AFOVA New Letter 2 of Year 2021

Section 7 – Panorama CV 2 No. 02 / 2021 Page 293 of 332 For whatever reason, orders during halts were “No one to step down from vehicles.” No problem there. Problem was we would be sitting ducks. Unseen hands could rake us with machine gun fire or coolly lob grenades. Local (my) orders were given, “All get off. Fix the wheel driver.” Wife and son were happy to stretch their legs. Neither them nor the rookie escorts were aware that this was a text-book situation for an attack. I was painfully aware of hundreds of pairs of eyes, burning with hate, directed at us from inside the buildings. Only the experienced driver perspired heavily that cool morning. There was nothing that I nor the escorts could do if a bunch burst out from cover to finish us off. Scenes of men forming a circle around the vehicle to defend the woman and child are only for films. The wheel was set right and the stepney was dumped at the back. It was time for the driver to hit the ignition. No Joy. Hit again. No joy. The clicking sound of the starter pierced the air again and again, advertising ourselves for miles around. My son clapped his hands and shouted in glee, “Battery gone. Battery gone” For him it was getting out once again from the cramped interior and running behind as we would most probably start pushing the Gypsy. A “fun run” that was common during our cross-country drives, in peace stations, in our tried and tested Premier Padmini. A quick look from his mother silenced him.