Authors: Andy McNab
There was another explosion and the lights flickered. A bunch of other guests rushed past me, shouting at no one in particular, just panicking big-time.
Another RPG punched into our side of the hotel. A woman screamed above the din. Two men stumbled and fell and the people behind them just kept scrambling over each other, trying to get away, if only they could work out where to.
I banged on Jerry’s door. ‘Jerry, for fuck’s sake!’
A heavy machine-gun sparked up on the opposite side of the hotel. Then the tank thundered a round into something out there.
The door swung open. Jerry was naked, dazed. I could smell waccy baccy.
More people swarmed out into the corridor, leaving their doors open behind them. The lifts weren’t going anywhere; some hammered the buttons and scrabbled at the doors, others made a run for the fire escape.
‘It’s safer out here,’ I yelled. ‘Come on, fuck the clothes!’
There was a sustained rattle of machine-gun fire, then another RPG round thumped into the building.
‘Fuck me.’ Jerry fell into the corridor. ‘We came here to get a story, not be fucking part of one.’ He ran back into his room.
‘What are you doing? Get away from the outside wall!’
He reappeared with his camera in his hand, and started shooting the confusion in the corridor.
There was a sudden silence. The seconds ticked by. People were holding their breath. Still nothing. Audible sighs of relief, then excited chatter.
Jerry nodded at the open doors opposite. ‘Let’s check that side of the building.’
‘And get shot by the fucking troops? They’ll be sparked up. Just stay here. Let them contain the area. You’ll get plenty of pictures soon enough.’
It had gone in one ear and out the other. Jerry shot across the corridor. Next thing I knew, he was hanging over the balcony, pointing his camera in the direction of the tank.
There was a sob to my left. A young Iraqi, naked, dazed and covered with blood, was coming down the corridor, staggering under the weight of the young woman in his arms. I could see shards of glass sticking out all over her. Her arm swayed in time with his steps. They got closer. I recognized them. They’d only been married about twelve hours.
40
He looked down at his bride and couldn’t stop sobbing. There was a huge rip in her face. Her cheek had been split almost as far as her ear, making her mouth twice its original size. I couldn’t tell if she was dead or alive.
I pushed him into my room.
He resisted. He didn’t know what I was saying. I grabbed hold of the woman.
Jerry was still hanging over the balcony. ‘Get in here – I need you!’
The husband screamed and tried to prise her off me as I backed into my room.
I put her down on the carpet, shouting at him, ’The lights, get the fucking lights on!’
Of course he didn’t understand. I jumped up and pushed him out of the way. He fell on his arse on the bed as Jerry came in. I pushed him towards the husband. ‘Shut this fucker up!’
The main lights didn’t come on. I hit the bedside lamp. It didn’t do much, but it was better than nothing.
I knelt down beside her, my face nearly touching the bloody mess that was hers. I couldn’t feel any breath on my skin. Her chest wasn’t moving. I lifted one of her eyelids. No pupil reaction. Nothing anywhere to show she was alive.
I turned her on to her side, opened her lips and dug my fingers into her mouth. I scooped out a couple of broken teeth, then a big plug of mucus and blood that was blocking her airway. Fuck wasting time finding out if she had a pulse. I needed to breathe for her, fill her lungs with air. Even if her heart was still pumping, it was doing nothing without oxygen.
I rolled her on to her back again, tilting her head back to open the airway. The poor bastard jumped up and grabbed my wrist, pulling it away from his wife. ‘Jerry! Get him back on the bed. Tell him she’ll die if he doesn’t stop fucking about!’
She was warm, but that didn’t mean much. She was probably already dead, but I had to try. The only real dead body is a cold one.
I freed my arm, then eased her head back to open the airway once more. I pinched her nose shut with my right hand and held together the rip in her cheek with my left. Her husband hollered: he was so distressed he still didn’t understand what was going on. Jerry tried making soothing noises.
I filled my lungs and put my mouth over what was left of hers, tasting the metallic tang of her blood. I breathed into her – I could feel some of it leaking through the rip in her cheek, but her chest rose a fraction. I tried again, but it was no good. My left hand was slipping on her blood-drenched skin. I couldn’t keep a good enough seal. Her blood spat out of my mouth as I yelled at Jerry. ‘Get over here! Keep this fucking rip together.’
He came and knelt beside her and gripped the rip with both hands. I took a breath, got a seal, exhaled.
Her chest rose. She was taking in oxygen. I breathed into her again.
The husband started tearing at me. Fuck knows what he thought I was doing.
I jumped up, grabbed him by the ears, and headbutted him hard. I didn’t have a choice. My head spun and my eyes watered as he fell back, arms flailing, on to the bed. Blood poured from his nose. I shoved Jerry in his direction before dropping back down on the floor. ‘Jump on the fucker. Keep him down.’
Tilting her head back, I pinched her nose and gripped a handful of ripped cheek as best I could, forcing the air in harder now. Ten big breaths to get her inflated, spitting out her blood between each one. I could still feel air leaking through her cheek, but it was working. My head was swimming. Jerry and the husband screamed at each other above me, somewhere in the distance. My brain was crying out for oxygen too.
Ten done. I checked for a pulse. Jamming two fingers into the side of her neck, I checked her carotid. Nothing. She was still only getting oxygen from me, and her heart wasn’t pumping any of that oxygenated blood around her body.
Shit.
I hoped nothing was fractured in her chest area, because if it was, what I was going to do next might finish her off.
41
I pulled away the bigger shards of glass from between her breasts, gave her two more breaths, then put the heel of my left hand on to her sternum, and my right on top of that. I leaned over her, straightened my arms and started pumping steadily, counting off the seconds in my head.
Thousand and one, thousand and two, thousand and three, thousand and four . . .
I spat out another mouthful of blood and started to call it out loud: ‘Thousand and six, thousand and seven . . .’
I yelled across at Jerry, ‘Tell him her heart’s stopped and she can’t breathe for herself. I’m trying to do it for her.’
The husband struggled and yelled something back.
‘Tell him to get downstairs and find some help. Ambulances, medics, whatever . . . But fuck him off, I need you here.’
Jerry gave him a torrent of Arabic, pulled the blanket off the bed and wrapped it round him, then virtually pushed him out of the door.
‘Squeeze her face together again – we need that seal.’
He dropped to his knees.
I got my mouth round hers, pinched her nose, and breathed hard. Fuck knows how long it had been since her brain had last had oxygen.
Her lungs fully inflated this time. Once. Twice. Then it was back to fifteen pumps over her heart.
‘Thousand and one, thousand and two, thousand and three, thousand and four . . .’
It was a whole lot quieter now the husband had gone. I could even hear a bird singing on the balcony.
‘Thousand and six, thousand and seven, thousand and eight . . .’
I pumped away, squashing the heart to move that oxygenated blood round her body on its own. A fair amount of red stuff was oozing out of her, but it wasn’t as bad as it looked. If you drop a bottle of Ribena on your kitchen floor it looks like breakfast turned into the Texas chainsaw massacre, but it’s only one bottle.
‘Start breathing, for fuck’s sake! Thousand and thirteen, thousand and fourteen, thousand and fifteen . . .’
Jerry and I bent down and I started to fill her again, one, two, big breaths. Each time, her chest fully rose and fell.
Another fifteen pumps. I checked for signs of life. Nothing. Not a flicker.
Head back, two more breaths.
‘Thousand and one, thousand and two, thousand and three . . .’
Jerry and I exchanged glances. Was there any point?
‘Thousand and four, thousand and five . . .’ I shouted it louder, as if that might help.
Helicopters careered overhead, then came back in to hover.
‘Thousand and fourteen, thousand and fifteen . . .’
There was a small tremor in her good cheek.
‘She’s pumping, she’s fucking pumping!’
I jammed two fingers into her neck as Jerry’s face broke into a grin. ‘Good things, Nick. Good things.’
Her carotid was quick and weak, but her heart was beating. All I had to do now was carry on the breathing for her – she would tell me when to stop.
I did two more breaths and checked. Her eyelids flickered.
Another two, and she coughed. A trickle of blood spilled from her mouth. Jerry was so excited his hands slipped. ‘Keep the seal closed, keep it closed.’
I’d just started to give her another ten short breaths when her hand came up and tried to push me away. She moaned softly, like a baby. She was in a lot of pain, which was a good thing. If she could feel pain, her brain was working.
I opened an eyelid and the pupil reacted. Not a lot, but enough.
‘Talk to her, Jerry. Make her answer. Try and keep her going. Wake her up.’
42
She was still only semi-conscious but uttered another low moan as I turned her on to her side, so her tongue would fall forward and not block the airway.
I rolled away and sat on the floor just a couple of feet away, completely exhausted. Jerry leaned over her, talking into her ear in Arabic, brushing back her blood-matted hair. She moaned a bit louder.
I looked down at my naked body. I was covered in her blood; my hands were slippery with it. I’d also picked up a fair amount of glass from her – I could see slivers of it glittering in my palms. I looked over to the left. The TV had been knocked off the sideboard and was lying sideways on the floor. The picture was almost perfect now, but the sound had gone.
I tilted my head to watch as they broadcast pictures of the outside of the hotel. One RPG had hit a balcony, and all the fancy
Star Wars
concrete had been blown away. The camera zoomed in on another scorch-marked hole, less than a foot in diameter, where the RPG’s explosive charge had punched through into the building. These things were designed to pierce armour so they could fuck everybody inside the target. Anyone the other side of the hole would have been hit by a storm of flying glass and masonry.
They cut back to the reporter in body armour and early-morning, post-party, sticky-up hair. The tank had been hit. The scene behind him was a blur of soldiers, smoke, ambulances and medics.
There were voices in the corridor: American, male, macho. ‘Anybody injured? Anybody there?’
Jerry ran to the door. ‘In here! In here!’
A uniformed medical team hurried in, trauma packs on their backs. Jerry started to say something about her husband being downstairs to look for them, but they weren’t listening. They were already on the floor, running their checks.
One looked at me. ‘You OK, man?’
‘Yeah, fine.’ I held up my hands. ‘It’s hers.’
I got up and moved over to the bed to get out of their way. CNN’s cameras were now focused on the tank. It had taken a mobility hit: one track had been blasted off and lay flat behind the vehicle on the tarmac. The militants had had a good morning’s work.
The bride’s moans turned to sobs as the pain caught up with her. I went over to the balcony. The sun was nearly over the rooftops. I wiped my face free of her blood and started to pick the glass out of my hands.
Tracked vehicles surged up and down the streets. Fuck knows what they were hoping to achieve. The horse had well and truly bolted.
The sound of sirens filled the air and more ambulances screeched up outside. Down in the garden, groups of reporters and cameramen were doing interviews as if they were the only ones on the scene.
I looked across at the RPG’s firing point. It was about three hundred and fifty metres away; they were good for up to five hundred at a stationary target. The tower-block windows were missing and it had been burned out long ago. Maybe it had been a Ba’ath Party HQ. Now it had a big fresh fuck-off tank shell hole, and was peppered with .50 cal strike marks around the sixth or seventh floor. RPGs are great weapons, but they have a massive signature: a big flash, then a plume of grey-blue smoke. Once you’ve pulled the trigger, you’ve got to be quick on your feet.
It was all over and done with. They’d had a cabby at us, we’d had a cabby at them. I just felt sorry for the bride. She was going to have to go through the rest of her life with a face like a patchwork quilt. Then again, at least she was alive, and that made me feel quite good, I supposed.