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.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Ambush II
Outside in the street people were beginning to leave their houses. Crouched in the shadows just inside the doorway to the street Holden looked at von Junzt, it was clear from his face, he could clearly hear the same shouts of "Allahu Akbar" as Holden. The shouting was a sure sign the mob had started to work itself up into a frenzy.
Prior to seeing the news story which lead to landing the job with Armburst Holden hadn't been interested in the war in Iraq, apart from observing when his old regiment appeared on the television. One story had attracted his attention though and as he hid in the house the details came flooding back. In 2004 a security team for an American company called Blackwater had been ambushed by insurgents in the town of Falluja, the details weren't clear but after the ambush they'd been overwhelmed by the mob. The men were killed, their burnt and mutilated bodies hung on a bridge on the towns outskirts, Holden tried not to think about it but decided if he couldn't shoot his way out, he'd shoot himself before he let the mob get their hands on him.
Ideally Holden thought the mob would simply not to know they were around, sad as it was the fact Pat and Jock's bodies were still in the car would probably prove a distraction. Even so they simply couldn't risk being seen, opening the door just a crack Holden maneuvered himself so as to be able to look up and down the street, reassured the only people he could see had their backs to them and were at the far end of the street he told the von Junzt to keep close then sprinted across the road through an open gateway and into a walled garden.
steps up the side of the house gave access to its roof, an old faded settee, cushions and blankets and a battered television typical of most Iraqi families they would sleep on the roof, trying to escape the summer heat, Holden was grateful the summer heat now kept many people inside allowing them to use the rooftops to quickly put some distance between them and the site of the ambush before using another set of stairs to descend into a another walled garden
Holden didn't stop to look around but quickly made his way to the far end of the garden where he clambered onto what looked to be a rabit hutch before he hauled himself onto the wall, he stopped straddled it long enough to pulled the wheezing von Junzt up behind him then swinging his other leg over and dropping down into the next garden, he caught sight of an attractive young Iraqi woman standing in the open doorway to the house, a child perched on one hip a basket of washing in her other arm, the expression on her face didn't change, she simply stepped back into her house and shutting the door quietly behind her.
Preffering to think the woman was simply ignoring them rather than ringing some friends with the guns, Holden moved over to what had once been a ornate garden gate in three quick strides. The gate had long ago been reinforced through the simple expedient of welding a thick steel plate to it. Holden pressed his face upto a small gap between steel plate and the gate to look out onto another street almost as empty as the first, either people were hiding inside or everyone was busy at the ambush site.
Holden lent back against the wall trying to think. At the top of this road should be the rendezvous point where if he was lucky the rest of the team would be waiting for them, he honestly didn't hold much hope of that, it was unlikely the rest of the team would have escaped the ambush without injury and they'd want to get to somewhere they could get medical attention probably the nearest American base and they'd certainly want to keep clear of the mob.
Going to the rendezvous point would mean going up to what passed for a busy main road, it had been lined with shops which meant lots of people. The rendezvous point had been the forecourt of an apparently derelict petrol station, there would be places to hide but he and von Junzt would be incredibly exposed, it didn't make Holden feel much better when compared to the prospect of running through the streets of Tikrit chased by the mob.
Holden wiped the sweat from his face and turned to see how von Junzt was holding up. Holden wasn't happy by what he saw, extremely red faced and breathing heavily the German squatted next to him, his face seemed slightly vacant. Looking at the German now, noticed his lips moving and when he lent closer Holden could make out the same whispered Latin prayers repeated over and over again. Holden had hoped the adrenalin rush from the last few minutes might have shaken him out of the daze he'd been in since they'd taken cover in the house immediately after the ambush, but apparently that was not to be.
Momentarily, Holden wondered whether he shouldn't simply abandon the German in the courtyard and make a run for it on his own but the German had friends here in Tikrit and there was the faintest chance he'd get out alive without Holden in which case Holden's career would be over, although he wasn't sure wasn't sure a career change wasn't in order anyway. There weren't many choices really
"Enough deliberation" thought Holden as he grabbed the German under the arm and hauled him to his feet and pushed him out of the gate. Outside, almost had an air of normalacy about it, there was no evidence of the violence which had occurred only a few hundred meters away; people were simply getting on with their everyday life. Holden wondered how long it would take before they were noticed, he slung the Demarco over his back and drew his pistol he held it down by his side then grabbed the still mumbling von Junzt by the shoulder and started pulling him along
Prior to seeing the news story which lead to landing the job with Armburst Holden hadn't been interested in the war in Iraq, apart from observing when his old regiment appeared on the television. One story had attracted his attention though and as he hid in the house the details came flooding back. In 2004 a security team for an American company called Blackwater had been ambushed by insurgents in the town of Falluja, the details weren't clear but after the ambush they'd been overwhelmed by the mob. The men were killed, their burnt and mutilated bodies hung on a bridge on the towns outskirts, Holden tried not to think about it but decided if he couldn't shoot his way out, he'd shoot himself before he let the mob get their hands on him.
Ideally Holden thought the mob would simply not to know they were around, sad as it was the fact Pat and Jock's bodies were still in the car would probably prove a distraction. Even so they simply couldn't risk being seen, opening the door just a crack Holden maneuvered himself so as to be able to look up and down the street, reassured the only people he could see had their backs to them and were at the far end of the street he told the von Junzt to keep close then sprinted across the road through an open gateway and into a walled garden.
steps up the side of the house gave access to its roof, an old faded settee, cushions and blankets and a battered television typical of most Iraqi families they would sleep on the roof, trying to escape the summer heat, Holden was grateful the summer heat now kept many people inside allowing them to use the rooftops to quickly put some distance between them and the site of the ambush before using another set of stairs to descend into a another walled garden
Holden didn't stop to look around but quickly made his way to the far end of the garden where he clambered onto what looked to be a rabit hutch before he hauled himself onto the wall, he stopped straddled it long enough to pulled the wheezing von Junzt up behind him then swinging his other leg over and dropping down into the next garden, he caught sight of an attractive young Iraqi woman standing in the open doorway to the house, a child perched on one hip a basket of washing in her other arm, the expression on her face didn't change, she simply stepped back into her house and shutting the door quietly behind her.
Preffering to think the woman was simply ignoring them rather than ringing some friends with the guns, Holden moved over to what had once been a ornate garden gate in three quick strides. The gate had long ago been reinforced through the simple expedient of welding a thick steel plate to it. Holden pressed his face upto a small gap between steel plate and the gate to look out onto another street almost as empty as the first, either people were hiding inside or everyone was busy at the ambush site.
Holden lent back against the wall trying to think. At the top of this road should be the rendezvous point where if he was lucky the rest of the team would be waiting for them, he honestly didn't hold much hope of that, it was unlikely the rest of the team would have escaped the ambush without injury and they'd want to get to somewhere they could get medical attention probably the nearest American base and they'd certainly want to keep clear of the mob.
Going to the rendezvous point would mean going up to what passed for a busy main road, it had been lined with shops which meant lots of people. The rendezvous point had been the forecourt of an apparently derelict petrol station, there would be places to hide but he and von Junzt would be incredibly exposed, it didn't make Holden feel much better when compared to the prospect of running through the streets of Tikrit chased by the mob.
Holden wiped the sweat from his face and turned to see how von Junzt was holding up. Holden wasn't happy by what he saw, extremely red faced and breathing heavily the German squatted next to him, his face seemed slightly vacant. Looking at the German now, noticed his lips moving and when he lent closer Holden could make out the same whispered Latin prayers repeated over and over again. Holden had hoped the adrenalin rush from the last few minutes might have shaken him out of the daze he'd been in since they'd taken cover in the house immediately after the ambush, but apparently that was not to be.
Momentarily, Holden wondered whether he shouldn't simply abandon the German in the courtyard and make a run for it on his own but the German had friends here in Tikrit and there was the faintest chance he'd get out alive without Holden in which case Holden's career would be over, although he wasn't sure wasn't sure a career change wasn't in order anyway. There weren't many choices really
"Enough deliberation" thought Holden as he grabbed the German under the arm and hauled him to his feet and pushed him out of the gate. Outside, almost had an air of normalacy about it, there was no evidence of the violence which had occurred only a few hundred meters away; people were simply getting on with their everyday life. Holden wondered how long it would take before they were noticed, he slung the Demarco over his back and drew his pistol he held it down by his side then grabbed the still mumbling von Junzt by the shoulder and started pulling him along
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Ambush.
At the back of his mind Holden thought the attacker, whoever he was wasn't particularly well trained. Rather than firing short controlled bursts the shooter was simply firing one long burst and marching his fire up the street towards the car. Holden watched almost transfixed as tracers ricocheted down the narrow street, while others kicked up gout's of tarmac, dirt and concrete from the road each round getting closer and closer to the car.
The Ambush hadn't been particularly slick or well planned, they'd turned into a street which they hoped would lead them to a main road heading directly out of the town, but as the first car had made the turn two vehicles had pulled out to block their path a dusty red pickup and a battered white Mercedes, the shooting started as the drivers of both vehicles had jumped out and ran for cover.
Considering the accuracy of the ambushers in retrospect Holden thought it was probably a fluke the first burst of fire had blown out the windscreen, throwing Pat and jock back in their seats before Holden even had a chance to tell Pat to reverse.
Holden lent forward past the drivers seat to try and pulling Pat off the steering wheel where he'd slumped, Paddy's chest was covered with blood and Holden struggled to find a pulse, he gave up when the another round hit the car, it sounded like someone had just jumped on the bonnet. The second round blew the remainder of the windscreen out and punched a fist sized hole through Paddy's body, the drivers seat, and the rear passenger seat, filling the car with smoke, glass,dust and blood. Holden didn't have to to check on Jock he wasn't going to stay in the car, he grabbed von Junzt by his jacket and kicked the passenger side door open only to have it torn of its hinges moments later as it was struck by one of the large rounds pummeling the car.
Almost crawling on all fours the two of them piled out of the Hyundai, as they did so they felt it lurch almost tipping them out onto the kerb another heavy round had struck the front axle and broke it in two. Clear of the four by four they sat momentarily in the gutter.
Fifty metres down the road the other 4x4 had stopped, it was slewed across the road the with the remainder of the team using it as cover as they poured fire down the road towards their ambushers. He saw Dennis wave frantically trying to get them to run back to the rest of the team. He thought momentarily about grabbing the German and dragging him along the road to the safety of the others, but the car continued to be hammered by their unseen attackers another tyre blew out while they sat their. Holden decided they'd never make it they needed a safer route.
He hauled the German to his feet and pushed him towards the rusted iron door which marked the entrance to someones home. The door was locked or bolted but definitely not opening, they squeezed themselves into the doorway as their attackers continued to pour fire into the car behind them, distracted by the pyrotechnics their ambushers systematically shot it apart.
Suddenly the door was pulled open from the other side and Holden found himself staring into the face of a very startled Iraqi. The Iraqi started to shout and both fumbled to bring their weapons to bear, Holden slammed his shoulder against the door pushing it open at the same time dragging his Demarco around and pushing its muzzle through the now open doorway and burying it in the mans stomach before pulling the trigger. It wasn't like the movies the man wasn't thrown back he simply crumpled where he stood.
Pulling von Junzt through the door Holden found himself in a small courtyard, he put his back against the door and started pushing it closed. The second Iraqi came running out of the house just as the door was shut, he was struggling to load an RPG launcher as he went and was totally oblivious to Holden and von Junzt. Holden emptied his whole magazine didn't stop firing until he heard the dead mans click.
They were both careful to stepped over the Iraqi as they went through the doorway into the house.
Holden moved to stand just inside the doorway hidden in shadow, every so often he'd lean forward just enough, to scan the small courtyard; the two Iraqis they'd run into as they entered the courtyard, lay bleeding in the sun, the one with the rocket launcher was definitely dead, but every so often in the lulls between bursts of fire outside, he'd hear the first one crying softly to himself.
Outside the gunfire seemed to slacken and he could hear at least one of the team's cars driving away. He knew the team would be driving back to the last agreed rendezvous point, an alley a several hundred meters back along their route, he hoped conditions would allow them to wait there a few minutes so he and the German could get back to them, but if the team had other casualties they'd want to get back them back to the US base and proper medical attention, he and the German would be expected to hide or extract themselves an unlikely proposition.
Holden tried his radio handset again, he must have damage it as he pushed through the doorway as the handset had a large crack in it and all he could get out of it was the hiss of static. Behind him the von Junzt crouched in the middle of the doorway by the body of the second Iraqi; Holden thought he might be having a bit of a breakdown until he heard him muttering to himself, momentarily he wondered why Latin then realised he must be praying.
Noise at the back of the house made them both look up, Holden gripped the Demarco and shifted towards the corner of the room away from the doorway from where he could cover both the doors, he hissed at von Junzt trying to attract his attention, but the German simply held up a hand to silence him rocking backwards and forwards on his heels he reached forward and started to draw in the Iraqi's blood with his finger.
"Fuck he's flipped" Holden thought. standing, he took two steps to across the room, reaching out with one hand intent on grabbing the von Junzt by the collar and pulling him back into the corner, but as he did so he realised he'd made a serious mistake, the Iraqi who stepped into the doorway had his weapon already at the shoulder and instantly swung it to cover where the two of them crouched by the body. There was absolutely no way Holden was going to be able to bring his gun to bear before the Iraqi shot them both, unlike the amateurs in the street this man carried himself like a professional.
"Its alright mate, no need to get all hasty"
Holden laid the Demarco down on the ground, then held out his hands palm up.
"see mate no gun"
The Iraqi lent into the room checking the corners, he yelled in Arabic to someone out of sight behind him, somewhere from the the back of the house came a response. Holden continued trying to keep his voice level and not show any fear.
"We just all need to be calm about this, no reason we can't be friendly, we're worth more to you alive than dead eh."
The Iraqi ignored him, walked into the room and knelt down by the body quickly checking for a pulse, then frisking the body. Holden wondered whether he should try overpowering him but the Iraqis gun rested on his knees muzzle pointing uncomfortably at his crotch, unless he could overpower him straight away he'd likely wind up seriously injured after which the Iraqi's friends would likely arrive and kill them both.
"he was like that when we got here mate, we tried to save him but he was dead already".
Still the Iraqi ignored him Holden didn't think they'd have much chance unless they could get him to recognise them as human beings rather than some kind of irritation, yet nothing he said seemed to make any difference to the Iraqi fighter, who seemed to act as though they weren't there.
Holden made to start another overture, thinking perhaps he could offer him money. Just prior to the 2003 invasion of Iraq Saddam announced a general amnesty for virtually all the nation's prisoners, while some of these were political the greater part were common criminals most of whom were happy to shoot at Coalition forces in exchange for the money from any number of sources including Al Queda and Iran. Holden didn't think the offer would work, apart from not killing them both immediately this bloke seemed to be acting pretty professional, but even if he was, it didn't hurt to offer.
"We're worth a lot of money alive mate we..."
Holden stopped mid sentence the Iraqi had simply stood up and walked outside hadn't even given them a backwards glance, outside Holden watched as the Iraqi checked the body in the courtyard and then pulled the door to the compound open just enough to slip through and disappear out into the street.
The Ambush hadn't been particularly slick or well planned, they'd turned into a street which they hoped would lead them to a main road heading directly out of the town, but as the first car had made the turn two vehicles had pulled out to block their path a dusty red pickup and a battered white Mercedes, the shooting started as the drivers of both vehicles had jumped out and ran for cover.
Considering the accuracy of the ambushers in retrospect Holden thought it was probably a fluke the first burst of fire had blown out the windscreen, throwing Pat and jock back in their seats before Holden even had a chance to tell Pat to reverse.
Holden lent forward past the drivers seat to try and pulling Pat off the steering wheel where he'd slumped, Paddy's chest was covered with blood and Holden struggled to find a pulse, he gave up when the another round hit the car, it sounded like someone had just jumped on the bonnet. The second round blew the remainder of the windscreen out and punched a fist sized hole through Paddy's body, the drivers seat, and the rear passenger seat, filling the car with smoke, glass,dust and blood. Holden didn't have to to check on Jock he wasn't going to stay in the car, he grabbed von Junzt by his jacket and kicked the passenger side door open only to have it torn of its hinges moments later as it was struck by one of the large rounds pummeling the car.
Almost crawling on all fours the two of them piled out of the Hyundai, as they did so they felt it lurch almost tipping them out onto the kerb another heavy round had struck the front axle and broke it in two. Clear of the four by four they sat momentarily in the gutter.
Fifty metres down the road the other 4x4 had stopped, it was slewed across the road the with the remainder of the team using it as cover as they poured fire down the road towards their ambushers. He saw Dennis wave frantically trying to get them to run back to the rest of the team. He thought momentarily about grabbing the German and dragging him along the road to the safety of the others, but the car continued to be hammered by their unseen attackers another tyre blew out while they sat their. Holden decided they'd never make it they needed a safer route.
He hauled the German to his feet and pushed him towards the rusted iron door which marked the entrance to someones home. The door was locked or bolted but definitely not opening, they squeezed themselves into the doorway as their attackers continued to pour fire into the car behind them, distracted by the pyrotechnics their ambushers systematically shot it apart.
Suddenly the door was pulled open from the other side and Holden found himself staring into the face of a very startled Iraqi. The Iraqi started to shout and both fumbled to bring their weapons to bear, Holden slammed his shoulder against the door pushing it open at the same time dragging his Demarco around and pushing its muzzle through the now open doorway and burying it in the mans stomach before pulling the trigger. It wasn't like the movies the man wasn't thrown back he simply crumpled where he stood.
Pulling von Junzt through the door Holden found himself in a small courtyard, he put his back against the door and started pushing it closed. The second Iraqi came running out of the house just as the door was shut, he was struggling to load an RPG launcher as he went and was totally oblivious to Holden and von Junzt. Holden emptied his whole magazine didn't stop firing until he heard the dead mans click.
They were both careful to stepped over the Iraqi as they went through the doorway into the house.
Holden moved to stand just inside the doorway hidden in shadow, every so often he'd lean forward just enough, to scan the small courtyard; the two Iraqis they'd run into as they entered the courtyard, lay bleeding in the sun, the one with the rocket launcher was definitely dead, but every so often in the lulls between bursts of fire outside, he'd hear the first one crying softly to himself.
Outside the gunfire seemed to slacken and he could hear at least one of the team's cars driving away. He knew the team would be driving back to the last agreed rendezvous point, an alley a several hundred meters back along their route, he hoped conditions would allow them to wait there a few minutes so he and the German could get back to them, but if the team had other casualties they'd want to get back them back to the US base and proper medical attention, he and the German would be expected to hide or extract themselves an unlikely proposition.
Holden tried his radio handset again, he must have damage it as he pushed through the doorway as the handset had a large crack in it and all he could get out of it was the hiss of static. Behind him the von Junzt crouched in the middle of the doorway by the body of the second Iraqi; Holden thought he might be having a bit of a breakdown until he heard him muttering to himself, momentarily he wondered why Latin then realised he must be praying.
Noise at the back of the house made them both look up, Holden gripped the Demarco and shifted towards the corner of the room away from the doorway from where he could cover both the doors, he hissed at von Junzt trying to attract his attention, but the German simply held up a hand to silence him rocking backwards and forwards on his heels he reached forward and started to draw in the Iraqi's blood with his finger.
"Fuck he's flipped" Holden thought. standing, he took two steps to across the room, reaching out with one hand intent on grabbing the von Junzt by the collar and pulling him back into the corner, but as he did so he realised he'd made a serious mistake, the Iraqi who stepped into the doorway had his weapon already at the shoulder and instantly swung it to cover where the two of them crouched by the body. There was absolutely no way Holden was going to be able to bring his gun to bear before the Iraqi shot them both, unlike the amateurs in the street this man carried himself like a professional.
"Its alright mate, no need to get all hasty"
Holden laid the Demarco down on the ground, then held out his hands palm up.
"see mate no gun"
The Iraqi lent into the room checking the corners, he yelled in Arabic to someone out of sight behind him, somewhere from the the back of the house came a response. Holden continued trying to keep his voice level and not show any fear.
"We just all need to be calm about this, no reason we can't be friendly, we're worth more to you alive than dead eh."
The Iraqi ignored him, walked into the room and knelt down by the body quickly checking for a pulse, then frisking the body. Holden wondered whether he should try overpowering him but the Iraqis gun rested on his knees muzzle pointing uncomfortably at his crotch, unless he could overpower him straight away he'd likely wind up seriously injured after which the Iraqi's friends would likely arrive and kill them both.
"he was like that when we got here mate, we tried to save him but he was dead already".
Still the Iraqi ignored him Holden didn't think they'd have much chance unless they could get him to recognise them as human beings rather than some kind of irritation, yet nothing he said seemed to make any difference to the Iraqi fighter, who seemed to act as though they weren't there.
Holden made to start another overture, thinking perhaps he could offer him money. Just prior to the 2003 invasion of Iraq Saddam announced a general amnesty for virtually all the nation's prisoners, while some of these were political the greater part were common criminals most of whom were happy to shoot at Coalition forces in exchange for the money from any number of sources including Al Queda and Iran. Holden didn't think the offer would work, apart from not killing them both immediately this bloke seemed to be acting pretty professional, but even if he was, it didn't hurt to offer.
"We're worth a lot of money alive mate we..."
Holden stopped mid sentence the Iraqi had simply stood up and walked outside hadn't even given them a backwards glance, outside Holden watched as the Iraqi checked the body in the courtyard and then pulled the door to the compound open just enough to slip through and disappear out into the street.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
In the house of Tikrit II
It was Holden thought akin to a scene out of a movie, as they stepped through the gateway two dozen assorted firearms were cocked and pointed in their direction. Scattered around what had had one time been the loading bay for the factory small groups of armed men about their morning chores, were now paying a great deal of interest in what Holden and the German did next.
Holden felt the sweat drip down the back of his neck and wondered if the German’s bulk would protect him from injury if he retreated back through the door. Before he could grab the Germans collar and drag him out he had stepped forward arm raised in greeting.
"Assalam-o-Alaikum, I seek Suleiman Sabawi Al-Tikriti if he is here could you tell him, his friend von Junzt is here."
Holden watched two dozen men shift restlessly rifle barrels didn't waver, the courtyard remained almost silent except for the sound of breathing. von Junzt tried again this time repeating himself in Arabic, Holden could really understand what he was saying past the names, but this time there was a result at the back of the courtyard two men conferred for a moment before disappearing through an open doorway. Most of the men returned to their chores but a number remained where they were guns while not aimed at them certainly still pointed in olden and the German's general direction.
Finally the man returned this time accompanied by a Flabbily fat man, red faced, with thick hair plastered to his head by sweat, his torso like some large soft egg, belly straining against the buttons of a pair of well worn combat trousers, the man reached into the pocket of a black leather waistcoat worn over a white cotton shirt both a size to small stretched to breaking over a spreading belly, thick pudgy fingers came out grasping a hand rolled cigarette which he stuck into his mouth. As he looked up at von Junzt and Holden he smiled.
"I know his type" thought Holden "the jolly fat man all benevolence, good humour and bonhomie on the outside twisted fuck on the inside". Holden looked at the mans eyes they were dark, made small by the puffiness of his face, they were the only part of his face which wasn't smiling.
von Junzt stepped forward hand outstretched.
"Assalam-o-Alaikum, Suleiman, old friend how are you"
Holden noted Suleiman took the time to draw deeply on the cigarette before taking von Junzt's in his own bloated hand allowing it to wave in the air for a few moments. Then he laughs.
"Welcome, welcome my friend, welcome to my humble abode, not quite my old home, I'm sure you'll agree, but the company is good."
Suleiman laughs and some of the assembled men closest to him join in, but then he stops laughing abruptly, he looks at Holden as though noticing him for the first time.
"I must have words with my nephew, I am sure I instructed him to tell you to come alone, yet my men tell me you are here with enough men to start a small war, I would be very upset if I thought it was because you did not trust me."
Holden notes for the first time von Junzt looks a bit unsure of himself. Holden wonders whether the German has over estimated his reception, he watches as von Junzt makes some excuses about the state of lawlessness caused by the presence of the Americans and how Saddam would never had allowed things to get so bad.
Suleiman waves a hand.
"The matter is forgotten, let us go inside and we will talk about the tablet over some tea"
He points his cigarette at Holden.
"But this one will stay outside"
Holden, made to protest but again found himself staring down the barrel several as men moved to block his path. von Junzt turned.
“Its OK Holden, I am among friends here. There is no need for you to worry about my safety, wait outside with the cars I will return shortly.”
Holden didn’t waste time arguing, just as he’d done at the museum the day before von Junzt didn't wait for a response but had simply turned his back and disappeared inside the building after Suleiman. Holden reached behind him for the door, making sure he didn't take his eyes of the occupants of the loading bay, with much searching he found the open door and pulling it open stepped through.
Outside he had to explain to the others what was going on, the teams response to this was universally negative and very vocal. von Junzt’s attitude had already made him unpopular with the rest of the team and his decision to leave the team while they stood around it what was one of Iraq's most hostile towns did nothing to improve their general feelings towards the man.
The team stood under an increasingly hot sun watching for activity among the growing number of local people on the streets. Fingers remained if not on triggers then very close, no one paced about and talk was limited to brief updates as each member of the team informed the others about what changed about the things they could see, as one they all fought boredom.
Holden watched the locals, they showed some interest in the team, a brave few waved but the majority of the adults turned their back on the team when they realise they were being watched, they weren’t particularly aggressive towards the team, some kids even ran up to them demanding sweets. Most simply seemed sullen which didn’t surprise Holden considering how much of their town lay in rubble. "Its a tough environment" he thought "they have little to be happy about."
An hour later Jock Grant reports a mixed patrol of US marines and police crossing a junction further up the road, several of them stopped and observed the team then moved on, fifteen minutes later they all heard the crackle and pop of gunfire, they listen to it following the progress of the ambush by the tempo of the gunfire and explosions. They all wonder wether they are going to get caught up in the Americans fire fight but eventually it quietens down.
After two hours Holden was just starting to wonder if he should go back through the gates and find von Junzt, then all of the sudden the man appeared, he said nothing as he went to the car withdrew his Samsonite briefcase from the car and started walking back to the compound. Holden rushed up, he wanted to tell von Junzt they were putting themselves at considerable and as far as he could see unnecessary risk, but he was to slow off the mark von Junzt was already back through the gate before Holden could reach him. Holden was standing outside the gate swearing to himself when the gate cracked opened and von Junzt's head appeared.
"Tell everyone to get ready I'll be out in five minutes and we will need to leave immediately"
Then just as quickly he is gone, leaving a fuming Holden to inform the rest of the team they are going to move in five minutes. Von Junzt is true to his word, five minutes later he returns; without the Samsonite briefcase but with what looked to be some kind of stone tablet wrapped in an old worn tea cloth. He almost runs to the car.
"Everyone in we go we go."
Holden is unsure wether to be amused or worried by the fact he notices von Junzt's German accent shows through when he is worried. He puts the thought out of his mind as the two 4 x 4's pull out into the road and accelerate out of town.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Apologies
For those few who are bothering, sorry no post today. I am coughing and wheezing and am generally full of snot, in simple terms feeling completely sh*t.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
In the house of Tikrit
The ageing 4x4 raced through a gap in the slow moving traffic, rattling along the potholed roads of Fallujah, occassionally mounting the curb or crossing the central reservation to drive down the wrong side of the road. Paddy was driving one hand either glued to the horn, or making rude gestures to the other slower drivers on the road, occassionally he practiced his limited repetoir of Arab swear words, and the heated exchanges of Arab male voices would fill the car. All in all it was not a pleasant experience, but it was one Holden had grown to live with.
Their journey had been meticulously planned the route as well as possible alternatives mapped out the whole team had been involved - every potential threat had to be taken into account, which meant phone calls had to be made and intel gatherered they needed to know which roads the military were currently designating “red routes” because they were dangerous either, because of recent IEDs (improvised explosive devices, or roadside bombs), suicide bombings (by car or on foot) or attacks by gunmen. The list of possible threats changed on a daily basis and the team needed to get the most up to date information
Getting to Falluja had been remarkably easy, Holden had half expected, half hoped to be turned away by the military long before the they got anywhere near entering the town. But at each checkpoint Herr Junzt had got out of the car and after talking discretely with whoever was in charge they had been waived through, at the dozen Iraqi police checkpoints Holden had assumed Junzt was simply dropping bribes, but he'd done the same thing with the US Marine Captain who originally adimantly refused to let them through.
Under normal circumstances the Armburst close protection teams would drive around in armoured Hyundai Tuscon 4x4's. Holden didn't like them, while the Hyundais were able to go cross country they had no speed or acceleration due to all the armour they were carrying, his personal preference would have been for a Landrover or Rangerover but Armburst simply weren't going to fork out the cash.
By far the worst thing about driving the 4x4's was the fact they screamed "hey look I'm a westerner" and as they entered the slums of southern Fallujah that morning attracting the attention of the locals was the last thing he wanted.
Now as they drove through the near empty streets, Holden wondered just who Junzt was working for, he certainly didn't seem like a typical academic, his behaviour and his retisence to talk about anything he was doing made Holden and the rest of the team wonder wether he was involved with the intelligence community, but Holden couldn't help but think of him as an overweight and slightly criminal version of Indianna Jones.
Junzt had given them general directions for where to go in Falujah, but once within the confines of the town he started to give Paddy more detailed instructions, Holden noted he did this without notes which meant he either had a really good memory for directions or he had been here before.
The directions took them into South Fallujah through neighborhoods which were uniformly horrible, The houses here were smaller than anything he'd seen and far more decrepit. nearly every houses displayed some kind of battle damage, concrete walls stood apparently at random like some kind of tombstones, garbage and rubble in equal quantities. Holden was reminded of some kind of Mexican shantytown.
An American Marine he'd got chatting to at a bar in Camp Victory had told Holden there simply wasn't any real economy left in Falujah most businesses had simply up and left when all the fighting started and never came back; unemployment here was as high as fifty percent. It was no surprise he said that during periods of heavy fighting there were more insurgents in South Falujah than elsewhere in the city, not because the inhabitants held strong ideological or political views but simply because Al Qaeda was paying cash and they needed the money to survive.
Finnally Junzt indicated for Paddy to stop outside what looked to be a small factory. The second car pulled up some distance behind them and the team climbed out each man climbing out and taking up a pre arranged position besides or near to the car which meant someone was looking in every direction. The exception was Holden who stood next to Junzt, who now pulled open one of the steel the gates into the factory.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Broken Past - 3 months ago.
Baghdad had been a lot worse than Holden had expected, he'd been thinking Belfast during the cowboy years of the 1970's, wereas it was much, much worse. The day they arrived three car bombs were detonated outside the Buratha mosque in the north of the city leaving 90 people dead and over 150 injured.
Ethnic cleansing was ging on big time in Baghdad Shia and Sunni militias shot it out with one another over control of street corners, dead bodies in the street were a common site especially in the districts of the city with mixed Shia, Sunni populations. But if the militias were busy trying to murder one another you could rely on them along with the Baathists and Islamists to to find the time to try and kill foreigners.
Even being off duty wasn't particulalry restful, all of the Armburst teams working out of Baghdad were based in a large compound. The compound was a large and attractive villa on the banks of the Tigris. It had seemed a great location at first off duty teams would soak up the sun on the large patio or sit on the villas jetty with their feet in the river.
Under normal circumstances it would have been a beautiful place to stay and certainly the accomodation rivalled any hotel within the Green Zone. They stopped going down to the jetty after they found the first corpse, hands bound and gunshot wounds to the head and bearing the signs of torture washed up against the jetty.
It only took the locals a few days to work out who was staying at the villa and from then on they would take regular potshots at anyone sitting on the patio from the other side of the river. They screened off the patio and moved inside but the compound still regulalry came under fire, those members of management who'd argued Armburst's offices not be in the Green Zone, lest they be walled off, literally and psychologically, from the real world in Baghdad were soon regretting their decision.
Outside the compound contacts became an almost daily occurrence, just about every faction in the city seemed prepared to take a break from killing one another to try and kill the foreigners. It came as no surprise when after one particularly hair raising day their principle announced the climate in Baghdad was to risky and he was returning to the UK.
There was no chance Armburst were going to let them loaf around the compound and a contract for Convoy duty was soon assigned to his team. For three weeks they escorted convoys for the Iraqi electricity ministry bringing up parts by trucks for Baghdads powerstations, they were attacked nearly every day normally more than once as they rolled through the territories of different factions. It was exhausting work both physically and mentally, tempers frayed and they all talked about giving up and going home, but the money was good and nobody followed through with their threats.
Holden had been on a rest day sitting in the Armburst Control room, swapping war stories about Northern Ireland with Danny the watch keeper and former company sargeant major with the Ulster Defence Regiment. When Paddy had walked and sat down beside him on the desk.
"Hello mate, enjoying your rest day...got a job for you babysitting a Herr Junzt, here as a representative of the German government looking into the care and preservation of antiquities, I've told him in light of what happened to his last protection team Armburst will assume the contract and your team will provide his security"
"What happened to his last CP team then".
They're all dead mate, got a bit sloppy with their vehicle drills and an IED took them all out, luckilly for him Herr Junzt got out without a scratch. Not to worry though mate, you can use both the armoured wagons for this job they're just out of the shop and there's a pay bonus for the whole team to sweeten the pot. Compared to the convoy work it'll be a doddle you simply act as Herr Junzt's armoured taxi around to the museums and historical sights while he does whatever it is he does simple.
Which is why after three intense weeks of convoy duties Holden and half the team found themselves standing outside BIAP's arrival terminal waiting while the rest of the team went inside to pick up Herr Junzt. The airport was bustling with security contractors, businessmen and NGO's all under the watchful eye of ex-ghurkas employed by the Iraqi government.
The other half of the team came out of the airport terminal, with Pat pushing a trolley on which were two canvas holdalls and a camera bag, walking beside him ciggarette hanging from his mouth was the German Holden had last seen at the Hilton two months ago. When the German saw him a smile crossed his face, he stopped and took the ciggarette out of his mouth. "Aah the historian"
Junzt threw the camera bag into the back seat before climbing in himself and sliding across, Holden got in after him, while Pat threw the rest of his bags into the boot, as they pulled away from the Kerb Holden began to brief Herr Junzt on what to do if they were attacked while travelling to the hotel, however almost as soon as he started taslking the German interrupted him.
"I know all this my previous bodyguards they told me the same thin, however before we head to my hotel I have some business to conduct, I would like to go to the the Iraq National Museum I can give you directions if you do not know where it is."
As they drove to the museum, Holden thought about Her Junzt's previous CP team, wondered wether he'd listened to their advice, or dismissed it as easily as he'd just done Holden's. At the museum it was Pat and his half of the team which stayed outside with the cars while Holden and the others went inside, with the temperatures rising with the approach of midday Holden was glad to be inside the cool of the museum. As they followed the German into the museum the other two team members both former sargeants Jock Grant with the Black Watch, Dennis Johnson with the Parachute regiment took up positions front and rear, Holden as designated bodyguard walked beside Junzt He was surprised when the German started talking to him.
"When I came here, it was days after ther Americans liberated the city, the floor was litterally covered in pieces of broken pottery.The looters had simply gone from shelf to shelf, pulling down the statues, the pots the amphorae priceless antiquities of from every age Iraq's history. They were poor men they didn't understand some of those pieces were more valuable than the gold and jewelry they were looking for...of course they took the gold as well".
The German stopped for a moment taking in the exhibits he walked over to a half empty display case, small white cards were the descriptions of the items which had been looted. The German sighed.
"This was once one of the world's best collections of pre-Hellenic statuary, gold jewellery, and cuneiform writtings in the world. The Iraqis did this to their own history, when I arrived there were still no American soldiers or policemen to guard it, just the bullets cracking over our heads because the locals were fed up with the looters and had decided to take matters into their own hands." He paused "Look at this."
The German leant forward to pick up a massive hunk of pottery in both hands, he carefully tilted it so the delicate patterns catch the light.
"This was originally part of a jar, it was smashed... its Assyrian. they ruled 2,000 years before Christ. To a historian priceless, to the majority of those who looted this place it was simply old junk with no value"
The German placed the massive piece of pottery carefully back on the shelf then moved on. They walked together down a side corridor guarded by broken statues, at the end the German waved at Jock to lift a rope barrier to let them all past.
"To reach the storerooms, the mobs had to break through massive steel doors, which implies some planning on at least somebodies behalf. Some of the items stolen had never been on display, weren't mentioned anywhere and would only have been valuable to a small and very distinct group. It will take decades to sort through what they have left, the broken pots, the statuary, the treasures, the jewellery, the books."
The German stopped below a huge stone statue of a winged bull as a young Iraqi approached. The German and Iraqi clasped hands and exchanged greetings in Arabic.
"This is Abdul al-Tikriti, he was one of my students when I was proffessor of antiquities at Berlin University, now he is doing me a small favour in providing me with some information."
Holden and Abdul shook hands, then the German and the Iraqi turned their backs on the team and started talking rapidly in arabic, the conversation lasted several minutes at the end of which the two exchanged papers or more correctly Abdul handed Junzt a small slip of paper while recieving in return a brown envelope obviously full of cash.
They walked back through the museum in silence, the German obviously deep in thought occassionally slowing as he took time to glance at whatever was written on the piece of paper. As they stepped outside Herr Juntz stopped.
"We can go to my hotel now I will not need you again until tomorrow."
Glad to find his day was finally ending by the time he thought to ask what they were going to be upto the following day Junzt's was already climbing into the car.
"May I ask what the plan is for tommorrow sir, so we can make any necessary plans"
The german paused half into the car.
"of course, of course it will be a long day tomorrow, we must go to Falujah."
Holden could have sworn their was a hint of amusement in the tone of the German's voice.
Name
It seems in the early draft I did have a name, or at least I had a surname for the character - I hesitate to call him the hero, as I don't view him as heroic but this may change .
Anyway the surname was Holden. No christian name for him yet, but then he may simply be one of those people who is only referred to by their surname.
I guess I'll have to go through the existing chapters sometime and replace all those references to 'he' with Holden now.
Oh and the next chapter is coming tomorrow, I just have to do some research on BIAP.
Anyway the surname was Holden. No christian name for him yet, but then he may simply be one of those people who is only referred to by their surname.
I guess I'll have to go through the existing chapters sometime and replace all those references to 'he' with Holden now.
Oh and the next chapter is coming tomorrow, I just have to do some research on BIAP.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Arrivals - six months ago.
Paddy had phoned up early Monday morning just after he'd come back from taking the kids to school, apparently a slot had just opened on a job in Northern Iraq, he didn't ask how but assumed the worse, Penalty clauses in Armbursts's contract meant they were paying through the nose every day the slot went unfilled so Paddy had been told to get it filled as soon as possible no questions asked which meant he'd got the phone call.
The kids had thought it was really exciting, they'd seen the old pictures of him in uniform around the house and now daddy was going off to be a soldier, he didn't bother to correct them when they talked about him seeing them at the weekend. Linda had held out pretty well until they went to bed, then had been all tears, he gave her pretty much the same spiel he'd given her before..."He wouldn't be going out looking for trouble, he wasn't going to take unnecessary risks, he'd be working in a quiet part of the country, he'd be back soon and they'd be able to pay off a load of their debts. He didn't tell he thought he was replacing someone who'd caught a packet, some things he decided were best left unsaid.
Two days later he was standing in Istanbul International Airport's arrival hall, his old DPM burgen at his feet and a new daypack slung over his shoulder, waiting for the Armburst driver to take him to Armbursts's Istanbul office. Paddy hadn't given him much time to get his kit together and despite his best efforts not to outfit himself as a gun for hire, it soon became apparent by the tattoos and haircuts every 'Soldier of Fortune' off to work in Iraq was dressed in desert boots, tan cargo pants and t-shirt just like himself.
It was probably the clothes which gave him away to Pat. Pat Lowe was thirty had served twelve years in the army as a gunner but had left five years ago and had been work for Armburst ever since, it was his second trip to Iraq, he reckoned after his last tour in the south of the country the Kurdish north would be pretty much a breeze.
Paddy had met them at Armburst's Istanbul office a small villa on the coast just outside the city, he'd given them a quick brief them on the job which amounted in his words to "wiping the arse of an overpaid BP executive trying to bribe a pipeline contract out of the Kurds" and then sorting out their paperwork.
He hadn't been able to find out the reason why he suspected cost, but Armburst didn't fly its contractors into BRIAP rather they drove then over the border from Turkey into the Northern part of Iraq. It was cheaper and the ethnic Kurds who made up the the majority in the region were no friends of either the Baathist freedom fighters or Islamist jihaadi, this area of the country was considered fairly safe, at least when it was compared to the rest of Iraq.
Their driver for the first part of their journey was a young Turk called Mustaffa. Mustaffa's driving style was unique in as much as he was as happy using his knees to steer as hands and obviously didn't feel in any way obliged to watch the road while driving as he would happily turn to his passengers in the back seat either to explain how much better off Turkey would be in the Kurds all buggered off and lived elsewhere, or how Manchester United were the best football team in the world if ypou excluded Galatasaray.
Pat a Leeds supporter had felt obliged to tell Mustaffa his own opinions of Galatasaray, so he'd simply settled back in his seat switched on his Ipod and settled down to sleep through as much of the journey as possible. He'd woken four hours later to find a much subdued Mustaffa, it was only later that Pat told him their football conversation had become so heated Mustaffa had felt he needed to stop the car beside the road while he fought Pat for the honour of his home football team. As Pat described it he'd been forced to teach Mustaffa the error of his ways in three simple lessons.
At the town of Diyarbakir they'd swapped drivers, a sullen Mustaffa had thrown their bags into the boot of a tired and battered BMW, driven by middle aged Kurd by the name of Babik. Babik's English was far better than Musraffa's and it cam as no surprise to either of them that Babiks former job was as a school teacher, apparently cronyism meant he'd lost his job to a younger teacher who had connections in the PPK. Not that Babik minded as he was now earning three times his former wage working as a driver and fixer for Armburst.
Babik drove them South East to the border crossing at Zakho in Iraq. They'd arrived in the early hours Babik had told them both to sit tight then jumped out with all their paperwork, from the back seat of the car they'd see him running from one building to another building as he followed the Byzantine process of getting their paperwork approved and all the necessary stamps.
He cam back an hour later all smiles and drove them through the Turkish side of the border only to drive fifty yards before pulling over at the Iraqi immigration and customs section. They had to get out of the car while the Iraqi or rather Kurdish soldiers searched the car and their bags for. The immigration officers made a perfunctory check of their passports before stamping it from there it was only a few short kilometers to the city of Zakho.
They'd had breakfast at the side of the road just outside Zakho, hot sweet tea in small glass cups accompanied by a large plate covered in small pastries which the three of them had eaten with Gusto before heading off to Dohuk to meet the rest of the team and the principle. The first three months on the job were relatively straightforward apart from a couple of scares the biggest hardship was the fact electricity was in such desperately short supply he couldn't always recharge his iPod and hot water was a precious commodity.
It wasn't to last, when Pat and he got back from leave Paddy informed them the principle was heading south to Baghdad and they were going with him.
The kids had thought it was really exciting, they'd seen the old pictures of him in uniform around the house and now daddy was going off to be a soldier, he didn't bother to correct them when they talked about him seeing them at the weekend. Linda had held out pretty well until they went to bed, then had been all tears, he gave her pretty much the same spiel he'd given her before..."He wouldn't be going out looking for trouble, he wasn't going to take unnecessary risks, he'd be working in a quiet part of the country, he'd be back soon and they'd be able to pay off a load of their debts. He didn't tell he thought he was replacing someone who'd caught a packet, some things he decided were best left unsaid.
Two days later he was standing in Istanbul International Airport's arrival hall, his old DPM burgen at his feet and a new daypack slung over his shoulder, waiting for the Armburst driver to take him to Armbursts's Istanbul office. Paddy hadn't given him much time to get his kit together and despite his best efforts not to outfit himself as a gun for hire, it soon became apparent by the tattoos and haircuts every 'Soldier of Fortune' off to work in Iraq was dressed in desert boots, tan cargo pants and t-shirt just like himself.
It was probably the clothes which gave him away to Pat. Pat Lowe was thirty had served twelve years in the army as a gunner but had left five years ago and had been work for Armburst ever since, it was his second trip to Iraq, he reckoned after his last tour in the south of the country the Kurdish north would be pretty much a breeze.
Paddy had met them at Armburst's Istanbul office a small villa on the coast just outside the city, he'd given them a quick brief them on the job which amounted in his words to "wiping the arse of an overpaid BP executive trying to bribe a pipeline contract out of the Kurds" and then sorting out their paperwork.
He hadn't been able to find out the reason why he suspected cost, but Armburst didn't fly its contractors into BRIAP rather they drove then over the border from Turkey into the Northern part of Iraq. It was cheaper and the ethnic Kurds who made up the the majority in the region were no friends of either the Baathist freedom fighters or Islamist jihaadi, this area of the country was considered fairly safe, at least when it was compared to the rest of Iraq.
Their driver for the first part of their journey was a young Turk called Mustaffa. Mustaffa's driving style was unique in as much as he was as happy using his knees to steer as hands and obviously didn't feel in any way obliged to watch the road while driving as he would happily turn to his passengers in the back seat either to explain how much better off Turkey would be in the Kurds all buggered off and lived elsewhere, or how Manchester United were the best football team in the world if ypou excluded Galatasaray.
Pat a Leeds supporter had felt obliged to tell Mustaffa his own opinions of Galatasaray, so he'd simply settled back in his seat switched on his Ipod and settled down to sleep through as much of the journey as possible. He'd woken four hours later to find a much subdued Mustaffa, it was only later that Pat told him their football conversation had become so heated Mustaffa had felt he needed to stop the car beside the road while he fought Pat for the honour of his home football team. As Pat described it he'd been forced to teach Mustaffa the error of his ways in three simple lessons.
At the town of Diyarbakir they'd swapped drivers, a sullen Mustaffa had thrown their bags into the boot of a tired and battered BMW, driven by middle aged Kurd by the name of Babik. Babik's English was far better than Musraffa's and it cam as no surprise to either of them that Babiks former job was as a school teacher, apparently cronyism meant he'd lost his job to a younger teacher who had connections in the PPK. Not that Babik minded as he was now earning three times his former wage working as a driver and fixer for Armburst.
Babik drove them South East to the border crossing at Zakho in Iraq. They'd arrived in the early hours Babik had told them both to sit tight then jumped out with all their paperwork, from the back seat of the car they'd see him running from one building to another building as he followed the Byzantine process of getting their paperwork approved and all the necessary stamps.
He cam back an hour later all smiles and drove them through the Turkish side of the border only to drive fifty yards before pulling over at the Iraqi immigration and customs section. They had to get out of the car while the Iraqi or rather Kurdish soldiers searched the car and their bags for. The immigration officers made a perfunctory check of their passports before stamping it from there it was only a few short kilometers to the city of Zakho.
They'd had breakfast at the side of the road just outside Zakho, hot sweet tea in small glass cups accompanied by a large plate covered in small pastries which the three of them had eaten with Gusto before heading off to Dohuk to meet the rest of the team and the principle. The first three months on the job were relatively straightforward apart from a couple of scares the biggest hardship was the fact electricity was in such desperately short supply he couldn't always recharge his iPod and hot water was a precious commodity.
It wasn't to last, when Pat and he got back from leave Paddy informed them the principle was heading south to Baghdad and they were going with him.
Friday, February 15, 2008
The Astute among you.
So already I have a problem which many of you will have probably already identified, 'he' doesn't have a name. Anyone got any thoughts?
Oh and as much of this story will be based on what is now very dated personal knowledge - write about what you know they say - the lead character has a reasonable chance of becoming a Mary Sue version of me (thanks David for unwittingly keying me in on that one). Which is worrying as this guys is already starting to sound annoying and whiny; oh sure, you don't see it, but you don't have him living in your head.
Oh and I know the chapters are short but consider them placeholders designed to help shape the story, at a later date I'll come back and write in a whole load of additional scenes.
G
Oh and as much of this story will be based on what is now very dated personal knowledge - write about what you know they say - the lead character has a reasonable chance of becoming a Mary Sue version of me (thanks David for unwittingly keying me in on that one). Which is worrying as this guys is already starting to sound annoying and whiny; oh sure, you don't see it, but you don't have him living in your head.
Oh and I know the chapters are short but consider them placeholders designed to help shape the story, at a later date I'll come back and write in a whole load of additional scenes.
G
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Departures - Nine Months Ago
Holden's current predicament could be traced back at least nine months ago. He'd been thoroughly bored at work and seriously considering packing it all in. In those moments of reflection and when he was being honest with himself he could admit he was suffering some kind of a mid life crisis. Other guys would probably have chucked in their jobs and gone off to Pamplona to run with the Bulls, taken up an extreme sport or shacked up with a girl half their age. But Holden simply wasn't that adventerous.
The only thing stopping him was sense it wouldn't make much difference, he was bored with his job but he had no idea what he'd do if he left its warm reliable nine to five routine. He wanted to do something outside, something physical, something other than sit on his backside infront of a computer screen all day. Unfortunately, the sort of work he thought he might be interrested in invariably involved a massive paycut.
Occassionally, he thought about rejoining the army, but even he wasn't foolish enough to think at thirty-six he'd be able to recapture the life he had at twenty-one. Neither was he able to ignore the fact he'd gone to seed, when he dared weigh himself he clocked in a good two stone overweight and it was hard to ignore the way his knees creaked. A regular fitness routine had gone out the window shortly after he'd married Paula, replaced by regular meals. The vagaries of life with young children made it hard to get back into any kind of fitness routine without a level of commitment which Holden simply didn't have.
The answer had come a few weeks later the kids were in bed and Paula was cooking supper while Holden sprawled out on the settee to watch the news. Typically the lead story was about Iraq, another car bombing somewhere north of Baghdad, he was only half listening. The reporter, some square jawed blue eyed boy straight out of the BBC school of foreign journalism was interviewing a some guy about the bombing, Holden had only really started listening when he realised the guy the reporter was talking to wasn't a soldier but a security contractor, apparently this guy was earning about 500 quid a day, significantly he didn't look much younger or much lighter than Holden.
The conversation over the supper table was stilted to say the least, he explained to Paula that he wasn't happy as work but hadn't known up until that point what he might do instead, then he talked about getting a job in Iraq. She was worried surely it was a young mans game and he wasn't exactly fit. He countered, they wanted mature men not youngsters, he didn't add that no one likes to write a letters home to mum and dad to explain how little Johnny got blown up and they still haven't managed to recover all the bits of the body. He agreed he was carrying a bit around the waist but an exercise regime and propper work would soon burn it off. Then he talked about how he could earn five hundred a day, easy money. Money they could pay off the debts, clear the credit cards, hell if he did it for a couple of years then he could probably give up work completely if they were careful with the money.
She asked him whether he wouldn't miss her and the kids, Holden told her about the twelve week cycles, twelve weeks on three weeks off, he'd be spending more quality time with the kids than he did now. Finally, Paula sighed said she'd support him if this was really wanted to do, but they couldn't afford for him to be out of work long so he'd need to get a move on, he'd smiled told her how lucky he was to be married to her, her how much he loved her. Six months later as he'd lie awake in his rack he'd wonder bitterly why she hadn't put up more of a fight.
Holden handed in his notice a week later. Having done some preliminary research Holden had discovered there was now a Security Industry Authority who required him to hold a licence before he could be employed in the industry. He had drawn three grand from the mortgage account and signed onto a course, with an accredited company.
Two thousand quid meant he got to spent three weeks on an old abandoned airfield in the midlands. Training in the roles and responsibilities of the "high risk close protection operative". Learning among other things about counter surveillance, escort drills, route reconnaissance and planning and tactical driving techniques. The staff were all former SAS or Royal Military Police and they all seemed to know what they were talking about. He passed the course, passed with flying colours actually and he'd enjoyed himself despite the fact all the other guys were younger and noticeably fitter than him and most with a couple of tours of Iraq with the army under their belts.
After the course came the waiting, finding a job proved more difficult than he'd expected. Two months later and he'd only had two weeks work neither of which had paid anywhere near the 500 he'd heard abput. The work mainly involved driving a rich Kuwaiti and his family around London and carrying the shopping bags when asked, his instructors would have had a fit if they'd seen him in such instances, but try telling that to the guy who's paying you when he hands over the Harrods bags.
Needless to say the atmosphere at home was getting distinctly frosty. After a few weeks Paula started dropping hints, perhaps he should go cap in hand and see if he could get his old job back. By the end of the second month she'd stopped dropping hints and simply started yelling at him to sort his life out.
His break had come a few weeks later a friend of a friend pointed out his former platoon sergeant Paddy Green was now working for Armburst, a Private Military Company working in Iraq he'd made phone calls and arranged a meeting. They'd met in a Pub off the Euston Road shared a few pints as they talked about old times, then the conversation had turned to work. Paddy had not pulled any punches.
"Look putting aside the bitchiness and backstabbing and all the fucking waltermitties the fact is the business is bursting at the seams with guys and gals looking for work. So if you're looking to jump on the Iraq Gold Rush the last train left long ago. I'm paying 230 quid a day and that’s more than a lot of companies are paying.
Some well known names are paying as little as 150 per day. I mean you could earn more laying bricks on a building site back home. Profit margins are king not the blokes safety.
I mean if this is some mid life crisis why don't you go run with the bulls or start jumping out of aeroplanes, this work isn't going to make you feel any better about not getting up every morning with a hardon. Do you really want to go back to a world where the ability to not fall asleep while stagging on in a corridor for 12 hrs on 12 hrs off , for weeks on end is the key skill. You'll be treated like gash by clients who haven't the faintest. Or you'll be doing convoy work through shite hole Province in a vehicle with no armour and losing most of your team if you bump into the bag guys.
Can't say anything about the 'Stan 'cos I haven't had to go out there yet, but I bet its no better. Listen, this line of work has always been about knowing the right people, making the right contacts and your face fitting. You've been out for a long time now and you don't know anybody, your carrying a bit extra around the waist an thats being polite and frankly yer probably past it by a good couple of years."
He didn't say anything at first just nodded his head an almost whispered "I suppose so", then he'd stood thanked Paddy for his time, the disappointment writ large across his face.Paddy sighed.
Look, I'll fucking regret this I know I will, but I'll make some phone calls see what I can do"
He'd flown out to Iraq a week later.
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