War Torn

by McNab, Andy

  ‘Um, well, actually, we’d love to, really, but we honestly couldn’t . . . I mean, we wouldn’t be able to . . .’

  He looked helplessly at Jean who looked at Asma.

  ‘You should be flattered,’ she said. She was blushing. ‘I doubt anyone else in the British Army has been honoured this way.’

  ‘I’d certainly love to go,’ stated Emily.

  Asma said: ‘Sir, it would be an amazing chance to win hearts and minds locally.’

  But the OC shook his head.

  ‘You know as well as I do that it could be a trap.’

  Asma stared back at him, her dark eyes wide, feeling offence on the tribesmen’s behalf.

  The major said: ‘I’m sorry, but it just wouldn’t be safe. And, realistically, how could we come without huge protection? Which would be quite inappropriate at a wedding.’

  Emily opened her mouth to argue but Jean was already replying.

  ‘Jean’s saying that you really want to accept. But you’d be in trouble for contravening current security procedures,’ Asma explained quietly to the OC. ‘She’s saying you’re honoured . . . you’re sad that our rules prevent it . . . you appreciate this warm gesture of friendship.’

  The major nodded. ‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Very creative. I can leave it to you girls to say the right thing.’

  The news was received with apparent disappointment by Asad’s family. Asma was glad that Jean was the interpreter inflicting this disappointment.

  Driving home, the OC said: ‘I must admit, their invitation seemed genuine enough and I felt bad turning it down.’

  ‘An Afghan wedding would have been a most interesting experience,’ agreed Emily.

  ‘And,’ said the 2 i/c regretfully, ‘Afghan feasts are apparently delicious.’

  Asma sat quietly thinking how much she would have enjoyed the wedding. When she was a teenager her family had been invited to the occasional Afghan celebration in London but she had known that these affairs were no more than pale imitations and adaptations of weddings in Afghanistan.

  Suddenly Martyn spoke: ‘I don’t trust those guys.’

  Everyone turned to him.

  ‘You think the invitation was a trap?’ asked the OC.

  ‘Well listen, I just hated the way he could put his finger right on the map at Jackpot. And he even described the gravimeter. Which means they’ve been watching us and we didn’t know it.’

  The OC did not miss his chance.

  ‘Perhaps now you understand that the level of protection we offer you is necessary.’

  He glanced at Emily. She sighed.

  ‘Merely watching us indicates only that they are curious.’

  Martyn folded his arms defiantly.

  ‘Yeah, well don’t forget the guy’s Saudi connections. I don’t trust any of them, least of all that son.’

  Asma and Jean exchanged glances but remained silent.

  The OC said: ‘Well, the main thing is they gave us the information we went for. Now we’ve got the detail on the Taliban’s activities in the area, we can take the appropriate action.’

  Chapter Thirty-four

  A STRIKE OP ON THE TALIBAN COMPOUND WAS SOON ANNOUNCED. It was too big for R Company to handle alone so another company was flying in from Bastion to help.

  ‘Who are they?’ asked Dave.

  CSM Kila said: ‘Paras. And most of them have been out here before. So they know what they’re doing.’

  ‘So it’ll be their op,’ said Dave. ‘And we’ll be supporting them.’

  Kila shrugged. ‘Don’t worry, there’ll be enough action to go round.’

  The oil exploration programme went on hold while R Company went operational. For once, Emily and Martyn were united. They wanted to get on with their job and there was a public argument in the cookhouse.

  ‘You’re here for us!’ Martyn didn’t shout but his voice was raised. ‘You’re supposed to put our work first. And now you’re telling us we’re on hold while you go fighting.’

  The OC was tight-lipped. ‘Let me explain again. With such a major Taliban installation so close to this FOB, you soon won’t be able to continue with your work unless we take action.’

  ‘They’ve given us no trouble so far!’ retorted Emily. ‘Although they have no doubt felt the need to defend themselves from your attacks.’

  The OC gritted his teeth.

  ‘Our intelligence is that there are now many insurgents in this area. They seem to have a direct route from here to various centres of the narcotics trade where they are in frequent contact with troops from our other bases. So this action is necessary for everyone’s safety, not just yours.’

  1 Platoon gathered in the Cowshed for prayers. Boss Weeks said they would drive to the Green Zone and form part of an outer cordon with the rest of R Company. The Paras and their support would arrive in three Chinooks which would drop them inside the cordon, close to the compound. There would be two Apaches and two A10s on hand at all times. The outer cordon would aim to close in and join the fighting.

  ‘Tomorrow’s operation could turn into a very major and decisive battle. It will demand focus, professionalism and bravery. I want you to know that I am completely confident of the ability of every man in this platoon to perform under extreme pressure.’

  Dave, standing at the front next to the boss, arms folded, noted that the boss had just spoken without an um or an er. He was saying what the men needed to hear. And incredibly, for the first time, they were all listening to him.

  He stole a glance at Weeks’s now grizzled face. His fair hair hung around his ears and that boyish, round-cheeked look had been replaced with sharper, more robust lines.

  ‘This operation is a major offensive. It’s the first time we have been in theatre with another company. And not just any company, but Paras.’

  ‘That’s why they get to take the compound while we hang around on the outside, then,’ said Ryan Connor from 2 Section. ‘Because they’re Paras.’

  ‘The Paras get all the fucking fun,’ said a couple of lads from 3 Section, and all their mates agreed with them loudly.

  Dave said, ‘You lot don’t own this bit of Helmand.’

  ‘I think you should be very pleased that we’ve got such experienced soldiers alongside us,’ the boss said.

  ‘We’re not going to see much of the action, though, are we, if we’re stuck in the outer cordon?’ called Mal.

  Dave put his hands on his hips. ‘Got a short-term memory problem, shitheads? We’re catching fleeing insurgents and closing in on the compound to support the Paras. That’s action.’

  The boss added quietly: ‘The last ambush 1 Section was involved in might be considered enough action for some people, Mal. We were extremely lucky to escape serious injury.’ He glanced at Jamie.

  ‘And let’s keep it that way,’ said Dave. ‘I don’t want any sloppiness because you think the Paras are going to take the brunt of the contact for you. Just stay sharp.’

  R Company was due to leave the base at 0400. The base was already so busy at 0300 that there was an empty phone slot. It had been booked solidly since the operation was announced and Dave, as usual, had been too late for a place. He hadn’t spoken to Jenny for a week. Or even two.

  He knew he should stop sorting ammo and grab the phone. His mind was on today’s operation and he did not really want to realign his thoughts with the small domestic world of Wiltshire. The call would be affectionate, but it would have to be brief.

  When he held the battered handset at last, it felt rare and precious. Not because it could connect him to Wiltshire, but because it was something every man wanted.

  He dialled Jenny’s number. He was determined that he wouldn’t spend ten minutes apologizing for not phoning before. As the number rang he felt the usual fear that she wouldn’t answer and the usual relief when she picked up.

  ‘Jen!’

  But the voice he heard was not Jenny’s.

  ‘Dave, is that you?’

  It was his
mother-in-law. Not a good sign.

  ‘Trish! Where’s Jenny?’

  ‘She’s across the road at her friend’s, whatsername.’

  ‘Leanne?’

  ‘Leanne. Is that the one who had something happen to her husband?’

  ‘He got sent home.’

  ‘Not in a coffin, I hope?’

  Typical Trish. Salt of the earth, always there to help in a crisis and guaranteed never to look on the bright side. Ever since they first knew Dave was coming to Afghanistan she had been darkly hinting at the inevitability of his demise, until Jenny had begged her to stop.

  ‘Not in a coffin, but not in one piece,’ he conceded.

  ‘Well, there you are, then. And they’ve sent him somewhere else now.’

  This was Trish’s I-told-you-so voice. It was entirely predictable and always entirely justified because nothing bad could happen which Trish hadn’t already anticipated. Some people had hobbies. Trish spent her leisure hours concocting disasters.

  ‘I think he’s gone to Headley Court. Trish, is everything all right with Jenny?’

  ‘No. She’s not good, I’m afraid. She’s been told she needs a lot of rest . . . oh, here she is now. Do you want to speak to her?’

  He gritted his teeth.

  ‘Well, yes please, Trish.’

  ‘All right, I’ll let you two talk. But, Dave, I must say something. Jenny’s had too much to cope with alone here, and now it’s beginning to show. Who knows what effect this is all having on the baby? We may not know for years but these things always come out in the end.’

  He rolled his eyes as the prophet of doom droned on.

  ‘You need to reconsider your position, Dave. You’re out there fighting a war no one agrees with or understands while your family’s here without you. Think about it, Dave. There. That’s all I’ve got to say.’

  ‘OK, Trish, I’ll give that some thought.’

  Trish handed over the phone and he was alone with Jenny. There was a pause and then they both guffawed.

  ‘Christ, your mum doesn’t change, does she?’ said Dave.

  ‘I don’t know what I’d do without her.’

  ‘What’s up, love? What’s happened?’

  ‘I’ve been feeling weird for a while . . .’

  ‘You didn’t tell me.’

  Ooops. Stupid. How could she tell him if he didn’t phone? He braced himself for her to point this out but she evidently decided not to.

  ‘Well, I’m just about to have a baby, it’s normal to feel weird. But for the last couple of weeks I’ve been getting a bit spaced out and my ankles were so swollen I could hardly move. Then my hands started to swell too and I just felt dreadful. The midwife said my blood pressure was too high. I’ve got to have complete rest. If I don’t get back to normal in a week, I have to go to hospital.’

  ‘But what will they do there?’

  ‘I don’t know. Monitor me, I suppose.’

  ‘Oh, Christ. Is the baby OK?’

  ‘Yes. The worst case scenario is that they’ll have to induce me a bit early.’

  ‘Induce!’

  ‘Dave, don’t worry.’

  ‘Early!’

  ‘Not very. We’ll manage, love. Your mum’s coming to help next week so I know I’ll have a laugh then.’

  Jenny and Dave’s mother were good mates. Dave just wished he could feel the same way about her mother.

  ‘How’s Vicky?’

  ‘Fine! Everything’s fine.’

  But he knew everything wasn’t fine. And he knew he was powerless to do anything.

  ‘I miss you. I worry about you,’ he said. He kept his voice even so he didn’t betray his anguish.

  ‘Well, don’t. I’m OK and it’s my job to do the worrying around here.’

  ‘If you were OK your mum wouldn’t be there.’

  ‘All I do is lie around getting bigger. And Mum gets smaller. She’s lost three pounds.’

  ‘How’s Leanne? How’s Steve?’

  ‘Well, you can worry about them if you want something to worry about. He’s been horrible to her. Really angry. Seems to want any excuse to shout at her. As though she planted the bloody IED.’

  ‘I thought he was at Headley Court now.’

  ‘They’re giving him at least two legs, maybe more. One for every occasion. But he’s still horrible to Leanne. He’s on an anger management course or something now.’

  Dave was aware that around him the base was buzzing with activity. His own men were gathering by the wagons already and sharing cigarettes. The air was thick with anticipation.

  ‘Jen, shit, I’m really sorry, I’ve got to go . . .’

  He rushed the rest of the call and then put down the phone feeling dissatisfied. He hadn’t been able to tell her that in less than an hour he would be leaving for a big operation. And she had apparently decided not to nag about him leaving the army, at least for now. So they had talked about Steve and Leanne. As usual, there had been more unsaid than said between them. It was better not to phone at all.

  He walked briskly back to the ammo.

  1 Platoon was outside and ready by the wagons at 0330. The world was still dark but light threatened. You could see the red line of dawn waiting to disperse far away in the east.

  The men had checked and re-checked their kit and now they sat quietly. There was little conversation. They were thinking about the day ahead and the possibilities it would offer, for both bravery and for death.

  Sol looked 1 Section up and down. As usual, he stopped by Jack Binns. He made it his business to keep an eye on this lad and just yesterday had discovered that his heels were cracked. He spoke sharply, breaking the group’s silence.

  ‘Did you remember to put that cream on, Binman?’

  ‘Yeah, but they don’t hurt much.’

  ‘That’s because I gripped you in time.’

  Mal said: ‘They’ll hurt when you’ve been on your feet all day, Binman. I let my heels get cracked and every step was like treading on fucking knives.’

  ‘Is that why you lost the shotgun?’ asked Finn. ‘Because your heels hurt?’

  ‘Fuck off,’ said Mal, lighting a cigarette and handing Finn one.

  ‘All right, Mr Angry?’ Finn asked Angus, who was sitting leaning on his Bergen with his eyes closed. ‘Want one of Mal’s ciggies?’

  Angus did not open his eyes. ‘Nah.’

  Sol had been watching Angus too.

  ‘What’s up with you?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Had anything to eat this morning?’

  ‘Nah.’

  ‘Not scared of a fight, are you?’ asked Finn.

  ‘Course not. I just don’t want to fuck up in front of the Paras.’

  Sol’s face creased into a frown. ‘Who cares about the Paras?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Thinking of doing P Company, Angry?’ asked Mal. ‘Is that what it is? Scared you’ll let yourself down?’

  Angus opened his eyes. ‘I’m not good enough to do P Company.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ said Mal.

  ‘You’re the right size. Toms are mostly gorilla-shaped people,’ said Jamie.

  ‘Toms are mostly gorillas,’ said Finn. ‘Forget the people bit.’

  ‘You’ve got to think you’re God’s gift to the British Army,’ said Sol. ‘Or you can’t join the Paras.’

  Finn drew on his cigarette: ‘I thought of doing P Company.’

  ‘Why don’t you, then?’ Binman asked.

  ‘Because he’d miss us,’ said Mal.

  ‘What’s the point? Just so I can wear a red beret and jump out of aeroplanes? I thought: Finn, you already have enough women chasing you, so forget it.’

  ‘You said your old man was in the Jedi, right?’ said Bacon to Angus, who had closed his eyes again now. Angus did not reply. But Streaky continued.

  ‘Well, why join the Paras? Why don’t you follow in your dad’s footsteps and go straight for the Jedi?’

  ‘Selection,’ said Finn. ‘No
w that really is a killer. Have a go at joining the Jedi, Mr Angry.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be good enough.’