Man Down

by Nathan Burrows

‘Well then, gentlemen?’ the Brigadier asked. ‘What are our options?’ A silence spread across the office. Nick looked at the other three men, all of whom were either deep in thought or at least doing a decent impression of looking as if they were.

  ‘We should launch the Chinook,’ he said, adding ‘sir’ when the CO looked sharply at him. The Brigadier continued to stare until Nick started to feel uncomfortable.

  ‘Launch the Chinook? That’s your plan, is it, Colonel?’

  ‘Er, well, we need to get some medical teams on the ground to retrieve the casualties,’ Nick replied. ‘We at least need to know what we’re dealing with, and we can’t do that unless we’re on the ground.’ He sat back in his chair, satisfied that he’d recovered the situation. The look that the Brigadier was still giving him told Nick that he probably hadn’t.

  ‘Colonel, thank you for your input,’ the CO said through gritted teeth. ‘But we need a bit more of a plan than “launch the Chinook”, don’t you think?’

  Nick looked at both Squadron Leader Webb and Major Clarke, but Webb was examining something under his fingernails, while the Major was currently fixated with one of the light fittings hanging from the ceiling of the tent. No support from them, then, Nick thought. Bloody arseholes, the pair of them.

  An uncomfortable atmosphere filled the room like acrid smoke. Brigadier Foster took off his glasses and polished them again before putting them back on his nose with a determined shove from his index finger to cement them in place.

  ‘Right, gents,’ he said. ‘We need to run through some options. Clarke?’ Major Clarke looked up with a start.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I need a bed state of the entire hospital, especially intensive care. We might need to start looking at emptying out what we’ve got, so fire up the aeromed teams and get them ready to go. I’m fairly sure they’ve got at least one patient in there. Speak to HQ up at Kandahar, see what the availability’s like in the other hospitals in the area. We could potentially use our single bloody helicopter to empty us out before they go to the scene to pick up whatever’s up there, but I’d rather get a Hercules in from the other end to clear the beds in one go.’ Major Clarke scribbled furiously on a notepad that he’d pulled out of one of the pockets in his trousers.

  ‘Yep, okay, got it, sir,’ he said. ‘There is a Herc inbound from Kandahar later, though.’

  ‘It’ll have the rest of the TRT on it,’ Nick added, pleased to be able to contribute something useful.

  ‘Abbott,’ Foster said, ignoring Nick. ’Speak to Kandahar, see if they can add some more medics to the inbound Herc and hold it here to empty our back doors.’

  ‘Roger that, sir,’ the Lieutenant said, making a note on his pad.

  The Brigadier turned to Squadron Leader Webb.

  ‘Andrew, I want to focus in on the staff here. We need the ITU prepped to move their patient or patients, and as many from the wards as we can.’ He turned back to Major Clarke. ‘Clarke, make sure that if Kandahar can send something they send escorts as well. I don’t want to find out all my medics have got onto a bloody plane back to Kandahar.’

  ‘I’ll get theatres warmed up as well, sir,’ Webb chipped in. ‘And let the labs know, just in case we need to do a blood drive for extra supplies.’

  ‘Nice one, Andrew. Thanks,’ the CO replied. ‘Right, what else do we need to do chaps?’ He looked from face to face, stopping when he got to Lieutenant Abbott. ‘Abbott? You look like you’ve got something to say?’

  Abbott looked at the Brigadier as if he was surprised to be asked his opinion. Nick thought that it was probably the first time that the young man had been asked what he thought by a senior officer, and was curious as to what he was going to say. He watched as Abbott did a reasonably good impression of a goldfish for a few seconds before replying.

  ‘I was just thinking, sir, Kandahar is spinning up a QRF to reinforce the FOB. When they’ve been dropped off, that might give us an extra Chinook to play with.’

  ‘Good spot lad,’ the Brigadier replied. ‘Clarke, speak to them and see if they’ll play the game.’ Clarke made yet another note in his book as Foster glanced at his watch. ‘If there’s anything to update me on, though, I want to know straight away. Try to get a casualty estimate if you can. It’s 0530 now, so let’s meet back in here in thirty minutes for an update.’ The Brigadier looked at the other officers in his tent, a grim smile on his face. ‘Let’s get to it, gentlemen. I think we have the beginnings of a plan.’

  41

  Adams yawned as he stepped through the door of the TriStar and onto the rickety stairs that led to the ground. He looked at his watch, which he’d not changed since leaving the United Kingdom, and tried to work out what time it was now. Cyprus was two hours ahead of the UK, and Kandahar was ninety minutes ahead of Cyprus. He frowned as he stared at his watch, before giving up on the arithmetic.

  ‘What time is it, mate?’ Adams asked the military steward standing at the top of the steps.

  ‘About ten to six local, sir.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Adams replied. ‘That’s harsh.’ He looked at his watch again. By his reckoning, he’d had about three hours sleep in the last twenty-four, and most of that was when he was squashed between two burly soldiers in the back of the plane. Lizzie, for some reason, had been allowed through to the front cabin with her friend Emma, but when he’d tried to go the same way he’d been advised in no uncertain terms by a miserable bastard of a Warrant Officer that his seat was in the back.

  Adams felt the heat wash over him as he descended the steps onto the cracked tarmac of Kandahar airport. In the distance, the sun was just starting to rise over the top of the snow-covered mountains that looked over the airhead. How could be it so bloody hot here, Adams wondered, and still have snow on the mountains over there was beyond him.

  ‘Head that way, sir,’ another steward at the bottom of the steps pointed at a caged area that looked depressingly like the one back in Cyprus. ‘We’ll come and get you from there for your onward move.’

  ‘Right, cheers,’ Adams replied as he trudged over to the compound. God forbid that anyone should wander around Kandahar airbase unescorted. He eyed up a bench inside the wire with no-one on it and picked up his pace before anyone else got there.

  Once he’d bagged the bench as his, and his alone, he sat back and watched the rest of the passengers disembark the TriStar. The vast majority were Army, infantry from the looks of them. Adams saw the steps shaking as the soldiers made their way down to the tarmac. They weren’t fat — they were just big. Behind them was a group of Ghurkas. Much smaller, but arguably more dangerous, man for man. If it went to pound for pound, then the Ghurkas would win hands down and, not for the first time, Adams was very glad that they wore the same flag on their shoulders as he did. Behind them was Corporal Wardle, and behind her was Lizzie.

  Adams watched as the two women made their way across to the compound, their progress followed by many sets of eyes, not just his. Lizzie looked so different back in combats, but Adams was struggling with the difference between how she looked now and how she had looked back in the hotel in Cyprus. Before he’d fucked everything up.

  When he realised that Lizzie was staring at him, Adams sighed before looking away for a second. When he raised his eyes again, hoping that she had moved on, she was still staring at him. Not only that, but she was walking directly toward him.

  Bollocks, Adams thought. He got to his feet and walked over to the Portaloos behind the bench he was sitting on. He took a deep breath before opening the door — there was no way of knowing when they had last been emptied — and stepped inside. The stench inside was something else, so he fished in his pockets for a cigarette.

  Ten minutes later, he flicked another butt into the darkness underneath the toilet seat. It disappeared, and a second later, he heard a fizz as it landed in God knew what. Adams wasn’t about to shine a light into the ditch below the Portaloo — he’d made that mistake before and it wasn’t pretty — but at least by n
ow, Lizzie would have moved on.

  Adams opened the door to the Portaloo and took a grateful breath of the fresh air outside. He had just closed his eyes for another lungful of untainted oxygen when he felt a hand grip his arm just above his elbow.

  ‘A word, Adams,’ Lizzie said as she pulled him around to the rear of the Portaloos, her fingers digging into the soft flesh above his elbow. When they were out of sight of the rest of the crowd milling around the compound, Adams turned to face her.

  ‘Lizzie, listen,’ he said, his hands in front of him in mock-surrender. She didn’t reply but shoved him back against the chain-link fence.

  ‘No, you listen,’ she barked at him as the fence rattled behind them. ‘Do you really not want to talk to me that much that you have to hide in a portable toilet, smoking? How dare you.’

  ‘Um,’ Adams replied, not quite sure what to say. ‘Um, how dare I what?’

  ‘Oh, Jesus,’ Lizzie sighed. ‘Don’t be a twat all your life, Adams. You know exactly what I’m talking about.’ In all the time he’d known Lizzie, Adams had never seen her this angry.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said, I’m sorry. Not for what I said — because I meant that — but I’m sorry that what I said upset you.’ They stared at each other for a few seconds.

  ‘Adams, what you said didn’t just upset me. It hurt me.’

  ‘How come?’ He saw her eyebrows go up as she crossed her arms over her chest.

  ‘I can’t believe you have to ask that,’ Lizzie replied. ‘How would you feel if one of your best friends just saw you as an easy lay. A quick shag to relieve the frustration of not getting your end away when you were on R&R?’

  ‘Ouch, Lizzie,’ Adams said. ‘Bit harsh, that one. But that’s not what–’

  ‘How would that make you feel? Just answer the question, would you?’

  ‘If that’s really what they thought, then I’d feel like shit.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘But I didn’t ask you because I see you that way.’

  ‘So why ask, then?’

  ‘Because you’re you.’ Adams paused before continuing. ‘Fuck, Lizzie. Because I’ve never been able to ask you before. Don’t you get that?’ Adams closed his eyes to think about what he was going to say next, but when he opened them again the only thing he could see was Lizzie walking away from him.

  Colonel Nick swore under his breath as he jogged down the main corridor toward the CO’s tent. It was a minute to six, and in the Army at least, if you weren’t early, you were late. Around him, the hospital was slowly coming to life for what could be a very busy day.

  ‘Nice of you to join us, Colonel,’ the Brigadier said sharply as Nick entered his tent.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ Nick said, trying to emphasise the fact that he was breathless so had at least been making an effort to get there on time.

  ‘Just sit down. Abbot, what’s changed?’

  ‘We’ve got some casualty information in, sir,’ the Lieutenant replied. ‘According to the 9-liner we’ve just had come in, there’s two Cat As, four Cat Bs, and at least seven Cat Cs.’

  ‘So, thirteen in total?’

  ‘That’s right, sir,’ Abbot said before adding in a quiet voice. ‘So far.’ A silence played around the tent for a few seconds as the occupants considered this.

  ‘What’s the state of play with your returning medics?’ It took Nick a second or two to realise that the Brigadier’s question was directed at him.

  ‘They’re inbound, sir,’ he replied. ‘I’ve sent Corporal McDonald down to the main runway to get them when the Herc gets in. He’s going to brief them that they might be needed straight away.’

  ‘That’s not ideal when they’ve been on one plane or another most of the night.’

  ‘Can’t be helped, sir,’ Nick said. ‘They’ll be okay.’

  ‘Clarke?’ Foster barked. ‘Hospital sitrep?’ Nick took a deep breath, relieved he was off the hook and watched as the nurse struggled to read his notes.

  ‘Um, well, Brigadier,’ Clarke said. ‘If we can use the Hercules that the TRT is coming in on, then we can pretty much empty the hospital.’

  ‘Good, well done Clarke. What’s your manning like in the hospital?’ Nick grimaced as a broad grin broke across Major Clarke’s face. ‘Better than the TRT’s, sir,’ the nurse replied. ‘I planned it out to avoid any major shortages.’ Fat little smug twat, Nick thought. He was just about to say something in his defence when the Lieutenant cut him off.

  ‘Brigadier, if you don’t need me anymore?’

  ‘That’s fine, Abbott. Cut away. But if anything changes, I’m the first to know. What time is that Herc due in?’ The Lieutenant looked at his watch before replying.

  ‘Should be leaving any minute now, sir. There’s a bunch of Canadian medics on board with stretchers fitted, as requested. Plus the team from the Met.’

  ‘Okay. Make sure that someone’s there to meet the policemen. They’ve got quite a lot of kit, apparently, so they’ll need a bus. And I want to speak to their team leader, or whatever he’s called, the minute they get here.’

  ‘Understood, sir,’ Abbott replied. ‘Will there be anything else?’

  ‘No, off you trot,’ Foster said with a nod towards the door.

  After the lieutenant left the CO’s office to return to the Ops Room, the four remaining officers sat in an uncomfortable silence.

  ‘So, gentlemen,’ the Brigadier said. ‘How are we going to get fourteen casualties back here with only one medical team? Nick? Have you got any ideas on the best way forward?’

  Nick tried desperately to think of something useful to say, without any luck. Just as he thought the Brigadier was going to cut him off, he had a brainwave.

  ‘We could put more medics in the air, sir,’ he said, trying not to spit the words out. ‘Especially if we do manage to get another Chinook.’

  ‘Go on,’ the Brigadier said, his stare just as intense but now less fierce-looking.

  ‘The normal TRT is four people, we could go with three teams of two instead. If we added another couple of medics to the mix.’ Colonel Nick looked at Webb and Clarke. He saw Clarke looking back at him, and knew that the nurse knew exactly where he was going. ‘The Cat As on one Chinook with one team, and the Cat Bs and Cs on the other helicopter with the other two teams.’

  ‘Sir, with all due respect, you need people in the hospital for when the casualties get here,’ Clarke said, with a sideways glance at Nick. ‘I’m not sure that Colonel Nick here fully understands what he’s suggesting.’

  ‘Colonel, what exactly are you suggesting?’ the CO asked Nick. ‘Take some medics from the hospital and put them on the TRT?’

  ‘Yes sir,’ Nick replied. ‘I mean, it wouldn’t be a proper TRT anymore. But that’s exactly the sort of configuration that we used back in Iraq. They had nurse and medic teams, doctor and nurse teams, all sorts. Didn’t they Clarke? You were there then, weren’t you?’ He saw Major Clarke swallow before replying.

  ‘I was there, yes. And that is the type of teams that were used. But it was completely different.’

  ‘Different how?’ Brigadier Foster asked him. ‘Casualties are casualties. And this is potentially an extreme situation. We need to be able to adapt.’

  ‘But you can’t expect people to work out in the field, and then come straight back and carry on working in the hospital,’ Clarke added. ‘That just wouldn’t work.’ The Brigadier looked at Clarke, and Nick noticed with delight that the nurse was red-faced and sweating.

  ‘Why not?’ Foster asked Clarke. ‘It’s not ideal, I grant you. But I think it would work.’

  ‘But we don’t have the kit, sir,’ Clarke replied. ‘Or the experience.’

  ‘We’ve got spare TRT rucksacks,’ Colonel Nick said, silently thanking Adams for being so anal about having spare kit ready to go. ‘And as far as experience goes, we can split the teams up so that there’s an experienced member on each one. We’re all sold
iers, after all.’ Nick looked at Clarke. ‘Aren’t we?’

  Brigadier Foster didn’t reply to Nick’s suggestion at first, but he looked as if he was considering the plan, at least. Nick glanced across at both Clarke, who looked furious, and Webb. Nick could see a small vein pulsing on the side of Clarke’s forehead. The idea of him popping a blood vessel, preferably in his head, was quite amusing to Nick, and he struggled to keep a straight face as he looked at Webb. The other doctor was just sitting there, expressionless, with his arms folded across his chest. As Nick looked at him, Webb raised one eyebrow at him, and Nick had to suppress a laugh by turning it into a cough.

  ‘Right then,’ the Brigadier finally said after a couple of minutes. ‘This is the plan. Or at least, this is the plan now. Clarke — who’s your deputy?’

  ‘Er, Sergeant Derbyshire sir, but–’

  ‘He can run with getting the Emergency Room, then. I want you out on one of the teams.’

  ‘Sir, I really don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Major Clarke complained. ‘Sergeant Derbyshire still needs a lot of supervision, and–’ Brigadier Foster cut the Major off.

  ‘No, he doesn’t. At least, that’s not what you wrote in his appraisal. I seem to remember you rate him very highly. So I want you on one team. I need the experience out there.’

  ‘Sir, I really don’t think that this is-’

  ‘Clarke, shut up and stop whining. The decision’s made.’ Brigadier turned to Squadron Leader Webb. ‘Webb, you know what I’m going to ask you, don’t you?’

  Webb gave the Brigadier the name of his deputy without complaint. Whether that was because he’d just seen Major Clarke getting chewed out or not, Colonel Nick wasn’t sure.

  ‘Nick, how do you want to do this?’ Brigadier Foster asked.

  ‘I’ll probably keep Corporal McDonald with me. He’s the weaker one of the team by some distance. I’d suggest Major Clarke teams up with Sergeant Jarman, and Squadron Leader Webb with Flight Lieutenant Adams.’ Colonel Nick nodded to emphasise his decision. ‘I’d say that’s the best skill mix.’