I trod carefully, leaving no signs of damage on the ground just in case they returned and plotted our movements.
“Joe, where the hell are you, mate? It’s me, Michael!” I searched all over for an hour and a half but my good old mate Joe was gone.
I hoped he was ok. Those bastards were heading north, and that was the plan. Oh, God! I hoped Joe would make it. I pulled my finger out, made a plan and then set a bearing to head east. I really thought those fuckers would have worked that one out: I didn’t know they were so clever; I was very impressed. I covered myself up, wrapping my shemagh round my face and head. All they needed to know was that I was a lost medic. Joe was a strong character; I just hoped that he could make it. He must have known that the plan was flawed as soon as he heard the disturbance from behind. It didn’t matter, he was gone now. I made my move, kept off the tracks, and paced myself carefully as I trekked through the bush. As long as I could get to the hills I would be fine. My only concern was the two dead rag-heads from the plantation; I was sure they must have been reported missing by now. Something was coming! I got down, diving into a small bit of bush at the side of a pathway. Where the hell was that coming from? I kept my ears pinned back, hoping for the noise to go away. It couldn’t be soldiers. How the hell would they know I was there? No one had seen me; it would have been impossible. I very slowly lifted up my neck, so I could use one eye to see what was happening. They continued talking to one another, whoever they were. They were having a moan or something, the stupid slags.
I stayed where I was for at least half an hour after they moved off. If I could make it to the hills I would be just fine. My water was low and I had run out of food. I was sure I would have no choice but to find something soon. I dusted myself off as I crossed the track. Finding a small stream nearby, I took the opportunity to fill up my water canteen and freshen up, then set off, following the stream into the trees. I had my compass attached to my coat, so at least I knew I was going in the right direction. I continued to follow the stream, which got deeper as I moved along it, until I tripped over a root, fell in and bloody hurt my leg. Soon it was throbbing. I wondered where our Joe was, hoping he was ok, the stupid bastard. I spent the next hour or so talking to myself, trying to work a plan out, or, to put it bluntly, wondering how the hell I was going to get myself out of this shit. At last I came to the end of the stream. Below me, further down the valley, was a dam and a big old drop – I had no choice but to climb down. The view from up there was somewhat undesirable; too many folk hanging about. I needed my peace and quiet. I made sure my footing was correct before I leant over the side: I was looking at about at least an eighty foot drop to the bottom. I took a leap of faith, and that was a big mistake. As I fell towards the water I hadn’t realised there was a shallow part on the right hand side. As I hit the water I had just about made a safe landing, though hurting my leg in the shallows. I swam in agony towards the river bank. Looking up at the falls, it was some fucking drop, and I must have been a wanker to have jumped. I decided I was definitely going to take it easy unless I came across any more rag-heads. Reaching down I grabbed my first rock. The bastard slipped and I fell sideways, catching my footing before I went straight to the bottom like a giant turd. I’d come to a hollow piece of rock and the fall was going to be hard, but I had no choice. My leg was too badly hurt, and I was going to have to endure the drop. I landed at the bottom, knocking myself unconscious, and lay on the floor bleeding from the head. My leg actually felt better as I dreamt of my beautiful Hannah working away in the garden. I was not so lucky when I came round. I was in shit state! My leg was even worse and I had broken a bone in my foot, leaving me gasping in agony. I tried to stand up, only to find that my head was bleeding quite badly. I needed to move on, but I was not in any physical state to do so. I had just dug my own grave. I had an unknown army out looking for me somewhere, so it was only right that I pulled my finger out and got moving. All I needed to do was continue heading east. Just keep heading east, Michael. Come on, boy, you can do it! Pull your finger out your backside and move it, Shit for Brains.
I bent over, took a gulp of oxygen, took a look ahead of me and moved forwards. My legs were all over the place, my mind was messed up; I felt very sleepy, dazed, as if in a dream. I had to really concentrate on every step I took, trying not to fall over my own feet, looking like a pigeon walking along. I tried to run, but every time I picked up my pace I went over on my arse. I felt angry with myself for letting this happen. How the hell did I lose Joe?
I came to a small open paddy field – well, it looked like one from where I was standing, like something from a Vietnam War film. I cautiously ducked down, surveying everything. It was as clear as it would ever be, so I stood up, still looking like a rough rag-head. I moved forwards and began edging around the field. I could see a set of trees up front, but I could still not see the hill, which was pissing me right off. Carefully walking sideways towards the plantation, I jumped to the ground when I suddenly saw a small cloud of smoke rise into the treetops – I would guess about 200 metres to my front. I got down into the prone position, basically down on my belly. I lay dead silent for ten minutes, just listening, which was all I could do. Just lie there and listen.
I waited until it was slightly darker and pushed forwards. I had run into a small village. The occupants looked harmless from what I could see; if only they were friendlier, they could attend to me medically, feed me and help me across the border. I started getting angry with myself at the thought of human behaviour. Why couldn’t they help a man in desperate need! They had no idea what I had done; I was just a lone, lost medic in need. Why couldn’t I simply stroll on in and plead mercy for food and help? We didn’t moan in our country when they popped over for free grub, accommodation and hand-outs. Human fucking rights! I stood to in my little dug out position, shaking like a leaf, and starving hungry.
Everyone seemed asleep. I made sure to the best of my ability that there were no dogs in the village. I have to say it was rare – maybe they had eaten them! I sneaked into the village, keeping low at all times. One noise and the game would be over. The locals would give me up for money: they hated us. I prowled about, not believing my luck, and found a half-eaten rack of brown bread, quite rough in texture but better than a kick up the arse. Still no water, though.
I moved on from the village, still plotting each step as I fought my way through the countryside evading capture by the Afghani rebels; half of Al-Qaeda was probably out looking for us. I had no choice but to drink the small amount of left over piss in my water canteen. I was drying up big time; I was so seriously dehydrated, I couldn’t even piss anymore. Eating a chunk of the bread as I continued to move on, I tried to work out a plan of action. It was very hard to think clearly, but I ate some more of the bread, and then sat down for ten minutes, thinking about what I was going to do. I decided my best option was to lie up for the rest of the night. My action plan wasn’t fool proof; any soldier knows that you move at night, reason being you have the cover of darkness to conceal you, creating an easier means of escape. I found a small plantation in a concealed area, and dug myself in for a little nap. I knew it would not be long until I hit the hills, so I needed as much rest as possible. My head still hurt me too. Then, as I was making myself comfortable, the sodding rain poured in and soaked me to the bone. I was pissed wet through, but at least it was only water! I sat there for the next four hours, and I think I got some shuteye, though not too sure. I felt like I did, though. I raised my head and took a peep outside my hidey-hole – not a thing in sight. It was time to put my plan into action again: I was going to walk to the border. I had all the right kit, and my head and face were covered up, so recognition wouldn’t be a major problem. I wondered if I really could make it!
I hobbled out onto a small track: not a person in sight, rather spooky really. The ground was three inches deep with thick wet clay after the rainfall. I followed the track down into a little valley, a small hut soon coming into view. I picked
up my pace, trying to walk by casually as a local might do, and decided that if someone were to talk to me, then I would just ignore him or her and continue, pointing at my ears, pretending to be deaf and dumb. It just might work you know!
Three miles later, my leg was giving me some right jip. I finally made it to another pissing plantation, and decided to hop on inside for a quick rest. I checked my leg, only to find a bloody big bruise and a swelling to my foot and ankle. Shit! I should have listened to my dad about tomb-stoning. Not that bad really, though, considering I’d fallen off a cliff! I had my last piece of bread and reflected on the mission, its ups and downs. Of course, it wasn’t all bad; could have been a lot better, but hey ho!
“Bugger!” I fell to the floor and spat the bread out of my mouth, too scared to chew any longer. I tried to breathe, but my adrenaline had kicked in, my heart was beating faster, and I felt sick to the stomach. A platoon of armed soldiers patrolled right past me! I must have been no more than ten feet away from the track and someone must have reported me. It couldn’t have been today; it must be from when I stole the food from the village. Maybe they were simply on a routine patrol. Oh, God, I just didn’t know! Once they had passed, I legged-it further into the plantation, keeping as much distance as I could from the patrol.
When I did make it to the other side, I almost bumped into a whole enemy squadron of at least sixty soldiers, most of them smoking, and two machine gun mounted 4x4 trucks. Another arrived just after with a fifty-Cal attaché. If I’d got caught up in that, I’d have been seriously screwed.
I had been surrounded overnight, and my only way of escape was to go firm, dig in and pray to Jesus. I found a softer piece of ground covered in thickets of grass, leaves and sticks, and using a decent, thick stick I started digging at the ground. A tree falling might have half dug it already, but I did try my best. I lay down inside, covering myself up with anything I could find. Unless someone actually stood on top of me, I should be safe enough.
Looking at my watch I found it was midnight; I had been in this hideout for nearly seven and three quarter hours, and had not heard any men or trucks for over two hours. I pushed my hand up through the dirt and foliage and made my way very bloody carefully to the edge of the wood. Everyone had buggered off, but my walking in the day plan had just gone very quickly out of the window. I checked my compass, and it looked like I had done a bit of a U-turn. I corrected myself and headed onwards to my next set of disasters. With my new advantage, I had for some reason, call it fate, or maybe not, stumbled alongside a bloody big old river.
My compass was still facing east. I thought about the easiest options and what possible effect it could have on my escape route if I used the river as my way out. It was going heading east downhill, so I thought that would be the easiest option. Did Al-Qaida have River Police? I didn’t think so. Border Patrols, Bushmen, Secret Police, and Soldiers. But I didn’t think they had River Police. Nah, they weren’t that clever!
It just so happened that I found a decent sized log hanging around on the riverbank. It wasn’t too thick, just thick enough to float, so I threw it into the water. Well, when I say I “threw” it into the water, I actually meant to say that I dragged it over to the river, as I was too weak to pick it up.
To my surprise I could just make out the summits of the first set of mountains in the distance, falling into Pakistan, I was so close it was unreal. I jumped in, took hold of the log and off we went. The water was not that bad to start with. In fact, it was rather comfortable, if I’m being honest! It was nice to take the weight off my feet.
We washed away downstream. If I encountered anyone on the riverbanks, then I would just duck under the water until I passed. I was getting a move on, so it would not have taken long to pass them. I planned in my head that when I felt tired I would just pull in to the riverbank, find a safe area and get my head down. Happily, at the speed we were achieving, I would be on home soil before morning. Yeah, right! I was in no mood to sleep; I was too aware of my surroundings. All I wanted was to achieve my goal and at least make it onto home soil. If I were to die then, so be it, but not like this, not in this shit hole of a country. My luck, sadly, was not to last much longer. We must have drifted causally for an hour or two, and I was quite comfortable hanging on to this wooden platform. It felt rather peaceful, if not a little bit damp! Approaching the next bend in the river, I could see a massive bridge crossing from one side to the other: I had to rinse my eyes properly to focus. There were at least four guards patrolling up and down and I had seconds to make a split decision. I knew that our speed was around six to seven kilometres an hour, so we were not hanging about. I took a deep breath and under I went. It was a struggle to maintain this speed and hold my damn breath. I daren’t look up in case they saw me. My heart could not take any more bad luck; I just wanted to go home to my Fran. Frances was far too important to me, and I needed to become a real father now that our Hannah had gone.
I started choking; I coughed a lump of air from my lungs and watched the bubbles rise to the top. My sight began fading. I started seeing things, feeling rather jumpy, and my legs were shaking. I needed to go up now. I needed to go up. I was fucking drowning! I pulled myself up, and found I had passed the bridge by up to fifty metres. I came up laughing my tits off! I carried on down the river for a further hour or so, clinging to my new best, timber friend. We finally hit a shallow pool, and my river ride was over. I stood up, said goodbye to my log and got onto dry land. Shit! I had lost my pissing compass! I checked everywhere, took off all my clothes, I even checked the crease of my arse, but my baby compass had gone.
I could see the mountains: I stood at the base, looking up for a path into them, took a deep breath, spat on the floor, filled up my water bottle and headed up. Everything seemed dead as I walked on up the mountain. Each tree was rotten, a recurring trend in this country it would seem. I passed an animal carcass and gave it a kick; it was my only source of entertainment. Before long my water canteen was empty, not a drop left, so I looked about trying to find any other water source, checking under rocks, flowers, dead trees, anything! I had been taught so many things whilst I was in the SAS, but sadly none of it ever materialised in the real world. In the real world, life is bloody hard, and there wasn’t any water up here, it’s all bollocks! I threw my fists in the air, like a spoilt child craving attention. My mouth was as dry as a badger’s cock; my stomach aching due to lack of food. I must be burning thousands of calories up, and definitely getting weaker by the hour. By the following morning, though, I had reached the summit, and after a brief pause began to descend. I was becoming totally exhausted: my hands started shaking, and my stomach was in extreme agony. I didn’t think I was going to make it any further, and I took another rest.
Looking back into Afghanistan, I wondered where Joe was, and if he’d made it. I started believing that Joe was back at camp, pissed up and joking at my expense. I felt that maybe Joe and Stan were watching me up here in the mountains, laughing at my misfortune. I cried a little too, knowing that I had lost control of my body. My world was in shit state and I had no idea where I was. I was lying on my back looking up at a tree branch; a small lizard looked down at me, an ugly looking thing, with massive eyes. Probably thought the same of me. I started hearing noises and tilted my head at an angle, trying to track down the source of these sounds. Pulling myself over onto my front, I crawled cautiously forwards towards the disturbance. A snake sat in my path and I lay still. His head turned to face mine, and we stared one another out. Then I used my last bit of energy, throwing my hand out as fast as I could, catching the snake by the neck. I had no fear of such a creature, only that of imminent death. I bit its head off, pulling it towards my mouth, taking a massive bite, and chewing the rubber muscle until I swallowed it. Then I continued forward, searching aggressively now for this noise that I could still hear, getting louder the closer I got to it. I dropped down into a small pool of water, which ran down in to a stream and then into a river which I could
see further along the valley. My head fell into the pool, and I drank litres and litres of fluid, pushing myself over onto my back, laughing as my body regenerated. I took advantage and filled my water canister, then I fell asleep, waking later in the day. The sun was as bright as ever, and my skin burning, but I picked myself up, feeling a little stronger. I stumbled onto a small dirt track, leading around a tight bend to my left. I was now in the foothills of the mountains. I’d made it: I was in Pakistan! I found myself staggering into a small village, packed full of women and children, everyone staring at me as I stumbled into the middle of the plot, shouting out, “English, English!”
Chapter Nine: Sabre Six – File 51
I woke up on the dusty ground surrounded by a crowd of females, spitting next to my head, cursing at my presence. Standing nearby, the village elder seemed gob-smacked that I had walked on in without an invitation. Then, without provocation, a young boy walked over to me with a stick and had the audacity to strike me repeatedly across the head with it, the little turd! I shouted for him to stop, but then a flock of women joined in and started attacking me. It was unprovoked, I hadn’t done a thing to start this off. I came in peace! Then something hard hit me in the head. I came to feeling bitter. My head was bleeding: what the hell was going on! “I’m on your side folks!” I shouted.
Some old chap walked over to me. I was barely conscious but I could plainly see that his eyes were filled with rage. I couldn’t understand what the old bastard was saying, but with an expression and look like his, it couldn’t be good. “What are you on about, mate?” I pleaded. He smacked me across the side of my face; it stung like a bastard.
Sabre Six : File 51 Page 15
