Run With The Brave

accelerated towards a highway not far in the distance. They reached the smooth tarseal strip in minutes and swung eastwards, merging in with the fairly light traffic, headlights now on full beam. Through the open back of the front truck, Ryder sat tensely watching the second truck and other vehicles further behind following as it gained speed along the straight open road. Nobody spoke, remaining deep in their own thoughts accompanied by scratchy Arab music emitting from the driver’s cab.
    After almost an hour into the journey an unexpected checkpoint came into view at the junction with the main Tabriz/Tehran highway heavy with traffic. Ryder, in the front truck, looked though the hatch at the rear of the driver’s cab and expressed alarm. Trucks only were being directed into a checking lane, other vehicles were being waved on through.
    He reached for his Beretta, as did the others.
    â€œPut them away,” the cell leader shouted over the roar of the diesel, “Do not be concerned. These makeshift military checkpoints are frequent due to the sanctions imposed by your governments. Smuggling is rife from Turkey. Powerful mullahs and generals openly set these up to control the flow; lining their own pockets, you might say. Few of us are able to gain access to Western domestic technology, so they make the most of it.”
    â€œFuck, we’ve hardly arrived,” shot Lieutenant Owen. “If they search us we’re gone.” He injected a bullet into the Beretta chamber.
    â€œYou heard what he said, Lieutenant. Put it away,” Ryder shot back, not impressed. “The devices are well hidden, unless they remove the floorboards we’ll be ok. If they do, then you can start shooting.”
    The Lieutenant looked hard at him and, for a moment, Ryder thought the American was going to challenge him, but the cell leader intervened, “Have papers ready and say as little as possible. Leave everything to me,” he said, cooling the situation, as they pulled over into a line of several trucks. He then moved and sat by the tailboard, and the American put the Beretta away.
    Ryder’s truck, followed closely by Cane’s, edged towards the checkpoint. Five long minutes later four soldiers, semi-automatics slung over shoulders, sidled up to Ryder’s vehicle, two either side, the one nearest to the driver demanded to see his papers. On presentation the soldier took time studying the documents and, finally satisfied, handed them back and he, with the others, strolled to the rear. Ryder nervously fingered the grip of his Beretta under his shirt. He became more alarmed when, through the cab hatch, he saw in headlights further up the line, soldiers mingling about and two heavy army vehicles crammed with troops out to one side. The cell leader threw a worried glance at the others and ranted at the soldiers for the delay they were causing. The four soldiers, ignoring him, lowered the tailboard and displayed their disappointment in a string of epithets and rude gestures once they saw it was empty of merchandise. They ordered everyone out and demanded to see papers whilst two of the soldiers clambered up into the back. Ryder felt the adrenaline pump as the two inspected the wooden floor; he prayed they would overlook the concealed compartment.
    To the throb of diesels and sound of Arabic music, four more soldiers sauntered arrogantly up to Captain Cane’s truck and demanded to see the driver’s papers. Two detached themselves as the papers were handed over and went to the rear. They lowered the tailboard, the occupants were ordered out and papers called for. Once this had been done, and they seemed satisfied, one soldier climbed up and began to tap the floor with the butt of his rifle.
    Suddenly a shout, then another – much louder this time.
    Ryder knew instantly the hidden compartment in Cane’s truck had been discovered. Without hesitation he drew the Beretta, turned, and shot out the