Sabre Six : File 51 (20 page)

After a blissful cha
t amongst one another, and luckily for us, one of the farm hands walked off leaving the smaller one by himself. Joe and I looked at one another eye to eye. Our new pal shouted loudly to his missing mate, which gave us a bit of scope to think clearly. We needed to act fast: he might have been seeking help from others. For all we knew, there could have been ten or twenty men standing next to us.

Joe extracted his knife from his smock pocket: it was a big old boy. Joe tapped me on the shoulder, and leaned up, peaking his head just enough so he could see outside the shelter. He made a few indecisive movements and then prepared himself for battle. He sneaked forwards, giving himself space to manoeuvre in the event of an attack. Then he crept out, grabbing the victim by the neck, pulling him down to the floor, and slicing his throat. The blood squirted from his arteries straight into my face: I was soaked in claret.

I was in shock for a split moment until I ripped into Joe for what he had just done.

“You idiot, now what! What happe
ns when he comes back for his mate, Joe, huh?”

“Oh shut up
, you slag! We’ll wait for him too. I’ll do them both.”

So we waited! Twenty minutes
later his friend turned up, shouting out for his colleague to recognize his voice; he grew suspicious. Joe could see him manoeuvring to his front, his voice quietening down. The Afghani looked startled when Joe pounced out of his pit and into his face. They spent a couple of minutes rolling round on the floor and Joe dropped his knife at one point. I tried to intervene: Joe told me to back away, and he was breathing out of his arse. The farmhand was crying; he grew weak and knelt down for Joe. He crossed his hands and pleaded for life. Joe looked him in the eyes, brushed his face and told the rag-head to lie down on his back. He did so, still pleading with Joe for life.

Joe put his foot on his head, grabbed hold of his hair and sliced his t
hroat. The body went into spasm and I could hear his lungs gasping for air. It was a disturbing, cruel sound, but sadly it had to be done. Joe dragged away the bodies, covered them up and nothing was said about it again. It was time to move on; Joe cleaned his knife by rubbing it across his trousers. He was rather quiet, which was a surprise after what he had just done: murder in the first degree, but on the other hand, survival of the fittest. This was our job, our life.

“Got all your shit together?” Joe winked at me.

It was dark outside. The bodies were covered up again, and then dumped inside the rotten tree, hopefully not to be found for a very long time: this was a dangerous place.

We pegged it across the rocky plains, stumbling
only once. Within two hours we could see the hills up front, looking dark – even wicked, in their way.

When we finally arrived, we were so fucked that we collapsed down a bank almost head first into a small dirty stream. I was surrounded by night flies. I had no idea as to what kind, but whatever they were, they were pissing me right off. I looked up the cliff face and turned to Joe. We shrugged our shoulders, stood up and took our first steps. We knew that if we didn’t make a move, then someone would be out looking for us shortly; they had two missing men and it wouldn’t take them long to find them.

Taking the first step, I pulled myself up and smacked my head on a tree branch. It really hurt. We had a further 800-metre climb until we reached the first ledge and a further 1400 metres after that. On the other side of this hill was our Final Rendezvous Point. We continued to climb with speed. I had just found a small divot for my luck, but as I thrust my fingers inside I had rattled the shit out of a snake. He was not impressed. I soon removed my fingers and took a different route. We had made our first 800-metre climb! Joe got on the net and gave location to HQ; they knew we were getting close to our kill zone.  The command word was given to HQ by three quick blasts on the radio. Joe would connect with HQ once we were in position. We could now see down into the valley. We had quite a bit of cover, so it would have been very hard to track us, and we covered everything up as we went, so it would have been impossible unless you were a professional tracker. We continued to climb. The night was bitter and the moon was rather bright, much lighter than the past few nights. I took a gulp of water, and carried on up until, after an uneventful climb, we arrived safely on top. I plotted our next course; we had a 3km trek to our Final LUP and once I had checked my bearings on the compass, I briefed Joe.

“Joe, listen in, m
ate! We need a plan. Can you think of anything good?”

Joe scratched his head.
“What about, we are a medical civilian team working in the area and got lost from our team?”

“Sounds a good idea
– good one! We’ll definitely use that.”

“I need to brief you on what will happen a
fter I take the shot.” He drank from his canteen. The weather was fiercely bitter.

“Once I take that shot, every man and his dog will be out to find us. If I were them, the first plac
e I would look at, is from the east, easy access back to Pakistan. They would cordon off the area in minutes, trust me, and we’d be dead before breakfast.”

Joe agreed with me, now munching on a cracker.

“If you’re captured, just remember our cover story. Dump anything that could frame you as the shooter, and I mean anything. Once we take the shot and our man is down, drop everything, even your shooter. There should be nothing in your possessions to say you’re British. The weapon serial numbers have all been scratched off, so they can’t be traced to anyone. If you get caught, at least we’ll have a chance to plead innocence. On the other hand, get caught with them, and they’ll cut your balls off.”

“Yeah, yeah! I’ve got the picture
, thank you.”

“Let’s go! Let’s do this!”

I withdrew the M24 from its case, loaded a magazine into the rifle and dumped everything else inside my webbing. I ate as much as I could, followed by a full canteen of water, the last of my water in fact. I was sure we would find more en-route. We went into patrol state, using tactical manoeuvres, and above all, maintaining noise discipline. After a good slog with a few minor hang-ups, we eventually arrived at our killing zone. Joe was on stag whilst I donned my ghillie suit. I got myself up together and took up post whilst Joe got his attire on. I took a compass bearing and off we stalked, into position.  Our objective was no more than two miles away. We took each step as our last, and moving like ghosts through the rocks and bush, we became one with nature.

A snake crossed over my foot. I carefully nudged it on
, went down onto my knee, and waved Joe to close in.

“Are we there, m
ate?”

“This is the spot! Let’s go!” I said, pointing just up ahead.

We were once again on our belt buckles crawling very slowly, dropping down into a small bank where we could set our shot up. Once we were down, I tapped Joe to move into place once more. He lay by my side, carefully observing everything in and around us, then removed his binos and scanned the area in front of us.

“Five times males, static, inside the fence – two observation towers either end of camp, occupied by two guards. Two on the front gate – fenced off area – possibly more males inside the camp – six trees to your left of axis. Clear for a shot.”

Joe was spot on with his observation. We positioned ourselve
s inside a small rocky divot.  It gave us maximum protection and concealment, and it was a top spot. My M24 was in position and ready to fire. I had good arcs to fire from and was not short of ideas either. Our objective was to take Mohammed down. I had a small breeze coming in from the north east; the humidity was not that bad either. It was now light outside, as the sun had been up for the last forty-five minutes. Joe rested up whilst I monitored our target. I had restricted movement ahead of me due to a ‘parking issue’, and it was half an hour before the vehicle moved and I could plan my shot. I had a clear view to the target building that I had been briefed on. Looking right at it, I had an estimated angle of up to 800 metres from my location to drop my subject.

In the meantime
we were both comfortable and in good spirits; we hoped this run of luck would continue.

“We need to get closer
, Joe; we need to see what’s happening down there.”

“Ok mate, you go and take up post bac
k here, covering your arse! Go!”

My job was to recce our objective, giving us the best possible chan
ce of success, without any fuck ups. The more intelligence we had, the better the success rate was, and the quicker we’d get the fuck out of here in one piece.    

I waited until the sun had gone down. The wind had picked up a little which was an advantage to me, it would cover up any little niggles that might crop up. There was a lot of loose twigs and foliage on the ground. One snap of a twig, and the game was over, brother! Leaving my webbing with Joe, all I took was my M24. I wanted to check a few things out. The nearer I got, the louder my heartbeat became; I could hear it pounding in my chest like a set of bass drums. I started bollocking myself for the noise, “Who the hell is going to hear my heart!”

I moved closer to the sentry post, watching each step. The wind suddenly picked up
, covering my movements. I crawled like a slug across the ground, as silent as a mouse. My body was clinging to the land like the growth I had become. I was a ghost, a silent ghost coming for you in the night, coming to take your life. As I came within view of the camp perimeter, a soldier opened the front gate; the door slammed into the side of the metal plate holding it together. He found it hard to control as the wind took it from his hands, the other guard laughing at his misfortune. I lay motionless for up to ten minutes, not daring to move; I was like a stick, as quiet as the grave. Finally, he managed to close it. I waited for a few moments before lifting my head up again, and then one of the soldiers turned on the main search light. It was fucking bright. I could see a girl standing alone at the front gate, adjusting her short skirt and lighting a cigarette, or what looked like one. She looked like she was the local whore. She spent five minutes sorting herself out, trying to attract the attention of the guards in the gate post. One came out to the front gate and started chatting to her, and as I watched they invited her through the gate and took her into the gate house. Joe would have loved this! I adjusted the sights on my M24 and from my view point I could see right into the guard house. I moved my location, getting a clearer view into the room. I could see the young girl entertaining the guards. She was earning her wage from the looks of things!

I needed to know that when I took the shot we’d have enough time to bug out without half of the fucking camp on our tail. I slowly lowered my head and dug myself into the ground. Unbeknown to me, I had been out there for kind of a little longer than I expected, and the frigging sun was coming up: Joe was going to kill me. I may have been in a tight spot out there alone, but unless someone actually came looking for me I could remain undetected for some time. I spent that valuable time clocking everything that happened in and out of the camp, and learned a lot by doing so. Time passed by and I couldn’t quite believe my luck. Mohammed, my target, was standing right across the track from me. If only I could have taken the shot right then! Nah, that would have been a one-way ride. I’d have been shot on sight.

I picked myself up off the floor and returned to Joe. Christ, did I get a bollocking when I got back.

“Where the hell have you been, you prat? I thought something had happened. I nearly came looking for you, ya dopey sod!”

“Sorry, b
uds! But on the bright side, I have learnt a few things.”

“And what would those be, Michael?” he asked in a very sarcastic tone.

“That we have to move! We’re in the wrong place; I have found us a better shot at the target.”

“Are you taking the Michael? Michael! I’ve got comfortable now
– this is my new home. God, Michael, you always have to ruin things, don’t you! I just get settled in and you throw it in my face. You’re so selfish, I hate you!” He smirked at me, very reluctant when showing me his cheesy grin.

“Come on dick h
ead, let’s go!”

On my recce earlier I’d noticed a small divot about 850 metres down in the rocks. It gave valuable cover for us and a base for fire support if needed, not to mention a way to escape. I was very pleased with my discovery, to say the least. There was plenty of foliage about
, so we could easily set up a hide and take the shot. Joe followed with the kit in tow. I had plotted a secure, ultra-unobtrusive route, which we were now using, straddling the ground like humping horses. Our field craft was superb; Joe was one of the best scouts in the force. Then, with less than ten metres to go, I dropped to the ground!

“Joe!”

I had seriously screwed up. I had walked onto a live track without noticing, and I could see a car’s headlights coming closer. I jumped down a bank into the side of the track, with Joe landing on top of me. He came crashing down, landing on my back; it hurt like hell. The car passed by and I could hear the rag-head music coming from the car stereo as it went. What an idiot!