Andy McNab - Bravo Two Zero

The second, and more important, consideration behind our change of plan was the weather. We were on high ground, about 900 feet above sea level, and to the northwest it got higher still. The wind chill factor in these conditions was horrendous. The temperature was low anyway, but the wind took it bitterly, freezingly lower. We needed to get out of the wind, and we needed to get off the snowline. However, the chances of getting out of the wind were slim because the ground afforded no cover.

Like all water systems the Euphrates follows the low ground. The river was 400 or 500 feet lower than we were, so if we headed north towards it we would not only come off the snowline but hopefully also find protection from the wind.

We headed north. We could worry about the west a bit later; it was just imperative that we got off this high ground or we’d die.

A mile and a half from our stone-wall LUP we came off the snowline. I was horrendously pissed off. If only we could have made the extra bit of distance that morning, we wouldn’t have spent the entire day lying in snow. We still had a desperate problem with wind chill I had my shamag wrapped around my head and the compass in front of me as we marched on a bearing. My left hand was crooked with my thumb over the luminous part of the compass and my smock pulled over my hand as much as I could to keep out the cold. I cradled my weapon in my right arm. I looked down and saw that my smock had frozen solid. It was iced over like a pond. The shamag, too, was solid around my face. I wanted to adjust it, but it was as stiff as a board.

I daren’t move my hands because that let the cold in. We had to move as fast as we could to generate body warmth. It was desolate, no ambient light, just the sound of the wind. It was as if we were on a different planet, and the only people on it.

We pressed northwards, heads down and faces blue with cold. Vehicle lights moved now and again in the distance, indicating the meta led road. The ground started to change again, from hard sand to bedrock with shale. All round the area there were tank berms where bulldozers had made trenches for tanks to get into the “hull down” position. They were filled with water and ice; they weren’t new.

We’d dropped about 200 feet in elevation. All of us were suffering badly. I looked out from behind my shamag and thought: If the weather doesn’t improve soon, we’re going to die.

We had marched about a mile and a half over the road when I decided we should turn back. Windchill was going to kill us. We were stumbling, shivering violently, starting to switch off, our minds wandering. If we didn’t act now, they were the last symptoms that we would recognize. The next stage was coma. We’d get back across the meta led road and retreat for another mile to a dried-up riverbed I remembered which ran more or less parallel with the road. It was the only place we had found that night that was out of the wind. If we didn’t get back there and sort ourselves out, there’d be no selves to sort out.

We turned back, tactics thrown literally to the wind. Stealth was irrelevant now. All we wanted to do now was save our lives. We stumbled into the ditch and huddled together. Mark was the worst affected, but we all needed help. Bob and I jumped on top of him and gave him body heat. Dinger and Legs did the same together and got a brew on. It’s an outrageous big no-no, making brews at night, but so what? If you’re dead, that’s it. Better to take the chance and live to fight another day. If we didn’t get compromised, we would hopefully start to recover. If we did, we would either get away with it or die. If we didn’t do it, we could die anyway.

They got two brews on, one after the other, and passed them around. We got some hot food down Mark. He was slurring his words good style, definitely on his way out. I seriously thought we were all going to die.

We were there a couple of hours, just trying to get warm in a big huddle. We got a slight improvement. I didn’t really want to make a move because we were still freezing and soaking. But we all knew we had to get going or we were never going to make any headway. After all, the aim was to evade capture.

We had three factors to worry about: the weather, our physical condition, and the enemy. Because of the terrain it was very unlikely that we would avoid the wind that was giving us so much trouble. No matter where we went or what we did it would be there. Our physical condition could have been worse, but not much. The ideal would have been to stay there out of the wind until it stopped or the weather improved. But how long would that be? Water would be of concern sooner or later as well. The longer we went without it, the greater the problem would become.

There were far more enemy in the area than we had been told. Something was wrong somewhere. If we were compromised, action could be taken quicker because the troops were there on the ground. Would they now know that we were in the area after moving onto our LUP?

We had to move, but in which direction? In favor of going north then west was the fact that we would keep off the snowline. Against, that we would be exposed to the wind for longer and closer to the river, closer to habitation, and concealment would be difficult. Heading northwest would take us back on to the snowline, but it would be quicker, and the chances of concealment would be better. The height was approximately 1,100-1,200 feet, but once we were over that we would be down to around 600 feet all the way to the border. We could also do it in one night as long as our physical condition didn’t get any worse.

Whatever direction we went, the wind was going to get us. So it was best not to waste time. If we couldn’t make it, we would just have to come down again and rethink. It got to the stage where, if we didn’t move now, there wouldn’t be enough time. The longer we left it, the less darkness we had to get over this high ground. We would have to cover a good 12-15 miles, so we needed to get our arses into gear and get away.

The riverbed ran northwest, and we decided to make use of it for two reasons. One, it gave us tactical cover; two, it gave us a certain amount of protection from the wind. The only disadvantage was if we were approaching any military installations. The ditch was a good approach route if anybody was going to attack, so the chances were that it would be covered by fire and observation. However, we would take the chance.

It was about midnight, and we’d been moving for about two hours, patrolling tactically because of the amount of vehicles we’d seen coming from this direction. Moving so slowly is bad because you can’t keep as warm as you’d like to; however, it prevents you stumbling into something you may not be able to get out of.

Legs was in front as scout. I was behind him, then Bob, Mark, and Dinger. As we moved along the riverbed, I checked our navigation with the compass to make sure the ditch was leading us in more or less the right direction. The rest of the lads were covering the arcs. It was still freezing, but because we were moving tactically, we had something else to think about.

The ground started to change back to bedrock with shale. That was an added pain in the arse because of the noise, but for once the howling wind worked in our favor. It was a clear sky, with a three-quarter moon set in the west, a plus for navigation but not for concealment. The clouds were now gone, but this only made it colder.

The landscape was starting to change. The area had been generally flat, but from time to time now the ground gently rolled up into a mound which lasted for 1,000-1,250 feet. Undulating ground is good for concealment, and we started to feel better about our predicament. At last this desolate flatness was changing in our favor as the high ground started.