‘Yep, certainly was.’
‘Did you see it?’
‘Yes, I told you I did,’ Adams replied. Lizzie paused for a few seconds before turning back to Adams.
‘So, what did you wish for?’ she asked him. Adams looked through the dark at Lizzie, barely able to see her.
‘If I told you,’ he said, ‘it wouldn’t come true, would it?’
‘I guess,’ Lizzie replied. ‘But how about if I guessed? Would you tell me then? If I was right? Because I think it involves Sophia and a ring?’
‘Her name’s Sophie, and no I’m not saying. The same principle applies. That’s just me telling you in a different way. So, it wouldn’t come true either.’
‘Oh, you’re no fun,’ Lizzie said. ‘Seriously though, if you could wish for anything, what would it be?’ Adams looked at Lizzie again, irritated that he couldn’t see her very well.
‘Now there’s a question,’ he said before lapsing into silence. They sat in the dark for a few minutes, watching for shooting stars that never came. Finally, Adams replied, ‘I can’t tell you, Lizzie.’
‘Oh, okay,’ she replied.
‘It’s just that, well, there’s just so many things. And they are all intertwined, each reliant on the others for success.’
‘Wow, that’s deep,’ Lizzie said. ‘Utter bollocks, but still quite deep.’ Adams laughed and looked at Lizzie.
‘That’s what I like about you, mate,’ he said. ‘Your ability to just cut right to the heart of the matter.’
They sat there looking at the sky for a few more minutes, the shooting stars that they’d come to watch seemingly finished for the night. Adams noticed Lizzie getting fidgety in her chair, but ignored it. After a while, Lizzie took a deep breath and exhaled loudly.
‘Jesus, what a bloody day it’s been.’
‘Yeah, you could say that,’ Adams replied. ‘It was all a bit, er, full-on I guess.’ Lizzie laughed.
‘Just a bit.’
Adams could feel Lizzie looking at him in the darkness. He turned to look at her and saw that he was right.
‘Adams,’ she said. ‘Can I ask you about something?’ Adams paused before replying.
‘Course you can.’
‘What was it like?’ she said. ‘When you shot that Terry. What was it actually like?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What was it like?’ she repeated.
‘Do you mean how did I feel when it happened?’
‘I think so.’
‘I didn’t really feel anything. And I’m not even sure that I did shoot him.’ Adams remembered the puff of red mist he’d seen as his round had hit home and hoped that Lizzie couldn’t see his face. He wasn’t very good at lying. ‘Besides, the Apache raked the area a few minutes later, so it doesn’t make any difference, anyway.’ He glanced across at Lizzie, who was staring at him. ‘If I did hit him, it only brought things forward by a few minutes.’
‘You must have felt something though,’ she said. ‘You can’t shoot someone and not feel anything. And what if that RPG had come our way?’
‘Yeah, but it didn’t. So, it doesn’t matter.’ Adams desperately wanted to change the subject, but couldn’t think of a way of doing it without seeming obvious. He wasn’t lying to Lizzie. He really didn’t feel anything, either at the time or now. What he didn’t want to discuss with her was how much that fact terrified him. He’d almost certainly taken a man’s life, and he was just numb inside.
A white line of light streaked across the sky. Adams pointed at it, grateful for the distraction.
‘Yep, seen,’ Lizzie said. ‘But don’t change the subject.’ He sighed, knowing that he would have to take a more direct line with her.
‘Lizzie,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. Please?’
‘Okay,’ she replied after a few seconds. ‘But if you do….’
‘I know where you are, yes.’
A few minutes later, Adams figured that enough time had passed for him not to be accused of changing the subject again.
‘What about you, though?’ he said. ‘You nearly got shot in the arse out there. How do you feel about that?’ Lizzie laughed, and Adams felt the mood lift between them.
‘Sodding delighted,’ she said. ‘Can you imagine being medevaced home, having to lie face down on the stretcher all the way back because you’d taken a round in the cheeks?’ Laughing, she carried on. ‘I’d never bloody live that down, would I?’
‘You’d be a legend, mate,’ Adams replied. ‘An absolute legend. Every dining-in night you ever went to for the rest of your career, there’d be a cushion on the chair.’
‘Oh, piss off. The only advantage would be if I could persuade the surgeon to do a bit of liposuction while he was digging around back there.’ Adams started laughing as well.
‘That’s a bit extreme, Lizzie,’ he said. ‘Taking a bullet in the backside just to get it thinned out a bit. There’s got to be an easier way to lose some of the wobble.’ He saw her look at him, her mouth open as if she was shocked.
‘Are you saying I’ve got a big arse?’
‘No, not at all,’ he laughed.
‘You so are!’ She shoved the arm of his chair, spilling the soup out of his cup. ‘Bastard,’ she said, pushing at his chair again.
‘Oi, mind my soup,’ he retorted, scrabbling around and looking for the lid. He saw her cross her arms and pretend to look annoyed. ‘It’s not big at all.’ Adams paused for effect and waited until he saw Lizzie look at him. ‘Just probably not as firm as it used to be, that’s all.’
Lizzie reached down and picked up the lid to Adams's cup from the sand between their chairs. She flung it at him, missing his head by a couple of inches.
‘Idiot,’ she crossed her arms again. ‘Now bugger off and make me a cup of tea.’
Adams walked through the back door of the TRT tent. He tipped what was left of his soup into the sink, gave his mug a quick rinse, and picked up Lizzie’s from the draining board. While he waited for the kettle to boil, he looked around the tent and wondered if it was his turn to sweep the floor.
‘Penny for your thoughts, sir?’ Adams heard Partridge say from the main entrance to the tent. He turned to see the Staff Sergeant leaning against one of the doors, smiling at him.
‘If you really want to know,’ Adams said, ‘I was wondering whose turn it is to sweep up, and hoping that it’s not mine.’ Partridge walked into the tent and sat on one of the chairs near the kettle.
‘Any chance of a brew?’ he said to Adams.
‘Sure, no problem,’ Adams replied. ‘Julie Andrews, isn’t it?’ Partridge laughed before replying.
‘White, none. Very good, sir.’
The two men remained silent as the kettle boiled. Adams threw tea bags into the mugs and spooned sugar into both of them.
‘Is Lizzie about?’ Partridge asked.
‘She’s outside. We’re, er, looking at the sky. There’s no light, and loads of shooting stars.’ Adams looked across at some folded camping chairs stacked up against the side of the tent. ‘Grab a chair and join us. If you want?’
‘You sure that’s okay?’ Partridge asked.
‘Of course it is,’ Adams replied. Partridge looked up at him from where he was sitting.
‘I was hoping I might catch up with you at some point,’ he said to Adams. ‘I heard that you’ve had a bit of excitement on the ground while we were farting about up in the air, even though it’s supposed to be the other way around.’ Adams looked at Partridge, wondering exactly what he had heard. Earlier on, on their way back to the accommodation block, Lizzie and Adams had agreed to keep what had happened out on the ground as quiet as they could. Adams knew that Ronald and the aircrew knew what had gone on, but he couldn’t see the point in making it public knowledge. They’d only have to repeat the story over and over again.
‘So what have you heard, then?’ Adams asked Partridge as they watched the kettle.
‘Well,’ Partridge said. ‘I
read the after-action report up at the ops room, so I’ve got a pretty good idea of what happened.’ Adams looked at the soldier, his eyebrows raised.
‘Right,’ he replied. ‘I wouldn’t mind reading that myself. Seeing as I was actually there.’
‘No reason why you can’t,’ Partridge said. ‘It’s on the secret side, so you’ll have to go to the Ops Room to read it. But it’s quite…’ Partridge paused for a second, ‘…complimentary.’ The kettle switch flicked itself off as it reached boiling point. Adams picked it up and poured the steaming liquid into the mugs.
‘In what sense?’ he said. Partridge looked at the ceiling as if he was trying to remember the exact words used.
‘There’s mention of a single aimed shot from one of the medical team taking out a Terry just before he let off an RPG at one of the patrols,’ Partridge said. ‘From about two hundred metres out. Hell of a shot by the sound of it, especially when you’re under fire. Plus, and don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not a soldier.’
Adams stirred the teabags before squeezing them against the side of the mugs and throwing them in the bin. He turned to Partridge and looked at him, wondering what his point was. Was he trying to make him feel better about killing someone? He didn’t have to, Adams knew. He couldn’t feel anything.
‘Did this report mention Lizzie nearly getting hit?’
‘Yes, it did,’ Partridge said. ‘But that’s not what we’re talking about. You’re a medic, right?’ Adams looked at the red cross on his arm.
‘Well, obviously.’
‘So, I’m thinking that you probably haven’t fired a shot in anger before. Let alone kill someone.’ Adams nodded in reply, not quite sure what to say. ‘And now I’m guessing that you’re feeling one of two things. Either you’re cut to shreds inside at the thought of killing another human being — despite the fact that he was trying to kill you — but you’re hiding it well. Or you don’t feel anything, and you’re cut to shreds because you think you should.’ Adams regarded the soldier closely. Partridge continued, ‘Either way, you’re cut to shreds.’
Adams returned to the safety of making tea, not trusting himself to say anything. What Partridge had said had hammered home in a way that he’d not thought possible. He felt Partridge’s hand on his arm and turned to see the soldier standing next to him. ‘Adams, I’m not a medic, I’m only a soldier, but I’ve been where you are. You can’t go back to before, no matter how much you want to.’ Partridge turned and walked over to the stack of folded chairs, picking one up before returning to Adams and picking up one of the mugs of tea. ‘It’s a small club, and most of us who’re in it wish we weren’t. But once you’re in, you’re in. If you want to chat, don’t bother with some poncey tree-hugger with more letters after their name than in it. They won’t get it. Only people in the same club will.’ He fixed Adams with a piercing stare. ‘I won’t be here when you get back from R&R. I’ve been reassigned to the Quick Reaction Force up at Kandahar.’
‘Right,’ Adams said, wondering if the Staff Sergeant was done. He didn’t envy the soldier being posted to the QRF, though — they were always running into places everyone else was trying to run away from.
‘But Kandahar’s not that far away. You can call me up there. If you need to.’ Adams looked at him, wishing that the soldier would just fuck off with his cup of tea and leave him alone to think for a few minutes. As if he sensed what Adams was thinking, Partridge turned his back and walked towards the door of the tent.
Lizzie sat in her chair, grateful for the peace and quiet. She watched as a flurry of shooting stars threw their way across the sky. ‘Wish upon a star, my arse,’ she mumbled under her breath. What had happened earlier was still fresh in her mind. She couldn’t believe what had happened. They weren’t supposed to be out and about on the ground, much less right in the middle of a firefight. Lizzie completely got why the helicopter had to disappear in such a hurry, but she hadn’t been expecting to be left behind when it did.
She thought back to when she’d realised that a round had gone right through her bag. The hollow racing feeling in her chest that she’d felt when she realised how close she’d come to being a casualty — or even killed — started to come back, and she put a hand over her heart to try to slow it down. And Adams shooting that bloke? Really? Jesus Christ, she thought. What a day. She was looking forward to going to bed, although she knew that when she did, she wouldn’t sleep but would just lie there and replay the whole day, over and over again in her head. Lizzie also knew that this was what she needed to do to process things.
A soft cough behind her made Lizzie jump. Turning in the chair, she looked over her shoulder and squinted at the figure standing behind her that was silhouetted against the lights of the hospital.
‘Who’s that?’ she asked, realising the shadow was too big to be Adams.
‘It’s Partridge,’ a disembodied voice came out of the darkness. ‘Staff Sergeant Partridge.’
‘Oh, hi,’ Lizzie said with a smile. ‘Can’t see a bloody thing out here.’ She watched as Partridge unfolded a chair and sat down in it with a thump. How he managed to do this without spilling the tea he had in his hand she would never know. She stared at the mug, trying to work out in the darkness whether it was hers or not.
‘Adams is on his way with your tea,’ Partridge said. Lizzie looked up at him, realising that she’d been staring.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I thought you had my mug.’
‘No, don’t worry,’ Partridge replied. ‘Your boss isn’t that daft.’ He glanced over his shoulder and looked back towards the hospital. ‘Can you do me a favour?’ he whispered.
‘Depends on what it is,’ Lizzie replied, as she looked in the same direction and saw a shadow walking slowly towards them.
‘Just keep an eye on him, okay?’ Partridge said. ‘He might be a bit fragile in the next few days. I don’t think it’s hit him yet.’ Lizzie nodded in reply, not wanting to say anything that Adams would hear. She wasn’t going to be with him over the next few days. He would be back at home with his girlfriend, while she was sunning herself alone in Cyprus.
‘Him and me both,’ she whispered back at Partridge before Adams reached them.
‘There you go, mate,’ Adams said when he got to where they were sitting
‘Cheers,’ she replied. ‘Partridge was just astounding me with his knowledge of astrology.’
‘Don’t you mean astronomy?’ Adams replied.
‘No, he definitely said that the moon was waning over Uranus,’ she said, carefully pronouncing Uranus to rhyme with ‘anus’.
‘You’re so funny, Lizzie,’ he said. ‘You’re wasted in the military. You should be on the stage.’
‘Whatever,’ she said, smiling. Lizzie looked past Adams to Partridge. ‘So, Staff, we were just talking about our R&R. A few more days to push and we’ll be out of here. When’s yours?’
‘Been and gone,’ Partridge replied, ‘and it’s Partridge by the way, not “Staff”. That just makes me feel old when people say that.’
Lizzie bit her lip to stop the obvious comment about his age coming out. Looking at the Staff Sergeant, he must have been in his late forties which, to her at least, was old. But she didn’t think she knew him well enough just yet to get away with telling him that.
‘What did you do, then? Anything interesting?’ she asked.
‘Not really, no. Family stuff mostly, caught up with some friends, had far too much to drink. Standard time off really.’
‘Have you got kids?’ Adams asked.
‘Just the one. She’s eighteen now, just finishing her A-levels at college. She’s already more qualified than me and the wife put together.’ Adams and Lizzie laughed at his deadpan delivery. ‘It is a bit weird though, going home where no-one knows what’s happening out here. I don’t know how to describe it. People getting upset over utter shite, like whose right of it is at a roundabout, while out here our lads are dying.’ Lizzie saw him sit back in the chair and look up
towards the sky. ‘So where are all these shooting stars, then?’ he asked. Lizzie looked again at Adams, relieved that Partridge had changed the subject.
They all turned when they heard hurried footsteps behind them. A figure was jogging through the sand towards them from the hospital.
‘Here you are,’ Ronald said, out of breath, when he reached the group. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’
‘Why?’ Lizzie sat forwards in her chair. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Not really,’ Ronald said. ‘That casualty we brought in,’ he took a few deep breaths before continuing, ‘he arrested in the Emergency Room. They worked on him for a while but called it a few minutes ago.’
Lizzie stared at Ronald, open-mouthed. Beside her, she heard Adams swearing under his breath.
‘You’re joking,’ she said. ‘You’re bloody joking.’ There was no reply from Ronald.
‘Like I said,’ Partridge muttered, ‘our lads are dying.’
Part II
31
Emma Wardle looked out of the window of her mother’s lounge in their small terrace house on the outskirts of Watford. The early morning sky was dark grey, and it hadn’t stopped raining since she’d got up. Emma looked at the droplets running down the window pane, knowing that in a few short hours she would be back in the searing heat of Afghanistan. Outside the house, she heard a car horn beep. Her taxi had arrived.
‘Mum?’ she called out. ‘My cab’s here. I need to get going.’
Emma’s mother walked into the lounge, her eyes red-rimmed. She clutched a sodden tissue in her hands as she looked at her daughter. Emma swallowed, determined not to start crying as well.
‘Oh Mum,’ she said. ‘Don’t cry. I’ll be back before you know it, and for good next time.’ Her mother didn’t reply but held out her arms for a hug. As she stepped forward with her arms out in return, Emma could feel tears pricking at her eyes. She squeezed her mother tightly, breathing in her perfume, not trusting herself to say anything in case her voice broke. After what seemed like ages, her mother finally let go of her and pushed her back a step, keeping both hands on Emma’s arms as she looked at her.
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