Run With The Brave (7 page)

As the convoy of three trucks merged with the bare, rugged terrain in the snow-sprinkled northern foothills of the Zagros Mountains some 100 miles south of Tabriz, Ryder lapsed in and out of awareness but could not wash away his own miserable world of defeat and despair. He tried to squash the negativity but his thoughts left him wondering how all this would finally end. Packed tightly in the middle vehicle, the journey so far for him had been traumatic, travelling over potholed and rutted dirt roads causing extreme discomfort from the continuous jolting and bouncing on the hard metal floor. His personal misery ebbed and flowed as the vehicle weaved its way through wooded valleys and climbed up and down steep inclines of barren mountainsides coupled with the continuous throaty roar of the engines and crashing gears. Muffled English, Hebrew and Farsi conveying the despair of those around him did not help the mental pain and anguish he now suffered, which almost matched that experienced in the filthy Iranian cell and the room at the end of the corridor. The khaki camouflaged vehicles strained slowly up a steep incline, engines grinding at full power over the narrow, dusty road. It was late afternoon and a watery sun had dipped behind the peaks, casting long shadows over the rough and jagged windswept ground. The convoy crested a ridge in the rapidly rising foothills and began its descent into yet another deserted valley of rock, scrub and scanty trees. Patches of pristine snow grew in size the higher they went.

Suddenly, a thunderous roar blotted out every other sound, then a rumbling from deep within the ground. Seconds later this was followed by a series of short, sharp cracking noises which echoed down the valley and shook the entire mountain and the road cut into its side.

Earthquake!

The truck lurched violently and was thrown hard to one side. The ground under gave way, sending the lead truck plunging off the road and down into the valley to the right, engulfed in a torrent of collapsing rubble and dust. Ryder's middle vehicle rolled; bodies collided with one another and smashed against the metal framework as the vehicle rode down on a river of earth, dust billowing into the rear almost choking everyone within. The vehicle behind immediately followed and all three careered uncontrollably down on top and partly beneath the moving mass of earth and rock, eventually coming to a halt half buried on the valley floor some 100 feet below.

An eerie silence engulfed the valley. Before the dust could settle, Ryder crawled from the debris, dazed but unhurt, amazed to still be alive, followed by a jumble of others from his truck. He recognised only Sicano, Brady and Kellar. All had suffered minor cuts and bruises.

Survival instinct immediately kicked in and without a word, Ryder, the Americans, and others who were able rushed over to the nearest vehicle, its crushed rear protruding from the rubble. It was clear no one had survived inside the mangled wreckage. They removed what weapons and ammunition they could retrieve and sprinted to the next.

Inside the twisted mess of the second truck some of the occupants were horribly injured and barely alive. Weapons and ammunition were again removed but not before the Iranian prisoners shot those that were still breathing, not out of compassion but out of revenge for what they had suffered.

Hurrying back to their own vehicle, less damaged than the other two, Ryder and the three Americans checked the sprawled occupants amongst the debris. Captain Cane was clearly dead, half buried, head smashed to pulp; the other five Americans were somewhere beneath the pile of rubble; frantic digging exposing their crushed and lifeless bodies. Out of the nine who left the prison only Sicano, Brady and Kellar had survived. Seven Iranian prisoners, one a woman, had also survived. Most suffered cuts and abrasions, one had both legs broken, another lay in a pool of blood from a crushed leg. In the failing light the survivors looked at one another. Ryder knew they would not get far with the seriously injured men and the Iranian authorities would show little mercy to those left behind.

Shocked by the swiftness of what had just happened, he tried to come to terms with the situation, acutely aware of the urgency to get away without delay. Providence had set them free, but in this vast, hostile mountain range, with hardly any food or water to speak of, he knew the situation was nothing short of desperate; the odds of escape and survival almost nil. The trucks would soon be missed and they would be hunted down. No choice but to run and put as much distance as possible between the valley and themselves before the sun rose. Ryder thought about making his escape alone but decided it was probably best to stay with the survivors – at least for the time being. In this environment there could be strength in numbers.

“Okay, who's taking command?” he shot at the Americans. It had been their operation; he was only support.

They each glanced at one another. The lengthy silence that followed prompted him to think that perhaps without their officers these men might be losing a little of their nerve.

Then Master Sergeant Brady said quietly, “I will.” He did not sound convincing.

Ryder could hardly believe it. “How much do you know about this part of the world, Sergeant?”

“Not a lot. Overflow would've been the first op here.”

“What about you two?” He looked at Sicano and Kellar who both gave blank looks and shook their heads.

Fuck! Am I going to risk my life following these guys? – Don't think so.

Ryder came to a decision; glancing at each of the remaining survivors, “We've been given this chance to escape; I suggest we take it and go our own ways. Grab what you can and split.”

“Wait!” shot Brady, “You've been here before, come with us.”

“No disrespect, Sergeant – but I prefer to make it alone. You guys know what you're doing. Just head west.”

Brady hesitated, glanced over at the other two Americans then said, “Look, we have to be practical here. If it's a question of who leads; I understand you're ex-Brit Special Forces, you take command.”

Sicano and Kellar nodded in agreement.

Ryder was a little surprised at that. These men were toughies and not in the habit of relinquishing leadership; he could only reason they had weighed up the odds and concluded more chance would be had of escaping Iran with his knowledge and experience than if they tried it alone. And, like him, probably thought there would be strength in numbers
.

Having operated in northern Iran before, Ryder knew enough of that part, at least to maybe get them as far as the Turkish border. He did not hesitate. “Right, if that's what you want, let's go.” He now had command. First priority: sort out the injured, second: get away from here fast, and as far as possible.

“What about the bodies?” Brady asked. “We need to bury.”

“No time,” he shot back. “It'll take too long to dig out then bury.”

“We can't just leave them like this,” pressed Kellar. It was standard practice for Special Forces, especially Americans, to never leave their dead to the enemy.

“You'll have to if you want to survive; leaving ASAP must be the priority. Iranian troops could be swarming any time. We need to put as much distance away from here as possible.”

The three Americans stared at one another.

Ryder was not prepared to waste any more time. “Okay, you do what you have to; I'm outta here.”

Suddenly, from inside the truck, the raised voice of the Iranian with the broken legs averted their attention. He spoke rapidly and passionately to the man with the crushed leg alongside, “Massoud, my legs, I cannot move them… the pain… it's unbearable!”

Massoud pointed to his own left leg. “I cannot help. I cannot move. Look, Naveed, my leg is smashed too. The bleeding will not stop.” He tried to move but gave up. When he eased the makeshift cloth tourniquet, blood from the severed femoral artery spurted out.

Naveed turned to one of the surviving Iranians looking on with a pistol tucked into his belt and demanded, “Give me the gun.”

The man hesitated, suspecting what he intended to do.

“Give it to me!” Naveed pleaded, “Give it to me!”

The man reluctantly handed it over.

Naveed rolled sideways, tears filling his eyes and, without a word, shot dead his haemorrhaging companion. He then immediately placed the end of the barrel into his mouth and pulled the trigger.

Shocked by what they had just witnessed, no one spoke for several seconds, the echo of the gunshots reverberating down the valley.

The first of Ryder's priorities had been resolved and he prepared to leave; the Americans reluctantly doing the same, Brady saying quietly, “We're with you.”

One of the three men Ryder suspected of being Israeli military, due to the way they handled themselves, stepped forward and said, “We want to join you.”

Another who believes in the strength of numbers
. “Please yourselves,” he replied.

One of the surviving Iranians also asked if they could join.

Ryder agreed;
more the merrier!
Ordering everyone to hurriedly gather up weapons, clothing and equipment they were able to carry, together with what scant food they could find from the wrecked vehicles, he led the bedraggled, defiant band up the valley west towards a setting sun – hope renewed.

Snow began to fall as Ryder, leading the file of eleven men and one woman, weaved silently through the trees up the rising ground, swirling snow hampering progress and branches swaying overhead in the wind affording little protection from the growing storm. However, the more snow, the more their tracks would be covered. They travelled through the night and well into the next day. Now almost totally exhausted and acutely aware of their vulnerability in this wilderness more than 3,000 feet above sea level, Ryder looked for somewhere to rest, get warm and eat some of what little food they had. Survival depended on adapting to the extreme conditions. Ryder knew he and the Americans would be able to, but would the others have the fitness and endurance needed for what they would have to face?

Wearily, they trudged on until stumbling upon a depression surrounded by bush, offering protection from the wind and large enough to accommodate all below the general level of the ground. A shelter of branches and brush was quickly built and a fire lit. Anyone searching would have to get close before detecting the flames. The risk, however, had to be taken; hot food and warmth was now the priority.

Although close enough to the fire to keep warm, the separate groups kept largely to themselves; Ryder and the Americans, the Iranians a little further away, and the others on the hollow perimeter. Most of the meagre food scrounged from the trucks was soon devoured. Snow was scooped up into tin mugs, heated, and drunk with relish. Finally, cigarettes taken from the dead guards were shared out within the groups, lit by embers from the fire and savoured. Having given up smoking for less than six months, Ryder fought hard to resist the temptation, although desperate for a nicotine hit.

Kellar's voice distracted his thoughts. “Reckon they've found the trucks yet?”

“More than likely,” Sicano replied, drawing deeply on a cigarette. “We've been moving now for maybe fifteen to twenty hours.”

The Iranians spoke rapidly amongst themselves, then one calling himself Tariq Vari Awad spoke to Ryder in broken English. “They had radio contact. The alarm would have been given,” he said, shifting his short, stocky frame and looking intently at him with brown eyes set in smooth, round features.

“Not much time if they did,” shot Kellar, before Ryder could answer.

“Hope you're right,” he said to the American; the smell of cigarette smoke almost making him give in.

The conversation around the flames was a mixture of Farsi, Hebrew and English, depending on what group you were in. Ryder understood Farsi well from his army tutors and from his time in Iran. He knew a little Hebrew too, from joint operations with the Israelis when with the SAS.

“How far we come?” Brady asked.

“Twenty-five, maybe thirty miles,” Ryder replied.

“Heading west?” questioned Kellar.

“Last time I checked.”

“Where are we?” the American pressed.

“Zagros Mountains,” the Iranian cut in again.

“Anywhere is better than where we were going,” said Brady. “Hey, you speak good English,” he said to the Iranian.

“I study,” Tariq replied, sadness to his voice.

“How far to the Turkish border?” shot Sicano in Farsi, looking across the flames at the nearest Iranian naming himself Fehed Al Wan.

“Approximately 200 miles north-west,” the tall, thin, menacing man with a large hooked nose replied. No translation was necessary as all the Americans could speak Farsi well. Ryder was impressed.

“The Iraqi border must be close,” said Kellar. “We should go for it.”

Ryder replied, “We could face real problems taking that route. First, the Peshmergas.” He referred to Kurdish guerrillas, literally ‘those who face death'. “I know they're on our side at the moment against the ISIS crowd, but you can never be sure; secondly, ISIS themselves or Ansar al-Islam militia. All three operate on the north and east borders fighting for independent states. If we're captured by the Peshmergas I'm not sure what our fate would be – probably okay – but if by the other two we'll be beheaded for sure with our dicks shoved down our throats. And thirdly: many other fanatical terrorist groups are fighting for power in Iraq with no telling what they would do. No, we'll head for Turkey, it's safer.” He definitely did not want to encounter terrorists if it could be avoided. To him Turkey was the nearest safe haven where he had connections.

“They will expect us to run for Turkey,” offered the shortest of the four Iranian men, muscular with piercing eyes set in hawk-like features who said his name was Saad Amer Abdulla.

“That's a risk we'll take,” Ryder replied.

The three men furthest away from the fire talked quietly amongst themselves.

Ryder threw a log on the fire then shouted over, “You with us?”

All three glanced at one another before the leader firmly replied, “No.”

Ryder was taken aback at the curt reply. “You wanted to join us; why the change?”

The man stared hard at him for a moment, appearing to struggle inwardly before glancing towards the Iranians and asking Ryder, “Can I speak with you privately?”

He nodded and joined the group out of earshot of the others.

“I am Captain Yoman, Israeli Special Forces, and this is Sergeant Shiron and Corporal Hellmann.” He paused whilst handshakes were made, then, “You are Special Forces?”

He was not surprised at the captain's revelation; everything about the three screamed military. He replied, “Ex.”

“SAS?” pressed the Israeli.

“Again, ex.” He wondered where this was all going.

“Are they Special Forces?” Yoman nodded towards the Americans. “Why are they and you here?”

“Long story; you'll have to ask them.” It was not for him to say; besides, it was none of his business anyway.

“You Sayeret Mat'kal?” he questioned, holding Yoman's gaze, attempting to divert the line of questioning.

The captain nodded, surprise registering. “Unit 269.”

Ryder was impressed. He knew from his SAS experience with this top secret anti-terrorism organisation that members of Unit 269 were considered the best of the Israeli Special Forces.

The Israeli captain glanced at the other two then back to Ryder. “What I have to say is for you only.”

Ryder nodded, not sure if he would be able to comply with that.

The captain proceeded to tell him briefly about the failed Operation Tehome, finishing; “So, we have decided, now that we're in the Zagros, to try and complete the job we came to do.”

Ryder stared at the Israeli in disbelief. “You're kidding, that's one big fucking ask, Captain – you crazy? How the hell do you expect to locate that base without compass, maps, co-ordinates?”

“We'll know the mountain when we see it. The image is firmly imprinted in here,” he pointed to his head, “As are the co-ordinates.”

“No good without GPS. You're talking 800 miles or more over rugged country in extreme conditions – unprepared. If a base does exist how will you disable without explosives?”

“I'll worry about that at the time. It's important to know if a base exists.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“If you make it safely to the Turkish border you can inform my people that Tehome is still active.”

Ryder shrugged; the man seemed determined. “Okay, have it your way.” He turned and walked back to the fire.

Ryder said little to the Americans, other than explain who Yoman and his men were; not mentioning what they intended to do. Like him, none was surprised.

The watches were arranged. Ryder wondered if he would ever get out of all this alive until finally exhaustion overcame him and he dropped into a fitful sleep. Soon, one by one, the others followed.

The night was crisp and clear and the stars shone bright during Ryder and Yoman's watch. Both crouched on the rim of the depression staring into the surrounding bush and up into the night sky so vast in its black richness and yet so personal to all who found comfort in its illusion of permanency.

“How long were you in that shit-hole?” Ryder asked.

The captain was silent for several moments then, without looking away from the sky, replied in a low voice, “Too long – four, five weeks. They worked us over good. The schmucks got nothing outta me, or them.” He nodded towards the other two lying not far away. “That earthquake was a fucking godsend. I don't think I could have faced another stinking cell or sadistic schmuck.” He winced like he was recalling and turned to look directly at Ryder, “You suffer too?”

Ryder nodded. He liked this man – tough and straightforward.

“Same.” Like the Israeli, he was not going to give much away. “When you intending to split?”

“First light.” Yoman looked back up into the sky and pointed to a bright star in the south-east. “That's Sirius. Tomorrow we'll head in that direction.”

Ryder tried briefly once more to dissuade the Israeli. “To go south is a dangerous business, even fully prepared, but to attempt taking out a missile base, Captain, is pure suicide.”

Yoman looked at him firmly and said with an air of finality, “That is the risk we will take. Nothing will stop us, so save your breath.”

Rebuffed, Ryder refocused on the bush and both men lapsed into silence.

At dawn they prepared to move out. Ryder asked the Iranians what they intended to do and each said they wanted to head for Turkey with the rest.

“Can we talk?” Ryder said to the three Americans and led them out of earshot; they had a right to know the Israelis were intending to split and why. He came straight to the point, “The Israelis are going south in search of a missile base.”

After a few moments' silence with only the sound of the wind whistling through the trees, Ryder explained what the Israeli captain had told him. When he'd finished the Americans just stared at him in disbelief.

“A missile base – that's crazy,” broke Kellar.

“Longway to go not knowing what's at the fucking end,” Brady added.

“Sure have to admire them though,” voiced Sicano, looking intently at Ryder. “Maybe we should join them; compensation for missing out on the dams.”

They all glanced sheepishly at one another; had Sicano hit a nerve?

“Turkey is the easiest and the most viable option,” Ryder countered. “To join them is a huge thing to commit to – even to contemplate – in the situation we're in.” A short silence. “And, if there's no base, we've risked all for nothing; a thousand miles of hostile territory unprepared, to find nothing!”

“Our mission failed,” added Brady. “Oscar's right, we should join the Israelis; make something of this – regain some self-respect. I'm thinking: will it let us sleep easy knowing these guys are having a go at the Iranians with limited resources and much less hope of succeeding? Anything we can do to help is, I believe, within our operational scope. We're allies after all.”

Ryder could hardly register what he was hearing; he turned to Kellar. “You feel the same?”

He nodded.

“You guys crazy?” he shot. “We have to get outta here, not go fucking traipsing through hostile territory after a base that might not even exist. What the fuck can six of you do anyway, even if you found one?”

“At least we'll have tried,” shot Sicano. “At least we'll be doing what we're trained for. I for one don't want to go back a failure. This could redeem us.”

The two others agreed with Sicano.

Ryder felt a pang of guilt. These men were prepared to risk their lives for something they believed would help the brotherhood and for their own self-respect. He understood clearly where Sicano was coming from and he could not help but agree with the logic. Was his conscious pricking? The warrior within wanted to help the Israelis, wanted to get even with the Iranians for what they did to him. He knew his duty was to get back to the ‘unit', but then again, he was here in the first place to support the American operation, and now they wanted to continue, only this time a different target; so, what the hell.

“Okay, we go south with the Israelis and God help us,” he said with a mixture of determination, expectancy and a little fear at facing the unknown.

Smiles all round from the Americans. Ryder did not know whether to laugh or cry as they returned to the others.

“Captain, I've told them your intentions; they had a right to know.” He glanced at the Americans.

The Israelis threw looks of surprise.

“We want to help if you agree, under your command.”

“You sure you wanna do that, Frank?” said Brady, “We're happy with the way things are.”

“It's their operation, Jed. Captain Yoman has all the background on what they're looking for. It's logical he take the lead.”

Brady shrugged.

Yoman glanced quickly at his two colleagues then replied, hardly able to conceal his delight. “I accept. Like you said, we're crazy, but together we might just pull this thing off.”

No turning back now,
Ryder thought.

The Israeli captain looked over at the Iranians on the other side of the hollow, busy talking amongst themselves, and called, “I'm taking command. We'll not be going west. Here we part company.”

They were visibly stunned. The one named Qatak Nasir Ali, who had hardly said a word since fleeing the trucks, rushed forward, pleading with Yoman, “Turkey is freedom, not to go west is madness. We must stay together, that is our strength. Where can you possibly go otherwise?”

Yoman stayed silent.

Qatak continued, “This is our land, we know it well. We can help you.”

Yoman looked the Iranian straight in the eye and replied sharply, “No. We'll be moving fast. You're not trained for these conditions.” He glanced at the woman, who, like Qatak, had hardly uttered a word, keeping much to herself.

“She's one of us,” shot Saad.