Read Online Dirty Deeds Done Cheap by Peter Mercer - Free Book Online
Authors: Peter Mercer
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was a right mess. There was nothing the lads could do; they were in a right pickle.
Any civilian approaching was also getting injured or even killed for fear of being an insurgent who might have been about to chuck a grenade. Our guys had reasoned that any innocent civilians would take cover and not try to walk through the middle of a huge firefight. In fact, as the street had been so quiet, as if the locals had known what was about to go down, there hadn’t been that many people about, although there were young men throwing things – rocks, grenades and so forth – at the guys. So any person walking out and about or throwing stuff either had a death wish or, more likely, was an insurgent. The situation was extremely bad and had deteriorated rapidly.
After eventually getting out of the kill zone, one of the trucks was fucked – blown tyres, shrapnel holes everywhere – and, worst of all, two of their Fijian comrades were dead after the initial IED. Also, one of the ex-SAS guys, who had been riding in the lead vehicle, had been shot in the head by a suspected ricochet. The Gurkha who was driving the truck carrying the ex-SAS guy must have had balls as big as an elephant because, after Justin (as I will call him) was hit in the head, he was, apparently, still alive. This brave little Gurkha had broken away from the main convoy and then he’d driven through Mosul, totally on his own, with no backup – leaving his convoy behind. Justin’s injuries were so severe that the Gurkha knew that he had to get him to a hospital as soon as possible – he had been in an obviously critical condition with this very bad head injury. As he sped through town he was fired upon repeatedly, but he wouldn’t and didn’t stop.
As the Gurkha had approached the gates of the American camp, the sentries on duty saw all the bullet holes and got the medics on standby. They’d also been made aware of the contact report, so they knew of the situation. This brave little Gurkha drove his arse off to get Justin to hospital as soon and as fast as possible, but it was all in vain: Justin was dead on arrival. His head injuries were too severe. So that had been the situation: quite a few (thirty-two) insurgents lay dead and three of our guys were dead. Not good, not good at all. It had been one hell of a firefight and one hell of a mess.
Soon after the two Fijians had arrived at the same American base for medical treatment, one guy was clearly dead on arrival but, amazingly, one was still alive – just. Unfortunately, as they were lifting him out of the back of the truck, he passed away. He’d been ripped apart by one of the car bombs and most of his legs were missing, but I was told he had been a hulk of a guy and the medics had said it was a miracle that he had survived long enough to get back to camp with the extent and severity of his wounds. Everyone had shed a tear for their colleagues.
Because quite a few civilians in the town had been killed in the crossfire, the US military wanted an explanation for what had happened. However, because we were contractors, we didn’t have to fill out contact reports. Officially, as civilians, an oral explanation would be acceptable for them. It was a nightmare of a day for our guys and, every time that kind of shit happens (someone getting injured or killed), it bangs it home to everyone how fucking dangerous that place is.
After clearing out Justin’s locker, one of our guys had resigned and some of the other guys had seriously thought about it. Apparently, seeing Justin’s pictures of his wife and kids banged it home to this guy how quickly things could go bad for anybody working here and he must have thought of his own family and said, Fuck it! It’s not worth earning all this money if you’re not going to be around to spend it with your family. It made more than a few of our guys question whether they should be out there at all. Situations like that really made everybody think about their own
Any civilian approaching was also getting injured or even killed for fear of being an insurgent who might have been about to chuck a grenade. Our guys had reasoned that any innocent civilians would take cover and not try to walk through the middle of a huge firefight. In fact, as the street had been so quiet, as if the locals had known what was about to go down, there hadn’t been that many people about, although there were young men throwing things – rocks, grenades and so forth – at the guys. So any person walking out and about or throwing stuff either had a death wish or, more likely, was an insurgent. The situation was extremely bad and had deteriorated rapidly.
After eventually getting out of the kill zone, one of the trucks was fucked – blown tyres, shrapnel holes everywhere – and, worst of all, two of their Fijian comrades were dead after the initial IED. Also, one of the ex-SAS guys, who had been riding in the lead vehicle, had been shot in the head by a suspected ricochet. The Gurkha who was driving the truck carrying the ex-SAS guy must have had balls as big as an elephant because, after Justin (as I will call him) was hit in the head, he was, apparently, still alive. This brave little Gurkha had broken away from the main convoy and then he’d driven through Mosul, totally on his own, with no backup – leaving his convoy behind. Justin’s injuries were so severe that the Gurkha knew that he had to get him to a hospital as soon as possible – he had been in an obviously critical condition with this very bad head injury. As he sped through town he was fired upon repeatedly, but he wouldn’t and didn’t stop.
As the Gurkha had approached the gates of the American camp, the sentries on duty saw all the bullet holes and got the medics on standby. They’d also been made aware of the contact report, so they knew of the situation. This brave little Gurkha drove his arse off to get Justin to hospital as soon and as fast as possible, but it was all in vain: Justin was dead on arrival. His head injuries were too severe. So that had been the situation: quite a few (thirty-two) insurgents lay dead and three of our guys were dead. Not good, not good at all. It had been one hell of a firefight and one hell of a mess.
Soon after the two Fijians had arrived at the same American base for medical treatment, one guy was clearly dead on arrival but, amazingly, one was still alive – just. Unfortunately, as they were lifting him out of the back of the truck, he passed away. He’d been ripped apart by one of the car bombs and most of his legs were missing, but I was told he had been a hulk of a guy and the medics had said it was a miracle that he had survived long enough to get back to camp with the extent and severity of his wounds. Everyone had shed a tear for their colleagues.
Because quite a few civilians in the town had been killed in the crossfire, the US military wanted an explanation for what had happened. However, because we were contractors, we didn’t have to fill out contact reports. Officially, as civilians, an oral explanation would be acceptable for them. It was a nightmare of a day for our guys and, every time that kind of shit happens (someone getting injured or killed), it bangs it home to everyone how fucking dangerous that place is.
After clearing out Justin’s locker, one of our guys had resigned and some of the other guys had seriously thought about it. Apparently, seeing Justin’s pictures of his wife and kids banged it home to this guy how quickly things could go bad for anybody working here and he must have thought of his own family and said, Fuck it! It’s not worth earning all this money if you’re not going to be around to spend it with your family. It made more than a few of our guys question whether they should be out there at all. Situations like that really made everybody think about their own
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