Last Night Another Soldier

by Unknown

  I kicked a pile of magazines with my boot.

  ‘What about these, Toki? FHM, Zoo …’

  ‘Cookhouse. Julie won’t want those. Anyone know if he has any porn on his laptop?’

  I started to pick up the magazines. ‘I know he was making a music video using all the film he’d been taking.’

  ‘I’ll check it out while you lot are on fatigues. Don’t want Julie seeing us chewing up Taliban either.’

  Red flecks appeared on Si’s cheeks joining his zits like some crazy dot-to-dot quiz. His eyes flashed between us. ‘He’s dead, and for what? For nothing, that’s what. Three days aggressive camping just to get a good kicking? We should have stayed and smashed ‘em up big time.’ He brought his fist down hard on the bed. ‘At least John would have died for something. Where are the pencil necks giving these orders? I didn’t see any of them out there last night.’

  He was right. No one from HQ ever came to our FOB. I started rolling up John’s sleeping bag. ‘Probably sitting in those air-conditioned Portakabins in Kandahar, never even been in the Green Zone. Why did they rip us out, Toki?’

  Toki was checking out the rest of the patrol pack, pulling out dirty socks and dark-green sweat-stained T-shirts. ‘D Company were getting hit big time last night. They needed all the Apaches and support up north. Once they’ve cleared and are holding their area, we’ll be going out on the ground again.’

  I put the pile of magazines on top of three bags of boiled sweets, which were all destined for the cookhouse. ‘Better had! Makes us look like right wimps.’

  Si wasn’t finished yet. ‘Why ain’t we got loads of helis and all the gear like the Yanks got?’

  Toki sighed, raising his legs and plonking his desert boots on John’s camp bed. ‘No money, I guess. Never is.’ We all nodded as we knew it was the truth.

  A calm female voice came over FOB’s loud speaker system. ‘Standby. Standby. Firing. End of message.’ Sure enough, the rattle and whoosh of two massive rockets kicked off into the sky. We called them 70km Snipers, because they could still reach their targets from that far away. At least this time it was our guys giving the Talis the good news.

  Toki shoved everything he’d been sorting through back into John’s patrol kit. There was nothing to be found. ‘D Company must still be getting a hammering,’ he said.

  Toki wasn’t wrong. D company were getting smashed up big time on the other side of the valley. It was taking all our helis to keep the Talis down. Another rocket kicked off, forcing Si to shout above it as he picked at a new zit on the side of his neck. ‘Hey, Briggsy, heard you did a touch of the old Kung Fu Panda with a Tali this morning, right before you head-jobbed him. Good one, mate.’

  ‘Yeah. Sort of.’ I wasn’t sure if I wanted to talk about it, so I stared into the bin liner I’d just put John’s iPod into, in the hope that we could just carry on packing the kit away.

  ‘And?’ Si wasn’t going to let it go that easily.

  ‘Mate, what happened? Cough up.’

  ‘Well …’ I revved myself up to tell the story as best I could.

  Si nodded with excitement as I explained what had happened. I tried to tell it as dramatically as I could, because I knew that was what he wanted to hear. ‘All I could hear was Toki yelling, “Pistol. Pistol.” I was flapping so much I’d forgotten about it. So I reached down to my leg holster and jammed my pistol into his nut and slotted him. Job done. Cheers, Toki.’

  ‘No biggy. I’d have done it for you if I’d been able to get near enough. You were too close to him for me to be able to fire from that far away. Anyway, you did well. Have a dig about for his laptop lead, will you, Briggsy? It might be in with all that stuff in your bin liner.’

  I dug around in my sack and pulled out the only lead that looked as if it might work. Si kept looking in my direction, waiting for more of my story. When he realized that was it, he gave me a big thumbs up with both hands.

  ‘Good one, mate. Like you said, job done. Big time!’ He beamed at the three of us like he was over the moon I’d killed someone, but maybe he was just pleased that he’d finally burst his zit.

  I hoped that would be the end of the conversation, but I should have known he wouldn’t leave it there. ‘Mate, just think what would’ve happened if they had, you know, got you? We’d be watching you online getting your head cut off.’ Si slid his index finger across his throat. ‘Cos you know they’ll get one of us one day, don’t you? They keep trying. I just hope it ain’t me.’

  It went quiet for a bit as we all thought about what would happen if one of us got taken by the Talis.

  ‘Hey, Briggsy.’ Si still wasn’t done. ‘You think they’ll, you know, give you one before cutting you up?’

  Flash lowered the bluey he’d been opening and rolled his eyes. ‘You’ve been watching too much TV, mate.’

  Then I remembered something I’d seen on Dave TV about Afghanistan. ‘I watched a thing about them playing rugby, but on horses using human heads instead of balls.’

  Flash pointed the bluey at me like a school teacher with a ruler. ‘It’s called buzkashi and it’s a game like polo. They usually use a dead goat instead of a ball, but they decided to use Russian squaddies’ heads when they were at war with them back in the eighties.’

  Si gave a low whistle. ‘See, Briggsy, you’re lucky.’

  I thought Toki would shut them all up at this point. It wasn’t really something I wanted to think about. But Toki stopped what he was doing and looked towards the tent flap as if he was going to tell us something he didn’t want anyone else to hear.

  ‘They won’t stop until they do get one of us alive. If I get cornered, I’m going down fighting. No way are my parents going to see me ripped apart on a computer screen.’

  We all looked at the tent flap, too, mostly because we didn’t know what to say to that. As usual, it was Si who broke the silence. ‘Hey, Briggsy, you gotta keep that as living history.’ He jabbed a nicotine-stained finger in my direction. I hadn’t a clue what he was on about.

  He pointed again. ‘Mate, your shirt. You’re covered in Tali blood. You got to keep it as a memento.’

  I looked down, dropping my bin liner and spilling its contents all over the plastic floorboards that kept out the dust. The right sleeve of my shirt was stained a sticky brown where the Tali’s blood had soaked into it. I tugged at my cuff to get it away from my arm, to get the man off me. I don’t know how I hadn’t noticed it before. I felt sick.

  ‘Jesus!’

  I started to rip the thing off my back when Sergeant MacKenzie stuck his head through the flap.

  ‘No, not Jesus. Sergeant MacKenzie to you. But I like your thinking, Briggsy.’

  All I wanted to do was get into the shower and scrub the blood off, but I knew there were no showers until just before evening scoff that night. So I was stuck with it. ‘Yes, Sergeant.’

  I saw MacKenzie look down at my shirt, so I tried a pathetic joke to make myself feel better. ‘Better his blood than mine, eh, Sergeant?’

  Sergeant MacKenzie didn’t miss a beat. ‘I’d say there’s still some debate on that … Right, listen in, you lot.’ He looked at each one of us in turn. ‘I want the whole platoon in the cookhouse now. Corporal Tokibaku, get this lot moving.’ He turned on his heel and was gone.

  Flash gathered up John’s stash of blueys. ‘You got a cynical mind, Toki. They’re all from Julie, right enough. Well, aside from the stack from Jennifer Aniston and Angelina Jolie, of course …’

  Flash gently returned them to John’s kit bag. He didn’t want them all crumpled up for John’s wife, who would probably keep them for ever. ‘I never met Julie or the kids, but me and John were going to get our wives together after this. You know on holiday.’ He looked close to tears and could hardly get the destination out without his voice breaking. ‘Tenerife.’

  The rest of us looked down, pretending we hadn’t noticed, and I got real busy with the bin liner. But the truth is we all felt the same. Flash knew it and made
a half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood. ‘Si, throw those combats over.’

  Flash held them up for all of us to see. ‘Look at the size of that waist. No wonder it was tough carrying all that lard onto the MERT heli, eh? Bet those doctors thought they’d never get airborne again!’

  We all sniggered but it didn’t last long and we soon fell silent again. It was hot in the tent now as the sun was higher. Toki shoved the patrol pack back under John’s bed. ‘Come on, everyone. Let’s go!’

  Chapter Three

  We made our way though the four-inch-thick dust towards the cookhouse. I had to half close my eyes against the bright sun because, as usual, I’d left my sunglasses back in the tent.

  We knew exactly why MacKenzie wanted all of us in the cookhouse. By the time we got there, the long trestle tables had already been pushed to one side, and the whole FOB – about seventy scruffy, sweaty soldiers – were standing around waiting for it to start. Toki grabbed four warm beers from the back of the room and handed one to each of us. Like everyone else, we didn’t open them, we just stood there holding a can in one hand.

  Sergeant MacKenzie stepped forward to face us. His tanned face matched the colour of his totally bald head. He came straight to the point.

  ‘Right, listen in. Rifleman John Hammond is dead. But you lot are still alive. Look around you. Go on, look at each other.’

  I looked at Si who stared me out, daring me to blink before he did. I stared straight back at him as MacKenzie continued. ‘Remember what we were told before we came out here. One in ten of us is going to be a casualty. So if we don’t stay switched on and keep our minds in gear, the next casualty could be the very lad you’re looking at now.’

  I blinked on purpose and looked away. I wasn’t in the mood for Si’s stupid games.

  Sergeant MacKenzie moved his head about, making eye contact with as many of us as he could. ‘It’s our job to look out for each other. And to remember John, your mate. Remember all of those who’ve died, because none of those pencil necks in the real world will. This time next year they’ll still be wetting themselves over Beckham’s new haircut, Jordan’s latest tit job and Jamie Oliver reinventing toast. No point being angry about it, that’s just the way it is. Even Iraq is a distant memory for them. It’s up to you to keep our guys’ memories alive. Because they are one of us. They are soldiers, just like you.’

  MacKenzie pulled the ring tab back on the beer can he was holding in his left hand. I knew what was coming, but it felt worse this time around. All of us pulled our tabs back and the room let out a long hiss. Everyone’s eyes were on MacKenzie. ‘To keep John’s memory alive, you’ve got to stay alive, so keep switched on and look out for each other. It’s your job.’ MacKenzie raised his arm high in a toast. ‘To Rifleman John Hammond. To John.’

  We lifted our cans in response and toasted our dead mate. It all felt a bit overdramatic, a bit unreal, but we had to do something for John. Sergeant MacKenzie gave pretty much the same toast every time we lost a lad. This was number sixteen and the battalion was still only halfway through its tour. Good job we weren’t doing it for the wounded, too, or we’d be out of beer by now. Not that it was real beer, of course. Alcoholfree Heineken was all we were allowed.

  Chapter Four

  As I left the cookhouse, Sergeant MacKenzie screamed over to me. ‘Briggsy! Stand still.’

  I did as I was ordered. Got my feet together, arms down by my sides, and waited.

  ‘Yes, Sergeant?’

  Everyone was scared of MacKenzie. Stupid really. He sounded harsh, but the man was a star. It was his job to control us. He had to keep us together, to stop anyone falling apart over John, or anyone else getting zapped. Or worse than that, getting bits of them blown off.

  To MacKenzie we were all dickheads, but the thing is, we were his dickheads. He always stuck up for us, even when we’d cocked something up. Last week he punched another sergeant from HQ Company for picking on one of the platoon. That’s the sort of dad I would have liked. At least in MacKenzie I had one while I was there.

  He hovered over me, pointing a stubby finger at me. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘I think I got cut up a bit last night, Sergeant.’ I tried to be all casual about it. If Toki was right and everyone was going back into the Green Zone soon, I wanted to make sure I was going with them.

  ‘You seen the medic?’

  I shrugged. ‘No, Sergeant. It’s no big—’

  ‘Wind your neck in,’ he bellowed. ‘Who do you think you are? Schwarzenegger, the Terminator?’

  ‘No, Sergeant.’

  ‘Correct. So get hobbling over to the medic centre. Get Corporal Rankin to sort it now.’

  ‘Yes, Sergeant.’

  Chapter Five

  As I lay on the bench in the Medical Centre, I realized I was in a pretty ridiculous position. I was lying on my stomach with my combats around my ankles and my bare arse facing the ceiling. The tinny sound of the Red Hot Chili Peppers rang out from Emma’s cheap iPod speakers. Emma was pretty. She was Scottish, with long dark hair that she pulled back in a ponytail. As she leant over the bench to examine me, I prayed my arse wasn’t covered in zits.

  Emma’s voice was kind but matter-of-fact. ‘Right then, Briggsy. What did you do, exactly?’

  I stared down at the plastic flooring. ‘Don’t know. Must have cut my arse during the contact last night.’

  She put one hand on the edge of the bench and the other on the back of my thigh as she leant in closer. Her movement made me flinch in pain so I thought I’d try to chat a bit to distract myself. ‘Emma, d’you really like the Chili Peppers?’

  ‘I’d rather have one of them lying half naked in front of me than you.’ She smiled and prodded carefully, but not carefully enough.

  I let out a yelp. ‘Whoah. That’s it, right there.’

  She burst into laughter. ‘Stop being a wimp, Briggsy.’ She prodded again.

  ‘Ow!’

  She kept on with her examination. ‘Keep still, get a grip … that’s no cut. I think we can safely say, David Briggs, you have been well and truly shot in the arse.’

  My heart sank. Not that it came as a great surprise really. I hadn’t been able to sit down all morning because of the pain. I’d hoped it was just a cut, and the news that it was something worse got me flapping. I twisted round to look at her. ‘There a bullet in there?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, it just nicked you. Here, have a look in the mirror. I’ll hold it up for you. See how it just went in and out in less than, what, a centimetre?’

  I twisted my body round some more. There was a gash in my arse, but the fact that there was no bullet to dig out was a big relief. I started to worry about something else. ‘Don’t tell anyone, will you, Emma? It’s not exactly macho is it? I’ll get a hard time from the lads. They’ll take the piss out of me big time.’

  Emma put the mirror down. ‘It’s when the guys are being nice to you that you need to worry.’ She didn’t seem to realize how embarrassing it all was. She was busying herself with bits of kit, ready to sort out my wound.

  ‘Yeah. But really, you won’t tell anyone, will you?’ I was begging now, but it would be worth it if she would just agree to shut up about it. ‘Please, Emma?’

  She started cleaning the wound with some liquid and cotton wool. ‘No, you’re all right. I wouldn’t be that cruel. Now, lie still and let me clean this thing up and close the wound. We don’t want it getting septic, do we? Just think of the hard time you’d get then.’

  As Emma cleaned and sewed, I gasped and winced with the pain, trying hard not to show how much it hurt. Then I noticed a big black rubber body bag lying in the corner of the tent. It had to be John. I’d heard that MERT hadn’t been able to fly him out yet. No spare helis. They were still all up with D Company. I asked if I could take a look at him, but Emma shook her head. ‘What for? You know what happened. You were there.’

  She was right. I mumbled something about how dark and confusing it was o
ut there, but to tell you the truth, I really had no idea why I wanted to see him. What good would it do? Besides, Emma couldn’t be persuaded. ‘No, Briggsy. I haven’t hosed him down yet. Remember him as he was. That’s best.’

  I nodded, but I wasn’t sure if I agreed. Emma quickly changed the subject. ‘Heard that one of them tried to take you last night …’

  We were back on that old chestnut. Well, I wasn’t going to tell the story again. It had been bad enough telling Si and the others the first time around. I just didn’t want to think about it. But Emma kept on.

  ‘I heard you shot him in the face. Sounds very frightening. And pretty full on for a guy who has only been here three weeks. You OK?’

  I tried to shut her up fast. ‘Yeah, it’s what I get eighteen hundred quid a month for, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, seeing as you’re the new boy, and you’ve just had quite a major experience, and you can’t run away because your combats are round your ankles … you are now going to get the potted Post Traumatic Stress Disorder lecture.’

  I groaned loudly, but it wasn’t like I had a choice. She banged on about all the symptoms of PTSD. Nightmares, mood swings, anxiety, that sort of stuff. Problems with alcohol and drugs. Trouble communicating with friends and family. Feelings of isolation, like nobody else understands. Violence. Even sexual problems.

  We had watched a training film about it while I was at the Infantry Training Centre, but I’d fallen asleep halfway through. I’d been knackered after a day on the assault course. I wasn’t really in the mood for hearing it all again, but then she said something I didn’t know. She said PTSD normally took years to develop. Well that was news to me.