War Torn

Chapter Twenty-one

SO HE HAD GIVEN ORDERS ONCE MORE AND GIVEN THEM BADLY. Thank God the sergeant had bailed him out yet again. Gordon Weeks went to the cookhouse and ate alone.He was toying with his shepherd’s pie when someone put their plate down directly opposite him. He looked up and saw that it was Asma. This was so astonishing that for a moment he did not speak.‘Hallo!’ he said at last.‘Forgotten your Pashtu?’‘Well, I think I might be losing it. But there wasn’t much in the first place.’‘What’s up?’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen anyone look so miserable.’Her big almond eyes looked levelly at him. She half smiled. He had never seen her smile fully, let alone laugh, not even with her friend the policewoman. He looked away. She was too beautiful to stare at for long. And perhaps a little bit too sad.The FOB was a strange place, he decided. He’d been to boarding school and then university and he’d mixed almost exclusively in his own social circle all his life, even at Sandhurst. In the UK he’d have acknowledged this girl’s beauty but kept her at arm’s length. She had a strong London accent which, when she had translated at the shura, had kept emerging coarsely from under her Pashtu, and spoke of a landscape he didn’t really understand.But here at the FOB, things were different. Many of the officers were from similar backgrounds to himself, Major Willingham included. However, the personnel he found himself respecting most, like Dave, were from a completely different world, one he had previously barely acknowledged. Asma too – and yet he found her the most attractive woman he had ever met. And she was sitting opposite him now, inviting him to confide in her.‘Sometimes,’ he said slowly, ‘the gap between where I am as an officer and where I want to be seems a little daunting.’‘You haven’t been doing it for five minutes,’ she said gently. ‘When did you pass out of Sandhurst?’‘Just before I came here.’‘There you are then!’He tried not to notice the way she held her knife and fork. ‘I think I manage pretty well in theatre. I’ve been trained for that. But when I’m here at the base doing everyday things, trying to communicate . . . I’ve just given the men orders for tomorrow and . . . well I’ve never been much of a public speaker. If it wasn’t for the sergeant yelling at them, I’d lose control.’‘But you’re OK when you’re out there fighting?’He nodded. ‘So far.’ He felt himself blushing again.‘Better to be that way round. I’m on patrol with you tomorrow and I’d rather be with a platoon commander who can lead against the Taliban than someone who knows how to deliver an after-dinner speech.’‘I wish I could do both,’ he said quietly.‘I’ll bet, when you stand in front of the boys, you’re too busy thinking about all the differences between you and them. See what I mean?’He shook his head. She was mesmerizing. It was hard to listen to a word she said when he just wanted to study her lovely face. The skin on her cheeks was supernaturally smooth and soft. Did women in FOBs get up in the morning and put on their makeup? Or did she just look this way without even trying?’‘See, you’re different,’ she continued. ‘You can’t imagine their lives back home, and they can’t imagine yours. No way. But when you’re fighting, you’re united. There aren’t any differences; it’s you against the enemy. So it’s easier to communicate then, innit?’He thought about this and decided she was right. He was just about to tell her so when her friend Jean sat down beside them.Weeks gritted his teeth. Not just because he was enjoying these uninterrupted moments with Asma but because he’d begun to dislike the policewoman. He knew his men avoided the RMPs like the plague. Boss Weeks had been brought up to believe only those with something to hide avoided the police, and he had nothing to hide. Yet he’d also found himself avoiding the sharp-faced, sharp-eyed Jean.She smiled at him. ‘As salaam alai kum.’‘Good evening,’ he replied.‘I’ve had an informal chat with the Officer Commanding about that incident in the Green Zone . . .’Weeks looked at her gloomily. ‘Which incident? There have been so many.’For the first time he saw Asma laugh. He wasn’t sure why. But he watched with pleasure as her face changed shape, broadening to reveal a row of even teeth. He loved to hear the giggle bubbling up from inside her like a spring. From that moment, it became his private mission to make her laugh again. It was a challenging mission. He knew he was seldom funny.Jean Patterson did not laugh.‘The only incident I’m aware of took place some weeks ago when your men opened fire on a group of Taliban fighters. While their bodies were being searched, one turned out not to be dead. We’ll never know the extent of his injuries because he was then shot at point blank range.’‘He was perceived to be dangerous. He was reaching for his weapon.’‘The weapon should have been removed during the routine search. And apparently another soldier did remove it at once.’‘He was killed because he was a threat,’ Weeks insisted.‘No. He was killed because the sergeant ordered it. The soldier who was searching the insurgent quite rightly hesitated. But another soldier followed the sergeant’s order and shot the man.’Weeks never physically brawled and seldom got into verbal arguments but he recognized the surge of adrenalin that was suddenly pumping through his body as fighting adrenalin.He leaned forward. ‘Jean . . . may I call you Jean?’‘Certainly, Gordon.’‘Jean. The sergeant saw that his men were in danger because they were in intimate contact with a member of the Taliban. That man may have been feigning death while perfectly healthy. What would you have done under the circumstances?’Jean leaned forward too. ‘Gordon. Since the man was lying wounded in a ditch, I’d have treated him as a casualty.’‘Jean. He was a Taliban fighter. There can be no question about that, he was fully armed. Of course he had to be dealt with like any other armed insurgent.’‘He may have been an insurgent but he was also a member of the human race. He—’‘Jean—’‘Gordon!’Weeks was aware of the delightful Asma laughing at them both. He did not allow himself the pleasure of looking at her. He supposed they were comical, but he was so angry now he did not care.Jean raised her voice. ‘The man was no longer armed and he was wounded. He required medical treatment.’‘How do you know? My men certainly fired on him, and his comrades were certainly killed. But he might have been unhurt and feigning death. It is, after all, a common enemy tactic.’‘Your men have all described him as wounded.’‘My men aren’t doctors and are not trained to spot the difference between someone who is wounded and someone who is pretending. And do you know what order, precisely, the sergeant gave to shoot him?’Jean nodded confidently. ‘He said: “Get on with it.”’‘I’m not familiar with that order. Are you?’Jean sighed.‘In fact,’ the boss went on, pressing home his advantage, ‘I don’t remember ever hearing that order before. I don’t think I learned it at Sandhurst. So I’m surprised you recognize those words as an order to kill.’Jean leaned back in her seat. There were red circles in her white cheeks.‘His men knew what he meant.’‘Have you asked Dave Henley what he meant?’‘Sergeant Henley has a reputation,’ Jean said. ‘He’s considered a very tough and no-nonsense sort of sergeant who might not tolerate legitimate hesitation on human rights grounds by one of his soldiers.’‘Sergeant Henley is considered an outstanding NCO precisely because he’s tough and no-nonsense,’ Weeks snapped, ‘and this is the best protection for his men after body armour.’ Her accusation made his heart pump faster, dispersing anger through his body. ‘He has a humane and compassionate side which does him great credit. Before you make any assumptions or accusations you should ask him what he meant by those words.’‘It isn’t appropriate for me to ask him because this is not yet a formal investigation. But I’m not going to let this one get swept under the carpet. I expect someone in his unit to question him very closely.’‘And so we will,’ Weeks said. He believed he’d won this skirmish and it was therefore better to stop the battle.He glanced over at Asma at last. Incredibly, for a few minutes he had actually forgotten she was there. Now he felt happy to see her again, as though she had just walked in. He remembered that she had said she would be out on patrol with him tomorrow. When he looked more closely, he was surprised at the expression on her face. It was something like admiration.