march our SOP � which everyone knew by heart � was that if we hit trouble the lead scout would put a 203 round towards the enemy and empty a magazine in their direction. By that time Two and Three should already have gone to ground, and be putting rounds down. Number One would then spring back, zig-zagging, and go to ground himself, to cover the other two, while the rest of the guys fanned out. Equally, though, it was import�ant not to panic and start firing at phantoms, as shots would immediately give our position away. Contact SOPs were second nature. But Vince, who was Number Two, kept dropping back, as if he didn't want to be near me. More than once he stopped and said, 'If we get a contact in front, whatever you do, don't fire back. You're better off sticking your hands up.' I said, 'Hey � if we get a contact, I'm shooting. Because if we get captured, we'll get done.' Down To Two67 `Don't,' he said. 'If you shoot one of them, they'll kill the lot of us.' `Bollocks!' I said. `You've got to think about it,' he insisted. 'I'm not doing it.' By that time the patrol had closed up again, and there was a bit of an argument. 'Get your finger out,' somebody told Vince. Nobody supported him. I just said, 'Stick behind me,' and led off again. A few minutes later a message came up the line, to slow down and stop. Somebody shouted, `Stan's gone down!' Stan! I thought, 'Jesus! He's one of the strongest guys in the patrol. What the hell's the matter with him?' I ran back and asked what was wrong, but he was on the deck and seemed to be nearly unconscious. All he could do was grunt. It was as if he was drunk, only half there. I'd seen students like that on selection courses, so knackered that you couldn't get any sense out of them. `What's happened to him?' I asked the next guy. Dunno. He just went over.' `Did he hit his head on a rock or something?' `I don't think so.' `Stan!' I said. 'What's wrong?' He just went `Urrrhhh!' One of the guys said, 'I reckon it's heat exhaustion. He's sweating like hell.' `Never!' I said. 'It can't be. The night's bloody freezing.' I'd been sweating a bit myself � but not that much. What we didn't know was that Stan was still wearing his thermal underclothes under his DPMs. He'd been caught out with them on when the contact started, and hadn't had a chance to take them off. The result was that he'd become seriously overheated and had sweated himself dry. Anyway, we got out our water bottles. I tipped sachets of white rehydrate powder into four of them, and started pour�ing the water down his neck. He drank three bottles straight off � one of mine, one of Andy's, and one from one of the other guys: six pints at least. That should have pulled him 68The One That Got Away round, but it didn't seem to have much effect. He was still dizzy and exhausted, not making much sense. Somebody said, 'We've got to look for a safe spot and leave him. Find a hole in the ground.' There was no way I'd do that. We couldn't leave one guy by himself � not when there were seven more of us, all strong and still fresh. I bent over Stan and said in a menac�ing voice, 'Listen: if you don't start walking, we're going to fucking leave you. Understand?' He nodded and gave a grunt. `Get up, then,' I told him. 'Get on my arse, and don't leave it. Just fix your eyes on my webbing, and keep that in sight.' Someone said, 'OK, Stan � give us your kit.' Andy took his Minimi, then said to me, 'Chris, take this,' and gave me his night-sight (generally known as a kite-sight), which Stan had been carrying slung round his neck. don't want that fucking thing,' I protested. The sight weighed four or five pounds, and I thought it would be a pain to have it dangling on my chest. But I took it � and thank God I did, because without doubt it saved my life. I also took a box of 200 rounds for the Minimi and slung it over my shoulder. We couldn't hang around any longer, because the vehicle lights were still bobbing about in the
Similar Books
