the Red Route as fast as possible, and then stop at Yugoslav Bridge. The final leg round to us was always a surefire death trap. The north bank and OMS’s stronghold estate Aj Dayya threw up a series of choke points perfect for ambush. So for once, they weren’t going to give the bastards the chance to use them.
Instead, the Royal Welch Fusiliers would dismount, cover the kilometre of rough ground between us on foot, while crossing the Tigris on the dam and carrying in by hand the entirety of the resupply. Then, we’d come out the very same way. It was ballsy, and brilliantly simple.
The whole thing began with a deep rumble. We heard the 7th Cavalry coming long before we could see them. Almost 100 armed vehicles all moving in unison makes a hell of a noise.
As usual, the column got contacted on the city outskirts. This time, though, they were stopping for nobody. With bullets and RPGs pinging off their ultra-hard shells, the Challengers smashed through Mehdi Army defences with chain guns and main armaments blasting away, often at the same time. Anything that was deemed remotely hostile got the good news.
Again, we followed their progress from the roof, thanks to the light show of the white and yellow flashes of explosions, and the red tracer rounds pinging off in every direction from everything metallic — the column’s armour, civilian cars and trucks, wrought iron gates and fences.
Their junction drills were spectacularly slick; two Challengers stopped off on each side and blazed away repeatedly to cover the rest of the column across it. They were making astonishing progress.
Finally, once the first tanks passed Red 11, they began to come into our view. It was mesmerizing, an awesome display of force that none of us had seen anything like before.
Gradually, the column’s full might became apparent. Deploying a tactical spacing of 25 metres between each vehicle, the whole thing was almost two kilometres long from start to finish.
‘Fuck me,’ said Daz. ‘It’s bigger than Ben Hur.’
Chris just looked on stunned, his mouth wide open.
‘It’s like the wrath of God. Hey, maybe it
The closer it got to us, the more we could feel the armour’s vibrations under our feet. It was rocking the whole of the city.
The enemy was in disarray. The column moved so quickly, it gave no time to plan a proper attack. In their determination to finish us at Cimic the day before, the rebel alliance had totally neglected their own town defences. The few fighters that did come were uncoordinated and got pulverized.
The lead Challenger reached Yugoslav Bridge and stopped. Behind it, the Red Route was now completely full up with our armour, as far down as the eye could see.
I was listening in to the battle group net on my VHF. Delta was the tanks’ call sign.
‘Cimic, Delta One Zero. We’re in situ. Resupply beginning.’
Stage One was complete. Stage Two was more risky. Every round of ammunition, bottle of water and tin of food had to be carried by hand across a click of rough ground. That meant massive exposure to enemy gunmen and mortars, for some considerable time.
With eyes the size of oranges and ears the size of naan bread, we were on maximum alert for the first sign of any OMS attack. It still never came.
One of the first faces into Cimic House was Major Featherstone. He’d come in to command the Royal Welch Fusiliers. It was vital they had an experienced and battle-proven leader who knew Al Amarah inside out. For all his faults, Featherstone was certainly that.
Reliefs-in-place mean nobody leaves their post until the bloke who’s replacing you is in it first. Man by man, Cimic House’s defenders were seamlessly swapped. Then I heard a familiar voice on the roof behind me.
‘All right, granddad, you tosser. Some peacekeeping tour, eh?’
It was Ads. He’d come in on the column with De Villiers and H, the three snipers who’d been away on R&R. That warranted them an awful amount of abuse.
‘Oh, nice of your fucking rear echelons to join us. Good break, then? You’ve missed all the fun.’
Ads knew all about that.
‘No shit, Dan. I’ve been pulling me hair out in Abu Napa for a week. There was no way we could get back in, was there. Proper gutting it was, I can tell you.’
I knew where I’d rather have been.
‘Anyway, what the fuck have you boys done to this place? Looks like we’ll have to give it at least a new coat of paint.’
I was pleased they were there. It meant Sniper Platoon would still have a representation in Cimic House. But their arrival meant it was time for us to go.
My platoon was the very last to leave. With Bergens on, we huddled by the front gate awaiting our cue. Yet still there wasn’t much sign of the much feared enemy attack. A little harassing fire on the sangars, but nothing on the waste ground and, even more rarely, no mortars either. It was mighty bizarre, and unnerved me.
‘Right lads, normal drills. As soon as the rounds start coming in, dump everything straight away and then get into a decent covered fire position.’
Daz led off. Dale was coming out with us; he and I would be the last of Y Company to leave. He grinned at me as the rest of the boys filed by.
‘You’re gonna miss this place aren’t you, Danny boy?’
‘Yeah, like a hole in the head.’
Then it was just the two of us.
‘Right, you jammy git, let’s get the fuck out of here.’
Out on the wasteland, we could hear gunfire in the distance where the Challengers were still slapping the odd chancer back at Red 11. As I walked, I couldn’t help tensing up to prepare myself for the first incoming mortar. That would be when it would all go horribly wrong, and right at the last bloody minute knowing our luck.
It never came. Sooner than I thought, we were on top of the brightly lit dam. If only Major Tait had shot out its fucking street lights too. Then we were over it, and on the home stretch.
Figures in combats and helmets waiting for us on the main road frantically beckoned us to hard-target the last 200 metres, then bundled us into the nearest Warriors with space.
The automatic door clunked closed. A minute later, the giant column juddered into motion. Every few minutes, our vehicle’s chain gun rattled out a few rounds at some target, but there was less than half the opposition on the way out than the convoy had faced on the way in.
Then the chain gun stopped completely. We were out of the town, and rumbling full speed through the last few kilometres of the dark arid desert before Camp Abu Naji.
One of the dismounts handed over a set of headphones. The Warrior commander wanted to talk to me. Turned out it was a sergeant who was an old mate of mine.
‘Know why you had to hard-target the last 200 metres, Danny?’
‘No. Why?’
‘Surveillance report came in from the Lynx 2,000 feet above Aj Dayya. They spotted hundreds of enemy on rooftops and street corners. By the looks of it, that’s where they were setting up for us. Stupid arseholes never once realized what was going on at Cimic before it was way too late.’
‘Really? Gleaming.’
‘Yeah, isn’t it. Don’t you love it when a plan comes together?’
Four things came together in beautiful synchronicity to make the night work like clockwork: enormous firepower, slick timing, smart tactics and a decent dose of luck. As we came to learn, luck was the most important of the four.
Only then did it dawn on me what a fantastic triumph the battle group had just pulled off.
The siege of Cimic House had been relieved. Fresh fighting troops were in there now, with enough supplies and ammunition for them to fight alone for a month. The physical blow this was to our enemy was bad enough, after all the losses they’d suffered trying to wear us down. But the psychological one was far more devastating. The battle group had proved it could go in and out of the town when it needed to. We were still the true masters of Al Amarah, and Cimic would never be taken. The OMS and Abu Hatim could all go fly.
