shout on the radio, they'll come and find you. Now we'd yelled ourselves hoarse on radios and TACBEs, and there had been no result. The disappointment was horrendous. When I'd got out my TACBE, I'd thought, 'This is my last resort,' and I'd fully expected to hear an AWACS pilot answer my call; I had no doubt that he'd have half the Regiment coming out in search of us. What we could not have known at the time was that the nearest AWACS aircraft was 500 kilometres to the east � about four times the maximum range of the TACBEs � and that we had been given the wrong radio frequencies, so that none of our calls on the 319 had gone through unscrambled. Now, deprived of our food, water, warm clothes and other Down To Two65 essential kit, we set our faces to the south. After half an hour someone shouted, 'We're getting followed up!' Looking back, we saw the lights of a vehicle. At first we couldn't tell whether or not it was moving, but then through Vince's night-sight we made out that it was definitely coming after us. In some places the desert was completely flat, with no features of any kind, and obviously the vehicle could make good speed across those pancake areas; but luckily for us there were also a lot of wadis, in which the going was rough and the driver had to crawl. There was no way he could still see us � the night was too dark for that � but he knew the line we'd taken down the first wadi, and he was driving on the bearing he had seen us follow, 180 degrees. The ground varied from hard-baked clay to gravel and loose rock, on which our boots inevitably made a crunching sound. There was also the rustle of clothes and pouches rubbing on each other. We could have been quieter if we'd gone slowly, but the paramount need was for speed, and I pressed on as fast as I could in spite of the noise, with the other guys close behind, at intervals of no more than two metres between each man. All the time I was thinking that, because the AA positions we'd seen were obviously guard�ing something, the military there would radio ahead, organising searchers to come round in front and cut us off. We already knew that although the desert seemed so empty there were outposts dotted all over it, and we could have walked on to a position at any moment. There was also the risk of stumbling into a bedouin encampment. After an hour, and maybe eight or nine kilometres, we stopped and came together in a group. Dinger took off his duvet jacket and started covering it with rocks. `What the hell are you doing?' I asked. `I'm ditching this fucker. It's far too hot.' `Keep the damn thing,' I told him. 'Tie it round your waist. You're going to need it.' Later he thanked me, and said I'd saved his life. But for the moment he cursed as we got going again. I kept thinking of all the stuff I'd left behind. I hated the idea of the Iraqis 66The One That Got Away pillaging our kit. No doubt they'd already whipped the patrol camera away � but unfortunately for them none of the film had been exposed. And what would they make of Tom Sharpe's Riotous Assembly? They'd also have got my dark-blue Patagonia thermal top, my bivvy bag, ten days' rations, the medical pack, a pair of land-line telephones, a couple of anti-personnel mines and some demolition equipment. At least they hadn't got my precious hip flask. With a flicker of satisfaction I remembered that we'd left the claymores and anti-personnel mines buried in the floor of the wadi, and wondered whether they'd taken any of the enemy out. I wished I'd kept more food in my pouches, and less ammuni�tion. As it was, I had nothing to eat but two packets of hard, cracker-type Compo biscuits, five in each packet. At the very least we were in for forty-eight hours of hard going, on little food and water. When you're moving in a straight line, and have a contact, it's usually the Number One who gets hit and, even if he isn't shot, it's Numbers Two and Three who have to get him out of trouble, a.s.a.p. On that
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