by Andy McNab
Suddenly there was a noise, too loud, too close. Fuck! It was Angus. Or Doc. Fuck!
A couple of the ragheads jumped up and stared in the direction of the rock, straight at the soldiers, squinting in the light of the fire. It was positioned near the mouth of the cave but smoke had wafted in and up, creating a gauzy haze.
The two men who had jumped to their feet hissed at the others to be quiet. But a branch in the fire fell and the logs and flames rearranged themselves, disguising further sound for a moment. What had caused the noise? Had Angus suppressed a sneeze? Had the smoke made him cough? Had Doc moved and knocked the butt of his rifle?
Sure that now they must be discovered, Dave felt adrenalin surge through his body. This was the moment to grab his rifle and start firing. At least he would slot as many of them as possible before they took their revenge.
It’s not over till it’s over, Sarge.
OK, Dermott.
Dave let his heart thump the moment past like a musician beating time. A few beats later, four bats swooped out of the second chamber, over Angus’s bowed head, into the smoke.
Ah, said the men, so that’s what it was! Bats!
Dave could understand them as if they were speaking English. It was strange to have that sense of clarity in another language. He also understood them when they started teasing the young insurgent who had slipped with his weapon today. They were saying that he hadn’t turned a hair when he had thought there was someone hiding in the cave but as soon as he’d seen the bats he’d been terrified. The young insurgent blushed a bit and nodded and admitted that he didn’t like bats much, just as Angry McCall had done earlier.
Dave realized the noise had probably come from Angus. Because bats were surely silent. Disturbed by the smoke, they might have been flying around the second chamber for a few minutes and when one had flown close to Angus he had jumped. Thank God, or Allah, or both, that the bats had flown out into the second chamber so rapidly to explain the noise.
Their suspicions allayed, the men settled down by the fire again and Dave felt his adrenalin drain and his heartbeat ease – although the ends of his nerves were still tingling. He knew he had been close to storming out of the hiding place and blowing everything. Only Jamie Dermott’s words had stopped him. A dead man had appeared inside his head and given him advice which had saved their lives. This knowledge made the hairs stand up on the back of Dave’s neck. But it made him feel good, too. As if Jamie was there soldiering with him, helping him, supporting him.
Jenny only half heard the distant crash of a window. It was just something else breaking, inside her or outside her; she didn’t know which and she didn’t care any more because she was barely here now. She was somewhere dark and still with Dave, reaching out for him, trying to calm his beating heart.
The kitchen door banged open.
A loud, firm voice said: ‘Stop this, Rifleman. Now.’
And the great weight which had been on her back, her arms, her head, was suddenly lifted off her.
She did not move. She did not look up. Steve was shouting and there was someone else in the room, his voice crisp, compelling, authoritative. But not raised. She recognized that voice but did not attempt to remember to whom it belonged. The sound of it had brought her back to the kitchen and the kitchen was pain. All over her body but especially her head. It was the sort of pain which kept you motionless.
‘Sit there. Put your hands on the table. Don’t attempt to move.’
Steve was saying something, but the voice was commanding. It was a voice which had commanded hundreds, maybe thousands, of men. It said: ‘Silence now, please.’
And at the sound of that voice, Steve fell silent.
Jenny had not heard silence for a very long time. It had a viscous property; it was thick like a blanket.
‘Jennifer …’ Eugene took her arm and then her shoulders and gently turned her around so that he could see her face. ‘Oh God,’ he said. ‘What has he done to you?’
He supported her to her feet. She leaned heavily on him. Together they stepped to the kitchen table. Had she been lying looking up at the chair legs just a few minutes ago? Or hours ago? She sank on to a chair now. She tried to lean her head on her hands but she could not touch her face without small rivers bleeding pain from even the slightest pressure. Her eyes wandered across to Steve. He did not look at her. He made as if to stand up.
‘You have been ordered to sit down,’ snapped the general, and the rifleman sat down.
‘Please put your hands back on the table as instructed,’ said Eugene. Steve put his hands on the table, large palms flat, bony knuckles uppermost. Jenny stared at the knuckles and remembered the sight of them rushing towards her.
Eugene found the freezer. He opened it and dug out a bag of frozen peas, passing it to Jenny. She clamped the peas immediately to her face. They did not anaesthetize her pain but they brought a certain alleviation, like a kind friend.
Eugene remained standing. ‘What is your full name, Rifleman?’ he asked. Jenny was surprised when Steve rattled off both his name and number mechanically and without protest.
‘Rifleman Buckle, I thought so. I’ve heard a lot about you, Buckle,’ said Eugene. Jenny stared at him. Steve looked up.
‘I have helped the MoD evolve its short-term response and long-term strategy for the wounded. In that context, I have examined the records of a number of soldiers, including yours. I know that you are a brave and generous infanteer who was always at the heart of his fighting unit, who took care of his comrades in training and then in the heat of battle in Iraq. In Afghanistan, also in the heat of battle, you were blown up and lost a leg. Later, in convalescence, you played a key role in the rehabilitation of other men. You were recently used by the army as an example to the press of a man who is learning to live with his new disability. Am I right in thinking that a campaign to return to the front line got you as far as Bastion?’
Steve nodded. His eyes were large, his face swollen, as if he had been crying.
‘I understand, Buckle, that on exiting Bastion the vehicle you were travelling in hit an IED. The second of your career?’
Steve nodded again.
‘That’s two more than most people survive. You are a remarkable man.’
Steve did not blink or remove his eyes from the general.
‘You are also a wounded soldier. Asking you to adjust to a quiet life in Stores while your comrades are all back on the front line is asking too much of a man of your calibre and character. Your appalling behaviour tonight is shocking, but it is not surprising. I know, because I know the kind of man you are, and that you will be deeply ashamed of this for the rest of your life.’
Steve hung his head.
‘Jennifer will have to decide if she wants to press charges—’
‘No,’ said Jenny. Pain shot across her face. Her voice had a strange, deep quality, as if she’d been smoking all night.
‘—and she is in no state to make such a decision now. However, you are in no state to be allowed loose in this camp, either. I’m not calling the civil or the military police, but please remember that I can if you behave badly.’
Steve’s eyes did not move from the general. He nodded slightly.
‘I’m calling for a vehicle to take you quietly and discreetly to Headley Court. What you have done to Jennifer tonight is a crime. It is also, I believe, the legacy of combat. If, as she generously suggests, Jennifer doesn’t choose to press charges, it may be possible to keep this away from the police and off your record. But you’ll need to work hard, Buckle. Rehabilitation is a long, hard, lonely battle to fight, and no one gives you a medal. You will need comrades and at Headley Court there are comrades to fight alongside you. Rehabilitation is about changing your behaviour. Buckle, you must change. Or the next time there will be police, courts, jail.’
Steve put his head in his hands. He remained silent.
‘Leanne,’ Jenny said.
‘His wife?’
‘She live
s … across the road.’ Each word cost a lot in pain. Eugene passed her the phone and she dialled the number and handed it back to him.
The receiver was snatched up as if Leanne had been waiting for a call.
‘Steve, where the hell are you?’ she roared. Jenny could hear her from across the table. Steve started at the sound of her voice, even this small, tinny version of it.
Eugene explained that there had been a difficulty at the Henleys’ house. Steve was here now. Could she leave her children for a few moments to cross the road?
Leanne’s voice was still audible.
‘Oh fuck it, what’s Steve been doing?’
Then she slammed down the receiver. Jenny got up to open the door. Her whole body ached as she moved. Her head felt twice its normal size. She walked very carefully in case it toppled off. When she reached the door, Leanne was already standing there. She saw Jenny’s face and screamed.
‘He’s inside,’ said Jenny in that slow, deep voice she had acquired which hurt with every word.
‘Tell me Steve didn’t do that. Oh Jenn. Oh fuck. Oh, tell me it wasn’t Steve!’ Leanne wailed.
Jenny said nothing but held open the door and Leanne catapulted through it and followed the light into the kitchen where General Hardy stood, talking quietly on the phone. Leanne looked at him and then at Steve, who remained motionless at the table, his head in his hands.
‘Oh Steve, Steve, my Steve, how could you do this, how could you hurt Jenny?’ Leanne wailed the words as though they were part of a chant.
Steve suddenly spoke from behind his hands. His voice was small and muffled.
‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’
Leanne turned to Jenny, her face a white, horrified mask. Jenny put her arms around her friend.
‘Afghanistan … did this to us,’ she heard herself say.
Leanne drew back to stare at her once more. ‘Shit, you need to get to hospital,’ she said. ‘Oh Jenn, your beautiful face …’
Eugene had completed his phone call now. He said: ‘We need to tie something under that jaw and around her head.’
‘No one’s touching … my jaw,’ said Jenny.
Eugene rolled his eyes. ‘I’ve called an ambulance.’ Jenny tried to protest but he held up a hand. ‘It’s all right. I’ve made sure they don’t ask any questions and I’ve told them no siren or blue light in camp.’ He turned to Leanne. ‘A car will be here soon and Headley Court will be informed and ready. I’ll go in it with your husband.’
Steve said: ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’
‘Please go and pack him a bag quickly now,’ Eugene told Leanne.
Leanne looked at the general and nodded.
‘Yes,’ she said humbly. ‘Yes. Thank you, sir.’
The insurgents settled back down in the cave for more bread and chatter. One of them was evidently considered a storyteller and the others badgered him until he gave in gracefully and spoke for a very long time. He paused a lot and illustrated things with his hands and used a wide range of facial expressions and the other men sat transfixed while he talked. This must be the Helmand equivalent of going to the movies.
The ending seemed to satisfy them. About half of the men rolled out some mats and fell asleep by the fire. A few carried on talking in quiet voices. More danger. When they had all been chatting loudly and laughing and telling stories there had been enough noise to disguise any inadvertent movement up here on the rock wall. Now the fire was dying down and the cave was too quiet.
The soldiers waited. Waited for the insurgents to discover them or go, waited for life or death, Dave did not know which. They waited without moving and, over the hours which followed, Dave felt a slow cramp creeping up one leg, he felt the tingling itch of a face which had lain downwards too long, he felt the urge to cough, to sneeze and then to urinate. He did not move as one by one his body’s needs seized him until he could think about nothing else. The itch started by his nose and gradually, as he thought about how good it would be to scratch it, the itching spread out across his face until an army of small insects was running across his skin, rioting all over his cheeks and forehead. One scratch! Just one scratch would bring the crowd under control. He did not move. Bit by bit he won the fight to think about other things until his mind began to wander.
He thought about the men he watched, the men he had been firing at today, the men who had been hunting him, who had killed Dawson, who wanted to kill him. Now they were sitting a few metres away from him they seemed less like the enemy, more like other human beings who, when they shut their eyes, thought about their wives and children and mothers. But if they found the four British soldiers, they would turn into the enemy again. They would be angry, barefoot insurgents who spoke a different language and lived their lives to different rules and to a different rhythm. And, without humanity or mercy, they would destroy the four Britons, delighting in their pain.
Dave remembered his face and found it had stopped itching.
Gradually, all the insurgents fell asleep.
Dave considered the possibility of killing every last one. He knew Angus would be thinking the same thing. He was a loose cannon and he would be suffering agony now because the possibility of slaughtering twelve Taliban was too exciting to miss, even if it meant sacrificing his own life. Dave was glad Finn was also here, a more sensible, tactical soldier with a strong survival instinct.
Now it was the turn of his foot. It began to tingle and then sting. It was insistent. It sent messages up his nerves to the control centre in his head that it wanted to move. Permission refused. But the foot was under attack, it stung so badly it ached, it tortured him with tiny weaponry. There was a battle, a blue on blue, going on in his left foot and he could stop the pain just by moving it. He remained motionless. But he was tempted. The ragheads were all asleep; would they wake if he just moved his foot one centimetre? The pain was blotting out rational thought. He knew the only way to make it go away was to move his mind somewhere else.
What was the time? He could not look at his watch but Dave was sure it was past 0400, the time they had hoped to depart. The fire was still burning but it was low. Its light did not flicker on the cave walls but glowed softly.
Dave wondered if maybe the ragheads intended to stay here all day. All fucking day. Christ. Every single body part would be screaming its objections by then. And even if he could stay still that long, what about the younger soldiers? Angus’s frustration would surely get the better of him. Doc’s knee would be agony. Maybe it was impossible for four men to lie here for a whole day, silent and undetected.
Just as despair began to draw his attention again like an itch or an ache or a chill, but from deep inside, he heard a distant call. It sounded like a sad lament. Dave took a few seconds to remember what that strange, haunting voice was saying. Filtered by the valley, the rocks, the cave walls, it was the Muslim call to prayer. Now, at least, he knew the time: 0515. His plan to skirt the valley and get to the relief by dawn was fucked.
Get up, you lazy bastards, and go down to the mosque to pray!
The men slept on and Dave’s despair engulfed him. Then, suddenly and simultaneously, they all woke. It was not a gradual process, or a slow one. They opened their eyes and sat up. Some of them rubbed their hands in the dirt as though washing them in water; others went straight into a kneeling position. Instinctively, although dawn was still far off, they knew which way was west. The cave was dotted with praying bodies, all kneeling, all facing Mecca. A few mumbled, others prayed silently, all assumed the position of humble supplicant to Allah.
Like this they were terrifying. You could see they were an army. You could see them bound together by something stronger than a tough sergeant and scary officers. You could see that they believed everything they did was infused by the will of a higher power.
And now it began to seem that the higher power was looking after Dave. Because the men got up, stretched, rolled up their mats if they had one – some had just slept on
the dirt floor – and scratched at the fire to put it out. There was no eating and no drinking. They picked up their weapons and walked out of the cave. Outside men called the dogs. A few talked, most remained silent. A couple were gripping the young lad again, poor bastard. Dave made a mental note to be nicer to Slindon. Then he remembered it was thanks to Blue Balls Slindon that they’d lost comms and decided to punch him instead.
As suddenly as they had appeared, the men evaporated. Dave was used to them disappearing from the battlefield; now he understood that evaporation was how they usually moved off. No preparation, no food, no water, no pissing about on radios or waiting for orders or sergeants doing kit inspection. In fact, hardly any fucking kit. It was just up, pray, grab a weapon and out.
Their footsteps, their snapping dogs and their occasional voices all said that they had headed off down the ridge.
No one dared to move. The soldiers continued to lie on their stomachs in the cave’s dark silence. Then, slowly, very slowly, Dave reached for the night-vision goggles, switched them back on and pulled them down over his eyes. Which meant moving his arm, his hand, his fingers. His body was so surprised that it resisted. His fingers felt strangely far away, as if they belonged to someone else and he was borrowing them. It took a few moments to reacquaint himself with them and a few more to secure their cooperation. And then the NVGs were on and glowing green and he could see.
An empty cave. Nothing. No one.
Cautiously he began to reinhabit his own body, moving first his angry left foot. It had given up being angry and fallen asleep. Now it didn’t want to wake up. He stretched his left arm, then his right leg. His body felt naked now it was no longer attached to the cave wall, as if he had grown into it during the night and put down roots in the rock.
‘Wait,’ he breathed to the others. Using his voice, even this ghost of a voice, felt like starting a rusty motor. They had been motionless for only about four hours. Was it fear which had made his body disintegrate in that time?
