Bravo Two Zero

He moved out again just after last light and was soon having to box around military and civilian locations. There seemed to be hundreds of them, and the result was that between 1830 that evening and 0500 the next morning he covered only 6 miles.

For his next LUP Chris climbed down a short way from the top of a 600 feet cliff face. He lay in a fissure in the rock, watching village life on the opposite bank-kids ru

He moved off again soon after last light and found himself sandwiched between the river on his right and a road on his left. Cross-graining the wadis exhausted him, and he ended up practically walking on the road. At one point he heard the sound of a vehicle and jumped into the ditch. He peered through the sight at the Scud convoy that was thundering by overhead. He made a note of the time and place and moved on.

Soon afterwards, another vehicle went past on main beam and illuminated a road sign up ahead. Chris was gutted by what it said. He was 30 miles further from the border than he’d estimated. That equated to another two nights of travel, which depressed him severely.

When it came to first light, Chris couldn’t find a decent LUP and started flapping. After a lot of ru

A herd of goats was coming up the culvert-heading, he supposed, for the fields on the other side. Chris legged it from his hiding place and managed to scramble about 6 feet up the embankment before an old goat herder emerged, followed by a donkey and the world’s supply of goats-and a pair of dogs. They were bound to scent him. He had a split second in which to decide whether to shoot the old man to be on the safe side, or just do a ru

They would almost certainly be going back that way before last light, however, so Chris knew that he’d have to move. He started crawling along a wadi, having to get down every time a vehicle went along-which was often. The ground had changed by now, from lush, irrigated vegetation to wadi systems and small mounds covered with thorn bushes. It was hard going. After about 5 miles he found a large depression in the ground and settled down for the rest of the day.

Chris had used up his supply of muddy river water and was dehydrating badly. He knew, however, that he had to keep away from the Euphrates, since every hut seemed to have a dog in it. He’d just have to keep going and hope that he’d find water elsewhere soon.

At last light he got up and headed due west, walking for several hours. At one point an air-raid siren went off ahead of him, and through the night sight he could make out an emplacement that appeared to consist of several S60s, together with radio masts and sentries who were patrolling. He boxed around the position and came to a small stream flowing over white rock. Not wasting a second, he undid his water bottles and quickly filled them. Then he moved on straightaway.

He kept encountering more and more enemy activity and eventually found himself at a road junction, wedged between a VCP and an antiaircraft site. It was nearly first light so he crawled into a culvert under the road. It had been used as a dump site for garbage, and the stench was overpowering.

His feet were in a very bad way by now, but there wasn’t anything he could do to treat them. He consoled himself by lying back on the rubbish and taking a big swig from one of the bottles.

His lips burned and blistered the moment the fluid touched them. He nearly shouted with pain. The emplacement must have been guarding something like a chemical plant, and the stream must have been some kind of outlet from it. Chris was in a bad way. He had nothing to rinse his burning mouth with, and his bottles were now unusable. For a short while he thought he was going to die.

As he lay in the culvert, Chris took stock. He hadn’t had water for two days, and he now needed medical treatment for his mouth. Some cuts on his hands had turned septic, and his feet were so bad he could only just about put pressure on them. He knew he didn’t have much time left.

He set off as soon as it was last light. It was very cloudy and dark, which meant he might be able to get past the VCP u

He knew he must be close to the border by now and was looking for the twin towers on high ground. He saw a town in the distance, brightly lit, and very soon afterwards encountered coils of barbed wire. Was the town in Syria, though, or was it on the Iraqi side and the wire was a false frontier?

A patrol in vehicles went past. Their existence seemed to confirm that this was the border, and he decided to go for it. He found a point where there were stakes holding the wire and started to climb. He shredded his arms and legs, but managed to get over. He sat down on the other side and made another appreciation. The town seemed to be in the wrong place. But whatever, it made sense to press on west.

Chris had just about had it by now. He was swaying around as he shuffled along, well on the way down with dehydration. There was no saliva in his mouth, and his tongue was stuck to the inside of his cheek. As he walked, his head filled with a loud crackling noise like static electricity. He saw a white flash and must have passed out. He came to on the ground. He got back up on his feet and tried to move. The same thing happened. This time, he came to with his face in a pool of blood. He’d landed face down on a rock and broken his nose. He staggered into a nearby wadi and fell asleep.

He woke at first light when he heard Stan shouting to him to come on out, everybody was just around the corner. He got to his feet and started hobbling towards the sound of S tan’s voice. He felt so happy that the patrol was going to be reunited. Coming out of the wadi, he realized at once that he was hallucinating. He knew that if he didn’t get some water down him soon, he’d be dead.

There was a small house, probably a goat herder dwelling, in the middle distance. Chris decided that even if he was still in Iraq, he’d have to go there and get some water-if necessary, by force.

A woman was preparing food by a fire. Children were playing around her, and he could see a man in the distance with a herd of goats. As Chris shuffled up to the fire, a lad in his late teens came out of the house and greeted him. The boy was friendly, shaking Chris by the hand and smiling.

“Where is this?” Chris said.

The boy didn’t understand. He looked quizzically at Chris, then started pointing behind him. “Iraq! Iraq!” he beamed.

Chris got the picture. He shook the boy’s hand again and said, “Thank fuck for that!”

He was invited inside and offered a big bowl of water. Gulping it down in one, he immediately asked for another. An old gra