there was nothing. And then, in a moment as surreal as Tom’s mum tasting the sound of freedom while wishing him birthday greetings , three heads popped up comically from behind the bank. They were safe, and in one piece.
‘It’s an American own goal,’ I shouted at them.
John was livid. ‘It’s coming back’ he shouted. ‘I saw the fucking bomb. I saw the fucking bomb.’
Fred had a gash to his head; John had lost a trouser leg so he was full length on one side and wearing shorts on the other, with shrapnel hanging out of him; Dragan had a bad cut to the ankle. They were all sufficiently OK for now to continue. There was no sign of Kameron. Nobody had seen him.
‘Have you called your friends off?’ John shouted to the Americans. I had never witnessed him like this before. ‘The world has a right to know what you know,’ he told our ‘friends’.
‘Stay here, John,’ I ordered. ‘And stay together. Here’s my phone. Call London and do what you have to do. I’ve got to find Kameron.’
I don’t know if finding John meant the show had to go on or not. If he had been dead, I would still have looked for Kameron but it gave us all renewed purpose. I could hear John shouting to Fred to ‘shoot this’. He was straight back into work mode and, my God, he knew as we all did that this was one of the biggest stories of the war. As soon as we’d established we were all fine, we were in our element. I didn’t give two hoots about Abdullah – he wasn’t part of my remit. I was concerned for Kameron, but the story was unravelling before us. As I would do many times in the future, I walked that line between story first and danger second.
‘I’m doing a piece to camera,’ John told Tom Giles, what felt like seconds later. ‘Fucking morons,’ he cursed the Yanks before miking up.
At the same time, I found Kameron lying on the bank. The American medics were running down with trauma packs on their back, helping whoever they could.
‘Come over here,’ I shouted to them, but it wasn’t looking good. His foot had been completely sliced off and blood was pouring out of his leg. He, too, made that gurgling sound that I had come to associate with death.
Some of the medics went towards John and the guys but he was already live on the Sat Phone to Maxine Mawhinney on News 24.
The medic told me to apply two tourniquets on Kameron’s legs above the wound to stop the blood loss – that surprised me. Only one leg was injured but he wanted both doing. I assumed he was more medically qualified than I was so went ahead and made it tight. I then got out my knife to cut Kameron’s shirt but I couldn’t see any wound. Still he carried on fading and gurgling.
‘Have you ever put a Given Set in?’ the medic asked me.
This was a saline drip, and all I had to do was to get a vein up and slide a cannula in. The medic had already made one up.
‘I can’t get a vein,’ I shouted over to Tom.
Kameron’s veins had collapsed. I knew he wasn’t going to make it.
He was convulsing. The grumblings were getting louder. I asked Tom to sit with him as I had with Stuart. I told him to talk to Kameron and just keep him company but I knew I couldn’t do any more and I had to start to clear the area. Our vehicles were now on fire.
That had to be sorted immediately but at the back of my mind was our conversation earlier about the money, and for a moment, I felt bad that he would die alone. My rare compassion was not for another victim of war – I just wish my last conversation of substance with him had been different. Crucially, even though his leg had borne the brunt of it, Kameron was one of the few in the car without a flak jacket. We didn’t have enough to go around. That was the mistake. It was the sandals all over again.
As we loaded Kam onto the vehicle, I knew he was gone.
‘This is a really bad own goal by the Americans,’ John was live and just in earshot. He was raging inside, but as cool as a cucumber
‘It’s an American own goal,’ I shouted at them.
John was livid. ‘It’s coming back’ he shouted. ‘I saw the fucking bomb. I saw the fucking bomb.’
Fred had a gash to his head; John had lost a trouser leg so he was full length on one side and wearing shorts on the other, with shrapnel hanging out of him; Dragan had a bad cut to the ankle. They were all sufficiently OK for now to continue. There was no sign of Kameron. Nobody had seen him.
‘Have you called your friends off?’ John shouted to the Americans. I had never witnessed him like this before. ‘The world has a right to know what you know,’ he told our ‘friends’.
‘Stay here, John,’ I ordered. ‘And stay together. Here’s my phone. Call London and do what you have to do. I’ve got to find Kameron.’
I don’t know if finding John meant the show had to go on or not. If he had been dead, I would still have looked for Kameron but it gave us all renewed purpose. I could hear John shouting to Fred to ‘shoot this’. He was straight back into work mode and, my God, he knew as we all did that this was one of the biggest stories of the war. As soon as we’d established we were all fine, we were in our element. I didn’t give two hoots about Abdullah – he wasn’t part of my remit. I was concerned for Kameron, but the story was unravelling before us. As I would do many times in the future, I walked that line between story first and danger second.
‘I’m doing a piece to camera,’ John told Tom Giles, what felt like seconds later. ‘Fucking morons,’ he cursed the Yanks before miking up.
At the same time, I found Kameron lying on the bank. The American medics were running down with trauma packs on their back, helping whoever they could.
‘Come over here,’ I shouted to them, but it wasn’t looking good. His foot had been completely sliced off and blood was pouring out of his leg. He, too, made that gurgling sound that I had come to associate with death.
Some of the medics went towards John and the guys but he was already live on the Sat Phone to Maxine Mawhinney on News 24.
The medic told me to apply two tourniquets on Kameron’s legs above the wound to stop the blood loss – that surprised me. Only one leg was injured but he wanted both doing. I assumed he was more medically qualified than I was so went ahead and made it tight. I then got out my knife to cut Kameron’s shirt but I couldn’t see any wound. Still he carried on fading and gurgling.
‘Have you ever put a Given Set in?’ the medic asked me.
This was a saline drip, and all I had to do was to get a vein up and slide a cannula in. The medic had already made one up.
‘I can’t get a vein,’ I shouted over to Tom.
Kameron’s veins had collapsed. I knew he wasn’t going to make it.
He was convulsing. The grumblings were getting louder. I asked Tom to sit with him as I had with Stuart. I told him to talk to Kameron and just keep him company but I knew I couldn’t do any more and I had to start to clear the area. Our vehicles were now on fire.
That had to be sorted immediately but at the back of my mind was our conversation earlier about the money, and for a moment, I felt bad that he would die alone. My rare compassion was not for another victim of war – I just wish my last conversation of substance with him had been different. Crucially, even though his leg had borne the brunt of it, Kameron was one of the few in the car without a flak jacket. We didn’t have enough to go around. That was the mistake. It was the sandals all over again.
As we loaded Kam onto the vehicle, I knew he was gone.
‘This is a really bad own goal by the Americans,’ John was live and just in earshot. He was raging inside, but as cool as a cucumber
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