by McNab, Andy
‘So you came here for a bit of quiet?’
Bacon smiled.
‘My mum thinks it’s safer in Afghanistan than round my manor. But it’s the wrong time for me, maybe. I like to rap, see. And it’s all just started taking off and then it’s all over because I’m away training to Catterick.’
Sol smiled back at him.
‘There’s a lot of lads like rap here. They’ll want to hear what you got.’
Bacon grinned. He didn’t want to admit that his greatest hope was not that he’d go home alive but that he’d get a chance to rap for his new mates.
Sol heard the sound of the convoy fading into the distance. Soon it would be nothing more than a silent dust cloud making its way towards the Green Zone.
Mal had been selected to use the new shotgun: he was obviously delighted but Sol would have liked to keep an eye on him. He didn’t believe that Finn gripped 1 Section fiercely enough. One man down and Sol knew he would blame himself and his stupid ankle for ever. Dave had told him he’d stay alongside them. But Sol knew Dave already had enough to do.
‘OK.’ Sol turned back to Bacon and Binns. ‘Let me tell you some of the things you lads need to remember if you’re going to stay safe. I’ll start with foot powder . . .’
Chapter Eleven
MAL SAT WITH THE BENELLI M4 SHOTGUN ON HIS LAP, CRADLING IT lovingly as the Vector bumped its way across the desert.
‘Yes!’ he’d said, punching the air, when Dave told him he’d be the first to use the new weapon. ‘Let’s hope we get into close combat so I can use it!’
‘Yeah, let’s hope so.’ Dave had rolled his eyes. ‘Never mind the rest of us.’
Dave was still annoyed with Finn for leading the platoon into a punch-up. Since the new gunner from 2 Section had hair which might or might not be red, Dave had declared the betting void and told Finn to give everyone their money back.
‘I don’t want any more bets,’ he’d said to Finn. ‘You’re a fucking soldier, not a bookie, and you’ve made the whole platoon late for a serious operation.’
They were clearing a river crossing today. The OC had intelligence that the Taliban was planning to take control of it. Almost the entire company was involved and the civilians had been told they were confined to base with minimal staffing. Martyn Robertson had objected strongly but the OC had overruled him, explaining that if the Taliban took this crossing then getting the oil exploration team across the river would be almost impossible.
They dismounted and left the track on foot. At first it was a relief to plunge beneath the canopy. Mal moved ahead with the shotgun. The only downside was that he was expected to carry his SA80 as well. The heavy rifle was like an old friend who’d overstayed his welcome. Until they came under distant fire, when he reorganized himself to use his SA80 and the shotgun felt like a gatecrasher at the party.
The other sections of 1 Platoon advanced towards the firing on their right flank. Dave heard the new gunner giving it some with the gimpy. Poor bloke. Off a Chinook into a crowd of lads all staring at his hair like farmers at a sheep auction, then straight onto patrol before he’d drawn breath. But his fire was effective. The combination of Jamie with his GPMG on one side and Rifleman Connor with his on the other brought silence. Dave guessed the enemy had moved. The incoming rounds had been more of a warning than a threat.
1 Platoon moved forward to the river, 1 Section on the left flank. They emerged from the trees and crossed an irrigation ditch into a field of high crops.
Although it was early the sun showed them no mercy. Clouds of pollen were released by the plants, its pungent odour magnified by the heat.
‘Christ, do they make their animals eat this shit?’
‘It’s giving me a headache.’
‘I feel ready to get me head down . . .’
‘Stick some in your pocket for later and you’ll be fucking glad you did,’ Finn said.
Dave’s eyes narrowed. He looked closely at the exotic plant. Each leaf consisted of delicate fingers, like a hand in a lace glove.
‘Is it what I think it is?’
His question was met with smothered laughter but no one replied. The plant certainly wasn’t a poppy: they had passed a field of these further back, their pods closed tightly like tiny purses. There were brown slits down the side of each pod where the resin had been extracted.
It must be cannabis.
‘Anyone caught trying to sneak this weed out of here’s in big trouble,’ Dave snarled. ‘Did you hear me, Finn?’
‘Yessir,’ Finn said cheerfully. ‘I never touch it these days.’
‘Oh, come on, Sarge. Can’t we pick the pretty flowers?’
‘Who was that?’ Dave didn’t recognize the voice. It sounded drunk. Had someone already managed to help himself to this stuff? Could you consume it straight off the plant? A man who preferred a pint, Dave suddenly regretted that he hadn’t learned more on the warm summer evenings in the south London streets where he was brought up. They’d sometimes been hazy with its distinctive smoke. The smell in the field was far stronger and its acrid notes more jarring.
Nobody answered Dave’s question. His head was throbbing badly. He wanted to close his eyes to shut out the bright sunlight. Unlike most of the fields around here, this one was enormous. They stumbled on without ever seeming to reach the other side. The clouds of pollen grew denser and the stench more pungent.
When they finally reached the irrigation channel they found they were far more scattered than anyone had realized. In the dense cannabis forest everyone had thought his mates were close. Dave had believed he was bringing up the rear but now he discovered he was near the front.
Finn instructed everyone to group and go firm. They dodged back into cover and waited for further orders.
They sat down with relief, shading themselves from the flying pollen and beating sunlight. They gulped down water.
Jamie couldn’t stop sneezing.
‘You all right?’ Dave asked.
‘Must be the sodding pollen,’ Jamie said. ‘It doesn’t normally get to me.’
Finn wiped his eyes. ‘This stuff can really make you feel bad.’
Angus’s face was pale. ‘It’s making me want to puke.’
‘Me too,’ Mal said. He put both his weapons down. He hoped there wouldn’t be any close combat now. He didn’t feel ready or able to move to the front and respond.
The firing was closer but sporadic. Dave could hear Major Willingham directing operations. They waited. There were still no orders for them. Finally, after almost half an hour, Boss Weeks told 1 Platoon to prepare to move closer to the river. Dave looked around 1 Section, slumped in the cannabis plants. He hoped the others were more prepared than this lot and that the stags were still alert.
They moved to the corner of the field but were told to wait again. They sat down once more, swearing as pollen clouds billowed around them. Some of the lads closed their eyes. Dave suspected a few had fallen asleep. He was fighting against doing so himself. If he just closed his eyes and relaxed his body, he knew sleep’s warm embrace would close around him . . . He tried to hide further from the sun, amongst the stems of the cannabis plants, and the movement released yet more pollen.
The firing sounded increasingly far off and unthreatening, and the lads rested their weapons against the plant stems.
‘You seen Emily lately, mate?’ Mal asked Finn drowsily.
‘This morning,’ Finn said. ‘Went over to the gym and I heard this whistle. So I turned around . . . phwoar!’
Mal gave a little moan. ‘You going to share her?’
‘S’pose I’ll have to,’ Finn said. ‘I’m fucking exhausted.’
‘If you don’t fucking shut up about Emily . . .’ But Dave was too hot and tired to think of a suitable threat.
The sun moved lazily across the sky but its intensity did not ease. Dave closed his eyes. He said to himself: I won’t let myself sleep. I’ll just rest a moment . . .
Then the boss’s voice, c
lear and precise, was right in his ear. Dave sat bolt upright. Oh, fuck. Had he been asleep?
Finn gave him a grin and a meaningful wink.
Dave swallowed. He felt sick now. Boss Weeks’s voice said that there was a compound, not currently visible, about four hundred metres away at the riverside. 1 and 2 Sections should move down the irrigation channel to clear it, with 3 Section covering.
‘Keep everyone else out of the cannabis field,’ Dave warned the boss. ‘It makes you feel weird.’
‘Sergeant, are you slurring your speech?’
‘Course not, sir!’ Dave said as crisply as he could.
There were protests from the commanders of 2 and 3 Sections, who liked the sound of a cannabis crop.
‘No,’ Dave said. ‘You want to stay alert.’
‘OK, lads, we’re moving,’ Finn said.
The section began to stir. Getting up with so much weight on was always hard. Now it felt impossible. Their heads hurt like a bad hangover.
Finn and Jamie struggled to their feet and then pulled up each man in turn. They began to move down the irrigation channel towards the compound. Dave noticed men stumbling. He felt irritated and angry and didn’t really know why. Then Mal gave him a reason by stopping dead in his tracks. Angus collided with him and the two nearly fell over.
‘What are you shitheads doing?’
Mal said something to Angus and the two of them stood motionless.
Dave yelled: ‘Get on with it.’
‘I can’t,’ Mal said.
‘Why not?’
There was the sound of a big, angry insect by his ear. Rounds, and now more rounds, swarming like bees. The section made its first fast move of the day and ducked into the ditch. Dave looked at the line of men taking cover.
A round pinged off his helmet. More rounds bounced on the ground around them or plopped into the water. There was another ping on his helmet. He felt like a slot machine in a crowded arcade. He crouched further beneath the banks of the channel.
They were ready to fire back but it was almost impossible to see where. Jamie followed the sound and gave the enemy repeated bursts with the gimpy. Angus suddenly stood up during the brief silence that followed.
‘For fuck’s sake!’ Dave yelled.
But now Angus was barging past him and back along the ditch.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’
Angus was retracing their steps. He hunched his huge body as he ran but he was still dangerously overexposed.
‘No, no, don’t do it!’ Mal’s plea fell on deaf ears. Angus was gone, a huge, lumbering, mud-covered animal, drawing enemy fire.
‘Get the fuck back here you fucking, fucking wanker!’ Dave yelled.
Angus didn’t reply. Dave looked at Mal for an explanation. Mal was suddenly very busy with his SA80, firing at nothing in particular. Then Dave realized what was missing. The shotgun.
‘Christ, he hasn’t gone back for the Benelli!’
Mal wouldn’t look at him and Dave knew he was right.
Dave stared up the drainage channel but Angus was already out of sight. He had reached the cannabis field and was threading his way into it.
‘If the choggies have got there already they’ll have booby-trapped it!’ Dave yelled into the radio. ‘McCall, don’t touch that shotgun and get back here! Get back NOW!’
‘The choggies can’t have moved in on our last position yet!’ Mal said.
‘What about the one before that?’ Dave saw Mal’s face freeze as he tried to remember whether he’d left the shotgun at the first or second place they’d stopped.
‘McCall, leave the fucking shotgun,’ Dave roared again. ‘Stay where you are and we’ll come for you.’
Jamie’s voice: ‘Strange movement in that line of trees. I think the Talis are firing from up in the branches.’
Dave turned to Mal. ‘Did you have it when we stopped the second time?’
Mal’s miserable expression was the only answer Dave needed.
Jamie let the gimpy do its work. A weapon fell from one tree but a body didn’t follow. The answering fire began to lessen.
Drowsiness, sickness and headaches were peeling away from them now. Dave’s head began to clear. Angus was fucking around in the stuff that had fucked them up in the first place. I’ll kill him . . . Then he realized the Taliban was likely to save him the trouble.
With a sinking heart, he knew the lost shotgun was going to jeopardize the whole operation. The only safe way to go back for it was with the help and cover of all three sections and EOD to check for booby traps before they touched it. He knew it never would have happened if Sol had been here.
3 Section had moved round and were firing along the treeline as well now.
‘1 Section, move forward,’ the boss told them. Finn set off at the front. All Dave’s instincts propelled him forward. But then those instincts were overridden by the knowledge that Angus was completely alone behind them and to leave him or the shotgun was unthinkable.
‘Hold firm!’ he said reluctantly.
‘Move forward,’ the boss said.
‘We’ve got a problem at the back.’
‘What problem?’
Mal’s face turned towards him, blanched despite the sun, his brown eyes sunken.
Dave sighed. ‘ECM not working.’
‘1 Section, hold firm,’ the boss instructed. Electronic Counter Measures was the only protection they had against walking into a remote-controlled mine, so no one was going to make them go forward without it.
They were still under sporadic fire, but Finn kept looking their way. Dave knew it wouldn’t take him long to notice Angus’s absence.
‘Did we leave Angry behind?’ Finn suddenly blurted into the mic.
‘No.’ Dave was still wondering what to do. If the rifle was at the corner of the field there was a chance Angus could get back with it alive. If it was still at their earlier position, then he would have to ask for support from the whole platoon.
‘Is everything OK there?’ the boss asked.
‘Just what is going on, Sergeant?’ Major Willingham’s tone was crisp and indignant. ‘Have you got a man down?’
‘No, sir.’
‘ECM problem,’ the boss said helpfully.
‘Well, hurry up.’ The major sounded irritable. And Dave knew him well enough to be sure that the gap between an irritable OC and an angry OC was very narrow.
The silence stretched. Dave thought he could hear Major Willingham breathing like an angry bull into his mic. Ahead of them the other platoons were engaged in some intense fighting. Even the newest recruit must feel himself pulled towards the action; they were pinned in a ditch by their own incompetence instead. Dave wished the enemy would open fire and give them an excuse to hold firm but of course the Taliban weren’t there when you needed them.
‘Look, what’s going on?’ the OC roared at last. ‘I want 1 Platoon to move forward. Surely you’ve sorted out your ECM problem by now!’
‘Er . . .’ The boss couldn’t conceal his nervousness. ‘How long will it be, Sergeant?’
‘Any moment now.’ Dave’s gaze was fixed on the cannabis field, his heart sinking.
‘Shit, Sarge,’ Mal said bleakly.
‘We’ll have to go back for him.’
Finn ran down the ditch towards them. Dave told him what had happened and watched as Finn’s eyes darkened.
‘The fucking idiot!’
Dave recognized the fury of his own first reaction. He knew that worry came next.
‘At least we’re not under fire now . . .’ Mal said.
‘Angry’s got everyone confused!’ Finn said. ‘Even the fucking flipflops.’
‘Or maybe they’ve moved,’ Dave said. ‘Either to reinforce the centre or into the field to look for him.’
In the silence that followed, Finn’s face rearranged itself, as Dave had known it would, into shock. Whatever happened, even if it meant botching today’s whole operation, they could not allow a man to fall into
the hands of the enemy.
‘For fuck’s sake!’ the major exploded in Dave’s ear. ‘This is ridiculous. I need you forward. Now!’
To Dave’s relief, the Taliban machine guns kicked off.
‘Under intense fire,’ Boss Weeks reported quickly. He obviously knew that Dave had a bigger problem than an ECM gremlin. ‘We can’t move forward yet.’
‘If you’d moved when I told you to then you’d be there by now,’ the major yelled.
