Free Sniper one by Dan Mills Page A

The medics had done a good job. Field dressings had been tightly strapped all over his legs to keep pressure on the wounds, a jacket had been put over him to keep him warm, and a roll mat was under his neck for support. His eyeballs were all over the shop from the morphine. He would last a little bit longer like that, but not for ever. In terms of commanding the men, he was now clearly incapable.
    I got on the PRR so everybody could hear it.
    'Chris, you're now 2i/c.'
    'Right. No problem mate, I'm right behind you.'
    Chris knew what he had to do as second in command. He was a professional. Immediately, he starting scampering up and down the line to keep the boys' firing tempo up and help them spot for new targets.
    But it wasn't just Daz I had to worry about in the Snatch. There was Sam too now. As its driver, it was Sam's job to stay with the vehicle and man the comms. But Sam was going down with shock.
    The vehicle was totally exposed and presented a big target for the enemy. Bullets kept pinging off its armour. Sam had also seen what had happened to the other Snatch, and he didn't like it one little bit. His face had gone white as a sheet.
    'Dan, I've got to get out of the fucking vehicle. I don't want to stay here.'
    It's given the tag of armoured, but a Snatch is just a regular metal Land Rover base with a composite fibreglass shell bolted onto its back. The two rectangular driver and passengers' seats in the front give way on to a space like that of a small van in the back. In it are a couple of mini plastic seats, with double wooden doors that open outwards and two tiny windows at the rear, and a big square cut into its roof for the top covers.
    The name comes from Northern Ireland which is where they were developed and used – to snatch the ringleaders of riots off the streets. They're liked because they are speedy, tough and reliable. But their downside is they're Spartan and pretty uncomfortable, and, worst of all, they won't protect you from anything more than a 7.62mm round. RPGs and shaped charges shred them.
    Sam knew that too.
    'No. I need you here, mate,' I replied, trying to keep my voice calm. 'Listen to me, I need you here for the followingreasons. You need to keep your eyes on Daz, you need to guard the vehicle so someone doesn't throw a grenade in the back, and I need you on that net.'
    'Fucking hell, I've got to get out of this thing. Please Dan, let me go over to the wall with the others.'
    'Sam, stay calm. Think about Daz.'
    But he was too worked up to listen to reason. I tried to suggest a compromise.
    'OK, mate, we'll do this. You get yourself out of the door on the right side in cover from the incoming, and sit down there behind the front wheel. I'll pass the handset out to you.'
    He did it, and it seemed to calm him down.
    'Good lad. Now shoot any fucker who comes near you.'
    'Right, Dan.'
    I ran back to the wall. We were still putting down good suppressing fire and they weren't getting anywhere near us. But we were also stuck. There were too many of us to get into the one remaining vehicle and we couldn't just leg it back to base through the streets
Black Hawk Down
-style. We had no idea what could have been waiting round every corner. And sooner or later, our bullets would run out.
    Sergeant Ian Caldwell came on the VHF, so I leapt back over to the Snatch again to talk to him. He was the commander of the Quick Reaction Force (QRF) tasked at Cimic to come and rescue us. A tall thin bloke like me but with a big nose, Ian was a good mate of mine. Also like me, he had a reputation for speaking his mind. He told me he was on his way in two Snatch Land Rovers. Good. We could certainly do with a bit of rapid help. I had already given the Ops Room the best roundabout route to get to us away from where I suspected there would be ambushes.
    'You know the best way to come, Ian?'
    'Yeah, yeah, the Ops Room told us. We'll be with you in five minutes.'
    'Fucking brilliant. Do us a favour mate, put your foot