Distant Annihilation. (Tarquin Collingwood Adventures Book 1)

by Azam Hossain

  The Major then went to speak to Ismail, and as I turned around I saw Mueller standing before me with a grim look on his face. Before I had a chance to say or do anything Mueller blurted out venomously, “It is not only you that can kill the enemy and rescue us Kapitain Collingwood.”

  He was nursing a grudge because I had had the effrontery to rescue him and the others. This I now understood was why Mueller had not said a word to me since then - until now when he felt his “debt” could be redeemed.

  “I’m exceedingly glad of it. It’s nice to know that we’re all brave chaps,” I said in a rather nonchalant manner.

  It was an effort for him not to shout as the veins in his neck rose and he spat out his words in his anger, “You think this is like an evening tea party viz your jokes?”

  “An evening tea party sounds an unconscionable idea,” I mocked, “Don’t you mean an afternoon tea party?” I suggested

  “Tea,” he screamed, “Is that all you English ever think about?”

  “You are the one who started talking about tea – not I,” I said in a good humoured way.

  He looked as if he was about to explode with indignation, or worse, practice some of his swift knife work on me. I for one had had enough. I would not put up with such impertinence from an officer of equal rank to me, much less a sergeant. And my patience with this impudent upstart was finally exhausted. I walked up to Mueller until I was standing just a metre in front of him and assumed a military bearing and dispensed with the good humour.

  “Achtung Mueller,” I bellowed firmly. This sudden change of demeanour seemed to surprise him. For he suddenly stood bolt straight, arms by his side’s, chest out and shoulders back as if he were on parade. An automaton if ever I saw one!

  “Verstehen diese worte!” I began, “This is not a competition to see who can rescue and kill the most. We are here in the service of our countries on a common gaol. We should act like a band of brothers, not rats in a sack. Your insubordination does you and your uniform a disservice. A good Bundeswehr soldier knows how to respect and obey an officer.”

  I turned and walked away hoping my little speech would have the desired effect. We concealed the bodies and returned to camp without further incident.

  The next morning after breakfast I noticed a new sense of purpose and nervous agitation pervading camp. Mueller was inspecting the explosives and detonators, whilst Aziz and Ismail began preparations to dismantle our camp. I checked my Glock and knife and ensured my day pack had everything I would need. I then lay down and listened to Maher’s first Symphony on my MP3 player. The first movement “Langsam Schleppend, Immer sehr Gemachlich” was utterly sublime. It was a moment of escapism and relaxation which I felt I was entitled to before embarking upon the climax of our mission. I had my eyes closed when I was gently roused by Ismail so that the Major could brief us in his tent.

  The Major began, “I believe we should do this job as well as we can to ensure we inflict the greatest blow to the enemy. We shall therefore lay explosives in several locations.”

  The Major had my full attention, as I listened intently.

  He pored over a map and continued, “The North West Pass is the only road into the Bactria Valley - several miles before it enters the Valley there is a junction where it meets a two lane highway that comes south directly from the border with Persia. The supplies for the base come down this highway after crossing the border from Persia and at this junction they turn right into the North West Pass and follow it into the Bactria Valley. Between this junction with the Highway and its point of entry into the Bactria Valley the NW Pass goes through a narrow gorge, known as the Haidar Gorge. It has steep cliffs on both sides. I propose to dynamite these cliffs so that the resultant debris will make the road impassable, thereby cutting road communication between Persia and the Bactria Valley for days,” he paused and turned towards us and then continued, “Secondly the wall of Khazali’s Mound that overlooks the launch facility will if dynamited with enough explosives cause a big enough explosion to cover about one half of the launch structure and delay any attempt at reconstruction.”

  I listened with growing admiration.

  “Finally, but most importantly we will plant explosives in the facility itself. All the explosives will be timed to explode at 05.00hrs, in order to allow us several hours to escape in darkness. By 05.00hrs we should be long gone.”

  “How exactly are we to make our escape?” I asked.

  The others all looked at me as if I had asked what they were thinking.

  “Aha........I see that Captain Collingwood is thinking..........of how you say in England,” the Major searched for the right phrase, “of saving his skin. Meine leiber Collingwood,” he continued patronisingly, “Do not worry I have been thinking of that also. We shall go where they are unlikely to look...........” there was silence as he paused.

  “Yes Major von Weizsacker?” I said in anticipation.

  “We shall go into the devil’s mouth.”

  The what? I thought. “The devil’s mouth?” I asked aloud.

  The Major explained, “I mean Persia. We shall go into Iran!”

  My mouth dropped in astonishment and there was a moment of silence.

  He continued, “After the explosions the Persians and the JFF will be scouring all of North Azakistan for the culprits, they are unlikely to look in their own country. We must be clear of the Haidar Gorge before the explosions are timed to go off. The road continues across the border and is called the A01 Highway. The first settlement one comes to is called Taybad – there is nothing there. We should therefore continue on for about 40 miles to a place called Torbat-e-Jam, it means the burial place of Jami - a 12th century Sunni poet. It is a more substantial town with better transport connections, including an airport. Once there, we may be picked up by my people, otherwise you must fan out as you judge best and escape.”

  The Major folded his arms as he looked at his audience with self satisfaction as we ruminated upon his plan of escape. It occurred to me that there was a perverse logic about it; that in its own warped way made sense. It was boldness itself I concluded – provided we didn’t get captured or killed and everything went according to plan. Some chance!

  CHAPTER 20 – CROSSING THE RUBICON...A PICNIC.

  Our camp was dismantled and all traces of it removed. Aziz and Mueller took three horses and were assigned the task of dynamiting the Haidar Gorge to render the North West Pass impassable. The Major, Ismail and I headed to the Bactria Valley with four horses. We would enter the valley at Iskandar’s Mouth from where we would proceed to Khazali’s Mound to plant our explosives in the walls overlooking the launch facility and in the facility itself. We were then to rendezvous with Aziz and Mueller at a point just north of the Bactria Valley.

  The three of us were dressed in native Azaki cloths so as to be less conspicuous. After last night’s rain today was bright and sunny. The weather was the warmest it had been since I had arrived in Azakistan, the sky was bright blue, but for a distant cloud – clearly summer was nigh. The scenery reminded me of Wadi Rumm in Jordan - untouched by man, the colours of the rock shimmered in the heat and light, the ground was parched and barren. After nearly two hours since we had left camp, with the sun getting hotter as it reached it zenith, we saw Iskandar’s Mouth – the natural gap in the valley wall, where the North West Pass left the Bactria valley and went into North West Faryab. We stopped in the shade of the valley wall; which we had largely been hugging for much of the way, for the shade it afforded. The Major instructed Ismail to dismount and see if the valley floor was clear. My Gelding waited patiently and was as obedient as ever as I also dismounted. The Major took the reins of Ismail’s horse, whilst he hurried along to Iskandar’s Mouth to look around the wall into the valley. He then went out of sight. The turban and my general native paraphernalia were beginning to become cumbersome to me in this heat. I could see the Qursani Valley from whence we had come that morning; there was no one to be seen and not a sound to be
heard – the silence discomfited me. Minutes later, I looked around and still no Ismail. Where the hell was he? The Major turned to me and our eyes met for an instant; his look told me he was as anxious as me. Just then I heard his feet running towards us as he appeared from around the valley wall. He was slightly out of breath, his face wet with sweat as he stopped by his horse and took a swig of his canteen to slake his thirst.

  Ismail wiped his mouth and began, “There are people and cars just a little down the valley.”

  The Major looked troubled as well me might. If we could not cross the valley floor undetected we could not get to our target and fulfil our mission.

  “The cars are parked and I think they’re having a meeting,” Ismail explained.

  The Major and I decided we had to see for ourselves. We left Ismail with the horses and walked along the outer wall as Ismail had done and then turned right into Iskandar’s Mouth the natural gap in the valley wall, which was nearly 50 metres wide. We crossed the width of the wall and then we were able to see south down the valley floor by looking to our right.

  “Mein gott,” uttered the Major under his breath.

  It was as Ismail had described; a short distance away there was an assortment of vehicles, including 4WDs’, a jeep and at least one open backed lorry used for carrying troops. There was a large gazebo in which food and drinks were served on tables and next to it a tent - large enough I discerned to accommodate at least a dozen people. Loitering about, under and around the gazebo and the vehicles there were, I judged at least two dozen people. As we watched, it became clear that this was some important meeting.

  “I think the important people are in the tent. If we wait we will find out who they are,” suggested the Major, “There is nothing else we can do.”

  After a few moments we saw a flurry of activity. “Thank God,” I muttered. I could see people coming out of the tent and vehicles being brought up to collect their masters. Our eyes focused on the entrance to the tent which was now open. A man came out dressed in native Azaki gear with a black turban, flanked by men either side of him. They were talking amiably. He was dressed like those JFF chaps, such as Yaqub. And then I realised why he looked familiar. Guy had shown me his photo in Moscow. It was Ghulam Riaz of the JFF – a bearded Mohammadan zealot and rogue if ever I saw one. A 4WD vehicle came up to them and Mesud and his escorts got in and were driven away; their vehicle performed a U-turn and went through Iskandar’s Mouth towards North West Faryab. Behind him came a group of men dressed in western suits or parka jackets with open neck shirts and neatly trimmed black beards – the unmistakable appearance of the Persians. They were the architects of this treachery.

  “The one in the middle is Mehrab Rostami - a member of the Quds force, part of the IRG. He’s in charge here and has a reputation for cruelty and ruthlessness,” the Major advised.

  Once the Persians had got in their vehicles they sped south along the North West Pass and another group came out of the tent. A lean tall well groomed man about 40 of European appearance wearing a suit. Walking next to him was a young woman. I looked inscrutably at them - my god it was Zhukov and Anastasia Olonova. Then I suddenly recalled Anastasia telling me in her office at the Onegin Gallery that they were coming to Azakistan and here they were in all their finery. She was wearing a trouser suit with a pashmina fashionably thrown around her shoulders and a pair of sun glasses which she now - as they came out into the sun, lowered from her forehead where they had been perched. The unexpected sight of her only served to remind me that I hadn’t seen a woman since that “courtesan” in my tent. Just behind them was the unmistakable figure of Yuri Gromyko and a man I now recognised as Pavlovitch - the corrupt and despicable excuse for a policeman who was an accomplice to Andrew’s murder and a whoremonger to boot!

  We turned to watch them as Zhukov and Anastasia got in the Black Mercedes saloon which the chauffeur had drawn up outside the tent. The other two men got in a 4WD which was behind the Mercedes. The vehicles then moved on in the same direction as that of the Persians - past Khazali’s Mound further south and back towards the base containing the launch facility and presumably from there they would continue on to the Highway leading to Iran. Now that the meeting had broken up the site was being dismantled and the men with guns now also left.

  “They will not trouble us,” said the Major referring to the caterers and the removal men.

  “So who are they?” asked the Major moments later, as we crossed the valley floor toward Khazali’s Mound, our horses at a gentle walk as bold as you like. I looked from the corner of my eye and the men barely gave us a second glance as they packed up the tent.

  “Vasily Ustinovich Zhukov and Anastasia Olonova,” explained I. Before proceeding to tell him about Gromyko and Pavlovitch and all I knew about the four of them; in particularly Zhukov’s involvement in acquiring uranium for the Persians.

  “Ahhhh these Russians are not civilised people,” said the Major in disgust.

  I thought that a rather sweeping statement, but in mitigation I pointed out that Anastasia was alright. The Major turned to me – we were riding side by side, he gave me a knowing smile. “If she is........alright, what is she doing with such a terrible man as Zhukov?”

  I looked across at him searching for an answer, “A girl cannot just leave a man like that. She’s afraid to leave him, but she would if she could.”

  “You sound as if you know the girl’s mind,” the Major observed.

  “What could they have been discussing?” I asked, wanting to change the course of the conversation as I recollected the disclosures she had made to me in her office.

  Ismail heard me from behind and volunteered an answer, “They may have found the bodies of the JFF men we killed last night and are now searching their killers.”

  “No this meeting was arranged many days ago. It’s something more significant,” I said decisively over my shoulder.

  “I recognised Mesud, we saw Mehrab Rostami and his Revolutionary Guard and your Russians,” began the Major, “Whatever it is, it’s significant and therefore the sooner we destroy their plans by succeeding in our mission the better.”

  And with that observation the Major kicked his heels into his mare’s flanks and trotted ahead.

  When we reached the north face of Khazali’s Mound, we climbed it by following a route which gently rose above the level of the valley floor. In the course of the afternoon we took natural gaps and defiles and zig zagged our way up Khazali’s Mound. Occasionally the horses would shy away and had to be pulled and pushed forward when they found difficulty in the terrain. It was a laborious journey to endure and it occurred to me that these narrow paths and steep gradients were ideal places for an ambush – but no one was mad enough to climb up here except for us. Fortunately it was not like this all the way up. Once we had ascended to the top the progress was easy going for the horses. In order to gauge our progress the Major would occasionally go to the edge, from where he would get a good view of the lay of the land far below us. The spectacular views were as diverting as our circumstances were precarious.

  We reached the part of Khazali’s Mound overlooking the base by late afternoon. We lay on our stomachs looking down below to the construction site of the launch facility which we had seen the previous evening from the valley wall on the opposing side. We could hear the machinery and see the men working industriously. After a moment the Major gave me his binoculars and I scanned those parts of the site not obscured by the tarpaulin canopy. There was all the activity you would expect on a construction site - except for the occasional man with a machine gun. And then I saw three men who looked out of place. This only served to inspire my curiosity. I could not see their faces. It appeared that the man in the middle was being shown the site by the two men either side of him. I adjusted the focus on the binoculars and waited. After a moment they turned around towards my direction and I saw their faces. The man in the middle immediately caught my attention. Then in a moment of excitement I realised I had
seen this man before. My jaw dropped in astonishment and my heart missed a beat.......

  CHAPTER 21 – HANGING BY A THREAD.

  I couldn’t believe it! What the hell was he doing here? I removed the binoculars from my eyes in order to see him unaided, as if I thought the binoculars were playing a trick on me and then I put them to my eyes again to be sure. There was no doubt. I said not a word to Ismail or the Major. What was Simon Hurd doing here? Was he like me acting in the interests of British national security? Or.....was he a traitor? In the absence of any evidence, I decided to give Simon the benefit of the doubt - until I knew otherwise.

  “Let’s get to work............we have lost much time!” the Major said softly as he got up, in order to walk towards the horses. The Major started emptying some of the saddle packs: they contained grappling irons, ropes, harness and pitons – the equipment for mountaineering. Before dark we made our preparations; readying the detonators and lining up pieces of C4 and laying out the ropes and accoutrements of the mountaineering equipment. A detonator, such as the electrical detonators we were using was in itself a small explosive. When the detonator is triggered, the charge is transmitted from the detonator, through the detonator chord into the block of C4, into which the chord has been inserted. This sends a powerful shock into the block of C4 causing a chemical reaction that takes just a millisecond. This unleashes a variety of gases, which expand at the rate of 26,400 feet per second applying a huge amount of force to the surrounding area and destroying everything in the vicinity. The Major planned out how much C4 he would need and where he would plant it, explaining that he had paid particular attention to this when he observed the site with his Night vision binoculars the night before.