followed.
Dave seized the door handle and pointed at
Pete and Dom. 'Make sure you look after those
two. If they can lift you, they will. They're always
after a squaddy. One of you guys would be even
better. Bigger ransom.'
Pete turned to Sonia. 'And they'd be able to
understand what we were saying. He'd be no
good on Al Jazeera.'
Dave waited on the PRR for confirmation that
everybody was back inside their wagons. Finally
he leant across and thumped the company
commander on the leg before giving him the
thumbs-up.
As the tracks squealed again, we took three or
four rounds of AK into the side. The GPMG
rattled off a reply.
The wagon jerked and there was a loud scrape
of metal on metal. The whole right side of the
Bulldog lifted and the scraping continued.
Pete grinned. 'Someone won't be driving to
work in the morning.'
Dave thumbed the medic to get his arse back
on top cover, and it wasn't long before he was
signalling Pete to join them with his camera.
Dom wanted to follow but Sonia grabbed him.
She sounded like she should have been on EastEnders . 'It's just where the rocket launcher
was, innit? Stay here, love, it's safer.'
Pete came back down. He opened the side
screen of the camera and pressed play. We
crowded round. It was fantastic quality, black-and-white
IR, none of that hazy green stuff I was
used to seeing on TV. The 105s had wreaked
devastation. The remains of a six-barrel rocket
launcher lay mangled on the back of a truck. Pete
had homed in on what was left of a body. The
image shook as the Bulldog bounced about, but
he looked to be in his teens. The shredded clothing
was still smouldering. An arm was missing,
and a big chunk of the launcher stuck out of his
back.
'We got one of the fuckers, anyway.' Sonia's
East London tones even drowned the engine
noise.
My nostrils twitched. I could smell shit. I
looked at Sonia and raised an eyebrow.
'Not me.' She smiled. 'We're nearly there. Their
sewers are fucked.'
Dave got on to his PRR. 'Front vehicle, count
us in. Everyone, listen in.'
The company commander's head was buried
in his laptop. Signals popped up on the screen
every few seconds like messages in a chatroom.
He talked non-stop on the net. The signaller
worked frantically beside him. It was almost like
watching a movie.
The Fijian's voice filled the net, very slow, very
laid back, speaking as if he couldn't smell a whiff
of shit. 'We're turning on to the target street now.
Four hundred to go. Street is lit, house lights
going out.'
13
The PRRs fell silent as the Fijian counted us in.
Serious faces looked up and out at the buildings
that hemmed us in on both sides.
'Fifteen . . . twenty . . .'
Dave pushed down the locking bar of the rear
door and held it closed.
I checked my Osprey collar was up and the
Velcro fastening in the front was secure enough
to keep it that way.
'On target – stop, stop, stop!'
The wagon tipped forward. Dave hurled the
door open before it had even finished rocking.
He and the second medic both jumped out and
disappeared towards the front of the wagon. He
had to organize the strike and the protection, and
relay everything back to the company
commander. Sonia stayed in the wagon to receive
any casualties.
Pete tumbled out. He had a job to do as well.
He had to keep as close as he could to the entry
team without getting killed.
Dom and I were close behind. All the Bulldog
commanders were ripping down the cables overhead.
Bulbs shattered on the ground. Lights went
out along the rows of buildings as the area closed
down and got ready for a nightmare. Petrified
kids screamed at each other inside the buildings
all round us.
Pete had reached the door in the outer wall of
the target. The strike team was forming up each
side. Terry checked it wasn't unlocked before the
battering ram was swung into action. The bang
of steel on steel mixed with the rumble of
the wagon power packs, smashing glass and the
screams of revved-up soldiers and terrified
civilians.
Dom filmed with
Dave seized the door handle and pointed at
Pete and Dom. 'Make sure you look after those
two. If they can lift you, they will. They're always
after a squaddy. One of you guys would be even
better. Bigger ransom.'
Pete turned to Sonia. 'And they'd be able to
understand what we were saying. He'd be no
good on Al Jazeera.'
Dave waited on the PRR for confirmation that
everybody was back inside their wagons. Finally
he leant across and thumped the company
commander on the leg before giving him the
thumbs-up.
As the tracks squealed again, we took three or
four rounds of AK into the side. The GPMG
rattled off a reply.
The wagon jerked and there was a loud scrape
of metal on metal. The whole right side of the
Bulldog lifted and the scraping continued.
Pete grinned. 'Someone won't be driving to
work in the morning.'
Dave thumbed the medic to get his arse back
on top cover, and it wasn't long before he was
signalling Pete to join them with his camera.
Dom wanted to follow but Sonia grabbed him.
She sounded like she should have been on EastEnders . 'It's just where the rocket launcher
was, innit? Stay here, love, it's safer.'
Pete came back down. He opened the side
screen of the camera and pressed play. We
crowded round. It was fantastic quality, black-and-white
IR, none of that hazy green stuff I was
used to seeing on TV. The 105s had wreaked
devastation. The remains of a six-barrel rocket
launcher lay mangled on the back of a truck. Pete
had homed in on what was left of a body. The
image shook as the Bulldog bounced about, but
he looked to be in his teens. The shredded clothing
was still smouldering. An arm was missing,
and a big chunk of the launcher stuck out of his
back.
'We got one of the fuckers, anyway.' Sonia's
East London tones even drowned the engine
noise.
My nostrils twitched. I could smell shit. I
looked at Sonia and raised an eyebrow.
'Not me.' She smiled. 'We're nearly there. Their
sewers are fucked.'
Dave got on to his PRR. 'Front vehicle, count
us in. Everyone, listen in.'
The company commander's head was buried
in his laptop. Signals popped up on the screen
every few seconds like messages in a chatroom.
He talked non-stop on the net. The signaller
worked frantically beside him. It was almost like
watching a movie.
The Fijian's voice filled the net, very slow, very
laid back, speaking as if he couldn't smell a whiff
of shit. 'We're turning on to the target street now.
Four hundred to go. Street is lit, house lights
going out.'
13
The PRRs fell silent as the Fijian counted us in.
Serious faces looked up and out at the buildings
that hemmed us in on both sides.
'Fifteen . . . twenty . . .'
Dave pushed down the locking bar of the rear
door and held it closed.
I checked my Osprey collar was up and the
Velcro fastening in the front was secure enough
to keep it that way.
'On target – stop, stop, stop!'
The wagon tipped forward. Dave hurled the
door open before it had even finished rocking.
He and the second medic both jumped out and
disappeared towards the front of the wagon. He
had to organize the strike and the protection, and
relay everything back to the company
commander. Sonia stayed in the wagon to receive
any casualties.
Pete tumbled out. He had a job to do as well.
He had to keep as close as he could to the entry
team without getting killed.
Dom and I were close behind. All the Bulldog
commanders were ripping down the cables overhead.
Bulbs shattered on the ground. Lights went
out along the rows of buildings as the area closed
down and got ready for a nightmare. Petrified
kids screamed at each other inside the buildings
all round us.
Pete had reached the door in the outer wall of
the target. The strike team was forming up each
side. Terry checked it wasn't unlocked before the
battering ram was swung into action. The bang
of steel on steel mixed with the rumble of
the wagon power packs, smashing glass and the
screams of revved-up soldiers and terrified
civilians.
Dom filmed with
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