Half an hour’s bloody break; that is all his team has been given before they have to be back on duty. Hardly enough time to eat and get the hot drink down. It certainly isn’t enough time to dry out and warm his bones, let alone have ten minutes to close his eyes. There is hardly any point in trying to dry out anyway; he will be out in the cold and wet again before he knows it.
His intellect doesn’t understand that he is one of the lucky ones. He and his team have been tasked with a security detail. They secure four of the landing zones, where air transport brings back personnel who have been out on manoeuvres for Operation Denial. Once secure, they have to scan each arrival with the mobile phone scanner to check they haven’t been infected. The work is constant, and they have been unlucky with the weather but the most danger they have encountered so far was when a Lynx full of Special Forces landed and didn’t take kindly to being ordered around.
He doesn’t consider that it could have been him in central London, out in the open, fighting Zombies. All he knows is that he is cold, wet and tired. Or perhaps he does consider it but thinks it’s their tough shit for getting that assignment?
“Is it time yet?” Harris asks his team that sit around in the hangar with him, taking their break.
“Four minutes more,” one of the other five members of the team replies.
Harris doesn’t move to get back on duty, doesn’t set any kind of example to the rest of his team. He doesn’t even tell them to get ready for duty. He leans back into his seat, lifting his mug to his lips to slurp some more coffee down. He is going to make sure he takes every second of his break, and whether that means he is late for duty and holds up others from taking their break is none of his concern.
With a minute to go, two of his men get up and get their kit together, ready for duty. The other three are soon following suit, and all five privates glance at Corporal Harris. They all know they are going to be late, and that it will make them look bad and will be their Corporal’s fault. What can they do? He is in charge by virtue that he has been enlisted longer.
With their allotted half an hour up, finally, Corporal Harris drags himself out of his chair and picks up his rifle.
“Come on lads, move it,” Harris says as they roll their eyes.
Exiting the hangar, they go to the right, back towards the landing zones. Each of them is pleased to see that the weather has improved again whilst they were on break. The wind has died down and the rain has actually stopped completely. Standing water is still pooled all around, and they have to walk around the bigger puddles as they go. All of them know they can still expect to get wet on this duty. The helicopters will churn up the standing water, blowing it into the air in all directions as they come into land and take off again.
“Where the hell have you been?” a pissed-off Sergeant shouts as the team reaches the landing zone area.
“On our break, Sir,” Corporal Harris says in defence, standing to attention, as does the whole team upon being addressed by the Sergeant.
“Your break is thirty minutes, Corporal, not forty fucking five minutes!” the Sergeant shouts in exasperation, his face reddening.
“It has been less than forty minutes, Sir, and we have to get there and back,” the cocky Corporal retorts.
“Get there and back? Are you soft in the head, Corporal? Now get back to your assigned zones and don’t move until you are relieved!
“Yes, Sir,” Corporal Harris replies, totally nonplussed by the whole exchange. Which leaves the Sergeant even more infuriated as he stomps off.
Harris leads his men back towards their landing zones, the men all pissed off with their Corporal, just as much as the Sergeant is. They know his attitude is going to lead to an extra-long shift for the lot of them.
They finally get back to their station next to their assigned landing zones, ready for duty. One landing zone over, the relief team who were covering for them while they were on break are in the middle of securing and scanning a new arrival. Corporal Harris and his team look on and wait while four dishevelled, weary-looking soldiers disembark an old RAF Puma support helicopter. The relief team are going through the motions of receiving the new arrivals by the book, their team leader ensuring protocol is adhered to.
With the new arrivals scanned and cleared, they are sent on their way and the relief team march over to the station to be relieved themselves.
“About time,” the team leader announces as he approaches. “Where the fuck have you lot been, out for a curry?”
“Something like that,” Corporal Harris says bluntly.
“Taking the piss, man,” the team leader says to himself. “Here is the latest roster and the scanner,” he tells Harris as he hands them over. “Next one in is a Chinook in five minutes, twelve on board.”
“Are you sure you can’t stay and do that one for us before you go?” Harris asks sarcastically.
The team leader looks at Harris as though he could strangle him for a second, before turning and walking away. Everybody hears him say ‘wanker’, as he leaves, without looking back. His team follow him, making their own comments and giving dirty looks.
“Okay, you heard the man; next arrival five minutes, check your weapons and
