What we needed to get was some positive targets. Our job was to clock any military movement up and down the highway, then report it back in code via the radio net: it was that simple really.
Jesus Christ, once the sun came up it was boiling, I was sweating like a pig. I took a mouthful of drinking water and swirled it around my mouth. Stan was eating a ration biscuit, Nig was wanking again, and Keith was on-watch behind me. Our Nig had his shirt off catching some rays whilst abroad, the useless twat that he was, bless him!
Two hours had passed – it was Stan’s turn now. I briefed him and he got on with it. I, on the other hand, knelt down and collapsed on my webbing. I munched on a few old biscuit browns from my army 24hr ration pack; they were bloody minging as always.
“Wake up, boys, I got us a present! Look over there – can you see them?” Stan pointed towards the road, but I couldn’t see at first, as I had only just woken up.
“Well, bugger me, yeah! I got ya, Stan! I got ya, son!” We all looked.
A convoy of Iraqi vehicles and troops made their way up the highway oblivious of our presence; there must have been over fifteen wagons there, and over two hundred troops. Nig tucked himself away and immediately sent a contact report in code. He liked using code: it turned him on a lot, not that it took much!
That night we packed up and prepared to move on to RV2. We made sure we smashed our OP up; it was made to look like a mountain goat had had a good time. We took off at about 21:30hrs: after dark, needing to be high up in the mountains by morning. We could find cover nearer the time; there was sure to be more up there than where we were now. At RV2 our next task would be to recce any caves in and around our RV. Our aim was not to move in, but to take grid references and then report them to High Command. If, and I mean if, we were to find any hostiles, we had been given orders NOT to fire, ONLY to observe!
On reaching RV2 we were quite surprised to find nothing, not one bloody cave. It was very disappointing really: not a single darn cave. Nig decided to knock it on the head and rest up for the day. In his words, “We were not in any hurry!” He was right, plus time was getting on by now. I sent Stan on stag for one hour; Nig would then relieve him.
The day was rather peaceful until it was my turn on stag. Keith woke me up at 15:30hrs and I picked up my rifle and slid over to my OP. Keith got in his pit behind me; I gave him the wanker sign as he slid into his bed, rested my rifle down on its side and picked up my binos. There was an amazing view down into the canyons far below. Then, dropping the binos, I put my finger on the trigger! “Bugger me!” I kicked Stan, and he leant next to me.
“Shhhh!” I whispered in his ear. “Over there! Can you see him?” Stan looked over my shoulder.
“Keep quiet, and wake the others up!”
The shepherd walked closer and closer towards our hideout. We could not have been too sure where we were hiding, as it was dark when we found it. For all I knew, we could be in a Tesco’s car park. I very slowly picked up my weapon and removed the safety catch, realizing as I did so that if I shot the bastard, the sound would echo throughout the entire valley. We would be dead within the hour. Placing it back on the ground, I carefully pulled out my knife and held it tight in my hands.
He was practically standing on me when he caught my eye appearing from up beneath the ground. He jumped out of his skin and shouted out something in his own language, most probably a swear word. I had no time to think; I left my position, jumped out from underneath the rock and grabbed hold of the old bastard. He started screaming something at me, pleading for his life. Stan was looking at me. I looked back, then he nodded his head and packed his kit away very quickly. I slid the knife up through the fourth rib into the heart, the commando knife, which was used by British Special Forces had been designed for this move: it was text book. I felt the blade slide up into his chest, my hand over his mouth to stop the scream. I used his body weight to slide onto the knife, and as soon as it pierced his heart he was dead. It was a very quick and silent death.
“I’m sorry, mate, I had no choice,” and I dragged his body to where we were hiding. I covered up the blood trails as we left, clearing any sign of life. No one said a word to me for the next three hours. I felt very alone; all I could think about was my Hannah, and how she would have felt about me doing what I had just done.
We contacted Call Sign Zero HQ and confirmed our next RV, RV3. It was about sixteen kilometres from here, a day’s trek over the mountains. Everyone was good to go, and so was I. I took a big gulp of water, ate another biscuit and pushed hard for the next five hours. We dumped our kit off just short of RV3.
“Right, chaps! We got caves up front, so keep tight. Keep your eyes open, and don’t fool around – we might meet some bad guys, ok!” Stan moved off first; I went second, followed closely by Keith with Nig holding our rear.
The footing was hard going, I took each step as best I could, but fell two or three times for every metre I trod. It was bloody hard work. Suddenly Stan dropped to his knee: something had spooked him and Stan does not get spooked that often. I dashed forward to check out what was wrong.
“Buddy, what can you see?” He continued to stare.
“Something’s not right, mate, it isn’t right.” From my kneeling position I scanned the horizon; all I could see was rock and sand, and a semi blue sky, as if it was going to rain a little later.
“I can’t see anything, buddy.”
“Ok, maybe I was wrong then, Michael.” He stood up and carried on.
I looked behind and saw Nig on his arse; he had just taken a tumble. Keith was picking his nose as usual. As I turned around, I heard a noise that I had not been expecting. It was faint, but so powerful it was somewhat daunting. I lifted my head further, only to see Stan lying on the floor screaming. I just stood there for a moment until a bullet whizzed straight past me and hit Nig right in the head: I watched his head explode behind me. I jumped forward and landed on top of Stan; he seemed ok, but had taken a bullet in the arm. Stan was alive at least. Keith fired a full magazine into the cave, killing two men. I left Stan on the floor and unloaded a full mag into the cave. Keith was running forwards alongside me, firing as we moved. Each time Keith got one, he would shout out, “Target down!” At the same time, we were continuing to move forwards. My adrenaline was pumping hard. I felt exhausted by the time we reached the top of the ridge, and Keith’s hands were shaking like a bastard.
One popped up about ten metres in front of me, the little arse. I could see his tiny face as he squared up to me, unable to cock his rifle. By the time he wet himself, I had popped three rounds into his chest cavity and he dropped like a bag of spuds. Our Keith was still on the deck.
“Come on, mate; let’s get the hell out of here!” he shouted at me, adrenalin now pumping in full. I agreed.
“Yeah, help me with our Stan! That’s it, mate, up you get!” He started moaning and groaning.
Keith got on the radio; we needed a pick up point ASAP. We were a day early, and our Stan was badly injured and losing a great deal of blood. I stripped Nig of his kit, took his dog tags from around his neck and left him where he had dropped: he looked nothing like the man I had known minutes earlier. Without a face. I placed a cloth over his head and left the area, and then I applied a first field dressing to Stan’s injured arm whilst Keith was on the radio.
“0, this is X-Ray2. Over!” No reply. Keith continued trying.
“0, this is X-Ray2. Over!” The radio crackled repeatedly.
“Hello, X-Ray2. This is 0. Send your Sit-rep! Over!”
“Yes 0, I have one man down and one seriously injured with a gunshot wound. New extraction grid 63346745!” There was a short delay.
“X-Ray 2, all received – out!”
“Right, you two! Keith, it’s full on now, mate, ok? No mucking around! And you, Stan give it all you got, ok, buddy! Can you do that for me, Mate?” He smiled as best he could.
I picked Stan up and went for it. I felt gutted at leaving Nig, but we had no c
hoice: it was a do or die situation. Keith agreed with me. We didn’t have much time to cry about it. It started pissing it down. Stan’s arm bled more, but I think it was partly the rain making it look worse than it already was. We booted it over the rocks, only dropping Stan twice, which was funny for us, but not so funny for him. It properly hurt, the poor sod! We had six kilometres to go until our extraction point. The ground looked tough going from here and Stan wanted to stop. “Let me rest, mate, I’m shattered. I feel like crap, bud.” I told him to sod off and we continued. Looking over my shoulder, I could see we were not being followed: well, not for now anyhow.
We dropped Stan once more on the way to the extraction point. I put him down on the ground to check his wound, which was still bleeding heavily, and I worried for the poor bugger. I still hadn’t grieved for Nig yet. That would come later.
Keith prepared everything for the chopper landing. We had dumped half our kit back in the hideout, so it was minimal. We still carried most of the hot kit anyhow; we’d only bunged shit like sleeping bags and clothes: nothing of any importance.
“Hold on, Stan my old mate! The chopper’s coming.” Stan was unusually quiet.
Keith was worried for Stan; he started playing with his fingers.
“Shall we go back for Nig, mate?”
“No, Keith, no – it’s too dangerous. Now keep an eye out for the bird, mate.”
I could hear her coming. She must have been nearly two or three miles out, and I couldn’t see her but I could hear her.
I popped a green smoke grenade to call the chopper onto our position. The air filled with a green haze.
“There she is, Michael!”
I felt shattered.
Keith guided the black hawk down. We had an Apache escort: I felt honoured! Once the bird had landed Keith and I picked up Stan and threw him into the chopper. The door gunner grabbed hold of him and a medic took over: he was in safe hands now. Keith and I jumped inside and sat down. I felt overwhelmed by the situation but I shouted over to the door gunner that we had lost one man. He stuck his thumb up and said he knew: it was being sorted now.
As I sat in that chopper, I felt sad that Nig was gone. I would miss him so much; he was a bloody cracking lad. Keith was asleep already and not long after I joined him.
A week later they flew Nig back to the UK, where his family and friends had him cremated. We were not invited, nor was anyone from the regiment. Stan, on the other hand, made a full recovery and was back on his feet in no time. Keith was awarded the Military Cross for his brave actions under fire: he had put the first rounds down.
I never spoke to Keith again, nor Stan until we met up at a reunion a year or so later. I saw Keith across the bar, biting down on a sausage roll. I walked over to him, treading very carefully as you might imagine. Stan walked up behind me. We patted each other on the back, had a few cheers, and raised our glasses to Nig.
Chapter Five: Sabre Six – File 51
London 2013 – Hannah’s Funeral
I woke up to Griffer howling downstairs in the kitchen. He was getting louder and louder, the attention seeking little bastard! I grabbed hold of my comfortable pillow, and then flattened it across my head: I could still bloody hear him.
“Shut up Griffer, you weirdo!” He continued barking undeterred.
I pulled the duvet over my head feeling overwhelmed by the day already. I just wanted to sleep and escape the realities of life.
Eventually I fell asleep. I had a dream where I was blind, I was blind and yet I could still see: it was dreadful, man, bloody dreadful. I used a mirror image in my mind to map out a grey, mystical picture so I could walk about in my dream. I was walking with friends and family, seeking sympathy for my disability. It wasn’t until nearer the end of my chaotic dream, that I regained my full sight, only to be blinded by the sunlight. Now that was some serious shit, man! I woke up recalling the bizarre dream – weird.
I pulled myself out of my bed and went downstairs. On investigating the cupboards I found I needed a pint of milk, a loaf of bread and a tin of dog food. I donned my jeans, T-shirt, trainers and my jacket and walked to the shops with the little bugger.
He enjoyed the fresh air as much as I did. I met an ex-girlfriend on the way, who asked how I was and what I had been up to. I just told her some non-committal ‘ins and outs’ of life and she soon went on her way.
The assistant in the local shop was somewhat unpleasant; she looked like a drama queen on cocaine. As I walked to the exit, she called me back. “Excuse me, babe!” I turned and looked around. “You forgot your change, babe.” She smiled and then turned away. I felt like a right plank, but at least she had been honest and not pocketed the change.
When I eventually got home, I headed straight to the kitchen, sparked up the toaster and slid in four slices. I flicked the kettle on and sat at my breakfast bar watching the box. As usual, there was sod-all on. I really did have to stop watching Jeremy Kyle; it was becoming a habit now, and I couldn’t even stand the bastard! I finished off my toast and downed my tea.
Tomorrow I would be burying my wife. Fran would be there, escorted by undercover police, for her own protection. I couldn’t wait to see her and give her a big squeeze. I still couldn’t believe my Hannah was dead, or fathom out how it had happened. I had so many thoughts in my head. Why me? Why did this have to happen to the one girl I loved? She was so innocent and never harmed a fly.
Pete knocked on the back door and let himself in, making himself a brew. ‘Just help yourself Pete’, I thought. I spent most of the day thinking, or staring out of my kitchen window. Our Pete got bored and headed off home, I couldn’t blame him really – I wasn’t the best person to hang round with at the moment – still, he had time to eat all my cakes though, the bugger! I felt like a window licker on a school bus staring into oblivion. I pulled myself together realizing I had unwittingly been sat there staring for two hours: the neighbours must think I was a right sad bastard. I wasted no more time, and started thinking about bed. I was knackered and couldn’t be arsed to go out again, not even to the boozer with Pete. All I could think of was Hannah, and tomorrow meeting our Fran. I felt nervous and I didn’t know why. It was still light outside and I was already getting into my bed. The sheets were clean, the pillows were nice and fluffy: shame my Hannah wasn’t there. “I miss you, babe!”
Before I knew it, it was morning. I stared into the mirror and tried shaving. Bloody hell! I had drawn blood on the first swipe: every bloody time, man, every bloody time! I continued to rip away at my face, patted on a finger of aftershave, and then cringed when it burned like hell. Pete picked me up in his Jaguar XJ. He tooted the horn and I made my way outside. My suit looked tidy, and Pete smirked at me. He had not seen me looking so good in weeks and he seemed impressed with my attire.
“Come on you bugger, let’s get you there, mate.” Pete was trying to calm me down. We continued driving towards the crematorium, which was about six miles away, my hands shaking with nerves. I hoped Griffer was behaving himself! I’d left him for the day with an elderly widow, Mrs Jones, our next-door neighbour: she enjoyed his company.
“I’m looking forward to seeing my baby girl, you know.”
“I bet you are, buddy, I bet you are! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Nearly a week and half now.”
“You’re kidding? Has it really only been that long? It feels like a life time.”
I continued to stare out the window of the motor. Pete put on a CD, which we used to listen to when we were in the Regiment; ‘Get me out’ by New Model Army. We both sang all the way to the crematorium as loud as we could.
Pete pulled up: I could see lots of family and friends of Hannah’s, not one of them knew how she really died. I felt a tear fall from my eye when I saw my daughter getting out of a Land Rover. She spotted me straight away and came running over to me shouting, “Daddy! Daddy!” with her arms open wide, her little face crying as she ran as fast as she could. Here comes my angel! I held h
er tight in my arms, kissing her and repeatedly telling her I loved her. She couldn’t stop crying and so Pete left me to it.
“Daddy, why hasn’t Griffer come to see me?”
“He loves you so much, but he’s on holiday at the moment, baby!”
“On holiday!”
“Yes, he’s staying next door with Mrs Jones. You know, the old lady next door!”
“Can I see him soon, Daddy?”
“Of course you can, baby, of course you can.”
Hannah’s mother and father came up to me and gave me a hug; my own mum and dad stood by my side. Nan had to keep her distance as she was in charge of our Fran now, so we had to make it look like she was the last person she’d be staying with. You never knew who was watching, if you know what I mean. I greeted all the family and friends, each one patting me on the back. Fran would not let me go, and I didn’t want to leave her side. She was my last piece of life, of Hannah. I sat down next to my girl, my little angel so sweet and innocent. I had got her into this awful mess, it was my entire fault and I would never forgive myself until I got that evil bastard Killeen.
“We are here today to celebrate the life of Hannah Marie Fox,” the Vicar read on. I was welling up, and my baby girl was still crying on my shoulder. Mum and Dad looked over at me, and I gave them a brief smile back. Hannah’s coffin sat just ten metres away. I wanted to believe it was all a lie, and soon Cilla Black would jump out on me shouting Surprise! Surprise! Sadly, it was not to happen. Her father stood up in front of everyone and read out a prayer; her mother was in shock. As I listened to his poem I clenched my fists in rage. I was going to get Killeen: if it was the last thing I ever did, I would get him. The Vicar read out his last poem and then nodded to the bearers to turn on the CD player, so we could share her favourite song before we said our goodbyes.
Sabre Six : File 51 Page 8
