We had just slid to a halt where we had secreted our rucks. Shots fired in the distance, the residual from our ambush  [ Link to the ambush escapades: link  ] , It had been brutal and effective.

My chest was heaving from exertion, we were taking turns helping injured and walking wounded along. My nice easy ambush had gone FUBAR. It was a trap. Now with enemy troops tracking us we had to get to a safe EXFIL location quickly.

I did a quick body count, those that had first broken contact had their gear already and were ready to roll. Almost anxious to do so.

“Ok, we are headed to the LZ, I need the wounded and a ½ squad to go now we will cover the retreat.”

Squelch…Green Arrow…Green Arrow, this is Valiant Quiver. LZ is hot. Repeat LZ Hot – ALT LZ ASAP. Air One on Call and Arty for dedicated mission Out….

Well F#$k me. Perfect. Just bloody perfect. But WHO in their right mind chooses these names? Am I supposed to feel like a super hero? For goodness sake, the only quiver I have is in my gut. This is so going to shit faster than I can think.

“Right then…change of plans,” I said, looking around at the men, whose faces expressed a range of emotions that ran the gamut of that sucks, to typical we get screwed again.. “It appears that we have bigger issues than a few trailing Spetznaz. LZ Bravo, is well….LZ Bravo, is long way from here and yes Dubourg, I know before you say it, it has a water obstacle. But if I recall it does have a bridge.”

Dubourg spoke first ‘Yes zis is true, but what if zee Soviet is there before us? What about the wounded?

“Good questions.” All these guys are tactically sound, so Dubourg was not trying to be a smart arse, he just wants to know which of the 100 options we have I’m gunna use. That was something I didn’t know yet, no doubt some flash of brilliance would arise any freaking second. I scanned the men’s faces, trying to burn their visage into my minds eye.

There was an old TV show called Bob the Builder. In another life, I have almost forgotten, a life that burned my soul. But anyway this kids show, always had a problem, and Bob would say ‘Can we fix it?” and my kids…I mean other peoples kids would say in high positive voices “Yes we can!!!” So adorable.

Except this is not that.

I said “Let’s break off, send the wounded west, take a transponder, find a safe place, hole up and call for pick up, it’s the best we can do. I’ll personally re-insert to come get you worthless fu$kers if I have to. But we are likely being herded to a kill box, and that ain’t no place for wounded or slow. So we split. Fabi, Francis and Gabe you escort the wounded. Good luck, get going. They peeled off and got moving, no questions. They knew a good deal when they saw it. Now the rest of you, lets leave a few surprises for our trackers shall we?”

The Legionnaire is a salty bastard, they don’t quit, they don’t like losing and they don’t like being sucker punched. We are fair and squarely screwed unless we can make it to the LZ before we get shoehorned into a corner and given an ass whipping. So when in doubt punch first.

We are running hard now, rucks discarded, with ammo redistributed, water and a bad attitude as we were moving as fast as our wearily ran legs would push us.

Up ahead the terrain opened up, lush golden wheat crops grew in straight rows near a well-maintained farm house. To my right, a road curved by the thick stone walled farm and made a lazy route to the canal 350 metres north of us. Or ten miles. Either way, its was too damn far, because in the distance I could see the tell tale smudge of exhaust and a lot of it. Welcome to my cluster.

Fight through or ambush or some other game plan. Time to get busy or get dying. I needed to see the terrain on the other side of the canal. Lets just hope there are no tanks.

“Hey Thierry get that air support and arty on the horn, we made need to queue them up sooner rather than later” ‘Oui’. He said, and turned to start reaching out to the tac air control liaison, as long as we don’t get jammed….shit…why even think that. You know and I know they are gunna try jamming us. This won’t end well.

‘All right here we go fellas.” I outlined our game plan.

After sharing the plan the demi section moved at a dead run. Four squads of 4 men, a man short since we peeled lads off to escort wounded, all running for their lives. We had to get across the bridge before the light exhausts of those BMP’s got any closer. Otherwise, we would be in a major jam, trapped with no way to cross the killing ground. Their exhaust was now audible. “Move, move if you wanna live.” It sounds dramatic, but sometimes, even pros need a goosing to get their shit in gear, just a notch higher.

We rounded the curve of the road that sloped down to the small one lane bridge. It was trestle in metal, primly painted, well maintained, a model of modern Socialist Frances fastidiousness about infrastructure. All I cared about was that it was up! The canal sides were steep concrete, it was a transport lane, that water would be deep and flow too quick to ford. I ran harder. “Vite,Vite” I roared at the men in the rear. ‘Ping, smack, ting, ting…the cadence began to build, as shots rang out. The enemy advance scout teams had seen us. This meant that any second they would report back, and it was over. I threw myself down off the far side of the bridge and immediately began peppering fire back. Then came the sound we did not want to hear the 73mm gun, opened up. It caught Renee square in the chest. I hung my head. That is a quick way to go. His boots were mid stride on the bridge. The rest of him gone.

“Lets go, move to cover, bounding overwatch, suppressive fire ASAP. Thierry, get me that Arty controller.” I called out over the roar of the autoloading cannon. Shit that thing could fire fast, rounds exploded everywhere. “FFS, that guy is spending ammo like crazy!” I said to no one. Parts of the bridge blew apart, metal fragments flew through the air. Another man from second squad ate it trying to move from cover. But we were across! Mitchell had 3^rd and 4^th demi section, I had 1^st and second. Pete our Apila expert was hunkered down in a building looking for a shot at the BMP’s, From the exhaust there were at least 2, maybe three. I crawled further forward up to a rock wall. Peering carefully over the lip, I took in our terrain.

A huge piss off I’m wealthy sized farm house sat astride our exfil. The muzzle flash from a dozen rifles showed across all levels. To the left, the tell tale sign of exhaust showed a BMP lying in wait in the wheat field. If they had attacked us, we would have been toast. But these pussies, chose to shoot from cover. Ok… so enjoy your cover. No doubt they are drinking the wine and eating the bread. Enjoy for the moment suckers.

“This is Green Arrow, request fire mission, line spread. Grid 23-M4 through M9. How copy?

The reply was not what I expected. “Denied, that is a heritage site.” Said the sultry female voice, I need to bounce this up the chain. Can you blow something else up? “What?” I screamed I’m not just sitting here having a picnic you stupid cow. The building and surrounds are full of Soviets. We are pinned down, The 17^th Company Commander of the Foreign Legion allocated me two missions. EXECUTE my fire order.”

“Please wait one.”

Just then Atack chimed in on comms,” looks like our pursuit are catching up here sir… I’d make your mind up pretty soon. Looks to be about 20-25 Spetznaz and some regulars. ”

You might recall how earlier on I said we specialized in unfair fights. We have other skills too. We are elite, and really no situation is supposed to be too dire. We always ‘find a way’. But for crying out loud. This was not good. The fire from the building picked up, scattering rounds chipped at us. It was mostly misdirected unaimed, and the BMP’s had not showed their faces yet, since the bridge fire, what were they doing? Too afraid of ATGMs probably. That was good for us. ‘Cause we were low, low on ammo. But they had all heard the report of how we tore than convoy a new one! So they probably have their blood up, but are poorly led.

We should all be dead by now.

“Monsieur, are you still there?” Said the sultry toned operator. Yes, I’m still bloody here, where’s my fire mission? “Your Captain, was quiet adamant that you get what you need, but Cultural command will want a full report about how you failed to protect our national treasures, is this acceptable?” “Yes, Yes FFE, FFE….for Gods sake. “.

” I will put you through to the artillery men now bon chance.” Wow.. that is some surreal shit. Write a report eh. Magnificent….War.

Twenty-Five terse second later I could hear the first rounds splash, I corrected and called FFE. The rounds rained down, like a glorious death from the hand of God. The ground bounced us, roofing collapsed, windows blew out, walls fell on themselves in a mayhem of destruction. But no time to marvel, at the blooms, and colors of death. It was time to do the impossible. “up, up, 1st & 2^nd with me, assault the fence line, take out that BMP! GO!! The rest happened in a blur, hand signals, crouched over running, suppressing fire. Yeah I know not much of a plan.

Well I was betting on the Soviets buttoning up with the arty, it would give us a chance. It would depend on the troopers in the area too. Had they unloaded? Where they hunkered down? How seasoned were they?

I slammed against the stone fence, looking left and right we had a full crew, MG’s at each end, my breath was coming hard, my voice hoarse. “Lt, are you sure” said some new guy who I barely knew yet. “of course, on 3, throw your nade and lets get it on. THREE!!”

The explosions rocked the wall, then the mg’s started in, tearing at the thin skinned BMP, soldiers were huddled nearby seeking shelter from the Arty that had only just stopped. The turret cannon began to pivot. Someone shouted ‘LRAC now”. I ducked to reload, then it was over.

I sank down behind the wall, took a swig of water…One down a few to go. I hailed Mitchell. Mitchell responded I said “yeah hustle up mate, its all clear for the moment. We got to roll.”

Peering into the distance I could see the Spetsnaz crossing the bridge. The noose tightened.
After the vehicle explosion shit died down a bit. It was almost peaceful.

What came across very clearly in the lull was the crack of a soviet officers pistol, it sounded like a Makarov. “Boys the Soviets are deploying motivational lead to their squads. I suggest we get ready for a counter attack!

A ragged cheer rang from the blazing house. Poor bastards.

Through the oily smoke of the burning BMP, we could see shadows of men flitting around.

The 2^nd BMP, was churning through the crops.

I leapt the wall, raced to the back of the first wrecked BMP its ramp was ajar, warped from arty rounds. Bodies burned inside.

It was at this point that things become a little hazy. One minute I was flying through the air from the blast and the next I was sitting back in Sydney Australia in mt favourite café – Euro cafe in Sydney my favourite spot before work in Sydney. It was on O’Connell street in the heart of the CBD and seated with me my 3 best friends they looked spiffy as always, crisp blue shirts, flairing Italian ties and some fine 180’s light weight wool suits hung on the back of their café chairs. The sun was shining on their faces, their tie knots perfect each had their unique coffee drink, James sat hunched over his espresso stirring it intensely until it was just perfect, Jason as always had his latte just so smiling his big goofy ass smile at me. Yeah we wore suits back then, that was back when I had it all when I had everything and I didn’t know it. Then of course on my right was Peng, the Anomaly we called him, he was a different guy, a 6′ 4 Asian Australian. He had a flat white just like me with a splash of foam. I looked down at the white table cloth, as it shimmered and buffeted in the morning breeze.

WTF was going on? I noted the quivering foam on a coffee. Weird. Stranger still the thing was we were sitting outside and, I shit you not, I could see my red sports car across the way as usual parked illegally, but there was no outside sitting at the euro on OConnell street in Sydney never has been. See the streets are too steep and so I became confused I didn’t understand how I was sitting on a flat piece of ground. I reached for the quivering coffee, it was then I noticed my had had large slice of twisted metal protruding from it…it was covered my blood, and pulp… covered in tactical glove…hmm,, this won’t do in the office..Meanwhile that slice of metal, It did not hurt.

I tugged the metal out of my left hand, it spiralled slowly onto the table, spreading droplets of my blood on the table cloth. Jason said ” well why’d you have to go do that?” do what? I said, I had a piece of metal stuck in my hand look at that shit will ya.

Yeah but now it’s gonna end, u dumb f*ck…yeah now it’s gonna end for you, way too soon.. you don’t even know yet do ya.?

“what do you mean? Now what?” I said.

“You’re dying just like we did! You remember that night? Remember that night when you were driving, we all died well except you, you didn’t! Oh.. I don’t want to know what you are saying Jase…James looked up from his espresso stirring and vigorously tap the edge of the spoon against the cup. James spoke “He is right you know, you seem to have forgotten old friend. ” He licked his spoon, paused a moment to savour the flavours them slammed it savagely into my left shoulder. He stabbed me with a teaspoon. I screamed!

Looking at the spoon, as it protruded from my shoulder which somehow now appeared to be a bloodied pulp. I screamed in pain, again. “WTF… are you doing James. what the fuck is going on why would do that do that?”

I looked down at my shoulder all I saw was a huge gaping pulsing shitshow in red fleshy flaming pulsing mess. I pushed back from the table stumbling on the chair behind me it fell over backwards. I spun around looking into the cafe, everyone was staring. My reflection was a set of camo fatigues and beret. I had the coffee cup in my hand, I brought it to my lips,, perfect…as always,, smooth chocolate, a hint of bitter coffee, espresso milk. I brought the cup down.. who was this I was seeing? I dropped the cup, blood seeped from somewhere following the cup. Blood hit the pavement. The cup shattered. No…I’m ok dying.. but I do not want to remember what comes next. Not that part.

I spun to look at my car…no longer red,, all ablaze. No!!!

I’m turned to look at my friend’s faces, as they melted. I’m sorry I mouthed. Jason was drinking the Latte, He smiled…’yeah me too, and fuck you, I hope it hurts’

Euro Cafe spun away, blood, chunks of flesh, whose I don’t know formed a cloud around me…I coughed again, tears in my eyes, blood spraying from my mouth, I spat a tooth.

A ringing buzz encased my head, I could hear muffled shots, and voices. Dirt in my mouth, blood, the smell of grass and wheat. Oil, burning oil. Cordite.

Someone was holding my down …Pierre…medic. I know that guy. “He ain’t dead.”

I’m still alive. Part of me was saddened by that realization.

” Hold tight Lt you are all sorts of fucked up.”. Right then I screamed, as sensation came flooding to my body. “LT I GOT YOU” he roared in my ear. I managed to hear his words thru the pain. “Administering shot now LT….there.. That will help.”

‘Yeah’ I said, as the best drug in the world raced through my system. ‘it’s been awhile, that’s some good shit. How fucked am I Mr positive?’

‘ well sir point blank round from the BTR…deflecting off that wall there….it powdered the wall. And well, we need to get you to evac asap…ain’t much of your uniform that ain’t red., I can’t really see any organ exposure , but you got issues, mostly like you got sand blasted. I took two good sized chunks of shrapnel out of you,1 from your shoulder, the other the thigh, oh and your left hand. The rest is superficial….I think. But you are coughing up a lot of blood. Dubourg bought right next to you, he ain’t coming with us.

Sarge Mitchell, raced over , took a knee. He was breathing hard…’ we got to go..now. the Jag air support did its job, it demolished the Spetznaz…they got heads down. But we better roll. LT, we’ll get u a litter.’

Just then Smokestack’s big ugly black face looms into my vision. ‘Fuck that, we slow down we die. He said it..’. Pointing a meaty finger at me. I smiled, spat some blood. ‘I did..indeed say that’ I mumble, ‘how you doing fat boy?’…. I interjected. ‘the litter is too slow. We got to run. I’ll take him.’ Continued Smokestack.

Before anyone could do anything, Smokestacks hulking presence darkened my vision and I was swung like a baby over his shoulder. I screamed in pain.’ Take it easy dipshit I just had the juice, but I can feel that.’ I spoke.

‘We all die sooner or later be quiet little kangaroo.’ He rumbles. ‘ if I die carrying you, Lt, know this I’ve always hated you. ‘

‘Oh yeah, I bet you do. You are a good egg despite what the others say about Smokestack. I’m sorry for kicking your ass in front of everyone.’ I mumbled and gurgled. Breathing was getting a little hard, Pierre was a good medic, but no Dr. My lungs feel fu@ked.

Now I was spacey….in pain, and bouncing on a murderer’s shoulder. Strange days, my mind tuned out, drifted away to the gun battle, the boys were falling back, bounding, calling out “moving”, covering, reloading,… orderly withdrawal, nice work I thought. F^cking nice work.

The chatter of our mgs forced the Soviet return fire and pursuit to be sporadic. We ran.

In the distance I heard the chopper. But there was way too much fire. Not a good thing.

“Incoming”…neither is that phrase…never good when you hear that…nope. Next thing I feel the rotor wash. I’m flying thru the air, and land in crumpled mess on plate steel. My body screams at me to stop punishing it. The heavy chunk of high calibre rounds tears my eyes to the scene around me. Our LZ was under fire. Mortar rounds dropped, the men, scrambled to the helos, helping each other. Good men were falling in the race to the helos. ‘where’s Smokestack?’ I ask.. ‘he didn’t make it ‘ someone says…

shit goes black.

I see a plasma bottle, feel the sharp prick of an IV…I’m somewhere else now. ‘You made it LT’ says a voice I don’t recognize; they prattle on about medals and the honour of France upheld….

Why? Why am I alive? I came to the Legion to forget the past. I murder and kill daily to erase the memories. Yet I burn to fight again, to honour my men lost. They will not be forgotten. Nor can I escape my memories it seems.

Time passes.

Now at a desk, I write the names. I write their story, as I know it. It all goes into the ledger. They didn’t forget nothing.

We will not forget them.