started muttering some rot, which I could barely make out and then it got louder. He was clearly cursing in German – I heard the term “Scheinhund” at least once and he was making some odious threats as to what he would do if he came to grips with the IRG. As we observed the guards through the binoculars, it became apparent that they were expecting an uneventful night; one of them sat in a chair besides which he placed his gun and seemed to dose off and another was drinking something poured from a flask. We watched them for half an hour to see whether their numbers would be augmented by additional security. In doing so we surveyed the surrounding Valley walls for additional guards but detected none. The Major was quite meticulous in this regard with Mueller’s assistance. Content, we got up and walked a few metres back where the Major announced, “Right there is nothing further to do here tonight. Let us return.”

We got back into single formation to go back the way we had come and proceeded with Ismail sent on a little ahead. The Major and I agreed that it had been a splendid evenings reconnoitring and that we had derived some excellent intelligence. I looked on ahead - Ismail was out of sight as he had gone round a slight bend in the wall. The three of us continued on in silence and as we walked around this bend in the path, we saw Ismail standing still with his hands in the air and a man standing in front of him, looking distinctly as if he was from the JFF pointing a machine gun at him. Before we had a chance to react we heard a sharp voice from behind us shouting at us. The three of us turned abruptly to see another man pointing a machine gun at us - his finger nervously poised on the trigger ready to slay us.

CHAPTER 19 – A TEA PARTY & THE DEVIL’S MOUTH.

I could barely believe what had happened. I had a machine gun pointed at me and was vaguely nauseous. The JFF men nervously shouted to one another. I reflected grimly on the vicissitudes of fortune and how they could change in an instant. Had we been remiss in our vigilance so engrossed were we in our intelligence gathering and mutual self satisfaction? The fellow who was standing in front of Ismail was barking questions at him aggressively in Azaki. Ismail was, judging by his deferential body language feigning ignorance and innocence. I got the impression that our captors were unsure what to do with us, so surprised were they in capturing us. The JFF man nearer to us turned and prodded us with his machine gun shouting questions or curses, I know not which. The Major then began speaking softly in Azaki to our captor. This had the effect of momentarily silencing and surprising him. Our guard seemed to reduce his vigilance and walked a couple of metres towards the other guard in order to confer with to him. The JFF men were still several metres apart - so far in advance had Ismail been when we were ambushed. Our guard turned back from his fellow who was guarding Ismail to resume his parley with the Major. We still had our hands in the air. As he took a couple of steps back towards the Major, Mueller rushed towards Ismail and the Major taking advantage of the JFF man’s confusion took down his hands and in an instant rushed up to him and placed his right arm around his quarries neck, whilst his left hand made a sharp and quick movement in to the JFF man’s guts - stabbing him. Only when the Major was sure that he was dead did he remove the knife and his grip from around the neck of the now prostrate corpse.

I turned to look in the direction of Ismail only to see the other JFF man lying motionless on the ground with both Ismail and Mueller standing over him. The latter was doused in sweat and held a knife dripping in blood. It seemed Mueller had a way with knives - this was the second JFF man he had killed by this method. As Mueller had made his move past me, Ismail had attacked his captor. Mueller had then moved in and dispatched him with a stroke of the knife. The Germans had clearly acted in concert, having served together for years.

“That was an impressive move Major,” I praised.

“Yes it had to be done,” he replied cursorily, before going on to explain that he told the JFF man that we were allies. This explained their uncertainty, which was ruthlessly exploited by my Germans as evinced by the corpses at our feet.

The Major then went to speak to Ismail, and as I turned around I saw Mueller standing before me with a grim look on his face. Before I had a chance to say or do anything Mueller blurted out venomously, “It is not only you that can kill the enemy and rescue us Kapitain Collingwood.”

He was nursing a grudge because I had had the effrontery to rescue him and the others. This I now understood was why Mueller had not said a word to me since then - until now when he felt his “debt” could be redeemed.

“I’m exceedingly glad of it. It’s nice to know that we’re all brave chaps,” I said in a rather nonchalant manner.

It was
an effort for him not to shout as the veins in his neck rose and he spat out his words in his anger, “You think this is like an evening tea party viz your jokes?”

“An evening tea party sounds an unconscionable idea,” I mocked, “Don’t you mean an afternoon tea party?” I suggested

“Tea,” he screamed, “Is that all you English ever think about?”

“You are the one who started talking about tea – not I,” I said in a good humoured way.

He looked as if he was about to explode with indignation, or worse, practice some of his swift knife work on me. I for one had had enough. I would not put up with such impertinence from an officer of equal rank to me, much less a sergeant. And my patience with this impudent upstart was finally exhausted. I walked up to Mueller until I was standing just a metre in front of him and assumed a military bearing and dispensed with the good humour.

“Achtung Mueller,” I bellowed firmly. This sudden change of demeanour seemed to surprise him. For he suddenly stood bolt straight, arms by his side’s, chest out and shoulders back as if he were on parade. An automaton if ever I saw one
!

“Verstehen diese worte!” I
began, “This is not a competition to see who can rescue and kill the most. We are here in the service of our countries on a common gaol. We should act like a band of brothers, not rats in a sack. Your insubordination does you and your uniform a disservice. A good Bundeswehr soldier knows how to respect and obey an officer.”

I turned and walked away hoping my little speech would have the desired effect. We concealed the bodies and returned to camp without further incident.