Читать книгу The Iceman - Jeff Edwards - Страница 9

Tom Briggs

I

awoke long before either my alarm clock or the wailing of the imam calling the faithful to prayer.

While showering I leaned forward and placed my hands on the wall to allow the hot water to run over the scars on the backs of my thighs and legs. I noted that time was gradually allowing the angry red hue to subside into a more regular colour. In a few more months I hoped that they would be like all the other scars I had accumulated in my youth.

I soaped myself thoroughly and stretched languidly under the water while allowing the kinks in my aching knees to ease as the suds washed away.

The wounds hadn’t been life threatening, but they had been bad enough for me to have been airlifted out of Afghanistan to a military hospital in Germany. After a period of convalescence I had been cleared by the doctors and shipped home to England for a long course of physiotherapy and to recuperate. And so my second tour of duty had ended along with my hope of playing a part in the defeat of the Taliban. I missed my men and had hoped to be with them when our mission was completed, but I wasn’t fooled about our chances of ultimate success. In my heart of hearts I knew that it would take nothing short of a miracle to achieve peace by military means in that dusty country, and so I was more than glad to arrive home to my wife and young son.

The biggest disappointment had come after months of physiotherapy when the doctors had pronounced that I would no longer be marked fit for active duty. ‘You’re a commando, Sergeant Briggs,’ said my CO, ‘and you know even better than I do that a ninety per cent fit soldier is a burden to his unit in the field.’

Reluctantly I had to admit that he was correct and I had been forced to accept the job offered to me in the regiment’s armoury. It meant that I could stay with the regiment and that was important to me. I was not a qualified armourer so my tasks consisted in the most part of shuffling papers with the occasional visit to super-vise firing parties at the rifle range to break up the monotony. I soon tired of it and when my enlistment was up I had chosen not to continue with the sham existence.

‘What are you going to do now?’ asked my perplexed wife as she cradled my young son.

I shrugged. ‘I’m entitled to a pension. I’ll look around. There’s bound to be something out there that I can do.’

Half a year later I had been through a variety of jobs all of which I found to be of mind numbing uselessness and left them all quickly, convinced that the next one would be better, but they weren’t.

‘You could always re-enlist,’ offered Maria, knowing that that was where my heart lay.

‘They don’t want me on active duty and I don’t want a desk job.’

‘Well, you can’t go on the way you’re going. You’ll destroy yourself,’ she said, wrapping her arms around me and kissing me lightly on the ear.

I sighed and drew her into me, kissing her lips and breathing in her scent. ‘I’m a soldier. It’s all I know. It’s all I’ve ever known.’

Maria looked up at me. ‘Then do what you have to do. It will hurt me to have you go away and it pains me that I’ll have to spend my nights praying that you’re safe, but I can’t stand to see you the way you are.’

I nodded and knew that she was right.

So it was that I had done what many ex-soldiers do nowadays.

Wrapped in a towel, I padded on bare feet back to my small room. As I did so I heard the wailing call from the nearby minaret commence and I prepared for action.

After donning the company’s uniform of desert camouflage fatigues, I walked over to my open window and looked out over the Green Zone of Baghdad.

Saddam Hussein’s palaces had been appropriated by the ‘liberating’ forces and now nearly five thousand foreigners lived amongst his lush parks and gardens. A further five thousand Iraqis had also moved into the zone. Most of these were the very poorest people in Iraq who had taken the opportunity to avail themselves of Saddam Hussein’s plush apartments when he had fled ahead of the liberating forces.

Now the Green Zone was an enclave of relative peace in the tur-moil of a Baghdad trying to come to terms with life after Saddam’s regime. It was surrounded by high concrete blast walls, T-walls and barbed wire with numerous heavily manned guard posts.

I had arrived in Iraq some nine months before and was now due some home leave. Each day I looked forward to the day when I arrived at Heathrow to be reunited with my son Jason for a short time and then dropping him off with his grandparents and whisking his mother off to a romantic resort in Spain.

‘Good morning, Sergeant Briggs,’ smiled the cook as I loaded my plate with bacon, eggs and toast in the company canteen.

‘Good morning, Corporal Jones,’ I replied.

Even though none of us were still in the armed forces old habits die hard and our former rank continued to define us. A retired officer was therefore accorded executive status while former enlisted men were the workers with sergeants equated to a civilian foreman in both rank and pay bracket.

At this early hour the canteen was still empty. ‘Are you going out today?’ asked Jones as I sat down not far from him.

I looked at my watch. ‘A couple of hours. Enough time to catch a bite to eat and check the vehicles.’

‘I’m glad you’re on the ball. Some of the contractors they’ve taken on lately aren’t worth feeding. Not a combat soldier among them.’

I nodded and concentrated on my food while silently conceding that Jones was correct. Much to my annoyance many of the men I now had to work with had as little as one period of enlistment under their belts. As soon as their first tour of duty was up they ditched the military and signed up for company work where they could earn many times the army’s rate of pay for performing much the same duties; however, I knew that receiving higher pay did not equate in any way to being a better soldier.

I finished my breakfast and walked outside to find that our armoured carriers had been refuelled and were now parked nose to tail outside the company’s dispatch office. The five vehicles had been used the previous day by another group and I distrusted their leader enough to want to make sure that he had done his job properly.

I thoroughly inspected the carriers and noted that the machine guns on three of them had been fired recently and that the boxes of expended ammunition had not been replaced. On some patrols if things were quiet the officer in command might authorise some ‘unofficial’ target practice to take place in a quiet part of the desert. On their return the patrol was supposed to replenish the missing ammunition, but this was often overlooked in their rush to wash the desert dust out of their dry throats in the company’s air-conditioned bar.

Added to this I found that the batteries were nearly flat in the radios on two of the vehicles. The length of our mission would ensure that long before we returned, the suspect equipment would have ceased to work. I wrote down all the problems I had found and headed for the company office.

Bradsure International Security Service (BISS) had been the only company to express any interest in allowing me to join them. On reviewing my medical record the rest had declined my offer, fearing that I could become a burden to them if my wounds were to deteriorate. With the money they were offering, these companies had more than enough fully fit men offering their services and they could well afford to ignore my past valuable experience.

BISS on the other hand were not quite so selective. Run by a board of directors who had their eyes fixed solely on the bottom line they offered lower wages than the rest and accepted nearly anyone who applied as long as they had some military experience and they didn’t have to waste money training them. The company also kept their profits high by cutting corners whenever they could, particularly when it came to basic maintenance, and it was not unknown for a patrol of five vehicles to set out for the day and only three returning with the extra crew members crammed into the few remaining vehicles.

Inside the office I handed my list of necessary replacement parts to the officer on duty. He had been a former major in the engineers and had never seen action in his life. In a moment of liquor-induced candour he had revealed that the nearest he had come to actual conflict was when a disgruntled local had chosen to express his displeasure by lobbing a mortar round into the Green Zone.

He read through my list while sipping at his morning cup of coffee. ‘I can get you the ammunition – we’ve plenty of that – but the radio batteries are another thing. Are you sure you can’t muddle through with what you’ve got?’

I gave the man behind the desk a withering look. ‘Would you like to be out there,’ I said, pointing off into the distance, ‘under attack and unable to call for support?’

The man cleared his throat and blushed. ‘Quite so. Well, we haven’t any spare batteries in stock. They’re on order and should be delivered later today. Can’t you recharge the ones we have, or perhaps borrow some from another company?’

‘We’re supposed to be leaving in an hour. There’s no time.’

‘Why not use your mobile phones?’

I exploded. ‘Jesus Christ, mate! Don’t you know anything? They can track the patrol if we use our mobiles. The first time a call is intercepted they will set up an ambush. Besides, the network doesn’t extend out into the countryside!’

‘Calm down, Sergeant!’ came a voice from behind me and I turned to see my group officer enter the room. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

‘We don’t have radio batteries for two of the vehicles and I can’t risk taking men out there and placing them in any more danger than we have to.’

He shrugged. ‘Okay, so we leave them behind and take the three operational vehicles. That way we won’t need as many men and we won’t have to split the bonus in as many ways.’ He grinned. ‘There’ll be more money for each of us.’

I was totally blown away by the man’s crass stupidity. ‘Sir, we need all five vehicles. One lead vehicle, one to cover our rear and the three in the middle changing places regularly so the enemy can’t tell which one has the VIP in it. Going with three vehicles will be like waving a flag at the terrorists, saying “Come and shoot us. Your target is in the middle”.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ scoffed the former engineering major. ‘You’re worrying about nothing.’

‘The Major’s correct,’ agreed my patrol commander.

I thought about taking the matter further but knew that it would be useless. All I could do was make the best of a bad situation. ‘I’ll go through the roster and see who we can leave behind.’ I wanted to be the one to do that task so that I could ensure that the most experienced men went along in case anything went wrong.

‘No need, Sergeant Briggs. I’ll do that. You go and make sure our three vehicles are in order.’

I went off to do what I was ordered to do, but I wasn’t at all happy. My gut feeling was that this mission was going from bad to worse very quickly and we hadn’t even gotten under way.

At the appointed time our patrol assembled at the vehicles and I saw that my worst fears had been realised. The two officers had selected the most inexperienced men available for the mission. All were first-timers on the lowest paying contracts, ensuring the two officers would have the maximum amount of bonus to share among themselves.

I would have taken the matter further, but it was important that we pick up our VIPs at a precise time and so I was stuck with the assembled crew.

Cursing under my breath I climbed aboard my carrier and ordered the driver to start the motor while at the same time I made a visual check to ensure that all was in readiness. It was just as well that I did so because one of the men had his Kevlar helmet resting on the floor at his feet and his bulletproof jacket was draped casually over his shoulder, exposing his chest.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re dressed for?’ I thundered at him.

‘Sorry, Sarge.’ He grinned. ‘We’re still inside the compound, so I thought I’d leave the helmet off till we get outside.’

‘Friggin idiot! Get yourself squared away. There are plenty of Iraqis inside the Green Zone that given half the chance would love to blow your head off your shoulders.’

The other men smirked at the young man’s discomfort as he hurried to don his helmet and secure his jacket. I turned to glare at them as well. ‘I want every one of you on guard every second. You don’t have the luxury of sitting around giggling like schoolgirls. Get your faces up against your windows, your weapons at the ready. Check every face that you see outside. I want to know the instant you see anything unusual.’

‘What are we looking for?’ asked the most junior man. He had joined the company the day before and his previous military experience had been as an aircraftman in the RAF.

‘Shit!’ I swore. ‘Haven’t you even looked at the information sheets you were given?’

‘Sorry, Sarge. I haven’t had time.’

I took a deep breath to calm myself down and began to speak slowly. ‘The faces, watch the faces in the crowds as we pass. We have guns and they know we’d like the least excuse to use them. They should be afraid of us. They will look in our direction, but they won’t look us in the eye. If you do catch them looking straight at us without flinching, or if they stand too confidently, it could mean that they know something we don’t.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like they’re about to meet Allah and don’t care how many guns we have. Like they have a bomb strapped to their body or the trigger to a bomb planted in the middle of the road and are about to press it. Trust no one out there and keep alert.’

My speech was interrupted by a radio call from the leader. ‘I’ve opened our orders and we’re proceeding on route six to pick up our VIPs. Then we’ll be heading to Basra. I’ll radio further instructions when we reach our departure point. Move out.’

We picked up our VIP passengers from one of the lesser palaces in the Green Zone and I was advised by the leader that these three men were Iraqi officials from the newly formed Department of Education who were on their way to Basra to inspect a newly opened non-religious and coeducational high school.

The commander’s vehicle led the way, followed by the second vehicle holding the VIPs and my vehicle fell in at the rear to make sure the VIPs’ vehicle was not attacked from behind.

Our shortened convoy threaded its way through the Green Zone and was slowly passed through the numerous checkpoints.

They’re not important enough to be assigned a plane to fly them down to Basra, but important enough for us to have to risk our lives to get them to their destination, I thought grimly. Just the sort of decision a politician would make. I hope they’re making it worth our while to indulge their stupid choices.

I was still feeling very uncomfortable about the size of our convoy but knew there was little or nothing that I could do, so I spent the major part of the ensuing journey overseeing my men to keep their minds on the job of watching our flanks and rear while praying that the troopers in the lieutenant’s vehicle were doing the same to our front. There was no way to predict when or where an attack could come. It might be in the form of an ambush or a bomb planted in the road and waiting for an unsuspecting target; however, by the time we were approaching Basra my constant warnings were beginning to fall on deaf ears. I had to physically kick the back of one soldier’s seat because he had nodded off with his forehead pressed against his window and was a perfect target for a sniper.

While I was doing this I noted that there was a large petrol tanker in the distance behind us.

‘Have you been watching that tanker?’ I asked our RAF recruit.

‘I’ve been checking it through my binoculars every now and then. They haven’t made up any ground on us for a long time. They’re not a threat.’

‘Shit!’ I muttered, my guts turning over in dread. ‘How long has that tanker been out there?’

The young man shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I think I first saw it after we passed through the last big village and that was a couple of hours ago.’

‘They’ve been out there all that time?’

‘Yeah.’

I grabbed my binoculars and trained them on the suspect vehicle. ‘What’s our speed?’ I called to the driver.

‘The road’s clear and there aren’t too many potholes, so we’re maintaining our normal convoy speed of one hundred kilometres per hour.’

‘So that tanker has been back there doing the same speed as us and has been doing so for about two hours. Doesn’t that seem suspicious to you?’ I asked the airman.

The young man swallowed hard. He now saw the inconsistency. There was no logical reason for the driver behind us to be doing what he was doing. Either he had an empty tanker and was in a hurry to return to his depot, in which case he could have closed the distance between himself and our convoy, or he already had fuel aboard and was heading for a delivery point, in which case there was no need for him to push his rig as hard as he was doing. He should have been dropping further and further behind us, not maintaining the gap. If he had a full load, he was pushing his rig to its limit without caring what damage he was doing to its motor.

I radioed the lead vehicle. ‘Lieutenant, we have a suspicious vehicle about two clicks behinds us. Radio the information back to base and warn your boys to keep an eye out for any trouble. We’ll monitor the tanker and keep you updated.’

‘Okay, Sergeant, but I think it’s a little premature to get headquarters brought into this just yet.’

I cursed under my breath at the young officer’s casualness.

For the next half hour I kept my glasses trained on the pursuing vehicle. It was hard to see under its thick coat of dust, but there did not appear to be any company logo on either the cab or its tank, so I assumed it was privately owned.

Through my binoculars I could make out the figure of a second figure in the truck’s cabin and this also made me feel uneasy because I knew how much it took out of a driver to maintain a rig at that speed for that length of time. If the vehicle was going about its innocent business and had an extra driver why hadn’t they pulled over at some point in time to allow the second man to relieve him at the wheel?

We rounded a bend in the road and I became aware that the convoy was slowing.

‘What’s going on?’ I called to our driver.

‘I don’t know. The carriers in front are slowing.’

Becoming more anxious by the second I radioed the commander. ‘Lieutenant, what’s happening?’

‘There’s an accident ahead. Two trucks have collided and there’s a wounded person lying in the road.’

‘Don’t slow down, Sir! It could be a trap! Keep going!’

‘Nonsense, Sergeant. It looks like a young boy. He’s covered in blood and he’s calling out for help. I’m going to see what I can do.’

‘Radio it in to headquarters! They can organise someone to send help! Keep the convoy moving! Don’t stop!’

I turned around but couldn’t see the pursuing rig as it was out of sight around a bend, but I knew that if it maintained its present speed it wouldn’t take long to reach us and it would hem us in between itself and the wreckage ahead if we didn’t keep moving.

‘The boy’s screaming for us to help him, Sergeant. I’m going out there with the first aid kit,’ announced the lieutenant. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take one of the men to cover me.’

‘No! Don’t!’ I screamed into the radio. There was no response from the lieutenant. ‘Fuck!’ I swore. ‘Weapons to the ready!’ I called to my men as I pulled open the roof hatch and aimed my automatic rifle at the bend where I expected the pursuing tanker to appear at any second.

Suddenly, everything happened at once. Just as the tanker rushed around the bend there were a series of screams from the front of the convoy. I concentrated on the approaching tanker while holding my hand up in the universal signal for ‘stop’, but the vehicle continued to approach, its speed undiminished. The carrier’s radio squawked to life. ‘The lieutenant’s down! The little bastard on the ground has stabbed him!’

‘Where’s his backup?!’ I screamed into the microphone as I took aim at the cabin of the truck.

‘I can’t see him. I don’t know where he’s gone. We can’t leave them out there!’

‘Hold on! I’ll be right there!’ I yelled and I opened fire at the oncoming vehicle. The window on the driver’s side of the truck starred as my shots thudded home, but suddenly small-arms fire was bouncing off the side of my carrier as his passenger returned my fire. At the same instant a number of gunmen popped up from their hiding places beside the road and opened fire on our convoy.

I moved my point of aim to the truck’s passenger while trying to ignore the rounds coming from the side and was relieved to hear the men below me shooting through the small slots in our carrier’s sides and forcing the hidden gunmen to duck behind cover.

My shots had their effect and the passenger slumped in his seat, but the tanker kept on coming. I quickly slotted in a fresh magazine and continued firing. Steam rose from the truck’s radi-ator as its motor was blown apart by my rounds and it finally slowed to a halt. I kept my finger on the trigger while raising my aim to the storage tank itself.

‘Move, damn you, move!’ I screamed at our driver as my last shots found their mark and the gases inside the empty tank erupted in a ball of flame.

With a lurch my carrier jumped forward and we pulled up beside the commander’s vehicle. Bullets continued to bounce off our thick metal sides and my men returned fire on our hidden attackers.

In the dust beside his carrier the sprawled body of the lieutenant lay with a knife stuck deep in his exposed throat. His first aid box was resting open beside a pool of blood and his supposed patient was nowhere in sight.

I caught sight of a movement beside the road and watched in shock as a group of men dragged the unfortunate soldier who had been the lieutenant’s backup into a nearby copse of trees.

Instinctively I clambered out of the top hatch while loosing off a burst of fire over the retreating men’s heads. Knowing that I had to force them to release their prisoner and what fate awaited him if I was unsuccessful, I jumped onto the road from the top of the carrier.

As I hit the dirt I took a step forward to begin the chase and fell flat on my face as my ruined knee collapsed and sent me sprawling. That saved my life as a volley of shots passed over my prostrate body and bounced off the side of the carrier. I tried to return fire on the retreating figures, but they disappeared from view.

The men inside my carrier returned fire as I managed to scramble to safety under our vehicle.

‘Damn!’ I swore, knowing that my one opportunity to rescue the man was gone. With the terrorists alert to our intentions it would be certain death for me to have ordered anyone else to take my place in pursuing our man’s captives.

I banged on the underside of the carrier. ‘Open the door. We have to get out of here.’

Inserting a full magazine, I loosed off more shots in the direction of the terrorists’ retreat, but by now they had disappeared from sight and I had no idea if my shots were effective or not.

‘We can’t leave Dick out there with them!’ yelled our RAF recruit. ‘He’s still alive!’

‘We can’t do anything for him!’ I called back. ‘He’s out there because of the stupidity of the lieutenant and I’m not going to risk losing any more lives. Now let’s get out of here and keep your eyes open for any more trouble,’ I snarled.

‘Dick’s a friend of mine, you bastard!’

‘I don’t care who the fuck he is. I’m not risking any more men. Now shut up and watch for trouble!’

By now we were under way and the site of the ambush was quickly left behind. I radioed the second carrier.

‘How are the VIPs?’

‘Jabbering away in their own lingo but not hurt beyond a few bumps and bruises. Judging by the smell, I think one of them might have shit himself.’

‘Totally understandable.’

‘Yeah. I came close to doing it myself. I’ve contacted HQ and they got straight onto the US military. A couple of squads of Rangers are on their way to sort out those arseholes back there and they’ll try to see what they can do for our man.’

I thought to myself, Thank God there’s at least one other person around here who has some idea what to do.

We were all shaken to the core and there was silence throughout the convoy as we travelled the last few kilometres to Basra.

A pair of helicopters with a gunship escort passed low over us heading toward the ambush site.

‘I hope they’re in time to save Dick.’ said the young RAF recruit as he gave me a look of utter loathing.

I very much doubt it, I thought grimly to myself.

Once again the crew lapsed into silence and remained that way until we reached our destination.

When we delivered them to the school’s front door the VIPs were effusive in their thanks and we were all glad to see the back of them for the time being; however, we knew that this was only the first part of our mission. We still had to get them back to Baghdad after their inspection or whatever it was that they were doing here.

Our convoy made its way to the company’s Basra compound where we could rest up, resupply and await further orders.

I insisted that the carriers be completely refuelled and re-armed before the men were allowed to stand down. They muttered darkly under their breaths and I caught the RAF recruit complaining to the others, ‘What about Dick? Haven’t we been through enough today? There’s plenty of time for this shit tomorrow.’

I didn’t have the energy to argue with him or to explain in reasonable terms why it had to be done straight away, so I simply pulled rank on him and told him in no uncertain terms that if he didn’t feel like obeying orders then he could walk out the door. It wasn’t what I would normally have done, but I was exhausted too and well past caring about his delicate feelings.

Finally we were finished and I headed off for a much needed shower followed by what I considered the most important part of any mission. I rang home to let Maria know that I was fine and to say hello to my baby son Jason.

Over the phone I wasn’t as up-beat as my usual self and I know that Maria could tell that the mission had not gone well; however, we were both experienced enough at these things to know that it would be useless for her to ask for details. ‘I love you and miss you,’ she whispered, and I felt immeasurably better.

‘Not much longer, Love,’ I responded. ‘I’ll be home soon.’

‘Are you going to sign up for another contract?’

I was silent for a time. ‘We’ll talk about that when I get home. There are a lot of things to consider and this is not like it was in the army. The goals here aren’t the same.’

‘Don’t worry, Love,’ she responded reassuringly. ‘We’ll sort it out.’

We were having supper in the company canteen when the news came through that the rangers had returned and that they had managed to recover the bodies of both our men.

I saw the RAF recruit look over at me with a look of utter disgust before pushing his plate of food aside and heading toward the bar. No doubt he was now fully intent on drinking himself into oblivion. A few of the other men from our convoy were less obvious in demonstrating their feelings but also left the table to join him.

I considered having a few stiff drinks as well but knew that I would not be made welcome. Besides, I would have to remain sober so that I could take command of the convoy on its way back to Baghdad.

My alarm awoke me before dawn. I breakfasted and noted the ashen looks on many of my men’s faces as they sipped at their coffee. That and the fact that they shied away from eating their normal hearty breakfast showed that they had had a long and heavy night and few of them would be in an operational state for the day’s work ahead.

I called in to see the duty officer at the company’s office. ‘I’ve got a string of hung-over men out there. I’ll have to sober them up before we leave. What time are we due to pick up our VIPs?’

‘The good news is that your VIPs don’t need to be taken back to Baghdad. It seems getting attacked by assassins has elevated their status and they now rank high enough to be flown home. You’ll be travelling back empty and the company wants you to leave straightaway. There are other assignments waiting for you back in Baghdad.’

‘In that case I’ll get them assembled. They can suffer the after-effects of their drinking in the comfort of a noisy carrier. That should teach them not to drink when they have duty the next day.’

‘They did have a good reason to get drunk last night, Sergeant,’ he chastised me.

‘But they also have a duty to the rest of their team to be on top of their game for our return trip,’ I replied grimly.

‘Duty, Sergeant? You’re confusing this with the army. This is business, not the military.’

For the return trip I broke the men up into new groups. Down two soldiers in the lead vehicle, I moved the RAF recruit to fill one of those vacancies, mainly so that I wouldn’t have to look at his accusing stares of utter hatred for the entire trip. I then reassigned one man from the centre carrier to give them a full complement. A further man from the centre carrier was moved into mine to replace the RAF recruit.

Now the centre carrier was left to operate with the barest minimum of troopers, but I considered that the best way to go as it would be the least able to launch a defensive response from its restricted position.

As I was now in command of the convoy, my carrier took up the lead position with the lieutenant’s vehicle now guarding our rear. I assigned the most experienced trooper the task of commanding the centre vehicle. It was the first time he had done so and I left him with the simple instructions to maintain a set distance between the vehicles and to keep moving no matter what happened.

Overall I was not satisfied with the result but saw that it would be the best that could be done under the circumstances.

I silently prayed that the trip would go off without a hitch.

We set out in the cool of the early morning and were well advanced by the time the sun began to have its full effect.

The air-conditioners were operating on full power as we travelled through the heat haze, but even so we heard the roar of the explosion and saw the plume of dust and smoke rise into the sky some distance ahead. The unmistakable rattle of machine-gun fire followed soon after.

‘What do we do, Sarge?’ asked my driver.

‘Keep going,’ I replied. ‘I want every man on the alert.’

‘But, Sarge, we could be heading into a full battle down there.’

‘You’re soldiers, aren’t you? Or at least you told the company you were. Get into full defensive positions and keep going.’

‘Shit, Sarge. You’re asking to get us into trouble.’

‘All right genius, I’ll give you a choice. Sit here for who the hell knows how long and then have to walk home when we run out of fuel. Or do we go on until we find out what’s happening up ahead and then decide the best course of action?’

‘Okay, Sarge,’ agreed the man reluctantly. ‘We go on.’

As we neared the plume of smoke it became obvious what had happened. Guarded in the front and read by an armoured carrier, a convoy of trucks had been heading toward us and had come under attack when a bomb planted in the road had been remotely detonated under a truck in the centre of the convoy.

The carriers had turned off the road and launched an attack on a small rise from where they believed the enemy had lain in wait. Their attack had been in vain as the signal that detonated the bomb had come from someone hidden at much closer quarters and it left the convoy unprotected.

Small arms and machine gun fire raked the halted convoy, destroying more vehicles. Confusion reigned as the truckers dove for cover off the side of the road and they could only watch helplessly as their trucks and valuable cargos were shot to pieces.

At the sound of our approach the attackers must have realised that their position was about to become untenable and pulled back, disappearing into the rugged countryside.

As I pulled up beside the lead vehicle its driver popped his head up from behind a pile of rocks beside the road.

‘Are you all right?’ I called.

‘Thank heavens you turned up. The silly buggers who are supposed to be protecting us are off chasing shadows while those bastards are making minced meat of our trucks,’ he said, angrily pointing off in the direction from where the machine gun had come.

I looked over and could see their carriers making their way back to their charges. ‘Here comes your escort now. We’ll leave you to sort it all out.’

‘Thanks, mate. I can’t wait to give those silly bastards a piece of my mind.’

We made our way past the halted convoy and saw that two trucks were burning fiercely with several more so badly damaged that they would be going no further.

‘Now I know why you always want to us to keep moving,’ murmured one of my men.

‘They would have suffered losses, but not nearly as many as they have if they had kept going and gotten themselves out of the attack zone.’

The man nodded in agreement.

At least I’ve convinced someone, I thought to myself.

As soon as we arrived back in Baghdad each man was taken aside and rigorously de-briefed not only by our own company officers but by Americans from Military Intelligence. We were laboriously questioned on all aspects of our outward and inward journeys, but mainly with regard to the attack where the lieutenant and Dick had been murdered.

The impression I formed from the demeanour of the Americans was that our lieutenant was nothing short of an idiot who got what he deserved and that what I had done was the best that could have been done in the circumstances.

On the other hand, the company representative was less than impressed with my efforts, particularly when it came to the matter of the second soldier. ‘Why didn’t you make more of an effort to rescue him?’

‘We were pinned down by small-arms fire. I couldn’t risk sending more of the men out into the line of fire to save him.’

‘You could have done something. Why didn’t you have your people open the carrier’s door to let him try to make it to safety?’

This was something that I had debated with myself at the time. ‘I couldn’t put the men inside the carrier at risk. Bullets were fly-ing everywhere and if some of them had gone through the open door they would have been ricocheting off the metal walls and causing who knows what sort of damage.’

‘You could have chased after them.’

‘If I’d had the full complement of carriers I might have, but with only three it would have placed us all at risk. I had to take the safety of the VIPs and the men under my command into account.’

At the mention of the VIPs he became silent. Finally he spoke. ‘This whole debacle is going to cost the company dearly. We’re going to face a couple of large compensation payments.’

I thought to myself, So, that’s what it all comes down to! The bottom line is money, not the lives lost.

Finally we were all allowed to leave and I headed to the nearest bar to try to wash a decidedly dirty taste out of my mouth.

Less than a day later my next assignment came through and I was relieved to see that this convoy would be led by an elderly former SAS officer with whom I had worked previously. This time I knew that the job would be handled professionally.

We were both inspecting the vehicles assigned to us when I received a call to report to the office.

At the dispatch desk I asked, ‘What new problems do you have for me now?’

The dispatch officer looked up at me. ‘I don’t want you.’ He pointed skyward. ‘They want to see you upstairs.’

‘They?’

‘Suits. You’ll see.’

I climbed the short flight of stairs and was met by a former administration corporal who now assisted the company hierarchy as a sort of personal assistant. He led me to an office where he stuck his head inside and announced my presence.

I was ushered into the office where our CO wearing his company uniform was meeting with two men in lightweight suits. The impeccable cut of their clothes and their polished shoes had the smell of head office all over them. Not one of them looked particularly pleased to see me.

‘Sit down, Sergeant Briggs,’ ordered the CO.

I did as instructed but didn’t even attempt to make myself comfortable. I perched on the edge of the chair and waited for the axe to fall.

The CO began. ‘The VIPs you escorted to Basra have been most complimentary. They say you saved their lives and are most grateful. I’m glad to say they didn’t baulk at the bill we sent them.’

The older of the suited men continued. ‘However, the Iraqis have a completely different view of matters. They are purely concerned with their own wellbeing and count our loss of life as nothing. We, on the other hand, place a far higher price on the lives of our staff.’

I was tempted to ask. And exactly how much, in terms of the company’s bottom line, is a life worth on the current market?’ but I held my tongue.

The suit continued. ‘The bad publicity caused by this latest attack and the subsequent deaths has cast a pall over our company’s activities. A number of our clients are having second thoughts about continuing to use our services. We can’t allow this ‘setback’ to affect the company. We must show everyone that we are a well-run, stable organisation.’

‘Sure thing,’ I agreed, wondering just why he was bothering to relate all this bullshit to a mere employee.

The CO cleared his throat and took another turn at speaking. ‘We’ve had a number of complaints about you, Sergeant Briggs.’

‘About me?’ I asked, trying to sound surprised. ‘Who from?’

‘From some of the men. Quite a few of them in fact.’

‘What sort of complaints?’ I asked.

‘About your conduct in the field, Briggs. About how you chose to leave a soldier behind to be tortured by the enemy.’

‘That wasn’t my decision, Sir! That was company policy. Protect the client at all costs. That’s what I had to do and that’s what I did!’

‘Quite so,’ agreed the CO. ‘But it has placed us in a difficult position. It seems that a number of the men have resolved not to work with you. They’ve refused to go on this current convoy unless you are replaced.’

I knew who had instigated this request and could almost sym-pathise with the young RAF man, but he had to realise that there were times, especially under battle conditions, when orders had to be given and obeyed that would be quite unpalatable under normal circumstances. ‘So, we have to replace a number of the men on the convoy?’

‘No, Sergeant. Only one.’

‘Me.’

The CO nodded.

‘And the next time they refuse to work with me?’

‘There won’t be a next time, Sergeant,’ replied the suit.

‘You’re getting rid of me? I’m fired? Fired for doing what the company wanted me to do? Ordered me to do?’

‘Not fired, Sergeant,’ replied the CO. ‘That would send the wrong message to our clients. We’ve decided to pay out the remainder of your contract. You can return to your family early.’

‘And what if I decided to sign on for another term?’

The second suit spoke. ‘There won’t be another contract offered to you, Sergeant. We can’t afford any further problems.’

‘So I’m out, permanently.’

‘I’m afraid so,’ apologised the CO.

‘And what are my chances of getting a contract with another company?’

‘I can’t answer that, Sergeant.’

I could. Absolutely none.