The Nazis of Daesh

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Chapter 5 – The Massacre

Whilst Chiko’s truck was being obliterated, the Isuzu truck was passing through Newman and heading northwest along the Great Northern Highway. Ibrahim was making good time; in about ninety minutes he would reach the Auski Roadhouse to refuel. Two and a half hours after that he would reach Bindee Station and meet up with Abjumal.

Abjumal had been casing the station since mid-morning, the station itself was staffed by the Station Manager and his wife, two station hands and a campground manager. Bindee Station was a popular stop-over for the ‘grey nomads’[1] during the cooler months. It was quite early in the season, on this occasion, there were only two couples who had arrived mid-afternoon to set up camp. On his recognisance mission, a few months earlier, Nagi had only observed only three people at the Station. Abjumal decided to wait until dark before making his move.

About two hundred and thirty kilometres behind Ibrahim, Nagi and Cunningham were racing towards Newman on their motorcycles. After about forty-five minutes, they caught a glimpse of blue and red flashing lights heading towards them, so they pulled off the road and hid in the scrub. Two police pursuit vehicles, with their sirens wailing and lights flashing raced past on their way to what was believed to them was a crash sight. Ten minutes later, a green and white St. John ambulance vehicle passed them racing towards the scene, five minutes after that, a fire response unit from the nearby TBA mine-site also raced past.

They proceeded to the roadside-stop where the Prado was hidden, ditched the motorbikes about two hundred metres into the scrub. Cunningham then changed out his police uniform, they both hopped into the Prado and sped off towards Newman. It was now 6:00 pm and the sun was just about to set, it had already been a long day for them and they were only half way into the mission. Cunningham drove the first half while Nagi slept.

Meanwhile, Abjumal was staking out Bindee Station, beneath some camouflage netting, he had set up a temporary observation post in the scrub between the homestead and campground where he could observe both locations undetected. The two couples at the campground had joined up and had just lit a camp fire. The two men were enjoying a beer around the campfire, while their wives were busy preparing dinner inside one of the caravans. A flock of White Corellas screeched and squawked as they flew overhead, on their evening migration from the rich food source provided by the flowering River Red Gums lining the Clark River. The station manager and his wife were on the veranda of the homestead, sitting on a two-seater patio swing bench, enjoying a quiet refreshment and admiring the fiery sunset which seemed to engulf the rows cumulus clouds which had formed on the horizon, transforming them from fluffy white to a rich dark orange and crimson colour. The camp manager was in her office taking phone bookings, while the two station hands were sitting in the lounge room of the staff quarters watching satellite television.

He decided to take them out first, with a noise suppressor fitted to his Glock, he stealthily crept into the staff quarters. His gun was aimed and ready as he reached the doorway to the lounge room, undetected. The two station hands were sitting on their recliner chairs with their backs to the door, both oblivious to Abjumal’s approach, clack-clack, two rounds in quick succession stuck the first station hand in the back of the head, he instantly slumped in his chair spilling the stubby of beer he was holding. A split second later, clack-clack-clack another three rounds of rapid fire struck the second man, two in the back of the head and one in the back of the neck. Although he was killed instantly, this man’s arms and legs started thrashing about in a cadaveric spasm which lasted for about twenty seconds or so. Abjumal watched as the spasm subsided, then placed the barrel of his gun at the man’s chest and fired off one round.

Abjumal held his Glock behind his back as he entered the camp manager’s office, she was talking on the phone, looked up at him, smiled and raised her right index finger indicating that she’ll just be a minute. He smiled back at her in a manner that suggested he was happy to wait. She finished her phone conversation and hung up the phone.

She turned to him and said, “hello how can I help…”

Her conversation was interrupted by a single shot which struck her in the chest, knocking her off her chair. She never even saw him raise his gun. As he watched her take her last breaths, he fired one shot into her forehead.

Although he still had eight rounds left in his Glock, he changed over the magazine and made his way over to the homestead. The Station Manager was still sitting on the bench; his wife had since gone inside. From his cover in the tree-line, Abjumal made his way to the north side of the homestead, he crept along the wall towards the front veranda, stopping just before the end. He paused for a moment, not sure if he should wait until the wife returns before ambushing them both. The wife still hadn’t returned after a couple of minutes, he decided to make a move forward. Just as he was about to enter the porch, the Station Manager stood up out of the swing and proceeded towards the front door. Abjumal quickly stepped onto the porch with his gun raised, clack-clack-clack, three quick shots in succession struck the Station Manager in the back of the head and neck. He dropped to his knees and fell forward with the loud thump as he crashed onto the timber floor face first.

To maintain in the element of surprise, Abjumal raced to the front door and quickly entered the Homestead. The wife had heard the commotion and was proceeding down the hallway to investigate. She gave a loud shriek when she saw Abjumal, turned and ran back into the kitchen. Abjumal quickly raised his gun and fired off two shots, both missing her. He raced down the hallway after her, as he entered the kitchen she came at him with a frying pan, with her right arm at full stretch, she swung at him at full force. She was aiming for is head but he turned slightly and ducked, the frying pan struck him on the left shoulder, knocking him off his feet and causing him to drop his weapon. Holding onto the frying pan with both hands she raised it high above her head and swung down at him with as much force is she could muster. Just in the nick of time, he rolled to his left as the frying pan banged hard on the floor just slightly grazing him on the left arm. He quickly got to his feet, braced his shoulder and charged, rugby tackling her front on and pushing her up against the island bench and knocking the wind out of her. She fell to the floor, gasping for air, but before she could get her breath back, he jumped on her back and placed her in a ‘choker hold’, wrapping his left arm around the front of her throat and pressing his right forearm against the back of her neck. Her carotid artery was compressed, cutting off the blood supply to her brain, she was unconscious within about fifteen seconds. He maintained his tight grip for a couple of minutes, then released her, her lifeless body slumped face down onto the floor. He stumbled to his feet and staggered over to his gun, picked it up, then fired off three rounds into the centre of her back and one into the back of her head.

Totally exhausted, he rested up against the island bench for at least five minutes. Once he had regained his composure, he made his way back to his observation post. It was now around 7:00 pm and the full moon was starting its ascent into the evening sky. The two women had joined their husbands around the campfire, all unaware of the massacre only a few hundred metres away. Abjumal replaced his Glock for a Kalashnikov (AK-47) rifle, inserted a double magazine (each containing thirty rounds) and cocked the weapon. He slipped out from under the camouflage netting and proceeded towards the campers. With his rifle butt resting firmly in the pocket of his right shoulder, his right cheek against the stock, his right eye cantered in the rear sight aperture, he kept the campers in crosshairs at the end of the barrel as he slowly crept out of the scrub. Remaining in the shadows, he continued to creep forward until he was within twenty metres of the campers and then opened fire.

[1] Retired couples on a long term or permanent caravanning holiday

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