Jack Terral - Battleline (2007)

He needed a drink bad, but here he was, deep in the Islamic world, where consumption of alcohol was considered a sin.

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1900 HOURS

THE officers in the camp were quartered in tents like everyone else, except they had wooden slat floors so they didn't have to walk on the dirt inside their domiciles, like the lower-ranking men. Their furnishings were slightly better as well, with a cot, chair, small table with a drawer, and a simple frame wardrobe. There was also a net to keep insects out, stretched across the front of the canvas structure. The exception among the officers was Brigadier Shahruz Khohollah, who had a comfortably furnished bunker complete with a carpet.

Sikes shared the accommodations with his former mentor, Khalil Farouk, but the old friendship had faded quite a bit. The Brit no longer trusted his Arab companion, and kept his personal feelings about the current situation to himself.

Sikes sat in his chair, his feet upon the table, smoking a Turkish cigarette from a carton given him by the brigadier, when he noticed some commotion toward the main gate to the garrison. He walked to the tent opening and stepped outside. He could see a car drive up from the camp interior to meet another, larger sedan, which had just arrived. Soldiers scurried around to get out some luggage, while a man wearing safari-type garb made up of a khaki shirt, trousers, and desert boots stepped out of the vehicle. A gray felt Australian hat with the brim turned up on one side topped off his attire.

Sikes grinned to himself at the familiar individual he could recognize even at a distance. It was the arms dealer Harry Turpin, who had a contract with the Iranians to provide them with the latest in modern military weaponry, vehicles, and equipment.

"I wonder what that bluddy old bastard is up to," Sikes mused.

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2100 HOURS

SIKES wasn't sleepy, and he lay on top of the covers listening to the deep breathing of his companion, Farouk, across the tent. Boredom pressed down so heavily on Sikes that he didn't care if a vehicle drove up and a couple of Iranian secret police goons got out and dragged him off to be summarily shot. In fact, he would welcome it.

Then a car did come to a stop outside the tent.

Sikes sat straight up, then relaxed at the sight of the man getting out. "Hello, Harry,"

he said. "I saw your arrival a coupla hours ago." He got to his feet and opened the net to let the Cockney enter the tent.

"'Ow are you, Archie, me lad?" Turpin said in his East End London accent. He nodded to Farouk, who had awakened. "And 'ow are you, Farouk, you ol' rascal?"

"I am very well, thank you," Farouk said. "It is so nice to be seeing you again."

"Oh, I'm good news for the two o' you," Turpin said. "You can bet your last shilling on that. Or pence or Euro or whatever the bluddy 'ell they're using in Blighty nowadays."

"Sit down, Harry," Sikes said. "Sorry, but we got no proper drinks to offer you."

"Sobriety is the scourge of Islam," Turpin said. He winked at Farouk. "No wonder you blokes are always looking for a fight."

"I admit I have enjoyed a whiskey now and then," Farouk confessed. "But here we have no choice. But we do have some canned fruit juice."

"I've got me own refreshments back in the bluddy tent, thank you," Turpin said, settling on the camp chair while Sikes and Farouk went back to sit down on their respective bunks.

Sikes leaned forward. "Wot d'you mean, you got good news for us, Harry?"

"Wot do I mean?" Turpin said with a wide grin. "I'll tell you, alright. I'm a vanguard, that's wot I am, see? I'm an 'arbinger of good news. I 'ave just made arrangements to bring in surplus East German tanks from Belarus, 'ey? Right straight to this camp. Also plenty o' small-arms ammo, shells for artill'ry and mortars and the like. And this deal also includes self-propelled cannons."

"And you're having 'em delivered here?" Sikes asked.

"Right 'ere where we are this very minute," Turpin said. "You lads are gonna take part in a big push. A bluddy invasion, that's wot it's gonna be."

Sikes and Farouk looked at each other, then back to Turpin. Farouk shook his head. "I am not understanding what you say to us, Harry. We have just pulled back from the Afghanistan border. Where on Allah's earth will we be going?"

Turpin laughed loudly. "Right back to where you come from, mate. You and this lot are gonna be storming across the international line straight into Afghanistan. Not only are more Iranians coming 'ere, but Shiites too."

Sikes was so astounded that he stood up. "But Iran has just made an agreement with the Yanks to stay away from Afghanistan."

"Well, Archie me lad, then it looks like the Yanks are in for a great big fucking surprise, ain't they?

.

MANCHESTER, ENGLAND

9 SEPTEMBER 1930 HOURS

CHARLIE and Nancy Sikes sat in their small parlor, watching TV. Neither one was paying much attention to the program, which was a sitcom involving a dysfunctional family feuding with their neighbors, who were another dysfunctional clan unable to cope with life's little problems.

Charlie and Nancy had real-life worries and saw no humor in the comic performances of the actors in the program. Their son Archibald, a soldier in the British Army, had deserted his unit in Iraq and had not been heard from for many long months.

They didn't know if he was dead or alive.

The doorbell rang, and Mrs. Sikes walked out to the hall and down to the entrance to the house. She opened door and saw two bobbies in full uniform and helmets at the simple portal. "Good evening, madam," one of the policemen said. "Is Mr. Charles Sikes at home?"

Mrs. Sikes didn't answer. She turned and hollered. "Charlie! There's a couple o' coppers asking after you."

Mr. Sikes appeared in the hall from the parlor with a puzzled expression on his face. "Wot can I do for you?"

"We'd like you to come down to the station, if you please, Mr. Sikes," the spokesman said.

"Wot for?"

"A routine inquiry, sir. We must ask you to come straightaway, please."

"I'll get me coat." He reached over to the hooks on the wall and pulled off his jacket and an American baseball-style cap, then stepped past his wife. "I'll be back soon. Maybe we'll learn something about Archie."

"Alright, Charlie."

The two policemen took him down to their car and opened the back door. Mr. Sikes settled in for the ride, with heavy suspicions that this unexpected happening would indeed have something to do with Archie. This wasn't the first time some official had come around to make inquiries. But it was the first time he had ever been taken anywhere.

When they reached the station, they went around to the back and parked. Once more Mr. Sikes was under close escort as they took him inside, going straight to a room with a small table that had one chair on one side and two on the other. The policemen took him to the single seat.

"Sit down, Mr. Sikes. Someone will be with you quite soon."

"Right. Thanks."

Five minutes later, two men entered. Mr. Sikes knew one of them. He had been out to the house on at least three occasions. The man's name was Falkes, and Sikes figured him for a military policeman. In actuality, he was MI-5, and the man with him was from a special unit of Scotland Yard that worked the terrorist detail.

Falkes nodded a greeting as he and the other man sat down. "How are you, Mr. Sikes?"

"Fine, thanks," he said, glancing at the other man. "Who's he then?"

"This is Inspector Jenkins from Scotland Yard."

"Are we gonna be talking about me son Archie?"

"In a roundabout way," Jenkins interjected. He reached in his suit pocket and pulled out a pair of four-by-five photographs. "Do you know these two men?"

Sikes studied the portraits. "Yeah. This one here is Hasim and the other is Afsar. I don't know their last names. That is, I don't remember 'em. Them kind o' names are hard to recollect."