Battle Lines

by Andy McNab

  Jenny remembered that she had talked about Leanne and Steve over lunch that day.

  ‘Is he back from Headley Court yet?’

  ‘He’s been back a few days but he hasn’t seen anyone or left the house yet.’

  ‘This is a particularly nice bottle of wine. People think soldiers only drink beer but in my experience everyone appreciates a fine wine. Please give it to him with my compliments and say welcome home.’

  ‘Oh, but he doesn’t know you!’

  Eugene shrugged. ‘He doesn’t need to know me. Our wounded have many well-wishers and I’m one of them. You don’t even have to give him my name.’

  Jenny felt herself reddening again, as if he had given her the bottle of wine. ‘That’s very kind of you, Eugene. Really kind. And of course I’ll tell him your name.’

  ‘That’s up to you.’

  ‘I was planning to visit tomorrow. I’ll take it then.’

  That afternoon, she looked over to Steve and Leanne’s house several times. No one went in or out. She remembered how it had been when Steve first returned last year from Afghanistan, via the military wing of Selly Oak hospital. There had been a welcome party and banners and the twins had been running around in badges which said: ‘Yes! He’s our dad!’ Today there was no one, maybe not even the twins. People stayed away because they knew that the second bomb blast had left Steve with a different kind of wound, the kind you can’t see and for which there are no prosthetics.

  Jenny thought of calling in briefly with the bottle but she was stopped by Leanne’s new coldness towards her. They hadn’t quarrelled and Leanne hadn’t explained herself but she seemed to be avoiding her friend. Or maybe she was just very busy now she had a job. It couldn’t, surely, be that she listened to gossip? No. Leanne was the kind of person who would tell Jenny the rumours and ask outright if they were true.

  In the back garden in the sun with the children, a large bowl of water and some bubbles, she wondered if the Buckles’ old resentment had resurfaced. They both believed that when Steve had lost his leg, he had taken the blast for Dave. Because just a few seconds earlier Dave had been on top cover, the position which proved most vulnerable to the blast. He had fallen back when his weapon had a stoppage and Steve had replaced him, only to be blown out of the wagon. Jenny thought this resentment was unfair. What was Dave supposed to do? Cut off one leg and hand it over to Steve? But they were still feeling repercussions from that bomb, so it might explain Leanne’s haste on the phone, her rapid departure from Adi’s if Jenny arrived and her strange reluctance to meet.

  The garden was a sun trap which eliminated any late spring chill lingering in the air. The children were happy splashing and blowing bubbles. She took some pictures with her phone and only when she looked at them did she notice how Jaime had grown. Jenny wanted to hug her and hold her at this age forever. She decided to email the pictures to Dave. No message, though. Not until he phoned and apologized for the things he had said and the way he’d said them. But she would send the pictures. According to Adi, who dropped these things into conversation in a way which suggested Jenny must have known them too, the boys were going to Bastion soon, where Dave would have internet access.

  The next day was sunny again. It seemed the warm, summery spell would never end. Jenny tucked the bottle of wine into the buggy and they walked to the playground. On the way back, they stopped at the Buckles’ house. Jenny taught Vicky to say, ‘Welcome home, Steve’.

  She got the bottle out ready. She felt nervous, because Steve had not been easy to talk to for some time. But her visit would be brief.

  She lifted Vicky so that she could push hard on the bell. It had been broken so long that Leanne had given up asking the army to fix it. And then they had taken her by surprise one day by arriving with a new bell.

  ‘I can hear it!’ said Vicky as the bell rang loudly inside the house.

  ‘What are you going to say?’ Jenny asked her.

  ‘Welcome home, Steve.’

  ‘Good.’

  Jenny had not anticipated that it would take Steve long to get to the door, even if he was in the back garden. Previously he would have bounded to answer the bell just to prove that he could.

  They waited. At first they heard nothing but, after a couple of minutes, there was movement inside.

  ‘He’s coming!’ said Vicky.

  They continued to wait, Vicky rehearsing the words she was to say over and over to herself in a whisper.

  The noise stopped. No one came.

  ‘Let’s ring again,’ said Jenny doubtfully. Vicky held out her finger and Jenny lifted her and once again they both heard the bell ring. It was greeted by silence.

  ‘No one home. Leanne’s at work and maybe Steve’s gone out,’ said Jenny at last. She tucked the bottle of wine inside the buggy once more and took Vicky’s hand.

  They were crossing the road to their own house when Vicky said: ‘Mummy, look!’

  Jenny turned and there, in an upstairs window, hands on hips, watching them, was Steve.

  Jenny waved. ‘Hi, Steve, welcome back!’

  He did not wave. He looked for a moment longer. Then he turned away and disappeared from sight.

  Jenny waited. Was Steve going downstairs to answer the door? After a long pause she continued to her own front door, ready to be stopped at any moment by Steve calling her back from across the road. But, puzzlingly, he neither appeared nor called to her.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  DAVE WAS HAVING a cup of rich, dark coffee with Kila and Doc Holliday in the NAAFI at Bastion the day before they left for FOB Nevada. It might not have been anything special in the UK but after months in FOB Carlsbad and with the immediate prospect of more months at FOB Nevada, it tasted exquisite.

  Dave closed his eyes and let the coffee’s strong, bittersweet flavour envelop him and drive all thoughts from his head. So the big screen in the corner of the room had probably been talking about Afghanistan for a while before he noticed. It had already caught everyone else’s attention and Kila and the medic were watching it intently.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ Kila was muttering.

  An American serviceman had been exposed by the Afghan soldiers he was supposed to be training. Somehow they had got into his day sack and found ears there: human ears.

  The serviceman had admitted that when he had cornered and killed a small group of Taliban fighters he had cut off their ears and kept them as a trophy. He had previously been regarded as a hero for his role in the well-publicized close-quarters combat, in which other Americans had died. Now he was shamed.

  ‘President Karzai has expressed his disgust, on behalf of the Afghan people. Secretary of State Mrs Clinton has also said that all Americans will feel revulsion and shame at the serviceman’s lack of respect. She has described him as a “lone wolf” who ignored all army procedures and she has indicated a prosecution will follow. But nothing the courts or the politicians can do will turn this bad publicity around in Afghanistan,’ said the news commentator, her face serious.

  ‘Dickhead,’ said Doc Holliday. ‘How many women did he think he was going to impress with an ear collection?’

  ‘And why would you keep them where anyone can find them?’ added Kila.

  ‘So the Afghans are right,’ said Dave. ‘They think we’re infidel barbarians, and now that bloke’s proved we are.’

  Doc Holliday grinned ghoulishly. ‘Sure thing. I’m an infidel barbarian and proud of it.’ Dave suspected he wasn’t joking. Who knew what went on inside Doc Holliday’s head?

  ‘Glad it was an American and not one of ours,’ said Kila.

  ‘You think most Afghans can tell the difference?’ Dave took another sip of the coffee and Kila passed them each a square of chocolate.

  ‘This is fucking marvellous with coffee,’ he said. ‘Jean sent it. We won’t taste anything this good for weeks now. Not at FOB Nevada.’

  There was silence for a few moments while they submitted to the dark flavour of the chocolate. Even s
itting upright at a table felt like a luxury after FOB Carlsbad.

  Dave said: ‘The Taliban are going to get revenge for those ears.’

  Kila raised the place on his forehead where his eyebrows should be. ‘You think the Taliban will be after our ears now?’

  ‘Or balls, or dicks. But body-part collecting has to be the new fashion.’

  ‘Better not get captured at FOB Nevada, then,’ said Doc Holliday, looking at his watch and getting up. It was time to prepare to leave the luxurious tented accommodation, Wi-Fi and warm showers of the sprawling Camp Bastion.

  ‘You heard from that wife of yours?’ demanded Kila as they walked out into a cloud of hot dust. There had been no rain at Bastion, in Helmand’s north-eastern corner. The whole base seemed to be built on dust and rising winds were throwing it about now.

  ‘Nope. She sent me some pictures of the kids. Without any fucking message from her.’

  ‘For Chrissake, Dave. I don’t know what comms are like at Nevada, but just break the fucking silence.’

  ‘I tried to phone from Carlsbad and as usual there was no reply. She’s out all the time or she doesn’t pick up when it’s me.’

  ‘Try again.’

  Dave sighed and his mouth filled with dust. Kila suddenly tugged him into one of the camp’s air-conditioned offices while Holliday disappeared without breaking his stride. The office was quiet and busy and its cool temperature felt as good as a hug. Kila summoned a member of the staff, a woman whom he seemed to know well and, when she nodded after a muttered conversation, he strode up to a phone and grabbed it.

  ‘Do it now, Dave. Just do it. We’re not going to have an easy ride at Nevada and if anything happened to you and you’d left things like this …’

  ‘I can’t, Iain. I’ve got to get my platoon sorted—’

  ‘I’ll go and shout at your men. Phone her.’

  Dave was surprised at the way his heart thudded as he dialled the number. It was thumping out a battle rhythm. Ridiculous. He was phoning his wife, not Taliban HQ.

  Click. He had crossed one continent. Clunk. That was the second continent. Ding ding. Welcome to the UK. When she picked up the phone, his heartbeat was so loud he could barely hear her.

  ‘Jenny?’

  There was a pause. Was that a satellite pause? Or was it her?

  ‘Dave …’

  He had thought that just by the way she said his name he would know everything. But from this short, faint statement he could glean nothing except perhaps surprise.

  ‘Jenny.’

  Keep it bland. Gauge the enemy’s position before firing and giving away your own.

  ‘Are you at Bastion?’

  Hmm. The enemy was reluctant to reveal anything. But maybe, maybe, there was a certain softness there.

  ‘Yes. Thanks for the pictures. The kids have grown. Jaime’s grown a lot.’

  ‘We’ve been having this amazing sunny weather. They looked so sweet playing in the garden …’

  ‘We’ve been having rain.’

  ‘I thought it didn’t rain in Afghanistan.’

  ‘It rains on FOB Carlsbad. All day every day.’

  They were talking about the weather. About the fucking weather! In polite but restrained tones. He had managed to forget what a formidably tactical enemy Jenny could be.

  ‘I’m going away very soon,’ he said carefully.

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So I thought I’d ring. To say goodbye.’

  ‘I hoped you’d ring. To say hello.’

  There was a silence. Nothing wrong with the line. It was doing that convenient crackling thing which might make her think he was talking and she couldn’t hear him. Except he wasn’t saying anything.

  ‘Any news?’ he asked at last.

  ‘No. Well, Steve Buckle’s just come home.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘I don’t know. I went over there but he didn’t answer the door.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound good.’

  ‘Maybe he was asleep. Except he wasn’t because I saw him in the window.’

  ‘Where’s Leanne?’

  ‘At the bakery.’

  ‘Jenny …?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I love you.’

  Fuck fuck fuck fuck, he had just put the enemy in an absurdly advantageous position.

  ‘I love you too, Dave. But I’m waiting for an apology.’

  ‘What the hell do I have to apologize for?’

  ‘The letters you wrote, the things you said. The way you shouted, the way you keep suspecting me of doing things I wouldn’t do, the way you don’t trust me.’

  ‘Fuck it, Jenny, what am I supposed to think? Blokes walk up to me every day and tell me something else you’ve done.’

  ‘Done! What am I supposed to have done?’

  ‘Hmm, let’s see what the most recent bit of gossip is. Oh yes. You left the baby with Adi all afternoon while you went out to lunch with General Coward-Hardy.’

  He was shouting, he knew it. He was trying to shout quietly, so that the office staff didn’t hear.

  ‘His decree absolute came through and he was very upset so I stayed and had lunch with him. And his middle name is Howard.’

  ‘He was very upset! He was very upset! Does he pay you overtime to hold his fucking hand?’

  Evidently shouting quietly wasn’t a successful strategy because the office staff who were nearest were looking up from their computers at him now.

  ‘I did not hold his hand.’

  ‘Jenny, I don’t know what you’re up to but this old geezer, this coward, has got some sort of a hold over you and I don’t like it.’

  ‘You don’t like it? You were away six months and you were only too happy to fuck straight off for more! I don’t like that! But what do you care? You go away all the time and, guess what, while you’re gone your kids grow and you don’t know your wife any more because you never see her, she’s just someone people gossip about.’

  ‘That is not fucking fair! I didn’t know this tour would last so long.’

  ‘Why should I be fucking fair? You haven’t been fair to me! You believe every piece of rubbish people say and you ring me and shout at me instead of phoning me to ask me how—’

  ‘Now who’s being unfair? Whenever I phone you, there’s no reply!’

  ‘Sorry about that. I’m trying to have a life here by myself.’

  Every single face in the office had turned towards him. With a great effort, Dave dropped his voice.

  ‘Are you having a life by yourself? Or with him?’

  Her voice dropped too.

  ‘Stop it, Dave. Just stop it and apologize.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing to apologize for. I just want to hear the truth.’

  ‘I’ve told you the truth. You keep asking me the same thing over and over again, interrogating me until I give you a different answer. That’s what torturers do.’

  ‘Great. Now I’m a fucking torturer. I have to go, Jenny. I may not be able to ring you for a while.’ Was she coughing? Or was that an explosion of fury at the other end? He managed to regain something like normality in his voice when he realized it could be many weeks before they spoke again. And, as Iain Kila had reminded him, that anything could happen in that time. He was jolted back to that day on the poppy fields when a sniper had targeted him and barely missed.

  He said, slowly and clearly: ‘Jenny, I don’t understand what’s happening to us. But it doesn’t really matter what you’ve done or what I’ve said. I want to tell you that I love you and I’ll always love you. I want you to know that you’ve been the best wife any man could ask for. I apologize for all the hurt I’ve caused.’

  He did not wait to hear her reply. He hung up, left the phone on the nearest desk and walked out of the office.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  FOB NEVADA WAS large. It was on the edge of the sprawling town of Mas’qada. Its rows of exercise machines stood inside the Hesco, pointing towards the town’s walls like a line of c
avalry ready to charge.

  As soon as they arrived, the men established their firing positions and grabbed their places to sleep while the sergeants and officers mined their American opposite numbers for information. Soon, the smell rising from the cook area told Dave that the lads were hitting their rations. He wouldn’t mind joining them but there was a strange sense of urgency around the Americans. Dave guessed something was up. The Yanks were usually relaxed and laconic inside their forward operating bases.

  The American OC was called away frequently and then he began taking his aides aside. Soon the Americans were running around, rushing off for urgent calls, busy with ammo, or just standing and talking intently in small groups.

  Major Willingham asked pleasantly: ‘Has anything happened? Or is it always this busy here?’

  His American opposite number said: ‘Well, it’s been a pleasure to meet y’all and I wish you success. But it does seem our departure may be more imminent that we thought.’

  Dave looked around. The airspace around the FOB was buzzing. It seemed to him that the Yanks were already departing.

  ‘You may be aware of a recent scandal which is putting American relations with the Afghans under strain,’ said the OC.

  ‘Is that … Eargate?’ asked Major Willingham.

  ‘It’s the ears. The effect on relations means we have to get up-country fast.’

  ‘But what about the patrol bases?’ asked Major Willingham. ‘We haven’t had a chance to—’

  ‘I have to ask you to prepare your men for immediate occupation of the PBs because we’re drawing down the Marines who are currently holding them. We are drawing down right now.’

  ‘Our stores haven’t arrived!’ the major objected but the American commander was temporarily deaf.

  He said: ‘You should get guys out to all the PBs within two hours and the men taking over the furthest bases, that is PBs Red Sox, Giants and Mets, should get moving right now.’

  The major turned to his men: ‘We’ll have to send advance parties to the PBs. Their relief parties can follow as soon as stores arrive.’

  The American consulted his watch: ‘If you can get your advance out to the PBs within forty minutes, we’ll allow three hours for all our guys to get back to the FOB and that will be the point of our final departure.’