1991

I looked again through the scope mounted on the weapon, someone had fired a short burst but I couldn't tell who fired from this range. The surrendering group had dropped to the floor at the sound of the gun fire but one guy remained on his feet. WTF was going on?! A landrover approached slowly and stopped just short of the group. I kept looking over at the rover to see what was happening. No-one else in our column reacted to the gunfire. Must have been a warning shot.

I shifted my weight around as I balanced on the three inch ledge around the cab of our truck. I licked my lips and found powdered sand. Hadn't eaten much as I wasn't sure when resupply might take place. There was only enough water for drinking so washing was a luxury that was direly needed now.

The lead guy from the group approached the rover and saluted. He gestured for food and water. We had none to give nor could we take prisoners. I peered back through the scope at the rest of the group. I was looking for weapons that they shouldn't have, especially as they were surrendering.

Not far away, explosions accompanied the occasion which drowned out the music seeping from our vehicle. Cindy Lauper had a new artillery rhythm section who were painfully out of time. The shock waves from each explosion could be felt coming up through the ground and into the vehicle. I pushed my gas mask back a little as it hung on my hip in its bag. 'Just in time, mask in nine' was the phrase used in training, I much preferred 'stay alive, mask in five'. The rank odour of my unwashed body wafted up. Jeez! I am so going to have a strip wash with a litre of cold water. We wouldn't stop long enough to heat it up, nor would it be wise to remove my chemical suit. Best I could do was a rub down with a wet cloth whilst dressed.

As a deal had seemed to have been struck with the group, I had a quick look around me from my vantage point. British and American tanks trundled forward in their columns as mechanised infantry were checking out abandoned armoured enemy vehicles. Gun fire rattled away off to my left were a pocket of resisting enemy troops fought with rusty Russian weapons.

Everything was happening at once and each thing was separate to everything else. Behind me, two British troops were sharing a cigarette watching the prisoners being briefed as one hundred metres away, trenches were being cleared of the last couple of die-hards. Our side had bayonets fitted for hand to hand fighting. I shivered in the damp, cold air. So much for the hot weather training we did prior to rolling into Iraq.