Dirty Deeds Done Cheap by Peter Mercer Read Free Book Online Page A

hurdle and only just around the corner from the base. By this time it was around midday and everything, so far, had gone really smoothly; but, as we were to find out, we had worse to come, worse than we could possibly have imagined.
    We slowly approached the turning to get onto the main road that led up to the airbase. We slalomed in and out of the, now familiar, concrete bollards until all of the tankers were safely inside. You could actually see the relief on the faces of most of the drivers. Once parked up in files of ten in the huge lorry and fuel park, most of the drivers got out of their cabs, unrolled their prayer mats, then knelt down and started praying, no doubt in thanks that they had arrived in one piece – this time. Once their prayers were finished, they all then got their pots of tea going – very sugary and sweet. The drivers, because they could be on the road for days at a time, had compartments built onto the sides of the lorries that contained little stoves, food, kettles, cups, tea and sugar, so they were basically self-sufficient on the road.
    Now that the mission had been safely completed, our medic went over to the driver who had been shot through the hand. He was still whinging but our medic tended to him. Each of our patrols had a fully qualified paramedic who carried everything needed to stabilise a casualty – big time. Our medics were of the highest standard – they had to be. Most were either ex-soldiers who had done a paramedics course after the military, or were patrol medics in the armed forces, but they had to be military-trained as well and they also had to be able to fight. Indeed, when I had been in the mob I had been trained as a medic and had spent 16 weeks training in an NHS hospital. However, my skills were not required here. I did have the skills and knowledge to help in an emergency but I had other responsibilities in this job, which took precedence here.
    Our medics certainly earned their money and they saved a lot of lives. They really were shit hot, of the highest standard. Once the injured Turkish driver was patched up I drove him to the American hospital on base. He’d had a good dose of morphine when he’d arrived on base and now he’d stopping whinging – which was a relief (the Turks whinge like hell when they are not even injured – that is normal for them – so you can imagine what they’re like when they are hurt). He had been irritating me with his constant whinging – even after the morphine. This thought made me feel slightly ashamed but that was how I felt. He had, after all, had a big hole, the size of a plum, clean through his hand and, when I asked for a look at it, I could clearly see the ground through his hand, so maybe I was being a little harsh on him.
    Once I’d dropped him off I drove back to pick up the rest of my team and, surprise, surprise, they were eating – tucking right into the emergency rations. We carried loads, so it was no problem, but, with those Fijian guys making up a large part of our team, it was just as well we did. But at least now our truck was faster and lighter.
    After our feed and once we’d made sure all our big Fijian guys were happy, we refuelled our Toyotas at the Yanks’ fuel point, checked the oil and water, and then prepared for our dash back across town and back to our base for a nice warm shower and some more scran. It was 17.30-ish now and soon it would be getting dark. This made it even more dodgy for us, as it was obviously far easier for the insurgents to attack us and get away with it at night.
    All our vehicles lined up at the gate; we gave a wave at the American sentries then our drivers gunned the throttles. We tore out of the gate, then back onto the main road, hitting 70 m.p.h. as quickly as we could. Cars could see us coming and were trying to get out of the way as quickly as possible. The thing is, the insurgents can be extremely effective. If they want to get you they will try whatever they think