Carney's War

by James T. Emry

  That sounded fine in principle, but the roads they would be travelling on would be outside the camp and that required the use of ECM sets and Osprey body armour and loaded weapons. The only catch was that all their gear was back in their office in Bastion One camp, which meant travelling in the back of a Snatch Land Rover without any weapons, body armour or webbing. In other words just in the clothes they were standing in. There had been frequent IED attacks on the perimeter roads and two in the last few weeks alone. All the five men in the back of the Land Rover could hope for was a quick end if they were hit.

  In the event Kenny seemed to be the only one who could be bothered to strike up a conversation. “I don’t understand what the strategy of foot patrolling actually achieves. I mean the locals don’t care if we patrol on foot or in vehicles; what difference does it make? The kids still come out for their sweets! And Terry Taleban doesn’t give a shit either way.”

  “I’m not sure you were listening to all that was said in the briefings, mate,” piped up Jack. “It’s more about being seen out on the ground.”

  “You’ll be seen even better in a freaking vehicle!” replied Kenny.

  “Look, let’s concentrate on getting this vehicle back in one piece, guys,” said Cam.

  “Fuck, I have forgotten how to do ECM blue,” said Dave as the vehicles headed off.

  Joe and Dave fiddled for a few moments with the switches and it took them a while to get the ECM equipment on. Not for the first time Joe wished he had listened harder in the briefings. “There you go; pull it up and out. There’s the sound of the bleeps. It’s starting up,” said Joe.

  The top gunner from the Yorkshire Regiment didn’t really care what was going on below him - as long as the ECM suite was working. However, Dave was clearly unable to keep quiet once the vehicles got going. “This isn’t right; we shouldn’t be in the back of a Snatch without body armour, helmets, webbing or guns. Have you lot got kids?”

  “Only the ones we know about,” replied Cam.

  “What’s it matter anyway; there are too many people in the fucking world. So what if we get wasted; there’ll be less people,” said Kenny.

  “Yeah; but I want kids. Something to leave behind,” said Dave.

  “Well what difference does it make either way? If you have them or don’t have them it’s of no statistical importance,” replied Joe.

  “You’re not a mathematician by any chance, are you, Joe?” shouted Cam.

  The others just looked at Dave as the Snatch made its way. Joe decided that the experience had become quite surreal and, while the journey round the perimeter road didn’t take too long, they had to wait at the main gate for another thirty minutes for the all-clear.

  “At least our first ride on the roads outside Bastion was uneventful,” Joe commented to Cam as they walked back to the tent. “Although next time we leave Camp Bastion I hope we have our Gats, body armour, webbing and patrol packs.”

  ***

  Az was travelling back to Pakistan. His time in Musa Q’aleh had been well spent. “Good training at least - very good training,” he thought to himself as he dozed on the truck. He had been momentarily questioned about what he was doing in Afghanistan by a border guard, as he was a Pakistani passport holder. It was just routine but he had slipped the man enough cash and didn’t get a stamp. It was just as well as the fake passport didn’t have an entry stamp anyway.

  “I was visiting my wife’s family; they are from Kandahar.” He had worked on his fake identities and thought about how fake everyone had become in the world.

  He eventually got back to Karachi, and the family home, two days later. His father and mother appeared older than the last time he had seen them nearly a year before; but they were welcoming and brought him everything he needed. However, his feeling of having imposed on them got worse. He decided to phone Shakil - Az always found his brother had a calming effect on him.

  “Back here there are all these ‘celebs’ without a clue Az; musicians who can’t sing, dancers who can’t dance. Have you been watching the TV, bruv?” Az suspected that Shakil was really just probing him as he would have suspected that he had been out “on his travels” as Khalil and Wazir had once put it.

  “Yeah, I was just thinking about all that recently.” He paused. “I had a great time out here, Shaks.”

  “What have you been up to?”

  “Oh, this and that: I visited some mosques. I had some long conversations and attended some teaching seminars.”

  “What kind of seminars?”

  “Not what you’re thinking, Shaks. They were just general stuff.”

  Shakil mulled it over and paused before he spoke. “These politicians, man. They even go on Big Brother or Strictly Come Dancing. What a bunch of wankers.”

  “They’re all the same, bruv, same in the US, same in the UK, same even in India. But actually it’s a good thing. They will be easy to deal with when the time comes.”

  “What do you mean, Az?”

  “Oh, just that ordinary people everywhere are like they are in the UK. They’ve had enough of all the corruption.”

  “Where you OK out there, bruv?”

  “Just stop worrying, Shaks. Everything is OK.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  “I don’t really know yet. I’m enjoying the break if you know what I mean. What’s it like there?” asked Az.

  “Oh the usual; I’m getting on OK. I’m doing some work for Khalil and his IT business at the moment. I’ve still got the part-time job and that. But when are you coming back?”

  “Few weeks I guess. How’s business these days? Is it going OK?”

  “No, not really when you factor in the overheads. The cost of fuel has rocketed again; probably due to problems in the Middle East.”

  “How can you make any cash on your deliveries around London?”

  “I know; we have started using other ways of getting IT equipment to offices and whatever. It seems to be working; a bit of networking goes a long way. Khalil has got a few contacts.”

  “Oh well; seems like you’re getting by. I’ll let you know when I’m coming home, bruv. I’ll give you the flight details.”

  Az rang off, looking forward to a shower and a long rest. He wanted time to reflect on what he had seen and been through.

  ***

  “Khalil, what’s the best type of PC for a small office? These ones look OK.” Jeff Katz was leafing through a computer magazine. Khalil had agreed to help with setting up the party’s campaign office for the local elections in his area. He wished he hadn’t as it was now costing his own time, but now he had no choice.

  “I don’t know. I tend to get advice from my own sales agents so I can find out for you. I go for the most basic when setting places up. But it’s usually swings and roundabouts. Why don’t we just recycle some old ones from one of the branch offices for now? They’re still serviceable and I can network them for you.”

  “That’s a great idea; we will of course pay you as a contractor.”

  “No problem Jeff; I will need to shoot off, but I can meet you on Wednesday at HQ; about 10.00am ahead of this delegation on Friday?”

  “That’s fine, Khalil; see you then.”

  Khalil had to telephone Shakil who was minding orders and running errands for the business. Shakil was so good with the customers that Khalil was starting to feel he needed him on a more permanent basis. He had taken on so much of the workload that it had given Khalil time to find new clients. The secretary could do a lot of things, but she wasn’t technical, and Shakil had done his time at college, built his own computers and had the all-round knowledge vital to a business. If only he wasn’t pre-occupied so much with that idiot of a “bruv” who seemed to think he was a Muslim Bruce Willis. Khalil therefore took exception to Shakil’s first question once he had got through on his mobile phone.

  “No, cuz, I really can’t fix up Az with a part-time role; money is tight.” He resented not only the question Shakil had put to him
but also his methods. Shakil had already mentioned the issue of employing Az once before in a conversation by suggesting that they needed more help - and now Khalil felt both annoyed and guilty. He didn’t expect to have to justify not giving Az a job on his return from Pakistan. He had hoped to be offering Shakil a full-time role instead.

  “That’s OK, Khalil; I was just fishing really,” responded Shakil. “He can get something else I’m sure. He didn’t like that last job in the retail park and I thought you might have something.”

  “No, I realize that, Shak. But we will have this conversation again at some point. I have something I want to ask you, but it can wait.”

  He put the phone down and stared into space. Sometimes it felt like he was carrying the rest of his family on his own shoulders. They just didn’t seem to get what it was all about: standing on your own two feet. He often felt like exploding and shouting at all of them, but he didn’t want to humiliate them. However, Az was different. He had no respect for the man and deep down he knew that there was something serious going on; in fact so serious he was too scared to even guess what it might be. Saira knew as well, but they both now refused to go near the subject. They had too much else to think about. But he couldn’t let the subject drift. He had to keep a close eye on what might happen if only to protect Saira.

  ***

  Joe and Cam lay horizontal; and stared at the roof of the accommodation block. They had been in Kandahar Air Field for only two days and had already had to hit the floor once after an IDF alert. Several 107mm Chinese rockets had been fired from the hills to the west of KAF, a regular occurrence. On this occasion they had both just got out of the shower when a surly warrant officer had screamed through the block for everyone to get down as the alarm was going off. It was annoying enough when you had washed off the dust and heat of the day, but even more so when you were only wearing a towel and still had to get down on your face. But it was only a small price in the scheme of things.

  Ten minutes later they were sat on the deck outside the accommodation block, when a British soldier started singing whilst strumming a guitar: “Freedom’s never free, it depends on folks like you and me…”

  “Well if we get attacked here you can blame that guy’s singing,” Cam stated under his breath to Joe. “We don’t want the Taleban thinking we lack rhythm. It is their stomping ground after all.”

  “I think if we’re under attack we should form up,” Joe replied. “Can we form a square?”

  “We may need a few more people for that. How about a triangle? Has that ever been tried by any army in the history of warfare?”

  “Don’t know, mate, I will put it to the Chiefs of Staff when I see them next. But for now we’ll just stick that guy at the front.” The singing carried on as they both laughed and drank from their cans of Honeydew.

  “Still at least we don’t have to put up with ‘Protein Shake’ and ‘Wolfboy’ – not for the moment anyway,” Cam commented.

  “No; you have a point there,” Joe observed.

  They were going to visit the ammunition depot, which was the other side of KAF and involved a long drive around the airfield. A few months before a helicopter had been shot down near the depot, brought down by a rocket fired from the mountains. Everyone on board the Ukrainian transport aircraft had been killed. There had also been 107mm rockets hitting targets near the depot. It didn’t seem the best place to site one. They were going to be checking on weapons forensics with respect to the Chinese made rockets as well as assess the increased risk of an attack on KAF from the west. If you were standing in the depot site and looking westwards out of the camp there were mountains in the background and large sand dunes in the foreground, spreading round the horizon to the south. The use of aerial reconnaissance balloons was not giving a complete Intel picture. They would also have to take a trip out with a patrol to liaise with a US Intel unit.

  In the back of Joe’s mind was the feeling that the work was never-ending and that he and Cam would have to come back to Afghanistan probably within a year or eighteen months. They had at least been to FOBs and Patrol Base locations outside Bastion. He had expected that they would have to go to FOB Inkerman, but were disappointed that every time they had been booked on a flight they had been knocked off it. Once or twice the helicopters had been warned off as there was too much “activity” around the FOB. In the end it was Kenny who headed that way according to an email received from HQ a few days before.

  For now Joe reflected on what had made life sane so far: the laughter, the jokes and thinking about Alison. Even just listening to her chatting away on the phone was enough for him. He realised that he was missing her too much and stopped himself thinking about it; the occasional phone calls were not helping in reality.

  They finished their two weeks at KAF and apart from a few more IDF alerts there was nothing much that happened. The trips outside the wire involving liaison with American weapons forensics teams went surprisingly well. Frequent visits to the boardwalk, cinema and NAAFI had turned them into “war tourists” – they had even bought T-shirts to that effect. Some of the lads whom they had met in training before deployment, from other branches of the services, were also doing tours around Kandahar and occasionally they would all meet up over a coffee in the NAAFI.

  Joe and Cam boarded a Hercules aircraft to fly back to Camp Bastion. They would be finishing off any outstanding paperwork and share notes with some of the others from their squad who had been using their “Op Barma” skills around Patrol Bases, or honing their mobile patrolling knowledge on the Combat Logistic Patrols around Helmand Province. There was a lot to get done and they all knew they would be back sometime, so much so that the last few weeks had in reality just been mental preparation for the next tour.

  A few days later they handed back stores including their ammunition, Osprey body armour and morphine. Then Joe, Cam, Jack and Kenny got on an RAF Tristar back to the UK via Cyprus where they would spend two days on Decompression. For Joe the cool beer he had consumed at 5.00am, just after the plane had taken off, went down well; and he followed that with a few more on arrival in Cyprus. It was at least ten degrees cooler than Afghanistan and without the high winds and dust devils sand-blasting his face all the time. He was looking forward to the inconsistencies of British climate - and didn’t care what it was like as long as it wasn’t Afghanistan.

  Dumping their personal military kit and weapons in the back of a vehicle at RAF Brize Norton, they changed into the civilian clothing that they had all secretly stashed in boxes before leaving for Helmand. They also retrieved mobile phones that they had not been allowed to take with them and headed off to catch trains from Oxford to various destinations. They would still have to appear for a de-briefing and medical on the Monday at the demobilization centre in Nottinghamshire, but at least the weekend was theirs.

  ***

  The first draft of the policy document was complete and Khalil started to re-read it based on the minutes of various discussions. The email from Jeff had prompted Khalil to reply with a series of questions, as he hadn’t understood precisely what Jeff and his colleagues had wanted from him. The document had discussed the so-called “War on Terror” and neglect of the myriad problems at home, including the increasingly fragile economy. It stated that spending money on public services was probably the best way of ensuring that the UK would not produce yet more terrorists, both through education as well as engaging with people. Britain could no longer trust its own politicians to take care of such important issues.

  It seemed to raise one fundamental question: ‘Did the UK actually have any real democratic processes left?’ The politicians liked to lecture everyone that the UK had real democracy, but wasn’t the reality just a veil – that there were no real “stakeholders” in the future? Many private and cloistered sections of society had known for decades that the great social experiments after the Second World War had all failed including the notions of “Free Health Care” and “Education for All” - they may have
been the aims, but they had never been achieved.

  While Khalil thought the emailed document was a bit naïve he could see the obvious resonance it would have with a great number of people. Put simply it stated the desire for the political establishment to stop wasting public time and money on un-winnable conflicts and pointless enterprises and instead to start sorting out the problems of the country. The message was frank and reasonable.

  He also thought how ironic it was that Az would probably have agreed with much of the party’s policy, but undoubtedly for a completely different reason. For Khalil Az’s only real raison d’être in life now seemed to be his spiritual journey, although admittedly he had been quiet of late. Khalil didn’t miss his presence; he had decided that Az’s religious convictions were borne out of some kind of “opt-out” clause, and not from any real understanding or insight into religious matters. It was a mechanism for managing to avoid serious notions of getting a career and settling down, a handy excuse and nothing more. Khalil didn’t recall Az ever being religious as a younger man. He was basically a write-off as an individual; a failure.

  He also felt that in many ways Az’s predicament was reminiscent of how selfish people had become in the modern world. The new egocentric youth of the planet would use any method to assert themselves and make them appear more important than they actually were. It wasn’t just Islam that was affected by this; how many uptight, young evangelizing Christians were there, or self-righteous animal lovers hell-bent on killing scientists? The newly acquired fundamentalism in the world was a perfect mirror for the cult of celebrity.

  ‘Look at me I know better than anyone else. That’s why I’m about to blow up myself and this shopping centre,’ Khalil joked with himself. He laughed and then realised that it was actually a serious issue for many people. He cursed the existence of Az. He somehow wished that he would go away and stop plaguing the family.