War Torn

Chapter Sixty

THE HOSTAGE CRISIS CHANGED EVERYTHING AT SIN CITY. SUDDENLY THE base was the focus of interest – from the international community as well as the Taliban. The major announced that the civilians were to be evacuated. They would be replaced in the isoboxes by top army, Foreign Office and Intelligence personnel.A line-up of officers waited to receive the VIPs. The base came under frequent attack now and the Chinook was greeted by a volley of fire. Two Apaches hovered on either side, firing back.Some of the arrivals climbed out looking terrified. A few wore city suits under their body armour. The OC greeted them and the 2 i/c led them away. The OC remained with the small group of soldiers who had assembled to say goodbye to the civilians, departing on the same Chinook.Emily was tearful.‘Martyn and I did nothing but argue. But I think we did like each other really,’ she sobbed, as she shook hands with the men.Finn raised his eyebrows and said nothing.‘Don’t talk about Martyn in the past tense,’ said the OC. ‘We may get him back yet.’Emily clearly did not believe him.She prepared to board the Chinook, handbag glued to her shoulder, bag of papers in her other arm and an engineer carrying her suitcase.‘Goodbye, my dears,’ she said to Asma and Jean. ‘I appreciate how well you prepared me for the shura. It rates as one of my most fascinating experiences and the young tribesman was a most interesting cultural encounter.’They did not dare to tell her that the young tribesman had been shot by Special Forces and this action had probably prompted Martyn’s kidnap.She shook hands with the OC and his officers. ‘Thank you. Thank you for guarding us so well. I owe you all an apology. I have spent the last months telling you that your precautions were unnecessary. I will regret, to the end of my days, that I encouraged Martyn to treat this protection with such disdain. I have made it clear to anyone who will listen that his kidnap is not your fault.’The OC smiled ruefully. ‘Thanks, Emily. But that may not be enough to save my career.’The Chinook took off, as it had landed, under fire and accompanied by Apaches.‘I liked her in the end,’ Asma told Gordon Weeks.‘Emily?’ he said in surprise. ‘You and she are very different.’‘You mean, she’s brainy and I’m pretty.’‘I suppose I do mean that . . .’ He caught himself in time. ‘Although you’re brainy too, of course.’She laughed. ‘Not bloody quick enough, Gordon. But what I like about Emily is, she knows who she is and what she believes and she sticks to it. She doesn’t care what anyone else thinks of her.’The helicopters had disappeared. The enemy had stopped firing, although a few enthusiastic lads up in the sangars seemed keen to provoke a bit more of a fight. Jean had been called to the ops room. And, without discussing it, the boss and Asma were wandering towards the cookhouse for a brew. They had started to snatch a few minutes together whenever they could and Weeks suspected that these short meetings were becoming the high point of his day. He even found himself feeling agitated if he didn’t see her for a long time, as though she was a drug he depended on.‘But you have beliefs which you stick to, surely,’ said the boss now. He was fascinated by her background and returned to the subject as often as she let him.‘Christ, Gordon, you’re always prodding and poking. Look, I left Islam behind. I left my family behind. I left my husband behind. It doesn’t all add up to a lot of sticking power.’‘Maybe it just means you can’t do things by halves,’ said Weeks, pouring her a brew. She cupped her hands around the mug as though they were back in England and it was cold outside.‘When I got married I knew that meant I was leaving my family and leaving Islam. It all seemed far behind me. Until I came here.’‘So you’ve found your roots again.’‘Oh, you do talk a lot of crap. I’ve found my fucking DNA. That doesn’t mean I want to rush down the mosque with my shoes off praising Allah. It just means I’m a bit more interesting than someone who’s always lived in one country with one family speaking one language in one way.’ She did not meet his eye.‘Like me,’ he said. She still did not look at him. ‘So you don’t find me very interesting. You know nothing about what it’s like to be me in my world, but you’ve decided it’s all farmhouses and polo ponies and therefore not interesting. Maybe you should find out a bit more before you dismiss it.’He saw her wince a little. He wasn’t really offended. He was just challenging her because he had learned that she liked that.She stood up, smiling. ‘Oh, fuck off, Gordon Weeks!’ she said cheerfully. But she was blushing. He studied the way her skin darkened, from the neck upwards. It was lovely.‘See you later. I have to get over to the ops room now or Jean’ll kill me.’He watched her go, carrying her mug of tea carelessly. He wished he could show her his world. The big old farmhouse, the horses in their rugs running their muzzles across frosty winter grassland, the log fire, the warm kitchen, the draughty bedrooms, that place on the dining-room wall where his parents had marked the heights of their growing children. He tried to imagine Asma there, but it was impossible. Not because she came from Hackney but because she seemed to belong to the swelling heat of the Afghan desert.

The soldiers saw little of the new personnel at the base but the OC, who now shared his ops room with at least fifteen people, was more visible. He frequently stood outside the ops-room door, looking hot and miserable.Asma and Jean spent all day in there listening to radios with more senior Intelligence officers. If they slipped out to have a meal with Kila or Weeks they were invariably called back. Cooks ran in and out with loaded trays. The 2 i/c appeared only when dashing to the cookhouse to replenish his supply of teabags.‘They eat a lot of scoff and drink a lot of brews,’ said Finn. ‘But what are they doing about Martyn? For fuck’s sake, why aren’t we out there tearing into every Terry Taliban in Helmand?’After four days Dave herded 1 Platoon into the Cowshed and the boss told them there was to be a clearance operation on the tribesmen’s house where the shuras had been held. According to intelligence, Martyn had actually been kept there for twenty-four hours. He had been moved on now but their job was to round up for questioning any insurgents who remained and to look for signs of Martyn’s occupation.‘What’s the point in finding signs of Martyn after he’s gone?’ asked Mal.The boss shrugged.‘It’s too much to hope that there will be signs of where he’s gone. Probably the object is to feed the international press corps with something to keep Martyn at the top of the news agenda.’As their convoy rolled into town every man quietly hoped that Martyn would be found at the compound. He had been Topaz fucking Zero, before: mostly irritating, sometimes entertaining and finally liked. Now, in his absence and with his new status as helpless victim, he was loved.They found the streets deserted. The bazaar was without buyers or sellers. The new school wall was in place but behind it the classrooms were empty.‘Bad sign,’ said Dave to the driver. And within five minutes the convoy was met by machine-gun fire. Rounds ricocheted around the narrow streets, bouncing off the mud walls until the soldiers were forced to dismount, take cover and find firing positions.Sol was trying Bacon as GPMG man for this patrol and Binns was feeding the ammo and looking for targets. The pair of them were excited and nervous to use the gimpy out on an operation for the first time.‘Just ask me if you need help,’ said Jamie, who had given up the gimpy to them reluctantly.‘Cheeky bastard dude down there!’ said Binman, pointing to a figure taking stock of their position from a far doorway.‘I see him!’ said Streaky. He trained the sights on the space the figure had just vacated. When the insurgent stepped out again, weapon raised, he was instantly felled by a hail of fire.‘Cool, Streaky, that was cool!’ Binns found himself laughing. He didn’t think it was funny but he was laughing all the same. Bacon giggled too. They became so hysterical they were barely able to fire.‘For fuck’s sake, you two,’ said Angus. And then his voice cracked and he gave a rumble of laughter. He continued to laugh as he fired.‘What’s so funny, Streaks?’ giggled Binns.‘Binman, I just don’t know!’But they could not stop.‘Pull yourselves together and get on with the job,’ Sol told them harshly. ‘Or I’ll hand the gimpy back to Jamie.’ Men were always laughing as they fired. It looked like a kind of mania and Sol hated it.The platoons were splitting into sections now to get through the maze of narrow streets and approach the compound from the positions they had agreed. The town was a labyrinth of alleyways and high mud walls.‘Stay together, 1 Section,’ Sol warned as they struck off into a side street. ‘This place is a rabbit warren.’Over PRR Dave said: ‘Fix bayonets.’All members of his platoon, wherever they were, did so. You could do this mechanically, without emotion, like Angus. Or you could do it, like Jack Binns, with apprehension, knowing that this was a close-quarters measure and that it might mean you’d find yourself within arm’s length of the Taliban.‘Don’t worry,’ Mal said. ‘No one ever really uses their bayonet, not in the last hundred years. It’s just to make you feel better.’‘You’re all right,’ said Binman. ‘You’ve got the shotgun.’‘Have you, Mal? Sure you didn’t put it down somewhere?’ voices shouted.‘Get moving and stay alert,’ Boss Weeks told them sharply as he followed them down the alley.The soldiers felt vulnerable making their way through the twists and turns. Rooftops and windows gave the enemy any number of good firing positions and shots could be heard from all over the town. They advanced cautiously, Sol leading.When Finn, near the back, saw movement on a roof he stopped suddenly. Behind him Boss Weeks froze and behind him the signaller.‘Don’t fire,’ the boss instructed.Finn who had been prepared to lay down a few rounds to warn anyone armed up there that he was ready for them, grudgingly put the safety back on the minimi. They waited. Ahead of them, the rest of the patrol waited too. No one liked standing still here. The men looked around them constantly, like birds. Finn’s attention was fixed on the roof. Slowly, a head edged out. And then another. Dark-haired, brown-skinned, big-eyed, it was two small boys, eager to see the soldiers pass.‘Shit,’ said Finn. Jamie took a bag of sweets out of one of his pouches and threw it up to them. The boys caught the bag delightedly. But instead of eating the sweets they began to use them to bombard the men below.Jamie laughed but Finn was angry. He shouted: ‘Little bastards!’‘We know what they want to be when they grow up,’ said the boss. Finn caught one of the sweets and stuck it defiantly in his mouth as the section moved on.There was firing nearby and the boss heard on the radio that this was 2 Section, who were accompanied by Dave. One insurgent had been killed. Two more had fled.Sol rounded a corner and almost walked into a man running towards him, looking over his shoulder. In a split second Sol took in his presence and the weapon he was carrying, a Kalashnikov PKM.Sol knew, without actually having time to think it, that he had to be quicker than this man or his deadly weapon could slaughter the entire section. He did not give himself the luxury of hesitation. He darted forward. The insurgent turned to find himself eyeball to eyeball with Sol’s wide, dark face. Sol had time to watch the man’s features scatter into a mixture of surprise and horror before plunging the bayonet into his chest. The insurgent staggered and Sol pulled out the bayonet.‘I’ve got him,’ said a voice from behind. ‘Get down, Sol.’Blood spurting from his chest, the man was still attempting to raise his weapon. Sol dropped onto the dusty ground and Mal fired the shotgun. The man fell.The rest of the section rounded the corner and halted when they saw the corpse. Blood was blossoming in widening circles all over his torso. His eyes were open but clouding rapidly.Sol stared at him and at the man’s blood on his bayonet. 1 Section crowded around him.Binns turned a shocked face to Mal. ‘I thought you said no one had done that for a hundred years!’Streaky asked: ‘Was it hard to get it in him, Sol?’‘It was much easier than you’d think. And I’ve always worried a bit about getting it out but it extracts really easy, too.’Another man, carrying an AK47, emerged through a doorway down the alley. Seeing them, he turned to run.Mal raised the shotgun again. Its report echoed around and around the high walled alley. Everyone waited for the man to fall. He took his few last paces running from life to death. He turned into a ghost as he moved: his momentum remained forward as his body crumpled.The boss was describing the dead men over the radio to Dave, who confirmed they were the pair who had escaped from 2 Section. ‘At last the fucking shotgun’s come in useful!’ said Mal happily.The boss was watching Sol.‘All right?’ he asked.‘Yeah, course,’ said Sol, wiping the insurgent’s blood off the bayonet by scraping it across the man’s body. He turned to Angus, the sharp shooter for the section.‘Don’t s’pose you’ve got the pistol?’ he asked hopefully. Dave had told Angry to bring his SA80 and not his sniper rifle today, which usually meant that he had left the pistol behind as well.‘Yeah, I did stick it in,’ said Angus. Sol’s face lit up. The boss smiled.‘Well done, mate,’ said Mal. ‘That’ll save Sol getting his bayonet dirty again.’Angus handed over the pistol. But Sol’s bayonet remained fixed. Then he led them on, past the two bodies, through the tiny, winding streets. When they arrived at the compound where Asad’s family had lived, everyone recognized it. But the only welcome today was the chatter of AK47s.