Chapter 16

The small village emerged into view below us. A few dozen houses arranged in a circle around a central clearing. Another couple of blocks of housing to the east. A temple, or some kind of religious building to the north. A school to the east. Several light-duty roads led to and from the village. One led north, in a perfectly straight line towards the horizon, along which I could make out the sky-scrapers and buildings of a city. I could just make out some of our vehicles driving down that road towards the village. Nelson Platoon - bringing in the tanks.

Many of the buildings in the village - the ones that still stood, of course, were smoking, the result of the enemy's actions. A fire was still blazing away in a house slightly to the west. The villagers had all been evacuated, obviously. At least, we hoped they'd had advance warning to be evacuated. Hopefully they hadn't been flushed out by the enemy. There was no a soul in sight. But the place was by no means deserted. Beneath the smouldering ruins of the buildings lay a troop of the enemy, laying in wait for us. I pointed out their armoured vehicles to some of my soldiers, still and silent, but loaded and ready to go.

I took a deep breath, running the plan through my mind one more time. The enemy had taken the village, in the last of their steps to access the city, where hard-core action would begin. They were laying in wait, now, waiting for their signal that the rest of their company was in position to attack the city. Our job, as commanders of a troop of armoured vehicles, was to flush out the enemy, and if possible, take control of their equipment. A sweep and clear, as it was known. Take prisoners if at all possible. Get any surviving villagers out. Basically just jump in a tank and bomb whatever's left.

"It looks like a dead zone, sir," muttered Private Edmunds to my left. He stretched across me, trying to get a better view. Edmunds was one of the youngest squaddies in my platoon. Seventeen years old and literally just out of basic training. God knows how he managed to get on such a dangerous mission so early on. I dreaded to think what his parents were going through right now.

Edmunds was pulled back in line by another young man, Private Webber.

"Carl," he said to his friend, "you daft pillock. You wanna fell outta this thing, or what?"

"Just tryna get a better view, mate," Edmunds replied. "Ain't never been in a chopper this big before."

"Yeah, well this ain't some luxury cruise, mate," said Webber. "We're gonna be down there in a minute, so I 'ope you're good and ready to get your backside in gear and do some work."

"Yeah, bothered," muttered Edmunds.

Such was the attitude of my platoon. We were on our way into a serious situation - possibly one of the biggest missions some of these guys had been on - and there was a very real probability of us getting killed. And all my men could think about was the view and the excitement of being in a Chinook. I guess some people just have a natural ability to ignore the idea death, even when he's waving his scythe in front of their faces. Or perhaps this was their way of accepting it. When you're young, you tend to think you will live forever. That nothing will ever happen to you. As soon as you start getting old, or if a close friend of family member has a serious accident, you realise that this is never quite true. Something could happen to you at anytime. And right now, I realised that this was never more true than if you were in the army, where one could be surrounded by death for days one end. Perhaps being blasé about the whole concept is just another way of accepting it.

The Chinook began to descend, ready to land in the middle of the clearing. The second chopper, carrying the captain and the larger sections of Nelson Platoon came to rest about twenty meters to my left.

"Right, guys, we're about to land," I barked. "Mills, Neale - you know what to do."

"Sir!" replied Mills. He was a wizened old sergeant, similar to many of the crusts I'd met at Sandhurst. Always in control, always with the situation in mind, and always respectful of his superiors - especially to me, despite the age gap of almost thirty years. Never one to mess around with.

The Chinook came to rest on the desert sand below us. Before the big chopper had even touched down, Mills and Neale were already out, doubling around the chopper in opposite directions, a large circle. I jumped out behind them, landing awkwardly, my hair being blown about by the powerful force of the chopper's blades. I blinked in the bright sunlight. The heat was swelteringly hot, but there was no time to worry about that now. The soldiers jumped off the chopper, following the sergeants around the great machine, forming a large circle around it, laying on the ground, rifles at the ready, in an effective defence formation. It was the standard vehicle disembarking procedure. I took a few steps back, looking about the village to get my bearings, then ran over to where the captain of the company was supervising the bringing in of the tanks.

"Lawless!" shouted the captain above the roar of the helicopter. "Get your men in position! Your tanks are coming up - get everyone else into that three story building by the junction! You know the rest!"

I doubled back to my men, crouching down beside sergeant Neale, a sarcastic brute of a colour sergeant, who took me as child playing laser-quest. I mentioned to Mills and he leapt up immediately, bounding to a halt beside us.

"Neale, Mills - we're flushing the buildings from south to north. Get the sections in gear - Three Section as drivers to the cars, everyone else into that building with the big windows," I ordered, pointing to the building the captain ha shown me. "Mills - I want One Section out first - checking the building next to base. Neales - Two Section to follow. Pepper-pot buildings until you meet up with Grey's platoon somewhere around the middle. Myself and Three Section will be taking the tanks - we'll be will be flushing the buildings in the rear blocks. I'll be in touch from there!"

There was a flurry of movement as the platoon got itself in order - myself and the smaller Three Section, everyone else towards the buildings on foot. I vaulted up into my armoured car - a huge, desert-camo'ed fighting machine, several tonnes of pure, unadulterated power - beside the young lance corporal who was driving it.

And so we set into action. For forty five minutes, we rolled up and down the streets, bombing down buildings with almost careless indifference. The enemy attempted retreat, of course. They hadn't been expected an assault this significant. Any left in the buildings failed to get too far. I led my platoon through the wreckage, taking down any signs of enemy life. The second platoon - our back-up - formed up along the road to the south, ready to make their way back to base once the mission was complete. The sections on foot were doubling back to their original building, where they would take cover and complete a 'cas-am' - a casualty/ammunitions assessment.

I fired a grenade into the last of the buildings, which was then checked by one of the lance-corporals. All clear. We reformed to the north, just outside the boundaries of the village. I jumped out of the tank, ready to rendezvous with the captain. I breathed a sigh of relief. We all thought that the operation was complete.