But in spite of the evidence I still couldn't believe that the Americans had done this. Dad used to call them cowboys, insisted their army wasn't as well disciplined or trained as ours, but they were still the good guys. No matter how bad things got I couldn't believe that the American army would do such a thing. A few loose cannons losing the plot at a checkpoint and killing some civilians, yes. But cold-bloodedly massacring a hundred people? Surely not.
Then I remembered something Grandad told me once: 'An army is only as good as the orders it receives.'
So who was giving the orders?
'It was a SAM that brought us down,' said Dad. God knows who fired it. We never found out. There were about seventy of us on board. I've never been so certain I was going to die. But somehow I walked away. I was sitting right at the back, just got lucky. I wasn't the only one, mind. There were two others, Jonno and Jim. Good lads. Quite a double act, they were.'
'What happened to them?' I asked.
'They're dead now. It took us two days to get back to HQ. We figured it was the safest place. But when we got here we found the Yanks had moved in. I tell you, I'd never been so happy to see a white star in my life. So we come rolling up to them, waving and smiling, and they welcome us with open arms. Then they throw us in here and start interrogating us.'
'About what?'
'About home. England. The army. Something called Operation Motherland.'
'What's that?'
He shrugged. 'Search me. I know it's what we were supposed to be doing when we got back to England. But no-one briefed us before we left. And fuck knows why the Yanks here are so bothered what we're doing back home. Makes no sense.'
I started to ask Dad how he got free but I was just able to stop myself. I remembered what Tariq had told me; the Yanks would be listening to us and they mustn't know I'd had contact with them. Which meant I had to mislead Dad as well, at least for now.
'So how did you… cope with being tortured then? I mean, you must have been locked up for, what, eight or nine months?'
It was lame. My hesitation was too obvious, the substituted question too stupid. Dad looked at me askance for a second but I just about carried it off. I hoped whoever was listening to us was as easily fooled.
'Nah, we broke out,' he said. 'Well, we were helped. The guy in charge here, General Blythe, he started doing some strange things; running the survivors out of town, harassing the ones who wanted to stay. Quite a lot of the lads here started to get antsy about the orders he was giving. So they decided to do a bunk. And they broke us out on the way. There was a fight, Jonno didn't make it, but Jim and I did, and eight Yank kids. And we were on our own then.'
'What did you do?'
Now it was Dad's turn to play his cards close to his chest. He knew we were being overheard as well.
'Met some locals, formed a resistance movement, did a bit of asymmetric warfare.'
'What's that?'
'We blew stuff up a lot.'
'Oh.'
'And then I got captured again a few days back.'
'What happened?'
'We were betrayed.' Tariq shrugged. 'Blythe wanted your father. Badly. It was only when he took charge of us that we became a proper resistance. A little army. Your dad is a good soldier, he led us well. You should be proud of him.
'There were more of them, and they had better equipment; night goggles, heat sensors, helicopters. And they hunted us. But we know this town, where to hide, how to move unseen. We fought well. Killed many of them. But we could not prevent what happened at the football ground. And after that we were more visible. There were no local people to shelter us, no market crowds for us to hide in. Things became more difficult. And there was nobody left for us to fight for. So we decided to leave, find somewhere else to go. I thought maybe I would like to grow vegetables and tend goats. Something simple, you know? I mean, there's no-one left to read my blog even if there was an Internet to post it on!
'But then they attacked us at night, as we slept. Only six of us escaped and they captured the rest. Fifteen of them.'
It took me a minute to realize, and then I gasped.
'Oh Jesus,' I said. 'The people on stakes.'
Tariq nodded.
'Blythe wanted your father to surrender. He sent out humvees with loudspeakers, telling him to give himself up. But of course your dad was planning a rescue.
'Anyway, Blythe gathered his prisoners in that courtyard and had his men fix big wooden stakes into the ground. Then he tied them up, stood each one in front of a stake, and told your father to surrender or they would be impaled.
'We just didn't believe he would do it. But Blythe killed Jim himself. Grabbed his shoulders and pushed him down, looking into his eyes as he did it. When he stood up his face was splashed with blood. Your dad immediately put down his gun and walked out there, hands in the air.
'The Yanks tied him up, forced him to sit on the ground and made him watch as they impaled the rest of the prisoners anyway. Just because they could. The one who betrayed us, an American called Matt – barely nineteen, always scared – he begged and screamed. But Blythe showed him no mercy. Then they left. That was two days ago.'
'They've been questioning me ever since. Nothing I can't handle.'
Dad shrugged, trying to make light of it, not going into detail so he wouldn't terrify me. But I looked at his sunken, haunted eyes and I felt more anger than I've ever felt. It was amazing; I didn't know I could want to hurt someone so much. I hadn't even wanted to kill Mac as much as I wanted to take a knife and shove it into the hearts of the men who'd tortured my dad.
'They want me to betray my friends,' he said. 'The ones who are still free. I won't do that. They can't make me. I'll die first.'
I let that lie there for a moment and then I said what we were both thinking.
'But now they have me.'
The look on his face said it all.
We heard footsteps in the corridor outside, then the cell door slammed open.
'Get up kid,' said the soldier silhouetted in the doorway. 'General Blythe wants a word.'
Chapter Four
'Have a seat, son.'
The general's voice was deep and warm, and his tone was friendly. He sat in a plush, red leather chair, the kind you expect to see in front of roaring fires in the libraries of grand houses. It looked out of place behind the huge black marble desk. But then, this whole place was absurd.
I'd been brought out of the filthy underground cells, up into the great entrance hall with its amber mosaics, gold lined ceiling dome and intricate pine balconies. It seemed like something Disney would have built. I was marched up the sweeping staircase, where the enormous windows gave stunning views of the Shatt-Al-Arab waterway as it meandered through the various mansions and gardens that made up Saddam's old palace complex. White stone bridges arched across the slow flowing water. It looked like paradise outside, and all I wanted was to lie in the shade beside the cool water and feel the wind on my face.
Matron would have loved it here, I thought. She liked lying on the soft earth and closing her eyes. But I was glad she wasn't with me in this cold stone building; it wasn't a friendly place.
