by Luke Duffy
Many of the Western organisations were, as far as Marcus could tell, slowly pulling out and hoping that no one would notice. All the bosses and company directors had made their excuses, and had fled for home. Now, the military was closing down and steadily retreating into the International Zone and a steady trickle of troops and material were loaded onto planes and flown out from Baghdad.
Many districts within the city had been closed off as ‘Quarantine Zones’ by the police and Iraqi army. Within those zones, the population was left to fend for themselves or die. Militants attacked the walls and the checkpoints from both sides, some of them being trapped inside. Their compatriots saw it as their duty to try and free them from the outside so they could continue the fight. The streets had become a battleground and casualties were mounting.
Very few people were arriving in country and more and more left each day. Engineers, diplomats, doctors, advisors, all of them headed for the airport and the airfields in the hope of getting a flight out of the Hot Zone. The backlog was ridiculous and people even fought with each other in the terminals in desperation of getting a seat on a plane, any plane.
Marcus’ team snaked their way through the tight and congested dirty streets of Baghdad in their four, heavily armoured SUVs, with turret-mounted machine guns. Horns were blowing, people hollered, and in general, the Iraqi drivers did as they pleased without any consideration to the rules of the road, or other vehicles. It was like a game of dodgems.
They were on their way to drop their last two remaining clients at the airport. The rest had fled over the previous weeks, and the two nervous and wide-eyed men that sat, strapped to their seats, were keen to get out.
The convoy had to push through and stay mobile, avoiding becoming a static target in the narrow, confined streets. Every man in the team was poised, with their weapons ready for a possible attack.
They had all been in attacks, either from roadside bombs, rocket attacks and even small arms, with the insurgents actually wanting a stand-up fight with rifles and machine guns. It was new to none of them, and they were a hardened and experienced crew.
Gathered from a wide range of military backgrounds and nationalities, Marcus had nicknamed his team, ‘The Foreign Legion’. He had two American ex-Special Forces, three South Africans, and even two Serbians who were thought to be wanted for war crimes. With a couple of Australians and New Zealanders thrown in to the mix, they were a highly multi-cultural bunch and no one could ever accuse them of not being tolerant of other nationalities.
To their right was a high curb with open waste ground beyond it and buildings in the distance with a densely built-up area to their immediate left. They came to a junction controlled by Iraqi Police and began to slow, keeping their distance from the traffic in front in order to maintain manoeuvrability. The police were holding the traffic and allowing the vehicles across from the left. They were making a poor job of it, and with the volume of traffic in all directions, the crossroads was almost at a standstill, even for the drivers who were supposed to be moving.
A series of loud cracks, like the snapping of a whip, rang out as incoming rounds flew overhead, causing the men to duck in their seats as they recognised the distinct snap of enemy fire.
“Contact right!” Someone screamed over the radio.
Marcus spun his head around to try and identify the threat. From his position in the commander’s seat, in the second vehicle of the convoy, he heard the heavy 7.62mm machine guns begin to fire from the turrets on top of their vehicles. The distinct rapid thump as they unleashed their deadly, heavy rain of fire at their targets was almost comforting. Sini, the gunner in Marcus’ own vehicle, was firing in three to five round bursts, never letting up the pressure on their attackers. His body was juddering as the recoil shook the weapon in his hands.
Green tracer rounds started to pass over the front of the vehicle a second later, after the shooter had adjusted his position, and were smashing into the side. Up and down the whole length of the SUV, Marcus could hear the thwack as the rounds pierced the outer shell of the vehicle and thumped into the hard armour plating beneath.
The driver, a burly guy from New Zealand named Eddie, began to try to push forward to get them out of the line of fire.
“All vehicles push through, push through!” Marcus commanded.
The turret gunners increased the rate of fire, and all the drivers accelerated to clear the immediate killing area. The fire coming in from the right had doubled and was now more concentrated and accurate as the insurgents became more determined not to allow the team to get away.
“Man down, Nick is down!” Marcus heard through his ear piece. He looked back over his shoulder to see that the machine gun in the third vehicle was no longer firing as Nick was pulled back inside. By now, all four vehicles were taking heavy fire and with nowhere else to go, the driver of the lead vehicle began trying to push his way through the static traffic ahead of them.
Civilian drivers had either raced off, or abandoned their cars to seek cover from the bullets whizzing through the air all around them. The Police had fled and the junction was now a mass of vehicles blocking all three lanes. It was impossible to push through and Marcus had to think fast.
“Reverse back. We’re gonna have to try and push back the way we came.” He gave over the radio. All four vehicles came to a sudden stop, and almost instantly began to back up, building up speed by the second.
Rounds continued to zip over them and into them. The gunners were screaming target indications to each other over the radios, trying to guide each other to the enemy positions, but for every enemy neutralized, another position took up the firing. The incoming fire never let up and soon the vehicles were beginning to smoke from heavy damage. Tyres and windows, even though armoured, were blown out. Everyone in the vehicles was being hit with shrapnel from the doors as they buckled under the continuous impacts, and also splinters of glass as the integrity of the armour was pushed to its limits.
The noise was beyond deafening, the continuous thunder of the machine guns above in the turrets, and the high-pitched cracks and snaps as the vehicles took round after round. The smell of cordite was thick in the air as the guns discharged their ammunition and the spent brass casings fell on to the floor of the vehicle. Marcus’ eyes began to sting and water.
Marcus watched over his shoulder as his driver did his best to reverse at speed. The third vehicle was swaying as it tried to avoid debris in the road. A sudden ball of flame and a large puff of pale grey smoke erupted from the right hand side of the road between two buildings. It streaked across the open ground and smashed into the fourth vehicle with a heavy thud, quickly followed by a huge bang and flash of light. The SUV rocked from the impact and almost toppled onto its side. The vehicle was torn wide open, and debris flew in all directions. It exploded instantly and the three remaining vehicles slammed on their brakes.
For a short moment, Marcus watched in horror as a second rocket snaked in their direction. “RPG right,” he screamed and instinctively crouched in his seat. The rocket was high, and passed over his vehicle. A third missile came at them, this time aimed at the front vehicle; the insurgents were trying to block them off by disabling the front and rear vehicles, causing them to be trapped in the killing area. It punched its way through the rear of the lead SUV, passing through without detonating but damaging the rear axle and drive capability in the process.
The crew of the lead vehicle began to bail out on the left hand side, using the SUV as cover from the enemy fire. All three of them began to hammer the numerous firing points with their rifles and machine gun.
The turret gunner, a tall skinny American named Jim, was naked from the waist down. The rocket, as it had passed through, had created a vacuum inside the vehicle, taking Jim’s trousers with it as it punched through the other side. If it wasn’t for the desperation of the situation, it would’ve been almost amusing to Marcus, watching him running about with his balls on show, firing a machine gun.
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sp; Marcus made a quick appraisal of the situation; moving forward was out of the question, and their retreat was blocked. The tyres were shot to pieces and they had no way of crossing over the central reservation. Civilian vehicles were left and right, with their drivers either dead or wounded, or having run for cover as soon as the shooting started. They were stuck in the killing area.
“Okay boys, abandon ship. We need to get out of this rocket magnet and get out on foot.”
Eddie and Sini didn't need to be told twice. They grabbed their weapons and ammunition and bailed out to the left, taking up firing positions to the front and rear of the vehicle.
Marcus thumbed his radio. “Ian, we are gonna have to bug out on foot. How’s Nicky? Have you got eyes on with the rear vehicle, any survivors?”
Ian’s booming voice came back, “Nick is in shit state. He took one through the jaw, but he’s still conscious and able to move. The rear vehicle is fucked mate. I haven’t seen anyone crawl out and I think they're all dead, Marcus.”
He couldn’t afford to lose his head over it just yet. He needed to get what remained of the team out of the immediate area. “Roger that, Ian. You, Yan, and Nick, keep the clients close together and push to the far side of the road. The more vehicles we have between us and them, the better. All acknowledge.”
A chorus of “roger” and double clicks came through his ear piece as everyone understood what needed to be done. Marcus remained crouched behind his damaged and smouldering vehicle as the crack of rounds continued to fill the air around them.
He pulled a smoke grenade from his tactical vest. “Stu, you got smoke?” he shouted to the lead vehicle. Stu didn't hear him due to the noise of the guns around him, including his own as he continued to suppress the enemy positions.
Marcus keyed his radio and asked again, “Stu, any of you lot got smoke?” He had to shout to be heard in his own head. By now, the whole team was throwing a hideous amount of fire power down on the insurgents, as they covered the retreat of the men from the third vehicle. The loud growl of the machine guns and the rhythmic crack of the rifles filled the air.
Stu looked in his direction and gave the thumbs up then, pulling a smoke grenade from his own belt kit, placed his finger into the ring attached to the pin. At the same time, Stu and Marcus stepped back and threw their smoke grenades over the vehicles as far as they could. A few seconds later, plumes of orange and purple were billowing in the waste ground, creating a smoke screen for them to retreat behind.
They had to act fast. Marcus knew that once they began to move and their suppressive fire stopped, the insurgents would release a hailstorm into the smoke, knowing that the team was covering their retreat.
“Move, move back to the others!”
A final long burst from the two machine guns and both Stu and Marcus’ crews were sprinting across the road, running between vehicles and jumping high curbs as they headed to the rally point with Ian.
Rounds were zipping all over as the insurgents recovered and began firing into the smoke in the hope of hitting something. Some rounds smashed into vehicles as the men ran past them, others streaked and ricocheted off the road, while others flew overhead. The very air seemed alive with deadly flying pieces of metal.
Sini and Jim stopped ahead and, using a civilian car as cover, fired long shuddering bursts from their machine guns into the smoke, covering the rest of the team as they moved back. Marcus was bringing up the rear, screaming for his men to move faster, to get to cover. Once they were in position with Ian, Marcus and Stu returned fire in order to give Sini and Jim support as they moved to safety. Sini and Jim stopped firing as Marcus and Stu released a hail of rounds in the enemy direction and sprinted, bent double, towards the rest of the team.
They reached the area where Ian had mustered his crew and the two clients. Nick was sat leaning against the wall that separated the main road from the houses and flats beyond, holding a bloodied field dressing to his face and still carrying his weapon. Just from that split second of eye contact, Marcus knew that there was still plenty of fight left in him.
Everyone jumped down and quickly took stock of their weapons and ammunition, ejecting magazines and slapping in fresh ones, ensuring that they had the means to carry on the fight. Marcus eyed the two clients; they were crouched, huddled together with eyes like saucers.
“Other than Nick, anyone else hurt?”
All sounded off that they were okay and good to go. Marcus looked back toward the road at the burning hulk of what was left of the fourth SUV. He couldn’t see any movement around it, and with a heavy heart, he had to assume that all were dead.
“Right, we can’t stay here. We need to move into better cover before the ragheads grow some balls and do a follow-up.” He looked further along the wall and saw what he needed, “There’s a gap there. We can push through that and hole up in one of the buildings behind us until help arrives. Shit, did anyone hit their panic button? I forgot.”
“I hit mine as soon as the rounds started coming in,” Stu said.
Marcus felt a wave of relief, knowing that Stu had sent the distress signal through the vehicles transponder. It would then ping in the Operations Room back at HQ, informing the monitors that they have come into trouble and their exact location would show up on the map screen.
“Nice one. As soon as we go firm, I’ll try and get mobile comms with the head shed and see what’s being done. Me and Sini will take the lead and find a way through. Stu, you and your crew bring up the rear while Ian takes care of the clients in the middle. We’ll have to sprint to the gap, you up for that Nicky?”
Not being able to talk, Nick just nodded, which caused him to wince with pain.
Stu and Jim stood up and poured more fire in the direction of the enemy. They couldn't see them, but they wanted to make sure that anyone following them up would stall as soon as the rounds snapped above them, giving the team the time they needed to cross the distance to the gap.
They ran. Past more static vehicles, through the gap and down a small embankment to a tightly packed housing estate situated twenty metres on the other side of the wall. They didn't stop running until they were in the cover of the buildings.
Marcus had already decided to himself that they would gain entry to a building that overlooked their vehicles on the road, for two reasons. Firstly, in the remote chance that there were any survivors from the destroyed SUV, and secondly, if the insurgents came up to check or loot the abandoned vehicles, they could hit them from their vantage point.
They forced their way to a block of dingy dark apartments and began climbing the central staircase to the upper floors. Stu left Jim, balls still on show, and his driver, Paul, to cover the entry point with a machine gun while the rest secured the top two apartments.
There was no room for manners and politeness, and they barged through the doors with weapons raised, treating everyone as a threat until they were sure otherwise. The two families were herded in to one room and Stu, with his pigeon Arabic, began explaining that they were safe and would not be hurt. The women were screaming and hollering at him, raising their arms and gesticulating to the heavens.
Ian brought in the clients and dumped them in the corner. Stu looked at him for help but Ian could only shrug his shoulders. “Don’t look at me mate, you're the hearts and minds guy. I can only ask for cigarettes in Arabic.”
Ian began tending to Nick and his wound while Eddie and Yan took up fire positions at the window. Ian cleaned it as best he could and applied a clean dressing that basically held his jaw to his head. He had lost a lot of blood and needed to be evacuated as quickly as possible. Ian set up an I.V and began to replace some of the fluids he had lost.
By now, the family was quiet and between the team, they maintained an overhead watch on the road and the entrances into the building while Marcus called for help.
After a short conversation, he passed on the information to the rest of the team: that an American patrol had been sent to help and should be there wi
thin the next ten minutes. No air support was available; something else that was in high demand, but short supply. Marcus pulled his marker panel from his vest, ready to signal to the Americans his position and that they were friendly. The last thing they needed was to get shot up by their trigger-happy rescuers.
“Hey guys.” It was Jim hollering from the stairwell in his distinct Texan drawl. “Guys, can you ask the Jundies if they can spare me a pair of pants? My ass is freezing on these concrete steps.”
A minute later Stu tossed him a black skirt.
“Sorry buddy, it’s all I could find.” Stu left Jim staring at the skirt in bewilderment.
Twenty minutes later the remains of the team were at the roadside as Marcus briefed the American commander on the situation. The rescue team, with APCs, pushed into the open area to the right of the road with the barrels of their armoured vehicles pointed toward where the attack had come from. They started to pound shells at likely enemy positions. Civilian safety and collateral damage wasn’t taken into consideration anymore, especially after a heavy attack involving Western casualties. A recovery team then moved up to extract the dead from Marcus’ team. Marcus insisted that he and his men help.
The charred and dismembered bodies of their fallen comrades were pulled from the wreckage. Marcus could feel his chest heaving and his eyes welling up as he dragged what was left of his friends into body bags laid out on the floor. Now and then he would recognise a piece of clothing or equipment, and he would realise which of his friends it was that he was carrying. They worked in silence, as the crescendo of the firing subsided from the APCs.
Once ready, the remaining vehicles had thermite charges placed inside them and were burned out in order to leave nothing for the enemy to use.
They returned to base as the damaged vehicles left behind burned and smouldered.
That night, Marcus hardly slept. As the commander, he saw it as his personal responsibility to secure and sanitise the equipment and personal effects of his three fallen comrades. Sasa, Joe, and Mike had all been good guys, good operators and good personal friends of his. With blurred vision through tears and cracked voices and choked throats, he and Stu went about doing what needed to be done.
