OUTSKIRTS OF UMM QASR, IRAQ – 2003

James Bond's first day in combat had been a long one. He had been embedded by Special Branch into the 3 Commandos Royal Marines Brigade which had come ashore in Umm Qasr just before dawn, taking stronger-than-expected small arms and mortar fire from the few reinforced positions around the port. Bond had even lost his Glock 17 semi-automatic handgun during the scramble ashore, leaving him only his Colt Canada A7 assault rifle. Those first few hours had largely been spent hunkered down on the shoreline, waiting on naval artillery support to weaken those defenses.

Once those positions were neutralized, Bond's unit moved quickly into the city. Umm Qasr had been just a sleepy fishing village until the late-1950s, when a massive public works project constructed Iraq's first deep water port there. The town, which once held a few thousand, grew quickly to 40,000, with houses and offices for the Ministry of Industry arranged on a planned grid.

With the frontline defenses broken, they faced little resistance as they swept down the arrow-straight streets, sweeping buildings one-by-one as they went. Most civilians, it seemed, had fled before the attack, or were hiding in their homes. Block after block, they went, inching their way inevitably towards their goal: the large mansion which served as both the residence and offices of the regional governor.

Now, the sun was threatening to dip below the western horizon, combined with the smoke and dust in the air, it bathed the entire scene in an eerie orange glow. As he huddled with the nine other men in his unit at the exterior wall of the mansion, he took a deep breath, recognizing that his 19-year-old self had come a long way in less than two years of training.

"Tozer. Bond," Major Brodie barked quietly from just outside the gate.

Corporal Dave Tozer functioned as Brodie's second-in command, a short but muscular force known for his good cheer and carefree attitude. He joined Bond, crouching at the gate.

"Circle 'round the back," Brodie said. "See if there are any signs of life. Hopefully, this place is just as empty as all the rest. If you're not back in ten minutes, the boys and I will be on the way."

Bond and Tozer peered around the corner and through the gate. Bond took a moment to match what his eyes were seeing with what their intelligence briefing had told them. Could it be that said briefing was just 14 hours ago? It felt like a lifetime. The mansion had a long front façade and short wings off each end going towards the back of the property, creating a courtyard in the back-center. To Bond's right and along the back of the property were a grove of pomegranate trees.

Tozer motioned to Bond to make for the pomegranates. Bond nodded and took off in a quick jog in that direction. Tozer followed close behind. They were vulnerable as they crossed the open area between the gate and the grove of trees, but no gunfire greeted them.

Bond and Tozer paused for a moment in the shelter of the pomegranate trees. Tozer looked up with a grin.

"Look at this, Bond," he said, pulling a handful of fruit down. "Let's snaffle a few of these while we have the chance."

But Bond wasn't paying attention. He was drawn to a thin wisp of smoke that was rising from the courtyard and snapped his left hand up to get Tozer's attention. Tozer held still, and the two men could make out a couple of voices conversing casually in Arabic.

"All right. Keep towards the outside near the wall, and we should be able to get the jump. Hopefully there aren't too many," Tozer whispered.

Bond nodded and began moving from tree to tree. A few seconds later, he heard a sharp crack followed by a muffled cry from behind him. It was Tozer.

"Bloody hell," Tozer spat quietly through clenched teeth, motioning with his head behind him. "Wrenched my ankle in that irrigation ditch."

Bond crouched down and examined Tozer's left ankle. His foot was pointing the wrong direction.

"This is going to hurt," Bond whispered as he carefully twisted Tozer's foot back and fashioned a crude splint with his belt and a pair of stakes being used to prop up one of the pomegranate trees. "Let's get you back."

"No," Tozer said. "At least find out how many are back there first."

Bond gave Tozer a wary look.

"I'll be fine," Tozer insisted.

Bond turned quickly and advanced towards the courtyard, rifle at the ready.

He eased around the corner and saw them. Three kids, about his age, around a hastily arranged bonfire of documents. Empty boxes and folders were strewn around them, with a couple of cans of gasoline at the ready.

Two of the kids were tossing documents on the fire, while the other poked at them with a large pitchfork, spreading them out. He tossed the pitchfork down, grabbed one of gasoline cans, and sloshed fuel on top of the papers. He then pulled a box of matches out of his pocket, lit one and tossed it on the fire. Small flames flickered at the edge of the pile of papers.

Bond advanced forward out of the trees, rifle leveled at the group.

"Move away from the fire," he yelled, motioning with the gun.

The two document tossers turned and ran immediately. Bond carefully eyed them as they ran and decided to let them go. The kid with the matches just stood there, still trying to light more matches.

"Drop them," Bond yelled. If only he had learned Arabic, Bond cursed to himself.

He lifted the rifle to fire a round in the air.

Click. Nothing. Jammed.

The kid with the matches got one lit and tossed in on the fire, which at last responded with a robust plume of flames and smoke. He dropped the matches with a small smile and picked up the pitchfork, advancing on Bond.

Bond fumbled with the Colt's magazine. Pulling it out and slamming it back in again.

Click. Nothing. Still jammed.

He felt the whoosh as the tines of the pitchfork surged towards him, falling just an inch or two short of his chest. He stumbled backwards, still trying to unjam the Colt.

The second thrust of the pitchfork snagged the side of Bond's chest, ripping a gash in his uniform.

Click. Click. Click. Still nothing. Off-balance, Bond tumbled over backwards to the ground. The kid stood over him, pitchfork pointed at Bond's throat.

The first shot hit him square in the chest, the second in the forehead. The pitchfork clanged harmlessly to the ground while the kid's body lurched backwards.

Bond glanced around anxiously. It was Tozer, leaning against a pomegranate tree with his handgun still pointed at the kid's lifeless body.

"Sorry about that, Bond," Tozer said in obvious pain. "Should have gotten here earlier."

Bond stood up and looked at the kid. The white uniform shirt was drenched with blood, and the back of his head had been blown out by the exiting of Tozer's 9mm round.

Bond dropped to his knees and vomited.