When farmers appeared and started to work in the fields, Dinger pulled Legs back into the hut. Then at mid-morning a man with some children in tow came within ten metres of the pump house. Seeing that he was about to be compromised, Dinger showed himself to the farmer, who locked the two soldiers in and ran off shouting. By that time Legs’ smock was dry, but he was slipping into unconsciousness. Clearly he could not move, so Dinger burst his way through the roof of the hut and made off towards the north, away from the river.
His plan was to pull the enemy away from Legs and give him a chance to recover.
Dinger was spotted almost immediately and followed by a posse of locals, who soon swelled into a crowd. He tried to do a runner, but was caught by the mob, one of whom wanted to cut off one of his ears. The guy was actually holding his ear when Dinger managed to bring out one of his sovereigns. The people fought over that, but then realized he had more, and he started handing them out, which cooled them down.
They walked him into a village, where the people went wild and beat him to the ground before he was handed over to the police. While in the police station, Dinger saw Legs being brought in on a stretcher. He was quickly loaded into an ambulance and driven away, but although Dinger watched closely, he saw no movement, and feared that his companion was already dead.
And that was the end of a brave escape attempt.
By the next night, when I had my own contact and made the Euphrates, the survivors were in jail, being questioned by the Iraqis. They were all brutally beaten for several days, partly in the course of interrogation, partly by their guards, who hit them casually whenever they saw a chance. Even Mark was beaten on his wounded ankle. I was glad that I had been tortured by weather, thirst and hunger rather than by human beings.
In Hereford, together with the Int Officer and a decent map, I worked out the exact distances I had walked.
On the first night, before and after the split, we covered 70 km.
On the second night Stan and I made 40 km, losing Vince in the middle.
On the third I walked another 40 km to reach the Euphrates.
The fourth night was the most frustrating, as I had to cover 40 km in zigzags and boxes to make only 10 km towards the border.
On the fifth night I advanced 30 km and then did another 5 to 6 km during the day, up into the wadis.
The sixth night took me into and out of the nuclear refinery — another 30 km.
The last and most terrible night I did between 40 and 50 km — most of them unnecessarily.
The total came to nearly 300 kilometres, or about 186 miles!
I found that people were beginning to compare my escape with that of SAS legend Jack Sillito, who trekked for more than 100 miles through the Western Desert of North Africa in 1942, having been stranded behind German lines. Without realizing it, I had easily beaten Sillito’s distance. But in fact, the two escapes were made in widely different circumstances. Whereas my main enemy was cold, his had been heat, and he had no river to give him water or guide him. Instead, he had navigated by the sun and the stars, and scrounged liquid from condensation in abandoned jerry cans.
At the end of June I heard the good news that in the Gulf War honours list I had been awarded the Military Medal. It was all very splendid going to London, and an honour to meet the Queen, but I would have much preferred to have received the Military Medal in front of the whole Regiment. I knew that the medal-winners included some of the bravest soldiers in the world, and every one had been fully earned.
Even now, many years later, I still see incidents from the patrol, and hear the sounds, as clear as day.
I see rounds flying between us during the first contact.
I see Stan walking off down the wadi with the goatherd.
I see the two hooded Arabs waiting for me on top of the mound.
I try to put the images from my mind, but they creep back in.
More and more I realize how lucky I was not to be shot, not to be captured, not to be caught up in the barbed wire on the border. Sometimes I feel that I must have used up all my luck.
All in all, my experience taught me a good deal about myself. Most people, I think, don’t know what they’re capable of until they’re put to the test. Before the Gulf War, if somebody had told me I could walk nearly 300 kilometres through enemy territory in seven nights, with no food and practically no water, with inadequate clothes, no proper sleep and no shelter, I wouldn’t have believed them.
When I had to, I did it. Whether I could do it a second time is another matter.
Back then I was at a peak of physical fitness, and armed with the skills, the endurance, the competitive instinct and the motivation which SAS training had given me. But I really hope I’ll never have to do something like that again.
Once in a lifetime is enough.
Author’s Historical Note
Although Saddam Hussein was forced to withdraw from Kuwait, he remained in power as the President of Iraq. The regime was widely perceived to be oppressive, including atrocities against specific members of the Iraqi community, and ultimately UK forces were involved in a second war against Iraq which began in 2003.
The invasion of Iraq led to an occupation and the eventual capture of Saddam Hussein, who was later tried in an Iraqi court of law and executed by the new Iraqi government.
The situation in Iraq remains unstable.
Read on for a preview of Chris Ryan’s brand-new series
AGENT 21
‘I work for a government agency. You don’t need to know which one… The people we are looking for are of a very particular type… You fit a profile, Zak,’ the old man said. ‘A very precise one.’
Zak Darke becomes Agent 21.
What happened to the twenty agents before him he doesn’t know yet.
What he does know is that his life is about to change for ever…
PROLOGUE
It didn’t take them long to die. It never does. Not if you do it right.
Al and Janet Darke had been looking forward to their trip. Lagos in Nigeria might not have been their first choice, but as the university where they worked had paid for them to come here for an international climate-change conference, they didn’t want to miss the opportunity of travelling around a bit once it was over.
They were a quiet couple. They kept themselves to themselves. They had both felt a bit scared when their taxi drove them from the airport into the busy, noisy, dirty city of Lagos. Cars sat in traffic jams, bumper to bumper. Their fumes made it difficult to breathe. Some of the buildings they passed looked quite grand; others were just shacks made out of metal sheets. And there were thousands upon thousands of people, everywhere. It made Oxford Street at Christmas look like a desert island.
So when they arrived at their hotel — a posh one called the InterContinental, bang in the middle of the city — they holed up in their room for a bit. Getting used to the heat and to being in a strange place. A shower. Some food.
‘Zak would like it here,’ Janet said as they stood on their balcony and looked out over the chaos.
‘If Zak was here,’ Al replied, ‘he’d be out there nosing around already. You know what he’s like.’
Janet smiled. Yeah, she knew.
It felt weird coming away without their son, but it was 22 April and the summer term had just started so they didn’t have much choice. Not that a couple of weeks out of school would have harmed him. Zak was a smart kid. Good with his hands. Good with his brain. The kind of boy who knew how to take care of himself. He had seemed perfectly happy to be staying with Janet’s sister and her family. Vivian and Godfrey were a bit severe, but Zak got on well with his cousin Ellie. His parents were sure they’d be having a good time.