Bombshell - Jane Harvey-Berrick

by Harvey-Berrick, Jane

  I hugged my arms around myself as he left the room.

  “Thank you,” I called after him. “For everything.”

  He paused but didn’t turn back, so I might have imagined him murmuring, “Sorry about your hair.”

  James

  THANK FUCK THE snow had cleared at last.

  I’d been crawling out of my skin for the last five days—too awake, too aware, too many thoughts, memories and regrets swirling through my head. I didn’t know what was worse—remembering or trying to forget.

  These mountains, this land, they didn’t count the minutes and hours, the days or years. I wanted to be like that—just to exist, just to be, not to think, not to dream. No emotions. No memories.

  The last Task before we were snowed in had been a nightmare, and Yad made it clear every day that I hadn’t won any popularity contests with him. Instead of being ultra-friendly like he used to be, he stared at me with barely restrained hostility. I couldn’t give a flying fuck about that, but I did need to get up the mountain and check to see if a device had been left behind; and Yad wasn’t a man I wanted to watch my back.

  I really hoped that human error was the reason we’d been one landmine short when I’d done the dems. When I’d told Clay, he was hopeful that was the case, because if I didn’t find it, it was incompetence at best, but at worst, it could mean that we had one of the team selling explosives to radicals or separatists or plain ole criminals. I needed to trust my team to watch my back, to watch each other’s. But if someone was making a few extra bucks on the Black Market…?

  I’d re-read all the log books one by one and couldn’t see any obvious errors, but I wouldn’t know for sure until I’d gone back and checked that all the logged mines had been removed.

  Yad was definitely in my sights. Sure, he’d been friendly enough up until now and adequately competent at his job, but had he been too friendly? Too eager to help? Until he’d been absent on the last Task and Maral had stepped in. When I asked him, he said he’d been taking a leak.

  I didn’t trust him and I’d long suspected that his cover story of learning his English from pop songs was a bunch of bullshit, although I knew it wasn’t impossible. But he had that air of being ex-military, whatever he said. I’d even began to suspect that he was former KGB. Or possibly still FSB. Yad was the obvious choice to have removed one of the mines, but in truth, it could have been any of them. Clay agreed that as soon as we had comms, he’d ask Smith, our friendly spook, to investigate.

  It was interesting that Arabella had picked up on some negative vibes—she definitely didn’t trust Yad. There was a lot more going on under her glossy surface than I’d given her credit for.

  I hoped she wasn’t too upset about her hair—it really had seemed like the best solution at the time, although maybe a little extreme. But really, I was doing her a favour. Not that she’d see it like that.

  I had to wait until mid-morning before the roads were passable, then I took the team who’d been with me on the last Task back up the mountain for the third time. We swept every nook and cranny with the Vallons for hours and went over all the old ground but found nothing.

  I retraced our steps to every spot where a landmine had been removed—the same number that had been logged—we hadn’t missed one, we hadn’t miscounted.

  Which left only one conclusion: there was someone on the team I couldn’t trust, and that in turn left three possibilities: the mine had been stashed far away from where we were sweeping; it had already been retrieved by a third party; or the mine had been hidden on the minibus and taken back to camp.

  Yad hadn’t been away from the team long enough for scenario one, but two and three were feasible. I didn’t like any of the answers that I came up with. And anyway, it might not have been Yad.

  Clay wasn’t happy either when I told him the next day after an overnight drive back to base.

  “I don’t like it, bro. I don’t like not being able to trust my team. Are you sure?”

  He gave me a significant look. I hadn’t always trusted Amira either, and I’d been wrong about her.

  “I’m sure, Clay. Somewhere, two kilos of high explosives is missing. Any one of the team could have taken it while I was neutralizing that booby-trapped device.”

  He tugged on his scruffy beard and leaned back in his chair.

  “Okay, here’s what we do: I’ve already put out some feelers about Yad—but it’ll take time to get answers—so I’m going to bring forward the move. We’re heading down the mountains tomorrow.”

  THE NEXT DAY, we shifted operations HQ to a new location further west, close to the border with Armenia. Technically, we were still within Nagorno, but the land was disputed, and on the journey, I saw several signs for minefields. Technically, we were on a battle area clearance mission, expecting to find a mixture of explosive remnants of war, such as unexploded shells and bullets, as well as landmines. Mechanical clearance—using a damned great remote-controlled mine-roller with flails—wasn’t an option because we were too close to an important road. Besides, those weren’t as reliable as the human version of mine clearance. So the job was down to my team.

  Our new barracks were thirteen kilometres from the minefield, in an abandoned school. Bunk beds had been installed in the old classrooms, and the school hall was our Mess.

  We spent the first day sorting out our personal gear and ensuring that the equipment was securely stored in one of the school’s outbuildings.

  I didn’t trust the locks that were already there which looked ancient and rusty, and there was always the possibility that other people still had a key.

  It took me four hours to install new locks and secure everything to my satisfaction, then I dragged my weary arse into the Mess.

  Most of the teams had already eaten, so it was just Clay and Arabella sitting together sipping the sweet local tea.

  “James, my man, how’s it going? All good?”

  “Yep,” I said, slumping down onto the wooden bench. “Tighter than a duck’s arse.”

  I glanced across to see Arabella smiling into her mug.

  “Good, now get some food inside you,” ordered Clay.

  Wearily, I turned away to glance across at the serving table, where a pan of stew sat, covered with a plastic lid, and slowly cooling as the grease formed itself into fatty lumps. I’d eaten worse.

  “Stay there, I’ll get it for you,” said Arabella, pressing her hand onto my shoulder.

  I was surprised, but for once I didn’t argue. Not sure why. I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell her not to be so damned nice. It was irritating.

  Clay smiled at me and winked.

  “Fuck off,” I muttered.

  “Didn’t say a word,” he grinned, his defence as thin as toilet paper.

  Arabella placed the plate of stew in front of me together with two thick slices of dark bread.

  She was silent as I began to eat, then revealed the reason for the niceness. People always want something from you.

  “I’d love to come and observe tomorrow’s Task,” she began.

  “No,” I said automatically.

  “I think it would be a really useful part of my training…”

  I glared up at her.

  “What part of ‘no’ didn’t you understand? The ‘N’ or the ‘O’?”

  “You’re being a dick,” Clay said bluntly. “Harry’s keen to learn and I’ve already told her she can go, provided she does exactly what you say and stays at a safe distance at all times.”

  I started to protest.

  “James, shut up and listen, brother. Harry’s dad is funding this op, but all he’s interested in is clearing the land as quickly as possible. It’ll help all of us if Harry can explain to him the reason why it’s not always going to be fast, the issues that hold us up. She’ll be useful.”

  Arabella threw him a grateful smile.

  “Bullshit,” I said coldly. “Either of us can explain the challenges, the reality of the situation.”

 
“Yes, but neither of us is 5’5”, cute as a button, and related to the dude,” Clay said, raising his eyebrows. “We need a Gauss, you said so yourself. Preferably two or three.”

  “What’s a Gauss?” Arabella asked, avoiding my angry stare.

  “It’s a metal detector that can work at greater depths.” Clay shrugged. “There’s a lot of equipment on our wish list.”

  Arabella stared back at me.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  She stood up.

  “What time should I be at the minibus tomorrow morning, James?”

  The stare-off lasted three seconds before I decided I couldn’t be bothered to fight her on this.

  “Oh-five-thirty.”

  She nodded.

  “Thank you. Goodnight, Clay. Goodnight, James.”

  “Night, Harry!” Clay called after her, then looked at me. “Why are you such a dick to her? She’s a nice person.”

  I didn’t even bother to look at him as I continued shovelling stew into my mouth.

  “One: she doesn’t belong here. Two: it’s dangerous. Three: she doesn’t belong here.”

  Clay grinned at me then held up three fingers.

  “One: she’s done a great job in the office, especially with all those pesky reports that you hate with a fiery passion. Two: she has great contacts through her old man, contacts that are going to help us get the equipment we need and potentially save lives. And three,” he raised his middle finger, the universal sign of giving me the bird, “and three, seeing her get under your skin is better entertainment than a month’s worth of Netflix.”

  “Fuck you, Clay,” I growled, slamming my spoon onto the plate and splattering us both with stew. “This isn’t a fucking game! Every day, there’s a chance that someone is going to get hurt on a Task. Maral nearly died. It was just sheer bloody luck that you weren’t writing a condolence letter to her family. Taking Arabella on a Task, even as an observer, is taking stupid chances. And as for her dad helping us, didn’t you tell me he acts like he hates her? Hell, she didn’t even know that she was coming here or that he’d leave her here alone for three months. She doesn’t belong here!”

  Clay’s expression had grown serious.

  “I hear you, brother,” he said calmly. “Now hear me. Harry has worked her socks off for us, whether she expected to be here or not. She’s smart and thoughtful, and she’s improved our comms with Head Office. They friggin’ love the PR pieces that she writes for them and says they’ve placed stories in all the major British news sites, as well as with Reuters.”

  He caught my surprised glance.

  “You didn’t know that, huh? I’d say that there’s quite a lot about Harry that you don’t know.” He stood and stretched his arms. “But best of all, brother, when you talk about her, you actually sound like you care about something for a change, so she stays.” His eyes burned into me. “She’s going on Task with you tomorrow—look after her.”

  Arabella

  I DIDN’T GIVE James a chance to leave me behind. I’d heard him arguing with Clay the night before: I’d heard every word, but as far as I was concerned, I was going on a Task with the team and nothing was going to stop me.

  I arrived at the minibus twenty minutes before James had told me to be there. I wasn’t surprised to see him already loading equipment into the back.

  To my surprise, he met my eyes and spoke to me directly.

  “Arabella, this is dangerous work. You should stay with Clay and Zada. Seriously.”

  I was taken aback by the apprehension in his voice, but I was determined, too.

  “I appreciate your concern, and I really don’t want to add to your burden. I promise I’ll do exactly as I’m told—I won’t put a finger out of place. I’ll do what you say, when you say it, and I won’t argue. James, please,” I said, softening my voice, “I really think I can be of use to you, to the Halo Trust. I may seem like a vacuous bimbo to you, but I don’t rely completely on my father for connections.” He grimaced. “I won’t be here forever, but let me do some good while I’m here. Let me understand. I want to understand what you do.”

  His expression grew chilly.

  “You can’t. Unless you’ve been me, unless you’ve seen what I’ve seen, you can never understand.”

  “I can try!”

  He pushed his handsome face closer to mine, rage and pain darkening his ice-blue eyes.

  “Unless you can consider the gross horror of seeing a dismembered body, you're not even close.”

  I shuddered and tried to move away from him, but he pinned me to the minibus, the cold metal biting into my clothes.

  “I’ve been close,” he said, his voice harsh. “I’m trained to think like a terrorist. Have you ever thought about that? The person making an IED only has to be lucky once. I have to be lucky all the time. I have to think how they think. So why would I think for one second that someone like you could possibly understand?”

  I stared at him, shocked and without words. I’d begun to think of him as a man utterly devoid of emotions, but he wasn’t. With his words, he’d shown me the pain and horror and darkness inside him.

  But it didn’t scare me. Instead, I pitied him.

  And I wanted to help.

  He turned away, back to his work of loading up the minibus.

  I watched in silence.

  Eventually, Clay arrived with Yad and the de-miners who were going on Task with James today.

  I gave them a thin smile, still shaken by my run-in with a dangerous man.

  Clay handed me a helmet with my name painted in white across the top and a body armour vest that was far heavier than it looked, so I nearly dropped it.

  “It has blast plates in the chest,” he said, looking at me seriously, “and these gloves are made of Kevlar. Wear them at all times.”

  “I will, I promise.”

  He nodded and handed me a thick pair of leather boots.

  “These are too big for you, so wear them with a couple of spare pairs of socks. They’re tough old Army boots. They’re the best protection for your feet.”

  “That’s so nice of you,” I said seriously, taking the spare socks and heavy boots.

  He gave me a warm smile.

  “They’re not mine. They’re James’s. He wanted me to give them to you. You can thank him later.”

  My mouth dropped open. Would I ever understand that man?

  The other women were curious but friendly as I joined them on the minibus. Yad, on the other hand, leered at me with undisguised enthusiasm.

  “English princess, I think you miss me!”

  “Not enough,” I said under my breath, then louder. “Oh, I’m sorry, Yad—is ‘Arabella’ too difficult a name for you to remember?”

  I smiled so sweetly that he wasn’t sure if he was being insulted or not. Instead, he grunted and sat back in his seat.

  I moved up the minibus and sat down next to James. He didn’t seem happy to see me, let alone have me sit next to him for the short journey.

  “Can you tell me about how you assess a site where you suspect there are mines? What do you look for?”

  For a moment, I thought he was going to tell me to bugger off, but he didn’t.

  I pulled out a small notebook and looked at him expectantly.

  “It depends on the kind of site you’re looking at. In the UK, there would probably be a desktop risk assessment, doing all the research on the area from existing records: conflict history of the site and surrounding area, historical and archived material from the public domain, local research including select interviews with local inhabitants where appropriate, or looking at old newspaper reports. That’s especially true of areas that were heavily bombed during the Second World War, for example. I’d also look at military historic records, as well as any available historical aerial photography. From that, I’d assess the likely nature of UXO contamination, weapon features and bomb penetration depth. Then I’d make a risk assessment based on risk minimization measures.” He
gave me a sideways look. “That’s assuming that time isn’t a factor.”

  “And when it is? When you have to hurry?”

  “Send in a robot so you can see as much as possible beforehand.”

  “And if you can’t send in a robot?”

  “Trust the team at your back and know what the fuck you’re doing.”

  He sounded like he was running out of patience with me, but I was intrigued.

  “How did you get into this … line of work? I mean, I know you were in the Army…”

  He stared out the window, his eyes following the flat fields, mountains towering ominously in the distance.

  “It took me seven years to become a high threat operator. That’s a lot of training courses, a lot of studying. It’s very physical, but a mental job, too. You have to be able to focus for long periods of time.”

  “Will I see that today?” I asked tentatively.

  “Yes, to a certain extent. We’ll have a team of five searchers who’ll lead with the Vallons, the metal detectors. They’ll flag the areas that need manual investigation. Both jobs need a high level of focus. It’s too dangerous to take shortcuts.”

  I looked around at the women on the minibus—it was hard to truly understand the danger of the job they were about to do. I felt my breakfast try to climb back up my throat and swallowed hard.

  “My job is to make sure everyone keeps their focus and that every safety protocol is met,” James continued, watching me carefully. “It’s my job to bring everyone home.”

  We only had a short journey to the minefield, and it was easy to spot with large signs depicting a red triangle with white writing in the local script that I couldn’t read, as well as the word ‘DANGER’ written in broad letters above a skull and crossbones. That was very clear, and a shiver ran through me.

  Two police cars had cordoned off the area at either end of the road next to the minefield to stop any traffic passing through.