3 Great Thrillers

by Churton, Alex; Churton, Toby; Locke, John; Lustbader, Eric van; van Lustbader, Eric

  ‘Doesn’t have to be. Make it your own.’

  Richmond knew to let Ashe’s own system take over the process of regaining control. He let the convoy roll on another half mile.

  It was now two o’clock. Richmond suppressed a twinge of anxiety. Twilight descended so early in Iraq’s spring, and he would rather not be returning from the target site in the dark. The men would be tired; vision poor. Experience told him that most accidents happened on the way down from the summit.

  ‘Now, Toby, you need to consider the mission.’

  ‘Become the mission: target-centred.’

  ‘You’ve got it!’

  ‘At the centre of the circle, the Master Mason cannot err.’ Ashe remembered the great old line from the Masonic Third Degree lecture. Suddenly it seemed spot on.

  ‘Yeah, we’re at the centre of the circle, as you masons say. We’re instruments of the mission. The mission will take us through. We have each other and, in case you thought we were alone out here, we’re ringed by US airstrips, minutes of flight time away from here. It’s not like the old days with legions disappearing in the desert!’

  Ashe laughed. Richmond joined in. ‘Poor buggers! I presume Vinny told you about the Blue Force trackers.’

  ‘Yeah. Four buttons; three times.’

  ‘You’ll make a soldier yet. See the route map here on the right of the dash?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That little dot on the screen there is us. See to the south?’ Richmond adjusted the monitor. ‘That’s Qayyarah West airstrip. Near the oil well, there at Tall ’Azbah. West of there: another one at Sahl Sinjar. North of there: Tel Afar. That’s recently been reinforced. And thirty-odd miles away you’ve got the air base at Mosul.’

  ‘Bloody busy the desert, these days! Can’t you get any peace?’

  Richmond laughed. ‘Big Brother’s everywhere. So long as that dot keeps flashing, they all know where we are. If I press this thing, choppers’ll be here in minutes.’

  ‘Shit! And I was thinking we were having a real adventure.’

  ‘It’s real, all right, Toby.’

  ‘Just one thing, Simon old boy.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘If those choppers can be here in the time you suggest, what the hell are we doing making the reconnaissance?’

  ‘Standard procedure.’

  ‘Standard procedure?’

  ‘Yeah. Standard procedure to call in unengaged Blue Force in the vicinity.’

  ‘But where are the choppers?’

  ‘Glad you asked. Didn’t I mention the action northwest of here?’

  ‘Action?’

  ‘There’s been an attack on a village. I don’t know anything else about it, but the position has drawn in the available local air power, short of base defence.’

  ‘So what’s all that stuff about pressing buttons and the air cavalry turns up?’

  ‘If we encounter Red Force, Toby, they will send a detachment. You can take my word for that. Believe me, we’ll get air support if we need it. Standard procedure. Now I’m going to switch the convoy round a bit.’

  46

  Richmond accelerated ahead of the lead Humvee and waved it down. There was no sense using horns out in a high-risk zone.

  Concerned the convoy had no active firepower in the rear, Richmond ordered the tail Humvee into the middle. Now he and Ashe would bring up the rear. Ashe would be able to concentrate on lookout duty.

  In front of them: Sergeant Bolton and Ibrahim the interpreter – a weak link in the chain. In the lead vehicle: Corporal Pinsker driving, Zappa and Private Laski on the big gun, and Private Dykins behind the M249 squad automatic.

  If Richmond entertained doubts about the suitability of the firepower for the mission at hand, he kept them to himself, telling Ashe that convoys like this were known ‘in the trade’ as porcupines: too prickly to be messed with. He’d made that up on the spot.

  Ashe eyed the shimmering thread that hovered between earth and sky: nothing. Then he noticed a speck – a black speck in the distance. Mangled by heat-haze, the speck grew in size. Behind it, distantly, he could see what looked like a grey band on the horizon – maybe a distant mountain, or an in-coming storm.

  ‘What’s that speck?’

  ‘I can’t see it, Toby. I’ll drop back a bit.’

  ‘It looks like… maybe a distant mountain.’

  ‘How far?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe sixty or seventy miles.’

  ‘You’ve got remarkable eyesight, Toby. But it can’t be that far. It’s probably the Jebel Sinjar.’

  ‘Sinjar? As in Shinar?’

  ‘What’s Shinar?’

  ‘It’s the land where Noah and his lot came down to after the Great Flood. It’s where Nimrod built the Tower of Babel.’

  ‘Where all the races were divided?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Interesting. Come to think of it, from a distance, Sinjar does look a bit like the base of a massive ancient tower. It’s an amazing place. A bit like Ayers Rock in Australia. Only far bigger. A little mountain range popping up out of nowhere. You got flatland, flatland… nothing; then: Bang! Jebel Sinjar.’

  ‘Easy on the bangs, Simon!’

  ‘Still a bit jumpy? That village I mentioned – the one under attack – that would be up in the Sinjar. That’s where you’ll find our choppers.’

  ‘Comforting.’

  ‘As for the speck, I’ll bet it’s an oil derrick. There’s a drilling outpost at Tel Afar. Very close to the underground pipeline that runs south from Silopi, just over the Turkish border.’

  ‘Turkey? We’re that close?’

  ‘The pipeline runs south through Qayyarah West, just south of here.’

  ‘Wasn’t there a car bomb attack on the US facility at Tel Afar in December?’

  ‘Right. About thirty wounded. Could have been much worse. The guards did their job: approached the bombers and alerted the base. Even so, the suicide bomber detonated himself.’

  ‘And the bomber? Local insurgent or Ansar al-Islam?’

  ‘Tricky question, Toby. Last September, there was a new group announced.’

  ‘Yeah, I remember. Ansar al-Sunna. Defenders of the Tradition.’

  ‘Right. These guys are the main problem at the moment – at least in my sphere.’

  ‘What happened to the old group, Ansar al-Islam?’

  ‘Not entirely clear. Ansar al-Islam were mainly up in the Kurdish mountains northeast of here. Around Khurmal near the Iranian border. They threatened the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan forces, who are pro-democracy and modernisation, so they’re aligned with the Coalition. In March ’03, PUK peshmerga and US special forces mounted a joint op. You know how peshmerga vow to fight to the death? Well they pretty much took the Ansar al-Islam fighters apart. We thought we could rest a bit while the PUK exploited the gains.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘To be honest, situation’s much worse. Ansar al-Sunna forces have been creeping back across the Iranian border in the hundreds. Corrupt Kurdish guards have been taking bribes. And they’ve been moving into Mosul, merging with the population, and working as fixers for al-Qaeda-backed operatives coming in from the western border with Syria.’

  ‘So you’ve got Ansar al-Sunna to the east of us, and al-Qaeda volunteers to the west of us. You could say we were—’

  ‘In the middle of things, yes.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Hmm… And then there’s the problem with the reconciliation policy.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘A nice idea. Major General Peter Atraeus, commander of the 101st Airborne, thought it might be wise to reintegrate some old Ba’athist Iraqi commanders – get them to work with the Kurds for the common good.’

  ‘As you say, a nice idea. Bad in detail?’

  ‘Maybe. The major general gave Syrian border security to General Muhammad al-Shiwah. He’s a member of the al-Shammari tribe. The tribe spans the frontier with Syria. It’s generally seen as bein
g sympathetic to Saddam.’

  Ashe observed how the speck seemed to be changing, like it was being smudged out, enveloped, yet somehow getting taller and taller.

  ‘Whatever the reason, Toby, we’ve now got a fairly porous border, with al-Qaeda-stimulated volunteers coming in from both sides and Ansar al-Sunna as the welcoming committee.’

  ‘That speck’s getting bigger. There’s a… what is it?’

  Richmond reached into the glove compartment to his right and pulled out a telescopic sight. ‘Don’t bother mounting it on the M4, just tell me what you see.’

  Ashe adjusted the focus. ‘It’s a… pillar of smoke.’

  ‘Must be a mistake.’

  ‘No, it’s on fire.’

  Thoughts raced through Richmond’s head and they all crashed into one simple conclusion. ‘They’ve hit the pipeline.’

  47

  Richmond stamped hard on the accelerator and sped out to wave down the Humvees in front. As the Merc skidded to block Corporal Pinsker, a sudden flash and grinding thud hurled Ashe to the left as the landmine explosion shot the front right wheel spinning into the sky.

  A second blast. A Katyusha rocket tore up the earth next to the Merc. Rocket shrapnel smashed through the bulletproof windows, tearing off what to Ashe’s shocked eyes looked like a piece of Richmond’s shoulder. The casing embedded itself in Ashe’s seat, inches from his head; Richmond’s shoulder bled.

  Pinsker’s Humvee drew up at a 45-degree angle to the Merc’s left, to provide cover so Ashe and Richmond could get out. Bullets strafed the Merc’s side panels. With no one to protect it, grenades flew towards Sergeant Bolton’s Humvee.

  Ashe clambered into the front of the Merc as bullets ricocheted off the bonnet. He dragged Richmond down and opened the driver’s door.

  ‘The tracker!’ screamed Richmond.

  Ashe had a split second to think: three buttons, four times. No! Four buttons three times. Richmond’s shoulder tracker had been smashed in the blast; the other tracker box had been propelled off the dash. Ashe pulled Richmond out, then reached for the underside of the dashboard. Bullets shattered the glass and thudded and whistled into the interior.

  Ashe strained for the tracker box with everything he’d got.

  ‘Don’t!’ screamed Richmond. ‘Leave it! It’s too dangerous!’

  Ashe made contact with the box as bullets tore away the back seat. His fingers touched the four buttons; one was stuck.

  ‘Stuck!’

  ‘Hit it hard!’

  Ashe pushed and pushed.

  ‘Get out of there!’

  A second rocket blast lifted the front of the stricken Merc up four feet, nearly ripping Ashe’s arm out of its socket. Ashe was thrown over Richmond. Richmond screamed from the gash in his neck and shoulder.

  At the rear of Pinsker’s Humvee, Dykins, Laski and Zappa were giving the machine guns everything they’d got. There was a problem: the angle. The wrecked Merc was obscuring the main target area. If it pulled away, they would lose cover, and Ashe and Richmond would be exposed on the ground.

  Ashe pulled Richmond’s Browning out of the holster on his thigh and placed it in the major’s left hand. He then rolled over and levelled his M4 under the Merc’s chassis in the direction of the firing.

  The firing ceased. There was no target: only rocks and stones and sand.

  Richmond’s wavering voice broke the sudden silence. ‘Tell Bolton to come up to form a triangle.’

  ‘Does he need to be told?’

  Richmond’s eyes pleaded for immediate action. Ashe nodded. ‘Bolton!’

  ‘I’m… dead, sir.’

  ‘What?’

  Nothing.

  ‘Sergeant Bolton! Can you hear me!’

  Silence again.

  ‘Oh Christ!’

  Richmond was starting to feel the pain. ‘Get me some morphine, will you… Toby.’

  Richmond passed out.

  Ibrahim, alone in the cargo carrier, started singing out in Arabic. ‘There is no God but Allah! Muhammad is his Prophet!’

  ‘Dr Toby! You there?’

  ‘Zappa!’

  ‘Pipe down! Hey, Ibrahim! Cut it! They ain’t listenin’!’

  ‘What’s going on, Vinny?’

  ‘I guess they’re waiting till nightfall. They know they’ve got the advantage. Did you get a chance to signal Red Force presence?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No tracker?’

  ‘Chance in a million. Losing both.’

  ‘There go the reinforcements. You’re closer to the interpreter. Call for him to join you. He’s no good on his own out there with no weapon.’

  ‘Think he knows that, Vinny.’ Ashe called to Ibrahim; he wouldn’t budge.

  ‘Ibrahim, try and make a dash for it. They could open up again any second!’

  ‘I don’t reckon that invitation would get me out of a hole, Toby! Hey, Ibrahim, move your goddamn ass out of that truck! Guy’s frozen, I guess. What I can’t see is, why don’t they use another rocket?’

  ‘Maybe they only had the two left, Vinny. Look to the left a second. That’s what they must’ve done with the others.’

  A hefty slab of RAF Hercules fuselage glistened as the sun kissed the horizon.

  ‘How’s the major?’

  ‘Passed out. His neck’s in a mess.’

  Vinny said nothing.

  ‘What’s the tactic, Vinny? What are they going to do?’

  ‘I guess they’re gonna try and kill us, Toby.’

  ‘The burning pipeline. That’s going to attract Blue Force.’

  ‘Three miles away – through the black smoke. You better start praying, Toby.’

  ‘Praying?’

  ‘You pray, son. Pray with all your heart.’

  Ashe prayed. He prayed for Simon Richmond. He prayed for Sergeant Bolton. He prayed for everyone but himself.

  Vinny broke the awful silence. ‘You know, we got one secret weapon here.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The accelerator. We got speed. I reckon that’s our best hope. First you gotta get yourself and Major Richmond – and Ibrahim, if only the poor bastard will move his ass – into this truck. Without getting yourselves killed. And you better do it soon. Because it’s gonna be awful dark in ten minutes.’

  Ashe looked at Richmond, unable to staunch the blood that soaked his ripped shirt.

  Not a medic in sight. Ashe called to the second Humvee. ‘Ibrahim! Try and get over to me. We’ve got one chance. Ibrahim, save yourself… I don’t think he’s moving, Vinny.’

  ‘Can you drag the major over here?’

  ‘I think so, but if they’re looking closely, they’ll see us.’

  ‘I’ll cover you boys.’

  A voice came from the gloom. ‘Doctor Ashe! Doctor Ashe!’

  ‘Ibrahim?’

  ‘I try to come.’

  As the Iraqi started to squeak open the Humvee’s rear door, Ashe heard the sound of scurrying feet emerging from the shadows. He strained for a target. He couldn’t see a thing. Smashed glass. Someone had climbed into the rear of the truck.

  ‘Doctor Ashe! They’re—’

  Ibrahim screamed. Ashe, helpless, heard the sickening sounds of a desperate struggle – then the sound of running feet. Something was being dragged away.

  Ashe was forced backwards by the power of the blast. The Humvee exploded – a parting grenade tore into the twilight, scattering debris and human limbs around the desert.

  Zappa felt a sinking feeling.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Ashe, get yer ass over here now!’

  Ashe’s eyes were suddenly blinded. Two huge searchlights shot across the site as two Toyota pickups drove up the sides of a depression. The lights scattered disorienting beams over the startled survivors. Now Ashe could see what had happened to the convoy.

  The three vehicles had driven into a shallow dried-up riverbed. The late-afternoon light had obscured the true dimensions of the depression: perfect for an ambush.
>
  An Arab voice boomed hysterically through a megaphone. ‘Christians! Christian Crusaders in the land of Islam! You are prisoners of the holy jihad of the army of Ansar al-Sunna! There is no escape. The whole world will see! We have man with camera. Everything we do will be shown on your television screen. On the internet in the homes of your families. We film you even now! Surrender for the camera and for your lives! Allah is merciful to Crusaders who desert the armies of the Devil! No mercy for traitors who serve Jews and Christians!

  ‘Christians say they love everyone. We have your servant here. Here is traitor Muslim who serves infidel! We cut his head off. No true Muslim will serve Jews and Christians! If you love this man like you say, save him. You show your mercy. Want to see this man with head hacked off? Leave your weapons now. Surrender to mercy of Allah now! Save him and yourself! One minute, Christian devils! One minute!’

  48

  Vinny’s stomach was churning. A thought flashed into his mind. A US officer had recently been kidnapped. He’d been released after having promised to desert the army; he’d deserted and walked into Syria – which was more than he would have done had he defied his kidnappers.

  ‘What the hell do we do, Toby? They mean what they say. Major come round?’

  ‘Negative, Vinny.’

  Ashe’s will was pinched in a bottleneck. His mind began to fog over as if his life was suddenly crammed into a few seconds. Anger rose like a dragon in his soul. How dare these bastards use God’s name for rank murder? What low, twisted, cynical, criminal barbarity – what kind of scum were these, to drag the name of the Almighty God into their vile, blood-drenched banalities? A poor young man, with his own life to live – the life God gave him to live – how dare they hold him with a butcher’s knife to his throat, as if his existence were theirs to play with? Every fibre of Ashe’s body shivered and shook with indignation and righteous anger. Where this energy came from, Ashe knew not, nor was he thinking.

  Suddenly, Ashe was pulling himself forwards under the twisted chassis of the Merc. He wrenched himself out from beneath it and screamed at the black-masked faces hovering round the searchlights. ‘How dare you? How dare you? How dare you call this God’s work? What do you know of God? What do you know of God’s love? Nothing! What you do is not the will of God! This is NOT—’