by Azam Hossain
I moved swiftly from out behind the pile of debris and towards my quarry. My arms outstretched in front of me holding my pistol. It all happened in seconds. All four began to turn in my direction. The index finger on my right hand applied pressure on the trigger twice in quick succession as I aimed at the man closest to me. The shots cut through the air and echoed around the gorge. Before my first victim even fell, I turned my weapon toward Rostami, whom I saw from the corner of eye was reaching for a pistol. I fired into his upper body twice. His body convulsed and as he began to fall, I turned my attention toward the third man. But I could see neither him nor Guy! I ran round toward the other side of their vehicle to see the third man lying on the ground dead, Guy astride his body - from which he was retrieving his knife dripping in blood. I went back and examined the other two bodies. They were both quite dead. We dragged each corpse one at a time, off the road and concealed them. When it came to Rostami’s corpse I couldn’t help feeling a little triumphal; from being Rostami’s interrogatee to being his assassin, all in the same morning. I felt no remorse at his slaying. He was responsible for killing multitudes, for what would not be considered “crimes” in any free and civilised nation. I was feeling exultant at my kills, doused as I was in my own sweat of exhilaration, fuelled by the elixir of adrenaline. Consequently, I was overcome with that primeval urge to mate after killing - but with no wench to hand I had to abandon such notions.
We got in their 4WD. I drove and turned around in the direction of Iran and accelerated away. My mouth felt particularly dry – it seemed killing inspired a thirst.
“It seems they’ve heard about the base,” I suggested.
“Most probably,” said Guy rather reluctant to speak.
It was now fully daylight and sunny. We turned off the Pass and onto the Highway to Iran. In the distance were two 4WD’s coming towards us. As these vehicles approached, Guy bent forward so they would not see him. They sped past us at great speed, both filled with Revolutionary Guard rushing to the base. I looked into the rear view mirror and saw them disappearing behind me.
A moment later I looked into the mirror; and suddenly in the distance saw a vehicle coming up behind us. It could only have been one of the 4WD’s that had just past. They could not have reached the Haidar Gorge yet, which could only mean one thing - their suspicions had been aroused; and believing something was wrong they had turned around and come in pursuit. On seeing this, Guy undid his seat belt and reached in to the back and grabbed a machine gun and undid the safety catch. I put my foot down and we sped on. Our pursuers were getting closer. Guy kept a check on their progress.
“Go as fast as you dare. If and when their comfortably within range I’ll shoot them off the road,” he announced grimly.
I nodded and looked at my rear view mirror - they were barely 100 metres away. Their headlights were flashing at us and their heads and arms were stuck out of the windows, gesturing frantically for us to stop. As we hurtled along at speed Guy suddenly pointed the machine gun at our pursuers, down the middle of our vehicle, between his seat and mine. I then heard the deafening rattle of machine gun fire from my immediate right. Our rear windscreen was obliterated as Guy shot through it. Everything abruptly became deafeningly loud as I was exposed to the machine gun and the sound of the wind. Despite this I concentrated as best I could on my driving, for we were travelling at nearly 80 miles an hour and glanced at the rear view mirror. He sprayed them with several bursts of gunfire; they must have been taken by surprise, for they barely returned any fire. In an instant I heard a screeching sound. Our pursuer’s windscreen was riddled with bullet marks; the front left hand tyre had burst and was now being shredded and they were slowing down as evinced by the fact that we were now gaining on them. Guy ceased firing and resumed his seat and discarded the spent magazine before attaching a new one to the machine gun. I brought my eyes back to the road and then back up to the mirror. Just at that moment I saw the driver slump forward and the 4WD swung off the road - at such speed that it overshot the incline and landed on its nose. As it did so it somersaulted over once, before rolling violently on its left side thrice, disintegrating as it did so, before coming to a halt. I brought my eyes back to the road and slowed down a little - now that this immediate threat had passed. Just then there was a flash of light and a loud bang behind us, which caused me to wince.
“They won’t be troubling us any further,” said Guy calmly as he turned to look ahead.
I slowed the car right down and craned my neck round to see what had finally become of our pursuers. The 4WD was now consumed in a fireball - its fuel tank had exploded. I could feel the heat in the air as I looked out of my driver’s window. As I watched, my arm raised to shield my face, another explosion took place – causing parts of the vehicle to be flung into the air. No one could survive such an inferno. Contented, I turned to look ahead and accelerated away again.
“Good shooting Guy,” I said, breaking into a laugh to relieve the tension.
“I’ve won prizes for my marksmanship,” he replied with a mixture of nonchalance and pride.
“I don’t doubt it,” I said smiling.
A moment later I saw the turn off for the minor road on the right leading to the Guest House. I explained to Guy, that that was where I had been taken and from where I had escaped. I glanced to my right as we sped past, in order to get one final look at it. Barely a minute after we had past I noted in the distance two vehicles in front of us, also headed to the border. The vehicle in the front was another one of the 4WDs so favoured by the Persians; whilst the vehicle behind it and nearer to us was a black car. As we got closer, any doubts I had were dispelled, for this black car was a Mercedes – Zhukov’s black Mercedes.
CHAPTER 29 – SLAUGHTER AND RESCUE.
I was so relieved at the prospect of leaving Azakistan and returning home, that all thoughts of Zhukov and his goons had completely slipped my mind. The presence of his car taunted me to stay true to my word and get “justice” for Andrew. In these lawless parts that amounted to me being Zhukov’s judge and executioner. I kept a constant distance to the vehicles in front and didn’t get too close.
“Zhukov is in that black Mercedes up ahead,” I declared, “I saw Zhukov getting in to that car after that meeting I told you about, it was also parked at the Guest House where I was detained. They must have heard about the blasts and decided to leave.”
“Assuming you’re right, what do you propose?” asked Guy intrigued.
There was a silence as I pondered for a moment and bit my lip. I looked in the rear view mirror – there was nothing behind us. I turned to Guy who was sitting on my right, “Given half a chance I intend to kill him,” I said with conviction.
Perhaps being half starved, sleep deprived and having people trying to kill me in the wastes this country had finally taken its toll on my ability to rhyme and reason - for I had no idea how I was to achieve my goal.
Just then the vehicles up ahead were pulling over and stopping for no apparent reason.
“I hope you know what you’re doing Collingwood,” stammered Guy.
“Keep your wits about you Guy,” was the best response I could muster, whatever that meant. I drew up slowly and stopped behind the Black Mercedes and the 4WD. We stayed in our vehicle, for a Persian had got out from the 4WD, seemingly unarmed and was walking past the Mercedes and up to my door. I looked over anxiously to Guy, for he spoke Farsi. I placed the cloth that Guy had given me earlier over my head quickly and wrapped it over my mouth. This Persian would think it damn odd that this 4WD was occupied by two strangers, especially if he knew this to be Rostami’s vehicle. I gulped and felt a knot in my stomach. I wound down my window on his approach at which point Guy leaned in my direction in order to speak to him. In my apprehension, I avoided eye contact with him. The man stooped down to the window and started speaking. Guy looked at him engagingly. Their conversation alternated between them for a moment. The man then bid us farewell and as he did so I glanced in his direct
ion – I recognised him! He was my jailer and the guard who had been sleeping by the main door, whom I had decided not to kill. How had I not recognised him earlier? When you’ve seen as many of these people as I’d done, they all begin to merge into one. Lord knows I’d endured a surfeit of Persians!
“He thought that his order to return to Iran might be revoked when he saw our vehicle. That’s why he stopped to check,” Guy explained, “He was wondering who we were. I told him that you and I are with the JFF, and thus his allies, that seemed to satisfy him,” said Guy smartly.
Just at that moment through my still open window I heard the sound of a distant car engine. The Highway, upon which we were parked, was about a metre above the barren ground either side; and thus afforded us a better view of the surrounding land. I looked over to the left of the road, strewn with small rocks and the occasional vegetation that extended as far as the eye could see. In the distance a pick-up truck was visible behind us on this desolate ground, coming towards the Highway quite slowly, sending up a trail of dust in its wake. There was something else travelling alongside the pick-up. Guy and I watched this spectacle in silence for a few seconds. As they got closer I could better make out the images. Then the realisation dawned on me. Running besides the pick-up were horses – three horses without riders! As far as I could tell neither the JFF nor the Persians used horses here; certainly not that I’d seen. Who else was here that did? Only us! I suddenly recalled the Major telling us where we would rendezvous with Mueller and Aziz before crossing the border; it was at a spot which would be roughly in the direction from which this pick-up was approaching. A ghastly thought passed through my mind at that moment - that some of my comrades had been caught or killed! I explained this to Guy and we decided that if my fears were confirmed that the priority would be to rescue them. In which case I could dispense with any notion of pursuing Zhukov, at least for the time being.
Just then the two vehicles in front of us moved off and resumed their journey to Iran. I shifted the gear into first, released the hand brake and put my foot on the accelerator. I turned the vehicle across the Highway, down the incline on the other side and into the barren ground in which the pick-up truck was approaching us. My intention was to intercept it before it reached the Highway. I moved in to second gear and increased speed. Guy grabbed the machine gun in readiness. The pick-up, upon seeing us, altered direction and made directly for us, as did the horses. The horses were in a gentle canter; kept on a long rein that led to the pick up, hence its slow speed. It had a double cab with four doors, able to accommodate five people I estimated. As we got inexorably closer I could see a man standing behind the cab with a machine gun slung over his shoulder. As we got closer I recognised the horses: a black gelding; a white mare and a chestnut coloured filly.
“Those horses belong to Mueller and Aziz!” I cried out to Guy. His reaction was to remove the safety catch on his machine gun.
An ominous feeling took hold of me as to the fate of Mueller and Aziz. As we came upon them I slowed down and furnished Guy with their description. I stopped, as did they, several metres apart; our vehicles facing each other, they slightly to our left, with the horses on the far side of the pick up away from us. As a former Cavalry Officer I noticed at once that the horses were not looking particularly well, having been run ragged, by brutes who had no inkling of equine husbandry. Guy got out, slung the machine gun authoritatively over his shoulder and walked toward the vehicle. I stayed in the driving seat, my back perspiring against the seat with the engine still running. Looking on apprehensively, my eyes utterly focused on Guy and his interaction with these men - for they were Persians. Two of them came out of the cab, the driver remained inside. As Guy approached them, he shook their hands. They then spoke for a moment, before Guy went over to the horses, followed by one of the men; this enabled him to walk past the cab of the pick-up and stop and see inside. He clearly asked the man about those whom he saw and then, upon reaching the chestnut filly he ran his hands along her neck and patted her affectionately. Taking a step back he then admired the filly’s flanks. He and the man appraised the horses. Guy pointed and gestured as they discussed them. I nervously looked over my shoulder at the Highway - it was devoid of any traffic. It was gratifying to know that our enemies couldn’t get anything through from the Bactria Valley. A moment later Guy turned to the man shook hands and returned to our vehicle. As he took his seat next to me he said softly, “They’ve got them in the back seat......their hands are bound. One of them is definitely European the other an Azaki. If you’re sure the horses are theirs then there can be no doubt,” Guy concluded.
“What do you suggest we do?” I asked.
“The man standing behind the cab is a problem. If we launched an assault now, he would have a clean sweep at us with his gun,” turning to face me he challenged, “Can you take him Tarquin? This is what I propose.......”
Guy feigned annoyance and rebuked me demonstratively for the benefit of the Persians. I left the 4WD apologising to Guy and ran past the pick-up, ostensibly to answer the call of nature. Whilst I went out of sight Guy got out and paced about impatiently, seeking the sympathy of the Persians for his misfortune in having such a dullard as a driver. I found a clump of rock against which I did actually pass water. I then got out my Glock; and then surreptitiously approached the pick-up from the rear at a distance - partially concealed, crouching as I did so. When I was still a fair distance from it I knelt down, and holding my Glock in both hands, arms outstretched I brought my sights on the man, still standing behind the cab. His back was to me. I could see Guy loitering near the cab of the pick-up, engaging its occupants in conversation - in readiness. I licked my dried lips in apprehension, held my arms steady; brought my aim to his upper back and shot twice in quick succession. His body was flung forward before collapsing down in the back of the pick-up utterly lifeless. This was Guy’s signal to commence the slaughter of the trio of Persians in the cab. A machine gun would be too crude a weapon in such circumstances. He had acquired a pistol from one of the Persians whom we had slaughtered at the Haidar Gorge - good for when one had to distinguish between friend and foe in close quarter killing. As soon as I had fired my two shots I ran toward our quarry to offer Guy assistance; and as I did so I could see and hear him firing his pistol repeatedly into the cab. The horses were startled but did not bolt. As I came upon the pick-up, the driver’s door opened as the driver was half way out attempting to escape. At that instant his body was convulsed as Guy’s bullets penetrated his body. He fell out dead; his corpse cruelly draped part on the ground and part still in the cab. Perspiring and feeling my heart beating furiously, I pointed my Glock into the cab.
I could see Guy on the other side. “They’re all quite dead,” he declared casually as he put away his pistol.
The two men whom Guy had been speaking to moments earlier were dead. The man in front was slumped forward, Guy grabbed him to throw him out, as he did so his head rolled back on his shoulders, his chest was a bloody mess and his eyes stared blankly forward. The other man sitting in the back was a complete mess, where his face should have been there was nothing but blood and a big hole, his head was resting on the back of the seat facing upwards. He must have been shot in the face. I felt part admiration and part disgust at Guy’s ruthlessness. It was all quite grisly. I averted my eyes to the Highway for a few seconds; as much for a respite from this scene as to check for any oncoming enemy.
I then turned my attention on the two men in the back seat, for whom this slaughter had been undertaken. Unmistakably it was Mueller and Aziz - both had cuts and bruises. They both looked petrified, no doubt believing that they would also be slaughtered. I uncovered my mouth and upon recognising me, their look of fear was replaced by one of relief.
“Remember me?” I said cheerfully as I opened the rear door of the cab and began untying the hands of Aziz, whilst Guy removed the corpse of the driver.
“You’ve done an excellent job at the Haidar Gorge,” said I a
ttempting to lift their spirits.
Once Aziz’s hands and feet were unbound he took my right hand between his and began praising me to the heavens quite pathetically. This was a typical show of oriental excess - embarrassing as it was unseemly. Guy meanwhile freed Mueller of his bonds.
