One Dog at a Time Read Online Free

was, it had to be said, spectacular.
    To the south the flat expanse of the Afghan desert plain stretched into the distance, barren and uninhabited apart from the nomadic goat herdsmen who somehow eked out a living in this unforgiving place. But five or six kilometres to the west, north and east of the town the mountains rose suddenly from the desert floor. To the north a sharp, dome-shaped peak called Narum Kuk ran from west to east, overshadowed by the vast ranges of the Zar Kuh Kuhe Mazdurak Mountains in the far distance.
    The only greenery for miles was found close to the mountains. An abundance of trees and small hardy bushes grew along the line of the Taliban Motorway stretching away to the north-east. The plants and shrubs owed their survival to the winter rains from the mountains that thundered unpredictably down the deep-sided
wadis
. As we were finding out, the town had been plagued by some of the worst fighting seen since the coalition forces removed the Taliban from power. Sitting at the head of the Sangin Valley, Now Zad was a transit stop for the Taliban to resupply as they headed west towards two other important strategic locations, the main dam at Kajacki and the market town of Sangin, both of which – like us – were taking their fair share of punishment. Our attackers were probably using us as target practice while they were passing through to one of these two locations, I guessed.
    There was no guarantee that any of the roads in or out could be safely travelled, so the only way in had been by helicopter and that had been a major operation. The army regiment we’d replaced had been holding this isolated outpost from the Taliban for more than 100 days. They had arrived, like everyone else, believing the politicians who said they were on a peace-keeping mission that would last for three years and would not require them to fire a single round.
    The Paras had left Afghanistan after putting down around 87,000 rounds of ammunition and with little, militarily speaking, to show for it. Despite having suffered around 250 casualties, the Taliban were still there, still hell-bent on disrupting the efforts of the ISAF to stabilise the country and allow rebuilding to take place. I was hoping that would not be the case with us; I was hoping we would fare a little better.
    ‘You think they have finished with the alarm call? I had just picked up my breakfast, the bastards,’ Hutch – one of my more experienced section corporals – muttered, without once coming off of aim from behind the GPMG machine gun propped up on the sandbags in front of him.
    Sure enough, when I looked in the back of the sangar I saw bacon and beans deposited all over the lower sides of the rear sandbags. Hutch’s breakfast had landed there when he had hastily taken cover.
    ‘Yeah, maybe,’ I said. ‘Don’t they normally fire three in a row though? That was only two.’
    Hutch said nothing.
    ‘Anyway, you could do with losing a few pounds. They’re doing you a favour.’
    Back in Plymouth Hutch was one of those who went to the gym to stay in shape, not get in shape. Married with kids, he was as keen as they came for a young corporal marine, although I imagined his wife would probably have been happier if he had taken a different career path.
    I kept scanning the woods but there was no sign of the mortar crew. Where the hell were the little buggers? I soon had my answer.
    ‘Hill to all stations – incoming,’ a voice screamed through my headset, signalling that the lads in the observation post on the hill above the town had noticed the giveaway puff of smoke in the distance.
    ‘Heads down, here we go again,’ I yelled down into the compound beneath me, where the lads who were off watch had gathered to see what all the excitement had been about. ‘Incoming. Get under cover now.’
    They looked up at me with glum resignation in their eyes before turning and running back to the safety of the old police cells we were using for our