Another war story

I am a bit astonished that the first installment in what looks like is becoming a series was so well recieved.You want it I'll give it to you,but first a few explanatory words.

Why do I tell these stories,encounters that took place long ago? The answer is rather complicated. My main reason is selfish. I need to let it out occassionally, and this forum is the perfect place to do it. Anonymity is a beautiful thing. I am writing,not talking. We are not all gathered in the same room..we don't have to look at one another. I don't have to see your reactions. I am in control and I choose to tell you what I want. Ok enough of that..buckle up and lets ride.

When I was sent out into the bush to report to my first unit I was,if you'll pardon the pun considering what forum we are on,green as grass. I had done 4 years in the US Army as an infantryman and knew the basics but when it came to actual combat I was as virginal as a nun. One thing I mentioned in the previous tale was that,as a contracted employee,I was able to quit at any time and walk away. There was a catch though. Once you declared you were done your employers responsibility ended. It was on you to get out of the bush, and back to world where you could hopefully find transportation back home. So one had to pick their spots. Quitting during a firefight was tantamount to suicide. Your mates would kill you themselves.They made sure you knew it.

Upon reporting to my new unit after a 15 hour ride through the bush I had shit explained to me in a no nonsense fashion by the CO. Then I was taken around to meet my mates,issued gear and a weapon and left with a sergeant . He explained my duties further and left me to my devices. I was the squad dog's body. The gofor. All shit jobs were mine alone. If there was a latrine to be dug I did it. Pots to clean, all me. Eventually I was the main weapon cleaner once the other guys saw that I could do it.But that was rare.No soldier wants to trust his weapons upkeep to someone else.

There were two foreigners in the outfit a Belgian and myself.( as a side note very few Americans were contracted in that war..One was actually captured and executed as a war criminal..you can goole it) I think that many of the guys in my unit actually thought I was working for the CIA,which was quite active in that nasty little bush war in Angola. I wasn't.
After two weeks in the bush word came down that were were heading out to patrol a sector that was known as an active one and that contact was both probable and expected.
I was literally sick with anxiety as we neared the area.Would I chicken out?Was I headed to my death? All this shit rattled around my brain like two small dice in a big cup. We were paired up and my mate was a big South African named Clobus. He was a great soldier and he went along way to bolster my courage with the example he set.Always grinning and joking around and I stuck to him like glue.
We were supposed to meet with a local who was going to fill us in and give us intel on the bad guys position,numbers weapons etc. We found him that evening and I got my first real taste of war and to what lengths man would go to destroy his brothers. He had been captured and his wrists bound behind him..ankles lashed tightly together. He was next to a large baobab stump dead.The bad guys had stripped him and had set him on the stump..they had taken his penis and hammered a large nail through the base of..then pushed him off the stump,ripping his penis in half and had left him there to bleed to death. The hyeanas had been at him and the stench was horrible.
This shook me to the very core of my being. What the fuck had I gotten myself into? The Sarg threw me a shovel and grunted "bury him". I did,after heading to some brush to puke more than a couple of times.
The next day we had our first contact, a nasty little firefight broke out and we were outnumbered. I had gotten my blooding, killing an enemy from about sixty yards away. Then the Sarg ran up to Clobus and told us we were pulling back,the enemy had just been joined by a group of about 30 others and there were only 12 of us.It was time to get the fuck out of there.
Clobus and I turbed to retreat when I heard him let out an explosive grunt follwed almost immediatly by the sound of a rifle shot,he had taken a bullet to the deltoid of his right arm,it was a through and through wound,no bone was hit but it had rendered him a one armed man. I grabbed his FAL, he put his arm around my shoulders and ran.
As we ran all I could feel was a terrible itching in my back.I was waiting for the next shot to slam into me and knock me face first into the red dirt. We ran past our mates who were covering our exit and kept running for what seemed like hours.In reality it was only a minute or so.
At last we made it back to our camp. Our group had been joined by another outfit of ours and the pursuit was dwindling away to nothing under our increased firepower. Soon the bush was quiet as we arrived at the CP and the medic came to tend to Clobus. He gave me a hug and thanked me for saving his life.But the funny thing was all I felt I had done was act on instinct. Men have been running away from danger since the first caveman ran from a sebertooth. The Sarg came over and roughly said" Good job,now go clean yourself up" I looked down.
My combat trousers were covered with a stinking brown water like substance. I had literally shit myself on our frantic retreat and didn't even know it. I wasn't the first and I wouldn't be the last.

 

thanks Bro appreciate the kind words