Man Down

by Nathan Burrows

  ‘Lizzie,’ Jackson glanced down at her rank slides as well. ‘Sergeant Lizzie, in fact. I’m Jacko.’ He held out his hand, which Lizzie duly shook. Adams smiled as he saw Jackson shaking Lizzie’s hand for far longer than he had shaken his, but she didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered.

  There was a crackle of static from the radio in the WMIK. Jackson released Lizzie’s hand.

  ‘Would you excuse me for a moment?’ he said. ‘Duty calls.’ Lizzie smiled at him and he gave her a broad grin in return. Adams noticed with irritation how perfect his teeth were.

  ‘Sure,’ she replied. Jackson turned and walked over to the radio, picking up the headset attached to it.

  Lizzie leaned forward and whispered in Adams's ear.

  ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Adams,’ she said, ‘but I think I’m going to apply for a transfer up here.’ Adams laughed and whispered back.

  ‘Lizzie, I hate to break it to you, but that is the look of a man who has not seen a woman for a very long time.’ Adams smiled as she crossed her arms and frowned before he continued, ‘The minute his plane touches down at Brize Norton,’ Adams said, ‘you’ll be officially ugly again.’

  ‘You’re just jealous,’ Lizzie replied. ‘Because your arms aren’t a patch on his.’ Adams looked across at Jackson and grimaced when he realised that she was right.

  ‘Fair one,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you that. But I bet he can’t do crosswords as well as I can.’

  ‘I couldn’t give a monkey’s.’ Lizzie said.

  ‘Oh, bollocks.’ Adams suddenly realised that they didn’t have the stretcher with them. ‘We’ve left the stretcher in the bottom of that sodding ditch.’

  ‘Sorry, who was carrying it?’ Lizzie said. ‘I’m fairly sure it was you.’ Adams looked at Lizzie, and then over at the ditch.

  ‘Can you maybe nip down–’ he said.

  ‘No, I bloody well can’t. You left it there, so you can go back and get it.’ She nodded across towards Jackson. ‘I’ll monitor things up here.’ Adams swore under his breath and loosened the straps on his rucksack before putting it on the ground at Lizzie’s feet.

  ‘Keep an eye on that then,’ he said, ‘if it’s not too much trouble.’

  Lizzie put her medical bag down next to Adams's and watched as he trudged back towards the irrigation ditch. What she really wanted to do was to take off her helmet and run her fingers through her hair. As she looked at the soldiers around her, she could see that although they had a variety of different uniforms, the two things they were all wearing were body armour and helmets. Besides, she thought, judging by the sweat dripping down the back of her neck, if she did take her helmet off it wouldn’t be a pretty sight.

  She heard Jackson calling out, and when she looked up, he was beckoning her towards him. Lizzie walked across to him, leaving the bags where they were in the sand. As she got closer to him, she could see the serious look on his face.

  ‘Lizzie, you and your boss need to get cracking, mate,’ he said. He really was attractive, Lizzie thought, but she reminded herself that there was a time and a place for everything. And now definitely wasn’t the time or the place. ‘The Chinook’s on its way back in to get you guys and the casualties.’

  ‘Okay, no worries,’ Lizzie said, resisting the urge to wipe sweat from her face. ‘Adams is just getting the stretcher he left in the ditch, then he’ll be back and we’ll get ourselves sorted.’

  ‘Do me a favour though, would you?’ Jackson said. ‘Keep an eye on him over the next few days.’ Lizzie looked at him, surprised at how serious he sounded after being so flirty a few minutes ago. ‘I’m guessing that he’s probably not slotted someone before.’ Lizzie thought for a second.

  ‘I’m pretty sure that he hasn’t,’ she replied.

  ‘He won’t have processed it yet,’ Jackson said. ‘But at some point, probably when he’s back in his scratcher, he’ll come down hard.’

  ‘Okay, thanks. I’ll make sure we look after him. Where’re the casualties?’ Jackson pointed towards one of the Land Rovers.

  ‘They’re in the back of that one,’ he said. Lizzie started walking towards the vehicle. She looked over her shoulder and raised one of her hands.

  ‘Cheers, Jacko, I’ll see you later.’

  As she walked the short distance to the Land Rover, her boots kicked up small clouds of fine dust. Lizzie looked down at her feet and could see dried out poppy heads on the surface of the soil. By the time she reached the Land Rover, Lizzie was sweating hard. She pulled her damp shirt away from her skin a couple of times to try to ventilate her chest, but it didn’t make any difference. Lizzie reached the Land Rover, and another soldier got out as she approached the driver’s door.

  ‘Corporal Booker,’ he said with a broad smile and a handshake. ‘I’m the medic in the FOB.’ As she shook his hand, Lizzie noticed the small red cross on his arm.

  ‘Sergeant Jarman,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’m the paramedic from the TRT, and my boss is about somewhere as well.’

  ‘Well, you certainly chose an interesting time to turn up,’ Corporal Booker said. Lizzie gave him a dry smile.

  ‘Yes, that’s one way of putting things.’

  ‘Your main man’s in the back of the wagon,’ he said. ‘I think I may have given him a bit too much happy juice as he slept through everything. There’s a couple of walking wounded in there as well.’

  Lizzie saw Adams approaching the Land Rover, his medical bag slung over one shoulder and the stretcher tucked under his other arm. He looked just as uncomfortable in the heat as Lizzie felt. She introduced Adams to the medic, and as the two of them shook hands, she looked into the back of the Land Rover. Lizzie could tell the casualty was still alive, as he was snoring loudly. Acting from instinct, she put her fingers under his jaw to lift it forwards.

  ‘There is no point, sergeant,’ Corporal Booker said, laughing. ‘He’s not obstructed, he’s just out for the count.’ Lizzie’s actions had no effect, at all and she felt slightly foolish as she let go of his chin.

  Lizzie and Adams listened as the medic ran through all the clinical details of the casualty.

  ‘Private William Mitchell, age nineteen. He was the driver of a wagon that went over a mine. Took the whole front of the Landy off, and his feet with it. Traumatic amputations both mid-shin level and a lot of soft tissue damage further up, as well as burns from the fire. He’ll need a urologist if he survives, I reckon.’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Adams mumbled. ‘Poor fucker.’

  ‘Not as unfortunate as his passenger,’ Corporal Booker replied. ‘He’s in the Land Rover over there,’ he nodded towards another vehicle, ‘in a body bag.’ Lizzie looked towards the second Land Rover and bit her lip. The medic continued with his handover. ‘Mitchell’s not got tourniquets on as there wasn’t any bleeding — I think the fire after the blast cauterised any vessels — but he’s used up most of my bandage supply with all the soft tissue injuries. He got peppered with shrapnel as well.’

  Corporal Booker continued detailing the medical treatment that Mitchell had received since the explosion. Lizzie made a few notes, and realising that the intravenous bag with its line leading to the casualty’s arm was empty, she put her medical bag on the ground and opened one of the side pockets for a replacement. The inside of the bag was soaking wet, and she pulled out an empty intravenous bag. The bottom of the bag was completely shredded. Lizzie held it up in the air like a fisherman displaying his catch.

  ‘Can I have some fluid from your bag please, Adams?’ Lizzie said. ‘I think this one burst when you jumped on top of me.’ Ignoring the strange look he received from the medic, Adams opened his bag for a replacement. Corporal Booker knelt and examined the outside of Lizzie’s bag. He put his hand into the pocket that Lizzie had taken the intravenous bag from and stuck his index finger back out through a small hole in the bottom of the pocket. Lizzie looked down at him with surprise.

  ‘How come my bag’s got a hole in it?’ she asked him. Despite the heat, L
izzie felt the blood drain from her face when she heard his reply.

  ‘It’s not just a hole in the pocket. It goes all the way through,’ Corporal Booker said, still wiggling his finger. He looked at Lizzie. ‘I think you’ve had a very narrow escape. If that round had hit six inches further forwards, it would have gone straight through you.’

  Adams saw Lizzie’s face going white as she realised how close she had come to being shot. He took a step towards her and reached out his hand to rub her shoulder.

  ‘Are you okay, Lizzie?’ he said. ‘You’ve gone a bit pale there, mate.’ Lizzie looked back at him, her mouth slightly open.

  ‘I thought it was you, grabbing my rucksack to get me in the ditch.’ She stared at him with wide eyes.

  ‘I never touched you at the top of the ditch, Lizzie,’ Adams said. ‘I just gave you a shove a few feet away from it to get you moving.’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Lizzie whispered, her face going even whiter than it had been despite the heat. ‘My God, that was close.’

  ‘Six inches lower down and that would have gone right through your arse cheeks.’ Adams said, hoping for a smile as he grabbed some intravenous fluids from his rucksack.

  ‘It’s not funny, Adams,’ she whispered. ‘Not funny at all.’

  Adams reached back into his bag and came out with a bottle of water. He cracked open the top and handed it to Lizzie.

  ‘Have some water, Lizzie,’ he said. ‘You need to sit down or anything?’ Lizzie took a long sip of the water.

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Just a bit shaken up, that’s all.’

  Adams looked up as he heard a short beep on a vehicle horn. He could see Jackson over by the WMIK holding his hand up with three fingers extended.

  ‘Three minutes until your taxi’s here,’ Corporal Booker said. ‘I’ll go and get some bodies to help with the stretchers.’

  ‘Okay, cheers,’ Adams replied. ‘We’ll get the casualty sorted.’ As the Corporal jogged away, Adams turned to Lizzie. ‘Okay, mate,’ he said. ‘Let’s get cracking. Our ride home is on its way.’

  Lizzie climbed into the back of the Land Rover and started fussing around the casualty, who was snoring like a walrus. Adams watched as she put a pair of protective goggles over the soldier’s eyes. She looked as if she was happy to have something to do, although he was still worried. He wondered what would have happened to Lizzie if he hadn’t pushed her — whether or not the bullet would have hit her. That would have been an entirely different day altogether.

  A few minutes later Corporal Booker returned, accompanied by Jackson.

  ‘It’s just him, I’m afraid,’ the medic said. Lizzie poked her head out of the back of the Land Rover and Jackson smiled at her. Adams was relieved to see a weak smile appear on her face. ‘I’ve had to send the others to get the one in the bag.’ As Corporal Booker said this, Lizzie’s smile faded away.

  ‘Hey, it’s my favourite nurse,’ Jackson said. ‘How’s tricks?’ Lizzie climbed down from the vehicle and brushed some dust from her knees.

  ‘Not too bad, thanks, but I’m not a nurse. I’m a paramedic,’ she said before nodding at Adams. ‘He’s the nurse. Now, Jacko, I hope you’re feeling strong?’ Lizzie tilted her head towards the casualty on the stretcher. ‘He’s a big lad.’ Adams rolled his eyes at Lizzie as Jackson flexed his biceps in response. She arched an eyebrow back at Adams and her smile grew broader.

  Between them, they manoeuvred the stretcher out of the Land Rover and put it on the sand in the shade next to the vehicle. Lizzie connected the casualty to a small monitor, wrapping the blood pressure cuff around his large arm and pressing a button on the front, while Adams struggled with a pair of latex gloves. When he retired, he thought, he was going to invent some gloves that could be put on no matter how sweaty someone’s hands were and make a bloody fortune. As he fiddled with the latex to get his fingers into the gloves properly, he heard a beep from the monitor which Lizzie had placed on the bottom of the stretcher where Private Mitchell’s feet should have been.

  ‘Blood pressure’s still a bit low,’ Adams said before reaching down to the monitor and pressing a button to silence the alarm.

  Adams looked around in the sky when he heard the distinctive sound of the Chinook’s rotors somewhere in the distance, but he couldn’t see it anywhere.

  ‘Are we good to go?’ he asked Lizzie. She nodded, before adjusting the goggles on Private Mitchell’s face. Lizzie got to her feet and stood next to Adams, pointing at a black speck in the sky. ‘There we go,’ she said. ‘There’s our ride.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Adams replied. ‘You’ve got good eyesight.’

  The small group on the ground watched as the black speck gradually became the unmistakable silhouette of a Chinook. The Apache helicopter was still circling tightly over the top of the nearby village, its machine gun moving back and forth in a show of force, as the other much larger helicopter approached.

  At the last minute, just before the Chinook disappeared into a cloud of dust, it spun around on its own axis until the ramp of the helicopter was pointing in their direction. As it settled on the ground, a familiar brown cloud enveloped it until it was lost from their sight.

  ‘Right then,’ Adams said as he knelt next to the stretcher. ‘Has everyone got a bit?’ Once he was happy everyone was ready, Adams continued, ‘One, two, three, lift.’

  They shuffled slowly towards the helicopter. Adams felt his rifle smack against his hip with every step, and as he looked across at Lizzie, he could see that she was finding it as difficult as he was. The large medical rucksacks on their backs didn’t exactly help either. As they got closer to the helicopter, Adams recognised Partridge kneeling on the ground about twenty yards from the ramp.

  As they went past him, Adams saw Partridge stand and take the handle that Lizzie was carrying from her. Her look of annoyance was short-lived, and Adams nodded at Partridge as Lizzie peeled away from the stretcher and started running towards the ramp of the helicopter.

  They stumbled forward with the stretcher as the Apache buzzed overhead, its chain gun jerking from side to side, and as the Force Protection team streamed out of the helicopter and ran towards them, Adams realised that although they weren’t safe just yet, the odds had suddenly got a lot better.

  28

  Emma Wardle nibbled at a bit of loose skin on the nail of her index finger as she watched Squadron Leader Webb pacing up and down the Emergency Room. No-one seemed to be sure exactly what was going on, but there was a rumour going around the hospital that one of the medics on the TRT had been shot or injured somehow. She’d half overheard a whispered conversation between one of the Ops Officers and the Squadron Leader, and she was now worried sick about Lizzie and the others. Emma didn’t particularly like the RAF doctor, but she knew that she’d have to ask him what was happening. She looked at the clock on the wall of the tent and realised that the TRT had been out for a long time, much longer than normal. Emma took a deep breath and waited until the Squadron Leader paced close to where she was standing.

  ‘Sir?’ Emma asked. Webb stopped in his tracks and stared at her.

  ‘Yes, what?’ he barked. Emma gripped her hands together when she heard the strain in his voice. It was too late to back down now, she thought.

  ‘I was wondering if you knew anything about what’s happening with the TRT?’ She glanced back towards the clock. ‘It’s just that they’ve been gone ages, and…’ Emma paused, not sure what to say.

  ‘And, what?’ Webb said, his face softening.

  ‘Well, I’m worried about Lizzie. And the others, of course, but Lizzie’s my room-mate.’ Webb looked at her, and Emma thought for a second that he looked just as worried as she was. He sat on one of the chairs by the desk and ran his hands through his hair.

  ‘I’ll be honest, I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I was talking to the Lieutenant from the Ops Room earlier. You probably overhead us talking, did you?’ Emma nodded.

  ’Sorry, I did. I didn’t mean to, th
ough. It’s just you were talking right when I was walking past.’

  ‘It’s okay, don’t worry. I’m not having a pop at you,’ Webb said. ‘The Lieutenant was saying that they’d got some broken messages over the net that said one of the medics had been shot.’

  Emma wrung her hands together, resisting the urge to bite her nails again. She looked at Webb, who was sitting in the chair, drumming his fingers against the armrest. They both turned as someone came into the Emergency Room.

  ‘Have you got a second, sir?’ the Lieutenant from the Ops Room said after a quick glance at Emma.

  ‘It’s okay, carry on,’ Webb said. ‘She knows what’s going on. Or at least, she knows what I know.’

  ‘The latest from the Chinook is that they’ve got one dead, one Cat A, and three Cat Bs.’

  ‘Any idea who’s who?’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘What did they originally go out to collect?’ Webb asked.

  ‘The original 9-liner said one Cat A and a couple of Cat Bs.’

  ‘So between the original call and them lifting off to come back, someone’s died?’

  ‘Looks that way, sir,’ the lieutenant replied. ‘But they don’t always call in the KIAs because,’ he shot a quick glance at Emma, ‘well, because they’re dead.’

  ‘ETA?’

  ‘About fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Okay, put a Tannoy out for the team.’

  ‘Will do, sir.’ The Lieutenant turned on his heel and started walking back towards the door. ‘If I hear anything else, I’ll let you know.’

  Emma got to her feet and followed the young officer out of the Emergency Room. He gave her a strange look as she walked through the door after him, but she ignored him and turned in the opposite direction towards the toilets at the far end of the hospital. All she wanted was some time to herself for a few minutes. Emma knew that the toilets opposite to the Emergency Room would be busy as personnel responding to the Tannoy would pop in there before all hell broke loose. She pushed the door to the toilets open, and when she saw that she was on her own, stood in front of one of the mirrors and put her hands on the sink.