Scott Andrews: Operation Motherland

My life had brought me to the point where I took routine precautions against being hog tied. Jesus.

Now what to do? I could wait for them to get back in. One of them would sit in front of me and I could probably liberate his knife and improvise from there. But I'd be trapped in an enclosed space with two strong, armed men. Not an attractive proposition. Then an obvious approach occurred to me.

I reached forward, grabbed the door handle, and slammed it shut before they could react. I pressed down the lock and voila, I was safe inside an armoured cage.

I scrambled into the front as the two soldiers rattled the door handles, shouting and threatening me. I ignored them. The keys weren't in the ignition. I couldn't drive, but I figured I'd have been able to at least get the damn thing moving, but no luck. I needed another plan; assuming the glass wasn't bullet proof it wouldn't be long before they just shot me. I scanned the controls for inspiration as I rifled through the glove compartments hoping to find a spare firearm. Nothing. I saw a radio clipped on to the dashboard, but who would I call? Then I noticed a tiny button next to it that said 'loudspeaker'.

I grabbed the radio, flipped the switch and shouted "Okay Tariq, I trust you. Come get me."

The two soldiers immediately shifted their attention from me to the surrounding buildings, raising their rifles to their shoulders, eyes going wide with sudden fear. It didn't help them. There was a single crisp rifle shot and Shane's back slammed against the side of the car. He left a red stain on the window as he slid down to the ground. Bumfluff started running for the street corner. I thought he was going to make it, and I was almost rooting for him, but then there was another crack and his head jerked sideways and blossomed with red. He fell to the ground and didn't move again.

Two more deaths on my conscience. And what would happen when I opened the door? What if they decided to just shoot me too? I didn't fancy the odds, but I'd made my choice and I had to live with it. What option did I have?

So I unlocked the door, jumped down, grabbed the rifle from Shane's cooling corpse, and stood there waiting.

Tariq burst out of the side alley on his own and came haring towards me, shouting.

"Keys, get the keys."

I didn't move, keeping my rifle trained on him as he ran.

His face was a mix of frustration and fury as he skidded to a halt beside me.

"Fine, I'll do it." He fell to his knees and rummaged through Shane's pockets until he found the keys then he ran around to the driver's side and leapt in. "Coming?"

I heard the sound of an engine echoing down the street; someone was coming, probably more soldiers. I jumped into the passenger seat and slammed the door. Tariq didn't hesitate. He turned the ignition, revved the humvee, and we took off at full speed in a cloud of sand and dust.

"Where are the others?" I asked.

"Lying low. We've got to draw the soldiers away from them. We'll meet up with them later."

"If we escape."

"If we escape." He wrenched the wheel and we careened around a corner. "What changed your mind?"

"Call it a hunch," I said

"Good call."

"I'm still not so sure about that. Did you really need to kill them? You couldn't have just fired some warning shots or something?"

He cursed in Arabic; obviously my stupidity was annoying him. "You told them your name, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"But they didn't radio it in, did they?"

"No."

"If they had, we'd be in a lot of trouble."

An armoured car appeared in the distance ahead of us. I was flung sideways as Tariq swerved into an alleyway littered with abandoned cars. We smashed our way through the obstacles, sending the hollow metal wrecks spinning and rolling as we slalomed our way between them.

"More trouble than this?"

"Fuck yeah."

One car braced itself against another and they dug into the ground as we hit them. The humvee's nose wrenched itself upwards and we rolled over the vehicles, bouncing madly, my head crashing against the roof. Tariq was yelling, but it was hard to tell whether it was in excitement or terror. Then we hit dirt again and the alley cleared ahead of us. Left on to another main road and that was that, we didn't see another car until we pulled up at the dock ten minutes later.

Tariq hit the brakes and the humvee skidded to a halt just inches from the water.

"Out," he barked.

I didn't need telling twice. I clambered down, bruised and shaken, holding the rifle tight.

"Now help me," he said, leaning forward and pushing with all his strength. I didn't bother asking why, I just took up the strain on my side. Together we pushed the humvee into the water and watched it sink. Then Tariq turned and walked away. I stood and watched him for a minute then I shouted after him.

"Should I come with you, or what?"

"I don't really care," he replied, without glancing back or slowing down. "If Toseef or Anna are dead because of your fucking stupidity, I'll kill you myself when we get back to base. But if they're fine, you're better off with me. Your call."

He rounded a corner and was gone.

I thought about it for a moment then I shrugged and ran after him.

At the near-derelict building that Tariq's group used as an HQ, an American deserter called Brett gave me anti-inflammatories for my shoulder, and patched and dressed my various wounds.

When he'd finished, Tariq apologised for being so harsh by referring to yet another online personality I'd never heard of – "sorry, I was a dick. Wil Wheaton would not be impressed" – then spent a couple of hours telling me his story. We sat on a flat, warm roof looking out over the city as the dusk turned to darkness and he laid it all out for me. It was a lot to take in, and it raised almost as many questions as it gave answers, but I mostly let him talk without interruption. When he had finished we sat in silence for a while, and then I told him my story in return. By the time I finished I felt that we had reached an understanding; after all, our experiences weren't that different when you got to the root of it.

Then he told me his plan and my role in it.

Then he gave me food and water and showed me where I could bed down for the night. I slept well, woke with the dawn and went looking for Tariq. I found him on the roof, exactly where I'd left him the night before.

"Well?" he asked.

"Your plan is insane."

He shrugged as if to say 'what can you do?' I laughed and shook my head ruefully.

"Our chances of success are…" I didn't have a word for that amount of small.

Again he shrugged and smiled.

I looked out over Basra. The squat white buildings of the centre, the tower blocks in the distance, the docks full of abandoned boats. And on the horizon the columns of rising smoke as the oil burned out of the wells. I was so very far from home. I'd come here on a very personal mission, tired of having the weight of everybody's expectations hanging on me, weary of making decisions that determined which of my friends would live and die. I'd figured that either I'd find my dad or I'd die trying. Either way, the only person paying for my mistakes would be me.

Now here I was, in Basra only a day, and a guy I barely knew was asking me to take on a huge responsibility. It almost seemed like fate was laughing at me. No matter how far I flew, I seemed to end up at the centre of things. I might as well just get used to it. I shrugged and held out my hand.

"It's a stupid plan, but okay," I said. "I'm in."

So an hour later, unarmed and on my own, I walked up the main gate of Saddam's palace and surrendered myself to the American Army.

It took my eyes a minute to adjust to the darkness.

The cell, deep underneath the palace complex, smelt of sweat and bad breath, fear and urine. The silence was absolute once the footsteps of the American soldier who'd thrown me in here had faded away; no whirr of air conditioning, no echoes from the long corridor outside, no snatches of distant conversation. Which is how I could hear the soft breath of the cell's other occupant.