‘Right then, decision made. I’m going to the Ops Room to keep an eye on things as they develop. How long do you think it’ll take you to get up and running?’ Colonel Nick’s eyes flicked to the clock on the wall.
‘Give us ten minutes, sir,’ he said. ‘And we’ll be good to go I reckon. The minute the rest of the team get back with Corporal McDonald, we can deploy.’
‘Good stuff.’ The Brigadier looked at all three of them in turn. ‘Let’s crack on.’
Nick got to his feet along with the others, and they made their way towards the door. As they reached the corridor, Major Clarke turned to Colonel Nick and glared at him. Say something, you fat bastard, the Colonel thought. Go on, just say something. Without a word, the nurse turned away and walked down the corridor towards the Emergency Room. Behind him, Colonel Nick heard Webb clear his throat. He’d barely said anything at all during the whole time they’d been with the Brigadier, which was unusual for him.
‘Priceless, Nick,’ Webb said. ‘Absolutely fucking priceless.’ Nick grinned at him in return.
‘I know,’ he replied as the other doctor walked away down the hospital corridor.
42
Jackson ran across the dusty earth of the compound, ignoring the cracks of gunfire he could hear from beyond the walls, and opened the door to the tiny Ops Room. Major Fletcher looked at him as he burst in, and Jackson saw his brow furrow.
‘You okay, Jackson?’ the Major asked.
‘Fine, sir,’ he replied. He could tell that the Major wasn’t convinced but carried on regardless. ‘I thought you might want a sitrep.’
‘I do, crack on.’
‘Four dead, confirmed, sir,’ Jackson said. ‘Two by the tower, and another two in a bunker that took a direct hit off one of the rockets.’ Major Fletcher’s face paled.
‘Fuck,’ he whispered.
‘Casualties wise, I’m not one hundred per cent sure, I’m afraid. Definitely two Cat As, four Cat Bs, and a bunch of Cat C’s. I can’t remember exactly how many we told Bastion, but I think it was six or seven.’ Jackson took a deep breath, realising that he was talking way too fast. ‘Everyone’s still hunkered down, so no-one’s been moved to the regimental aid post.’
‘But you’ve put a 9-liner in for the casualties?’
‘Yes, sir. As soon as the medic confirmed the categories, we put one in then.’
‘Good job. Probably should have done that sooner.’
‘Sir, with all due respect, we have had other things going on.’
‘I’m not criticising you, Jackson,’ the CO replied. ‘I probably should have done that sooner, not you.’
Jackson looked at the Major and his 2nd Lieutenant, both of whom looked knackered and scared. Just like he probably did.
‘There’s not been any more rockets,’ Jackson said. ‘We could start moving round inside the compound.’ The Major remained silent, deep in thought.
‘I’m not sure,’ he said after a minute or so. ‘There could be more 107s lined up, and I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.’
‘Thing is, sir,’ Jackson replied, ‘we’re now getting incoming small arms fire, so Terry’s out and about in the village.’ The Major looked blankly at him.
‘So what?’
‘Well, they know how bloody inaccurate the rockets are. Getting a direct hit was an absolute fluke.’ Jackson paused, waiting to see if the Major would take the bait or if he would have to spell it out for him.
’So, if they’re now out and about, they probably know there aren’t any more rockets.’ Jackson nodded as Major Fletcher realised what he meant. ‘Because if there were, then they’d still be hiding.’
‘They’re not going to risk dropping rockets on their own heads, are they?’ the 2nd Lieutenant offered, backing up Jackson’s thoughts.
‘That’s what I reckon, sir,’ Jackson said. ‘It’s a risk, but with casualties on the ground I think it’s one worth taking.’ Another pause. ‘But you’re the boss.’
‘No, Jacko,’ Major Fletcher replied. ‘You’re right. But I don’t want anyone on the walls or in the towers. That sniper’s still out there somewhere.’
‘That’s probably what they’re trying to do,’ the 2nd Lieutenant said.
‘What do you mean?’ Major Fletcher asked him.
‘Draw us out,’ he replied. ‘They put some rounds into the walls, we pop up to return fire like we always do. So does the sniper.’
‘That’s a good point,’ the Major said. ‘Nice one.’ Jackson could see the colour returning to the senior officer’s face. He was starting to sound more confident.
‘Incoming transmission, sir.’ The 2nd Lieutenant put his headphones back on and turned to the radio, scribbling furiously on a pad while Major Fletcher drummed his fingers on the desk.
‘That was Ops at Bastion, sir,’ the 2nd Lieutenant said, slipping the headphones off his head. ‘There’s a Hermes UAV on point above us, and two Apaches about five minutes out.’
‘Right, this is the plan. Listen in, both of you.’ He looked at Jackson, then the 2nd Lieutenant, then back at Jackson.
‘Jacko, I want you to grab some hands and move the casualties to the aid post.’ The Major’s voice was strengthening with every word. ‘As far as that bloody sniper goes, if we can get him to take a shot, then the UAV should be able to identify where he is for the Apaches.’ Jackson felt himself grinning as the Major gave his orders. ‘With the sniper out of the way, we can pop up and say hello to the Taliban. So, go and get a decoy ready.’
‘Yes sir,’ Jackson said, still grinning. ‘On my way.’
He closed the toilet door behind him and, hands shaking, locked it.
‘Shit, shit, shit,’ he whispered to himself. ‘Fucking police.’ He took a deep breath, held it, and then blew it out before taking another one. Holding his hands in front of his face, he could see them shaking. He had to get a grip before time ran out. There could only be one reason why the civilian police were on their way out here. For him. They were here for him.
He’d been so careful, he thought as he sat down on the closed lid of the toilet. All the work that he’d done, all the research, all the planning. It would all be for nothing if he was caught now. He just needed one more. That was all, just one more.
Being caught was something that he’d thought about when he was putting the plan together. It was always at the back of his mind, but he never thought for a second that he would actually be caught. He couldn’t see how. Adrenaline was invisible, especially in casualties who’d been resuscitated. It was the first drug that the medics reached for when someone arrested. That was what had made his plan so perfect. He’d been over and over it, so many times that he thought he probably knew more about it than a pharmacist. He’d looked into so many different drugs, knew which ones he could potentially use and which ones he definitely couldn’t. When he’d seen the box of adrenaline ampoules sitting in the stores waiting for destruction, it was almost as if it was a sign.
What could he do now? Would he actually be caught after all? There was a massive difference between the coppers knowing that there was something going on, that one or two of the casualties were being shepherded on their way, and actually proving it. And even then, they would have to tie it to him somehow. With all the evidence disposed of in incineration bins and by now burnt beyond all recognition, even the most determined copper would have his work cut out for him. It wasn’t as if he’d shared his plans with anyone.
He took another deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest and his legs trembling. Despite the air conditioning in the hospital, he was sweating. Even the palms of his hands were damp. The irony that this physical reaction was caused by adrenaline wasn’t lost on him.
One more. He only needed one more. It had to be three of them to make it right.
Lizzie was about twenty feet away from the Portlaoos when she started slowing down. Around her, the caged compound was almost full of tired soldiers. The majori
ty of them had just sat on the dusty ground and spread out, making the most of the opportunity to stretch their legs, and the bench that Adams had been sitting on had been taken over by a group of three Ghurkas. They sat in silence, passing a cigarette between them.
She thought back to what Adams had said just now as she stopped walking. If she remembered it correctly, he’d said that he was sorry. Not for what I said, because I meant that. He’d apologised for upsetting her, but not for the words that had upset her.
‘Oh, Jesus,’ Lizzie sighed as she ground to a halt. Emma’s comments came back to her. Would that have been such a bad thing? Adams had looked so lost, both back in Cyprus and just now round the back of the toilets. Hardly a romantic memory — a conversation behind a row of Portaloos — but she needed to go back to talk to him. Or something.
Lizzie spun on her heel and turned to walk back to where she’d left Adams. He was still leaning against the chain-link fence, staring up at the sky. When she reached him, he looked at her and she saw that his eyes were full of tears. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again. Lizzie walked up and took his hands in hers before pulling him away from the fence and wrapping her arms around him.
They stood in a silent embrace for a moment before he whispered in her ear.
‘I’m sorry, Lizzie.’
‘Don’t be,’ she whispered back. ‘Let’s just get through this tour and see what happens.’
In the distance, Lizzie heard the distinctive cough of a Hercules plane as its engines started.
‘Guess that’s our bus,’ Adams said, extricating himself from Lizzie’s arms.
‘Great,’ Lizzie replied with a grim smile.
The first thing Lizzie saw when she climbed into the squat transport plane was a group of eight Canadian medics scuttling around. They were fitting stretchers to stanchions and turning the front of the plane into a mini-hospital. She’d approached the most senior member of the Canadian team to be told that they were picking up casualties from the hospital at Bastion. No, the Canadian Flight Lieutenant had told her, he didn't know why.
‘What do you think’s happening?’ Lizzie shouted at Adams over the noise of the plane’s engines.
‘No idea,’ he replied, ‘but it can’t be good.’
At the other end of the plane, an RAF loadmaster was talking to the civilian policemen. Lizzie had seen the look of concern on the group’s faces earlier on when the TriStar had started its descent into Kandahar, and the policemen had all been instructed to wear blue body armour and helmets. Lizzie watched as the policeman with the ponytail — if he was actually a policeman — fiddled with the strap underneath his chin to try to get the helmet straight on his head. Their eyes met for a brief few seconds, and she could see that the earlier look of concern had been replaced by another expression — fear.
Lizzie closed her eyes as the Hercules taxied along to the end of the runway. She shifted in the uncomfortable orange webbed seat, but they were made for function, not comfort, so she gave up after a few seconds and resigned herself to the discomfort. At least it was only a short hop from Kandahar down to Bastion.
The noise of the engines dipped briefly before they roared into life, and the large transport plane lurched forward. In the seat next to Lizzie’s, Adams was pushed up against her by the acceleration. He shuffled on his seat to move away, but Lizzie put her hand on his arm to keep him where he was. Even though she could barely feel his body heat through their combat clothing, Lizzie was grateful for the contact.
Jackson set off at a fair pace across the dusty earth in the middle of the FOB compound. He reached the Regimental Aid Post, which was nothing more than a small building nestling up against the wall of the compound surrounded by sandbags. The only indication that it was a medical facility was a small red cross that the FOB’s medic had nailed to the door of the building. Without knocking, Jackson pushed the door to the building open.
‘Doc?’ he called out. ‘You in here?’ A dishevelled figure appeared from the back of the room, half-hidden in darkness. The medic, Corporal Rowley, was sitting in the corner of the room on a small camping stool, repacking his medical bags after treating the casualties by the bunker. He was enclosed in body armour and wearing a helmet that looked about two sizes too big for him. In front of him was a single stretcher, balanced on a couple of trestles made out of wood that had been lying around the compound when they’d arrived.
‘Yep, here,’ he answered, getting to his feet. ‘What’s going on? Can we get the casualties moved in here?’ He pushed the helmet back on his head and squinted at Jackson.
‘Good to go, doc. We’re pretty sure that there aren’t any more rockets coming in.’ He watched as the medic grabbed one of the medical bags from the floor of the RAP. ‘There’s a fair bit of small arms fire, and there’s a sniper out there somewhere, so keep your head down. As long as you don’t go for a walk along the top of the walls, though, it should be fine.’ Corporal Rowley nodded in agreement, and hurried out of the door, hitting his medical bag on the door jamb as he did so.
Jackson followed the medic out of the RAP, and Jackson saw him break into a run towards the remains of the bunker on the opposite side of the compound where a thin wisp of smoke was still rising. As the sound of a machine gun rattled in the distance, Jackson set off in a different direction. He reached the shadow of the compound wall and followed it around until he got to a bunker. This one still had a roof, and soldiers sheltering in it, so Jackson slapped his hand on the corrugated iron roof. Although the sound was deadened by the sandbags on top of the roof, a head popped out of the opening.
‘Jacko,’ the soldier said. ‘You alright?’
‘Mate,’ Jackson said, ‘you and whoever else is in there, get your arses over to the bunker by the south wall. The doc’s over there, he’ll need some help.’ The soldier ducked his head back inside the shelter and relayed the message to the other soldiers. With a couple of them swearing as they did so, they started scrambling out of the bunker. ‘And we also need to get some bodies over to the tower to get the…’ Jackson paused, ‘…er, bodies, er, out of the sun.’
‘Roger that Jacko, on our way.’
Jackson made his way around the walls of the compound, stopping to talk to the groups of soldiers huddled by the walls. At least there were no more casualties. When Jackson was sure that he’d spoken to all of them, he stopped in a shaded spot and unbuttoned the strap on his helmet. Taking it off, he put it on the ground and squatted down as Major Fletcher walked up and stood next to him.
‘Are you happy, sir?’ he said. The Major took off his helmet and sat on the ground next to Jackson.
‘Getting there,’ the CO replied. ‘I think we’re getting there.’ He took a stained sweat rag from a pocket and used it to mop his brow. ‘Ops at Bastion have confirmed that the UAV is on point,’ Major Fletcher pointed his index finger directly upwards, ‘and that the Apaches are over the horizon somewhere. So let’s get a decoy up on the walls, see if we can’t draw the sneaky bastard with the sniper rifle out.’
Jackson’s attention was caught by the shadow of an object sailing over the wall that they were sheltering by, and a muffled thud sounded a few feet from them. It sounded like a stone being thrown onto the sand at a beach. Major Fletcher turned in the direction of the sound, and they both watched as the object kicked up a small cloud of dust.
The only thing missing from the grenade that was rolling towards them was the pin.
43
Adams and Lizzie stood next to each other by the door of the TRT tent, watching Ronald go through the equipment with Major Clarke and Squadron Leader Webb at the other end. Ronald had both of them wearing combat vests, and was filling the various pockets with medical equipment. Adams could see that Ronald was being his methodical self, putting the same equipment into the same pockets for both of them. They’d applied the same principle to the combat vests as they did to the medical bags themselves where all the kit was essentially identical and with th
e same stuff in the same place. Even from this distance, Adams could see that Major Clarke was sweating profusely despite the air conditioning in the TRT tent.
On the way back from the runway, Ronald had filled Adams and Lizzie in on what they knew so far. There’d been a big contact up in FOB Robinson. At least four dead and loads injured. From what Ronald had said, every available asset in the area was heading there now.
‘How do you think this is going to pan out, then?’ Adams heard Lizzie ask. He shrugged his shoulders in reply.
‘No idea to be honest.’
‘I’m not convinced,’ Lizzie continued. ‘Why do we need more medics on the back? It’s crowded enough as it is. The more medics we put on board, the fewer casualties we can carry.’
‘From what Ronald was saying, there’s a second Chinook with a QRF that’ll meet us at the FOB. That’s why we’ve got a couple of extra medics. Apparently, the Brigadier wants three teams of two.’
‘How many casualties are there then?’
‘No idea,’ Adams said. ‘Ten or eleven I thought Ronald said. It sounds shite out there though, from what he was saying earlier.’
‘Where is the bloody Colonel, anyway?’ Lizzie said. Adams looked at her, surprised by the angry tone in her voice. Her face matched her voice.
‘Alright princess,’ he said. ‘Calm down. I don’t know where he is.’
‘Oh, bugger off Adams,’ Lizzie retorted. ‘I’m not in the mood. This has got Colonel Nick’s name all over it. What’s the betting that the whole thing is his idea?’
Adams privately agreed with Lizzie, although he didn’t say anything to her. He wasn’t thrilled in the slightest to have extra medics on board, either. They’d spent so long getting themselves together as a team it didn’t seem fair to just drop another couple of medics in. It was almost a criticism — as if they wouldn’t be able to cope with whatever was thrown at them.
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