Read Online The Forgotten Land by Keith McArdle - Free Book Online

deep blue tinge gave the eastern sky a touch of light, the Australians were
returning from the mess after breakfast. Colemerik was quiet, apart from the
dull burr of what sounded like a C-130 Hercules as it rumbled into the sky,
delivering supplies or bleary eyed troops somewhere in Iraq. Within twenty
minutes, as the sky turned a dull pink, the soldiers were under way. They had
shredded their identification cards and burned them. Nowhere on their person
did they carry any indication of rank or identity. It was common practise in
case of capture. They drove for almost ten minutes, passing only two other
vehicles, before they reached the southern gate, which was guarded by four
soldiers.
    “Thanks
fellas,” Steve said to them as he drove through the raised boom gate.
    They
nodded and watched with interest as the Land Rover headed south towards the
border. By the little he could see of their uniforms in the poor light Steve
thought they were Danish soldiers.
    By
sunrise they had driven almost an hour and a half. They were keen to cross the
border quickly and without drawing attention. By mid morning, they had driven
over the border and into Iraq. They kept well clear of roads or populated
areas, instead driving on low ground making sure they were not silhouetted
against the skyline.
    Around
lunch time, Steve stopped and watched a drove of distant goats with interest.
He turned the engine off. A young goat herder was walking behind them,
occasionally hitting the nearest goats with a stick and driving them onwards to
some unknown destination. The boy seemed bored. Watching in silence, the
Australian soldiers had their weapons ready. Priority dictated that their
secrecy and anonymity were more important than the boy’s life. If he noticed them,
he would die. They watched the boy and his goats until they had disappeared
from sight.
    Engaging
the ignition, the engine sprang to life and Steve accelerated gently, keeping
to a sedate pace to avoid kicking up too much dust. Three more times they were forced
to either stop or deviate from their route in order to evade goat herds or tiny
villages.
    “Hold
it!” hissed Scott at one point, flicking off the safety catch and swivelling
the fifty calibre machinegun to bear down on a smudge of dust. Steve stopped
the Land Rover. The dust was growing closer and the sound of an engine came in
intermittent burbles as the gentle breeze blew towards them.
    Within
minutes an old, decrepit looking truck, probably of Russian origin came into
view.
    “One
occupant,” spoke Will softly, as he stared through the binoculars.
    Matt
brought his weapon up resting it across his knees in such a way that he looked
unthreatening, almost complacent, but could react quickly if the situation
turned sour.
    The
vehicle came to a screaming halt beside the Land Rover. An Iraqi man with a
full beard grinned out at them, his arm resting on the door. The grin vanished
as he saw the foreign weapons and he became wary.
    The
Iraqi spoke quickly, he seemed agitated. Scott replied calmly.
    Nodding,
the man continued to watch them silently.
    “What’d
he want?” whispered Steve.
    “Wants
to know where his son is, he should have herded fifty head of goat back home by
now. Apparently the monthly markets are the day after tomorrow,” replied Scott.
    “You
tell him we don’t know?"
    “Yup.”
    “So
what now?” whispered Steve.
    “What
now? He thinks we’ve either kidnapped or killed his son. Matt get ready to drop
him.”
    “Way
ahead of ya,” replied Matt calmly.
    The
Iraqi’s face was solemn now, even angry decided Steve. The newcomer shouted at
them, his eyes betraying his anger.
    Scott
shouted back, his hands splayed out before him in a gesture of innocence. He
was trying to defuse the situation, but failing. The man climbed out of the
vehicle, an AK-47 clasped firmly in his hands. The Australians held their fire.
Scott continued to try to dissuade the man. The Iraqi spat a comment in reply
and with a snarl