“RPG, sir!” shouted the gunnery sergeant. “Bastards missed by 300 yards. Up in the foothills, sir. They’ll have us in range any second.”
He was right: we were in their sights and pinned down. The wadi gave us good protection but we couldn’t move either.
Sebastian crouched down next to me.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine, don’t worry about me. I won’t move. Promise.”
He gave me an anxious look, then made his way back up to Captain Grant.
Two men moved forward with a small mortar and fired off a couple of rounds. The rush of sound was distinctly comforting.
“Hewitt,” shouted the Captain, “call in air support. I want the shit bombed out of those fuckers. Give them the coordinates – now!”
I managed to turn around in the confined area and took photographs of the Marine on the radio calling air-support, and of the two Marines firing the occasional mortar round.
Two more RPGs came in, each landing a little closer, although not close enough to concern the men around me. I thought I was having an out-of-body experience: everyone seemed so calm, including me; although another, quieter, rational part, was scared witless.
Luckily I had something else to focus on. Despite the heat and despite the fact I’d sweated enough to leave salt marks on my clothes, I was dying to pee. Maybe it was just fear after all, but I didn’t know how much longer I could hang on.
Another fifteen minutes passed and the pressure on my bladder was becoming intolerable. I was seriously considering just peeing my pants right there. It was so hot, my clothes would dry quickly; the sting of humiliation would, however, last considerably longer.
I felt better when I noticed several of the Marines discreetly peeing into the wadi. God, it was so much easier for men. I should have worn a long skirt like the local women, then I could have just squatted down in the dirt and no one would have been any the wiser.
At that moment, I heard the sound of a jet streaking past overhead.
“Harrier,” muttered the bored-looking Marine who was kneeling down next to me.
There was an explosion so loud, it sounded as if a whole mountain had been blown up. A second explosion followed shortly afterwards. I pressed my face into the dirt at the bottom of the wadi and tried to remember to breathe. I counted to a hundred before I dared to look up again. A thick cloud of dust and smoke hung over the foothills, lazily drifting down into the yellow valley.
I sat up to take a quick photo. I even remembered to take off the lens cap, which I thought was pretty damned impressive under the circumstances – and I still wanted to pee.
Then I noticed that several of the men were grinning at me.
“Was that your first time under fire, ma’am?”
“First time it was that damn close,” I said, with a thin smile. “I almost peed my pants.”
They laughed easily. “Well, you looked pretty cool, ma’am. We should make you an honorary Marine.”
“I’m sure Captain Grant would be delighted with that suggestion,” I muttered, and winked at them conspiratorially.
I looked across to see Sebastian smiling at me. I pressed my hand over my heart, and smiled back.
After waiting to see if there would be any further RPG attacks, we slowly made our way back along the dried up riverbed.
By now, my bathroom needs had intensified and I practically sprinted the last hundred yards to what passed for restrooms in the compound. ‘Sprinted’ might have been an exaggeration: I was wearing nearly 22 pounds of body armor; ‘staggered’ was probably more accurate.
But the relief could not be exaggerated. I floated out, oblivious to the catcalls and helpfully unhelpful comments from the Marines who were watching me with wide grins on their faces.