by Leo Nix
Samuels then called up the MRH-90 Taipan, their companion in the rescue mission and slightly ahead of them, approaching their destination at Bush Bay.
“Wagontrain, this is Maverick, do you have a fix on that signal trying to scramble us? Over.” Before Wagontrain could answer he received a call from Pine Gap.
“Maverick, this is Downtown, we've got the scrambler and we're working on it. I suggest you stay at altitude until we get some clarity on the situation, out.” The call from Pine Gap made its way through some horribly scratchy noise that set the crew's nerves on edge.
“Damn, this is just shit,” said Captain Moe, “Wagontrain's due to touch down in one minute. Where's Obi-Wan's call? This is just another damned screwed up mission.”
“We could put Wagontrain upstairs on watch while we load, then swap.” Samuels growled in frustration, “damn, what's wrong with this blasted radar? We've had nothing but problems since we left the Gap.”
Although Captain Lim's soldiers were highly trained and outgunned and outnumbered their opponents, they were also naive and reckless. The three crews manning the shoulder-fired, Surface-to-Air-Missiles, simply couldn't wait for the order to fire.
“Sir, there's something down there, at 9 o'clock, two dots. Looks like SAM's. They're coming in fast,” called Crew Chief Lance Trudeau, his voice strained but calm. He was stationed at the port door with his M240 machine-gun at the ready.
Captain Moe looked to his left and saw them, two Surface-to-Air Missiles, and they were coming in fast. “We've got missiles at 9 o'clock heading for Wagontrain.” He was already switching to their sister helicopter to inform them. “Wagontrain, this is Maverick, you've got SAMs at 9 o'clock. We're going upstairs suggest you do likewise.”
“Roger, Maverick,” came Lieutenant Panela, “engaging counter-measures…” he paused, as the two missiles exploded harmlessly, their counter-measures worked faultlessly.
“Maverick, we have eyes on dust and vehicles heading towards ground zero. I believe them to be terrorists…” there was static as his signal went off the air. A missile from a third position, hidden along the rocky shoreline, exploded just inside the exhaust of the Taipan.
The Stealth Black Hawk pulled up sharply as another set of missiles veered off and exploded close to their own counter-measures. They quickly moved out of range and eventually were out of sight, leaving the group below alone, stranded. It was as they moved out of range that the 'Four Musketeers', as they were affectionately known, noticed that something just didn't seem right with the computer systems running their Black Hawk.
Staff Sergeant Obi-Wan had been listening in to the conversation but the scrambler used by the terrorists now prevented all communication between himself and the choppers. However he did note the missiles and comments about dust clouds, he knew that they really were in the shit now.
Murphy cried out, “They've taken out the Taipan! It's coming down.” He put his hands over his face and remembered. It was in Afghanistan, two years ago, a skirmish with the local Taliban - over nothing, a barren valley and a lazy, winding creek. Murphy had been waiting his turn to be evacuated, providing covering fire as his squad leap-frogged backwards to their rescue helicopter.
For some reason the chopper lifted and left him there, alone, stranded. Within seconds he was witness to it bursting into a ball of flame, falling back to earth in a blaze of smoke, fire and pieces of metal and bodies. Over the following twenty-four hours he lived in terror, fearfully evading Taliban terrorists by stealth and his silent knife.
Emily was watching the helicopters with excitement, relief and anticipation, but now she felt horror as the huge machine fell from the sky. She suddenly felt alone and betrayed, leaning forward she screamed, clenching her hands in shock.
Glancing up she saw Petty Officer Second Class Matt Murphy, the SEAL who had so bravely helped save their lives only a few weeks ago. He was standing still, his face a mask of shock and horror. Reacting instinctively the petite Emily stepped over and drew him to her.
“Hey, big fella, it's OK, I've got you.” Then the sobs started deep inside her too, they just spilt over and possessed her. So much had happened, so much had been lost.
At thirty-one she was still single, a series of failed relationships, domestic violence, several miscarriages - then one day she just gave up. No one wanted her, all she had to show for her life was a career in business administration, depression and post-traumatic stress. She would look in the mirror and cry, “why?” Why was she the one left standing beside the bride at every wedding she attended?
Murphy held on to her tightly as his body shook with the emotions he'd kept locked away for the past two years. He finally forced the tears to stop but his body held the memory and he couldn't stop shaking. Twenty-four hours he waited for rescue, pissing in his pants as the Taliban stalked the valley looking for him. He cried then too. Murphy couldn't tell his friends and family back home of how he cried in fear, of how his piss soaked into his trousers. The only reason the terrorists didn't smell him was because they smelled twice as bad.
At his debrief he tried to explain what it felt like to kill someone, up close, forcing a knife through their ribs. The powerfully built, crew-cut SEAL was surprised at how lean the Taliban youth was. The boy was strong too, much stronger than he expected. As Murphy grabbed at his throat the boy twisted ferociously trying to escape. He stabbed, over and over he stabbed at that poor kid. He'd made sure to cut the boys airway with his left arm locked around his throat, but it wasn't enough. The boy was so wiry and skinny that he had trouble keeping his grip. Murphy recalled how scared he was that the boy would slip free, just slip right out of his arms.
He'd stabbed over and over, feeling the boy squirm in terror. Murphy could taste the boy with his face tight against the youth's scalp. He could still smell that stale, acrid sweat - the smell of fear. Then the memory of when his knife finally found the gap between the boy's ribs, to slip smoothly into the boy's body. It was almost sensual, like entering a woman's sacred place - but it gave no pleasure, just death, and he immediately felt an enormous shame. He was ashamed that he'd killed that kid. So many times since that nightmare twenty-four hours he had wondered how old the boy was: thirteen, maybe fifteen at the most?
Watching the MRH-90 Taipan helicopter burning its way to the ground was like he was watching his buddies falling to their death leaving him alone in that valley of evil. It was a mixture of guilt, terror and horror. He felt himself collapse to his knees, lifeless with shame and guilt - 'I killed that boy, he was just a kid.' That thought triggered his other shameful nightmare, 'why did I survive when I should have died with my buddies?'
Emily didn't let go. She could feel him trembling, slipping, hearing his mumbled cries. As she eased them both to the ground she pulled him into her breast like a mother does her injured child.
“I'm not going to let you go, Murph, I won't let you go,” she sobbed into his shoulder. It seemed as though they stood like that for ages. They didn't notice the movements around them or the yells as their team prepared for battle. They were locked into a parallel world, clutched in an embrace so tight, afraid that this sacred moment of connectedness would slip away.
“Sweet Judas! Get yourselves back under bloody cover! Murphy, what the hell do you think you're doing out there!” cried Sergeant Dyson. He was in a panic fumbling with his G36 assault rifle to swing it towards the incoming terrorists.
In spite of their best efforts, they were soon overwhelmed and separated into small groups by the terrorist numbers and fire-power. Fortunately, over the past two nights they had hidden their vehicles and gear in a dry creek bed nearby.
Captain Lim was kept informed of the incoming helicopters by his superiors in Perth via their Pine Gap spy. What they didn't appreciate was that the group they were fighting was made up of determined, highly trained, service men and women. They were like hornets defending their territory and would rather die than give up.
The Perth Revelationist comp
any from the Hades 'Flaming Damnation' Battalion now skirmished forward through the low, bushy scrub.
Staff Sergeant Obi-Wan had taken command of the perimeter defense for the chopper extraction. But now he led his team of special ops in a determined effort to halt the enemy pushing forward and overwhelming their position. He was grateful that his team knew exactly what to do in situations like this. They kept up a continuous automatic rifle fire as the rest tried to extract to the vehicles.
Senior Sergeant Dyson, the tall, sun-tanned ex-infantry captain, led the survivors of his anti-terrorist team to block a squad of enemy forcing their way behind a screen of thick, coastal scrub. The sand dunes were low but provided sufficient cover for him to quickly place his team.
“Hooky, take Lana and Kerrie to that position!” he tried not to yell. Next, turning to his remaining team member, Nancy, he said, “Nan, we stay here and hold it. No matter what, we don't move until we know the others are safe.” Dyson pulled out one of the grenades he had salvaged from the Bearcat and placed it beside him.
He nodded to Nancy as she kept a close watch on the surrounding bushes. She knew what he wanted from her, she also knew quite well that she was capable of delivering it too.
Nancy, the Bearcat driver with the short hair and brown eyes, had found courage in the midst of her grief since losing her lover, Constable Chopah. She found comfort, to her surprise, with Senior Sergeant Brad Hopkins. Brad was an old hand and had been in the Western Australian Police force most of his adult life. He was quiet, kindly and competent, she had always got along well with him during their shared time in Geraldton. But right now he was the furthest thing from her mind as heads popped up in front of her.
“Firing!” she called as she raked the bushes only ten metres away. Her Heckler & Koch G36 cut through several of the terrorists. She heard screams and grunts as her bullets found their target. Nancy saw three more terrorists stand up and fire back at her, two wee in her sights already and they fell to her fire. But the third had time to put a burst of 7.62 mm bullets into her chest.
Dyson heard the bullets slamming into his colleague beside him as he too rose to return fire. He felt a chill run up his spine as he saw Nancy drop and slowly slid down the face of the sand dune. He cut his grief short as he leapt to another defensive position and fired at the enemy that rose to peer above the dense bushes.
Now he wished he had kept another member of his team with him. To his left he heard them firing and screams as they too hit their targets. There was movement to his front and then to his right. He reached to pull the pin from his grenade but never completed the action. Senior Sergeant Dyson's body twisted as bullets hit his side, he mouthed a cry as more bullets hit his trunk and head.
Ex SAS corporal, Hooky, and his two companions, Senior Constable Kerrie Black and Constable Lana Wosniac, were trying to prevent a rush of terrorists to their front and right flank. Their automatics sounded loud in the mid-morning air as they fired short bursts to drop several of their targets.
“Come on, follow me,” he called softly leading them to assault the right flank of the approaching terrorists. Hidden behind a low sand dune they rose and Lady Fortune smiled upon them. There were four terrorists crouched in enfilade position not more than five metres away. They cut them down in seconds.
“OK, on me, this way.” Again Hooky led them to get behind the terrorist platoon but they slammed into a group of terrorists who had the same idea. A vicious hand-to-hand fight ensued.
Lana's wounded hand was now inflamed and swollen from the effort of running and fighting. It gave way as one of the terrorists, a tall woman in her forties, knocked her sideways with a blow from her AK47.
Dropping her rifle Lana reached for her Glock 21 pistol but the woman was fast and strong, she smashed her rifle butt into Lana's face. Lana's nose broke with an audible crack and her lips split like jelly from the force of the blow.
The small, dark-haired policewoman fell backwards as the taller woman followed through, plunging the blade of her bayonet into Lana's stomach.
It was five against two now as Kerrie threw her empty rifle at one of the terrorists. It gave her enough time to draw her Glock 21, she fired as fast and as furiously as she could.
As a senior member of the state's anti-terrorist team, Kerrie spent more time than most on the range and at the gym. Each time she was betrayed by another loser lover she would burn out her anger and grief in heavy physical training. Today that training paid off in spadefuls, but not before a bullet tore a chunk of flesh from her arm.
Hooky took a savage blow to his shoulder which knocked him to the ground. He instinctively rolled to one side, as he did he let go of his empty rifle and drew his pistol, a Beretta 92, an old favourite from his army days. He fired as he rolled and took out the last of the enemy, a big woman lining up to bayonet Lana a second time.
Senior Constable Kerrie Black stood panting, her pistol by her side and blood streaming down her left arm. Hooky moved to stand beside her. They looked at each other, then at Lana, squirming on the sand at their feet. Lana was already dead but the nerves in her system hadn't quite registered it yet.
“Bastards!” cried Kerrie. She choked back a sob as she gently closed Lana's eyes with her fingertips. “Lana was my friend.”
“Yeah, she was a good one, I liked her a lot.” Hooky then straightened but as he did his face creased as he felt a shooting pain in his left shoulder. “Kerrie, we're ineffective here. I think I've broken my shoulder and you've got a bad wound.” He gingerly eased his arm into his shirt and tried to immobilise it with his webbing.
“Here, let me help,” said Kerri softly, as she too tried to manage with her uninjured arm. She noticed her hands were shaking. “I think we need to pull back to the vehicles, we're damn useless. We'll be of more use holding a fall-back position there.” Kerrie bent down and picked up her rifle and slid in another magazine, awkwardly. Hooky did the same but had to hand his rifle for Kerrie to reload for him.
The AFP and WAPOL position was also under heavy, continuous fire. Already ex-commando Sergeant Oddie Danse was down and his team pinned behind a low sand dune.
Sergeant Brad Hopkins took command. “We're fucked if we stay here,” he panted, slamming another magazine into his G36. “Ray, take Danielle and Cindy, get to the vehicles. I'll provide cover as best I can.” He too had a single hand grenade now held in his right hand ready to throw. The three police constables knew they had few choices, they nodded to their senior and said their goodbyes.
“OK, when this explodes, you lot run. Good luck, give my love to Nancy if you see her.” Brad knew she might not survive this massacre either.
He looked at each in turn, to imprint his staunch friends into his memory. Like his good friend Frenchy, he knew he wouldn't be joining them on the road to Pine Gap.
“OK, ready?” he said, not really needing a response. The three had fresh magazines and were crouched, ready to run. Brad pulled the pin, counted then threw the grenade into the scrub where most of the firing was coming from. They heard the thud and crack of an explosion followed by screams. Brad then stood up and opened fire as the three raced towards the creek bed where the vehicles were hidden.
The three ran across open ground as they sought to gain the cover of another sand dune. Only two made it. Ray, the smart-mouthed life of the party, screamed as bullets smashed into his leg and he crashed to the ground. He was only halfway to the dune. A burst of automatic fire stopped his screaming.
“Fuck!” cried Constable Danielle Ahmet, gulping air deeply into her lungs. “Where's Ray?” she asked as she turned to her friend, Cindy Briggs. Danielle choked back a scream. Cindy had collapsed beside her, her back against the sand dune. Blood seeped from her uniform top. She tried to speak but bubbles foamed from between her lips. It was ghastly and it was wrong. Danielle leaned across to her friend, tears streaming down her cheeks. Just then Cindy shuddered and stopped breathing, Danielle had just lost another good friend.
“You b
astards!” she moaned as she peeped above the dune. She could see three terrorists running towards her, she raised her rifle and fired. Two fell and the other skidded to a halt and raced back to their cover. “You pricks, you stinking bastards!”
She saw Ray, lying on the sand in a pool of blood. 'There's no-one left,' she thought as she turned towards the vehicles in the dry creek-bed, then she ran for her life.
Obi-Wan's team of special operatives had the added task of protecting the four civilian girls who had stayed with them from the hotel in Geraldton. His team were the only ones who had any success in forcing the terrorists back.
Pipeline and Murphy were assigned to protect the girls, which they did while also firing on the flank of the enemy. The girls did their best to remain calm, but it was in vain as one by one they forced their screams into their hands or stuffed their shirts into their mouths.
Obi-Wan led Skip, Soldier of Fortune and Burger forwards and split the enemy into two groups. One group fled towards the road and their transports while the other moved across only to be met by the incoming fire of Murphy and Pipeline.
“We've got them on the run, Obi. We'd better retire to the vehicles and get shifted. That's only one squad we've pushed back, there's more out there,” called Burger. Obi-Wan and Fortune listened to the firing all around them as their police colleagues fought just as viciously as they did. The firing stopped for a moment as an explosion indicated someone had thrown a grenade off to their flank. Then the firing started up again but stopped just as suddenly.
“Yep, we've got to keep moving. Come on, let's get back to the girls and shift ass to the vehicles.” Obi-Wan pulled his team back to the cover of their initial position and together they all ran to the vehicles. They stopped briefly beside Brad's limp body on the sand.
