War Torn

by McNab, Andy

  While he was gone, she caught sight of a pregnant woman marching through the supermarket section of the store beyond the café. A toddler sat at the front of her trolley, feet dangling. The woman seemed to be in a hurry, not in a dream the way Agnieszka had been through most of her pregnancy.

  A second later she realized that it was Jenny Henley with little Vicky. Agnieszka willed Jenny not to turn. But of course she did. She’d passed something she wanted so she stopped and swung the trolley around and there was a moment when she faced Agnieszka directly. Agnieszka’s heart sank. She hoped Jenny would just wave and keep going.

  It took Jenny a moment to recognize her neighbour. Instinct told her to smile, wave and keep on shopping. She was due back at Leanne Buckle’s with the groceries in time to make lunch for everyone because all Leanne could do was cuddle the twins and twist a wet tissue around in her fingers until she had some more news of Steve.

  But Jenny liked Jamie a lot and she remembered how Dave had specially asked her to look out for Agnieszka. She remembered the woman’s isolation. And when Jenny had phoned with the news about Steve, Agnieszka had almost burst into tears. She decided to push her trolley over to the Polish girl for a quick, friendly hello.

  ‘I’m rushing!’ she said apologetically as she approached. ‘I wish I could sit down and have a drink with you, Agnieszka.’

  ‘Oh, I’m all right,’ Agnieszka said sweetly. Her smile was shy and she looked down at the ground.

  ‘Steve’s still stable,’ Jenny said, as though Agnieszka had asked about him. Because she ought to have asked, Jenny thought. ‘But they must have given him a lot of morphine or something because no one’s spoken to him. I know Dave hasn’t. And Leanne’s just waiting by the phone.’

  ‘I very, very sorry for Leanne.’ Agnieszka spoke with such sincerity that Jenny forgave her for not asking.

  Agnieszka was looking at Vicky now.

  ‘How are you, little darling?’ she asked, her expression suddenly radiant. Vicky responded immediately to that smile. Who could fail to? Jenny thought. When Agnieszka smiled her apparent dissatisfaction melted away and her whole face was transformed. She really was beautiful. She made Jenny, who longed to find time for the hairdresser, feel dowdy. The baby kicked her heartily and she stroked her stomach as Vicky prattled on to Agnieszka.

  ‘You’re welcome to drop by any time,’ Jenny told her. ‘I wish you would. I hate the first month or two after Dave goes. I get so fed up. Bring Luke over and we’ll have a cup of coffee.’

  The invitation was delivered warmly but it was received with nothing more than her usual polite nod.

  ‘Must get moving.’ Jenny swung the trolley around. ‘It’s terrible if Leanne’s twins get hungry and they both start crying at once!’

  Vicky and Agnieszka waved passionately to each other. At the place where the café melted into the superstore, Vicky said: ‘Mummy, who’s that man?’

  Jenny turned in time to see a man approach Agnieszka with a cup in his hand. Jenny watched as the two exchanged smiles.

  ‘I don’t know, sweetheart,’ she said. Had he been lingering with Agnieszka’s coffee on the outskirts of their conversation so that Jenny didn’t see him? She felt her face reddening. She didn’t know why.

  Chapter Ten

  AT SENZHIRI FORWARD OPERATING BASE, NOTHING MOVED IN THE baking afternoon heat. The contractors were out with 2 Platoon. 3 Platoon was on patrol in the nearby town. 1 Platoon was on base duties. They’d been away a month now, three weeks of it here at Senzhiri. Time and the heat had dulled their yearning for home.

  Mal had finished cleaning his weapon and fallen asleep on his cot. It was night time and his mother was writing someone a letter. The kitchen smelled of her home-cooked spicy food and his father’s cigarettes. Mal was running through, on his way out as usual. His mother gave him a sweet, weary smile as he left.

  He went to a club. His clothes were right, he smelled good and he felt lucky. The music throbbed inside him like his own heartbeat. He was watching a girl dancing and she was looking back at him as she moved. Her name was Emily and she was hot, hot, hot . . .

  ‘Move, you lazy bastard!’ a voice roared in his ear.

  He opened his eyes. No hot babe. Just Sergeant Dave Henley, hands on hips, standing over him.

  ‘And if you’re going to get your head down, get your boots off! How many times do I have to tell you?’

  Mal scrambled off his cot. The dream was over but the beat of the music thudded on inside his head.

  ‘Chinook’s here, you should be unloading with the others.’

  Mal blinked. So that wasn’t a bass line. It was rotor blades.

  He stumbled out of the tent, still half asleep. The dream refused to go away. He was partly in Afghanistan and partly inside his dream in England. He remembered his mother’s face, her tired smile. The thud of the helicopter’s blades seemed to cut into him. They cut through to a vein and tapped directly into a homesickness he had felt on first arriving but had not known was still there.

  But a Chinook meant supplies and supplies meant mail and there would certainly be a letter from his mother. That must have been what she had been writing in his dream. He’d dreamed the letter and now it would arrive. Also, he’d met a couple of girls just before deployment and both relationships had reached that red-hot stage where the girls wanted more. So they might write too. With luck, they might even have included pictures. With a lot of luck, they wouldn’t be wearing any clothes.

  His step quickened as the Chinook blades slowed and men emerged from different tents and buildings around the camp.

  Finn was there already.

  ‘Oh yes oh yes!’ he said. ‘Our new toys have arrived!’

  Angus was standing over a wooden crate. Mal took the other end and Finn went with them to the Company Quartermaster.

  ‘So what’s in here?’ Mal asked.

  ‘I reckon it’s the new shotguns,’ Finn said.

  The platoon had trained on Salisbury Plain with the new Benelli M4 shotguns but when they had arrived in Afghanistan they had found the first consignment was behind them.

  ‘If it’s the new shotguns,’ Mal said, ‘why aren’t there more of them?’

  ‘Because there are more coming. Or so they say.’

  ‘I’ve heard that one before,’ Mal said.

  ‘Why are you lot hanging around?’ The CQMS glared at them. ‘Not got anything better to do?’

  ‘Just interested to know what’s in the crate, Colour,’ Finn said.

  ‘Well you can fuck off because I’m not telling you.’

  Angus started to argue but Finn and Mal pulled him back to the Chinook.

  ‘No point getting nasty with the colour boy,’ Mal said.

  ‘You want to get nasty, Mr Angry, you could try killing the Taliban some time,’ Finn said.

  ‘Kill them?’ Mal cried. ‘Kill them? Why would he do that when he could just stand in a fucking ditch and stare at them instead?’

  Angus reddened. No one ever noticed your best moments; they just picked up on your mistakes and failures and kept throwing them back at you. And Mal was the worst. Angus thought his mate should understand and maybe even tell the others to fuck off but Mal seemed to feel Angus had let him down personally.

  Nobody took much notice of the new lads on the Chinook when the bulging mail bag emerged. Dave sent them to find a cot while the letters were distributed.

  Finn had learned not to expect blueys, but he hung around in the hope that someone, maybe one of his babymothers, might have written for once. He watched his mates opening their letters and, for a few minutes, he saw them all go home. They read their mail and they weren’t here in Afghanistan any more. Finn thought that, if the Taliban knew what they were doing, this was the moment they should choose to attack.

  Angus had a bluey from his mother. It didn’t say much but, still, it was a letter. Angry hoped his father might remember how much the post mattered when he was far from home, but his old man seldom wrot
e.

  Jamie had a whole stack, as usual. His entire family were enthusiastic letter-writers but he tore open Agnieszka’s envelope first. She’d sent pictures and a poem she’d read in a Polish magazine. Her English translation was almost incomprehensible but Jamie liked it all the more for that.

  Sol hobbled up and found a thick envelope full of drawings from the kids.

  Dave had a long bluey from Jenny. He glanced at a few lines halfway down the page before unfolding it. ‘. . . how much you think of us, if you ever get time to think about us out there, because sometimes you don’t even call once a week and I . . .’

  He decided to read it later. Included was a card from Vicky which he pulled out at once: she’d dipped her toes in bright paints and treated him to a vibrant, fire-coloured footprint. He imagined Jen pressing the little foot onto the card and Vicky squealing. He tried to imagine their faces. But he couldn’t.

  Mal opened his post eagerly. There was just one from his mum in her shaky writing, half capitals, half small letters. He watched while the blueys were distributed in case there was more for him. Nothing. He sighed. He wanted a woman, one he knew or one he didn’t. This Emily woman, the elusive civilian who kept herself so hidden here at the base, she was the only hope.

  It took a while for people to notice the new lads hanging around by the empty cots and to realize who they were.

  ‘Which section are you in?’

  The two younger lads, one black, the other small and fair, said they were in 1 Section. But all eyes were fixed on the third newcomer.

  ‘Are you in 2 Section?’

  ‘Yeah. 1 Platoon. I’m Ryan Connor. Moved over from D Company. They sent me because I’m a gimpyman.’

  ‘Yes!’ yelled everyone who had taken a bet with Finn. ‘Yes!’ Rifleman Connor was strawberry blond.

  ‘No, no, no!’ cried Finn. ‘We said ginger. This man’s no pisswizard.’

  ‘He is fucking ginger.’

  ‘Come on, mate, you’re beat, he’s pure pisswizard!’

  ‘He is not!’

  Finn started to pull Rifleman Connor out of the tent into the sunlight. Connor was a tall, gangly man with uneven skin and scars on his face. He allowed himself to be dragged for a few paces before he grabbed Finn by his shoulders and swung him around.

  ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’

  Finn looked at Connor’s face for the first time and saw the street there.

  ‘Sorry, mate, very sorry.’ He offered his hand. ‘Billy Finn, 1 Section second i/c.’

  Rifleman Connor looked at him uncertainly. Then he shook hands.

  ‘Basically,’ continued Finn, ‘these guys are trying to screw me out of a lot of money because of the colour of your hair.’

  ‘What’s the colour of my hair got to do with anything?’

  ‘Just walk into the light, mate, and I’ll explain.’

  Connor stepped out into the burning sunlight. He was taller than most of the men around him.

  ‘Just crouch down a minute, bruv, so we can all see the top of your head.’

  ‘Is this a joke?’ Connor still wasn’t sure whether to be angry or amused. ‘I mean, I didn’t expect to get to the FOB and have everyone running their fingers through my hair.’

  ‘It’s more red in some parts than others.’

  ‘He’s definitely a pisswizard.’

  ‘He’s ginger, totally ginger, here on the side.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ Finny kept yelling. ‘This man is blond.’

  ‘This man is a ginger pisswizard. I got my fiver down at five to four on, Finny! You owe us money.’

  Finn caught sight of the reddest of the 2 Section redheads. ‘Oy, Broom, get over here and put your head right next to Connor’s.’

  ‘I’m not snuggling up to no man,’ Broom protested but Finn had him now in an iron grip.

  ‘Crouch down here and shut up.’

  Broom was small enough to push around. He squatted shoulder to shoulder with Connor, still protesting.

  ‘Now, lads. Broom . . .’ Finn announced triumphantly, ‘is a pisswizard.’

  There was silence as everyone contemplated the two heads.

  Broom said to Connor, ‘You’re probably thinking this is one of them weird initiation rituals.’

  ‘I’m thinking someone’s taking the piss,’ Connor said.

  ‘Thank you, lads, for your patience,’ Finn said.

  ‘It’s running out,’ Connor warned ominously.

  ‘Side by side,’ Finn went on, ‘you can see that this is red.’

  He pulled a tuft of Broom’s hair.

  At that moment, Sol limped past, looking for 1 Section’s new recruits. They were standing at the edge of the group.

  ‘You’re out on patrol,’ he told Finn. ‘Now.’

  ‘Corporal Kasanita! Let Sol decide.’

  Sol glowered at them. His ankle was hurting and the medic was still refusing to let him do anything but light duties and he hated to miss another patrol.

  ‘I’m not deciding anything,’ he said. ‘Finn, you’re acting section commander. So you shouldn’t expect me to get your men to the vehicles on time.’

  ‘Shit!’ Finn looked at his watch.

  ‘You should have them ready over there right now.’

  ‘OK, OK, but just tell us something, Sol. Is this man’s hair red or not?’

  Sol barely glanced at Rifleman Connor. ‘Not really,’ he said.

  Finn’s face broke into a broad grin.

  Sol ignored the howls of protest. ‘Adam Bacon and Jack Binns? You’re in 1 Section, 1 Platoon and I’m your section commander, Sol Kasanita.’ He held out his hand.

  He thought how young these two kids looked. The black one could not take his eyes off the furore behind them, where the row over Rifleman Connor’s hair threatened to turn nasty. Sol saw Dave striding purposefully out of the ops room.

  ‘Come over to the cookhouse and we can talk away from these idiots,’ Sol said. ‘The sergeant’s going to sort them out.’

  Even from the cookhouse it was clear that the redhead debate was turning into a fight. As they sat down, Sol heard Dave’s voice booming over the chaos. Then there was silence.

  ‘That’s our platoon sergeant. He’s put a stop to their nonsense,’ Sol said. ‘Dave Henley. He’s the best. He takes good care of us. He’ll be having a word with you soon.’

  The recruits nodded nervously. The sound of Dave bawling out the lads had not been reassuring. It was followed almost immediately by the sound of everyone rushing to get ready for the patrol.

  ‘They’re going out now,’ Sol said. ‘I’d be with them if I hadn’t twisted my ankle. Next time, you’ll go too. With Lance Corporal Finn as your acting platoon commander.’

  They nodded glumly. They already knew who Finn was.

  ‘When will your ankle be better?’ Binns asked hopefully.

  ‘Oh, a few days more.’

  ‘Then you’ll be back in charge again?’

  Sol nodded.

  Bacon said: ‘Does it matter what colour the bloke’s hair is?’

  ‘Only if you’ve put some money on it. Finn was running a book. He’s always running a book. If there were two flies crawling up the wall, Finn would take a bet from you on the first to get to the top.’

  The recruits grimaced.

  ‘The lads don’t often argue like that,’ Sol said. ‘We’re usually very good mates. We have to be. Our lives depend on it.’

  He paused.

  ‘So, how long you two been in for?’

  ‘I only joined before Christmas, me,’ Rifleman Bacon said.

  ‘Me too,’ Jack Binns said. ‘I’m working in Currys and we’re having a one-day special September sale and I’m getting really fed up and I think, right. So in my lunch hour I go over to Army Recruitment and I sign up. Just like that.’

  Sol gave his wide, lazy smile.

  ‘Currys’ sale in autumn. Theatre in summer. Not sure which is worse.’

  The engines were roar
ing now. The platoons were leaving the base. Leaving without Sol, yet again. He tried not to listen.

  Binns said he came from Dorset. ‘See, nothing ever happens there.’

  ‘How about you?’ Sol asked Adam Bacon. ‘Much happening where you’re from?’

  ‘Yeah, there’s a lot happens in Wolverhampton. Sometimes too much.’