War Torn

by Andy McNab

  Agnieszka watched the rain. The wind was throwing it against the window. It was just a matter of time before she heard the familiar sound of water pouring from the leaking gutter.She could see the road, dark as a long, cold river. A car passed, moving slowly, its lights on although it was morning, its windscreen wipers waving from side to side. Luke started crying. She did not turn away from the window.‘That how I feel, Luke. Just like you,’ she told him.Someone walked along the pavement, body doubled against the wind, towing a child along in hat, coat and scarf. The child was crying and objecting but its mother was pulling it along anyway.The car that had passed stopped now. It was parking outside. She saw it was a sports car but she watched it without interest. A man got out. Darrel! She felt her heart miss a beat. Then she was annoyed with herself. Most of all, she was annoyed with her heart.

  Steve switched on the TV as soon as they were in the living room. Leanne switched it off.‘What d’you think you’re doing?’ he demanded.‘I can’t seduce a man while he’s watching daytime TV – he might get me confused with one of those antiques auction shows and try to flog me for a fiver.’He looked at her without smiling and raised his eyebrows.‘So that’s why you brought me all the way down here and got the kids out for the day.’She sat beside him on the sofa and took his hand. He was still her big, handsome husband. She used to feel proud, walking around shopping centres or taking the kids places with him. She often saw other women glance twice at Steve. And his face hadn’t changed. It was the expression on it that was different.‘Nah. It’s because I’ve always wanted a disabled parking badge and I need you to sign the forms.’He didn’t smile. ‘I don’t need a fucking blue badge, and you didn’t need to sweet-talk the guardhouse into giving you a disabled space today.’‘So you’ve got a souvenir replica of the Eiffel Tower instead of a leg and you like to show it off. Why should that stop me getting the best parking place at Tesco?’She saw his face re-form itself into angry lines.‘I am not driving a car with a fucking blue badge.’‘Shut up, Steve, and take your clothes off.’‘What?’‘Don’t have a problem undressing, do you? After all, you’re not disabled.’He looked at her with apprehension. She moved closer to him and began to kiss his face, especially around his ears, like she used to. She felt him relax a little. She kissed him on the mouth and he responded. She began to feel triumphant. Then he pulled away.‘Leanne . . .’Oh-oh. She tried to kiss his mouth to stop him talking. She could feel him giving in to her. Then he pulled away again.‘Leanne, listen . . .’She looked at him. His eyes were large and soft now. They had lost that cross, bulging look and the angry lines around his mouth had disappeared.He said: ‘You’ve never looked at my stump.’‘You’ve never shown me.’‘I put my socket and leg on when you come up to Headley Court. But when you’re not there, I lounge around without it.’‘Why don’t you lounge around without it when I’m there?’‘Because you don’t want to see it.’He was right. But she was not going to admit that.‘Because you hide it from me,’ she said.He swallowed.‘Want to see it, then?’‘Well, I’ve already been to the Eiffel Tower. Got the T-shirt. So show me something I haven’t seen.’He swallowed again.‘You want to do it . . . here?’‘We could go down to the rec. But tongues would wag, Steve.’She began to kiss him again and this time he gave in.‘OK,’ he said at last. ‘Here goes.’He took off his trousers. She stared at the join between the socket and the metal leg. She had seen that before: Steve and most of the other lads with metal legs walked around at Selly Oak and Headley Court in shorts. Only the older amputees covered up and tried to make the prosthetics look like real legs, she had noticed.Her heart began to beat faster. She remembered Jenny telling her that today she had to win an Oscar. It was essential not to show fear, disgust or horror. She concentrated hard on looking relaxed. She thought she was succeeding. But when she tried to smile she found she was unable to.Steve took the leg off the socket. He made several attempts to lean it against the sofa. She did not help him. It began to slide to the floor. She did not catch it. The leg landed with a thud. Then she watched as he released the socket at the top of his leg. Already his movements were practised and fluent. She reached out and very gently stroked his forearms as his hands worked. She tried not to pay any attention to the part of her that felt dizzy with fear at what she was about to see. She reminded herself that this was Steve. She wanted him to know that he was still her Steve.And, suddenly, there it was. Steve’s stump. It grew out of his groin and was recognizably a human body part. The surgeons had rounded it off nicely: it was covered with tight flesh like the rest of him as though it had always been that way. What had she expected? A dripping mess of hanging wires like a fire in an electrical showroom? So, after all that, his stump wasn’t an ugly, scary deformity. It was Steve.She knew he was watching her. And it was easy to smile. Very slowly, she reached out and touched it. Yes, it even felt like Steve. Even more slowly, because her bulk, as usual these days, got in the way, she leaned forward and kissed it. Gently, and lovingly.Steve watched her. She looked up at him from his small fraction of a leg and smiled.

  Agnieszka ran to open the door quickly so no one would see him. She didn’t want to smile at him but she could not stop herself.‘Darrel!’‘I don’t start work until one today. So I thought I’d stop by and show you my new wheels.’‘You get new car?’‘Yeah, came into the garage last week. A part-ex. It’s a Mazda MR2, not very new but some old bloke had it for years and didn’t drive anywhere. It’s even still got its original tyres!’He talked about the handling, the acceleration, and something about cylinders. She nodded and tried to look as though she understood, the way she did when Jamie talked about weapons.‘I see from window!’She went back to the living room and peered out at the car.He followed her. ‘I was going to take you for a ride in it. But it’s just not the weather today.’‘We go when sun shines again. Darrel, this very nice car. This beautiful car.’And it was. He looked pleased.‘Er . . . Shouldn’t you . . .?’ He hesitated. ‘So, what’s upset Luke?’She realized, for the first time since he had started, that Luke was still crying.‘He always begin when doorbell ring,’ she said, going to his pushchair and unstrapping him before she remembered that she had answered the door before Darrel had rung.Darrel held out his hands as if Luke was an old friend.‘How are you doing, mate? Want a hug with Darrel?’She handed Luke over and gradually, walking slowly around the room and chatting in a calm voice, Darrel worked his magic. She watched as Luke turned into a quiet, soft, pliable baby.Darrel said, softly: ‘Aggie, I’ve got something to tell you.’‘Something more than new car?’‘Yeah, something else. I’m going away for a while.’She felt her body stiffen. She looked up at him.‘My boss has a garage back in his home town. And it’s not doing very well. He wants me to spend a few weeks sorting it out.’There was a long silence.‘Where this garage?’ she asked at last.‘Great Yarmouth. East. The other side of London. Not far from Poland.’‘You not come back for a few weeks?’His face drooped.‘I’ll try. But the place is in a right mess. I’d rather get the job done and finished . . .’‘When you go?’‘Today.’‘Oh!’She turned away from him, back to the window. It sounded as though someone was throwing gravel at the glass. But it was just the rain.‘Look at me, Aggie.’She did not want to face him. She felt desolate. Desolation was a long, flat field, covered with snow. The field had been there when her father died. And when she had first arrived in England. She had cried herself to sleep each night for a whole month at the hotel where she worked. The field was there every time Jamie went away, every time Luke went to the hospital. And now here it was again. That blanket of snow over frozen earth in a field in a frozen world far from anywhere.‘Ags? Come here.’She walked over to him obediently and he put his free arm around her. He managed to kiss her, although he was still holding Luke with the other arm.‘Aggie, it’s not for long and I’ll ring you often,’ he said softly.He stroked her hair and the repetitive movement was soothing.‘I want to take care of you. I wish you hadn’t sent me away the other day, after the beach.’She closed her eyes. She lea
ned against him. It was one thing to look at Adi Kasanita on a summery evening laughing with her brood of healthy kids and think that was how life ought to be. And another to send away your only friend when you were stuck alone in a small house with a sick child on a rainy day. She was sure now that she did not want Darrel to go.‘Will you miss me?’ he asked.She nodded. She was frozen.‘I have to get to work,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll be back soon, Ags. Take care of yourself.’He carefully settled Luke into the corner of the sofa and this time the baby did not object. Darrel bent over Agnieszka. When she didn’t turn her face up to him he kissed her on the forehead.She stood at the window watching the beautiful car drive away. She did not permit herself to feel anything.She switched on the TV. The screen was filled with British soldiers. They were wearing desert camouflage and streaming out of the back of a Chinook. This must be Afghanistan. Her heart missed a beat.‘A new development,’ said the anchorman, ‘in the unfolding Afghan hostage crisis.’

  Afterwards, Steve held Leanne so tightly that it crossed her mind he was trying to kill her. It was a moment before she realized he was trying not to cry. The thought that this big man had been moved to tears by having sex with his wife brought tears to her own eyes.‘You can cry if you want, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘I am.’As soon as she had spoken, his entire body was shaken by the immense sob that followed. He held her as he cried and cried. When she looked at his face she saw the pain there. The pain of the leg he had lost, the pain of the new reality, the pain of all the hopes and possibilities that had been exploded in a few seconds under the hot Afghan sun. She cried too, as though she could carry some of his pain and save him some tears.‘Life’s going to be different now, love,’ she said at last, passing him a third wad of tissues. ‘But that doesn’t mean it’s going to be worse.’He nodded and put an arm around her. ‘I still love you. I don’t always show it but I do.’She smiled.‘And,’ he added, ‘thank God I can still do it.’‘Oh, you can still do it all right.’When she stood up to go and make them a sandwich she realized that she felt relaxed for the first time in months. If she fell asleep now she would sleep for the rest of the day and the whole of the night. Instead of waking up and tossing and turning for hours and then sneaking down to the fridge as though it was her secret lover.‘Turn on the TV, sweetheart, it’s time for the news,’ said Steve. He sounded like his old self again.She switched on and went into the kitchen. She didn’t feel hungry! She decided to go without a sandwich and just make one for Steve. She was reaching for the bread when she heard shouting.‘Bloody fucking stupid bitch!’She ran back to the living room.‘You left the zapper over there, fat cow! Look, there’s something about the lads and I can’t reach the zapper to turn it up!’He was roaring. His eyes were bulging with fury, his face was angry black lines.She rushed to the zapper and dropped it.‘For fuck’s sake!’ he screamed. She picked it up and hastily turned up the volume. His eyes blazed as he turned away from her. He was intent on the screen.Leanne sat very still. She watched the newsreader without listening.‘. . . now made a ransom demand for the safe return of the American hostage, oil exploration expert Martyn Robertson. The Foreign Office has refused to comment on reports that his kidnappers are demanding as much as thirty million dollars, as well as the release of a number of Taliban detainees.‘Martyn Robertson was kidnapped by insurgents in Helmand Province while under the care of a British Army escort. The army has issued a statement saying that every effort was made to keep Mr Robertson safe but members of his family are calling for a full inquiry into how the Taliban slipped through the army’s security net.‘The kidnappers are rumoured to have set a two-week limit for the delivery of the ransom. They are unlikely to let the hostage live past that deadline.’The picture changed, the story changed, a different reporter appeared on the screen. Steve and Leanne continued to watch, mute and motionless, from separate chairs.

  Chapter Sixty-three

  THE MEN WERE CLUSTERED AROUND THE TV IN THE COOKHOUSE. Martyn Robertson was the first news story. There was a shocked silence as the newsreader announced the ransom demand and execution threat.A grainy video was shown of Martyn looking miserable. He said he was being well treated and he read out a prepared text about the evils of imperialist powers in Afghanistan.The watching men searched the background for clues to Martyn’s whereabouts but behind him was only a mud wall that could be anywhere in Helmand Province, anywhere in Afghanistan. The report cut to politicians from both sides of the Atlantic talking about their determination to free the hostage without giving in to terrorist demands.‘That’s a load of crap,’ said Swift from 3 Section. ‘We should be driving around this area ripping the shit out of every Taliban bastard for miles around.’‘Can’t we just go through the whole town looking for him?’ asked Aaron Baker. ‘He’s probably in someone’s cupboard.’‘Why aren’t we doing something to find Martyn?’ people shouted.‘And what good are fucking diplomats?’ asked Mal.The OC was in the cookhouse with the men. He looked tired. ‘Secretary of State Clinton is making a surprise visit to Kabul. While she’s here, she’s going to talk to the Afghan President about Martyn.’His words were met by silence. Finally CSM Kila said: ‘With respect, sir, that’ll do fuck all to help.’Major Willingham was doleful.‘I know.’‘Can’t we find him? Can’t we go and fight with the fuckers?’ men said. ‘We’ve got to get to him before the bastards slice his head off.’But the OC held his hands up to indicate his helplessness in the world of politicians and diplomats.After dark, Asma escaped from the ops room to have a cigarette and join Gordon Weeks for a walk around the perimeter. Foreign Office staff, walking with their heads tilted back so they could see the amazing Afghan stars, kept bumping into them.‘They get paid danger money to come to an FOB,’ said Asma. ‘It’s a fortune. But the first sign of any incoming and they’re into the bunker and down on the ground.’Weeks stepped around a stumbling man in a smart suit and body armour.‘Their greatest risk is falling and breaking a leg while they stargaze.’She giggled.‘God it is so fucking good to get out of the ops room! It’s stuffy and smelly and horrible. And so are all the officers.’Weeks decided she had just paid him a compliment without even knowing it. Suddenly he felt happy. Happy to be with Asma, under a spectacular night sky, hearing her laugh.Without thinking he reached out and drew her to him. Their body armour bumped. He smelled the hint of perfume and the odour of cigarette. Her arms were bare and the softness of her skin excited him. Then his courage failed. He kissed her on the cheek and released her.‘What was that for?’ She was laughing at him.‘I don’t know what came over me,’ he said. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’She laughed again and then they walked on in silence.‘So,’ he began awkwardly. ‘Are you sitting there with your headphones on just listening all day?’‘Yup. Except when someone nicks me headphones.’‘Is it ever interesting?’‘It’s enough to make me take up fucking knitting. I mean, why do we look at the radio when we’re listening to it?’‘But are you getting anywhere?’‘Well, it’s frustrating. I knew Martyn and I feel this sense of urgency, especially now we’ve only got two weeks. But there are guys in there who are treating it like just another bloody day’s work. It’s more about politics than about finding him.’‘But do you hear anything on the radio that may lead us to him? The men all want to get out there and search.’‘Hmmm. Depends how you interpret what they say.’‘Because the Taliban speak in code?’‘Their codes aren’t very complicated. But they chatter a lot about nothing. So it’s hard to tell what’s crap and what matters. There was a lot of stuff about a holy place today so the colonel’s convinced they’re hiding him in a mosque.’‘Well, they might be.’‘Or they might just have been talking about mosques. Because Moslems do.’‘Any idea which mosque?’She laughed again.‘No. So if your blokes want something to do, they could search them all.’