Distant Annihilation. (Tarquin Collingwood Adventures Book 1) (24 page)

“He thought that his order to return to Iran might be revoked when he saw our vehicle. That’s why he stopped to check,” Guy explained, “He was wondering who we were. I told him that you and I are with the JFF, and thus his allies, that seemed to satisfy him,” said Guy smartly.

Just at that moment through my still open window I heard the sound of a distant car engine. The Highway, upon which we were parked, was about a metre above the barren ground either side; and thus afforded us a better view of the surrounding land. I looked over to the left of the road, strewn with small rocks and the occasional vegetation that extended as far as the eye could see. In the distance a pick-up truck was visible behind us on th
is desolate ground, coming towards the Highway quite slowly, sending up a trail of dust in its wake. There was something else travelling alongside the pick-up. Guy and I watched this spectacle in silence for a few seconds. As they got closer I could better make out the images. Then the realisation dawned on me. Running besides the pick-up were horses – three horses without riders! As far as I could tell neither the JFF nor the Persians used horses here; certainly not that I’d seen. Who else was here that did? Only us! I suddenly recalled the Major telling us where we would rendezvous with Mueller and Aziz before crossing the border; it was at a spot which would be roughly in the direction from which this pick-up was approaching. A ghastly thought passed through my mind at that moment - that some of my comrades had been caught or killed! I explained this to Guy and we decided that if my fears were confirmed that the priority would be to rescue them. In which case I could dispense with any notion of pursuing Zhukov, at least for the time being.

Just then the two vehicles in front of us moved off and resumed their journey to Iran. I shifted the gear into first, released the hand brake and put my foot on the accelerator. I turned the vehicle across the Highway, down the incline on the other side and into the barren ground in which the pick-up truck was approaching us. My intention was to intercept it before it reached the Highway. I moved in to second gear and increased speed. Guy grabbed the machine gun in readiness. The pick-up, upon seeing us, altered direction and made directly for us, as did the horses. The horses were in a gentle canter; kept on a long rein that led to the pick up, hence its slow speed. It had a double cab with four doors, able to accommodate five people I estimated. As we got inexorably closer I could see a man standing behind the cab with a machine gun slung over his shoulder. As we got closer I recognised the horses: a black gelding; a white mare and a chestnut coloured filly.

“Those horses belong to Mueller and Aziz!” I cried out to Guy. His reaction was to remove the safety catch on his machine gun.

An ominous feeling took hold of me as to the fate of Mueller and Aziz. As we came upon them I slowed down and furnished Guy with their description. I stopped, as did they, several metres apart; our vehicles facing each other, they slightly to our left, with the horses on the far side of the pick up away from us. As a former Cavalry Officer I noticed at once that the horses were not looking particularly well, having been run ragged, by brutes who had no inkling of equine husbandry. Guy got out, slung the machine gun authoritatively over his shoulder and walked toward the vehicle. I stayed in the driving seat, my back perspiring against the seat with the engine still running. Looking on apprehensively, my eyes utterly focused on Guy and his interaction with these men - for they were Persians. Two of them came out of the cab, the driver remained inside. As Guy approached them, he shook their hands. They then spoke for a moment, before Guy went over to the horses, followed by one of the men; this enabled him to walk past the cab of the pick-up and stop and see inside. He clearly asked the man about those whom he saw and then, upon reaching the chestnut filly he ran his hands along her neck and patted her affectionately. Taking a step back he then admired the filly’s flanks. He and the man appraised the horses
. Guy pointed and gestured as they discussed them. I nervously looked over my shoulder at the Highway - it was devoid of any traffic. It was gratifying to know that our enemies couldn’t get anything through from the Bactria Valley. A moment later Guy turned to the man shook hands and returned to our vehicle. As he took his seat next to me he said softly, “They’ve got them in the back seat......their hands are bound. One of them is definitely European the other an Azaki. If you’re sure the horses are theirs then there can be no doubt,” Guy concluded.

“What do you suggest we do?” I asked.

“The man standing behind the cab is a problem. If we launched an assault now, he would have a clean sweep at us with his gun,” turning to face me he challenged, “Can you take him Tarquin? This is what I propose.......”

Guy feigned annoyance and rebuked me demonstratively for the benefit of the Persians. I left the 4WD apologising to Guy and ran past the pick-up, ostensibly to answer the call of nature. Whilst I went out of sight Guy got out and paced about impatiently, seeking the sympathy of the Persians for his misfortune in having such a dullard as a driver. I found a clump of rock against which I did actually pass water. I then got out my Glock; and then surreptitiously approached the pick-up from the rear at a distance - partially concealed, crouching as I did so. When I was still a fair distance from it I knelt down, and holding my Glock in both hands, arms outstretched I brought my sights on the man, still standing behind the cab. His back was to me. I could see Guy loitering near the cab of the pick-up, engaging its occupants in conversation - in readiness. I licked my dried lips in apprehension, held my arms steady; brought my aim to his upper back and shot twice in quick succession. His body was flung forward before collapsing down in the back of the pick-up utterly lifeless. This was Guy’s signal to commence the slaughter of the trio of Persians in the cab. A machine gun would be too crude a weapon in such circumstances. He had acquired a pistol from one of the Persians whom we had slaughtered at the Haidar Gorge - good for when one had to distinguish between friend and foe in close quarter killing. As soon as I had fired my two shots I ran toward our quarry to offer Guy assistance; and as I did so I could see and hear him fir
ing his pistol repeatedly into the cab. The horses were startled but did not bolt. As I came upon the pick-up, the driver’s door opened as the driver was half way out attempting to escape. At that instant his body was convulsed as Guy’s bullets penetrated his body. He fell out dead; his corpse cruelly draped part on the ground and part still in the cab. Perspiring and feeling my heart beating furiously, I pointed my Glock into the cab.

I could see Guy on the other side. “The
y’re all quite dead,” he declared casually as he put away his pistol.

The two men whom Guy had been speaking to moments earlier were dead
. The man in front was slumped forward, Guy grabbed him to throw him out, as he did so his head rolled back on his shoulders, his chest was a bloody mess and his eyes stared blankly forward. The other man sitting in the back was a complete mess, where his face should have been there was nothing but blood and a big hole, his head was resting on the back of the seat facing upwards. He must have been shot in the face. I felt part admiration and part disgust at Guy’s ruthlessness. It was all quite grisly. I averted my eyes to the Highway for a few seconds; as much for a respite from this scene as to check for any oncoming enemy.

I then turned my attention on the two men in the back seat, for whom this slaughter had been undertaken. Unmistakably it was Mueller and Aziz - both had cuts and bruises. They both looked petrified, no doubt believing that they would also be slaughtered. I uncovered my mouth and upon recognising me, their look of fear was replaced by one of relief.

“Remember me?” I said cheerfully as I opened the rear door of the cab and began untying the hands of Aziz, whil
st Guy removed the corpse of the driver.

“You’ve done an excellent job at the Haidar Gorge,” said I attempting to lift their spirits.

Once Aziz’s hands and feet were unbound he took my right hand between his and began praising me to the heavens quite pathetically. This was a typical show of oriental excess - embarrassing as it was unseemly. Guy meanwhile freed Mueller of his bonds.

The German was much more dignified in his gratitude; coming up to me a moment later, he said with all solemnity, “You are a true varrior and soldier. I vas wrong to doubt you. Once again I am in your debt Herr Kapitain Collingwood.”

I replied self righteously that I always did right by my soldiers, to which he said pitiable - like a lost dog seeking a new master “The Major is not here so I vill obey your every vord.”

He saluted me with the utmost respect and was now quite chastened; his previous insolence having all but vanished. Naturally I returned the salute with equal respect, satisfied with his new found humility.

My rescued comrades were more or less unharmed – having been just a little roughed up. We distributed the weapons between us and obtained some items from the packs carried by the horses; which regrettably we had to abandon. Mueller and Aziz told us that they had had to take evasive action to avoid a patrol near the Haidar Gorge; they then got lost in the dark attempting to find the spot for the rendezvous and finally got captured soon after dawn. Thus not one of us knew what had become of the Major and Ismail. Within moments the four of us were on the Highway headed for the border at a good speed; Guy and I in our 4WD, with our two comrades in the pick-up in which they had been held prisoner, following.

“What do you think the Persians will do?” I enquired of Guy breaking the silence between us as I drove us along the Highway.

“They have never acknowledged that they were in the Bactria Valley violating Azakistan’s sovereignty. No doubt they will quietly try and find who was responsible. They can’t do much else,” observed Guy, “They’ll hush it up. If they make it public and condemn the attack, they’ll have to explain what they were doing here. Awkward questions would follow. They would therefore expose their own deceit,” said Guy smugly, making perfect sense.

“The beauty,” I realised, “is that no one has an interest in revealing what has happened here. Neither the Germans nor we want to admit that we’ve sent people here, without the knowledge of the Azakis; who in turn don’t want to concede that the Persians have made a mockery of their sovereignty. And the Iranians don’t want to admit that they’ve deceived the world and been constructing facilities contrary to what they’ve said.”

“Precisely,” Guy agreed.

“Solomon told me that they were also exporting machine parts and pipes to Zhukov. Where are they destined for?” I pondered.

“Possibly for other Iranian bases or for another customer of Zhukov’s,” suggested Guy.

“Of all the machinations and skulduggery in this part of the world for the last 200 years.....
Will it ever end?” I pondered despondently shaking my head.

To which Guy replied, “As someone once said,
When everyone is dead, The Great Game is finished and not before
.”

In the distance vehicles could suddenly be seen coming towards us from the direction of Iran. They consisted of a bus and two minivans. Having had the road to ourselves for so long I was initially alarmed, but as I observed closely I realised they were taking the workers to the base.

“Hadn’t they heard?” I asked surprised.

They whooshed past us at speed, not yet realising that they would do no work today.

“As usual it’s the workers who are the last to know anything,” said Guy flippantly.

A few minutes later more vehicles could be seen in the distance approaching us from the border; but these really did give cause for concern. They consisted of troop carriers, ambulances, 4WDs, cranes and excavators; moving at the speed of the slowest vehicle in the convoy. There were about 15 vehicles in total. It felt like an eternity as they went past us. I noticed that the 4WDs were packed the zealots of the Iranian Guard, with a mullah or two for good measure no doubt. Once the whole convoy had past we could hear the sound of oncoming helicopters - all military
, coming from the border. They were flying quite low, about a mile to our left, headed in the direction of the Bactria Valley. I looked into my rear view mirror and saw Mueller and Aziz reassuringly still behind us, but behind them.......

“Guy!” I cried the fear palpable in my voice as I brought my eyes back to the road in front.

He turned and looked over both his shoulders to be sure; and stuck his head out the window for good measure before bringing his head back in.

“We’ve got company,” he announced urgently raising his voice, “there are two 4WDs coming up in hot pursuit and the
y’re full of armed men.”

CHAPTER 30 – DEATH CHASE. A NOBLE SACRIFICE.

A new anxiety gripped me as I felt a cold chill of terror go through me. I pressed down harder on the accelerator cursing my luck, realising what Xenophon must have felt as he also evaded the Persians. Guy indicated the oncoming threat to our comrades behind us; whilst I began to wonder whether I would ever get out of this hellhole of a country.

“We’ve got to get off the road now - you can be certain that more of the enemy will be coming,” roared Guy over the din of the wind as he checked pieces of our arsenal.