by Andy McNab
Jenny looked through to the living room. The children had all left the kitchen now and were sitting in a tight circle in front of the TV. She leaned towards Adi. They were both standing and Jenny had to bend to speak quietly to the small, solid Fijian.
‘I don’t care what people say, because I know none of it’s true. I do care when my friends, or people I thought were my friends, are ready to believe lies about me.’
Adi stared back at her.
‘Is it all lies, Jenny? I didn’t want to believe it but so many people have seen you in public with this man. You spend such a lot of time alone with him in his house, he visits you here, he picks up your kids. And you hardly speak to your husband.’
Jenny continued to search Adi’s face. Of all the women at the camp, she loved Adi the most but now none of the familiar features she cared for were visible: the ready smile; the warm, shining eyes; the comfortable curved cheeks. Adi’s face had become all cold, jutting angles.
‘We’re alone in his house working, Adi. I don’t stop from the minute I arrive to the minute I leave and that’s why he picked up the girls once, because I was working. He’s been to my house once, because I left my handbag. We’ve been out twice together and both times there’s been a good reason. He’s never held my hand or kissed me or spoken to me in any way he shouldn’t. That’s the truth.’
While she was speaking she saw Adi’s face change again. The angles began to soften, the warmth returned to her eyes.
‘I believe you,’ she said. ‘But Jenny, Jenny, why couldn’t you be more careful?’
Jenny was ready to bolt for the front door but Adi stopped her, suddenly throwing her arms around her. ‘Oh darling, you know how people like to talk and say bad things. Why do you give them so much opportunity to gossip?’
Jenny shrugged inside Adi’s hug. ‘I didn’t know they were going to start talking about me. I thought people liked me.’
‘The best thing, and you won’t be happy but I’m saying it anyway, the best thing would be for you to stop working for Eugene.’
‘I don’t want to. I love the job.’
‘It’s not fair on Dave. All this gossip. He hears it out in theatre and it’s not right.’
‘I can’t give up work.’
‘Is it true he’s loaned you money?’
‘What?’
‘Eugene. Is it true he loaned you the deposit for Vicky’s nursery?’
Jenny drew back.
‘It’s in my pay package. He deducts the money each month.’
In the next room, the children’s programme was ending with the usual music. Adi and Jenny knew the tune well; it was part of the soundtrack of their lives. Its conclusion usually signalled the onset of hunger, restlessness or some other demand from their children, which meant adult conversation had to end.
‘Jenny, listen.’ Adi spoke rapidly and softly. ‘If you’re staying there because of the loan, don’t. That money I’m saving for our trip back to Fiji, I’ll never have enough before Sol comes home. I’ll loan it to you, I know you’ll pay it back when you can. If it helps you to give up the job, then take it.’
Jenny was touched.
‘Oh, Adi.’
‘Don’t decide now, Jenny. Think about it. OK?’
Jaime was moving in her buggy the way she did just before she woke. Around the TV, the tight circle sprung a leak as children broke away.
‘Thanks, Adi. I will.’
‘Listen, come back at bedtime this evening to say goodnight to the girls and then leave them here and pick them up in the morning. I’ll deal with the gossip as best I can.’
‘Adi, thanks, I—’
‘Jaime’s waking up. Don’t let her see you or she’ll cry when you go. Hug Vicky and leave now, Jenny. And take care of yourself.’
Vicky ran for a cuddle as Adi followed Jenny through the hallway. At the door, Jenny kissed the half-asleep Jaime and then remembered something. She reached down into the buggy’s carrier and pulled out a bottle of wine.
‘Jenny, you know I don’t touch that stuff!’ exclaimed Adi.
‘It’s for Leanne and Steve. You see Leanne much more than I do these days. Would you pass it on?’
‘Well, of course.’
‘I told Eugene about Steve coming home and he sent this bottle to wish him well.’
Adi immediately held the bottle differently, as though it was something dangerous.
‘You want me to tell them this is a present from Eugene?’
‘Well, yes. It’s supposed to be really nice wine.’
‘Darling, I’ll think of something else to say.’
‘Why?’ Jenny was putting Vicky down now and the little girl was clinging to her leg.
‘That’s what makes me sure you’re not having an affair, Jenny Henley. You just don’t know how to lie. Or when to lie.’
‘I thought Steve and Leanne would be pleased to have a nice bottle of wine!’
‘If they think you’re having an affair with this man, they won’t want presents from him, will they?’
Jenny stroked Vicky’s hair and gently lifted her back into the house. ‘Is that really what they think?’
Adi looked her straight in the eye and nodded.
‘But how do you know?’
‘I saw Steve for a few minutes yesterday. And he expressed an opinion. So did Leanne.’
That was why Steve hadn’t answered the door. Jenny felt hot and defensive. ‘I don’t know about Steve but I thought Leanne was my friend. We’ve always helped with each other’s children, we’ve got keys to each other’s houses and we do a lot together …’
‘The last thing you two did together was go shopping for party dresses,’ Adi reminded her. ‘Months ago.’
Jenny realized she was right.
Adi rolled her eyes. ‘See you at bedtime.’
Vicky burst into tears and Jenny kissed her again, and then Adi tugged the little girl inside. They turned and waved as Jenny walked back down the street clutching the remaining ball of bandage with the half-bandaged finger. She looked back once to see the pair of them waving, Vicky’s face tear-stained, calling her name. She heard Jaime’s wail as she woke too. She swallowed, waved and turned towards home.
As she swung up the path she felt that Steve might be standing at his window watching her once more, disapproving of her, perhaps even hating her. She did not turn around towards the Buckles’ house; she did not even glance in that direction.
Chapter Twenty-eight
THE SECTION TOOK over the Marine latrines, the Marine cooking area and the Marine wall posters.
‘Personally,’ said Finn, ‘I don’t need to know so fucking much about the finer details of the female anatomy.’
‘About the what?’ asked Angry.
‘Girls’ bodies. I just like nice pictures of, sort of, the whole body. Not little bits of it which look like they’re out of a doctor’s manual.’
‘Those pictures probably belonged to the geezer who left the Bible,’ said Binman.
‘I got some interesting female anatomy here. This chick ain’t out of no doctor’s manual but I can’t get her to stay up on these walls,’ said Mal wrestling with his poster.
‘That’s because she got all wet in the cave. She didn’t like it back there,’ Bacon told him. He turned to the poster and cooed: ‘Did you, baby?’
As if in reply, there came a volley of fire.
‘Shit, not yet!’ said Mal and Angus.
‘Hold on, Terry Taliban,’ said Slindon. ‘I haven’t unpacked.’
‘Get to your firing positions,’ shouted Dave.
‘Come on, come on, come on, we only just showed them to you,’ Sol yelled. But it was the usual arrival chaos. People who were still arguing with each other about where they were to sleep could not focus on the real enemy outside. They stumbled about looking for weapons and ammo.
‘Shit!’ said Dave. ‘This always happens the moment we arrive anywhere so why aren’t we ever ready for it?’
M
en bumped into each other as they looked for their firing positions.
‘This place is barely large enough to swing a cat. How can you get lost?’ roared Dave.
Finally the men were in place. At first the firing was spasmodic as if a couple of Taliban lads were laughing and joking together and firing when they remembered to. Then suddenly their dads seemed to arrive and the fight got fiercer, until it echoed from all sides. Dave was fairly sure that the enemy was in the rocky outcrop the Marine sergeant had pointed out but he could not be sure that this was their only position. The compound seemed to be in a giant bowl and noise echoed around inside it. This made it difficult to gauge just how strong the enemy was, since every report echoed once, twice and maybe three times.
‘If only we had the tripod for the .50 cal!’ he moaned to Sol.
Sol, leaning over a rifle, turned to look at him. ‘Well, why don’t we?’
‘I was told we couldn’t take it.’
Sol looked incredulous. ‘Who told you that?’
Dave did not reply, so Sol guessed who. He shook his head sadly but said nothing.
‘Is there any way to position the wagon so we can fire the HMG?’ Dave asked the driver.
Lancer Dawson shrugged.
‘Nothing wrong with my position. The problem is the walls are too high. S’pose you might scare the ragheads off a bit if you fire it into the air. But you’re not going to hit anything.’
Dave felt exasperated.
‘We haven’t got enough ammo to just piss it away,’ he said.
‘Well, what else are you going to use HMG ammo for?’
There was no answer to that.
‘If you ask me, the ragheads saw the personnel handover,’ continued Lancer Dawson. ‘And they’re giving us a warm local welcome.’
Dave silently agreed with him. The enemy were trying to gauge their manpower and this was the opening of a conversation, the only sort you could have with the Taliban. It would continue throughout their time here. He wished he could start the conversation with a firm statement and there was nothing better than an HMG to say: ‘Fuck off.’
The Minimi chattered angrily and so did the gimpy but it wasn’t enough. The enemy answered with their own machine gun. Dave could almost hear them laughing. They had been watching the place; they knew the arc of fire of a big gun and where it had to stand for maximum effect. And they couldn’t see it and they couldn’t hear it so, despite seeing it arrive, they were already guessing it was out of use.
He called Dawson and Reed.
‘We’ve got shovels. See if you can build up some of this sand, enough to reverse the Mastiff on to it and get the HMG above wall level.’
If the Lancers had looked miserable at missing their steak lunch, now they looked wretched.
‘In this heat?’ demanded Dawson.
‘We need to give them a show of strength.’
‘There isn’t enough sand in this courtyard. We’ll never get it high enough!’
‘There’s rubble stacked up around the edges, and more in the other courtyard. Try using that, then sand.’
‘But the relief should be here any minute,’ said Reed.
‘Listen,’ Dave told them. ‘We’ve got twelve men, that’s including me, you two drivers and a medic. As far as I know, stores haven’t even arrived at FOB Nevada yet. So it might be a while.’
Moaning, the drivers went off to examine the rubble.
Dave went through the compound to the next courtyard to join in the firefight.
‘Up your rate of fire,’ he told Sol. ‘And move the lads round a bit. We don’t want the enemy to know how few of us there are.’
‘It’s fucking horrible up here, Sarge,’ shouted Binman from one of the towers. ‘I’ve got my head down all the time and it’s fucking raining rounds.’
‘All right, you can get down,’ Sol said. ‘Streaky Bacon, go up there.’
Streaky didn’t hear him at first. He was doing that Streaky giggling thing under heavy fire. In fact, it was the sound of those giggles which focused Dave on how serious their situation was. The enemy was testing them for firepower and manpower and if they guessed resources were really limited then this could turn into a sustained attack. As their own rate of fire had increased, so had the enemy’s. Anything we can do, thought Dave, they can do better, and that’s what’s giving Streaky Bacon the giggles.
Dave got on the radio to the OC and gave a sit rep.
‘You’re not the only PB to come under attack. PB Detroit Tigers is having a hot time,’ the OC said. ‘Good thing you’ve got the .50 cal.’
‘It would be if I could use it,’ said Dave.
The OC’s voice turned electric. ‘Why the fuck can’t you use it?’
Because my twat of a platoon commander told me I couldn’t have the tripod, sir. Dave said: ‘There’s a technical problem, sir.’
‘A technical problem?’
‘We’re working on it, sir.’
‘It sounds as though all your men are busy firing, Sergeant Henley, so I can’t imagine who’s dealing with the technical problem.’
‘The drivers should soon have it sorted, sir.’
The OC’s sigh was audible.
‘Are you likely to be requesting air support?’
Dave hesitated. ‘Not yet …’
But he was just thinking that it was reassuring to know air support was there when Major Willingham said: ‘Could be a dust storm starting at Bastion. You may have noticed it was a bit dodgy when we left this morning. So let’s hope support’s available if we need it.’
Dave felt a pit form in his stomach.
‘A dust storm?’
‘Yes. Stores have arrived and we’re loading up. The Americans are anxious to get away while they can, so most of them have had an early lunch and left.’
Dave wanted to ask the major whether he had enjoyed his steak. Instead he said: ‘Will the relief be able to get out of the FOB to us, sir?’
He heard the major hesitate.
‘If we don’t have a dust storm here. If we do, they can last for days.’
Dave tried not to think about the possibility that they could be cut off here without supplies or support for days. He decided to renew his attempt to frighten the enemy into backing off for a while. He told Angus to fire a .66 rocket. When it reached its target and turned into a plume of smoke and noise there was a satisfying silence at last. For two minutes. Then it all started again. As if the enemy knew he had only one .66 rocket left.
Dave hoped the skirmish would run its course within about forty minutes. Previous experience with the Taliban told him that when they attacked camps and bases it was often just a show of strength which only lasted until fighters melted away for food or prayers. Except this lot weren’t melting anywhere. The two sides exchanged fire for forty minutes. Then fifty. Then an hour.
After ninety minutes of small-arms fire, Dave began to suspect that the enemy was making a serious bid to take the patrol base. It had seemed like an amateurish, low-key show of strength at first but he guessed that reinforcements were still arriving. And then the guy with the grenades showed up.
The first was rocket-propelled and exploded over one of the outer mud walls, throwing up a lot of dust and mess but barely denting the wall. Its arrival was met by a burst of machine-gun fire. Mal was on the gimpy. When he paused you could hear the higher pitch of the Minimi still chattering away. Dave waited for Binman to pause for breath too. But he didn’t. The Minimi fired on and on and on, madly, relentlessly. Sol went up to him and shouted: ‘Binman! Stop! You’re not firing at anything! You’re just firing!’
Binman looked at him as though Sol had shaken him awake.
‘We don’t have so much ammo you can just throw it down like that!’ said Sol.
Binman had turned that special Binman shade of pale.
Sol asked: ‘When did you last eat?’
Jack Binns stared back at Sol blankly.
‘Where are you, Binman?’ shouted Sol over th
e noise. ‘Dorset? Stop firing and get some food inside you, for heaven’s sake.’
That was as close as Sol ever came to swearing but still Binman did not move. Sol reached into his own webbing and pulled out an energy bar and a couple of packets of peanuts. He took the Minimi away from Binns.
‘Thank you very much,’ said Doc Holliday, taking it neatly. ‘You see to my patient and I’ll see to the enemy, Sol.’
‘Don’t expose yourself. I can’t afford to lose you,’ Dave told him.
Doc laughed and trotted off happily with the Minimi while Sol and Dave sat Binns down in the safest place he could find. He handed him the food. Dave found an energy bar too and threw it over to Binns, who sat opening the packets and shoving food into his mouth silently and mechanically.
‘Has he been checked for diabetes?’ asked Dave.
‘Yeah. Doc says it’s just low blood pressure.’
Doc Holliday had found himself a good firing position through a slit in the wall which had been made by the Marines or someone else, maybe even the Taliban. Because before this was a PB it might have been an enemy stronghold. Dave had a strange vision of the Taliban and the Americans and the British constantly rotating firing positions in a sort of deadly dance. He watched as another RPG sailed overhead and exploded beyond the compound.
‘They’re in those rocks,’ said Sol. ‘But their firing point’s very hard for us.’
‘And they know it.’
‘They know everything about this place. And they know we’ve only just arrived.’
‘They’re fucking bastards, Sarge!’ shouted Slindon, who was now up the tower. ‘Every time I put my head up I get ding dong ding dong on my helmet. It’s like being inside Big fucking Ben.’
‘They’re throwing it all at us!’ yelled Finn, his voice battle-excited.
Doc Holliday was silent. He was a focused marksman, sitting still for minutes at a time and then suddenly erupting.
‘OK, Slindon get down. Mal, get up there,’ Sol said. When Slindon slithered gratefully down from the tower, he attracted a shower of rounds from the enemy.
‘I wish we could use the HMG,’ said Sol, weariness in his voice.
‘I’ll find out how they’re doing.’ Dave had seen the drivers moving in and out of the courtyard carrying rubble, red-faced, shaking their heads in disgust, complaints drowned by the firefight, so he expected little.
