In the Lap of the Gods

by Tony Criddle

  “There’s a prop job zig-zagging towards us about 6 miles south Nick. It could fly right over us, but if he comes much closer he’ll see us anyway.”

  Nick sighed audibly. “Fuck it. I’ll give it five more minutes then we’ll try a run for it guys. It’s almost certainly from Sanandaj so he’ll be on the bones of his arse for fuel by now. The big danger is if he calls it in, but he might have a few radio problems in these hills. We haven’t got much choice really though, we’ve got to refuel from the containers soon or we’re stuffed.”

  When Nick got going seven minutes later the P3 was nowhere to be seen.

  The placid tarn ahead reflected the azure of a blistering sky, but it looked as lifeless as a backyard goldfish pond. Not a ripple, nor a wayward eddy disturbed the dark, glassy surface, and a variety of silent, deep green pines stood sentinel for acres around it. They were taller than any they’d seen so far, but the short branches were still ragged and thin, the trunks still knotted and tortured.

  It was as if the trees were doing battle with the elements for a right to life. Although the proximity to a copious water supply ensured they did grow, the harsh climate prevented too much familiarity and vigour amongst them. They stood well apart, but the undergrowth hadn’t flourished much in those frosty highlands either. The area was lower, the grass greener and the tangled brush thicker, but only where the sun’s rays were able to wash the ground frequently.

  A deep, natural bowl captured the tarn. It was surrounded by higher peaks on three sides, while a long way south hazy smog and diminutive minarets barely intruded on a milky sky. It was all that Nick could have wished for to refuel and stretch cramped legs.

  Nick landed on a pebbly beach on the west shore of the lake amongst mysterious conifers and the hefty boulders that littered the lake banks. It helped to camouflage without being intrusive. He snapped the throttle closed but didn’t follow up with the fuel cock, and used the rotor brake after the blades slowed naturally. There were still a few hundred pounds of fuel left and idling would take very little. An easterly tail-wind had been kind to them, helping to conserve the available fuel, but Nick cursed when he did the sums. They would still need to refuel

  “Can I go for a pee Nickie, I’m bursting?”

  “You do it Lil. Jock and I will stick the fuel in first and Farhad can sort out some grub. I didn’t see the prop job either, so maybe he missed us.”

  They all agreed.

  Nick and Jock wrestled out the two white fuel containers and funnel while Fred dug out Laleh’s cotton bags. Nick lifted while Jock directed the flow, and the first container was almost empty when they were frozen by a high pitched scream – then another.

  Amini and Sinclair stared around bewildered but Nick grabbed the Tikka from under the back seat, hit the safety, and charged to where the girl had disappeared. Gasping with effort he raced around a small rocky outcrop and saw Laleh frozen like a statue, barely upright, her jeans still around her knees. Her frightened gaze was centred close and dead ahead, and she didn’t break it to look at him. He swivelled. A few battered trees swayed gently close by, while burnt tussocks waved long, straw stalks in the mild breeze. Other than that only dark boulders and some scrawny bushes hugged the deep shadows.

  Nick squinted and concentrated deeper, and saw one of the larger blotchy boulders move in the sun-washed shadows. A savage pink mouth gaped wide, revealing a throbbing pink throat and long, ivory incisors that dripped strings of sticky, colourless saliva. Now he was focused he could see black, pitiless eyes slashed by the vertical yellow of unblinking irises watching the girl intently. The animal hissed as its mouth opened again and its muscular shoulders bunched and raised a foot higher. It was about to charge.

  Nick didn’t hesitate. He centred between the vicious eyes just twenty metres ahead, knowing the small brain was right behind them. Then he paused. He had to force himself to squeeze, not stab at the trigger, it had to be this shot. If he didn’t stop it with the first one he’d never get another chance.

  The sharp crack came just ahead of the other two men skidding around the corner. The large leopard reared and half toppled backwards, spitting fiercely as its paws tore at a mangled face, and Nick jacked in another cartridge and shot into the whitish chest even before the animal had started to tumble. He probably didn’t need it, and hadn’t noticed the others arriving either.

  By then Laleh had hauled her pants up but hadn’t zipped or buckled when she ran sobbing towards him. He held an arm open, keeping the one with the rifle well away from her. She wrapped around him with arms like steel bands.

  “Nice one Lil. I’ve always fancied a safari,” he whispered shakily.

  He was trying to make light of it, but Laleh could hear the quiver in his voice and feel every muscle in his body fluttering with shock.

  Nick and Laleh walked back to the helicopter, traumatised and beyond being curious. Right then, just being together was enough. As they did Sinclair and Amini moved cautiously to the spotted body, and the Scot rolled the carcass with his foot.

  It already looked smaller in death, its fur a spotted mantle of matt black dots on what was no longer a shining yellow. It wouldn’t be going anywhere soon. They headed back to the chopper themselves.

  All four of them perched silently on rocks, the incident leaving them sober and quivering with after-shock. But they didn’t have time for it. Nick forced himself to function again, easing his arm from around Laleh’s shoulders.

  “Fred, give Jock a hand with the other fuel can and Lil pour the rest of the coffee. We go again in twenty.” It was what they needed, and they all started to move.

  Nick clicked out the short magazine from the Tikka, fumbled a box of ammunition as he replaced two cartridges, then pushed the re-charged rifle back under the seat. They forced down the remaining food and the last of the coffee, but needed an exorcism, a catalyst, to do more than just respond. Nick stepped in again.

  “Finish everything up guys, it could be more difficult later and we’ll need the energy.” I’m sorry about the leopard as well Lil, it was always a possibility now we’re further north.”

  And that opened up the flood-gates. They all tried talking at once, but Laleh predominated in the end.

  “Where the hell did it come from Nick?”

  “As we get near the Caspian we could see more things like that. I just didn’t think about it. I should have remembered that there could be the odd tiger, panther and cheetah around as well. There are even brown bears and wolves around a bit further north. A lot have been shot out, but isolated forested areas with plenty of water are naturals.”

  “I didn’t think of it either though Nick, and it’s my bloody country.”

  “You probably thought that big cats were pretty much a thing of the past Fred. They must be by now in most of Iran.”

  “Well, I could do without any more surprises.” Then Laleh chuckled. “I peed on my boots I was so shocked.” And that broke the ice. They all grinned and it was easy to get them underway after that. Nick decided to bring Laleh right down, to give her something else to think about.

  “You okay to take it from here Lily?” The girl looked around her, the leopard already receding with more flying to do.

  “It’s a bit tight Nick and I dread being the one who stuffs up. You get us out of the clearing then I’ll take over.”

  “Okay.”

  They were ready to go again in minutes. Nick towered it out and when he cleared the trees he handed over.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The air force pilot flying the Lear cut downwind and base leg into a tight turn and swooped onto the runway as if it was an air day and he had an appreciative audience. He off-loaded Arak and his team outside the control tower and immediately taxied to return to Tehran.

  The tower looked like a military control tower anywhere in the world, its four storeys painted a standard dazzling white, and its outer facade festooned with pipes and a few windows. The top of the building belled outwards, the panellin
g up there almost entirely glass, while a variety of aerials and metal frames reached skywards from its bitumen roof. A large painted sign on the bottom floor advertised an ops room, and that’s where Arak headed while his team shuffled their feet.

  Banks of computers, radar screens and wall maps lay scattered around the large, air-conditioned room, all manned by men in light blue shirts and slacks, while at its centre a short, muscular older man watched each operation like a hawk. He had dark skin, a shaven head, and gold metallic colonel’s insignia on his collar. He looked more Arabic than Persian. As the door squeaked open he turned, his black eyes slitted and staring. Arak introduced himself.

  “I was told your requests would have priority Mister Arak, but let me say right away that I’m the commanding officer of this base and I control the aircraft here. I’ll decide what my aircraft can or can’t do, not you or Tehran, and we’ve already used up this month’s allocation of fuel. I do know the task is to locate and stop a small commercial helicopter in any way we can, but that’s all I know. I’ll need more before I commit expensive and scarce aircraft resources. There are other issues here besides yours.”

  It was not the greeting Arak had expected and right away knew he needed to be careful. This man didn’t like him or the clergy in Tehran, and neither was he a bit cowed. Arak tried tact.

  “The decisions about flying are obviously yours Colonel. I’ll give you what I know and you can tell me how we should do it.”

  That didn’t appease the air force officer much either. “Right Mister Arak. How many people are we looking for, when can we expect them to reach here, and why are they wanted?”

  “A pilot and engineer from an American exploratory company, and a male and female Persian. They should reach this area in about an hour and a half and are traitors to Iran. They are implicated in the murder of one of our men.”

  The colonel wasn’t shocked. He even creased around the lips slightly as if he thought it was a good idea. “Your Iran I presume Mister Arak. Obviously they are going for Turkey so do they need to refuel?”

  “We don’t know. They started from Qom, so they’ll need more fuel, but they could be carrying it in containers.” The colonel looked skywards.

  “I’ve got two Kiowas with long-range tanks here and basically that’s what they’re flying. They could just about do that on one fuel load if they are carrying cans. Do you realise that the Turkish border is only a further hour’s flying from here by helicopter and it’s over 300 kilometres long.” The colonel started to pace.

  “I’m not getting any spares through for my aircraft, and we’re robbing the hangar queens to keep the others flying, so what assets I do have must be handled carefully. If their helicopter doesn’t stop they could be impossible to spot, and if they need fuel there are a lot of places they could get it from. My Tomcats can’t land at any of the smaller airfields, and I don’t have enough helicopters to cover anywhere near the number of places they could get it. It’s a vast area Mister Arak, and keeping in radio contact will also be a problem. You’ll have to get Tehran to send a fax authorising the use of the assets and fuel, and we’ll see what we can do. Use the white phone,” he pointed. “The switch will patch you through.”

  Even at that late stage Tehran dithered and it was twenty minutes later before the fax came through. Arak felt his own anger rising. How serious were they about him doing his job? He already suspected it would all come down to him in the end, so he’d better keep the colonel sweet.

  “Tell me what we can do Colonel, and I’ll back it up?”

  “They should get here by the early afternoon so I’ll put an F14 up around half one. It can sweep from here to the south of Lake Urmia and back, and if the pilot does find something we’ll scramble, but I can’t have assets out of place and not in radio contact. He can’t fly too low either, it eats up too much fuel. The Tomcat will stay at 10,000 feet unless he sees something, and we’ll think about choppers then. It would take over two hours for one to get to the southern end of the lake, and I can’t risk it being that far out of place if we haven’t got anything to go on.”

  Arak nodded. “I have four men with me Colonel. What should we do?”

  “Well, they won’t be cluttering up my ops room, that’s for sure.” He pointed out a hangar and office complex about 200 metres away through a window. “That’s the helicopter squadron. Send them there in case we do have to move quickly and I’ll get the squadron CO to range one of his birds ready to go. They can dig up some food as well. You can stay here with me.” The colonel turned to a bank of telephones while Arak hurried out to organise his men.

  “Head 340 for now Lil. The Saqqez River is on your left and another feeding the tarn comes in from the right. They’ve both got roads and small cities on them. I’ll keep you about twenty clicks clear so there’ll only be a few small villages on your track.” Laleh nodded.

  “How far to the refuelling base?”

  “About 130 clicks. After you’ve crossed that set of peaks ahead the land drops again and you’ll see Mount Sahand standing pretty much alone. It’s quite high with several peaks in a group and a lot of snow. They’re volcanic, and a lot younger than the hills we’ve been going through, so they’re still pretty jagged. It could even be steaming a bit as well.” Nick leaned over with the map, his index finger on the feature.

  “Aim for the southern slopes about there. Azar Shahr is twenty-five clicks beyond that, and the airfield is several clicks south-east of the town. If you reckon you’re too close to the bigger towns sheer away from them. There aren’t that many and we’ve got plenty of room.”

  Laleh muttered an “Okay.”

  “Do you know the company manager where we’re stopping laddie?”

  “I’ve only met him once Jock, when the company flew me on a famil in their fixed wing. He seemed okay. The base control is Norwegian, but he’s actually Swedish. He’s called Sven and something I can’t remember, but all the blokes in these jobs are pretty much the same breed.”

  “Will he have to get a bowser over?”

  “I bloody hope not. It’s a bigger operation than ours was, so I think he’ll have auxiliary fuel there. Fingers crossed mate, fingers crossed.”

  Almost at the same moment there was another quiet whoop from Laleh. The land was still mountainous but lower, and she knew what she was doing. She descended almost in auto rotation while Nick studied the map.

  “You’ll see a big town called Bukan on your left in a few minutes Laleh. When you do come right to north and keep us in the hills. If you have to bias between crests make it to the right.”

  They both saw the small city at the same time. Laleh came around to north, aiming for yet another depression between two higher hills.

  Arak was draining hot water from a squat silver urn when a cream telephone, one of a bank of three, trilled insistently. It got everybody’s attention. The base commander fumbled it to his ear and responded in monosyllables, then cursed. He almost threw the phone back on its rack. He wasn’t pulling any punches when he turned to Arak

  “That was some idiot in Tehran. They received a report of a low speed contact thirty-five miles east of Sanandaj, tracking south of west some time ago. They sent a trainer up to look for it and the crew saw a chopper at, low level, right at the end of their search area. He didn’t have the fuel to follow it, and he wasn’t armed anyway, but it was twenty minutes before he could get radio contact with his base. That’s over an hour and a half since his sighting. Their track was south of Lake Urmia.”

  “Is it the one we want Colonel?”

  The air force officer fumed. “How the hell should I know? But if it is them they’ll be south of the lake before long. I’ll scramble a Tomcat, but don’t hold your breath. It’s going to take him thirty minutes to get down there.” The colonel lifted one of the phones.

  Arak’s worried frown got deeper. He heard the rumble of big engines spooling up as he moved to a window.

  The squadron XO was on first standby and ju
mped when his boss’s telephone trilled. Seconds later a greying head thrust through the crew-room door.

  “Go, heading south-west, brief on ops when airborne.” There was nothing else the CO could say right then, he didn’t know any more. The XO and a young radar intercept officer started running to join a ground team already swarming over an ugly, twin-tailed fighter/bomber. The air start cart whistled into shrieking life as they climbed in, and the crew chief swung onto the wing himself to strap them into their ejection seats.

  He was an old hand, and it didn’t take long, but he’d hardly reached the ground again before the XO was signalling with a right index finger thrust into a left palm. Starting two wasn’t long after it, and the XO waved away the chocks before he could have possibly completed his after start checks properly. The aircraft crouched as it started to roll, looking mean and nasty as it picked up speed.

  Within eight minutes of the scramble the sinister fighter had switched off after-burners and was trailing a dirty grey plume as it climbed into a pristine clear sky.

  “Cobra Two on ops. Sitrep.” Flamboyant call signs are almost mandatory for fighter jocks. His voice boomed from an overhead speaker. The colonel grabbed a black plastic microphone on a glowing radar table.

  “Cobra Two, command. Your target is a civilian Kiowa, either all white or with blue motives on the rear doors. It should be approaching south of Lake Urmia in about thirty. Seek and destroy, over.” There was silence for several long seconds.

  “Command, Cobra Two, is that it? There are hundreds of square miles to look at. Can you be more specific?”

  “Don’t piss me off Cobra Two. I’m having a bad day.”

  “Roger command, I hope it gets better. After burners or not?”

  “Don’t even think about it. Let me know when you’re on station. Over and out.”

  Cobra Two stayed at 8000 feet AGL as he dashed south. Twenty miles from the lake the XO managed a grunt.