WAR

CHAPTHER 1

         It was dark in the Snatch-2A 24v, the only light was through the front and side windows for the drivers use. Sweat slowly ran down Private Darren Clarkes forehead and gathered on the tip of his nose until there was too much and it fell or a bump in the road shook him. Clarke was a young man for the army, only 21 years old, tall and slim. He didn’t know what he was doing there, it was his only option he told his mother. Clarke kept his hands clamped to his knees but still he was shaking with fear. He was gazing at the soldiers feet across from him trying to keep focused. Clarke looked up at the other soldier as the Snatch jerked again when it hit a rock in the road. Private Luke Johnson was sitting across from him. Not much older than Clarke at the age of 25 yet he looked around 40. His face was etched with wrinkles and his hair was thin and balding. They had both taken their helmets off due to the heat in the small vehicle. They were part of the British Infantry in the 1st Battalion Grenadier Guards, the 2nd of 3 Rifle Companies. They and the other troops in the convoy had just been deployed in Afghanistan for a 6 month stay. And already Clarke was feeling the pressure of the heat and wanted to go home. But he knew that like everyone else there, he had a job to do. They were travelling in a small convoy of three vehicles. The one leading was a Vector, a light protected vehicle that was developed for patrol missions over varying terrain. It has the capacity to mount two general purpose machine guns (GPMG) on the roof using platt mounts for mobile fire support. it was carrying six troops including the driver and the passenger. The second was a Mastiff, a heavily armoured, 6 x 6 wheel-drive patrol vehicle that  carries six people. The third was a Snatch-2A 24v, deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan Snatch 2 is a protected patrol vehicle which held four. That’s where they were, Afghanistan. They didn’t know exactly where but they were there for one reason, to fight.          The war had got a lot worse from when it had started, it was now 2011 and there were a lot more terror attacks in western countries.     

         Clarke looked out of the front window and saw both vehicles, wondering if the troops in there were as scared as he was.  In the distance there was a small village. The Vector had a troop aiming the GPMG at the village as they passed. Looking forward Clarke could see that the village was deserted. Goats and cows that were no use to farmers now as they were too thin now roamed the streets as their pens had opened. Clarke looked back at Johnson, he had also not stopped staring at one small point in the back of this sweltering vehicle. His choice was to the right of Clarke’s head, a bolt that attached the vehicles small armour.  Clarke closed his eyes and thought of home and then he was screaming. There was a huge explosion that sent shockwaves through the ground and shook the Snatch. Clarke and Johnson looked out of the driver’s window. The Vector was blown in the air along with rocks and a lot of sand. The wheels flew from the arches and across the road. It landed in a fireball in a cloud of dust and smoke. The Mastiff skidded going out of line.                                       

“GET DOWN!” the driver screamed as he stared straight ahead looking at the attackers. It was like a subconscious action, hoping the other troops in the Mastiff had heard him. Clarke and Johnson, thinking the order was for them dropped out of their seats and onto the floor of the Snatch. They waited, hands on heads, nothing happened until their vehicle was shook again. Two of the attackers walked up from a ditch, RPG’s in hands aiming at the Mastiff. One fired at the front, clearing out the driver and passenger seats. The second was fired at the heavily armoured body. It blew it onto its remaining back right hand side wheels and it fell back down. Clarkes driver saw a young boy, around 16  run over to the half dead Mastiff with a grenade, he pulled the pin. The driver pulled out the pistol on the dashboard and shot from the side window trying to kill this boy, wondering that if he took him out was it the right thing to do, but it was either the boy or him. Bullets spraying the floor as the driver found his aim. With each missed shot, the boy jumped and weaved. Two other Taliban came from nowhere, popping up at the front of the Snatch with guns aimed. They opened fire, taking a couple of rounds to smash the reinforced glass but soon enough killing the shooting driver and passenger. Blood and chunks of flesh sprayed Clarke and Johnson as they cowered next to each other. Bullets piercing metal and tearing through the cloth and sponge on the seats the two soldiers were just sitting at.

The attacker, running at the Mastiff had pulled the pin and nervously threw the bomb around into the hole blindly. The four soldiers in the back didn’t even realise it was there, the next moment they weren’t. The young killer ran and fell as it exploded turning this heavily armoured vehicle to nothing but scrap metal. Clarke and Johnson lay there in the dark listening to the screams from the soldiers. They could hear footsteps moving from the front to the back and more joining. Clarkes breathing deepened, waiting for the inevitable death. Clarke turned over and sat up, Johnson stared and put a finger to his lips motioning to be quiet. The back doors suddenly opened without warning. The sunlight streamed in blinding Clarke and Johnson. There were twelve men in all outside the van. Two had opened the doors and four were aiming inside. Two jumped around and one hit Clarke in the face with the handle of his AK-47 machine gun. His nose cracked and he fell on top of his fellow troop. Two jumped in the van and grabbed Clarke by his collar and his combat pants. They lifted him and threw him onto the hot sand. He fell and felt the heat on his cheeks. He tried to get up and a tall man  with a thin greying beard  down to his chest stood on his back knocking him back down. Clarke struggled as he was breathing dust, blood slowly trickled from his nose staining the sand. Another man ran over shouting in Pashto waving his gun in his face. The two in the  back lifted Johnson up and walked him out. One let go of the Privates arm and sweeping his feet. He fell down and the man stood on his back. Johnson could see another three Taliban around twenty feet away talking. He could tell that they were the leaders, and that by the way that they were heavily armed and their language, part of the Taliban. The young bomber walked over to these leaders and one, a small man with a thin, pale face handed him a sub machine gun. He walked over to the captives and passed another Taliban walking to the leaders. The young Taliban stood next to another man who put a hand on his shoulder and shook him in a sort of friendly way. Like he was praising him for what he had just done. Then, Johnson looked back at the leaders, they were arguing and pointing at Clarke and Johnson. The thin man started to wave his gun in the air. The other shook his head and another leader, a tall built man parted the two. He gave the soldier a bag from his backpack. He walked back over to the British troops and bound them with cable ties.

Two Taliban lifted them up and dragged the two toward the village. The leaders joining as they passed. Clarke looked to his right, he saw another troop, Private Ben McIntyre. His lower half of his body was on fire and there was a huge gash, something had tore through his armour. Blood was pouring and he was running in circles, dazed and dying.  A Taliban ran over and hit Ben with the butt of his gun. Ben dropped motionless and the Taliban pulled out a pistol. Clarke was too far away to see what it was but it must have been powerful by the echo that ripped through the baron wasteland. He then looked behind him, bending his neck under his arm  and saw the other seven Taliban dragging bodies of his fellow troops out of the vans and shooting them. The ones alive were made to kneel and were shot in the back of the head. Blood splashing up against the vehicles side and onto the sand. He looked away and clenched his jaws and with every shot he heard he flinched. They were dragged through the village, past the buildings with fresh bullet holes in the walls. Clarke wondered when the Taliban had first came here because of these holes. Was it today? He asked himself and wondered where the bodies were. Clarke and Johnson were lifted and put into the back of a small, rusted Ford truck. A Taliban soldier climbed in with them before the engine started. He placed his AK-47 down, Johnson thought of should he try to knock down the enemy and kill him or would it be stupid to even think of such a thing. He looked at Clarke who’s head was down, blood trickling from his nose and dripping into a small pool in between his legs.

The truck started and Johnson knew that because the van was open topped and that they were being kidnapped, it was his time to move. He threw himself at the man’s right leg trying to snap it at the knee. Clarke looked up and froze. The Taliban sitting in the passenger seat in the front turned hearing the commotion. He grabbed Clarke by the back of his protective armour and dragged him back to the metal wall that separated the driver from the back. He wrapped his arm around the troops neck and squeezed with all his power hoping Johnson would see this and stop, but that didn’t happen. Johnson had knocked the man down and was squeezing his windpipe. The Taliban started to turn blue before passenger who had hold of Clarke started to squeeze himself. Clarke started to kick wildly trying to wriggle out of the man’s grip. Clarke was trying to kick Johnsons boot as he was unaware that his fellow troop was in the same life or death position as the Taliban. The passenger reached with his other arm to the glove compartment in the front. He opened it and underneath some papers was a pistol. He fumbled and loosened his grip on Clarke for just a second as he grabbed the gun. He turned, tightening his forearm on Clarkes neck and aimed at Johnson. Clarke looked up at the gun and saw it was a Tokarev TT 33 pistol. He knew instantly that this gun was made and used mostly in the Soviet Union. Although it was also used in places like Afghanistan and Pakistan as well as other countries. It flashed in the sunlight and before Clarke could react, the trigger was pulled. The bullet ripped through the metal floor in the back of the truck. Johnson knew that this was the one and only warning shot he would get but the Taliban was not going to get a chance to kill. The driver was shouting and waving one arm in anger whilst controlling the vehicle with the other.  The Taliban was already un balanced because of his position, but the recoil of the gun sent his arm flying up and trying to regain control he brought it back down. With this  Clarke swung his legs up, sliding onto his back and wrapped his feet around the Taliban’s hand. His ankles were crushing his wrists and the Taliban shot another two rounds. These hit the back of the truck, smashing one of the windows. The driver had enough, he skidded from the Taliban convoy. He opened the door and got out.

Clarke twisted on his back and the Talib’s gun fell on the floor. He still had hold of Clarkes neck and the driver opened the back door. He climbed in, Clarke was reaching for the gun but it was too far. The Taliban driver hit Johnson in the face knocking him on his back, the Taliban that was being strangled by Johnson was blue, motionless. He scurried past Johnson and kicked Clarke in the face. The Talib let go and he slumped to the floor. He was knocked unconscious, he walked back to Johnson and hit him again in the face whilst he was down. He connected with his face on his cheekbone whilst he was down. Another Taliban from the convoy climbed in with a bag of cable ties. They tied them up and pushed them into the middle. The Taliban on the floor was dead, they stood over him and stared at him. One jumped out and grabbed his arms, he dragged him out, dropping him onto the sand. The other in the truck grabbed the man’s AK47 and put the safety on. He jumped out and closed the door. He climbed back into the front and started the engine.

CHAPTER 2



They could see it form 3 miles away, a horizon of gold sands and a funnel of smoke rising in the east. As they got closer on the track, the third convoy saw that it was there fellow troops. The front vehicle stopped, a Spartan. The seven men inside being transported stirred as it stopped. The gunner on the top aimed at the near by buildings waiting for an ambush. The vehicles behind also stopped. A Jackal was the second, a open topped rapid assault vehicle capable to support itself and the crew for over 800km. Again the gunner on the top aimed with his GPMG at the buildings. The passenger propped 5.56 calibre light machine gun onto the door and took aim, the driver kept the engine running. The third vehicle then drove up to the front, overtaking the Jackal and stopping next to the Spartan. The Panther. Only been in operations since summer 2009, it is already one of the biggest use vehicles in the British army. It stopped on the right hand side of the Spartan, using it as a block from the village on the left. The driver of the Spartan looked to his right when the Chief of general staff  wound down his in the Panther.

“What’s the situation?” the Chief asked to the driver of the Spartan.  The driver leant forward and pressed a blue button next to a speaker on the dash board. “Status report” he said. He looked back, a muffle from the speaker and speech. “Three vehicles down, two heavily damaged the other not. They look like ours sir. No movement from the vehicles or the village.”  It was the gunner on the top of the Spartan. the driver repeated everything he said to the Chief as he couldn’t hear.  The chief looked grim, he started at his feet and looked up slowly. “Any casualties?” he asked, already knowing the answer.  The driver did the same again, pressing the button and repeating his question. The gunner replied, “i can see three on the floor and that’s it.” The driver repeated the news to the chief who looked somewhat hopeful. He looked into the back and asked for a troop to get into contact with General J Whakeston. The troop used a ATacCS digital communications device to contact the Helmand in the Kajaki area. This was now a quiet are of Afghanistan, home to over 200 British and American troops. The link was set and the Chief spoke to the General. He told him about the situation and the casualties and he ordered a search and shoot patrol of the village. The chief told the driver of the Spartan to get his men ready and the gunner on top signalled to the Jackal to gear up. The three men signalled that they are ready and they drove ahead. The driver in the Spartan hit the door that blocked the cockpit from the back three times, this was signalling to gear up and get out. The Panther then drove behind the Jackal that slowly, with guns aimed began to circle the village.

The gunner on the top of the Spartan climbed down from his perch and jumped onto the sand. He pulled his gun from his back and took aim. He ran to the back doors and unlocked them and climbed in. He told the troops about the patrol but not why. They all got out and aimed their light support weapons  toward the village. They took up a diamond formation whilst the Spartan drove to join the other circling vehicles. The soldiers split up, staying in pairs they each took a different path. They kicked doors down and stormed the  houses there but found nothing. No Taliban planning an ambush, no weapons and no food. The houses were dry and bland. Some burnt out and too unsafe for the troops to go in. They all regrouped back on the blocked road, this time in front of the debris from the recent ambush. “There’s nothing here chief but bricks, mortar and sand”  one troop said to the Chief in the Panther. “OK, get back in your vehicle and let’s get to the barracks. “What about the bodies” a soldier said, looking back at the full extent of the damage.  “We’ll leave them” he replied, “There not our business”. “There our troops!” he shouted, “we have to take them”. “We only do what the General says to do and the only thing i need to do now is to get you people down to the barracks, that’s my job. Not ferrying around corpses, ferrying around soldiers.”  The chief replied. “Now, get back in your vehicle and that’s an order.”  Seeing as there was no higher rank troop there, they did what he instructed and the set back off on their journey.