by Phil Earle
‘LEAVE. ME. ALONE.’ He spoke the words with the same rhythm as the shots, but as he finished, I heard his voice crack, saw his shoulders sink as he broke into long gasping sobs.
I didn’t know what to do. He’d gone between extremes too quickly for me to work out how to play it. So I stood there, watching my brother fall apart in front of me.
Until it hurt too much to watch.
Slowly I slid down the wall too. The gun shook in his hand until I prised it from him, laying it on the floor next to me, terrified I might set it off again.
‘It’s all right, Jamm,’ I whispered, not knowing if it was at all. ‘It’s all right. I promise you.’
‘It’s not.’ His words were quiet but strong. ‘Can’t ever be.’
‘It can. Whatever it is that’s doing this to you, we can sort it out. You just have to tell me. When have I ever let you down?’
He smiled through the tears at the ridiculousness of what I’d just said.
‘Apart from all the time,’ I added quickly.
‘It’s all just so screwed, Sonny. All of it. And there’s nothing I can do to change it.’
‘There is though, mate. You can talk to me. You can. I might be a nightmare, but I can still help.’
He sighed, a long deep soul-destroying noise that I thought would be followed by silence. But it wasn’t. This was a different brother, a different Jamm.
He didn’t do what I expected any more.
Instead he turned his head towards me and began to speak.
Jammy
My pack felt heavy. Guilt obviously weighed a ton.
I tried to deal with Wayne’s death by keeping busy, checking my kit, my rifle, but even as I cleaned, the events of the bombing looped in my head. And as hard as I tried to hide it, well, I failed.
They weren’t daft, the officers. They’d seen enough lads like me fall apart before their eyes to know I could fold the same way. So they stuck me in front of the doctor back at the base. Questions followed. Half an hour of them, every one a trap as deadly as anything rigged up in the square.
Regret?
Of course, sir … sadness that the boy was killed. That anyone was.
Guilt?
No. Disappointment that it came to this. Though it reminds us why we’re here. Sharpens the resolve.
The sentences tumbled out. So many I lost track, too many were lies.
I’m sleeping well. Clean out by ten. Shows my head’s at rest.
I watched his pen scratch the pad but had no idea whether I was being condemned. It made me nervous, led me to ramble.
Home?
I’ve not thought much about it lately. Hard to when you’re focused here. There’s so much still to do.
Whatever I said, it worked. Enough to earn a salute and a ‘carry on’, which led me straight back to Wayne.
I dreamed up so many scenarios, so many ways of avenging him that there were moments where I felt invincible again. Like I’d sucked up some weird superpower that left me immune to any bullet or bomb.
But that’s all they were, moments. I never carried them with any confidence once patrols started. No matter how many they threw at us.
Slowly, I followed Tommo through the gate, each of us tapping Davenport’s name as we left. The letters were fading. Soon we’d simply be touching a plank, forgetting he had ever been there.
Dusk patrols were the worst. We were at our lowest. Parched from the sun’s battering, yet aware that in three hours we’d be prowling in the dark, unaware of which direction footsteps would be echoing from.
That day the sun was setting, winking at us from behind a mountain to our left, a cheeky reminder it’d be back in a few hours for more torment. Everything felt its power, leaving it wilted, lazy, and as a result I couldn’t believe our patrol would be anything but routine.
And at first it was. We were circling the perimeter of town, keeping tabs on movement in and out, which for the first couple of hours added up to a procession of the mangiest dogs on the planet. They weren’t any kind of breed: it would’ve been an insult to mongrels to even call them that.
I was wary of them, though. Reckoned they could go a few rounds with the toughest Staffies back on the Ghost, and there was no way I was going home because of a dog bite.
Things only changed when the sun finally gave up. On our third lap, we found an empty truck. On point, I’d spotted it first and felt the danger, fearing a trail of IEDs leading up to it. But none came.
It was more of a van than a truck, I suppose, possibly white before the rust had eaten its body.
Keys in the ignition, but engine off.
Rear passenger tyre blown out: hardly surprising, there was no tread left on any of them.
The windows at the back had long gone, tape and cardboard hugging the space instead. Made the huge padlock below it a bit useless, despite its size. Whatever was inside, they still wanted to protect it.
I called it in; the boss was keen to see for himself, not happy for anyone to blow the lock without him.
‘Think about it. Could be anything in there.’
Instead he had us wait for the bomb guys to sweep underneath, checking for wires, pressure pads, anything that screamed IED. I prayed there was nothing, breath easing when they found only what we had: scratchy footprints running from both front doors.
The boss played it straight, set up a perimeter while we waited for tools to cut the lock away. I faced the rear doors full-on, rifle cocked and shaking slightly, on guard in case there was anyone left inside.
There wasn’t, but the space wasn’t empty, far from it. It was packed with an arsenal that made ours look like a toybox. Pistols, semi-automatic weapons, grenades you could throw, others that demanded to be launched. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen.
As we climbed into the van, two mopeds flashed to our left, each of them carrying two people. Young. Early twenties. Packing pistols of their own. Engines screamed as they powered by, each rear passenger craning to see what we’d found. Their desperation told us it was their haul we’d uncovered.
The boss’s rifle flashed beside me, a torrent of bullets eating at the dust around the bikes, but hitting nothing. It was all I needed to tuck my own weapon to my chin and let fly, feeling the butt kick into my shoulder with every release.
But with every bullet, Wayne died again in my head. The pain threatened to tear me up.
All around me bullets sped, puncturing the sky but little else. We were losing range, so, with a deep breath, I squinted hard and focused on the rear tyre of the trailing bike. With a gentle squeeze the bullets left me, the first one clipping the wheel, flipping the rear end high into the air. As the passenger flicked skywards, a dozen bullets ripped into his body, forcing him into a pained dance. He fell harder than the bike, limbs bent and lifeless, as the other moped sped on, disappearing into the edges of town.
We moved on the boss’s orders and took only seconds to reach the blown-out moped, its rider and passenger. I didn’t risk even the briefest of glances in their direction, though.
I hadn’t washed Wayne off my trembling hands yet, and the fear of seeing his face there instead of the riders was too much to bear.
Jammy
The second scooter lay on its side, engine whining like a hungry dog.
Small pockets of men stood talking nearby with their backs to it, denying any knowledge of the bike or its riders. Within seconds of our arrival they shuffled from the square, eyes down, never daring to meet ours.
We watched them suspiciously, doubting any of them could be the guys who’d fled from us. They’d be hiding in one of the buildings, tooling up, knowing they’d need every gun they could find.
The twelve of us fanned across the square, hearing the intercom bounce between us.
‘Keep talking,’ buzzed the boss’s voice. ‘Anything in those buildings even twitches I want to know.’
I found myself beside Tommo, back to back, packs almost resting against each other. I could hear hi
s breathing, feel his back rising and falling.
‘You see anything?’ Tommo asked.
‘Not a thing, but it’s coming.’ I was sure of that.
Our concentration couldn’t waver despite the fear, not even when back-up arrived, a further sixty boots kicking dust into the air. My shoulders tensed, remembering how thick the air had been when Wayne’s bomb went off.
I saw the boss peel away to the other officers, watched information pass between them quick as an electric current.
‘All right, listen up,’ barked the boss. ‘Our targets exited the square at the south-west corner, which suggests they’re holed up in one of the back streets beyond. We will proceed and establish their whereabouts, leaving a presence here in case we drive them back into the open.’
I heard guns click as adrenalin pumped veins wide open.
‘Jammy, Tomm, take point.’
I followed his instructions quickly, not wanting to spend a second longer here than I had to; every inch of the square was packed full of Little Wayne.
We marched with purpose, straining for anything: movement, noise, a chance to stamp ourselves all over the situation.
But we came nowhere close, because as our feet hit the side street, the sky was torn apart by a flash of light so bright I thought the world was ending. A second later the ground erupted, spitting each of us to the ground, cowering beneath an avalanche of dust and rubble.
I wasn’t hurt, no blood that I could see, just white noise screaming in my ears, scrambling my brain with sickening déjà vu.
At first I lay there motionless, too petrified to open my eyes in case I was confronted with the past. Bricks covering me only toppled when I was finally pulled upright, the terror easing slightly as Tommo appeared above me, alive but coated in dust. I pulled him into me, squeezing so hard that he coughed and told me to let go.
Slowly we clambered over the debris, trying to pick out shapes or faces that we recognized. My heart was going mental, head skidding as the blast played again and again, each boom getting louder, more intense.
‘Mortar attack,’ the boss winced, looking each of us in the eye, lingering longer with me, I was sure. ‘Everyone fit?’
We barked back, me included. Had to shake the fear by ploughing on.
‘Let’s go.’
We created three banks of four, the boss in the middle, our eyes covering every doorway, window and rooftop that came into view. But nothing moved or twitched: not even a cat dared cross our path. Made me wonder if the blast had taken everyone out but us.
It was a stupid thought, as dumb as they come, for as soon as it flashed into my head a shot rang out, a single piercing crack that sliced between Tommo and me, lifting JC clean off his feet.
He crumpled, eyes glazing before he even hit the ground. A fountain of blood sped from him, and as hard as Giffer tried, he couldn’t stem it, or push any life back inside the body. By the time we dragged JC into a doorway, to shield both him and us from more punishment, we’d already lost him.
‘MAN DOWN! MAN DOWN!’
With a single phrase, the boss focused us, trained our eyes back to the roof for any sign of the sniper who’d taken JC.
Nothing.
Instead we split up, two men still working on JC as the rest shimmied along the street edge, holding ourselves tightly against the shadows, stupidly hoping it would mask our boot-heavy pacing.
Ten metres became twenty, twenty-five, thirty, but as we approached a single lamp hanging from a shop, everything went biblical again, a torrent of bullets raging from every direction. We scattered through doors, behind bins, or in my case behind a battered car. I fell next to the driver’s door, chest pumped full of both adrenalin and fear.
‘That’s ENOUGH!’ I roared. Tommo slid in beside me and reloaded.
‘You all right? Not hit, are you?’ he whimpered, eyes wider than saucers.
I shook my head, trying to keep my panic from him.
‘You were right, Jamm. Stupid idea, joining up. I’m not made for this.’
‘We’re still breathing. Get out of this and we’ll all be heroes.’ I couldn’t believe how calm I sounded. It surprised me, concentrated my senses.
‘We are going to get out, aren’t we?’
Bullets shattered the window above us, showering glass on to our helmets, stopping me answering him. I had no idea what I would have said anyway.
‘You see anything?’ he asked, as I dared to peek around the bumper.
‘Two of them. Third floor, two o’clock.’
Tommo shuffled to the other end of the car and craned round, scampering back with a yelp as a volley of bullets snapped past.
‘There must be more than two of ’em …’
‘Probably, but let’s start there.’
Resting on my elbows, with rifle poised, I kept low to the ground, and with a deep breath released a stream of bullets that raced away, chipping walls and, hopefully, bone.
But my attack was met by a counter, my head dropping to the ground as bullets whistled past. It left me with a terrifying thought: How long till they get bored and launch a grenade at us instead?
‘Tomm, we’ve got to move.’
‘What? Why?’
‘We’re wide open here.’
‘There’s a car between us. What are you on about?’
‘Trust me, mate.’
Tommo swore loudly, eyes roaming, looking for anything else we could dive through or under.
‘We should go separate ways. Divide ’em. Would give us more chance.’
I chewed it over. It might, or they might just choose one of us to chase. The thought pulled at my insides and the promises I’d made to come home safe and united.
‘You see something to go for?’
He pointed at a door on the left-hand side of the street. ‘Reckon I can barge straight through that. Window should give me a shot back at them too.’
‘Right. Let’s do it, then. On my word. Don’t stop or look, just have it.’
I had no real idea where I was going yet, only that I was going first, to draw the fire, give Tomm a bigger chance. So without warning I broke to the left, only hollering ‘NOW!’ after half-a-dozen steps, my rifle flaming as I let a round go. No way could they fire back if they were ducking.
The only thing I hadn’t worked out was where to hide. There were no more vehicles, and the doors wore padlocks that I hadn’t the time to blast, let alone pick.
So when I spotted a broken window, ten metres ahead, I dived for it, landing inside with a crunching thud and a scream.
But the scream didn’t come from me. My rifle followed it to the corner of the room and found three shadows, huddled and trembling. A couple, arms wrapped defensively around a boy, too close to Wayne in age not to be another excrutiating reminder.
The woman spoke, words I didn’t understand, but with a fear that was obvious.
Her husband stood in front of me, palms outstretched, making me notice my rifle pointing straight at him. I dropped it to my side, offered a greeting. One of the few words I’d learned.
It did little to settle them.
‘We have nothing,’ the man said in English, his words clear and matter-of-fact.
His house had given me everything I needed. I told him so.
‘I’m sorry. I’ll leave as soon as I know where the gunfire is coming from.’
‘Then you need more than two eyes.’
‘There are many gunmen?’
‘Men, women. Some no more than children.’ His son picked that moment to cling to his waist, half scared, half interested in me. I flinched.
‘You know them?’
He shrugged. ‘Of course.’
‘And you know where they are?’
‘Some. Not all.’
I resisted the urge to lift my rifle instantly.
‘So you’re prepared to show me?’
‘They are no more my friends than you are.’
I had no idea at first if that was a yes or a no,
but I followed him as he crept towards the broken window.
Jammy
He pointed me to a flat about forty metres ahead. Top floor.
At first I saw nothing.
‘Be patient,’ he whispered, like they could hear him.
So I crouched and squinted into the dark, until two bodies dashed across the space where glass should’ve been. They were only in view for a second, but there was no mistaking the rifles they were carrying.
We waited a minute more until they struggled by with another piece of kit. The sort that can take out a whole town, never mind a street.
‘How long have they been smuggling this stuff in?’
‘Weeks.’
‘And we didn’t see it?’
‘It doesn’t seem so.’
My cheeks burned at his contempt, and as I had no answer I turned back to the window. ‘Is there another way into that block?’
‘Not from here. But the building next door to it? There is a back entrance.’
I was on the comms before he could finish, bombarding the boss with intel, the kind he loved.
‘You see ’em?’ I asked, not sure if he could pick it up from his vantage point.
‘I do. We’ll have to wait for back-up. No way can we risk driving on with what they’re packing.’
The family’s eyes were on me. All of them expectant. The boy so reminiscent of Wayne I felt I owed him something immediately.
‘No need, boss. There’s a back entrance. I can get to it from my position.’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘Local knowledge. Family whose door I crashed.’
‘And you believe them?’
‘Well, they haven’t kicked me back out into the street, have they? I reckon it’s sound, sir. And we can’t wait. From the look of it they’re shipping the stuff out right now.’
Silence. Only an occasional crackle and the sound of the boss’s brain whirring. After an eternity, he came back.
‘Right. This is how it works. On my call, we send out some fire from here. Should give enough cover to get you across the street and through the door you need to hit.’
