War Torn

the convoy. He told himself that the man wouldn’t have spared him if their positions had been reversed. All the same, he found himself wishing he had brought him in as a prisoner. He didn’t feel uncomfortable about the insurgent Mal had shot in the ditch, even though he was aware that this might be harder to explain under the Rules of Engagement.Finn said: ‘That’s the first time I’ve killed someone.’‘Me too,’ Mal said.‘All right with it?’ Sol looked up at them as he nursed his ankle.‘Yup,’ Finn said. ‘’Course. That’s what we’re here for.’ But his face was hollowed and drawn.‘It did feel well weird.’ Mal sounded uncertain.Angus said nothing. He examined his feet, his cheeks hot and red, as the convoy sped out of the Green Zone.

Chapter Eight

BOSS WEEKS COLLECTED HIS MEAL IN THE COOKHOUSE THAT EVENING and, without giving himself a chance to think about it, joined the two female interpreters. His heart started beating faster and his senses were suddenly extra alert, symptoms he now associated with enemy contact.The women, who’d been talking intently to each other, looked up without welcome when he sat down.‘As salaam alai kum,’ Weeks said awkwardly.‘What?’ Jean stared at him.He tried to smile back. He didn’t dare look at Asma.‘As salaam alai kum,’ he repeated, more clearly this time. His food suddenly looked less appetizing.‘Oh- oh,’ Asma said. ‘We’ve got another Captain Boyle here.’‘Captain Boyle?’‘He was with A Company.’‘A marine?’‘Engineer. He had this book: Speak Pashtu in Six Weeks,’ Asma said. ‘He used it like a car instruction manual.’Weeks permitted himself to look at her, but only briefly. She really was stunning. Those large, almond-shaped eyes and slanting cheek bones. Why wasn’t every man in the place writing her poems and offering to clean her weapon?‘Kur-see,’ he said, pointing to the chair. ‘War!’ He pointed to the entrance. ‘Meez.’ He tapped the table.‘Oh Christ.’ Asma rolled her enormous eyes.Jean started to giggle.‘How long have you been learning it?’‘For months.’ Weeks gave a gesture of helplessness. ‘I still can’t complete a sentence.’‘Most people give up when they get to the sentence structure.’‘The alphabet alone makes me feel like coming out with a white flag. How did you two crack it?’They both looked as though they’d answered this question a thousand times before.‘I was in Kabul as a kid,’ Jean said. ‘My parents were aid workers out here until I was twelve. Asma came to the UK at about the same age.’Asma nodded. ‘My parents managed to slip through the Soviet net and, well, it’s a long story but we ended up in London. My mother never did learn much English. So I’ve been translating for her for most of my life.’‘Your family’s Pashtun?’‘Yes. We lived in Kandahar province.’‘Do you remember it?’‘Of course.’‘So does this feel at all like home?’She smiled sadly and shook her head.‘An FOB doesn’t feel like home. Even after a month.’‘How does your family feel about . . .?’‘Me doing this job?’ She looked even sadder and studied the table in front of her. She held an empty water glass in her long, slim fingers. She turned it around and around.‘I don’t have any contact with them,’ she said. ‘I married a man who wasn’t Pashtu, wasn’t even a Moslem. So they don’t consider me a member of the family any more.’Weeks felt a rush of emotion. She was married. But his disappointment didn’t overcome his compassion. To be exiled from any family must be hard, and the Pashtuns were a proud and close-knit people.Jean was watching him closely. ‘It’s worse than that. She’s ended up with no husband and no family.’‘Wouldn’t your family take you back when . . . when . . .?’‘When I divorced?’ Asma shook her head. ‘When you get to understand the Afghan people a little better, you’ll know there can only be one answer to that question.’He looked down awkwardly at his meal.‘Eat up!’ Jean said cheerfully. ‘I hear you’ve had one helluva day. You went out on a routine patrol and ended up with five Afghan bodies on your hands.’‘We had a very . . . interesting . . . patrol,’ he said carefully.‘You might need to go over the RoE with your men. From what I’ve heard, there are some questions to be answered.’‘We’ve discussed the matter fully and I’m satisfied that the Rules of Engagement were observed.’ He’d been aware of a certain amount of hesitation on Dave’s part in the debriefing, but had decided not to pursue it.‘I think Major Willingham will want to satisfy himself too,’ Jean said. Her smile was both bright and determined.Weeks felt his jaw muscles clench. He’d watched these two contravene every rule in the tactical questioning book. And now they were suggesting his men had ignored the RoE. He felt his face redden further. He cursed this stupid habit. He cursed his entire blood supply.‘Obviously, the police don’t get involved unless the OC is worried. But this is a small base and I’ve offered the major my help if he wants to look into it,’ said Jean.Weeks tried to suppress his anger. He was aware that she was still watching him intently. He was also aware of the steady and unnerving gaze of the beautiful Asma.‘My men only narrowly avoided being blown up by a double landmine. A goat took the blast instead. They were confirming that there had been no civilian casualties when they encountered the enemy. They faced the stark choice of firing or being fired upon.’Jean raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure you’ve been told all the details?’Weeks thought about that. Well, no, of course he couldn’t be sure that he’d heard the whole story. But he wasn’t going to admit that. ‘Their actions were entirely justifiable.’ He hoped he was right.

Dave had taken Sol a meal and been told that his best corporal had a twisted ankle and had to keep the weight off it for at least a week, maybe two.‘Isn’t there anything you can do?’ he asked the departing medic.The man turned and shrugged. ‘Shoot him?’‘Good idea.’‘Sorry,’ Sol said miserably. ‘I’m really sorry.’‘How the hell did it happen?’ Dave asked. ‘If it had been Finny or anyone else I’d know they were pissing about. But you . . .’‘I was on top. I was firing. Then I shifted my weight around and . . . well I stumbled and the next thing I knew I was falling.’The Fijian was built like a brick shithouse. He’d fallen on Dave during an impromptu football game and Dave still had the bruises.‘Not the lads below playing some stupid fucking trick on you?’Sol shook his head. ‘They wouldn’t do that.’‘Not if you were under fire, I guess. I suppose we’re lucky you didn’t shoot yourself as you fell.’‘Yeah,’ Sol said. ‘I’m trying to tell myself how lucky I am. Heard any news of Steve or Jordan?’‘Jordan’s OK at Selly Oak. All they can say about Steve is that he’s stabilizing. Hasn’t stabilized enough for me to speak to him, though.’Sol sighed. ‘So until my ankle gets better, Finn will be section commander?’‘He’ll have to step up when we’re out on patrol. But I’m pissed off with him.’‘All this stuff about Emily?’‘Yeah. I don’t remember anything about shagging the contractors in the camp orders, do you?’‘It’s just a wind-up. And when you’re out there and you need Finn to be good, he’s always good.’‘Under pressure he’s good. The rest of the time he’s all mouth.’‘You can’t step anyone over him.’‘I know.’‘So it’ll be Finn to command and Jamie as second i/c?’‘Yup.’Sol placed his empty plate on the ground beside him, lay back on his cot and shut his eyes.‘What happened to Angus today? The lads have been ripping into him. Mal’s his best mate, but he’s been tearing Angry apart.’Who needs sergeants, Dave thought, when you had mates to keep you in order? ‘I don’t know what’s going on with that lad,’ he said. ‘I intend to find out now.’

Angus McCall was eating by himself while Mal and the others were on the other side of the cookhouse. He was watching the TV intently. Although he must have been aware that someone was sitting down next to him, he didn’t look up.‘Anything you want to talk about, Angry?’ From the way McCall hunched his oversized body, Dave knew that the lad had seen him enter the cookhouse and was bracing himself for what came next.‘Nah . . .’They both watched the screen. Impossibly beautiful women in gauzy dresses followed a man through London’s meaner streets solely because of the way his underarms smelled.Dave glanced across the room at Mal, self-proclaimed babe magnet. Mal wasn’t watching the TV. He was locked in discussion with Finn. Jamie was laughing at them. Dave could tell from the way that Mal and Finn were squaring their shoulders and puffing out their chests that the talk was about women in general. Or maybe the elusive sex grenade in particular.‘You’re not sitting with your mates tonight. Have they been taking the piss?’Angus said nothing. He watched the women in their gauzy dresses.‘You had a bit of trouble out there today . . .’Angus still didn’t respond. His cheeks looked like they were weighing down his face.‘It’s strange, arriving in theatre. One minute you’re at home buying a few beers in Tesco and the next minute you’re in ’Stan being asked to kill a man.’Angus nodded and continued to stare at the screen.‘I can’t make you slot someone. If your conscience says you shouldn’t, then don’t,’ Dave said. ‘And I’ll try to respect you for it.’Angus shook his head. ‘It’s just because I thought he was dead and he started moving. It’s just because I wasn’t expecting it.’‘You have the right to say: No, Sarge, let’s try to save his life.’‘That would be fucking daft.’ Angus looked at Dave for the first time. ‘We’d only just shot him.’‘I agree with you there, Angry. But the fact is, we were operating at the edge of the RoE and some people would say we should have carried him to a medic there and then.’‘Fucking daft.’ Angus turned back to the TV. ‘What’s the point in firing at someone if you make them better afterwards? Makes it all a stupid fucking game.’‘If he’s wounded, some people would say we should have brought him back for treatment . . .’‘That’s shit.’Dave watched the TV. A game show. A contestant was being offered the chance of winning fabulous amounts of money if he chose the right coloured box. The man’s face ballooned as he