our backs, when we heard gunfire.
You never get used to it. The crack of an AK47. The whoosh of a rocket-propelled grenade as it hurtles over your head. It stops your heart for a few seconds.
“RPG!” someone shouted at the top of their voice. We all hit the ground. I heard the rocket explode just beyond the courtyard. Then I heard a shower of shrapnel hitting the ground.
I looked round to check none of my friends had been hit. All the guys – there were sixteen of us – were lying on their fronts. So was Charlie. Unlike the men, he didn’t look scared. He was alongside Sam, still, but alert.
There was a moment of silence. And then the enemy opened fire again. We could tell they were close. Between thirty and fifty metres. I tried to work out how many guns were firing. I couldn’t. There were too many. This was a heavy attack.
Our patrol commander got on the radio back to base. “Zero, this is patrol Delta Tango Five. We have heavy small arms fire from the north. Request pick-up, repeat, request pick-up.”
The gunfire fell quiet. That made me feel more nervous. It meant the enemy were on the move.
The patrol commander got to his feet and jabbed one finger in a westerly direction. Made sense. The enemy fire had come from the north. South or east would have taken us back into the heart of the Green Zone. West was our only option. We left that dusty courtyard through a door in the western wall, treading quietly and in single file.
My L85 assault rifle was cocked and locked. I held it across my chest with the barrel pointing downwards, and followed the guy in front. His name was Doug Talbot. He was a thin, lanky Scottish lad, and a good friend. I kept five metres from him. When you’re marching in single file, you mustn’t bunch up. If you’re too close together, you make an easy target.
Our path took us away from the village, along a shallow ditch towards a field of corn. It was the size of a football pitch. The corn was as tall as me, but it only came up to Doug Talbot’s shoulders. Tall bloke, was Doug.
Once we’d reached the cover of the cornfield, the patrol commander gave us the lowdown. “OK, lads,” he said, sweat clearing lines through the dirt on his face. “On the other side of this field, there’s fifty metres of open ground. Beyond that, there’s an abandoned compound. We can take cover there until a chopper arrives to pick us up.”
“But, Sarge,” someone said, “if we walk across open ground we’ll be a target…”
The patrol commander nodded grimly. “Check for snipers before you step out of the cornfield. And don’t walk: run.”
Doug led the way across the cornfield, keeping his shoulders hunched and his head down. I went next. Behind me was Sam, and behind him, Charlie. The rest of the platoon followed.
It took about three minutes to cross the cornfield. At the far side, just like the commander had said, there was a stretch of open ground. Fifty metres away was the abandoned compound.
Doug was nervously licking his lips when I caught up with him. Together we peered out from the edge of the cornfield. We were looking for snipers, but couldn’t see anyone. Just the compound. It shimmered in the heat haze.
Doug looked at me.
I looked back at him.
“I’ll go first,” he said.
We clenched our fists and touched our knuckles together. That was something we always did.
“Take care, buddy,” I said.
He nodded.
And then he walked to his death.
Chapter Four:
THE BLAST
Looking back, I know what our mistake was. We didn’t have enough respect for our enemy. They’d forced us to take this escape route. We never worked out that they had us exactly where they wanted us. In the middle of a minefield.
Doug moved quickly. He was about ten metres out into open ground when I followed. I had to stop myself from sprinting. If I caught up with him, we’d be bunched up. And I’ve already told you what that means. So I ran ten metres behind – just looking straight ahead. Doug
You never get used to it. The crack of an AK47. The whoosh of a rocket-propelled grenade as it hurtles over your head. It stops your heart for a few seconds.
“RPG!” someone shouted at the top of their voice. We all hit the ground. I heard the rocket explode just beyond the courtyard. Then I heard a shower of shrapnel hitting the ground.
I looked round to check none of my friends had been hit. All the guys – there were sixteen of us – were lying on their fronts. So was Charlie. Unlike the men, he didn’t look scared. He was alongside Sam, still, but alert.
There was a moment of silence. And then the enemy opened fire again. We could tell they were close. Between thirty and fifty metres. I tried to work out how many guns were firing. I couldn’t. There were too many. This was a heavy attack.
Our patrol commander got on the radio back to base. “Zero, this is patrol Delta Tango Five. We have heavy small arms fire from the north. Request pick-up, repeat, request pick-up.”
The gunfire fell quiet. That made me feel more nervous. It meant the enemy were on the move.
The patrol commander got to his feet and jabbed one finger in a westerly direction. Made sense. The enemy fire had come from the north. South or east would have taken us back into the heart of the Green Zone. West was our only option. We left that dusty courtyard through a door in the western wall, treading quietly and in single file.
My L85 assault rifle was cocked and locked. I held it across my chest with the barrel pointing downwards, and followed the guy in front. His name was Doug Talbot. He was a thin, lanky Scottish lad, and a good friend. I kept five metres from him. When you’re marching in single file, you mustn’t bunch up. If you’re too close together, you make an easy target.
Our path took us away from the village, along a shallow ditch towards a field of corn. It was the size of a football pitch. The corn was as tall as me, but it only came up to Doug Talbot’s shoulders. Tall bloke, was Doug.
Once we’d reached the cover of the cornfield, the patrol commander gave us the lowdown. “OK, lads,” he said, sweat clearing lines through the dirt on his face. “On the other side of this field, there’s fifty metres of open ground. Beyond that, there’s an abandoned compound. We can take cover there until a chopper arrives to pick us up.”
“But, Sarge,” someone said, “if we walk across open ground we’ll be a target…”
The patrol commander nodded grimly. “Check for snipers before you step out of the cornfield. And don’t walk: run.”
Doug led the way across the cornfield, keeping his shoulders hunched and his head down. I went next. Behind me was Sam, and behind him, Charlie. The rest of the platoon followed.
It took about three minutes to cross the cornfield. At the far side, just like the commander had said, there was a stretch of open ground. Fifty metres away was the abandoned compound.
Doug was nervously licking his lips when I caught up with him. Together we peered out from the edge of the cornfield. We were looking for snipers, but couldn’t see anyone. Just the compound. It shimmered in the heat haze.
Doug looked at me.
I looked back at him.
“I’ll go first,” he said.
We clenched our fists and touched our knuckles together. That was something we always did.
“Take care, buddy,” I said.
He nodded.
And then he walked to his death.
Chapter Four:
THE BLAST
Looking back, I know what our mistake was. We didn’t have enough respect for our enemy. They’d forced us to take this escape route. We never worked out that they had us exactly where they wanted us. In the middle of a minefield.
Doug moved quickly. He was about ten metres out into open ground when I followed. I had to stop myself from sprinting. If I caught up with him, we’d be bunched up. And I’ve already told you what that means. So I ran ten metres behind – just looking straight ahead. Doug
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