Operation: Mongolia

- 12 -

Donnie saw to the professor, getting the older man fully clothed into the sleeping bag from Private Davies’ kit; Gillings was too tired to put up any complaint and using the private’s rucksack as a pillow, was asleep almost immediately.

“Is he going to be okay?” Donnie asked Davies. The private checked the professor’s pulse and looked grim.

“He’s still thready, jittering badly. He’s lucky the shock didn’t kill him outright. Normally, I’d suggest zapping him in a controlled environment to get him back to a steady rhythm. Failing that, he should take complete rest to give his system time to get back on an even keel—the heart can regulate itself in this kind of case, given time.”

“And if he’s not given time?”

Davies’ look was all the reply Donnie needed. Much depended on Banks and Hynd, who had just put on their rucksacks and were preparing to leave.

“Don’t forget us,” Donnie said as the two men headed for the door.

“I couldn’t if I tried,” Banks replied. “Wiggo here would never let us hear the end of it.”

And with that the two men left, heading into the night.

Wilkins had another coffee brewing. Donnie took two mugs when offered and went over to join Wiggins at the doorway where the corporal stood guard. Donnie passed over another of his cheroots and they both lit up. Wiggins screwed up his face.

“I don’t ken what’s worse—Wilko’s coffee or your fags.”

“Tell you what, get me home in one piece and I’ll stand for a Starbucks and a packet of Marlboro.”

“That, plus a pie and a pint and you’re on,” Wiggins said with a grin.

They looked out into the night. The view from the doorway was south, back across the plain they’d covered earlier. The captain and sergeant had already made their way off the outcrop and there was only shifting darkness to be seen under a glistening carpet of stars.

“There’s none of that blue static,” Donnie said.

“Too dry now—the wee fuckers will be burrowed deeper, where it’s still damp.”

“That’s good news for your captain and sergeant anyway.”

Wiggins nodded.

“Aye. Just about the first thing that’s gone right on this fucked-up mission.”

“How did you get into this game anyway?” Donnie asked. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

“There’s not much to tell. It was either the army or a spell in Borstal as a juvenile delinquent. I was running with a bad lot, I didnae ken any better and was just a stupid wee boy. Then the smack killed two of the lads I’d went to school with, I took a long hard look at myself, and went and signed up.”

“You took to the discipline okay?”

“Not at first. The sarge will tell you I was a loud wee tosser who gave him no end of aggravation—but it was him that sorted me out. He saved my life—well, stopped me from throwing mine away anyway, and it was him that got me my chance to get into this squad once I proved to him I could knuckle down and take orders. He’s like a big brother to me.”

“So what’s with all the jokes about his wife?”

Wiggins went quiet and Donnie thought he wasn’t going to get an answer then was surprised to see tears in the corporal’s eyes when he finally spoke.

“She died. The cancer got her a few years back. It nearly ended the Sarge but I stood up with him at the funeral, I helped put her in the ground, and I got pished with him that night.”

“So, the jokes are…?”

“How he copes. How we cope, lad,” Wiggins said. “How anybody copes.”

They stood in the doorway, swapping smokes and chatting about Glasgow, about home, which seemed a long way away. An hour after the captain and sergeant left, it started to drizzle. Donnie looked out the doorway and saw that the sky had gone dark, the stars now obscured by thickening cloud.

“Bugger,” Wiggins said.

“They’ll be a good way there by now,” Donnie said. “And maybe this is just a local shower.”

“Aye, well if it’s local, we’ll all probably get it. Still, they ken what they’re doing and worrying never gets us anywhere. All we can do is wait and see. The cap and sarge are giving your man there a chance to get some sleep, so that’s good news for him anyway. Still, I could really be doing with some of that whisky the camel had away with.”

The rain got heavier. Soon they heard it patter on the steps outside the door and saw dampness glisten dimly on the stones. Out in the desert, a wash of blue ran like sheet lightning across the plain.

“Looks like the wee fuckers are at it again,” Wiggins said.

“We’re safe up here though?” Donnie said.

“You saw what happened back at yon service station. If it gets wet enough, these fuckers like to travel.” Wiggins clapped Donnie on the shoulder. “Dinna worry, lad. We’ve got the firepower to keep them at bay if they get this far. You’re not ready to be worm food for a few years yet.”

Over the course of the next hour, the rain got steadily heavier until it ran in small streams off the roofs and a curtain of water obscured their view out the door. They saw enough to know that blue washes of electrical activity covered most of the visible plain to the south.

“Can I start worrying about your captain and sergeant yet?” Donnie asked.

“The cap and sarge have seen just about everything there is to be seen and come home safe every time,” Wiggins replied. “They’ll be fine.”

The corporal’s eyes told a different story but Donnie didn’t push it, for he saw that both Privates Davies and Wilkins were listening in and their worry was showing clearly in their eyes. Wiggins saw it too and spoke up.

“Remember being caught outside up on yon glacier in Norway with the troll after us in the storm, lads? That was a far tighter spot than this. At least here we’re warm and dry. Always remember, it could be worse.”

Davies grinned.

“That’s your pep talk is it, Corp?”

“The only one I’ve got,” Wiggins replied. “And if you don’t like it, you can fuck off.”

He’s done the trick though. Donnie saw from the smiles of the younger men that their mood had been lifted.

I wish mine was.

He left the doorway to check on the professor. The older man still slept and he looked less pale in the face than previously, with some color showing high at his cheeks, although his eyes resembled a panda, almost circular black shadows around fluttering eyelids. His breathing seemed to stutter ever few minutes but not enough to wake him. Donnie left him sleeping and went over to the fire to sit beside Davies and Wilkins.

“So, I got your corporal’s story,” he said as Wilkins passed him another coffee. “How about you two? How did you come to join up for this lark?”

Davies went first.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like growing up black in Easterhouse?” he said. “My old mum always told me not to take any abuse and to stand up for myself but when there’s only you against the pack, you have to do something or you’re going to get battered senseless every time. With me, it was martial arts—at first, because I wanted to kick some wee tosser’s arse, later for the discipline not to. I always gravitated towards structure and one day I saw a recruitment poster at college during a job fair—that was not long after my mum died. I needed something, I needed steady money, and I needed out of Easterhouse. So here I am.”

“And the medical stuff?”

“Mum’s fault. She was ill for years with just me to look out for her. I found I liked looking out for people. This job lets me do it either as a medic or a fighter—I get the best of both worlds,” he said, laughing.

“And how about you, Wilkins?” Donnie asked.

“It’s in the family,” the young private said. “From way back as far as Waterloo so I’ve been told. We’re all Scottish, all soldiers. Great Granddad was in the Black Watch and died in Normandy; Granddad was in Aden; Dad served in Belfast. I never thought about doing anything else, even now with this buggered leg. Signed up as soon as I could after school. When the chance came to get onto the squad, I jumped at it. The cap and sarge are kind of legends to the younger lads.”

“How is that leg, by the way?” Donnie said.

“Better for the rest,” was Wilkins’ reply, although the private’s face was almost as pale as that of the professor earlier.

Further conversation was cut short when Wiggins shouted from the doorway.

“Davies, get your arse over here and bring your rifle. We’ve got problems.”