Knife Fight

Everyone loves a great knife fight. Guns are great, sure, but knives? Knives are personal, man. You can shoot a man and forget about it in an hour (you’re not technically killing them, after all), but knives? Knives, you are. Especially if you gouge your fingers into the wound afterwards.

You just don’t forget a great knife fight, do you? You remember the taste, the smell, and the disgusting, vile sights. Things like that stay with you for years. Even ones you weren’t involved in, ones you’ve just heard about. Like that one in that film (What was it?), and then that other one. Yeah.

Whilst most of my kills have been from guns, grenades, and one particularly fun day with a combine harvester, I’ve had a few knife fights. Most I can’t remember, but there was one particularly intense one a few days ago. I can’t remember when or where exactly, but I remember what happened and what was said.

We stood either side of the room, facing each other. Guns pointed at heads, fingers on triggers, only the shock that it could be the end freezing us both.

For some reason he knew some English. He was after a game. It’s customary: in this situation the revolver comes out, all but one bullet is dropped to the floor, and the deadliest game of all (other than nude piranha dipping) begins.

"So then, this is-"

I pulled the trigger. *Click*

"Why, you!" He went for his own. *Click*

We dropped our guns and unsheathed our secondary weapons.

"You killed my family!" he shouted.

"Yeah, change the record, mate."

"AAAARGH!"

He lunged for me and - quick as a flash - thrust his weapon towards my nude, manly chest. The hairs on my breast glistened beautifully as the red sunset crept through the Venetian blinds and highlighted the liquid beads, sexily.

Surprised, I grabbed his weapon but - surprised by his power - struggled to cope.

As we struggled, his torso met mine, and the grunts became louder as the pain increased. We rolled in the dust, our bodies rubbing against each other. However, I couldn’t raise my weapon. His repeated thrusts were hard to cope with I can tell you – I just wasn’t used to taking such a beating. I was starting to bleed. I looked deep inside my soul and asked myself, "What am I doing with my life? Is this… right?" I searched for my inner strength.

Suddenly, I summoned the power to respond, and pushed forward, rolling to the side.

Meanwhile, the Iraqi’s momentum took him forward, his knife now stuck into the floorboard. I saw my opportunity, and in one smooth motion my knife was in his back.

"Argh! Ooh, that kills! You little tinker!"

I stabbed him again.

And again.

20 minutes later, he was dead. (I really should have more attention in Knife Class, as to which areas are “critical”.)

Napalm strike! Haha!

Most bombs are pretty sick if you really think about it. Okay, a lot of the people killed are evil Iraqi soldiers, fair enough there then, but there's a lot of innocent people killed, quickly. Okay maybe not innocent (they are Iraqi, remember!) but still - the point I'm making is in the instant way they kill.

A quick kill is a selfish kill - it gives the victim no time to think things over in a quick flashback style. That's why the napalm bomb was invented. It really was an innovation in thoughful, humane killing.

It's a fair kill because it's expected (We give 24 hours notice) and they also get "burning time", to think about their life and that. A bit of time to sit down with some mates and talk about the good times. After that though, Sizzle! Mmm, bacon! Haha! (I don't really eat them!)

Late last year we went on a daytime mission to take out a farm in North Iraq. The farm's produce was obviously a huge threat to us, so we needed to cut them off. (Not literally - we use guns and bombs rather than swords - gay!)
As we approached the farm we counted the workers there - seven. We had to get low to be accurate with the bomb and get a good spread. 30 seconds later and the bomb was dropped. The farmers lit up comically as they caught fire, and began to mull their last thoughts.

I heard a shout from one of the farmers as he considered how he'd lived his life.

"Mustapha Hadji Matata!"

I got the translator onto this when we got back. It was the Iraqi form of acceptance, or more commonly simply "thank you".

It's always good to see our unselfishness is appreciated.

Interrogation

One of the more fun aspects of war is interrogation - man, we have a laugh. The other day we interrogated someone right, and I laughed so much a fuel barrel exploded. Honestly, I laughed so hard it killed a small child. No seriously, I was laughing so much a white liquid began to secrete from my elbows.

It's like the other week, we needed information, right? We couldn't find the base we'd spent weeks looking for, and we had no leads. After a couple of days out in the field (that means we were in enemy territory, we weren't in an actual field), we spotted a lone commander. We all recognised him straight away - his photo had been plastered on our wanted list for months. He was the one who bore a surprising resemblance to Noel Edmunds.

Now capturing him was the easy part - it was the extracting of information that posed the problem. Now, this guy was loyal.

Now, I don't consider myself disloyal. Sure, I once gave the President's Top Secret position away to a Terrorist organisation, but Clinton was a rubbish president - so what yeah? He was also a massively bent homobender who sucked men's penises. (I'm not homophobic.) Yeah, I don't consider myself disloyal, but this Commander, Edmunds, he was one tough-a nut-a to crack-a! Haha!

First we asked him nicely, fed him well, I even gave him a few of my Ferrero Rocher, but this bitch wasn't giving anything away.

"Tell us where the base is or you aren't getting this last Ferrero Rocher! I swear man, I'll eat it!" I shouted.

"You wouldn't! We've been eating them alternately since the beginning of the box. You just wouldn't." he responded.

"Watch me." I ate the whole thing in one go. Mubdar flinched.

"You monster!"

"Now tell me!" His resistance was incredible.

"Never!"

He withstood some incredible things that day.

An hour of foot tickling - merely laughed off.

30 minutes of tennis balls thrown at his face - nothing. This guy was specially trained.

I won't tell you how we got the information out of him. (We killed half of his family!)

Night Ops

3 weeks into my visit to Iraq, and our CO informed my squad of our first night mission.

The best thing about night missions is that they rarely go wrong. A night mission is quick, ruthless and painless. A night mission comes like a thief (soldier) in the night.

An assault after hours, with no soldiers lost, is much preferred - no one is affected. That's the beauty you see - no repercussions.

The first night mission was a breeze (Not literally). We stormed straight into the barracks...

BLAM BLAM BLAM! "Oh no, you little monkey!"

BOOM BLAM BLAM... EXPLOSION! "Arrgh, my mangos!"

RAT-A-TAT-A-TAT-A-TAT! "Flipin' 'eck matey you shot my cock off!"

Night missions are definitely on the lighter side of war.

It's quick - in-out - and no one gets hurt. Just like rape.

The power of guns

It's amazing just what a quick flash of your weapon can do to someone. (No, I'm not talking about my penis here! Rest assured it's massive though! I'm not gay though mate!)

I'm referring to gun(s). It makes me chuckle - a man can go from chuckle to smuckle in a second. I'm not sure what smuckle means, in fact I'm pretty sure I just made it up, but my point is it wipes that smile right off their face, baby!

It's like just the other day - this guy was like all in my face, shouting, saying "Hey man, why you kill my family?!" Obviously I tried to laugh it off, I'm not unreasonable, but he just wouldn't go! "Why did you kill my wife?!" he shouted. I was 6 points behind first place for goodness sake, couldn't this guy cut me some slack? Anyway, my point is - he got a bit violent, I flashed my weapon (my gun, not my 14 incher!), and the change was instant. He backed off like a little kitten. A little gay kitten with a pink face. (Although in this case his face was brown of course - he was Iraqi.)

But it's not just the psychological power of guns that, to this day, still startles me - you may or may not know that some guns have fearsome firepower. (Firepower is measured by how hot the bullets are. My rifle is a "3.7 chip pan", as hot as nearly 4 kitchen based fires.)

I remember my first mission in Iraq, 8 months back now, a virgin in the field. (a battle virgin that is, I have sex all the time mate!) (With women, not men!) I hung back for most of the mission, but at the end we had to assault a small stronghold. I sneaked up to the stronghold and fired my weapon.

KA-BLAM!

Iraqi face - EXPLODE! Hahaha, it was really comical. Since then I've kept my kills cleaner by aiming for the heart. Head shots are a risk too, as they are rarely fatal.

The Points System

We were called out of training for what we were told was "an assignment". This basically meant one thing - killtime. So naturally the guys were in high spirits.

Now the killing itself wasn't what we were looking forward to. Sure, it's great at first, the 'oh no!''s, the 'argh my face!''s and the 'Ooh you caught me right off guard matey!''s, but after a while it becomes sucky like anything else.

That's why we introduced the points system: 1 point per kill, simple as that. It gets pretty competitive, I can tell you. The winner usually gets a crate of beer or a blowie off the rookie.

Now I'm not the best. I'm a little cowardly, and the other guys are better at 'mopping up' than me (we like to use cleaning terms for killing: 'mopping up', 'jiffing', 'cillit banging a room' (for a grenade) etc)

I've only ever managed to win it once, and it required a bit of, heheh, 'artistic' licence. Now they never specified who could be killed, did they? So I tossed a 'nade over a wall and fragged me 3 chatting tramps. Haha, they weren't expecting that!

Weapons training

Haha! Oh man! Honestly, me and the guys - it's non-stop. 4 Americans in Iraq having a blast! (Pun intended)

Today we had weapons training. Stevo took the pistol and the rest of us used rifles. We fired off some shots (with the guns that is - we ain't gay mate!) and generally just had an average training day. Boy it was sucking! (Not in a gay way though mate!)

Until Stevo stepped in that is! Let me tell you about Stevo - he's premium A-grade non-suck. We all love him. He's crazy.

Stevo saw his op (oppurtunity) when Mark piped up. "Hey guys, take care yeah, never forget how dangerous these things are, I'd hate anything to happen to any of you!" I know what you're thinking - what a sucker!

Stevo had us crying when replied "I'll never forget how dangerous YOUR MOM is! By which I mean she's dangerous... IN BED! I'm referring to her sexual performance!"

Steve then took his pistol and shot Mark in the ear, taking a chunk off! (See, the beauty of pistols is, they're not as dangerous as rifles - the shots are rarely lethal and close range shots often go straight through the target without causing any damage.) It suddenly became clear why Stevo had chosen a pistol instead of a rifle - what a joker!