Haha! Right in the guts, the bloodthirsty vagabonds!
Took me back to '09, meant to be a quiet thing for once. Hired on the QT to interfere with the flow of a nasty export operation out of Jalalabad that old Karzai wouldn’t take care of - “poppies for Africa” it was, aim being to get the local kids in the NE of the continent to replace chewing Qat with injecting heroin. Rotten fella running the shop, pegged it for a growth market.
Did a Pollock on his compound from a bit of a distance, nice shade of red it was, and what was left of him flopped down like a tin of baked beans on the morning toast. We scarpered - Asaf, DuVal, Akshaya and I, to get to our RV. Our pickup was stuck though, so we thought it best to yomp to Qasim base over the border and borrow something there. A quiet stroll it was. Always surprises people, that, just how quiet and peaceful most time in the field is.
Akshaya insisted he was the one who’d blend in best, would pick up a ride for us. We watched him from the fence. AC/DC was blaring over the PA, made us laugh! You used to get that about the world, odd things happening in places you wouldn’t expect.
In he gets, thinks he’s done all the training, spent years working oil platforms, gets spotted eventually, fusses and rattles around the cockpit with the rest of us laughing and wondering what the bloody hell he was up to, base personnel looking a bit agitated and forming up, moving in, he’s jumping around like snakes are chasing him, until he radios us -
Where are the fucking keys? The keys, where the fuck are they? Keys?!!
Haha Asaf answers - look under the visor!
He pulls it down, and -
RPG turns him into pork scratchings.
Silly sod.