by Fiona Field
‘How are you feeling?’ he’d asked, as he dumped her Bergen on her camp bed.
She’d smiled. ‘Why? Scared I might honk again?’
It was Lee’s turn to laugh. ‘Well, you’ve got previous.’
‘I’m fine,’ she’d said.
‘Good. Immi’d kill me if she thought I wasn’t taking care of her bessie mate.’ And he’d leant forward and given her a big hug. ‘Now get some kip. We’ve got to be up in a couple of hours. I’ll save you a place at breakfast.’
She and Lee were billeted quite close to each other for the first few days, while they, along with all the other soldiers new to theatre, underwent induction training. Obviously Lee’s training was longer and more detailed as he was going to be out in some camel compound in the thick of the action. Chrissie, on the other hand, might never see beyond the airbase, but she still needed to be aware of the threats and tactics and the latest intelligence. Plus she also needed to be taught the basics on how to keep healthy and hydrated, when the temperatures started to soar again, as they would in just a matter of weeks. After three days, Chrissie was moved to her more permanent accommodation near to the field hospital, but Lee still saved her a seat in the cookhouse at meal times and treated her to an occasional can of Coke in their off-duty moments. And in those off-duty moments she kept a weather eye out for Phil because he had to be somewhere in the place, but their paths didn’t cross. Not that it was so surprising as, with each day that passed, Chrissie began to get a handle on just how enormous the camp was.
It was a couple more days into their RSOI training – Reception, Staging and Onward Integration – that they were walking back from the training centre and a gust of wind whipped up the gritty, sandy surface right in front of them, producing an instant dust devil. Despite the fact they both managed to shield their faces from the worst of it, Lee got an eyeful of muck.
‘Jeez,’ he exclaimed as his eye streamed. He put his hand to his face.
‘Don’t rub it,’ ordered Chrissie, grabbing his hand and yanking it away.
‘Shit, Chrissie, it canes.’
‘Just keep your eye shut. Try not to move it in its socket too much, you don’t want to scratch the cornea. I’ll clean it for you as soon as we get to the NAAFI.’
She grabbed his arm and led him between the rows of tents to the NAAFI, where she sat Lee down on the nearest chair and grabbed a plastic bottle of water and a clean paper table napkin from a dispenser.
She stood beside him, looking down. ‘Put your head back,’ she told him. Then she gently lifted the lid of his left eye and held it open with her finger and thumb and poured in the water. She could see the grains of sand being flushed out as she did. She got Lee to roll his eyes up, down and side to side, to check she’d rinsed all the debris out. ‘That should do it.’ She noticed her hands were trembling. Why did he have this effect on her? It wasn’t natural. Or maybe, more worryingly, it was. ‘That was just like the scene from Brief Encounter,’ she joked to cover up her emotions.
Lee mopped his wet face with the serviette and blinked. ‘It certainly feels a lot better. Still a bit sore though.’
‘Bound to be.’
‘And Brief Encounter? What the fuck’s that?’
‘An old film, black and white. One of my mum’s favourites. A couple meet when she gets grit in her eye at a railway station. The bloke, a doctor, gets the dirt out with the corner of his hanky and they fall in love.’
‘And he gets his leg over and they live happily ever after.’
‘No. They’re both married to other people.’
‘So, no shag?’
Chrissie shook her head. ‘No, no shag.’
‘That’s a pity,’ said Lee, staring at her with a disconcerting intensity. ‘Especially if they’d really fallen for each other.’
Chrissie looked at her feet. ‘They had,’ she whispered. ‘But perhaps it was for the best.’
And it was later that evening that Immi had Skyped her, making Chrissie feel even more homesick. Homesickness that was compounded by the need to tell Immi a bunch of lies, after Immi had told her that Lee was out there too and they ought to seek each other out. Like she was going to admit to Immi just how much they were already seeing of each other, knowing full well how close Immi and Jenna were. No way!
Four days later, their encounters, brief or otherwise, came to an abrupt end when Lee’s RSOI training ended and he was moved out to join his new multiple somewhere out in Nad-e Ali.
‘Drop me a line or two, when you get the chance,’ said Lee. ‘Tell me what’s going on back here.’
‘Of course,’ said Chrissie brightly. ‘And you look after yourself. Watch where you are putting your size twelves, eh? I don’t want you cluttering up any ward I happen to be working on.’
She said it casually, but inside she was terrified for Lee. Unlike him, she’d already seen the results of what IEDs could do. The lads seemed so gung-ho when they talked about going to their patrol bases, but the two she’d been treating, casevaced back, injured and limbless, their lives changed for ever, had minds that were as shattered as their bodies. The thought that that might be Lee’s fate sent ice coursing through her blood.
19
Maddy was manoeuvring Nate’s buggy out of her quarter when Caro called across to her from her own.
‘You off out?’
‘Just going along to the Spar for a few bits and pieces. We need some fresh air and as it’s not pouring for once…’ She gestured at the sky.
‘Fancy a bit of company?’
‘Sure, why not.’
‘Perfect. Give me a second to get Luke ready. He’s been a menace since he woke up and I need to wear him out to calm him down. It’s that, or give him to Barnardo’s. They’re always after donations, aren’t they?’
‘I think they prefer cash,’ said Maddy, grinning.
A few minutes later they were strolling along the pavement towards the little shop that served the married patch. Luke was alternately running ahead or lagging behind, so their progress was rather erratic.
‘Ooh, look,’ said Caro. ‘There’s Jenna. I want a word with her.’
‘What are you after – an appointment?’
‘I thought she could do a talk to the Wives’ Club.’
‘Oh.’
‘You sound surprised.’
‘Well…’ said Maddy.
‘You’ve got reservations.’
‘I dunno.’
‘Come on, spit it out,’ said Caro, grabbing Luke’s arm to stop him running into the road. Maddy stopped pushing the buggy and faced Caro.
‘It’s just, she’s in Seb’s platoon and I’ve been hearing rumours.’
‘And?’
‘And she’s not exactly popular. There seems to be some resentment that she’s set up in direct competition to Zoë.’
‘There’s no law against healthy competition,’ said Caro.
‘But she’s really undercutting her. She doesn’t have much in the way of overheads, so she can make her prices ridiculously low and there’s wives who don’t think that’s fair.’
‘I suppose.’
‘And she seems a bit too upbeat about her husband being in Afghanistan. I mean, she doesn’t have to sit around in sackcloth and ashes, we all know life has to go on, but I’ve heard on the grapevine that some of the wives are questioning whether she cares a jot about her husband. To be honest, I thought that myself, when I had my hair done the other day.’
‘That’s a bit harsh. She’s probably just putting a brave face on it.’
‘Maybe.’ But Maddy knew exactly how she’d felt when Seb had been over there. She’d been able to function after a fashion and she hadn’t become a complete basket case but even so, she certainly hadn’t bounced around as if she didn’t have a care in the world – which was what Jenna seemed to be doing.
They carried on walking to the Spar. The automatic doors swished open as they approached and a wave of noise buffeted them. Screams, screeches and obs
cenities rolled out of the door. Nate’s face crumpled, Luke’s eyes widened and the two mothers craned forwards.
‘What the hell…?’ said Caro.
They both peered in. By the tills they could see Zoë and Jenna having a proper, full-on cat-fight, skin and hair flying.
A burly sergeant in uniform had got between them at some personal risk and was trying to prise them apart while the Spar staff and the handful of other shoppers present looked on, stunned.
Finally the sergeant managed to part them.
Zoë tossed her hair back and smoothed down her skirt. ‘And next time, you slag,’ she panted, ‘I’ll get you good and proper.’
‘Yeah? You and whose army?’
‘The whole fucking garrison, that’s who. No one likes you, Jenna Perkins. You’re a ho, we all knew that, but now they think you’re a lying, cheating, devious slapper too.’
Jenna launched herself again at Zoë, but the sergeant just managed to hold her back, and Zoë swept out of the supermarket, leaving Jenna hurling insulting epithets after her.
Maddy looked at Caro. ‘Still want to invite her to the Wives’ Club?’
Caro looked defiant. ‘Frankly, I feel sorry for her. She’s trying to make her own way and the system seems to be against her.’
Maddy clenched her jaw to stop it dropping. ‘You can’t be serious?’
‘I can. If anyone needs a leg up it’s her. Especially if Zoë is bad-mouthing her around the garrison.’
‘But no one will come.’
Caro shook her head. ‘No? I’ll just put “local stylist” on the posters. By the time they find out it’s Jenna, it’ll be too late. I can’t see them making a dash for the door, once they’ve paid their subs and got their tea and bikkies.’
Maddy followed Caro into the little shop thinking that Caro might have misjudged things completely. And Susie’s words about Caro being a ‘loose cannon’ floated back to her. But she was the new kid on the block so what did she know?
Lee was in the watchtower in the corner of the compound, looking across the Neb Canal. Below him, under the scaffolding of this makeshift sangar, were the mud walls of the compound; behind him were the basic living quarters that the soldiers had rigged up for themselves; and in front of him was the twenty-metre-wide canal. On either side of the canal were the high, grey berms, raised dykes which had a road running along the top. Beyond the berm, on the far side, were more compounds occupied by Afghani families and their livestock, and behind that were the bare fields waiting for the next poppy crop. Squinting through the telescopic sight on his gun and trying to ignore how cold he was, Lee scanned the compounds on the opposite bank and then the trees that edged the far side of the empty field. Freezing rain was hammering down yet again – he was soaked to the skin – but he knew it wasn’t just the cold that was making him shiver. The hot intel was that the Taliban in the area had acquired a sniper rifle, with a range of almost a kilometre. For all he knew, the cross hairs might be on him right now. It was a sobering thought, a thought that made him hunker down lower behind the wall of the sangar. Not that it would do much good. He doubted the planking would stop a high velocity bullet; it’d more than likely just make it tumble so that, when it hit him, it would cause all the more damage. He told himself to stop thinking like that and instead keep his eyes open for the slightest sign of movement in his current field of view.
Below and behind him, he could hear the banter of his colleagues. There was a discussion about what they were going to do with the compo rations, to make them slightly less dreary. The consensus seemed to be to add curry powder to the tins of stewed beef. Lee groaned. Not curry again. Jenna might be a shit cook but at least she bought a variety of ready meals. It’s a shame, he thought, that Chrissie wasn’t here to look after them; she’d be able to create something original out of the army’s rations. He remembered the slap-up Christmas dinner she’d produced, and his mouth watered at the thought.
Concentrate! he told himself. He was here to do a job, not think about Chrissie. And he shouldn’t be thinking of her, anyway.
Except he did. All the time.
He glanced at his watch; nearly six. Not long now till the end of his stag. Johnny would take over from him just before nightfall. Lee quite liked the dark out here. For a start, the stars were epic. Here, in the desert, the nights were the darkest that Lee had ever experienced and, consequently, the sky was completely coated with little pinpricks of light. Until he came out here he had no idea just how many stars there were. But the second reason he quite liked the dark was the soft glow of faint orange light on the horizon – Camp Bastion. There was something very comforting about having a tangible reminder of its presence, when you were stuck out in the back of beyond, surrounded by a lot of hostility.
The corner of his eye caught a movement, and he swivelled to look at what had got his attention. A small boy and a donkey were walking along the flat ground: nothing to worry about. He turned back to the line of trees several hundred yards away. If he were a sniper, that’s where he’d hide to pick off a British soldier.
He heard footsteps on the ladder behind him.
‘Hey, buddy,’ said the voice of Johnny Flint. ‘My turn now. Much happening?’
‘Fuck all. A kid with a donkey is just about to walk past.’
‘Rush hour, then.’
Lee grinned. ‘That’s about the size of it. Still, I suppose it’s better when it’s quiet.’
‘Dunno. Makes you wonder what they’re plotting.’
Lee took a swig of his water. ‘So aren’t any of the locals friendly?’
‘To your face they are; all smiles and “salaam alaikum”, but you just know that if the Taliban move in to the area, they’ll probably want to change sides. The Taliban make the locals offers they can’t refuse, and they don’t bother with rules of engagement, either.’ Johnny gave a hollow laugh. ‘Actually, they don’t bother with any fucking rules.’
Lee moved so Johnny could position himself behind the gun and then made his way down the ladder to the main compound. Water dripped off the rectangles of camouflaged waterproof fabric that had been lashed up to provide shelter from both the rain and the sun. It made him appreciate just how gleaming Bastion had been. It might have been Tent City, but the bogs flushed and there was running water. Here, the only running water was a stream that ran across the compound every time it rained heavily, and the only sign of civilisation was the interminable puttering of the diesel generator which fed their comms equipment. Basic didn’t come close when it came to describing their conditions.
Still shivering, Lee decided to skip his meal and head straight for his bed space, which was a two-man tent, hard-up by the compound wall. He peeled off his wet clothes and hung them from a makeshift washing line strung from a couple of scaffolding poles, which held up yet more cam netting and tarps for shelter. Lee was certain his kit wouldn’t dry before he had to put it on again, but he had dry clothes to wear in his sleeping bag. More important to sleep in comfort than to have that luxury on stag. Besides, it was much easier to keep alert, if you weren’t feeling too cosy.
He decided to get his head down and try to grab some zeds. He was on duty again tonight, and then he’d come straight off his watch and go out on patrol at first light. Still, he wasn’t going to complain, not even to himself. It wasn’t as if he’d joined the army on a whim.
He pulled on a dry T-shirt and shorts and then his softie suit, which was like pyjamas made out of a duvet, and then climbed into his sleeping bag. Cosy at last, he thought, although both his softie suit and his bug bag already smelled less than fresh. He wondered how bad they would get by the time his tour was over. Minging, probably.
Lying down on his camp bed, he pulled his day sack out from underneath. He rummaged around till he found a chocolate bar he knew to be in there and the letter that had arrived this morning. Post was sporadic, he’d been told, and reality bore this out. If there was room on the supply run, they’d sling the postbag on too. If not
, it stood to reason that water, food and ammo were more important.
Dear Lee, he read as he chomped on the Crunchie. All is well here, although the place seems pretty dull and boring without your ugly mug cluttering up the joint. Work is the same old, same old with nothing much of note to report. People come and go. I’ve got a new neighbour, although you’d expect that given the turnover around here. She seems nice enough and we haven’t fallen out yet. I’ll try and send you some mags next time I write. Which would you prefer – lads’ mags or cars? Or maybe something else. The shop here stocks a variety of stuff. Is there anything else you need? Let me know and I’ll send that too. You look after yourself and I meant what I said about your size 12s. Watch where you’re going. Best, Chrissie xx
Two kisses? Habit or significant? Part of him hoped for the latter explanation, although his head told him it was more likely the former. They got on – well, if he wasn’t already married, he’d have liked it to be more, but no point in contemplating that. And Chrissie’s letter was, at the moment, the only one he’d received. No word yet from his mam, or Jenna. Of course, the post from the UK was bound to take longer. There were probably several letters on the way, he reasoned. He just needed to be patient. He slipped the letter back into his day sack, finished his snack and snuggled down to get forty winks. But it was Chrissie he was thinking of, not Jenna, as he drifted off.
20
‘Summers.’
‘Yes, boss,’ Chrissie answered. She finished writing down the patient’s temperature on the chart at the end of the bed, gave the soldier an apologetic smile and turned to give the doctor her attention.
‘How’s it going?’ asked the colonel.
‘Good, thanks, sir.’
‘Settling in OK?’
Chrissie nodded. ‘Getting used to it. I’ve almost stopped hearing the noise of the helicopters.’
The colonel grinned. ‘I know what you mean.’ The sound of helicopters was the soundtrack of the base: starting up, winding down, hovering, landing, taking off. There was never a minute of the day without the clatter and the accompanying high-pitched whine of the engines. ‘And talking of helicopters, I’m looking for a volunteer.’