by Andy McNab
One thing that impressed him was the ANA soldiers. He had expected them to be a ragtag bunch, with shoddy kit and a not exactly professional attitude. The opposite was true. They were well-armed with the American M16s and were working the patrol as well as the others. If anything, he thought, probably better. They knew this land and knew what to look for.
‘Hold!’
It was James. His hand was up and the patrol obeyed, stopping dead still.
Liam watched as James edged forward, metal detector sweeping with slow, deliberate arcs. A few moments later, he walked back to Miller. Liam couldn’t hear any words, but it was clear that James had found something.
Miller signalled down the line and one of the ANA moved forward. He was slight in build, and walked with a relaxed air, almost as though he was out for a Sunday stroll, his feet seeming to glide across the ground rather than take steps. Slung over his shoulder was a canvas bag. He was clean-shaven and, when he stopped to speak to Miller, the ANA officer and Stirling, Liam saw that he was smiling, like he was just happy to be alive and doing his job.
‘Right, everyone,’ called Miller, ‘let’s back up, keeping to the cleared path, no veering off.’
Everyone obeyed, coming to a stop about two hundred metres back the way they’d come.
‘What’s happening?’ Liam asked Clint, as they stood watching.
‘IED,’ said Clint.
‘We’ll be out here ages, then,’ said Liam. ‘Counter IED team will be on their way from Camp Bastion. We’ll have to wait it out till the IED’s made safe.’
‘Then what’s he doing?’ said Clint, gesturing towards the ANA soldier who’d strolled past. He was now up to where James’s combat metal detector had done its job and brought the patrol to a halt.
Liam couldn’t make out exactly what the man was doing, but he was crouched down and fiddling with something on the ground. He wasn’t wearing the protective kit usually associated with bomb disposal so there was no way he could be messing with a possible IED, though what else he could have been doing, Liam hadn’t a clue.
A few minutes later the ANA soldier was on his feet and strolling back to the rest of the patrol. And a couple of seconds after he passed Sergeant Miller, an explosion rammed itself hard into the quiet of the day.
Liam couldn’t believe it.
‘Did he just do what I think he did?’ Clint asked.
Liam nodded. ‘The mad bastard!’ he said, staring at the dirt and grit raining down around where the IED had detonated. ‘He wasn’t wearing protection and didn’t even lie down to miss the blast if it went off!’
The ANA soldier grinned at Miller and sauntered back down the line, stopping next to Liam. Liam stared at him. ‘It is safe now,’ said the soldier. ‘A simple device. No problem.’
Liam was doubly impressed – the soldier’s English was excellent. ‘But you weren’t wearing the suit,’ he said, thinking about the kit that the bomb disposal lads had to work in. ‘You could’ve been blown to pieces!’
‘Too big,’ said the soldier. ‘Better like this. Easier to move, see?’ He wiggled a little and grinned.
Was this guy for real? thought Liam. Or did he just have a death wish?
‘Then why didn’t you lie down?’
Liam knew that when an IED went off, the explosion came out in a V shape. Lying down reduced the risk of being hit by the V of deadly shrapnel as it blasted outwards.
‘Better to keep clothes clean,’ came the reply. ‘Washing is expensive.’ He smiled again. And it was genuine.
Liam shook his head, smiled back, had nothing left to say.
Miller called from the front for the patrol to move on. Stirling was back out in front.
Liam, still trying to comprehend what they’d all just witnessed, made to move off, when something thunked into the ground between him and Clint.
‘Contact!’
12
The round had come from Liam’s left and he dropped to one knee and had his weapon in the shoulder. He scanned the horizon. It reminded him of pictures he’d seen of the moon, except with the addition of a few scraggly plants. They didn’t know if it was a lone shooter or simply the first shot fired by a group who were readying themselves for a scrap. He was aware now not just of those with him, but of the sound of every small movement, the creak of a boot, rub of clothing, knock of weapon. Someone was out there, could see them, and they had to find them and return fire before a round hammered home and injured someone, or worse.
‘No firing unless contact confirmed!’ yelled Lance Corporal Clark from the back of the line. ‘Remember your ROE! We don’t just go spraying rounds everywhere!’
He wasn’t being a ball-breaker, Liam knew, but just sending out a reminder. And it made sense to do that. This was a first patrol. Everyone wanted it to go by the book, even when things turned to shit and a firefight was on.
The silence made Liam hyper aware of his every breath and movement.
‘Anything?’ Miller up front, shouting back. They were all out with PRRs, but at this range Liam heard the sergeant’s voice in the air as well as through the earpiece he was wearing.
No one replied. The ground and undergrowth were refusing to give anything away.
Liam kept scanning, looking for anywhere that might hide an enemy combatant. A bush, a broken dead tree, some rocks. Trouble was, everything was so far out, the landscape so similar wherever you looked, that spotting anything that looked out of place was next to impossible, and the give-away straight line of a barrel easily disguised.
A bright red and yellow flash, 150 metres, max.
‘RPG!’
Christ, thought Liam, dropping to the ground, do the Taliban use anything else? But at least it had given away the position.
By luck, or simply through poor handling of the weapon, the RPG drifted right and detonated some way off, taking out a tree. Wood blasted up into the air, and the tree wobbled for a moment, then slumped down to the ground like it was drunk. Not that it mattered what damage the rocket had done. The flash had given away the enemy’s position. They’d all seen it.
‘Have it!’
Miller’s call to arms was almost unnecessary as every soldier opened fire, drilling the place with round after round after round.
‘Stop!’
The patrol fell silent. Everyone remained vigilant, scanning every blade of grass for a sign of attack. Then Miller directed an advance on the position. It was slow work as James was on point again, checking every step, protected by sustained covering fire from everyone else on where the RPG had been fired from, and the surrounding ground.
James stopped, hoisted his shotgun into his hands, pumped a round into the chamber. He edged forward, then, after a pause, he turned and signalled to Miller.
The contact was over.
Liam checked his watch. It wasn’t even lunch time. It was going to be a long, hot and tiring first day out on patrol.
After the initial violence of their arrival and first day, the rest of the week passed with relative ease. Everyone was greatly relieved. It allowed them to get used to their surroundings, and to deal with the comedown of no longer having access to the facilities that had been afforded them back at Camp Bastion.
The compound was a busy place, and Liam did his best to make himself feel at home as much as possible. He arranged his sleeping area so that it had enough of his stuff on display to show that it was his. It was the little touches that mattered, which was a good thing, really, he thought, because he didn’t actually have much. There were still echoes of that first day, though, and he knew he wasn’t the only one on edge because of it. Such a firefight didn’t just have its effect in the rounds flying; it seeped on through future days, always there in people’s minds.
The Taliban had been waiting.
Not that anyone said it outright, because everyone knew the only thing a rumour was good for was distracting people from what they were supposed to be doing.
Checking out some of the other beds, Liam
saw family photos, pictures drawn by children, postcards. Clint’s were on show again and Liam could see the look of their father in the eyes of both children; a mischievous glint coupled with boundless energy. Liam’s only family were his parents. And he didn’t really get on with them. Well, not his dad at any rate, and his mum was almost a ghost. They’d turned up to see him get his medal, but that was the last time he’d seen them. And contact with them had been minimal. So, in the end, all he had on display was a few photos from his training and first tour. They were good memories, not least because Cameron was in most of them.
Liam was rearranging the photographs when he sensed someone was watching him. He looked over his shoulder to find that it was the ANA who’d dealt with the IED. Again, Liam was struck by the openness of the soldier’s expression. He wasn’t guarded at all. It was a little unnerving. Why would anyone be like that? Liam thought. Every soldier he’d met, no matter how open or friendly at first, always kept something back until they really got to know each other. Not that it took long – having people trying to kill you made you become friends pretty quickly. This ANA, though, didn’t seem to have anything to hide and Liam found it was almost too easy to relax in his presence. It was uncanny.
‘Salaam,’ said the soldier.
Liam noticed immediately the different greeting. If it was Pashto, he would have expected salaamu alaikum, not simply salaam. He didn’t want to appear ignorant, and managed to pull from his mind the little Dari he’d managed to learn alongside the Pashto.
‘Salaam,’ he replied, and added, ‘Chetoor astayn?’
‘Khoob astum,’ came the reply: ‘I am very well indeed!’ The soldier grinned, and Liam was pleased his pronunciation of the Dari for How are you? had been sufficiently clear. ‘You speak Dari!’
Liam laughed and shook his head, then pulled out the phrase book from a pocket. ‘Still learning,’ he said.
The soldier nodded at the photo. ‘He is a close friend?’
‘Yes, he was,’ said Liam.
‘Ah, I understand,’ came the reply. ‘I am truly sorry.’
Liam stood quietly for a moment, unsure what to say next. The loss of Cam was still with him. And Martin’s death had not only caused its own shockwave, but also opened that wound afresh, not that it had yet been given a decent chance to heal. He wasn’t sure he wanted it to, because the scars of a friendship like that were something to be proud of. And he didn’t want to be suspicious, but really he didn’t know this ANA at all; none of them did. They’d all seen him do his job, and well, but that was it.
‘He was a good mate,’ said Liam, words not coming easy, not really sure what or how much to say.
The soldier walked over to Liam. ‘I am Zaman Shah.’
‘Scott,’ said Liam.
Zaman smiled warmly. ‘It is always hard losing someone,’ he said. ‘Whatever you believe, that is always the same. It is never easy.’
‘I guess,’ said Liam. ‘I’ve always thought once you’re dead that’s it, you’re gone. But it’s hard to believe sometimes. Cam was too alive to be just gone. Still doesn’t seem real.’
‘This war has taken many lives,’ said Zaman. ‘Each death is a sadness. Again, I am truly sorry.’
‘Thank you,’ said Liam, and there was that openness, he thought, drawing him in, making him relax without even realizing it. This Zaman should be an interrogator, he thought – he could get anyone to talk just by looking at them.
‘I too have lost many friends,’ said Zaman, and for the first time Liam saw a shadow pass over his eyes. There was a darkness behind the friendly smile. Zaman had lived this war, thought Liam, not just survived it. ‘Many of my family. I sometimes think our country will never know real peace.’
‘I hope it does,’ said Liam. ‘It’s a beautiful place, despite all this.’
Zaman grinned broadly, the darkness Liam had noticed burned away in a second by that smile. ‘Thank you!’ he said, then asked, ‘Have you had kehwa?’
‘Er, no,’ said Liam, having no idea what Zaman was talking about.
‘Come!’ Zaman replied. ‘Join me!’
Liam checked the time and was amazed to find that his fifth day was already drawing to a close. With nothing else pressing, and realizing that getting to know Zaman was probably a good idea anyway, Liam followed him across the compound to where the ANA lads had settled down.
Zaman asked Liam to sit down then walked over to where Liam had seen the ANA soldiers preparing their food and drink. Whatever it was, it definitely smelled better than what he’d been eating lately. The food at Camp Bastion didn’t count – that was restaurant stuff with fresh supplies. Out here, not so much.
Zaman came over to Liam carrying a small and very ornate glass cup, sitting on an equally fragile-looking saucer. ‘This is kehwa,’ he said, presenting the cup to Liam with an almost reverential air. ‘It is green tea. We prepare it with saffron, cinnamon and cardamom and sweeten it with honey.’
‘It smells amazing,’ said Liam, taking the glass from Zaman. ‘Oh, it’s hot!’
Zaman nodded. ‘Lutfan,’ he said, and Liam was happy to recognize the Dari for please. ‘It is good, trust me!’
Liam wasn’t used to hot drinks in the Afghan heat. And the only drink he really fantasized about was an ice-cold beer, despite the headaches he’d suffered during his recent so-called holiday.
‘Tashakur,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’ And took a sip. It was hot, but not scalding. ‘That’s actually delicious.’
‘Yes,’ said Zaman. ‘You must share this with me and my friends.’ He called over to two other ANA soldiers. ‘This is Scott,’ he said, as they arrived and sat down. ‘He finds our country beautiful!’
The ANA soldiers beamed at Liam like he’d given them the greatest compliment possible.
‘And the kehwa?’ asked one, looking to Zaman then Liam.
‘It’s great,’ said Liam, and tried some more. ‘Really nice. Proper delicious.’
Taking another sip, he noticed Tim heading back up to the wall. He was staring across at him, his expression grave, disapproving almost. Whatever his problem was, Liam thought, he wasn’t going to let it bother him, so he raised his glass to him, then finished it.
Zaman’s smile grew even broader, and before Liam could argue a tray of kehwa was brought over and soon they were all drinking and smiling.
The following day, early afternoon, Liam had found himself relaxing a little after the initial arrival and firefight. Martin’s loss was still raw, but he wasn’t as edgy, at least not about the thought that someone had leaked intelligence about their arrival. It had been quiet since then and he was fairly confident that whether their arrival had been leaked or not, they’d hit back so hard during the contact that the Taliban had decided to steer clear.
He was over in the gym area when a visitor arrived, bringing with him additional supplies for the compound. Following a stocktake ordered by Lieutenant Steers it had been discovered that more than a few necessary items were running low, including water and medical supplies. A call to Camp Bastion, which everyone had heard – thanks to the lieutenant making his needs starkly clear to whoever had drawn the short straw and answered – and fresh supplies had been quickly arranged.
Sitting up in his bed, Liam stared across the compound at the new arrival. He clocked the dog collar immediately.
‘Fuck me, a sky pilot,’ said Ade.
‘What?’
‘A padre. Head in the clouds, talking to his boss,’ said Ade. ‘If you believe in any of that bollocks.’
‘You don’t, then?’
‘Dead’s dead,’ said Ade. ‘This is all there is. Can’t be doing with wasting my time talking to an imaginary friend.’
Lieutenant Steers met the padre with a firm handshake.
‘Why’s he here?’ Liam asked.
‘They do the rounds,’ said Ade. ‘Improve our morale, give us a shoulder to cry on, I guess.’
‘Don’t knock it,’ said Liam.
‘Actu
ally, I’m not,’ said Ade, for the first time sounding to Liam like he wasn’t about rip into something. ‘I’ve seen those blokes with lads who are injured. They don’t just sit in safety, they’ll do their job under fire. Don’t even carry weapons. I might not believe like they do, but I respect them.’
Liam was speechless.
Clint, who’d had his head in a book, said, ‘And you need a good cry, do you, Ade? Is that it?’
‘Fuck off, Cowboy,’ said Ade.
And Ade was back to being himself, Liam thought with a smile. The lieutenant was now walking towards them. Liam swung off his bunk and stood up.
‘This is Major Peter Clements,’ said the lieutenant, standing in front of them. ‘Army padre. He’ll be with us for a couple of days. So make him feel at home, yes?’
‘Sir,’ said Liam.
The major wasn’t how Liam would ever have expected a man of the church to look or act. If he’d been told a padre was on his way, he’d have expected someone grey, old and weak to turn up – a person who meant well but would have been better staying at home eating crumpets and talking to old ladies. Major Clements was anything but.
‘Hello,’ he said, stretching out a hand for Liam to shake. ‘I know we’re supposed to stick to all that military convention stuff, but I’d prefer it if you just called me Pete.’
Liam took the padre’s hand and almost wished he hadn’t; the grip was strong. ‘I’m Scott,’ he said. ‘The bald one’s Eastwood, and that’s Sunter.’
‘So how are you settling in?’
‘It’s fucking brilliant,’ said Ade. ‘Luxury! Though I wouldn’t mind some softer bog roll; my arse is red raw.’
‘I’m fresh out,’ said Pete. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Didn’t God tell you?’
‘Did you ask him?’ replied Pete, raising an eyebrow.
Ade laughed. It was a rare thing to hear, thought Liam.
‘So where can someone grab a brew?’ the padre asked. ‘I’m gasping.’
‘I’ll take you,’ said Liam, pointing over to where they all sat down for their much-needed, if not always that palatable, scoff. ‘The mess is over there.’
