War Torn

British Paralympics team.’‘And you’ve seen Leanne and the boys?’‘Yeah, yeah.’ His voice was flat.‘How are they?’‘Well, they’ve all still got two fucking legs so compared with me they’re all right.’‘Come on, Steve, it’s hard for them as well.’‘Some bloke’s coming round to see about adapting the house.’‘What sort of adaptations?’‘For a disabled person.’ His tone was bitter. Of course his tone was bitter.Dave said: ‘Mate, I’m not going to give you all that shit about blokes with no legs who climb mountains and win races and—’‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Dave, listen. There was this para who lost a leg and they gave him a new one and he went back out to Afghanistan. Someone said he got back out on the same tour! Think there’s a chance I can do that?’No!‘Yes!’‘Really?’ Steve’s voice became loud and excited, more like the old Steve.I’m leading him up the garden path. He has to accept life won’t be the same with one leg. Or does he? Or could he really get back to the frontline? What’s the right thing to do?‘Well, I mean, it depends how good you are on your new pin. You might not be able to do everything we do . . . or anyway, not on this tour . . . but anything’s possible.’Dave had heard about that para who rejoined his mates. He just wasn’t sure the bloke really existed.‘I want to do exactly what you and the lads do. Prosthetic–’ Steve stumbled over the word. It took a couple of tries before he could say it smoothly. ‘Prosthetic legs are amazing now, you can do anything, you can carry kit and fight . . . I have to get back out there with the lads, Dave. That’s all I want. If I know I’m going back, then I can stand Selly Oak, Leanne crying all over me, all the crap.’‘Well, that’s something to aim for.’Steve’s response was robust.‘I’ll show you, mate. They’re not fobbing me off with a desk job. I’ll be out there for your next ambush.’Dave finished the call wishing someone would tell him the right way to handle Steve. He wondered if anyone had told Leanne. He thanked the officers and went outside to see if by any chance the satellite phone was free so that he could call her. Rifleman Ben Broom from 2 Section was just sneaking off with it.‘Did you book that phone?’ asked Dave.‘Yes, Sarge.’‘How many hours a week do you spend talking to her, Broom?’ ‘I like to keep an eye on my bird, Sarge. If I don’t keep calling her, she might fly.’‘You and Jamie Dermott are never off the fucking phone.’‘Funny you should say that, he’s booked in after me.’But all those calls were not enough to keep Agnieszka from flying, thought Dave. He went to the list to book himself in for some phone time with Leanne but the schedule worked one week in advance and few slots were available. Men were getting up in the middle of the night to speak to their loved ones. Dave saw a space tomorrow morning but it was no good: from 0700 1 Platoon was out all day. Because, for the first time, they were on civilian escort duty.

Chapter Thirty

THE CONTRACTORS WERE LATE, AS USUAL. WAITING TO LEAVE SIN City with them were all three sections of 1 Platoon plus support staff including engineers, signallers, medics, the Company Sergeant Major and Jean Patterson as interpreter. The hardware was the usual light weapons and machine guns in the Vectors, two WMIKs, one with a .50 cal heavy machine gun and a gimpy, the second with a 40mm grenade machine gun and gimpy.‘Fuck it, do the civvies get a whole mortar platoon as well?’ asked Finn as they waited by the vehicles. ‘And how about an A10 fly-past?’Angus lit a cigarette. ‘Ever have the feeling civilian lives are more important than ours?’Jamie said: ‘Yeah, but we joined up and they didn’t. Anyway, when they’re protected, we’re protected.’Dave was striding past for some more ammunition. ‘Fucking right. I think we’re in for an easy day, lads.’They were sitting with their backs against the Vectors. Sol’s shadow suddenly fell across them.‘OK, 1 Section, there’s a hold-up so let’s do a few checks while we wait. Bacon, your weapon isn’t clean, sort it out when you get back.’‘I cleaned it last night!’‘Well, clean it again. Angry, sorry to hear you broke your wrist.’‘But I didn’t!’‘Then unhook your sling and get your arm out of it. Mal, don’t forget the shotgun.’Mal rolled his eyes. No patrol left the gates without someone reminding him about the shotgun.Sol was frowning at Jack Binns.‘You don’t look right . . . get up.’Binns tried to do this but the weight he was carrying pulled him back. Sol took an arm and tugged him to his feet, then looked him up and down.‘What is going on with your kit, Binman?’‘Don’t feel right.’‘If your webbing’s on wrong, everything’s wrong. Let’s take a look. Get your pouches off.’Binns began to struggle with his Camelbak and his pouches. He handed them to Jamie, who was sitting nearby.‘I’ve been having a bit of trouble getting things in the right place . . .’Sol shook his head. ‘Have you been like this since you got here?’‘It used to be all right . . .’‘So, Binns, how much are you eating?’‘Dunno.’‘I reckon you’ve lost a lot of weight. I see you in the cookhouse but I’ve never thought to check how much food’s on your plate.’Streaky Bacon spoke up.‘Sometimes Binman doesn’t eat nothing at all.’Sol looked at Binns for an explanation. Binns stared at the ground.‘It’s too fucking hot to eat and I’m too fucking knackered carrying all this kit around.’‘What about your rations when you’re out?’‘They don’t taste nice. That boil-in-the-bag chicken stuff just makes me want to puke. I always give it to Angry.’Sol turned to Angry who looked defensive.‘Yeah, well I like it.’‘Don’t eat the sprog’s rations!’ said Sol. ‘You can swap but you can’t eat his or he’ll die of starvation.’‘But I get hungry! And he doesn’t want it!’Sol ignored him.‘The Lancashire hotpot’s good,’ he told Binman. ‘Try finding someone who’ll swap you a chicken for a hotpot. And they’re bringing in a lot of new flavours now.’Binns looked unconvinced.‘He’s a vegetarian, that’s the problem,’ said Bacon. Binns shot his mate an angry glance.Finn hooted.‘Fond of little furry animals, are you? Well, so am I! Served up with brown sauce.’‘I just don’t eat meat,’ said Binns. ‘I wouldn’t call myself vegetarian.’‘There’s some no-meat meals,’ said Sol. ‘We’ll have to sort you out. Why didn’t you tell us before?’Binn glared at the ground. ‘I’m not gay.’Sol looked around dangerously at the others. ‘Does anyone here think gay men don’t eat meat?’‘No, Sol.’Sol glanced at the isoboxes to see if there was any sign of the civilians. They were already half an hour late.‘Give your meal bag to Mal and he’ll get it changed if there’s time.’‘The colour won’t give you any new meals. They’re all his own personal property. He buys them with his own fucking money,’ said Finn.Binns searched through his pouches for the bag and handed it to Mal, who headed off to the CQMS.‘And don’t you nick it! Change it for a vegetarian one!’ Sol yelled after him.‘I did try and eat the meat. Only it made me puke,’ said Binns miserably.‘Listen, man, no one’s going to make you eat pukey stuff, but you got to eat something. You’re worrying me. This is a harsh climate and we’re doing a hard job and you’ve got to take care of yourself. You drinking enough?’‘Yeah. My Camelbak’s full.’‘Good. Show me your pouches.’‘You mean . . . open them?’‘Yep. You show it for kit inspection. But now I want to see where you keep it. Where’s your ammo?’‘Here.’‘On your right hip, good. Make sure the rounds are facing away. What else is in there?’‘Nothing.’‘Where’s the rest of your ammo?’‘In my day sack.’‘What good is it there?’‘I can get it out when I need it.’‘No, Binman, you don’t want to scrabble around in your day sack under fire. You need to be reaching into the pouch on your belt. What have you got in your left pouch?’Binns opened it and pulled out a toilet roll.‘Try throwing that at Terry Taliban, he’s never seen it before,’ said Finn.Angus said: ‘Yeah, he’ll be scared shitless.’‘Toilet roll should be somewhere out of the way,’ said Sol. ‘Keep the rest of your ammo in your left pouch and a bit of gun oil there too.’‘Er . . . I’ve got gun oil here somewhere . . .’ Binns was frantically opening and closing pouches.‘No good. You have to be able to put your hand on it when you need it. That’s why I keep mine in my front left. Where’s your bayonet?’‘In my day sack.’‘How’s it going to help you there, Binman?’‘Well, it’s on the side so I can reach in and . . .’‘It goes on your webbing! Frog edge on, tie it in with something. There’s no point having a weapon if it’s not to hand. Last time I checked you had everything in the right place!’‘It all went wrong when I started losing weight and nothing fit me any more.’‘Right, open that pouch for me . . . let’s take a look. Hexi, water, peanuts, picture of pretty girl, OK. Where’s your morphine?’‘Left map pocket,’ responded Binns automatically.‘Good. Okay, let’s get your kit on so it fits.’The lads watched.‘That webbing wouldn’t even go around Angry’s arm,’ Finn said.‘Wouldn’t even go around my dick,’ Angus said.‘Dream on,’ Jamie said.‘Take no notice of them and try this,’ Sol told Binman. When Binns nodded, Sol passed him his pouches to hang on it, working his way carefully from the back round to his hips.Mal appeared holding a meal pack.‘Pepper risotto with cheese. The colour said he’s got an impressive array of vegetarian dishes produced to the highest standard and he looks forward to sharing them with you and hearing your comments.’‘The colour boy said that?’ asked Sol, astonished.‘Nope,’ said Mal, flopping down on the ground with the others. ‘He said: look through this box, find one of your gay meals and then fuck off, nancy boy.’‘Ah, that sounds more like him.’Angus was shuffling about, smoking impatiently. ‘If an entire platoon of men and support and a fucking convoy of vehicles can be ready to go at 0700 hours, why can’t Martyn Robertson get himself out of his isobox on time?’‘I could have stayed in my cot a bit longer,’ said Mal, who was always last to get up.‘Which wagon are the contractors in?’ asked Jamie.‘See that one up there with the cushions, the air-conditioning, the reclining seats, the bar and the satellite TV?’ said Finn.At that moment the civilians appeared. Martyn was surrounded by a cluster of young engineers, but marching determinedly ahead of the group, handbag over her shoulder and a bulging shopping bag in each arm, was Emily.‘Oh no!’ said Sol, who had heard all about Emily’s last outing.‘That’s why they’re late, they’re bringing a woman,’ said the lads, pulling each other up. ‘Because ol’ Emily’s been getting sexed up in front of her mirror.’The vehicles started and men began jumping aboard. The boss greeted