2011 - What are you Reading? - Page 37

One afternoon, we were in the of a particularly heavy mortar bombardment and gun fight with some [enemies] on old town rooftops. I was with a few sniper pairs in Rooftop Sangar facing the threat towards our south. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the movement to my left.I turned to see a bloke on a bicycle calmly pedalling down the northern riverbank in the direction of [our base]. He was around forty, with dark hair, and was wearing a grey dish dash. It was obvious to everyone within five kilometers that we were on a serious two-way range. But he didn't seem to give a monkey's. He wasn't even in a particular hurry.
I stared at him for a few moments. Then, just as he passed by Back Sangar, a mortar round landed three meters away from him right in the middle of the road. It blew him off his bike, and ripped most of his left leg clean off. Quick as a flash, he jumped up again balancing on the leg he still had. He picked up mangled bicycle, then picked up the severed leg, popped it under an arm, and hopped off down an alley wheeling the bike alongside him. The shrapnel must have severed a main artery, because he left a long trail of claret behind him. With that rate of blood loss, he was probably dead within minutes.
A few of the other lads had also seen it. We just stared at him in shock and utter disbelief as he hobbled away. No way was he leaving that bike for some tea leaf to pinch, no matter what state he was in. It made me feel a bit sick.