Fehed desperately tried to increase speed, but at this altitude the most he could get was 100 mph. Ryder prayed they would make the gap in time. It was all or nothing now.
“Jesus! Those mother-fuckers are gonna take us this time!” cried Sicano, back on the cockpit deck, half looking at the mass of rock ahead and half at the oncoming fighters.
Fehed pushed the cyclic lever, sending the Mi-17 headlong into the mouth of the ravine as four AT-2 âStinger' missiles swept by and exploded into the hillside both sides.
“That was close â too fucking close!” Sicano shouted.
Ryder looked back desperately to see if the other helicopter had followed them in.
“We made it! We made it!” Sicano came again; this time the tone screaming jubilance.
“Not yet,” replied Ryder, “that chopper's still on our tail, and gaining fast.”
Fehed opened the throttle. The helicopter careered up the broadening ravine, staying in the centre, one step ahead of the other machine and making sure the angle between them remained tight to hinder the gunner. Ryder prayed they were not carrying missiles. In a little more than a minute they soared into the inky blackness of a narrow valley beyond. Desperately, Fehed fought to keep control against severe turbulence and gusting winds, and at the same time pilot the helicopter between shadowy walls of sheer rock showing dangerously close on the screens. No matter how much he tried to lose the other craft, it stuck like glue, strafing every time the opportunity arose. The pursuing pilot knew his stuff, and slowly, but surely, began to gain.
Suddenly, shells penetrated the rear fuselage, whining murderously off the metalwork, sending everyone diving for the deck. Hellmann gave an agonised cry as one nicked his shoulder, and another came from Kellar as a shell seared across the back of his hand.
Fehed gave more throttle, the machine lurched faster, increasing the distance between itsself and the following helicopter, but only temporarily. Two minutes later they were being strafed again.
“There're gaining!” Sicano voiced over the roaring engines. “If the tanks get hit we're dead meat!”
The windows of the cockpit were filled with the blur of mountain blackness and jagged peaks, purple edged against a vast backdrop of bright stars in an indigo sky to the south and east. The Iranian fought hard to keep the Mi-17 under control, eyes flashing between screens, altimeter and airspeed indicator. Watching, Ryder's adrenaline soared at the desperate situation they were in. The twin conical headlights of the pursuing helicopter closed fast, despite the frantic efforts to keep ahead, and Ryder felt so helpless knowing there was nothing he could do; his life now depended entirely upon the skill of the Iranian next to him.
Fehed flung the machine sideways and down to the right, opening throttle full out.
The sudden move caught the following pilot unawares and the helicopter swept over and was now in front, momentarily unable to use its guns.
Immediately, Fehed, in a reflex reaction, released all four AT-2 âStinger' missiles, at the same time activating the machine gun in the nose.
The missiles missed, but shells raked the rear fuselage. He tried desperately to hold the position, but the skill of the Iranian pilot was too good and he soon swept back onto their tail.
The two helicopters narrowly cleared a ridge, with only feet to spare, and rode the strong current of air on the other side, carrying them higher, before releasing its grip, dropping them down again into a narrow valley below; peaks soaring either side.
The screens and radar indicated almost sheer rock walls both sides of the corridor and a mass of rock five miles ahead where the valley came abruptly to an end. The radar also indicated a small central gap in the mass. The data defined the gap to be only 300 yards wide and less than half a mile long, slightly curving in a solid wall of rock towering thousands of feet, but most definitely leading to open space beyond.
Fehed shouted he intended to go for the gap â it was their only chance.
“You'll kill us all!” Sicano cried.
“No choice!” he yelled back, sending the helicopter arcing towards the gap.
“We'll never make it! One gust of wind! We'll never make it!” Sicano's voice was full of fear and panic.
Face taut with concentration, Ryder watched the Iranian throttle back and line up the gap. In several seconds he and the others would find out just how good a pilot Fehed was.
Ryder prepared to die as he watched the gap hurtle towards them. Would the other helicopter follow them in? It flashed through his mind that the traitor, whoever he was, must be doing the same. There would be no redemption now for any of them.
Ryder watched Fehed hold the machine steady, not once taking his eyes away from the screens, focusing intently on the image of the gap, measuring distance, speed and angle of the approach.
Seconds later the Mi-17 entered centre-on like an express train into a tunnel, and hurtled at over 100 mph along its path, barely yards from the massive sheer walls. Inside this nightmarish hell of noise and blackness, Fehed struggled frantically to keep the machine on course, and Ryder hung on for dear life.
Suddenly, almost out the other side, a tremendous explosion rocked the helicopter and blew it clear into the valley beyond. For one awful moment, Ryder thought the end had come; then with overwhelming relief, realised they had made it and it was the other helicopter that had failed.
Tensions eased and adrenaline levels fell, but the ordeal was not over yet; getting through the range still had to be achieved. Ryder determined they were in the centre and still on a south-easterly course. Should they be able to maintain this course it would take them to within a hundred miles of the objective on the south-eastern side of the Zagros's western arm.
“They'll be waiting for us on the eastern side with MIGs,” said Sicano, visibly shaken but now in a much calmer state, “And probably with choppers to flush us out.”
“Without AWACS they can't track us,” replied Ryder. “If we keep low we'll have them guessing. No reason to suspect we're heading anywhere else other than to the Gulf. It's logical from their point of view. Why would we want to penetrate deeper into Iran? I doubt we'll meet opposition heading south-east. We'll take this baby all the way until she runs out of juice.” He was jubilant they had made it.
In the following two-and-a-half hours, the helicopter plummeted, yawed and pitched at crazy angles through the darkness, sending men and equipment sprawling. Fehed fought hard to guide the aircraft between the peaks, riding the savage currents and turbulence which, every minute, threatened to plunge all into obscurity. Countless times Ryder watched snow-covered rocky ground rush at them through the windows, and waited, heart in mouth for that awful moment of impact, then to watch it rush away again, so helpless, so vulnerable to the whim of fate that nausea struck every time. When it finally ended he was so emotionally drained it took a little time to accept that he was still alive. Never with the regiment, the Increment or the unit had he endured such a long, hair-raising experience out of his control. They had survived, thanks to the piloting skills of the Iranian.
In the rear, relief showed clearly now that they were not being thrown around so much. Afari, in particular, it being her first time in a helicopter, was traumatised by the experience. Her body ached and she could not wait to get back on the ground. Of the others, only Saad had escaped small injuries from ricocheting bullets and the crazy antics of the aircraft.
The helicopter eventually landed with a heavy jolt in a desolate valley, tanks empty. Fehed, Ryder and Sicano staggered from the cockpit. Kellar pulled open the side hatch and one by one the battered and bruised group fell to the ground, mentally and physically drained. Fehed threw up and collapsed. Afari staggered about, trying to regain her balance, before she too collapsed. They had all experienced a harrowing flight, travelling some 300 miles in less than four hours through rugged mountains and had miraculously survived. Ryder was definitely glad to be back on terra firma.
The wind began to bite. Ryder gathered himself and, after a short rest to collect their feet, ordered all to quickly unload equipment, share out clothes, rations, guns and ammunition, including what additional explosives had been taken from the SF soldiers. He told the group the objective would remain; he did not elaborate. The three Iranians still believed they were heading for the Gulf. Using new maps taken from the helicopter and the GPS, they established their position to be on the eastern edge of the valley plain between the two main fingers of the southern Zagros range, midway between the towns of Marvast and Shahr-e Babak. After Shiron gave Ryder the co-ordinates for Kuh-e Mohammadabad, they established they were less than seventy-five miles from the objective, located due east. Ryder now had to face the prospect of attempting to expose the traitor in a hurry before it was reached. He guessed the Iranian authorities would search this side of the Zagros once it became evident they had not crashed or headed west. In the meantime, at least, it would give them a head start to reach the mountain they had come all this way to find.
Soon everything was ready for moving out. They hurriedly made an effort to camouflage the Mi-17 as best they could with branches and scrub before all eight struck out due east led by Ryder. Visible on the distant horizon stood Kuh-e Mohammadabad, prominent in the jagged black line, under an orange flame that formed the eastern finger of the Zagros Mountains; beyond them, the central deserts of Iran. In a few hours it would be full light, and they needed to put as much distance between themselves and the helicopter as possible.
Sleet turned to light rain as dawn arrived and grey clouds scudded across the sky promising more. The group, in single file, led by Ryder, snaked over the patchy, snow-covered rising ground, desert-like and covered in tussock and thinly scattered bush. They kept up a good tab speed, despite the thin air at 4,000 feet and the heavy packs, toiling on in zombie fashion brought about by lack of sleep and pushing themselves beyond the limit. Ryder's body, trained to function days without sleep, was now in a state of heightened perception transcending aching limbs and impervious to the biting cold. The Iranians, too, seemed to be handling the rigors without complaint, Afari in particular, much to his amazement. She was much tougher than she looked.
Using GPS, compass and maps, Ryder was able to determine, with some certainty, that Kuh-e Mohammadabad could be reached in less than two days. The plain stretched out before him, rising at irregular intervals towards the foothills. As he looked at the target white-capped mountain, sharply rising, clearly visible now on the horizon, a strong feeling of isolation and doubt engulfed him. Would they find a missile base, and if they did, what would happen with a traitor in their midst? The pressure to expose whoever it was grew with each hour that passed and weighed heavily, but he was determined to press on and hope the traitor would be uncovered before they reached the objective.
After hours of steady slog nightfall came and they made camp in the lee of a shallow gully amongst dense bush. As they dug in, Ryder decided against a fire and the exhausted group made do with cold rations. The earlier rain had stopped but a stiff wind blew across the plain, heralding a cold and miserable night ahead. Nobody said much; all were almost out on their feet. When finished eating, Shiron and Hellmann volunteered to take first watch and the rest finally settled down to sleep as best they could in the shelter of the bush.
Night passed quietly. Shortly before dawn, as they began to stir, Fehed leaned across to awaken Saad. “Aheee! Allah, have mercy!” he cried, recoiling back, eyes wide, staring in disbelief at his fellow Iranian.
Ryder swung round, as did the rest, and what they saw made them, too, recoil in horror.
Saad lay dead, knife plunged upwards deep into his throat with such force that the blade tip protruded through the base of his skull. Blood covered the whole front of the body.
“Jesus, fucking, Christ⦠what son-of-a-bitch would do a thing like that?” questioned Sicano, voice quivering.
The others gathered around, stunned by the sight then stepped back, looking accusingly at Fehed.
The Iranian moved quickly away from the body and looked askance at Ryder, blurting out he had nothing to do with this; Saad had been his friend.
“Why, for Chrissake? Why?” shot Kellar, staring intently down at the sprawled Iranian.
“I'll tell you why!” said Hellmann after several seconds, anger clearly showing.
“Corporal, say nothing!” snapped Shiron.
“They have to know now,” pleaded Hellmann.
The sergeant flashed a glance of disagreement and turned away.
“What the fuck's going down here?” asked Ryder, staring intently at the two Israelis.
“Okay! I'll tell you!” Shiron shouted, turning back. Then more calmly, “Something happened in the gully where the Iranian's arm was removed that seemed strange at the time, something in itself not alarming, but enough to arouse suspicion something was not quite right.” He paused and glanced at those around him. “Corporal Hellmann said he thought the transmitter had possibly been tampered with, although he wasn't sure; and it wasn't the first time.”
The others gasped, looking stunned again at one another, except for Ryder. It confirmed to him why the Israeli sergeant had fired so violently at the soldier carrying the transmitter in the ambush; he didn't want to chance this one being used by whoever tampered with the first.
“Tampered with?” shot Sicano.
“Used to send a signal,” replied Shiron, curtly. “Corporal switched it off before turning in; when he awoke it was on, set to another frequency.”
“So?” pressed Sicano.
“What the fuck â so!” spat Hellmann, eyes boring into Sicano's. “It means one of us here probably used it for some fucking reason. Listen, I was very particular about conserving the battery, always turned it off without touching the frequency.”
“Hold it. Hold it,” Shiron intervened. “Danny, you admitted yourself you could've made a mistake.”
“I told you it happened before. I passed that off then as a mistake, but that last time in the gully made me real suspicious.”
“Was that why you wanted to move out in a hurry?” Ryder questioned, fixing Shiron.
“I guess so,” the Israeli replied resignedly. “Hoped we might spring the bastard and avoid aborting the mission, also avoid a potentially dangerous situation if every man became suspicious of the next.” He glanced at Fehed. “That now no longer applies.”
“For fuck's sake, a man lies dead there,” said Kellar in a low, menacing voice, pointing to Saad, “and one of us here did it. So, who gives a shit about the trani?”
A stunned silence hung over the group for several seconds. Ryder decided it was time to tell them what he knew. “I found a note in the truck.”
All turned to him in disbelief.
“A note saying what?” shot Shiron.
“Who we are, and where we were heading.”
Everyone looked accusingly at the other.
“Who would've written that?” Sicano asked.
No one answered.
“Do you have it?” Kellar questioned.
“No, it was taken when we were captured. It was in Farsi.”
All were fluent in Farsi.
“So they know our intentions. You should've told me earlier about this, Frank,” said Shiron, a sharpness to his voice. “With the Iranians knowing the contents of that note, we could be walking into a trap if a base exists.”
Ryder shrugged. “The same could be said about the trani, Sergeant.” He didn't intend to explain why he held back. Everyone here, as when he found the note, was under suspicion. “It's my guess the Iranian found out who and has paid for it with his life,” he finished, looking at each of them for a tell-tale sign.
Everyone stood in silence, glancing at one another and then at Fehed and the body with bewildered expressions.
“Any other revelations?” asked Ryder, finally, glancing at each of the group.
“No. How about you, Corporal?” voiced Shiron.
“No,” answered Hellmann, sullenly.
“As you said, Frank: the Iranian found out âwho',” replied Kellar. Then, after a short pause, “Now we know why we've been so closely tracked; God knows how often the transmitter was used, or how many messages might have been left.”
“It has to be one of them,” shot Shiron, glancing angrily at Fehed and Afari. “To believe otherwise is too hard to accept.”
They all nervously glanced at one another again.
“I'll get it out of the little shit,” spat Hellmann, making a move towards Fehed.
Ryder quickly looked at Shiron expecting him to intervene, but the sergeant said nothing.
If you're not stepping in, I will.
Ryder moved swiftly, standing in front of Fehed, pointing his automatic at Hellmann's throat.
“Back off, Corporal.”
Hellmann reluctantly moved back.
Shiron remained silent too, looking intently at Ryder.
“He did not do this!” Afari intervened, “He is innocent; he would not kill his friend.”
With the exception of Ryder and Fehed, all eyes turned to her.
“So it's you then,” said Sicano, looking as if he was about to grab her but she swiftly drew pistol and pointed it straight at his head. “I wouldn't if I were you,” she said menacingly.
“Okay, let's establish a few facts before anyone starts accusing,” Ryder said, calming things down a little. “Who's missing a blade?”
They looked and all had a knife sheathed. The killer had used Saad's own.
Ryder eyed each man closely; none had blood on hands or clothes.
“Did anyone see or hear anything unusual during the night?”
Kellar answered, “At the beginning of my watch, a mist was down and I couldn't see more than a few yards, I thought I heard a thud and a cough, but dismissed it.”
Afari then said she heard a scraping noise, but the others said they heard nothing.
Everything was now out in the open; the trust needed to accomplish the mission had completely evaporated
.
Which one of these men could kill so violently and why?
Ryder faced a dilemma: should they abandon the mission or carry on? He would let the others decide. “With what's happened, do we continue? From now on each of us will be watching his back â not good for what we have in mind. Trust is paramount; you know that.” He looked at the Israelis.
“This will not stop us completing the mission⦠I say shoot him so we don't have to watch our backs and let's get on with what we came here to do,” said Shiron firmly, glancing at Hellmann who nodded in agreement. “What about you, Frank?” he questioned.
Ryder had come this far and was not about to give up either now they were in sight of the objective. “I'm with you,” he shot back then looked at the two Americans for their response.
Both threw glances at one another before Sicano spoke, “Maybe we should abort under the circumstances, Frank, and go for the Gulf.” A long pause, “But if you guys are prepared to take the risk, then so are we. Count us in, but we want that shit,” he glanced at Fehed, “properly secured and guarded. You agree with that, Bear?”
Kellar nodded.
“That man you call a âshit' saved our asses flying that helicopter, or had you forgotten?” Ryder angrily replied. “But if it makes you feel better we'll do it. Once we've eyeballed the mountain then we'll decide what to do with him.”
The Americans looked a little sheepish but seemed satisfied at getting what they wanted.
Ryder wanted it that way too, for the time being anyway, to let the Americans and Israelis focus anger on the Iranian, taking the attention away from themselves and hopefully encouraging the real killer to drop his guard and make a mistake that might expose him. He was convinced Fehed was not the killer, or Afari for that matter. The Iranian looked as if he hadn't the strength â although he did handle that helicopter without showing a great deal of fatigue â and no way could she deliver a blow like that. Whoever killed Saad was an expert and strong to have made such a thrust at that angle; he would not have known what hit him. They would be playing a very dangerous game now until the killer was exposed. He wondered if all this was worth the âQueen's shilling'; a cigarette now would certainly ease the stress he felt at this moment. Mouth real dry; he took a swig of water from his flask instead; a sick, anxious feeling tugging at his gut.
Ryder looked over to Afari and saw shock and horror on her features no doubt wondering, after what had happened, who she could trust. He couldn't blame her; of the five Iranians starting out only two were left. Who would be next? She looked vulnerable and seemed to be struggling within, but suddenly rallied, stared at him and asked quietly, more as a statement than a question, “We were never going to the Gulf in the first place, were we?”
Everyone focused on Ryder.
“No, we were not.” It was time she and Fehed heard the truth. “See that big mountain over there,” he pointed to the range dominating the horizon. “We're going to check it out then we'll head for the Gulf.”
Afari looked at Fehed who could only stare back, stunned, “For what reason?” she questioned, sharply.
He nodded towards the two Israelis. “They believe it might house a base intending to launch missiles at Israel; if so, they want to try and disable it somehow, with our help.”
Ryder could almost see Afari's mind gauging the significance of what she had just heard. He guessed this might present an unexpected opportunity to gain revenge big-time on the regime that killed her parents, despite the uncertainty of everything that Saad's death now presented.
Moments later she turned and looked at him straight in the eye and said, voice tense and full of emotion, “I will join you and so will Fehed; he is a brave man.”
He was relieved; they would need all the firepower available if a base did exist. But the question of Fehed remained in the air.
“Okay, it's your choice,” he shot back. “So, we stay with the plan and take the Iranian with us. I want him kept secure, and you, Sergeant,” he looked at Kellar, “will be responsible to ensure he remains that way.” He glanced around the circle of taut, bewildered faces, dwelling on the two Americans, then the two Israelis and thought,
one of you four is a killer,
before barking, “Bury the man and let's move out.”