Andy McNab - Bravo Two Zero

I lay shivering on the concrete, handcuffed and blindfolded.

Guards came into the cell and poked me with their weapons until I made donkey noises. When I did, they kicked me.

“Bush, pig,” they said. “Thatcher, pig.”

I had to repeat it. They laughed and giggled and gob bed on me. Sometimes they sat me up against the wall, pulled back my head, and held my face while they ranted at me. By now it was like water off a duck’s back.

There was one major shift in their tactics, however. They didn’t hurt my face any more. It was slapped, but no longer damaged by punching or butting as before.

I was hauled out of the cell in my socks and skivies for another interrogation. It was several days since I’d even been able to stand up unaided.

At first, nothing happened. There was a long, long silence.

There was lots of sighing and: “Oh dear, what are we going to do with you, Andy? You’re simply not helping at all, are you?”

“I’m trying to help,” I mumbled. “But I don’t know anything.”

I’d got to the stage where I’d said it so many times I believed it was the truth.

“Andy, you know that we have one of you in hospital. He’s had two pints of Iraqi blood, and he should be very proud now to be one of us. We have demonstrated to him that we’re not barbarians. We’ve helped him. But we can’t help you, because you won’t help us.”

Possibly there might be somebody in hospital, and my mind flashed back to an incident when the guards had come in and pointed at my feet and gone “bang bang.” At the time, I’d thought they were going to shoot me in the foot. After all, they played lots of games with me, like making me put my mouth over the muzzle of their weapon while they cocked it. But maybe what they had really been getting at was that one of us had been shot in the foot.

I didn’t know whether to believe him or not. “Thank you very much,” I said. “I’m glad that you’ve saved him.”

“You need to tell us what was happening, Andy. Why were you in Iraq? Your friends have all told us what was going on, but we just want to hear it from you. Are you going to help us? We’ve got no more time for you, you know. We’ll let you die. You’re nothing to us. Have a think about it.”

They took me back to my cell.

Was it true? Had they actually got people in hospital? It couldn’t be Legs. He had exposure; he wouldn’t have been needing blood. Had somebody else survived a contact? It seemed very unlikely.

During the day I heard Stan and Dinger being taken away. Towards last light they came for me. This time there was no talking. It was just straight in and a good beasting with the plank.

I went down, only semiconscious.

“You’re the only one that’s not helping us, Andy,” The Voice said. “We need the truth from everybody and you’re not helping. We have told you that we have your people in hospital and we’re willing to let them die.”

I didn’t answer.

“We actually have two of your people in hospital, Andy, and if you don’t tell us what we need to know, we’ll simply let them die. There are no consequences for us. The only reason they’re alive is because of us. So therefore we can kill them, and we can kill you, too. There are no problems with this whatsoever. Nobody knows you’re here. You would not sign anything for the Red Cross when we offered you the chance; therefore we have not told the Red Cross that we have you. This is your fault, Andy. Everybody else has signed the papers.”

I didn’t believe him.

“If you don’t tell me what I need to know, Andy, we will simply let your friends die. You know that your signals operator is in hospital. I’ve already told you this. And also you know that one of your men has had two pints of blood. Now we will let them both die, and that will be your fault, Andy. And everyone else will also die because of you. Five men dead, simply because you’re stubborn.

“We know you’re the commander,” The Voice said impatiently. “We know you’re a sergeant, you’re in charge of these people. It’s down to you now to tell us; otherwise we’re simply going to let your men die. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand, but I can’t help you because I do not know anything.”

It wasn’t an act of bravado. Far from it. I just needed time to think. They knew that I was the commander and were changing their tactics. Now it was down to me if people lived or died, because they were getting nothing from anybody else.

“Well then, we cannot do anything more for you. What is about to happen is your fault. Remember that. You are responsible for these deaths.”

They picked me up and dragged me back to the cell. When we got to the open door, they launched me against a wall. I crumpled to the floor.

“Stupid, stupid, you’re stupid,” the guards shouted.

They left me alone all night. I started to go through the options in my mind. As far as I was concerned, we would all be dead in another two days. Stan probably even before that, going by how he looked. So what it boiled down to was: I was the commander and it was up to me. It was decision time.

It was a fact that there were three of us in prison. I had to take it as also true that there were two others in hospital. Dinger had seen Legs being taken away on a stretcher, and there was the possibility that somebody else was also there. At the back of my mind, the correct thing to do was to let the interrogators have something that was going to keep them happy, and in turn keep all of us alive.

I came to the conclusion that we’d held out long enough. This was eight days since capture, plenty of time for the damage assessment to have been made back at the FOB. It was time now to think of ourselves. OF SEC was no longer our problem. We’d held out long enough. We’d done our bit.

It was a tough decision. Pride shouldn’t have come into it, but it did.

So, what could I actually give them? I’d keep the Regiment out of it, because that would make the situation even worse. There was no doubt they knew that the boys were screaming around like lunatics. They’d know this from the acts on the ground as well as from the media. They watched CNN like everybody else.

No one had said a word to me about the Regiment since the time I was captured, and there had been no indication that they suspected Special Forces. I wanted to keep it that way. But what was I going to give them? As far as they were concerned, we were part of the eight-man team that they compromised on the MSR. I had to come up with something congruent with that story. What were we doing there?

I could hear the screams every hour or so as Dinger and Stan got filled, but I was left on my own. Twice guards came in and taunted me, but they didn’t beat me.

On the second occasion, in the early hours of the morning, I told them that I wanted to see an officer. They didn’t understand.

“Officer,” I repeated. “I need to see an officer.”

They seemed to think that I was saying that I was an officer and was disgusted with my treatment. They laughed and came into the cell and gave me a kicking. I heard them coming to attention and making a mock rifle salute, and I realized there was no way I was going to get through to these people. I’d just have to leave it and wait.

During the day, one of the guards came in and spoke to me in reasonable English. “Andy, you’re very stupid. Why don’t you help?”

“But I want to help. I want to speak to an officer.”

“We shall see.”

An hour later, another guard came and shouted through the window. “What do you want?”

“I need to speak to an officer. I might have something that he needs to know.”

“Maybe.”

Two or three hours later, I was taken into the same block as usual, but to a different room. It was very cold. I was pushed down onto a chair. I heard a different voice, one I’d never heard before.