Jackson could hear the compound coming to life around him, and soldiers started to stream out of the accommodation blocks and get into their well-drilled positions. He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Major Fletcher, the CO, arrive.
‘What’s going on, Jacko?’ he barked.
‘Gotta be a sniper, sir,’ Jackson said. ’Somewhere in the village. Hit this lad up on the watchtower.’ Jackson looked again at the soldier lying on the ground, but he couldn’t work out who it was in the near darkness.
‘Dave Moffat’s up there, sir,’ one of the remaining soldiers said, finally recovering from the shock of seeing his friend die right in front of him. ‘He’s hit too, I saw him go down and then heard the shot.’
‘Moffat’s dead too, sir,’ Jackson added.
‘Well, he’s staying up there for the moment,’ Major Fletcher replied. ‘I want no one on the towers. No one. Got it?’ They all nodded in reply. ‘Jacko, I want you to go round and make sure that all the fire teams know that there’s a sniper in the village somewhere. I’m going back to the CP to call it in, see if we can get some support or eyes in the sky. I don’t want a single head above the parapets until we know exactly what we’re dealing with. Okay?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Jackson replied. ‘On my way.’
‘You,’ the Major nodded at one of the soldiers. ‘On me.’ The two of them hurried off toward the Command Post.
Grabbing the remaining soldier by the arm, Jackson pulled him over to a small group kneeling by the side of the large reinforced wall that surrounded the FOB. He didn’t want to just leave the lad behind with his dead friends, but at the same time didn’t trust him to go off on his own.
‘Lads,’ Jackson said as he reached the group. ‘Stay down, okay? There’s a sniper in the village somewhere.’ He looked up to see where the next group of soldiers had gathered when he heard a faint pop from the direction of the village. The noise triggered something somewhere in the back of his mind. He was trying to place it when a mournful whistling noise sounded, closely followed by an ear-splitting explosion in the middle of the compound. The Taliban had worked out a while ago how to adapt Chinese 107mm rockets and use them as impromptu artillery shells, but they’d never been this accurate before.
Jackson managed to stay on his feet, despite the powerful shock wave that buffeted him and the other soldiers, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the soldier who’d been standing next to him land on his backside as they were showered with clods of earth. Above his head, he could hear the whine of metal fragments, some of which ended up in the wall they were sheltering behind with a determined thud.
‘Mate, you hit?’ Jackson shouted above the whining in his head. He saw the young man shake his head from side to side. Jackson wasn’t sure if he was nodding ‘no’, or just trying to clear his head from the blast. Jackson quickly looked at the small group of soldiers who were all trying to get to their feet and into one of the bunkers that they’d built just for this reason when they’d arrived. He looked around at the area where the rocket had hit, but all he could see was a cloud of smoke. ‘Bollocks,’ he said. ‘Where’s the CO?’
36
‘Bloody hell, Adams,’ Lizzie said, leaning back in her chair and looking at him. ‘What sort of a thing is that to say?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘This time next week, we could both be dead. For God’s sake. Where did that come from?’ She stared at him, incredulous.
‘It’s true,’ he replied. ‘Isn’t it? We’re both lucky to be sitting here now, to be honest. Aren’t we?’
‘Jesus, I still can’t believe you said that.’ Lizzie stared at Adams, who was fixated on something in his lap. She’d never seen him look like this before, and if she’d been asked, wouldn’t have a clue how to describe him. ‘Is it Sophie?’
Adams looked up at her and Lizzie saw an entire range of emotions cross his face. Anger, sadness, fear, and something else she didn't recognise flitted across his features in rapid succession.
‘What do you bloody well think?’ he snapped. ‘Of course it’s Sophie. It’s not just her, though. It’s everything.’ Lizzie was just about to tell him not to take it out on her when she thought better of it. From the look on his face, that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. She reached out her hand and took his, squeezing it and smiling at him.
‘It’ll work out, mate,’ she said. ‘It always does.’
They both looked up as the restaurant owner cleared his throat theatrically. Lizzie looked around the restaurant and realised that they were the last customers. She glanced at her watch.
‘It’s late, Adams, we should go.’ Adams nodded and finished off the last of his wine.
‘Okay, I guess you’re right. I’d better head back to Akrotiri. He’s just trying to clear the table, though. How about a nightcap at your hotel? One for the ditch?’
‘I’m just nipping to the toilet,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’ll get something on the way back.’
As she washed her hands, Lizzie looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t want Adams to go back to the base like this, but at the same time, she couldn’t see him being in the mood for a nightclub. You poor bastard, she thought, drying her hands.
Adams sat on one of the chairs next to the large windows that looked out over the seafront. They’d walked back to Lizzie’s hotel in silence, her arm linked through the crook of his elbow. She’d seemed to realise that he didn’t want to talk.
He eased off one of his espadrilles and put his foot onto his thigh so that he could rub at a blister on the back of his heel. While he did so, he looked up to see Lizzie was leaning against the counter, trying to talk to the concierge. She was waving her hands around, obviously trying to make him understand that they wanted something else to drink, but the concierge was just looking at her blankly. He watched Lizzie stand on her tiptoes and start pointing at the bottles behind the counter. The movement brought her calves into sharp definition, and he could see that the dress she was wearing was a lot thinner than he’d realised.
As he watched, he saw Lizzie’s dress slide back down to just below her knees as her heels went back to the floor. Although he’d seen her in civilian clothes before, he’d never seen her in a dress. He’d definitely never seen her looking like she looked this evening.
Adams looked back towards the concierge to see if Lizzie had managed to get some wine out of him, and he realised that Lizzie’s reflection was looking straight at him in the mirror behind the concierge’s desk. Had she seen him staring? He thought for a moment that he might have got away with it, but when he looked at the quizzical expression on her face, he realised that he probably hadn’t.
‘Bollocks,’ he muttered.
Adams watched as the concierge brought out a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses, placing them on the counter in front of Lizzie. She picked them up and walked back towards him, her dress swaying around her hips as she did so. He really was quite distracted by what was going on in his head. Lizzie was a friend, an old friend, and yet tonight he was seeing her in a completely different light. Adams was torn. In one part of his head, an alarm bell was ringing and a voice was telling him that he was in a dangerous situation by being here, with her, alone in a hotel. Another voice was telling him that he should just have a glass of wine and then just fuck off to find a taxi back to the base. A third voice — this one between his legs — was telling him something different altogether. Try as he might to silence it, this third voice was the one that was shouting loudest at that precise moment in time.
‘Bloody hell,’ Lizzie said as she put the bottle of wine on the table and set out the glasses next to it. ‘That was a lot more complicated than it should have been.’ She threw her room key down onto the table, and the noise it made as the large wooden fob attached to it hit the glass made Adams jump. ‘You a bit jumpy there, Adams?’ Lizzie asked him.
‘Er, no,’ he replied. ‘I just wasn’t expecting to have a key attached to a log thrown at me.’ Adams eyed
the key fob. ‘You could have put the window through with that.’
‘It stops people nicking them, I reckon,’ Lizzie said. ‘I mean, it’s not as if you could walk around with a piece of wood that size in your pocket or handbag, is it?’
‘I guess not,’ Adams replied. He looked at the large numbers painted on the fob. ‘Still, nice of them to put your age on it.’ Lizzie looked down at the large numbers four and five that were painted in bright red paint onto the wood and laughed.
‘Piss off,’ she said. Lizzie opened the bottle of wine and filled up both glasses. Leaning forward, she put a glass in front of Adams.
Adams was acutely aware of her dress falling forwards as she did this. He looked at her face, determined not to let his gaze wander. Was it his imagination, or was Lizzie leaning forward to see what he would do? To see if he would glance downwards? In his peripheral vision, he could see that if he did glance downwards he would be able to see down the front of her dress. Adams concentrated on her eyes, ignoring the flash of pink fabric in the corner of his eye.
Still leaning forward, Lizzie said, ‘There you go, one of Cyprus’s finest vintages, apparently.’ She stayed in the same position for a fraction longer than Adams thought was necessary before sitting back in the chair. Had he passed that test? He’d managed to maintain eye contact with her, but perhaps by doing this, he’d actually failed it.
‘Anyway,’ Lizzie said, ‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you.’ One of the voices in Adams's head pointed out that Lizzie had said wood and bone in fairly short succession. Ignoring it, he picked up his glass and took a sip of wine.
‘What’s that then?’ he said.
‘Well, more of a question,’ she said, and then paused. Adams noticed the faint smile that was playing around her lips. Adams looked at Lizzie and knew for sure that he had indeed been rumbled. ‘Was it my imagination, or were you looking at my legs just now? For quite a long time?’
Adams took another sip of wine, playing for time. His immediate reaction was to deny everything, make out that she was mistaken, but he knew that plan wouldn’t work. He decided instead to go on the offensive.
‘It’s your fault,’ he said, ‘for wearing that dress. I didn’t actually realise that you had legs.’
‘Really?’ Lizzie regarded him with a smirk. ‘I’ve always had these legs, but you never seem to have noticed them before. So why were you staring at them just now?’ Adams sighed as he watched the smile playing across her face.
‘Lizzie,’ he continued, ‘if I told you, you wouldn’t like the answer.’
‘Try me,’ she said, the smile disappearing. Adams raised his hands as if surrendering.
‘Okay, but don’t slap me,’ he said, noticing with relief that the faint smile had reappeared. ‘I’ll be honest, I was looking at your legs, I’ll admit that much.’ He paused before continuing. ‘But that’s only because I think that they are a particularly fine pair of legs.’ Adams looked at Lizzie, concerned that he had said the wrong thing. To his relief, she started laughing.
‘Oh for God’s sake, Adams,’ she said. ‘You sound like something out of an Emily Brontë book!’
Lizzie leaned forward in her chair and put her arms on the table. To Adams's relief, she wasn’t leaning as far forward as she had been earlier, but then she folded her arms in front of her, which he was fairly sure would have an effect on his view were he to look down.
‘I don’t know whether to be flattered or terrified,’ Lizzie said. ‘But I’m probably a bit of both, to be honest.’ She paused, examining her wine glass for a moment, before continuing. ‘Can you keep a secret?’
‘You know I can,’ Adams replied.
‘I don’t think that your legs are too shabby either,’ she said in a whisper. ‘Even when you are wearing pink espadrilles.’ They both looked at each other in silence for what to Adams seemed like ages.
‘What’s changed, Adams?’ Lizzie said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve always had these legs, but like I said, you never seem to have noticed them before.’
‘To be fair, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress before,’ Adams said. ‘So, I’ve never actually considered the fact that you have legs.’ He was trying hard to relieve the tension that seemed to have suddenly descended on the hotel lobby. They sat in silence, neither of them looking at each other, the only sound a lone mosquito whining around the room.
‘We’ve known each other for ages,’ Lizzie said, eventually breaking the silence. ‘But it’s never been like this between us.’
‘What do you mean, like this?’ Adams replied. Lizzie didn’t say anything but just looked at him. Looking toward the ceiling, he let out a deep breath and leaned backward in his chair. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I honestly don’t know.’
‘Is it what happened at home?’ she asked him. He looked at her, wondering where she was going with that question.
‘It must be.’ He paused, before continuing, ‘Although, to be honest, it’s more than that. It’s this tour, and what it’s done to us. I killed someone, Lizzie.’ He paused again. ‘You were nearly shot right in front of me. So, it’s all of that. And it’s you.’
‘What do you mean, and it’s me?’ she asked.
‘You,’ Adams continued, ‘in that bloody dress.’ He ignored the alarm bell in his head that had suddenly got louder in the last few seconds. Adams reached across the table and took Lizzie’s hand in his, running his thumb across the back of her hand. ‘Mate, I’m really sorry, but I’m sitting here now looking at you, and I’m just thinking, how beautiful you are. And I can’t believe that I’ve not noticed that before. Not properly.’
‘Adams,’ Lizzie said in a whisper, her cheeks red in the soft light of the bar. ‘We’ve got to be at Akrotiri in a couple of hours.’ Adams took a deep breath before replying, glancing at Lizzie’s hotel room key as he did so.
‘We could do a lot in a couple of hours.’
37
Jackson ran across the scrappy patch of land in the middle of the compound towards the area where he’d last seen the CO. He couldn’t see jack shit through the cloud of smoke that was rising from the crater in the centre of the compound. As he ran around the edges of the crater that had appeared, he heard another ‘crump’ from beyond the compound walls.
‘Shit,’ he muttered as he tried to pick up speed across the rough ground. Although he knew the chances of a rocket landing anywhere near the same place was remote given the crude targeting systems that the insurgents used, a rocket was a rocket. Jackson heard the explosion of the incoming rocket beyond the walls of the compound and swore again as he saw another smoke cloud start to rise up. At least that one landed outside the walls.
Jackson broke through the other side of the smoke, and with relief saw the CO standing in the open, staring at a crater in the earth. One entire side of the Major’s uniform was covered in earth. Jackson ran across to him, pulling up sharply as he reached the officer.
‘Sir,’ Jackson panted. ‘You okay?’ The CO turned to look at him, and Jackson saw that his face was covered in dirt as well as his uniform. The only patches of clear skin were lines where sweat had dripped down his face, washing the mud away. He could also see the fear in the officer’s eyes. Grabbing the CO by the arm, he pushed him towards the door of the Ops Room. ‘Come on, sir. Let’s get inside.’
Once the two men reached the relative safety of the Ops Room, the CO turned to Jackson.
‘Fuck me, that was close. Landed right behind me,’ the Major blurted the words out like bullets from a machine gun. ‘Fucking knocked me right on my arse.’
‘Are you hurt, sir?’ Jackson said. ‘You’re limping.’
‘Don’t think so. Twisted my bloody leg when I went over.’ They both jumped as a loud explosion shook the small building. ‘Jesus,’ the CO barked as dust started to filter down from the ceiling. He strode across to the corner of the room, where a young 2nd Lieutenant was hunched over a radio. ‘Have you called i
t in?’
‘I’m trying, sir.’ Jackson could hear the tremor in the officer’s voice. ‘I can’t raise them, though.’
‘Well, keep trying. We need to get some support up here. Whatever they’ve got.’
The three men ducked instinctively as another rocket whined overhead. Jackson braced himself for a blast, but there was nothing other than a muffled crump off in the distance. The aiming system for the large 107mm rockets that the insurgents used was often nothing more than a few bits of wood under the shell to aim it in the general direction of where they wanted it to go. Although that made them wildly inaccurate, it also meant that by the time any air support had pinpointed the firing point, the insurgents were long gone. The inaccuracy didn’t matter when they got it right, though.
‘Sitrep, sitrep,’ the CO mumbled under his breath. ‘Need to get on top. Understand the situation. Jacko?’
‘Sir?’
‘What’s your understanding?’
’Two dead, sir,’ Jackson replied, ‘and a whole load of rockets coming in.’ The Major stared at him.
‘No shit, Sherlock,’ he said with a grin that was bordering on manic. ‘Right, we need to plan an offensive counter-attack,’ he muttered, more to himself than the other two soldiers. ‘What have we got?’
‘Sir?’ Jackson said.
‘What?’
‘Maybe we should hunker down instead. At least until we get eyes in the sky. They could be trying to draw us out into their sniper arc.’
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