Apologies for the delay, I figure if I don't post what I have I probably wont post at all so here it is
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In the early hours of the morning a bleary eyed Holden found himself behind the wheel of one of the expeditions vehicles. The other three vehicles in the expeditions convoy were all four wheel drives, Holden's on the other hand was a battered Mercedes transit. Perhaps it was fairly typical in Albania, Holden wasn't sure but the condition of the old Mercedes' ignition left no doubt in Holden's mind the car had been stolen to order.
Holden's first true experience of the Albanian roads was a little more daunting than the drive from the airport. In the early rush hour traffic cars and lorries simply ignored road signs, pedestrians and bicycles weaved through the traffic on some suicidal mission. On the other hand the traffic moved extremely slowly. Holden and the rest of the expeditions convoy made progress simply by driving like the Albanians, by driving slowly into the stream of traffic, and leaning permanently on their horns.
It was the best part of an hour but the convoy finally left the traffic jam which seemed to encompass the whole of Tirana behind them only to start moving along a road where the holes were large enough to hide the van in.
It was well after midday before they reached the lake, a two hour enforced break meant Holden had time to stretch his legs. Looking around Holden noticed an old Albanian couple selling coffee out of the front of their house, Holden went over and with simple sign language let the old woman know he wanted a coffee.
Taking his cup, Holden sat on a low wall and watched the world go by. After a few moments he realised the old man was watching him, he smiled at the man then raised his cup, and made a satisfied Mmmmm, just to emphasise to the man he was enjoying want had to be the strongest coffee he'd ever had.
The old man walked over, drying his hands on his trousers as he came then pointing at Holden's DPM trousers.
"You British Army? I work with British Army in Patriotic War they good, we kill Nazis together, kill Checkists, kill Slavs, kill Italians, kill Royalists, British Army very good"
Holden smiled slightly at the old man's bloodthirsty enthusiasm, a rather one sided conversation ensued as the old man reminisced about his years fighting as a Communist partisan. Holden had no doubt the old man was a real soldier, someone who had experienced real war and come out of it largely intact.
After a while the old man paused long enough to roll himself a cigarette and ask Holden what he was doing in the country. Trying to keep the language simple Holden explained where they were going and what they were up to, he watched as the old man became increasingly agitated, shaking his head.
"This is land of the Verbti, is not good place, they respect no one. No good for you British Army, worse than Royalists, worse than Italians, worse than Checkists and Slavs worse even than Nazis."
Holden stepped back as the old man hawked then spat to emphasise his point. The Old man seemed genuinely distressed and but his grasp of English obviously wasn't strong enough and he broke into frantic Albanian. Holden was at a loss as to what to say, he tried to reassure the man he wasn't at risk, but the old boy merely shook his head and repeated his earlier "no good for British Army" comment.
As Holden climbed behind the wheel of the van to drive it onto the ferry, the Old man was still standing outside the door to his house.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Hinterlands
The rest of von Junzt's party had arrived that evening in three battered taxis which had pulled up outside the hotel just as it was starting to get dark. They'd tumbled out of the cars laughing and joking like a bunch of students about to go out on the town. Behind them a Silver Mercedes had slowed to a stop to allow von Junzt to get out.
Holden hadn't seen von Junzt since the fateful day of the ambush, but for a man who'd been rushed off for intensive care he'd seemed to be moving about without any sign of discomfort.Von Junzt's rude health was in stark contrast to Holden's.
Holden still walked with a slight limp and looked as though he had a case of blackheads worse than any teenager, infact the blackheads were where his body had been peppered with small pieces of shrapnel and grit thrown up by the exploding RPG. The doctors hadn't bothered picking them out his body did it automatically rejecting the foreign matter and pushing the small lumps of grit and metal to the surface. Every time he had a shower of bath he left a small layer of dark grit behind.
Holden made his way down stairs to meet them rest of the party. Von Junzt was just walking through the door with a mobile phone pressed to hi ear as Holden reached the bottom of the stairs, Holden wasn't sure what he had expected of their first meeting since the incident, some kind of shared camerarderie but von Junzt had simply breezed past stopping only long enough to tell Holden their was a to be a meeting for the whole team in the resteraunt.
Holden hadn't had much time to think about it when the rest of the team had come boiling through the door loaded down with rucksacks and boxes of equipment, the majority of them were students studying archaeology at Berlin, although you'd never know from their english which was faultless
Holden sat down in the resteraunt feeling very old, with the exception of von Junzt and another proffessor who'd simply introduced himself as Dieter Holden had a good fifteen years on the rest of the party and it showed. The students were noisy and full of life, here in a new country digging trenches and sorting through piles of dirt for fun.
Holden watched a couple of girls sharing headphones on an ipod as they danced together. He looked away as the taller of the two girls caught him staring, luckily von Junzt had started talking before he could get any more embarrassed, by the big smile she'd flashed him.
Standing patiently in the center of their little group, Von Junzt had stopped talking while he waited for quiet. Satisfied everyone was listening he continued. Thankyou, let me welcome you all to Albania. We have a busy few weeks ahead of us but I thought I'd take the time to tell you a bit more about where we are heading.
Tropoje is one of the most remote parts of Albania. The only practical means to get there is to drive north from Tirana for 5 hours towards a place called Shkoder, were we follow a mountain road which hugs the sid eof the lake, the road ends in an unpaved tunnel. The tunnel will take us to the western shore of Ligeni Komanit, one of two huge valleys which the Albanians have flooded to provide the bulk of their hydroelectric power.
From here we will take one of the two car ferries which ply the waters of Liqeni Komanit; the trip is two-hours in length but on bad days the journey may be nearly twice this as, this is Albania so the ferry will often put ashore to take on passengers.I would add by European standards the ferries are to put it politely old and rather tired.
When the ferry arrives at Breglume, we'll head for the largest town in the Tropoje area. Its about 20-kilometres to Bajram Curri, but considering the roads here it will probably take us at least an hour of so.
I hope to make it to Bajram Curri by the end of tomorrow so we need to pack all of our equipment tonight and be ready to leave by six o'clock, any questions? verstanden? No, then I will see you all in the morning. Goodnight
With that von Junzt started to walk out of the room, Holden jumped up to try and have a word with him, but von Junzt didn't let him talk. I assume you have all the equipment you need? Typically von Junzt kept talking without letting Holden reply. I doubt very much you will need it, but it makes the students feel better that we have a guard. I am sure you are anxious to speak, but we will have time on the journey,Goodnight Mr Holden. With that von Junzt strode away leaving a rather confused Holden in his wake.
Holden hadn't seen von Junzt since the fateful day of the ambush, but for a man who'd been rushed off for intensive care he'd seemed to be moving about without any sign of discomfort.Von Junzt's rude health was in stark contrast to Holden's.
Holden still walked with a slight limp and looked as though he had a case of blackheads worse than any teenager, infact the blackheads were where his body had been peppered with small pieces of shrapnel and grit thrown up by the exploding RPG. The doctors hadn't bothered picking them out his body did it automatically rejecting the foreign matter and pushing the small lumps of grit and metal to the surface. Every time he had a shower of bath he left a small layer of dark grit behind.
Holden made his way down stairs to meet them rest of the party. Von Junzt was just walking through the door with a mobile phone pressed to hi ear as Holden reached the bottom of the stairs, Holden wasn't sure what he had expected of their first meeting since the incident, some kind of shared camerarderie but von Junzt had simply breezed past stopping only long enough to tell Holden their was a to be a meeting for the whole team in the resteraunt.
Holden hadn't had much time to think about it when the rest of the team had come boiling through the door loaded down with rucksacks and boxes of equipment, the majority of them were students studying archaeology at Berlin, although you'd never know from their english which was faultless
Holden sat down in the resteraunt feeling very old, with the exception of von Junzt and another proffessor who'd simply introduced himself as Dieter Holden had a good fifteen years on the rest of the party and it showed. The students were noisy and full of life, here in a new country digging trenches and sorting through piles of dirt for fun.
Holden watched a couple of girls sharing headphones on an ipod as they danced together. He looked away as the taller of the two girls caught him staring, luckily von Junzt had started talking before he could get any more embarrassed, by the big smile she'd flashed him.
Standing patiently in the center of their little group, Von Junzt had stopped talking while he waited for quiet. Satisfied everyone was listening he continued. Thankyou, let me welcome you all to Albania. We have a busy few weeks ahead of us but I thought I'd take the time to tell you a bit more about where we are heading.
Tropoje is one of the most remote parts of Albania. The only practical means to get there is to drive north from Tirana for 5 hours towards a place called Shkoder, were we follow a mountain road which hugs the sid eof the lake, the road ends in an unpaved tunnel. The tunnel will take us to the western shore of Ligeni Komanit, one of two huge valleys which the Albanians have flooded to provide the bulk of their hydroelectric power.
From here we will take one of the two car ferries which ply the waters of Liqeni Komanit; the trip is two-hours in length but on bad days the journey may be nearly twice this as, this is Albania so the ferry will often put ashore to take on passengers.I would add by European standards the ferries are to put it politely old and rather tired.
When the ferry arrives at Breglume, we'll head for the largest town in the Tropoje area. Its about 20-kilometres to Bajram Curri, but considering the roads here it will probably take us at least an hour of so.
I hope to make it to Bajram Curri by the end of tomorrow so we need to pack all of our equipment tonight and be ready to leave by six o'clock, any questions? verstanden? No, then I will see you all in the morning. Goodnight
With that von Junzt started to walk out of the room, Holden jumped up to try and have a word with him, but von Junzt didn't let him talk. I assume you have all the equipment you need? Typically von Junzt kept talking without letting Holden reply. I doubt very much you will need it, but it makes the students feel better that we have a guard. I am sure you are anxious to speak, but we will have time on the journey,Goodnight Mr Holden. With that von Junzt strode away leaving a rather confused Holden in his wake.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
First Impressions
When Holden told Paddy he was taking a short job in Albania, Paddy had reacted with disbelief. "What the fuck do you want and go and do that for. Its the arse end of Europe, I mean its not much better than working in Basra and corrupt, mate they could teach the world a thing about corrupt."
Holden was somewhat taken aback by Paddy's response, "Where did you hear all of this then Paddy, not like you to a walking talking travel guide".
"Albania's in the news papers mate, their criminals are all coming over here taking over the drugs and the vice, the mail was all over it this morning." Holden smiled at his former platoon sargeant" I can see the Mail headline now Albania's illegal immigrant Mafia steal jobs from our hardworking British villains, you plonker its not like the Mail is the most reliable source of information in the world."
There followed a short and rather formulaic argument about there personal choice of newspapers, it was the same one they'd been having since Holden had been a young subaltern and Paddy his more experienced platoon sergeant, Holden could see Paddy's heart wasn't in it, and was surprised to see the man genuinely upset about the location of his new job.
"Anyway its a done deal" interrupted Holden. "I've even got my ticket, Business class, I'll have you know and with British Airways into Tirana. Now if things in Albania were that bad I doubt British Airways would be flying there would they."
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Holden's first impressions of Albania were not good ones. The flight was OK, business class was a change to travelling cattle class. Even passport control had been relatively straightforward, nothing more than a cursory glance at face and passport, by the bored looking official behind the desk. At baggage claim his rucksack was almost the first off. A pleasant surprise seeing as most of Holden's fellow travellers were left three deep at the carousel trying to lug of luggage which seemed larger than they were.
Then he'd walked through the door into the arrivals lounge and immediatly been hassled by a series of young men as soon as he caught their attention, each offered a range of services whether it was carrying his luggage, to arranging a car, to getting him the cheapest Hotel room or even someone to keep his bed warm. After fighting off the first enthusiastic attempt to carry his rucksack he'd ignored them all and simply headed for the exit.
Outside he avoided another crowd of young men and made his way towards the rather weary looking taxi driver who held a sign with the name Holten held over his head a wet brown cigarette clenched between his lips.
The driver didn't speak any English and Holden gave up trying to communicate via sign language he sat back trying to take in his surroundings. He'd read somewhere that there had only been 600 cars in Albania during the communist era, all owned by communist bigwigs; now there are thousands, all apparently driven by lunatics, among who he quickly included his own. The road from the airport was potholed and cars played chicken with one another as well as the pedestrians who would apparently wander aimlessly into the road at a moments notice. If the traffic was anything to go by Holden thought Tirana was a complete bloody mess.
Holden's mood picked up as he arrived at the hotel, outside it seemed just like any of the other grimy buildings on a nondescript side street. Inside it was neat and tidy. The room while not loaded with extras was clean well cared for the even ran their own restaurant in the buildings restaurant.
Von Junzt had told him the rest of the party would not be arriving in Tirana until the day after Holden so he decided to spend the day wandering, he also had to make some phone calls to arrange a meeting with an old contact of Paddy's to arrange for some specialist equipment. In the daylight Tirana was a different city, literally alive with colour. Although Holden had to admit to himself painting a Grim communist era apartment blocks have been painted in bright greens and reds and blues, did little to hide the fact it was falling to pieces.
At an open-air cafe by the side of a park, Holden found a table and bought himself a beer. While he sat waiting for his beer he removed a small red sim card from his wallet and inserted it into the mobile phone which had been his first acquisition in Albania. Taking a sip of beer he pulled the slip of paper Paddy had given him from his wallet and dialed the number. The man on the other end of the phone didn't exchange pleasantries and neither did Holden. Twenty minutes later a battered Mercedes pulled up outside the the man who stepped out of the car sports bag in one hand could easily have been Paddy's cousin.
After the phone call Holden had expected a short perfunctory meeting but in person Christos Anastasios was a completely different person. When Holden had offered him his money, US dollar bills bundled discretely inside a copy of the local newspaper, Christos waved it away. Holden tried to buy him a beer, but Christos placed one hand on his own chest.
"It would not be right, I am an Albanian, hospitality is the law and you are a guest in my country. Please let me." he waved for the waiter and ordered them both a beer."
They made small talk, Christos was a part of the Greek-speaking minority, who many Albanians regarded with suspicion, he'd lived in Tirana for most of his life and like Paddy seemed genuinely disturbed when Holden mentioned he'd be travelling into the North of the country.
"In the countryside life has changed little since the medieval period." said Christos "Many roads they are not paved, while those which are have so many holes even a short drive will take you twice as long as you think while you take the route down road least likely to damage your car." Christos dropped some coins onto the waiters tray, then took a sip of the beer before continuing. "In the country many still use horse and wagon or donkey. Tirana is not Albania, all the asylum seekers and criminals you get from here they are all from the countryside."
Holden smiled as a horse and car clopped past them apparently transporting color televisions. "Fair enough, Christos but a fair amount of ducking and diving goes on in Tirana too doesn't it. You can't tell me those guys in the park trying to sell me dollars are on the up; or all those CD's and DVD's I can buy for a quid are legit, and the phone I rang you on came from a shop which only seemed to sell knocked off mobile phones."
Christos shrugged then smiled in return "True, but these are little crimes they hurt no one, but in the mountains, death and hardship are a way of life, they are not so nice people."
After this the conversation moved on to cover the restaurants Holden should go to to sample the best Albanian food, the cafes Holden should hang out at in order to watch the leggy girls parade by. At last Christos admitted he was late for a prior appointment and had to leave, he stood up shaking Holdens hand before picking up Holden's newspaper with the wad of dollars inside and walked back to his car he left the sports bag by Holden's feet.
Back in the privacy of his hotel room, Holden unzipped the bag, removing a first a large dark pistol which he concluded was a Chinese replica of the Beretta 92F, then a similar Chinese copy of the AKS-74U, part sub-machine gun part assault rifle and based on the extremely robust AK-74, beloved of both terrorists and freedom fighters around the world. At the bottom of the bag wrapped up in a sports towel were magazines for both weapons, as well as enough rounds of ammunition to start a small war.
Holden checked everything over, taking his time to strip both weapons down then happy they were in good reassembling them. Once both weapons were reassembled, he repeated the same process for the magazines checking each one in turn for dents or other defects which might prevent them working just when he needed them to. Happy the weapons and magazines were good he started to load the magazines, it turned out the rounds were also Chinese. Happy his new aquisitions were in good working order he placed everything back into the sports bag. He locked the bag inside his bedside cabinet, hardly the safest place, but he had no other real alternatives. Holden doubted he would need any of it, but von Junzt had been adamant he should bring some form of protection with them. Holden had been against it, it was completely illegal and Holden had no desire to wind up in an Albanian prison, but von Junzt had simply increased Holden's pay and assured him he’d pay whatever bribes were necessary to get any charges dropped.
Holden was somewhat taken aback by Paddy's response, "Where did you hear all of this then Paddy, not like you to a walking talking travel guide".
"Albania's in the news papers mate, their criminals are all coming over here taking over the drugs and the vice, the mail was all over it this morning." Holden smiled at his former platoon sargeant" I can see the Mail headline now Albania's illegal immigrant Mafia steal jobs from our hardworking British villains, you plonker its not like the Mail is the most reliable source of information in the world."
There followed a short and rather formulaic argument about there personal choice of newspapers, it was the same one they'd been having since Holden had been a young subaltern and Paddy his more experienced platoon sergeant, Holden could see Paddy's heart wasn't in it, and was surprised to see the man genuinely upset about the location of his new job.
"Anyway its a done deal" interrupted Holden. "I've even got my ticket, Business class, I'll have you know and with British Airways into Tirana. Now if things in Albania were that bad I doubt British Airways would be flying there would they."
-----------------------------------
Holden's first impressions of Albania were not good ones. The flight was OK, business class was a change to travelling cattle class. Even passport control had been relatively straightforward, nothing more than a cursory glance at face and passport, by the bored looking official behind the desk. At baggage claim his rucksack was almost the first off. A pleasant surprise seeing as most of Holden's fellow travellers were left three deep at the carousel trying to lug of luggage which seemed larger than they were.
Then he'd walked through the door into the arrivals lounge and immediatly been hassled by a series of young men as soon as he caught their attention, each offered a range of services whether it was carrying his luggage, to arranging a car, to getting him the cheapest Hotel room or even someone to keep his bed warm. After fighting off the first enthusiastic attempt to carry his rucksack he'd ignored them all and simply headed for the exit.
Outside he avoided another crowd of young men and made his way towards the rather weary looking taxi driver who held a sign with the name Holten held over his head a wet brown cigarette clenched between his lips.
The driver didn't speak any English and Holden gave up trying to communicate via sign language he sat back trying to take in his surroundings. He'd read somewhere that there had only been 600 cars in Albania during the communist era, all owned by communist bigwigs; now there are thousands, all apparently driven by lunatics, among who he quickly included his own. The road from the airport was potholed and cars played chicken with one another as well as the pedestrians who would apparently wander aimlessly into the road at a moments notice. If the traffic was anything to go by Holden thought Tirana was a complete bloody mess.
Holden's mood picked up as he arrived at the hotel, outside it seemed just like any of the other grimy buildings on a nondescript side street. Inside it was neat and tidy. The room while not loaded with extras was clean well cared for the even ran their own restaurant in the buildings restaurant.
Von Junzt had told him the rest of the party would not be arriving in Tirana until the day after Holden so he decided to spend the day wandering, he also had to make some phone calls to arrange a meeting with an old contact of Paddy's to arrange for some specialist equipment. In the daylight Tirana was a different city, literally alive with colour. Although Holden had to admit to himself painting a Grim communist era apartment blocks have been painted in bright greens and reds and blues, did little to hide the fact it was falling to pieces.
At an open-air cafe by the side of a park, Holden found a table and bought himself a beer. While he sat waiting for his beer he removed a small red sim card from his wallet and inserted it into the mobile phone which had been his first acquisition in Albania. Taking a sip of beer he pulled the slip of paper Paddy had given him from his wallet and dialed the number. The man on the other end of the phone didn't exchange pleasantries and neither did Holden. Twenty minutes later a battered Mercedes pulled up outside the the man who stepped out of the car sports bag in one hand could easily have been Paddy's cousin.
After the phone call Holden had expected a short perfunctory meeting but in person Christos Anastasios was a completely different person. When Holden had offered him his money, US dollar bills bundled discretely inside a copy of the local newspaper, Christos waved it away. Holden tried to buy him a beer, but Christos placed one hand on his own chest.
"It would not be right, I am an Albanian, hospitality is the law and you are a guest in my country. Please let me." he waved for the waiter and ordered them both a beer."
They made small talk, Christos was a part of the Greek-speaking minority, who many Albanians regarded with suspicion, he'd lived in Tirana for most of his life and like Paddy seemed genuinely disturbed when Holden mentioned he'd be travelling into the North of the country.
"In the countryside life has changed little since the medieval period." said Christos "Many roads they are not paved, while those which are have so many holes even a short drive will take you twice as long as you think while you take the route down road least likely to damage your car." Christos dropped some coins onto the waiters tray, then took a sip of the beer before continuing. "In the country many still use horse and wagon or donkey. Tirana is not Albania, all the asylum seekers and criminals you get from here they are all from the countryside."
Holden smiled as a horse and car clopped past them apparently transporting color televisions. "Fair enough, Christos but a fair amount of ducking and diving goes on in Tirana too doesn't it. You can't tell me those guys in the park trying to sell me dollars are on the up; or all those CD's and DVD's I can buy for a quid are legit, and the phone I rang you on came from a shop which only seemed to sell knocked off mobile phones."
Christos shrugged then smiled in return "True, but these are little crimes they hurt no one, but in the mountains, death and hardship are a way of life, they are not so nice people."
After this the conversation moved on to cover the restaurants Holden should go to to sample the best Albanian food, the cafes Holden should hang out at in order to watch the leggy girls parade by. At last Christos admitted he was late for a prior appointment and had to leave, he stood up shaking Holdens hand before picking up Holden's newspaper with the wad of dollars inside and walked back to his car he left the sports bag by Holden's feet.
Back in the privacy of his hotel room, Holden unzipped the bag, removing a first a large dark pistol which he concluded was a Chinese replica of the Beretta 92F, then a similar Chinese copy of the AKS-74U, part sub-machine gun part assault rifle and based on the extremely robust AK-74, beloved of both terrorists and freedom fighters around the world. At the bottom of the bag wrapped up in a sports towel were magazines for both weapons, as well as enough rounds of ammunition to start a small war.
Holden checked everything over, taking his time to strip both weapons down then happy they were in good reassembling them. Once both weapons were reassembled, he repeated the same process for the magazines checking each one in turn for dents or other defects which might prevent them working just when he needed them to. Happy the weapons and magazines were good he started to load the magazines, it turned out the rounds were also Chinese. Happy his new aquisitions were in good working order he placed everything back into the sports bag. He locked the bag inside his bedside cabinet, hardly the safest place, but he had no other real alternatives. Holden doubted he would need any of it, but von Junzt had been adamant he should bring some form of protection with them. Holden had been against it, it was completely illegal and Holden had no desire to wind up in an Albanian prison, but von Junzt had simply increased Holden's pay and assured him he’d pay whatever bribes were necessary to get any charges dropped.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Home again Home again...
The first thing Holden had noticed when he came around was the antiseptic smell, it had been strong and unpleasant but in its own way reassuring. The stories he’d read about Al Qaeda torture centres didn’t leave him with the impression cleanliness would be a major concern so the strong smell of lemon assaulting his nostrils along with the familiar underlying smell of stale blood had immediately made him think hospital.
The second thing which occured to Holden only after he opened his eyes and tried to sit up. He had a headache from hell and a real and very immediate need to throw up. This is how the Marine Corpsman found him lent over the side of his bed throwing up his breakfast.
Over a bowl and a wet flannel, the corpsman had told Holden he and von Junzt were been extremely lucky to be alive. A marine patrol, probably the one Holden had seen while waiting outside the compound had heard the shooting and had come to investigate, the initial fire fight had been swift and brutal, but the marines had quickly dominated the fight. A Marine Corpsman had patched up their wounds at the scene and then both Holden and von Junzt had been evacuated to the Marine’s Forward Operating base at Camp Baharia.
Holden thought the Corpsman could have spared some of the detail, but the Corpsman had gone on to tell him with some relish that the surgeons at Camp Baharia’s aid station had taken out 18 pieces of shrapnel from Holden’s legs his feet, and his arse or as the Corpsman preferred to call them his Butt-ocks. Only one piece of shrapnel had been considered serious and this was the one which had made such a mess of his foot. The Corpsman told Holden he was going to be walking with a limp for a while, then added with a grin he'd probably want to carry something soft to sit on for a while as well.
Von Junzt on the other hand had sustained far more serious shrapnel wounds and had been losing a lot of blood so rather than waste time they’d simply flown him out by helicopter straight to Ibn Sina, the US run Hospital in the Baghdad Green Zone. If things went OK they'd probably fly him back to Germany so he could be cared for by a hospital back home.
Holden's mood lifted somewhat as his head cleared, the Corpsman had explained it was a common after effect of the anaesthetic. Two hours after waking Paddy walked into the makeshift ward he looked stressed and not a little disheveled. Holden's good mood crashed, Paddy was an experienced ex soldier but his job in Iraq was almost wholly office bound. For Paddy to get himself and an ad-hoc team made up of other office staff up to Fallujah to sort things out meant only one thing everyone in Holden's team was dead or injured.
Paddy smiled "Malingering bastards I just talked to the quacks and they say your good to leave"
Holden smiled, grunting with pain as he swung his feet off the bed."Just wanted to see whether your fat arse was actually glued to the office chair..."
Paddy didn't ask how he was or offer a hand, he simply passed Holden a pair of tan cargo pants and a faded t-shirt."They're the only clean clothes I could find in your room, typical bloody officer, despite all the time and effort I spent making you a proper soldier your personal admin is still shite, you do know how the washing machine works don't you. I had to put my hands in among your dirty grollies and all sorts"
Holden pulled on the clothes, the medics had give him pretty much, as much as he wanted in the way of painkillers, but now he was moving he could feel every cut and bruise on his body. He stood up as he buttoned up the trousers. Looking at Paddy he asked Paddy the one thing he new the big man wouldn't otherwise volunteer."what about the rest of the team?"
Paddy hesitated for a second then shrugged.All dead mate. Pat and Jock when they triggered the ambush as you know, the others got away clean but then got hit by one of the cutoffs as they were heading for the emergency RV. It was well planned whoever put it together, I'll give them that, even if it wasn't brilliantly carried out.
The image of charred corpses hanging from the bridge over the Euphrates flashed before his eyes, but he asked the next question anyway.What about the bodies?
For the first time a look of relief passed over Paddy's face.The marines got all of them, seems the Iraqi's were putting all their effort into finding you and Junzt to spend any time pissing about with the others. The rest of the lads are making arrangements for getting them back now.
It was clear they had been both thinking the same thing, as soldiers and now contractors death and injury were accepted risks, part and parcel of their job. On the other hand, it was one thing to be killed doing the job it was something else to know someone was going to be fucking about with your corpse after you'd been killed. For Paddy as the man in the office who had the most contact with the families and loved ones back home, it would have been especially distressing.
They walked back to the car in silence. Paddy held the door open to the 4x4 so Holden could climb into the back, pushing him down like a policeman with a drunk, so he didn't crack his head against the door jam as he got in.
Holden smiled up at Paddy from the seat relieved to be sitting down again after the exertion. The look on Paddy's face however soon wiped it away."Look Holden, there's something else I need to tell you; we've lost von Junzt.
Holden shrugged.No real surprise mate, the Corpsman, said he was in a bad way
If he'd simply karked it, I wouldn't have his insurance company chewing my arse. The helicopter dropped him off at Ibn Sina, they took him in for triage decided he was a serious bleeder, so they rushed him to the top of the list and wheeled him up to surgery. Thing is somewhere between triage and surgery they lost him. When they came to wheel him into the operating theatre the gurney was empty. If the sod wasn't in sucg a critical condition when he arrived, I'd say he fucked off on his Jack Jones. His insurance company are giving the company hell, they reckon we're responsible for getting him kidnapped.
============
Holden spent two days at the team house before Paddy managed to book him onto a civilian flight direct to schipol in Holland. When he arrived Paula and the kids had been waiting for him at arrivals, they spent a weekend in Amsterdam, which wasn't as relaxing as might be expected considering the number of awkward questions the boys asked, in the end he was happy to take an Easy Jet flight home.
Being home was a strange experience, apart from the obvious lack of danger, life back at home simply seemed less real. The doctors called it transitioning, apparently Holden wasn't very good at it. He noticed he'd become uncomfortable around crowds, unfortunately nearly everywhere he went there were crowds, he'd start to feel uneasy. Holden wasn't entirely stupid he recognised the symptoms of PTSD.
He worked hard trying not to dwell on the events in Fallujah, tried to avoid thinking about the the ambush, the firefight, what had happened to the rest of the team. He spent time at the physio's trying to sort his foot out. More time at the gym simply beasting himself into shape. He spent as much time as he could playing with the boys. To Paula's imense pleasure he completed all the unfinished DIY around the house. None of these things ultimately did much to take his mind off the past. In the end he started to drink, not vast amounts but he and Paula would share a bottle of wine after dinner and most evenings he'd go to bed comfortably numb. He knew Paula worried about the drinking but she made efforts to keep her concerns to herself.
Holden's preferred solution would have been to get back to Iraq, to get back in the saddle. Paddy knew why he was asking but he still refused, Armburst's insurance company had sent Holden off to a Harley street Doctor shortly after he'd got back. Paddy was adamant, until the doctor gave Holden the all clear he wasn't going anywhere. Paddy made sure Armburst kept Holden employed, but mainly doing close protection work in London. Looking after the spoilt rich simply didn't provide the distraction which Holden needed.
It was nearly three months after he'd returned home when he got the phone call. He had been in the Harrods basement. Standing just inside the door of the barber's shop while his client got his his daily grooming when he got the call on his mobile. Holden looked around making sure everything was clear before he reached for the phone vibrating in his pocket.
"Holden"
"Mr Holden, are you bored?"
The voice was familiar, but not instantly recognisable.
"Who is this?"
"You don't know, I am a little bit upset, we shared so much together I thought you would recognise my voice"
"Von Junzt? where the fuck have you been we got a right bollocking from your insurance company when you fucked off from Ibn Sina. How did you get out anyway?"
"Herr Holden, the hows and the whys are hardly important at the moment, I am going somewhere where I may need some protection. Your efforts to keep me alive the last time impressed me, I would like to employ you again. What do you say?"
Listen, I've no problem with this but you need to speak to the office they can make the necessary arrangements
Nein, No I do not want to tell others my business this was the problem in Fallujah to many people knew my business, I wish to hire you directly, I am willing to double, no we shall triple your usual rate. I cannot tell you much about the job, but I can tell you it will not be an unduly onerous one, there is little risk and you will not have to return to Iraq. I will need to know your answer by the end of the week.
Holden tried to answer but in his typical fashion, Von Junzt had already hung up.
Holden closed the phone and placed it back in his pocket as the client walked past waving at Holden to bring the bags, Holden determined to talk to Paula tonight and see what she thought.
It would be several weeks before Holden wondered how Von Junzt had got the number for his personal mobile phone.
The second thing which occured to Holden only after he opened his eyes and tried to sit up. He had a headache from hell and a real and very immediate need to throw up. This is how the Marine Corpsman found him lent over the side of his bed throwing up his breakfast.
Over a bowl and a wet flannel, the corpsman had told Holden he and von Junzt were been extremely lucky to be alive. A marine patrol, probably the one Holden had seen while waiting outside the compound had heard the shooting and had come to investigate, the initial fire fight had been swift and brutal, but the marines had quickly dominated the fight. A Marine Corpsman had patched up their wounds at the scene and then both Holden and von Junzt had been evacuated to the Marine’s Forward Operating base at Camp Baharia.
Holden thought the Corpsman could have spared some of the detail, but the Corpsman had gone on to tell him with some relish that the surgeons at Camp Baharia’s aid station had taken out 18 pieces of shrapnel from Holden’s legs his feet, and his arse or as the Corpsman preferred to call them his Butt-ocks. Only one piece of shrapnel had been considered serious and this was the one which had made such a mess of his foot. The Corpsman told Holden he was going to be walking with a limp for a while, then added with a grin he'd probably want to carry something soft to sit on for a while as well.
Von Junzt on the other hand had sustained far more serious shrapnel wounds and had been losing a lot of blood so rather than waste time they’d simply flown him out by helicopter straight to Ibn Sina, the US run Hospital in the Baghdad Green Zone. If things went OK they'd probably fly him back to Germany so he could be cared for by a hospital back home.
Holden's mood lifted somewhat as his head cleared, the Corpsman had explained it was a common after effect of the anaesthetic. Two hours after waking Paddy walked into the makeshift ward he looked stressed and not a little disheveled. Holden's good mood crashed, Paddy was an experienced ex soldier but his job in Iraq was almost wholly office bound. For Paddy to get himself and an ad-hoc team made up of other office staff up to Fallujah to sort things out meant only one thing everyone in Holden's team was dead or injured.
Paddy smiled "Malingering bastards I just talked to the quacks and they say your good to leave"
Holden smiled, grunting with pain as he swung his feet off the bed."Just wanted to see whether your fat arse was actually glued to the office chair..."
Paddy didn't ask how he was or offer a hand, he simply passed Holden a pair of tan cargo pants and a faded t-shirt."They're the only clean clothes I could find in your room, typical bloody officer, despite all the time and effort I spent making you a proper soldier your personal admin is still shite, you do know how the washing machine works don't you. I had to put my hands in among your dirty grollies and all sorts"
Holden pulled on the clothes, the medics had give him pretty much, as much as he wanted in the way of painkillers, but now he was moving he could feel every cut and bruise on his body. He stood up as he buttoned up the trousers. Looking at Paddy he asked Paddy the one thing he new the big man wouldn't otherwise volunteer."what about the rest of the team?"
Paddy hesitated for a second then shrugged.All dead mate. Pat and Jock when they triggered the ambush as you know, the others got away clean but then got hit by one of the cutoffs as they were heading for the emergency RV. It was well planned whoever put it together, I'll give them that, even if it wasn't brilliantly carried out.
The image of charred corpses hanging from the bridge over the Euphrates flashed before his eyes, but he asked the next question anyway.What about the bodies?
For the first time a look of relief passed over Paddy's face.The marines got all of them, seems the Iraqi's were putting all their effort into finding you and Junzt to spend any time pissing about with the others. The rest of the lads are making arrangements for getting them back now.
It was clear they had been both thinking the same thing, as soldiers and now contractors death and injury were accepted risks, part and parcel of their job. On the other hand, it was one thing to be killed doing the job it was something else to know someone was going to be fucking about with your corpse after you'd been killed. For Paddy as the man in the office who had the most contact with the families and loved ones back home, it would have been especially distressing.
They walked back to the car in silence. Paddy held the door open to the 4x4 so Holden could climb into the back, pushing him down like a policeman with a drunk, so he didn't crack his head against the door jam as he got in.
Holden smiled up at Paddy from the seat relieved to be sitting down again after the exertion. The look on Paddy's face however soon wiped it away."Look Holden, there's something else I need to tell you; we've lost von Junzt.
Holden shrugged.No real surprise mate, the Corpsman, said he was in a bad way
If he'd simply karked it, I wouldn't have his insurance company chewing my arse. The helicopter dropped him off at Ibn Sina, they took him in for triage decided he was a serious bleeder, so they rushed him to the top of the list and wheeled him up to surgery. Thing is somewhere between triage and surgery they lost him. When they came to wheel him into the operating theatre the gurney was empty. If the sod wasn't in sucg a critical condition when he arrived, I'd say he fucked off on his Jack Jones. His insurance company are giving the company hell, they reckon we're responsible for getting him kidnapped.
============
Holden spent two days at the team house before Paddy managed to book him onto a civilian flight direct to schipol in Holland. When he arrived Paula and the kids had been waiting for him at arrivals, they spent a weekend in Amsterdam, which wasn't as relaxing as might be expected considering the number of awkward questions the boys asked, in the end he was happy to take an Easy Jet flight home.
Being home was a strange experience, apart from the obvious lack of danger, life back at home simply seemed less real. The doctors called it transitioning, apparently Holden wasn't very good at it. He noticed he'd become uncomfortable around crowds, unfortunately nearly everywhere he went there were crowds, he'd start to feel uneasy. Holden wasn't entirely stupid he recognised the symptoms of PTSD.
He worked hard trying not to dwell on the events in Fallujah, tried to avoid thinking about the the ambush, the firefight, what had happened to the rest of the team. He spent time at the physio's trying to sort his foot out. More time at the gym simply beasting himself into shape. He spent as much time as he could playing with the boys. To Paula's imense pleasure he completed all the unfinished DIY around the house. None of these things ultimately did much to take his mind off the past. In the end he started to drink, not vast amounts but he and Paula would share a bottle of wine after dinner and most evenings he'd go to bed comfortably numb. He knew Paula worried about the drinking but she made efforts to keep her concerns to herself.
Holden's preferred solution would have been to get back to Iraq, to get back in the saddle. Paddy knew why he was asking but he still refused, Armburst's insurance company had sent Holden off to a Harley street Doctor shortly after he'd got back. Paddy was adamant, until the doctor gave Holden the all clear he wasn't going anywhere. Paddy made sure Armburst kept Holden employed, but mainly doing close protection work in London. Looking after the spoilt rich simply didn't provide the distraction which Holden needed.
It was nearly three months after he'd returned home when he got the phone call. He had been in the Harrods basement. Standing just inside the door of the barber's shop while his client got his his daily grooming when he got the call on his mobile. Holden looked around making sure everything was clear before he reached for the phone vibrating in his pocket.
"Holden"
"Mr Holden, are you bored?"
The voice was familiar, but not instantly recognisable.
"Who is this?"
"You don't know, I am a little bit upset, we shared so much together I thought you would recognise my voice"
"Von Junzt? where the fuck have you been we got a right bollocking from your insurance company when you fucked off from Ibn Sina. How did you get out anyway?"
"Herr Holden, the hows and the whys are hardly important at the moment, I am going somewhere where I may need some protection. Your efforts to keep me alive the last time impressed me, I would like to employ you again. What do you say?"
Listen, I've no problem with this but you need to speak to the office they can make the necessary arrangements
Nein, No I do not want to tell others my business this was the problem in Fallujah to many people knew my business, I wish to hire you directly, I am willing to double, no we shall triple your usual rate. I cannot tell you much about the job, but I can tell you it will not be an unduly onerous one, there is little risk and you will not have to return to Iraq. I will need to know your answer by the end of the week.
Holden tried to answer but in his typical fashion, Von Junzt had already hung up.
Holden closed the phone and placed it back in his pocket as the client walked past waving at Holden to bring the bags, Holden determined to talk to Paula tonight and see what she thought.
It would be several weeks before Holden wondered how Von Junzt had got the number for his personal mobile phone.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
10,000
Thus ends the first part of the story apparently I've knocked out over 10,000 words, which means I suspect the first draft of the whole story will be complete in about 30,000 words or about a 1/4 of what it should be....Oh well, must keep reminding myself first draft, first draft.
Escape
Going up the street towards the rendezvous point was a surreal experience, best case scenario Holden had expected lots of shouting and screaming from the locals, lots of shouting, threats and wild gun waving from him. Worst case scenario had lots of shouting and screaming from the locals, lots of shouting, threats and wild gun waving from him rapidly escalating to gunshots and ten minutes later their burning corpses hanging from a lamppost, while some local waved his genitalia in front of a TV cameraman from Al Jazeera.
But he was completely unprepared for what happened after he pushed the German through the doorway. When they'd been waiting for von Junzt to come out of his meeting with Sulemein Sabawi, the locals had made a point of ignoring them, turning their backs or looking away if they realised Holden or another member of the team were watching them, but as Holden dragged the German up the street to the rendezvous point it was as though they simply weren't there. So determined were the locals to maintain this pretence the owner of a small vegetable stall almost walked right into them as stepped out into the road in order to check out a display of fruit on his stall.
As Holden reached the junction he felt a surge of relief the teams second SUV was parked just by the petrol station forecourt, the sense of relief didn't last. There were bullet holes all over the SUV, windshield, sides, everywhere, one wheel was up on the kerb and the passenger door was open with an arm hanging out. Holden looked closer and realised he could see a figure slumped over the wheel and lots and lots of blood.
Holden thought about going over and checking to see if anyone was alive, but the thought was fleeting, even if there was someone in the SUV they were obviously seriously injured there would be no way he could get them out. Holden realised he'd been standing in the middle of the street, he'd been pulling von Junzt across it when he'd realised there the SUV was not going to be their salvation.
They needed to get off the street, find somewhere to hole up, perhaps wait for dark. Holden turned to von Junzt to get him moving off the street only to find the German bent double, one hand wrapped around his stomach as though he had bad cramps his other pressed against his face. From his face a thickening stream of blood, bright red arterial blood leaked between the fingers to splash on the dusty road.
Assuming the worst Holden quickly pushed the German across the street and into a doorway then scanned the surrounding area looking for a threat while trying to get an answer from him,
"von Junzt you injured...you OK".
Satisfied there was no immediate threat or at least one he could see, Holden lent over so he was face to face with the German. Closer he realised the German was no longer praying but sobbing. Holden prised the hand away from von Junzt's face and turned his head so he was looking directly at Holden. There was blood, everywhere streaming from his nose over his lips, small dark tears of blood at the corners of his eyes and his eyes, his eyes looked unreal, so awash with blood Holden wondered whether he hadn't been blinded. He bit back the "fucking hell" which came to his lips, the last thing the German needed to hear was the shock in his voice.
"Junzt, where you hit?"
Von Junzt was obviously panicked even if Holden had been so blind he couldn't read it in the Germans bloodied face his normally impeccable measured English was rushed and flavoured with a thick German accent.
"I'm sorry, scheisse, zer pain I could not keep saying the words, it was like chewing glass, I felt as though my head it would explode!"
"Yeah alright mate Just try and keep it together shall we, can you tell me where your hit?"
"fair-piss dish not hit, just the words"
Despite von Junzt's repeated protestations he was not hit Holden scrambled to check the German out for injuries, as he did so he slowly became aware of a change in the street sounds. The typical murmur of a street going about its daily business had changed, now there was more shouting, the sounds of people running, and a very definite change in the streets tone.
Holden looked up, they weren't being ignored now a small crowd had gathered around them, although they were keeping a respectful distance. Holden watched as a small boy as he bent to pick up a stone, Holden caught his eye, gave the lad the same sort of look he'd have given his own boys if they were about to do something naughty and the lad sheepishly dropped the stone. Holden smiled to himself and wondered how long stern looks and perhaps a stiff telling off were going to be effective.
Glancing up the street Holden could see three heavily armed men passing the wrecked SUV and heading in their direction, a quick glance back the way brought no relief whether they were Islamists, Mujahadeen, Al Qada, Bathists or simply irate locals didn't really seem to matter at the moment whoever they were they were pouring out of the woodwork in droves.
With the appearance of armed men the attitude of the crowd changed again, irate murmurs changed to angry shouts, the next young lad was not dissuaded by a stern glare and a stone bounced off Holden's helmet followed shortly afterwards by another which struck his left knee and made him want to stand up and hop as the pain went shooting through his leg. The crowds fervour only worsened when Holden threatened them with his pistol and the doorway where Holden and von Junzt had taken cover was soon being showered by thrown stones.
Holden debated about shooting at the crowd but in the end the "bad guys" solved the crowd problem for him as the trio passing the SUV opened fire, firing from the hip on full automatic meant the the shots were far from accurate but the long bursts of fire meant the muzzles of their AK's rapidly climbed ensuring their rounds passed harmlessly overhead.
Handing his pistol to von Junzt with instructions to cover down the street, Holden swung the Demarco around off his back and into his shoulder, he hurried his first two shots firing even before he had a propper sight picture. His third shot however dropped one of the shooters or at least came so close he was scared enough to throw himself to the ground.
Holden continued to fire at the remaining two gunmen, who had now taken cover behind the shot out SUV, he took deliberate shots dropping the first as he jumped out to fire, the second as he leant forward from behind the SUV to drag him friend back into cover. Holden exchanged rounds with more gunmen moving down the street in twos and threes, he wasn't sure he hit any of them but he certainly drove them to cover and gave them a sense of caution.
Rounds started to strike the wall just above Holden's head, making him realis he'd forgotten the gunmen coming up behind them, he turned on his heels, there was a momentary sensation of standing only inches away from a passing train then a loud clang as something hit the metal doorway they were hiding in front of and bounced back out into the street. Holden Looked out to where the now spent war head of an RPG slowly rolled across the broken pavement away before dropping out of site into the open sewer. Holden didn't spend long wondering why the RPG hadn't exploded, his attention was drawn across the street where the stunned owner of the RPG was reloading. Holden was less hurried this time killing the man with two well placed shots.
For about five minutes Holden and von Junzt kept the gun men at bay then their luck changed, another RPG was fired at them and while it missed the doorway where they had taken cover it explode only a few feet away, stunned by the blast, neither Holden or von Junzt saw the two gunmen rush towards them, the first shooting his AK from the hip as he ran stopped short as his gun jammed, but his friend took more care priming and throwing a small egg shape grenade which landed on the pavement directly in front of their doorway.
Holden tried to pick himself up off the floor, but his left leg wouldn't hold him, glancing down he wondered why his boot looked so torn up and where all the blood was coming from, a stunned brain slowly put the facts together he'd been injured, Paula was going to be so pissed with him. His back against the door he tried to push himself to his feet again only to slip back down again. As he started to drift in and out of consciousness he absently noticed the tempo of the gunfight was picking up. Unusual he thought considering up until a moment ago he was the only one shooting back.
But he was completely unprepared for what happened after he pushed the German through the doorway. When they'd been waiting for von Junzt to come out of his meeting with Sulemein Sabawi, the locals had made a point of ignoring them, turning their backs or looking away if they realised Holden or another member of the team were watching them, but as Holden dragged the German up the street to the rendezvous point it was as though they simply weren't there. So determined were the locals to maintain this pretence the owner of a small vegetable stall almost walked right into them as stepped out into the road in order to check out a display of fruit on his stall.
As Holden reached the junction he felt a surge of relief the teams second SUV was parked just by the petrol station forecourt, the sense of relief didn't last. There were bullet holes all over the SUV, windshield, sides, everywhere, one wheel was up on the kerb and the passenger door was open with an arm hanging out. Holden looked closer and realised he could see a figure slumped over the wheel and lots and lots of blood.
Holden thought about going over and checking to see if anyone was alive, but the thought was fleeting, even if there was someone in the SUV they were obviously seriously injured there would be no way he could get them out. Holden realised he'd been standing in the middle of the street, he'd been pulling von Junzt across it when he'd realised there the SUV was not going to be their salvation.
They needed to get off the street, find somewhere to hole up, perhaps wait for dark. Holden turned to von Junzt to get him moving off the street only to find the German bent double, one hand wrapped around his stomach as though he had bad cramps his other pressed against his face. From his face a thickening stream of blood, bright red arterial blood leaked between the fingers to splash on the dusty road.
Assuming the worst Holden quickly pushed the German across the street and into a doorway then scanned the surrounding area looking for a threat while trying to get an answer from him,
"von Junzt you injured...you OK".
Satisfied there was no immediate threat or at least one he could see, Holden lent over so he was face to face with the German. Closer he realised the German was no longer praying but sobbing. Holden prised the hand away from von Junzt's face and turned his head so he was looking directly at Holden. There was blood, everywhere streaming from his nose over his lips, small dark tears of blood at the corners of his eyes and his eyes, his eyes looked unreal, so awash with blood Holden wondered whether he hadn't been blinded. He bit back the "fucking hell" which came to his lips, the last thing the German needed to hear was the shock in his voice.
"Junzt, where you hit?"
Von Junzt was obviously panicked even if Holden had been so blind he couldn't read it in the Germans bloodied face his normally impeccable measured English was rushed and flavoured with a thick German accent.
"I'm sorry, scheisse, zer pain I could not keep saying the words, it was like chewing glass, I felt as though my head it would explode!"
"Yeah alright mate Just try and keep it together shall we, can you tell me where your hit?"
"fair-piss dish not hit, just the words"
Despite von Junzt's repeated protestations he was not hit Holden scrambled to check the German out for injuries, as he did so he slowly became aware of a change in the street sounds. The typical murmur of a street going about its daily business had changed, now there was more shouting, the sounds of people running, and a very definite change in the streets tone.
Holden looked up, they weren't being ignored now a small crowd had gathered around them, although they were keeping a respectful distance. Holden watched as a small boy as he bent to pick up a stone, Holden caught his eye, gave the lad the same sort of look he'd have given his own boys if they were about to do something naughty and the lad sheepishly dropped the stone. Holden smiled to himself and wondered how long stern looks and perhaps a stiff telling off were going to be effective.
Glancing up the street Holden could see three heavily armed men passing the wrecked SUV and heading in their direction, a quick glance back the way brought no relief whether they were Islamists, Mujahadeen, Al Qada, Bathists or simply irate locals didn't really seem to matter at the moment whoever they were they were pouring out of the woodwork in droves.
With the appearance of armed men the attitude of the crowd changed again, irate murmurs changed to angry shouts, the next young lad was not dissuaded by a stern glare and a stone bounced off Holden's helmet followed shortly afterwards by another which struck his left knee and made him want to stand up and hop as the pain went shooting through his leg. The crowds fervour only worsened when Holden threatened them with his pistol and the doorway where Holden and von Junzt had taken cover was soon being showered by thrown stones.
Holden debated about shooting at the crowd but in the end the "bad guys" solved the crowd problem for him as the trio passing the SUV opened fire, firing from the hip on full automatic meant the the shots were far from accurate but the long bursts of fire meant the muzzles of their AK's rapidly climbed ensuring their rounds passed harmlessly overhead.
Handing his pistol to von Junzt with instructions to cover down the street, Holden swung the Demarco around off his back and into his shoulder, he hurried his first two shots firing even before he had a propper sight picture. His third shot however dropped one of the shooters or at least came so close he was scared enough to throw himself to the ground.
Holden continued to fire at the remaining two gunmen, who had now taken cover behind the shot out SUV, he took deliberate shots dropping the first as he jumped out to fire, the second as he leant forward from behind the SUV to drag him friend back into cover. Holden exchanged rounds with more gunmen moving down the street in twos and threes, he wasn't sure he hit any of them but he certainly drove them to cover and gave them a sense of caution.
Rounds started to strike the wall just above Holden's head, making him realis he'd forgotten the gunmen coming up behind them, he turned on his heels, there was a momentary sensation of standing only inches away from a passing train then a loud clang as something hit the metal doorway they were hiding in front of and bounced back out into the street. Holden Looked out to where the now spent war head of an RPG slowly rolled across the broken pavement away before dropping out of site into the open sewer. Holden didn't spend long wondering why the RPG hadn't exploded, his attention was drawn across the street where the stunned owner of the RPG was reloading. Holden was less hurried this time killing the man with two well placed shots.
For about five minutes Holden and von Junzt kept the gun men at bay then their luck changed, another RPG was fired at them and while it missed the doorway where they had taken cover it explode only a few feet away, stunned by the blast, neither Holden or von Junzt saw the two gunmen rush towards them, the first shooting his AK from the hip as he ran stopped short as his gun jammed, but his friend took more care priming and throwing a small egg shape grenade which landed on the pavement directly in front of their doorway.
Holden tried to pick himself up off the floor, but his left leg wouldn't hold him, glancing down he wondered why his boot looked so torn up and where all the blood was coming from, a stunned brain slowly put the facts together he'd been injured, Paula was going to be so pissed with him. His back against the door he tried to push himself to his feet again only to slip back down again. As he started to drift in and out of consciousness he absently noticed the tempo of the gunfight was picking up. Unusual he thought considering up until a moment ago he was the only one shooting back.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Apologies - again
Been very busy at work and then off to Boston (Massachusetts USA, not Lancashire, UK) on business so progress on this little project has slowed somewhat. However I will do my best to try and churn out the next chapter by the end of this week.
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