Recoil

6

Crucial lowered one kid each side of me. I beamed down at them. ‘All right mate? All right?’ I tapped my chest. ‘Mr Nick, Mr Nick.’ I got no response. They squatted in their corners and gave me a bleak stare.

‘Your names? What are you called? Me, Mr Nick.’

Still no response. Bet it would be a different story if I had chocolate. The thought made me feel hungry. My stomach rumbled. These two had probably known that feeling for most of their lives. Their eyes were too old for their faces, and their bodies were too young for what they’d been through.

We stagged on, making best use of the occasional splashes of moonlight to scan the area for movement. I couldn’t help asking myself the question I always asked whenever I’d stagged on a gun in the still of the night. ‘What the fuck am I doing with my life?’ Strangely, it gave me a little comfort. I’d been on stag around the world since I was sixteen. Mostly I’d been cold, wet and hungry. At least this time I was warm.

Standish yelled from my right and broke my train of thought: ‘There must be more! I don’t give a shit if Nick has looked – I’m checking for myself.’

I turned as he stormed past behind my trench. ‘What are you after?’

‘There’s got to be more RPG rounds.’

‘Twenty-four, that’s all we’ve got. There’s none down there.’

‘According to you.’ It was like we were back on the team job. He was the captain, I was the trooper. What the fuck did I know?

He carried on heading for the track and I grabbed my AK, leaped out and followed. ‘I’ll cover you.’

‘I don’t need babysitting. Stay there.’

And with that he headed off without a backward glance.