The Tuzla Run

by Robert Davidson

  The pilot frowned slightly but swung the helicopter into a wide swinging loop.

  “Weapons check.” The Major concentrated on the banking turn.

  “All weapons armed and ready,” responded Naric.

  “Entering approach run now. Fire at will.”

  * * * * *

  Crowther listened anxiously to the distant ringing of the phone. He heard an additional noise through the open cab window: the sound of an approaching helicopter. There was a click and the connection made. It was with difficulty that he heard Paroski as the background noises grew louder.

  * * * * *

  Markovic looked over at the incongruous trill of the mobile phone, which Paroski took from his pocket, but Naric had locked on to the vehicle below and would not allow his concentration to be distracted by the ringing. As the colonel answered the phone, Naric depressed the firing button and the missile streaked away in a burst of orange.

  Paroski kept his eyes on the truck below as he spoke.

  “Paroski.”

  “Crowther, I—”

  The truck leapt several feet into the air like a gigantic, scalded, white cat but with none of the natural grace. It turned in the air and fell heavily on its side.

  “Yes, hello, go on. Hello?”

  Paroski scowled at the phone before turning back to the stricken vehicle. The connection had gone: the phone was dead in his hand.

  “Excellent shot, gentlemen.” He collapsed the short aerial on the phone but did not put it back into his pocket. The firing of the missile had probably affected the phone transmission, and the paedophile would probably get back to him in a few moments.

  “Now for the others!”

  They soon located the objects they were seeking. Under a row of trees, lining the road to the entrance of a huge cavern, they saw the remaining convoy trucks.

  “Markovic, I want them all destroyed. Obliterated. Each and every one.”

  The major nodded. The Gazelle reacted to the gentle push on the stick swinging into a long looping circle.

  It came round for a run and approached the rear of the convoy.

  * * * * *

  Spider flashed the torch around the gloomy, cathedral vaults of the cave’s interior. Thick strands of darkness diffused the beam. Like smoke in the wind, it dissipated into the black recesses above his head. Moisture, glistening and shiny like sweat on ebony, ran down the steep walls. As he expected, the water was high, desperately so. The spring rains had increased its volume, and the road had disappeared.

  He sniffed. The smell of faded, sour mould assailed his nostrils. The gurgling of the river on its way forward over the rocky floor filled the cavern, jumping up past him, then rebounding down in echoes from above. The cold in the cave was intense, and he shivered. Still, the trucks would be able to make it providing everyone kept their heads.

  He waded on through the underground passage and as he came closer to the far end the atmosphere lightened somewhat. Standing for several minutes under the huge irregular arch of the exit, he checked the immediate external area. Everything seemed normal. He turned and re-entered the cave.

  Blinking as his eyes gradually became accustomed to the bright sunlight, he saw that the drivers had gathered in a group and were all looking skywards.

  “There’s a helicopter,” shouted Dawke as he approached. “Could be UNPROFOR.”

  “What markings has it got?” asked Spider.

  The man looked at him blankly, then turned, seeking confirmation from the others.

  “It’s got no markings,” snapped Rath.

  “Everybody! In the trucks! Make for the cave. Now!” roared Spider.

  “But if it’s got no markings—” said Dawke querulously.

  “Now, damn it,” roared Rath, turning and running to his truck.

  At that moment, the chattering noise of the oncoming helicopter swept before it and filled the valley. Spider revved up his engine and jerked the wheel round to pull out.

  Glancing in his side mirror, he saw with relief that all the trucks behind him were in motion, then he stiffened in horror as the glass filled with the dark green shape of the Gazelle as it swept into view a few hundred yards from the tail vehicle.

  He saw the flash of orange and then heard the exaggerated hiss of the release of the first missile. A heartbeat later, the surface of the track exploded, showering his vehicle with rock, earth and gravel as the force rocked his cab. He stood on the accelerator, leading the pack as the vehicles scrambled for the safety of the mountain.

  * * * * *

  The vehicles of Tadim’s group had stopped for the second time to allow him to scan the valley floor with his binoculars once again. He stiffened at movement in the trees of the slope opposite but relaxed as the field glasses revealed only the presence of a group of children. He focused on the floor of the valley and saw more figures under the trees.

  Closer inspection revealed a group of men smoking. He counted them; numerically they could be the drivers of the convoy, the ones he was looking for.

  He swung the glasses across to the area in the shade. In line and parallel to the river were the trucks; this had to be the convoy that he was to escort to Tuzla. He lowered the glasses and was about to return to his Rover, when a commotion among the drivers caught his eye.

  The figures had abruptly scattered and were leaping into their vehicles.

  At that moment, the sound of a helicopter engine reached his ears. Mahmud had joined him on the lip of the slope. Before he could locate the helicopter, Mahmud was pointing down towards the mountain and pulling on his arm. He caught sight of the aircraft just before it fired.

  “The rocket, Mahmud. Get the Stinger!”

  Mahmud dived back to the loaded Rover and reached it just as Zelim was clambering over the front seat to get out. Mahmud pulled him, without ceremony, forward and out on to the ground. He then sprang into the rear of the vehicle and pulled out the MANPAD. In a matter of seconds, he had armed and primed the weapon and was running over to his previous position beside Tadim.

  “Wait, Mahmud. Get ready, but do not lock on until I tell you. I don’t want our missile chasing his.”

  Mahmud nodded; he knew exactly what his commander meant. In Afghanistan, a Hind-D had escaped when a comrade had fired his Stinger at the helicopter, but the missile had swerved and chased a cluster of AT-3 Sagger anti-armour missiles fired by the Russian.

  Without warning the helicopter lifted, soared skywards then disappeared from sight over the ridge of the mountain.

  * * * * *

  “Markovic! Up! Up and over! Close the other side!” screamed Paroski. “Block the tunnel! Block the tunnel!” He pulled at the major’s shoulder. The helicopter swung violently as the pilot tore the colonel’s hand savagely from its grip.

  “Colonel, please! Control yourself!”

  Annoyed, Markovic put the helicopter into a wide turn, and as he started the run approaching the mountain, he put the aircraft into a steep, upward climb towards the mountain peak.

  “The tunnel. Seal off the tunnel. Now, damn it!”

  Once over the top the helicopter plummeted, the steepness and speed of the drop showing Markovic’s anger. Paroski’s face blanched as the descent halted sharply.

  The pilot lifted the Gazelle a few yards higher and manoeuvred its nose round square to the slope as Naric lined up on the exit of the cave and then fired three consecutive missiles into the earthworks above the arch.

  As the smoke cleared there appeared to be no damage, then slowly, the side of the mountain moved and slid downwards, picking up momentum as it went. In a rush to the bottom of the valley, it buried the opening of the tunnel.

  “Yes, yes!” the colonel shouted. “Now back to the other side before they can turn round.”

  * * * * *

  In the cave, the driver of the leading vehicle slammed on his brakes as the roof ahead of him collapsed. Clouds of dust blanketed the beam of his headlights, and stones and scree showered the cab and windscr
een. Unable to avoid the collision, the truck behind pushed his vehicle forward several feet as the following driver belatedly saw his emergency stop.

  Heavy diesel fumes filled the air together with the mounting roar of water and shouts of confusion as the drivers leapt down from their trucks and waded forward to see what had happened. The rock fall had blocked the fast-flowing river. The water had reached the axle of the front truck.

  Panic was imminent, and Spider moved quickly to suppress it. Shouting to make himself heard over the hubbub of voices and the noise of the river, he called on the drivers to converge on his position.

  “OK. Keep it under control. You can see we can’t get out by going ahead. What we’re going to have to do is reverse out of here. Start backing up now, but don’t leave the cave completely. Stay under cover until we are sure the helicopter has gone and it is safe to do so. Move back and be ready. Rath and I will check the other end.”

  He nodded to Rath and, over the din that resumed as the drivers returned to their vehicles, he mouthed the words, “Get your weapon.”

  Armed, both men hurried past the line of trucks towards the light at the entrance to the tunnel.

  * * * * *

  Despite the distance involved and the cushioning effect of the mountain between them and the other valley, the mujahedeen heard the detonation of the three missiles. Mahmud had dejectedly accepted that he had missed his chance to down another helicopter when, to his surprise, the Gazelle hopped over the crest and returned to its previous position in front of the tunnel.

  The elated Afghan controlled his excitement and sighted on the helicopter once more. He locked on and waited for the signal from his commander.

  “Now!” roared Tadim, closing his open palm on Mahmud’s free shoulder.

  The gunner pressed the trigger.

  * * * * *

  In the helicopter’s cabin, both crew members were engrossed as Markovic held the hover stable to facilitate Naric’s launch of the missiles at the remaining entrance to the underground passage. The Gazelle’s exhaust stack had an upward deflector to give protection against ground-fired infrared heat-seeking missiles. It also had an incoming missile detection system that Markovic had switched on before leaving Zagreb. As part of the aircraft’s defence system against missiles seeking a heat source, the infrared counter measures (IRCM) had diversionary flares capable of manual or automatic release.

  Despite the close proximity of the Stinger launch, two hundred feet above and less than two thousand yards distant, the Gazelle’s IRCM system was infallible. It worked perfectly. Within the space of a breath, it detected the launch, activated the panel warning-lights and initiated the audio warning-tone that filled the cabin.

  The supersonic Stinger missile, in a flash of orange and grey, locked unerringly on target and hissed towards the aircraft.

  Markovic’s eyes flicked downwards.

  Comprehension screamed across his consciousness. His eyes widened, as he watched, almost in another dimension, his own groping, grasping, sluggishly desperate fingers moving to the launch switch of the defensive flares. The switch might as well have been a hundred miles away.

  It had been set at manual.

  Orange flame engulfed the Gazelle, silhouetting the stark figures of its dying crew and passenger for a nanosecond before the sound of the explosion tore the sky apart and scattered burning debris over the trees below.

  * * * * *

  One of the children playing on the higher reaches of the hillside spotted the strangers on the other ridge. His shout caused the others to scamper in a giggling group down towards the valley floor. The explosion above their heads halted them in their tracks. They stared skywards from behind their raised hands as the debris hurtled down.

  However, there were other fragments, descending more slowly than the rest, spiralling and swirling their way to the ground. Throwing caution to the wind, the first child to reach the paper whooped in joy and exhilaration.

  “Money! It’s money!”

  Soon they were all snatching at the pieces of windfall and stuffing their pockets with the unexpected treasure.

  One small girl found a small, dark blue book among the treasure and paused to open it. She saw a round face staring myopically and glumly from one of its pages.

  What a sad man, she thought, and threw the passport aside as she re-joined the others in harvesting their find.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The two men reached the area of daylight. The air was heavy with the smell of burning aviation fuel. Only yards from the cavern entrance, clusters of flaming debris dotted a wide area of the road and both verges. Two large segments of wreckage were still recognizable as parts of an aircraft; a section of the cabin with seats, occupied by two charred and featureless effigies, and a length of tail together with the twisted fenestron.

  The pieces continued to blaze, with sparks and black smoke hustling and crackling, as they consumed the alloys and fabric of the fuselage. A heavy, thick pall of metallic grey smoke hung overhead.

  As they emerged from the shelter of the cave, Rath grabbed Spider’s arm with a restraining hand. He pointed to the unfired rockets still mounted on the burning tubular steel framework of the downed helicopter. No sooner had he done so than the missiles exploded, detonated by the engulfing flames. The force of the explosion threw both men across the road and down the riverbank. Both lay winded for several minutes. Lying on his back, Spider saw the sky through the branches above his head; several were burning, as were many of those of the nearby trees.

  He had lost his AK 47, and the wound in his shoulder throbbed. He wiped the sweat from his eyes and rolled over to search for Rath.

  The sight of several pairs of combat boots at eye-level brought him up short. Raising his head, he saw that he was under the muzzles of several rifles behind which were dark visages of mujahedeen. Other soldiers had pulled Rath to his feet and were dragging him to the top of the bank back to the road. Hands reached for him, and he too was half-carried, half-dragged back to the road to join Rath in the presence of a black-bearded giant in Bosnian army uniform.

  “You have our weapons?” the mujahid asked without preamble.

  Spider did not respond but cast a glance at Rath, who was expressionless.

  “The weapons,” repeated the soldier. “Time is short.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” replied Spider.

  “We have very little time to discuss this issue. You are the convoy from Opusan?”

  Spider nodded, trying to fathom the intent of the questioning.

  “Then we are to take over a consignment of weapons that you are carrying for delivery to Tuzla.”

  “If we’ve got weapons for you, then we certainly don’t know about it,” said Rath convinced that the Bosnian soldier was hallucinating.

  However, comprehension had dawned swiftly and harshly on Spider. He knew now the reason for the persistent and determined attacks.

  “Our need for one of your vehicles is almost as great as our need for the weapons,” Tadim said, looking under bushy, black eyebrows at Spider. “We will take one.”

  The convoy leader, who appeared calm and resigned, although his mind was working furiously, not least at the probability of Cheatham having set them all up, coolly agreed. He was under no illusions; his refusal would not have changed anything.

  By this time, the vehicles were emerging from the tunnel. Spider beckoned Rath to join him as he headed towards the approaching trucks. He told the men about the alleged arms shipment, frowning at the attempt of Dawke to raise a question, and said that it was essential that they segregate the weapons from the relief supplies. After the trauma of the past few days he was determined that, they would deliver the supplies. Nothing less would do.

  “Start bringing the trucks out into the open and line them up at this side of the road,” he ordered, pointing in the direction of the trees.

  The group turned back to the cavern to collect their vehicles as Spider took R
ath by the arm and pulled him to one side under the watchful eye of the huge Afghan.

  “As soon as the trucks are out of the tunnel, we’ll empty the first one, and it’ll be on this vehicle that we’ll load the arms. That vehicle will be going with these people to Tuzla. Our guys will follow with the rest of the supplies.”

  No sooner had the first vehicle come to a halt than the mujahedeen were swarming around it, untying the ropes and removing the tarpaulin covers. Restraining bands on the pallets were broken and the cargo unloaded. Obviously aware of the identifying markings of the boxes containing the contraband, the fighters segregated the cartons and passed them along the chain of waiting hands.

  A pile soon formed under the trees while the relief supplies went to build a similar heap at the other side of the road. As soon as the truck was empty, three Afghans detached themselves from the main working party and started unpacking, cleaning and re-assembling the various weapons.

  They also opened the ammunition.

  * * * * *

  “Rath, I’m going to ask them if we can radio Zagreb and get clearance for the handover.”

  “Why bother with Zagreb? We—”

  “I know what you mean and I agree with you but I want to speak to Cheatham. I’ve got the feeling that our manager knows exactly what’s been going on.”

  Rath just shrugged.

  “They appear to be in a hurry,” he said to Spider in an aside that was overhead by Tadim.

  “Yes, we are,” the huge Afghan said. “Tanks have been withdrawing from Sarajevo. They are on their way to Tuzla. We need those weapons to stop them. The tanks will be vulnerable once and once only, and that’s when they are still loaded on their trailers.”

  “Where are the tanks now?” asked Spider.

  “The latest I have is that the first group has reached Vlasenica and has halted there to wait for their re-supply vehicles to join them.”