Sabre Six : File 51 (26 page)

“Fuck you, you fucking rag
-head cunt! Fuck you! Joe, Joe! It’s me, Michael!” Joe’s head lifted. His face was smashed to pieces, so he couldn’t see me; his eyes were fucked but I knew he could hear me.

They sliced his throat in front of me. I could
hear him gag for breath, and his lungs were still gasping for air when his head lolled over his chest. His body shook as he fell to a floor soaked red. I puked up again.

With the same knife, Joe’s killer walked over to me and sliced my chest; I could feel the blade dig into my skin, and I let out a scream. One of the guards grabbed hold of my right hand, straightened out one of my fingers and started to slice it off. I collapsed in agony. When I came to back in the cage the water was turning red, and they had cut off all my fingers on my right hand, leaving me just a thumb. I clenched my fist, exposing my only good thumb; I knew that it wasn’t long before I either drowned or starved to death. I really thought seriously, though, about my dream, the dream where I had escaped, I wondered if it was possible really to undo the knots. The tide had turned and it was getting deeper by the second; the water was up to my neck. I hung on the poles with my good hand, trying to keep my damaged one out of the water.

I d
ucked down under and opened my eyes to find the rope, but it was too misty. Pulling myself back up, I carefully exposed my head above the water, checking the huts for any soldiers. All were clear. I went back under and held the rope in my bad hand. I still had a stump or two in which to grab hold of things – I wasn’t that disabled.  I used my good hand to untie the rope; bit by bit it loosened! I went back up for air, feeling like crying; it was working, but I was more scared of getting caught by the guards. I rose up over and over again, my adrenaline pumping hard.

It took me a good three hours before the first pole dropped. I was physically shitting myself. By the time I got the second pole loose the guards were awake. One started walking towards me, his finger on the trigger. My head was barely above the water when he got to me. I was finished!

I started crying, sure now that all this effort had been for nothing, and my hands were in agony. He threw a piece of bread into my cage; I thanked him, and was then left alone for a further hour.

I was so scared
– knowing that if they lifted the cage once I was out, they’d see what I had been up to. All I needed was to make it through the day and somehow escape that night when the lights went out.  I had it all planned: I would rather have died out there than in my cage.

I was pulled out about midday. My privates had disappeared, shrunk back into my crotch. I was dragged over to a wooden beam, stood upright and bound.  I had no idea what was going to happen: I really thought they were going to shoot me there and then. In fact, they spent all mornin
g shooting around me, firing bursts of bullets all around my feet and over my head. I was screaming as one cut me behind my ear. I was left there all morning, and then at lunchtime, the guards sat around me eating their food: it was torture.

Once they had finished they threw their leftover’s about ten inche
s from my feet, I felt so angry, knowing there was nothing I could do about it.

Once the light had faded, two guards pulled up in a truck. I was still tied to the wooden beam as I sat and watched the guards pack the trucks with all the kit. It was quite clear to see tha
t we were off in the morning, and it was to my relief that they dragged me back over to my cage. I was given a good kick before I fell into the water, but it didn’t hurt any longer. I watched them walk off back to their huts. It was getting late so they’d be changing guard sometime soon. The rats came and wouldn’t leave me alone. One started nibbling around my rotting hand. I punched it off.

The guards had rested up
now, and it was time to go, I pinched myself to wake up, just in case it was a dream. I wasn’t taking any more chances: it was die here, or die out there.

I took a deep breath and under I went.

Chapter Ten: Sabre Six – File 51

My eyes were closed and the water was pitch black. I could feel something flap against my foot: maybe a fish? I was paddling like fuck, as I only had a short time to make a run for it before the wankers woke up. I was stark bollock naked in the middle of Afghanistan, and it wasn’t a good look! I couldn’t hold my breath any longer; I had to go up for air. Before I went under the water, I pointed out a marker on the opposite side of the bank. Hopefully it would still there when I emerged for breath!

“Fuck!” I had gained a
good distance from the camp, but I was now being washed downstream into the rocks. My pinpoint on the bank was gone; I had to act quickly before I smashed up my body even more than it already was.

The water was freezing
, a lot colder than against the bank. I kept my head just above the waterline, taking in deep gulps of water. This was agonisingly cold on my insides, but I didn’t care about the effect it might have on me later: I was too thirsty and desperate. There were trees on either side of the river, which was good news for me. I could see a few boulders up ahead, so I made sure I paddled away from them for good measure.

I looked be
hind me. It was still very dark, a lot darker now I had been washed downstream and the trees gave me good cover. In my own opinion, it was a blessing to be downstream. The first place I would track for an escaped convict, would be straight across the river. It would be the easier option. It just so happened that I must have hit the tide coming down the river at the right time. It was fucking freezing, but for the best.

I had one chance to grab a
tree branch which was hanging above the river. I was travelling at about eight knots. It was coming closer and closer. I lifted both my hands, both in shit state, used the only parts I had left and clung on for dear life. It fucking worked! I had made a connection. I stopped so violently that my body was jerked forwards, and my legs flung out. Involuntarily I made a lot of noise. I was only hoping that no one had noticed, as I knew full well that there could be Al-Qaeda patrols in and about the area. I was shit scared. I would rather die than go back to that camp!

Paddling towards the bank
was a lot harder than it looked. My hands were being ripped open by the gorse which was catching on my skin as I climbed up the bank. I tried not to yelp, kneeling down on one knee for a couple of minutes, trying to catch my breath. I felt like crying, I was in so much pain. I looked down at my hands and chest; I had a huge gash across my breastbone, and it looked infected.

I rubbed a little dirt into my skin for protection against enemy forces. It gave me a little hope. I knew that I would be walking around in enemy territory, so I wanted to get as much cover as possible.
The blacker I looked, the better I’d fit in. My biggest concern was being bare footed! There were so many snakes, insects and other fucking things about that one false step, and I was dead.

It was still dark out, even darker inside the tree line. I knew that I had to find high ground
, so I could get a bearing and hopefully find the mountains. Once I had that, I’d find my way back.

I took my first step and fell over
on my face. I kept thinking I was still the big, strong boy from the past. I was only too wrong! I was a fucked-up, worn out, dying old man who had just escaped from an Al-Qaeda prison camp.  I had done well just to have gotten this far!

“Right
, Michael, you fucking cunt! Let’s go for it! You can do this!”

I stood up on both feet and picked up a piece of wood
, using it as a walking stick. It made things a little more comfortable for me.

Off I went,
moving into the darkness. I trod very carefully, mostly using my wooden stick as a guide. It also gave me a little reassurance for protection. If anything came near me at least I could whack it over the head. I moved further and further until I came to a small stream. I tested the water. It tasted fan – fucking – tastic! I dunked my head under as far as it could go, and gave my hands a good seeing to, cleaning them thoroughly. I got hold of a few large leaves and wrapped them up, keeping them dry and clean. I used a couple of roots as string to tie up the leaves. I did a good job with my teeth, seeing as my hand was fucked. Now fully hydrated, I picked up my stick and moved off. I crossed the stream and found myself walking down into a valley. The going was tough. I was just about to cross over a giant log lying across my path when I heard very clearly shots being fired into the air. They were obviously awake! I had been missing now for up to six hours, though, so I had a good head start on them. I made a further three hundred metres down into the valley when something spooked me!

I dropped down onto my knee. I was covered in black dirt so I wasn’t that easily seen in the darkness of the trees. There was a little li
ght coming through, but not much and I still felt fairly sure of myself. I was nervous, though, as I lowered my naked body onto the cold wet floor. I put my stick down by my side, scarcely moving a muscle, and looked down into the trees. There was a small divot about three hundred metres to my front and I could see something stirring. I moved my eyes only, looking for cover. I was in some serious danger: it could be an Al-Qaeda foot patrol or maybe just a lost cow; I needed to find cover, and quick. I crawled as gently as I could to my right hand side and pulled myself inside a bush, covering my tracks as I went. Then I panicked. “My fucking stick!” I was really annoyed. I pulled the scrub across my pathway, making sure it wasn’t obvious that a human being wasn’t living in it. My heart was beating like fuck.

I stopped fucking about and
lay down in silence! Something was coming! I could hear something cracking on the ground, possibly twigs. It was near enough on top of me! I laid down as quiet as I could. “My Jesus of Holy Christ!” I was no more than ten inches from someone’s foot, a pair of Jesus sandals.  The fucking rag-heads had found me. It was probably a foot patrol or something. I heard a radio; they had a fucking radio. They were looking for me, I knew it, the fucking cunts! One of the soldiers stood firm. I couldn’t turn round to have a look. I started panicking, thinking that he was just toying with me; he was probably looking down at me and waiting for me to notice him. My eyes filled with tears. I’d had enough – I just wanted to go home to Fran and Griffer. I was so scared that I’d never see them again. I knew that if I made it home, this would have been my last mission.

As I lay there
frozen solid, I felt a warm sensation pouring down on my back. The soldier was pissing into the bush, and all over my back. It felt rather nice actually! It soon stopped, and the soldiers moved off. I decided the best thing to do, was to stay where I was for a while. I was physically shattered and needed a good sleep, and I felt safe here for now. They would come back and go over old ground anyhow. I closed my eyes and decided to move when it was dark again. Moving in daylight was a no-go; I learnt that a long time ago.

It took some doing but I eventually
fell asleep. I was totally fucked up after being so close to dropping the other day. The sleep did me a world of good, but then I knew it was time to move. My best chance would be to continue the way the soldiers came. There is no way they’d tread back on themselves!

I very slowly craw
led out of the bush. It took me what felt like half an hour finally to clear it. I felt hyper-aware. Each leaf that blew in the wind was to me an Afghan soldier! I was very surprised to find my little wooden stick still on the track where I dropped it. I picked it up and let it take the weight of my left side, which was killing me. My hands were stinging like mad. I pulled some of the grass out of the ground and ate as much as I could, scavenging around for anything edible I could find. I even picked up a few grubs and stuffed them inside my mouth. I had no idea what they were! I looked over my shoulder, and then stubbornly picked myself up and moved on. It was a very slow process but it had to be done. I stuck one foot in front of the other and carried on down the valley. To me it felt like four hours: in reality, it was possibly just one. The trees played mind games. I was constantly stopping to look over my shoulder for any enemy presence. The Taliban were crafty little fuckers!

When I
finally hit the bottom of the valley it was with an overwhelming sense of achievement in my heart. I was so happy with myself, I started sobbing quietly. A tear dripped from my face and onto the ground below. My feet were bleeding, and starting to ulcerate. I rubbed some dirt into them to harden them up. It worked for a short while, and then the pain returned.

I followed a small stream that meandered aro
und a bend until I found a bank about twenty feet high. It wasn’t steep, just high. To my mind, the higher I was, the easier it would be to find my way to the mountains! I used my wooden stick to climb up. Half an hour later, I made it to the top, got down on my knee and looked in front and behind. I felt safe enough to move.

“Fuck!” I sank down onto my belly! My adrenaline was pumping around my body. My heart was going like fuck.