by Geoff Wolak
‘You know where they’re heading, Captain?’ Rawlson demanded.
‘This town, sir, only option, but from the air we’ll be able to see, and make an assessment. There’s a two-storey police building in the centre of the town, I’ve flown over it many times.’
The police convoy turned north before the mine, heading to the nearest town, four jeeps in a row, no closer than five hundred yards, but I was tempted to try and open up on them. I waited, hoping to close the distance, but the gap seemed to be widening. If they could see me, which they should have done, they were not interested in trying to ambush me.
As I drove on, the adrenaline rush eased and the pain increased, but I fought it away, the pain a steady reminder as to how stupid this was.
The police convoy eventually became a spec on the horizon, hard to know if they were still there, and if they had a man waiting in the sand for me he would have me, so after each mile I wondered how much longer I would live. I hunkered down so that I offered a low profile, and grabbed a kit bag from the rear and placed in on the bonnet to hide myself.
Driving on, the roar of the tyres on a hot tarmac road, I had a slither of a view, and anyone seeing me might have figured the jeep driving itself.
‘What’s your plan, Captain?’ Rawlson demanded.
‘As Wilco would say, often, a plan is no good till you see what you’re dealing with. We’ll fly down the road, over the town and have a look, and then maybe we’ll have a plan, sir.’
The road stretched on and on, time dragged on, my back hurting from bending forwards, that ever constant roar of the tyres in my ears, and then I panicked and checked the fuel. I had a quarter tank, spare fuel in the back, and I sighed with relief.
Patches of green flashed by, small mud-brick abodes, and I knew I was approaching that town. I had seen the map, and now tried desperately to remember its layout, certain that the police station was in the centre on the left, but I was not sure.
What I was sure of was how foolish this was, but my foot would not come off the gas. I was resigned to my fate. If this is the end, then bollocks to it, I thought.
I lifted my head an inch, seeing two armed men on the side of the road, and they must have been puzzling the jeep with no driver. A hand on the GPMG, my head still down, a rough aim, and as I got within fifty yards I lifted up and leant left, took a rough aim and fired a long burst, the men sent flying.
I passed them at speed, a quick look left, the two men face down, and soon I was passing houses and people, faces peering at me as I kept low. A jeep tooted me and swerved to avoid me, and I swerved around a truck full of what looked like sheep, a boy jumping clear before I ran him down, a man with a bike a little slow, his bike knocked flying.
In my ten o’clock position sat the police station, one jeep outside, a few men in blue stood around. I pulled the trigger at two hundred yards, and I held it, the men and their jeep peppered as I sped towards them, town’s folk running for cover.
Lifting up, I raised my aim and hit the second floor windows of the building as I slowed, the glass smashed, my aim lowered a second later, blue jeeps in a side street smashed, but it looked like no one was in them. Brakes applied, the side windows of the building raked, men seen and knocked back, the front windows raked, the door hit, and I realised that the walls were breezeblock.
Skidding to a halt, a cloud of dust thrown up, I raked the building walls at chest height, movement seen, and I fired down the corridor behind the main door.
Clicking empty, I grabbed my rifle and bound out, rounds hitting the wall in front of me. I span around, two men in blue coming out of what looked like a shop. Firing twice, two chest shots, they fell, and I put rounds through the shop window.
Spinning, two large strides, I passed the shattered front door, rifle forwards, a body on the floor, a round into his back. First door, left, a man crawling, a round in the back loudly echoing, a peek inside, no movement. Second door, right, a man sat his desk, dead, a man struggling to get to his feet, a round at close range.
Corridor left, I knelt, a body, a round into it, a face peering around the corner, a head shot, blood spatter up the grey wall. Spinning right, a man crawling, a round into his back, corridor branching left, spin and kneel, a man bent over a colleague, a head shot. I stood up, a round into his colleague, stepping over the bodies, now breathing hard.
Sounds, up ahead, clanking. A shadow on the right. Pistol out, kneeling. Poke the pistol around the corner and fire twice, a cry, a peek around the corner, move and shoot, a head shot. Metal door, on the left, ajar, door window grill. I slammed by back to the wall and peered in, black frizzy hair, a man down and hiding.
I kicked the door with all my might, the man knocked back, moving inside whilst diving right, pistol left, two rounds for the man. Crab, against a wall, bloody and swollen face. I rushed over, pistol down, rifle held. He had a pulse.
Pistol on a metal table, fireman’s lift with a burst of air from my lungs, pistol picked up, door approached, pistol level, breathing heavy, into the corridor, right then left, a face, two shots fired, man down, stepping awkwardly over him.
Cries, moans, movement upstairs. I kept going, straight towards the front door. Bright light, suddenly blocked, I fired twice – loud echoes, someone falling back. Pistol dropped, rifle held, Crab inched further back, door opening ahead.
Movement, blue uniform, and I fired three times from the hip, the man spun. Outside, faces peering my way, people running. I dumped Crab into the back of the jeep, the air leaving his lungs, readying my rifle, left look, right look, check the street. Inquisitive men approaching, I fired in front of their feet. Screams, everyone running and hiding.
I jumped into the jeep, the engine still running, yet I could not remember leaving it running. First gear, off and turn, scrape a police jeep, foot down, second gear, head down low, straight ahead, sheep scattered, people running, the edge of town, a cart swerved around.
I was in a daze.
I dared to glance back, no one following me, and I sat erect. ‘Crab, you hear me?’ I shouted.
He groaned, badly beaten.
Five minutes later I turned left, an eye on the fuel gauge. I should have had an eye on the desert. At the last moment I saw the RPG come in, my eyes wide, the breath leaving my lungs. It hit the engine grill, an almighty blast, and I hit the wheel with my chest, the kit bag flying off, the jeep screeching to a halt, swerving right and ploughing up sand. I grabbed my rifle and jumped clear, Crab still on the burning jeep as it slowed.
Rounds cracked out, aimed at the jeep, a wall of dust offering me protection for a few seconds. I got a lying firing position, the dust wafting away, cracks sounding out. Two men ran forwards, both dead a second later. I eased up and knelt, a third man waiting near a jeep, hit twice. I clicked empty and panicked.
Running forwards, no one else seen, I skidded to a halt next to the bodies, magazines taken. One in my rifle, one inside my shirt. Lifting up, I checked all around, now certain that it was just the one jeep and its crew.
Rushing to Crab, the jeep engine smoking, I noticed a scrape on his leg straight away. Lifting him up and off I lay him in the sand, soon tearing through the kit in the back and finding a standard SAS field medical kit in tight plastic, soon damned annoyed at the layers of tough plastic I had to tear through.
I got a pad on his leg and checked the rest of him, turning him over. His pulse was OK, no significant bleeding. Lifting him, fireman’s lift, I placed him in the passenger seat of their jeep. Back at Crab’s jeep, smoke billowing, I grabbed four magazines for my rifle, a plastic water bottle, and dumped them at Crab’s feet, in the foot well. Back at the jeep, the smoke now choking me, I grabbed a ration pack.
With Crab’s jeep well alight, I closed the passenger door in my stolen jeep, jumped in and started it, pulling away and heading west. Looking at the fuel gauge, my heart sank. It read empty. It must be faulty, I considered, and I sped down the road at fifty miles per hour, checking my mirror often, Crab look
ing like he was simply sleeping peacefully.
As I drove I tried to remember the police station, but it was a blur, and I wondered why the images were not there.
I had gone no more than ten miles when the engine spluttered and stalled. I pulled over. Rushing out, I checked the rear, finding a petrol can, empty. I searched the back, and then kicked the jeep at length. Standing on the road, I checked both ways, no vehicles seen, just the shimmering effect of two roads, one floating above the other, the day getting hot.
I could wait, take a vehicle at gunpoint. But what if they were armed? And how long would it be before the townsfolk came for me, and now many would come for me? I would not last long in a standoff and firefight – and what about Crab?
In the jeep I found a water bottle, a quarter full, a shoulder bag, and so placed the bottle in the bag with my full bottle, the first aid kit, a few paper magazines to burn. And that was all I had to survive with. I lifted Crab out and placed him on the side of the road. Back at the jeep I studied it, lifting out the rubber floor mat that ran across, some five feet long and two feet wide. I rolled it up and placed it in the bag.
Looking under seats and in bags I found a can of Fanta, pinching it away, and a torch that worked. And that was all. I put the Fanta and the torch in the bag, placed it around my neck, lifted Crab and walked forwards, rifle in my left hand. Stopping and turning, I considered setting fire to the jeep, but there was little point.
Turning west, I heaved a sigh, saw the sand on the north side, and so left heavy prints as I struck north. After a hundred yards I found rocks, and so turned west and then south, back to the road and across, onto rocks - no tracks left behind, hard going with Crab on my shoulder, but he was a small man, and light.
Fifty yards on and I found sand, and so followed it south west, just sixty or seventy miles of hellish terrain between me and base.
Plodding on, I peered up, wondering about our air patrols, and were they out searching for us.
Moran had followed the road to the town, low level and high speed, three Pumas, and approaching the town he saw two bodies being carried. Speeding over the town he could see the police station, what was left of it, bodies being laid out on the road, faces turning up at the helicopter.
‘Wilco was there!’ Rocko said. ‘Look at the fucking damage.’
‘There was no jeep,’ Moran noted.
They flew on, north out of the town, the pilot heading for the smoke, and they slowly flew past a burning jeep, a British jeep, dead rebels on the ground.
‘Wilco’s body ain’t there,’ Rocko noted. ‘Nor Crab.’
They followed the road west, spotting an abandoned jeep, and they kept going west.
I stopped, thinking that maybe I had heard a helicopter, nothing seen on the horizon. Turning back, I put one foot in front of the other, Crab now carried on my back, my rifle awkwardly slung. He mumbled as I plodded on southwest, the day heating up.
Heading this way was a bad idea, but I had no options, and so I plodded on, hoping that I might find shelter, crops growing, something, anything. The only good thing to say about this area was that there were no rebels, we were well and truly alone.
Captain Moran stepped into the command room with a sweaty brow, taking in the faces.
‘Report,’ Rawlson told him, his hands clasped behind his back.
‘The police building in that town had been shot the hell up, bodies stacked up on the road outside, but no British jeep seen, no British bodies seen. Up the road and outside the town we saw smoke, and could see a burning British jeep, no British bodies, three dead rebels.’ He sighed. ‘And that’s it.’
‘So where the hell are Wilco and this man Crab?’
‘Wherever they are, sir, they’re not in that town, they got out, but they’re not on any of the roads around here.’
‘Wilco has a sat phone,’ someone put in.
Captain Harris turned his head. ‘It was found in the sand near his up-turned jeep.’
‘So what now, Captain?’ Rawlson asked, straightening his back and sticking out his jaw.
‘We search, sir, we’ll send the Cessnas up.’
‘And if Wilco is out there, wounded, no provisions?’
Moran smiled. ‘He’s Wilco, sir, he has luck on his side – as he will always point out, over and over.’
Our trusty reporter had been listening in, taking notes, and now slipped out and used his own sat phone. Hold the front page!
I plodded on, the going easy enough, the ground hard and compacted not loose sand, but after an hour my back was killing me. Crab then made both our lives more difficult, he coughed frothy red blood over my shoulder.
Easing him down onto the sand, I opened his bloodied shirt, an ear to his chest. He had a partially collapsed lung. Feeling his ribs, I made him wince whilst semi-conscious. He had a punctured lung, and he was on the clock.
Opening the first aid kit whilst knelt over Crab, I grabbed a needle normally used for morphine, a morphine vial in the kit, and I inserted the needle carefully between ribs two and three, top of the lower rib, avoiding the nerves on the underside of the upper rib. He gasped, his eyes shut tight and swollen.
I pressed down on his right lung, the air squeezed out of him, red frothy liquid coming out of the needle. With a finger over the needle base, I eased off my weight on his lungs and he breathed in deeply, and I followed through with a push down, my finger off the needle base, and after four breaths I taped up the needle in place.
My ear to his chest suggested that I had bought him more time, and I knew he could survive with one lung. Lifting him up he moaned, and I got comfortable, as comfortable as you can be with a man piggy-back, my thumbs hooked into my belt. I put one boot in front of the other, and after an hour I had lost the feeling in my arms. I also tripped.
My face managed to miss the soft sand and hit a rock, Crab rolling off me.
‘What the fuck you drop me for,’ came out, his eyes still tight shut.
‘You’re awake then,’ I said as I eased up, my nose bleeding, a cut above my eye.
Crab managed to get up onto his elbows and look around. ‘Where are we?’ he croaked out.
‘In the desert, fifty miles from anywhere,’ I said as I eased him up into the sitting position.
‘The lads,’ he said. ‘There was shooting.’
‘Hamble is alive, hit in the arm, the other two are dead.’
‘Dead? Jacko and Loz?’
‘Yeah, the local police opened up, grabbed you.’
‘They took me in a car, couldn’t see where, face down, they kept kicking me.’
I squinted at the featureless horizon. ‘They took you to that town, and into a police cell. I got you out.’
‘Where is everyone?’ he croaked.
‘Just us, I went for you alone. Stupid really.’
‘I don’t feel too good.’ He coughed.
‘Punctured lung, broken ribs, concussion,’ I told him as we sat in the sand.
He touched his side and winced.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll drain the fluid every hour.’ I opened my backpack and gave him some water. From the ration pack I fed him chocolate Rolos one at a time, finally a little more water. ‘Time to go.’
I stood, eased him up, causing him to curse, and I threw him on my back, causing him to curse even louder and demand to be put down. Standing on his own two feet, I led him forwards, his legs hurting like hell, but he could walk just about. We plodded off in what I figured, from the sun, was the right direction.
An hour later and he was spent and he collapsed, and I needed to drain his lung, ten minutes used up. I gave him a small amount of water, lifted him up without complaint, and we plodded on.
‘You still with me?’ I asked, not getting a reply.
The sun dipped lower, but that made navigation easier, I simply had to keep the sun in my one o’clock position.
An hour later and I found rocks, and so had to go south, the rocks looking damned sharp, and as I lost the l
ight I found what looked like a dried river bed, although I was sure there had been no rivers around here since the last ice age. It was pointing in roughly the right direction, and I followed it as the sun hid behind distant clouds, a spectacular sunset laid on for me.
Every hour I let him down, and let the blood get back into my arms, swinging them like mad. I went easy on the water, but when the temperature dropped it made me less thirsty. Crab had just a shirt on, the same as myself, so I took out the rubber mat and shot two holes into its ends, and I cut away a piece of Crab’s shoelace.
With Crab balanced on my back, myself bent double, I reached down and grabbed the rubber, throwing it up and over Crab, tying it off with the shoelace, a bow knot. With my hands under his legs, thumbs in my belt, I got comfy, the rubber mat wrapped around us both, and my body heat would help him. Issuing a sigh, I plodded on towards that sunset.
When it grew fully dark I slowed, but in places I could follow the sand easily enough. Each hour that passed was a chore, a lengthy process to get him down and then back up, and when my back could take no more I stopped to rest. I could not risk going to sleep because his lung would fill up. Still, I needed rest if I was to carry him out of here.
Using the torch, I fixed a standard three-sided flap for use with a punctured lung, and lay him on his side, good lung at the top. Using the torch, my face very close, I observed as he breathed, and with every breath the flap opened and a small amount of frothy liquid could be seen ejected, and as he breathed in the flap closed again. Happy with it, I placed the rubber mat over both of us and tried to get some sleep.
I woke with a start, and it was still dark, and for a moment I forgot where I was. I could see the Orion Constellation, big and bold, and it told me which way to go. Standing was agony, and I was stiff as hell. Crab’s breathing was OK, so I left the flap in place and hauled him up, my thumbs soon in my belt, and I plodded on slowly southwest.
In places I could see the sand very clearly, and in places I was caught out by the rocks, and as the dawn came up behind me I stumbled and fell, my face and hands hitting rock, Crab slamming into the rocks. He was, thankfully, unconscious and did not feel it, and I applied a few plasters to his cuts, no idea about my own cuts.