Run With The Brave (12 page)

Everyone, except Sicano, agreed the bridge, although more than risky, was the only practical option.

Through the binoculars, Ryder studied the trestlework of steel girders supporting the bridge and in particular the guardhouse and its proximity to the structure.

“We have two choices,” he eventually said. “Either cross under the bridge through the trestlework, or wait until nightfall to cross on top and take out the guards.”

“Both very chancy; the second even more so,” said Shiron.

“If those guards see us before we get close enough we'll be sitting targets,” Sicano said, looking intensely at Ryder, sharp features blunted by shaggy black beard.

Another thought struck Ryder, “Maybe we don't need to all cross together.” He paused to think clearly, “Maybe me, you, Sergeant,” he glanced at Shiron, “and you,” turning to Kellar, “can cross through the trestlework when dark, take out the guards, then the rest of you can cross on the top.” He waited expectantly for a response, but silence prevailed.

Then, “Tricky, attempting the steelwork,” said Shiron.

“There is another way,” offered Sicano. “We could wait for a convoy going south and take out the last vehicle on the bend down there,” he pointed to where the road curved at almost 90 degrees around the outcrop below.

“Could work if the convoy was well spread,” said Hellmann.

“If successful we could stay with the convoy until safe to ditch, maybe thirty to forty miles further south-east – travelling fast and in relative comfort,” Sicano pressed.

Good option,
thought Ryder. “Worth a try, but if nothing comes before nightfall we cross on the girders and take out the guards.” He hoped a convoy would come along soon. That settled, the group slipped down to the roadside and waited in the cover of a ditch below the level of the tarsealed surface.

The day drew on with not a sign of any vehicle until eventually the shadows grew long and finally dusk fell.

Ryder raised binoculars and focused on the bridge guardhouse for the last time in the fading light. From his position in the ditch he could see one guard standing stamping his feet by the barrier and another through the glass-fronted structure. He then ran the glasses over what he could see of the bridge structure itself, and shuddered at the thought of clambering through the myriad of angled girders in the dark some100 feet above the narrow river that ran at the bottom. In another half hour he would have to make the attempt.

The minutes ticked by and full darkness fell.

“Okay, the bridge it is,” he said finally.

“Wait another fifteen minutes,” said Sicano.

“We're going now,” Ryder growled, tired of the cold ditch and not wanting to hang around any longer. “It'll take time to get through that maze of girders. If the opportunity comes in the form of a truck and you think you can take it then be my guest. If you get by the guards, wait for us somewhere along the road on the other side. We'll find you.” He paused, waiting for a response, none came so he continued, “If you're still here when we get to the other side, watch for my signal, I'll walk to the barrier and wave then you cross the bridge as quickly as you can.” He turned to Shiron and Kellar, “Take only pistol and knife, we need to be light shifting through that structure.” Then to the rest, “Take our packs.”

With that he led the Israeli and the American crawling along the ditch until they reached the steel stanchions supporting the main trusses at the beginning of the bridge. Swinging up on to the bottom chord of the outside truss that clear-spanned to the other side, terminating next to the guardhouse, the three men edged their way gingerly along the steelwork using the bracing between the main uprights and cross-struts to maintain balance and avoid plunging to the rocks below. A cold wind whistled through the steelwork. Ryder felt its bite, but he dared not relax his grip. With fingers numb he grimly felt his way forward along the narrow, slippery metal.

Suddenly, halfway across, a gasp; Ryder turned in time to see Shiron, several steps behind, fall, fling out his arms and wrap them around a metal strut that angled out to the centre of the bridge. In sheer desperation he hung there; eyes full of fear. Kellar, a few feet back, tried to reach him, slipped himself and he too almost fell in the process.

Ryder edged back, reached the T-shaped strut, and with one arm anchored around a cross-brace leant outward as far as he could and grasped the Israeli's nearest wrist with an iron-like grip. He pulled Shiron slowly down the strut towards the base of the main truss until he was able to hoist the Israeli, with some difficulty, back upright again on the bottom chord. Shiron held on to the metalwork for a moment, controlling his fear before the three continued on.

Ryder reached the other side fired up with adrenaline and ready to take out the guards. Having not heard the rumble of vehicles on the structure whilst clambering through the bridge girders, he assumed the others would now be moving up ready to cross on foot.

He emerged from the steelwork maze leading the other two and clambered up the short rock incline until all three lay on a ledge just below the level of the guardhouse. Ryder could see a soldier by the barrier, AK slung over his shoulder, and the head and shoulders of another inside the guardhouse itself. He signalled for Kellar to deal with the guard at the barrier whilst he and Shiron would take the other.

In the darkness, with the sound of wind gusting around the buildings nearby, Ryder and the Israeli left the ledge shortly after Kellar, covered the few yards' separation from the guardhouse and crept stealthily towards the rear entrance. Kellar, in the meantime, had headed for the barrier, concealing himself behind the bridge parapet only a few feet away from the guard but out of sight of the other. He would wait for Ryder to make the first move.

At the door, Ryder knocked with knife handle and placed his back hard up against the side wall. Shiron did the same opposite.

A shout from inside, the sound of boots on a timber floor and the door opened. A large, heavy-set man poked his head out on a long neck but before he could utter a word, Ryder, with one powerful sweep upwards, sunk the knife deep into the guard's throat severing the trachea and larynx, stifling any sound, before withdrawing it swiftly as he fell. Shiron caught him, lowered the twitching body to the ground, rolled it to the edge of the gorge and pushed it over.

Kellar watched the guard in the hut move out of sight and guessed Ryder was about to make his move. The other guard by the lowered barrier, back to parapet, stamped his feet to combat the cold. The American silently waited for several seconds with knife gripped firmly in his right hand, then leapt, placing left hand firmly over the guard's mouth before plunging the 8-inch steel blade under the man's shoulder and upwards deep into his heart. The soldier died instantly and without a sound. Dragging the body the short distance to the edge of the gorge, he tipped it over.

Ryder and Shiron joined Kellar at the barrier. Ryder signalled to the others concealed in the ditch on the far side of the bridge. They emerged one by one and began to hurriedly cross, arriving minutes later at the barrier. Snow flurries swirled as the group made their way silently towards the main building. Light emanated through small, high-level windows and the strains of Arab music could be heard over the gusting wind. Ryder, closely watching the entrance door and feeling very vulnerable at this point, hoped like hell no one inside would choose this moment to step out. As they passed without mishap and reached the two army trucks he had an idea and called the group into the lee of the nearest vehicle out of sight of the buildings. He spoke to Kellar, “Sergeant, jump in and tell me if you can handle it.”

The American opened the cab door and climbed in. Seconds later he came back out and said, “No problem – even has key in the ignition.”

Ryder nodded, thankful for small mercies. “Here's what we do, Sergeant,” he looked intently at Kellar, “take the wheel; the rest of us will push this fucker and you let it roll.” He pointed towards the relatively steep incline of the road running away from the bridge. “Once you're well down and out of earshot, start the engine and we'll clamber aboard.” He paused looking at each of the group in turn for any comment; none came. “Okay, let's do it.”

Kellar got back into the cab and released the handbrake whilst the rest quietly got behind the Iranian 2.5 ton Neynava army truck and began to push. Slowly, the vehicle edged silently forward, gathering speed, and rolled from where it was parked out on to the road. Shortly, enough speed was gained to enable it to continue unaided.

A hundred yards further on Kellar applied the brakes and waited for the others to catch up. Once they all had, Ryder joined the American in the cab and the rest clambered into the rear, settling amongst several timber crates. Kellar brought the diesel to life, slipped the vehicle into gear and pulled away. They had crossed the bridge without cost, but Ryder knew it would not be long before the dead guards would be missed together with the truck. He hoped it would take the remaining guards a little time to work out what had exactly happened, at least enough for the group to put as many miles as possible between themselves and the bridge. Now safely away, the tension eased and he could look forward to travelling the next thirty miles or so in relative comfort, free of the wind and the numbing, biting cold.

It was pitch black and sleet fell when Kellar drove the truck off the winding road and into dense scrub. The journey from the bridge had been thankfully free of incident and now, fifty miles further on with tank all but empty, it was time to abandon. The American stopped well away from the road and, together with Ryder, clambered into the rear, where all agreed to stay until dawn. During the journey the crates had been opened to find tinned food, mountain fatigues and, above all, a small cache of weapons and ammunition, including some Semtex with detonators, which they gratefully distributed.

Dawn soon broke to an overcast day and they reluctantly abandoned the warmth of the truck to head single file into the scrub. Ryder, the last to leave, took a final glance at the rear and was about to clamber over the tailboard when his eye caught an object which looked like a piece of folded cloth poking out between one of the boxes and the metal side. Curious, he removed the thin white fabric, unfolded it and was surprised to see wording in Farsi. He read the scribble which briefly described their destination, the reason for going and the names of everyone in the group, but no clue as to the author. Ryder was totally stunned by the discovery, he could hardly believe it: a traitor in their midst? Everything now had been placed in serious jeopardy and everyone, except for that person – or persons – was now threatened by capture; or worse still, death before they ever found the objective. Should he tell? What effect would this have? It could be any one of them, but surely not an American or one of the Israelis? The thought unnerved him even more. He decided to say nothing for the time being and hoped to try and flush out the culprit. From now on though, he would keep his own council and remain especially vigilant. Pocketing the piece of cloth, he left the truck and quickly caught up with the others, mind in turmoil.

The ground undulated dramatically with a definite slant towards the west, making it difficult to maintain a south-easterly direction. To the left, the central range rose dark and majestic, silhouetted against a pale early-morning sky; a bitter wind cut deep on the exposed ridges and the plateaus they traversed. The column, led by Shiron with Ryder bringing up the rear, kept close together and moved as quickly as legs and the terrain would allow. The punishing pace was maintained throughout the morning and well into the afternoon, moving relentlessly through sparse, rolling foothills with hardly any cover other than a few stands of trees and occasional thick scrub. Brady's flesh wound had improved considerably with the lichen treatment and he now just about managed to keep up fully unaided. To Ryder, though, he was one tough bugger and still needed to be kept an eye on as well as the others. If they did find the objective, despite the traitor, every gun would count.

Shortly before the sun dipped in the west, Shiron stopped and pointed to movement in the valley below. Ryder followed the outstretched arm and saw a file of black dots against the snow, almost a half-mile distant, moving along the valley floor towards them.

“Patrol?” shot Sicano.

“Mountain troops for sure,” Ryder snapped. “Okay, MOVE,” he ordered, putting himself in the lead and Shiron at the rear. He headed away from the patrol, keeping up a fast pace until darkness had fully descended before deciding it was safe to camp for the night in dense scrub. A fire was not lit and they spoke little, grateful to rest weary bodies, chew on raw meat and get as much rest as they could before daylight arrived. The watch was agreed. Ryder's turn would be the last so he found a spot where everyone could be seen, including those on watch. Eventually, tiredness overcame him and he reluctantly nodded off into a light, fitful sleep.

The night passed without event. At first light the group, in single file, headed out south-east led by Shiron with Ryder in the rear to watch the others, glad to be once more on the move. They kept close together, meandering through the rocky outcrops on the thinly wooded ridge before descending again into yet another valley. The Iranians kept up the pace, although now and then, Afari was offered a hand by Ryder when negotiating the outcrops which she promptly refused.

They had covered no more than a mile when suddenly, as the grey light of dawn began to filter through low cloud, a shot rang out, followed shortly by several more; bullets spurting up the ground about them.

Tariq coughed, staggered forward and fell face down into the dirt, a gaping hole at the back of his head.

Everyone scrambled desperately for cover, returning fire randomly as more bullets ricocheted off the surrounding rocks and trees.

Shiron worked his way back until beside Ryder. With field glasses, Ryder quickly scanned the slopes above, both to locate the attackers and also to make sure he knew where each of the others were in case the traitor thought it was a good opportunity to take a few out.

“How many?” the Israeli asked, eyes darting from rock to rock scattered between the clumps of trees.

“Several. Probably the patrol we saw,” he replied, sweeping the slope and seeing a soldier with a radio transmitter on his back suddenly move behind a rock 100 yards to his left. Letting glasses fall, Ryder swung his rifle into a firing position and lined up the rock, waiting for the man to reappear.

Seconds later he did. Ryder squeezed the trigger; the soldier spun and staggered a few paces before crumbling face down onto the open ground.

Shiron then frantically sprayed the huddled heap.

“He's dead! He's dead!” Ryder shouted above the staccato of fire, pushing down the muzzle of the Israeli's gun. “Don't waste ammo!”

Shiron stopped and turned, eyes burning into Ryder. “Making sure that transmitter's fucked. Don't want anybody giving our position away, now do we?”

The way he said that, Ryder wondered if the Israeli knew about the traitor.

All around, the others were returning fire in short, sharp bursts each time they saw movement amongst the scrub and rock above, the sound reverberating loudly down the valley.

They held their position with some difficulty as the patrol tried to outflank them. Ryder ordered an immediate withdrawal to counter the move and the group, firing blindly, scrambled for new cover, at the same time keeping the patrol at bay.

A cry of pain and another Iranian soldier pitched forward.

A burst of fire from Kellar dropped two more. They now had the advantage and Ryder ordered them to spread out and attack.

Shortly, two more died, staggering out from their rocky cover and rolling down the slope before the last soldier surrounded, finally surrendered and stepped out from behind a boulder, hands on head, stumbling forward.

Hellmann dragged him into the centre of the group.

“You searching for us?” shot Shiron in Farsi, staring hard at the man as they enclosed around him.

The soldier stood silently, eyes darting, one man to another, from hardened features.
Definitely Special Forces,
thought Ryder.

“How did they know we were here?” questioned Sicano, turning to the other Americans.

The two Israelis glanced at one another.

Ryder wanted to say: ‘the traitor amongst us,' but decided against. He looked for a possible sign, but there was none. “After the bridge they probably put two and two together,” he answered.

Shiron put his question again to the soldier, but he remained silent.

“Yeah, but that doesn't explain how they tracked us so fucking accurately. We could've been anywhere in these goddamn hills,” said Kellar, looking a little bewildered.

“It seems to me they know what direction we're heading,” said Sicano.

“Strange, the way they've kept on our tail,” added Brady.

Again Ryder wanted to tell; it was on the tip of his tongue, but he resisted.

The soldier was questioned again – no reply.

“Whatta we do with him?” Kellar shot, voicing the thoughts of the others.

Fehed stepped forward. “Awad was my friend. I will make him talk,” he said, and he stuck the barrel of his automatic hard under the soldier's chin.

Fear seared across the soldier's face, eyes pleading. He dropped his arms and blurted out that he did not know, admitting orders were to seek and destroy, but only the patrol leader knew the target.

Bullshit,
thought Ryder; they would all have known who they were out to kill. Standard procedure for SF operatives, no matter what country, otherwise only shambles would occur at the time of executing, especially if something happened to the leader.

“Who do you think he was looking for?” shot Sicano.

Features contorted with fear, the soldier cried, “Kurdish insurgents – terrorists!”

“You lie!” Fehed jerked the muzzle harder into the man's throat.

The soldier grunted with pain, looking frantically at Fehed.

Ryder was certain whoever wrote that message had probably left more along the route. This patrol was more than likely the result. Others could be out there right now, tracking. He glanced at the rest. “We'll get nothing out of him.”

Everyone agreed.

Shiron questioned the soldier once more, waited, and when he received no reply he turned to Ryder. “Kill him and let's get the fuck away.”

The man had to die, but Ryder would have preferred this not to happen under the present circumstances. However, they could not take him prisoner, or leave him behind to give intelligence. Reluctantly he looked at Fehed and nodded.

The soldier continued to plead for his life, knowing he was about to die.

Fehed, without hesitation, pulled the trigger, sending a single 7.62mm bullet into the soldier's throat and up through the skull, blowing most of it away at the back of his head. The man crumbled to the snow, the sound of the shot reverberating through the valley and on through the surrounding hills.

They buried Tariq quickly, and as best they could, removed maps, ammunition and anything else of use from the dead soldiers and left the now useless transmitter shot up by Shiron, much to Ryder's disappointment, before hurriedly making their way along the valley heading south-east. That patrol, and the prospect of others, made Ryder become even more concerned now about the traitor in their midst.