by Azi Ahmed
‘I know I shouldn’t be asking you this,’ Sullivan took the main pieces of the weapon apart and placed them on the grass on top of his crap hat, ‘but how come you two are here?’
He knew I wasn’t going to answer.
‘You must be mad to do this.’
Perhaps I was mad, I thought, but wasn’t he just as mad?
‘So, are you Muslim?’
I nodded. With a name like Ahmed, what do you think? I thought. I handed him the sausage ration then opened mine, not quite believing I was finally going to have some proper hot food. I pulled a plastic spoon out of my smock pocket. It was tied to my buttonhole by a piece of string. The rations tasted amazing and I could feel my throat and chest warm up as it slowly slid down.
‘Does that mean you have arranged marriages?’ He watched me shovel the food down.
I hesitated before answering. Here we go, I thought, he’s probably waiting for me to pour out some terrible story about an arranged marriage and how I was forced to run away, the kind you read about in the tabloids. I didn’t like him any more. I wanted him to hurry up cleaning his weapon and get lost.
‘Not really,’ I replied between mouthfuls, only answering because he had warmed my food up, ‘but he would have to be someone my parents are happy with.’
‘Would he have to be Muslim?’
I scraped the last bits of food from the bottom and decided not to answer. I’m not going to waste my time trying to open up his mind. I have enough things going on, like dealing with Briggs who was now gunning for me. I will never leave my weapon again, I thought, remembering his punishment.
But Sullivan wasn’t giving up. ‘So, does that mean you can’t go out with white boys?’
I stopped and looked up at him. We stared at each other for a moment until we were interrupted by Digsby, who came over and looked straight at Sullivan.
‘Parade in five, mate,’ he said flatly, then shot a glance at me and walked off.
I wondered what that look was for but didn’t spend too much time thinking about it.
Sullivan got up and winked at me. ‘I’ll give you the cleaning kit back later.’
I watched him go off into the distance and then got back to sorting out my kit. I wondered what the lads thought of me and Becky being here. It didn’t feel as bad as when we first joined them. Perhaps they were getting used to us, perhaps we had somehow won their respect by still being here, or perhaps they had no choice in the matter and gritted their teeth. I wondered how the staff took it and thought back to the first evening on parade; Briggs’s expression when he found out we were joining the lads will haunt me for the rest of my life. Since then Briggs’s motto had been to treat us as bad as the lads, as their equals. There was nothing wrong with that, except sometimes I hated being a lad. Then there was Taylor, who was still hovering around since female selection. What was it with him? Did he have a bet on with the rest of the staff to see which week Becky and I would drop out? Perhaps we were their entertainment. I recalled a few occasions when I must have looked a sight coming back from a beasting. The more these thoughts went round in my head the more determined I was not to throw the towel in.
I shoved everything back in the Bergen the best I could and joined the rest of the recruits in rank. The hot food was now digesting in my stomach and making me sleepy.
Becky was stood at the front next to Sullivan. I wondered if she was managing as well as she seemed to be or breaking inside like me. We still hadn’t got to speak much but she seemed to be getting on better with the lads.
Briggs was stood at the front, debriefing us on today’s exercise. As always, he was very encouraging. ‘Even a one-legged geriatric could have done better than you lot today. What do you think this is? The fucking Ramblers!?’ His head was shaking with rage as he paced up and down the front rank, fists clenched tight. ‘If you get blisters, so fuckin’ what?’
Being small had its advantage amongst these tall lads. I felt desperately tired and closed my eyes for a second and immediately felt my body relax. My mind quickly fought back, freaked out by how close I’d come to dozing off. The repercussions were not worth thinking about.
Briggs dismissed us – ‘Piss off.’ I needed the toilet before preparing for the night patrol. Through the woods I trod to find a hidden spot. I pulled my pants down and squatted, staring up at the clear sky and focusing on the shiniest star. I thought back to Sullivan. A part of me wanted to find out more about Sullivan without asking him, but I couldn’t speak to Becky as I didn’t know her that well. I wondered what my parents’ reaction would be if I went home with a boy from the army? I knew the answer of course: they’d kill me if I went home with a boy, let alone someone from the army. Then I pondered what life would be like if I had taken the Shazia route. But that would never happen, I told myself. Manchester was where I had always been ‘meant’ to be, the army was my choice. I suddenly realised that Dad and I were in the same army but fifty years apart – how strange was that? I imagined him dressed in khakis and wondered what wars he was involved in. Syria, Malaya … Burma?
* * *
Briggs gathered us under a shelter around a makeshift table with a map spread across it. ‘Listen in, lads; you will be dropped off within this area here. Enemy targets are here, here and here…’
I forced my eyes open, trying to focus on the blade of grass Briggs was pointing with on the map. Night exercises were a killer. Not only did it take twice as long to navigate in the dark but it was twice as dangerous. Recruits had been known to fall off hilltops that had been underestimated. But the worst part was the recruits themselves. Exhausted from a 5 a.m. start, the short fuses and aggression kicked in, testing our teamwork abilities.
I could see Sullivan out of the corner of my eye and wondered if we would be put in the same patrol. A part of me wanted to be because he was a good team player and a brilliant navigator. Unlike most of us, who relied on map-reading skills to pave our way, Sullivan would go by his senses and only bring out the map to check his bearings. He was a natural and the staff knew it; he just had to be careful not to get injured. Another part of me didn’t want to be put in his patrol. It might be awkward between us. What if the other lads picked up a vibe and then started spreading rumours? What if it gets back to Briggs? That would be terrible, not only for me and Sullivan, but also for the colonel. The staff could use it as a reason not to have any more girls coming through. I recalled hearing something about the navy and how girls were not allowed on submarines because they were seen as a distraction. Was this the same for women on the frontline? Would a lad feel the need to look after a female buddy more than a male buddy?
‘Sir,’ Digsby piped up.
I looked around remembering where I was and realised I’d probably missed the main part of the briefing.
‘What?’ Briggs looked irritated by the interruption.
‘What are the timings?’
Briggs let out a sigh and looked round at the rest of the recruits. ‘Lads, can we leave the stupid questions till the end?’ He turned back to the map. ‘The timings will be given last, like in all briefings.’
I glanced round at Digsby, who was now sheepishly staring down at the map. My eyes slid across to Lewis, stood beside him, and couldn’t help smiling as I noticed a perfect arch of mud across his back and right arm, remembering Sullivan’s comment about slipping near the shithouse with his weapon.
‘Wanna share the joke?’
I spun round to Briggs, who was looking straight at me, face deadpan.
My lips quivered but nothing came out.
‘You’ll be leading a patrol tonight,’ he said pointing the blade of grass at me. ‘That will sort your fat arse out.’
I wondered why he kept calling my bony bum that. Perhaps his wife had a fat arse and he didn’t have the heart to tell her.
Ten minutes later I was stood with my patrol, made up of some lads from ‘E’ Squadron, the Welsh crowd.
My map-reading skills were not great at the best of
times, let alone in the dark. Neither were my communication skills with this lot. God knows how they felt about me leading them out tonight but I couldn’t let their hostility cloud my thinking. Nor could I afford to show any signs of weakness, no matter what happened. I raised my heels off the ground a few inches to give me more height next to them.
A small van appeared from nowhere.
‘Get in,’ a mean-looking staff ordered us.
We all piled into the back, the door slammed closed, leaving us in complete darkness, then drove off. I couldn’t sense any of the others around or the terrain except that it was bumpy, hurting my bum on the cold metal flooring. It felt like we had been travelling an hour before the van stopped, then the doors opened to a dim light from the moon above. We grabbed our weapons and scurried out. I panicked as I couldn’t see anything or anyone. I tried to adjust my eyes to the darkness and eventually shapes of the landscape began to appear as the lights of the van came on and then faded away as it drove off.
The lads looked at me, waiting for instructions. I pulled my laminated map out from beneath my smock and switched my pen torch on, feeling them stepping closer and towering over me. My eyes bounced around the contour lines on the map, then out onto the landscape. We were stood around trying to figure out where we were and I had no idea. I checked my bearings with the compass then led the patrol into the darkness of the Brecon Beacons. At intervals we would stop, I would go out, do a recce of the area, then come back and brief the patrol on our next manoeuvre. We stopped at a point where the map indicated a forest but seemed like it had recently been cut down. This must be it, I thought.
Just at that point, Staff James appeared from nowhere and stood behind us listening in. I’d seen him earlier, following Briggs around. He reminded me of one those National Front lads who’d chase me when I was a kid, but an older version.
I tried to change my tone to sound more authoritative but it came out like a bag of nerves, then I headed out to do another recce, leaving my patrol behind.
I trod through the open ground, gripping the metal of my weapon tight. I wondered if Staff James was speaking to the rest of the patrol to see how I was leading, but he wouldn’t do that, I argued back, wondering if he was following me instead. I must be going the right way otherwise he wouldn’t be here.
I felt myself filling up with hope as I warmed up to this new role of leading a patrol. It made me more alert, I felt a sense of responsibility for my men and I was finally feeling like part of a team.
It must have been only 100 metres I walked before I suddenly felt like I was walking on air. Before I had time to figure out what was going on, my body suddenly plummeted down. I lost control of my arms and legs, a sudden rush of air hit my nostrils, then… splash! My whole body was immersed in cold water. The weight of my kit pulled me down deeper. I was sinking, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. I struggled with the straps of the Bergen but the weight pulled me deeper into the water. It was too late. I struggled a little while longer, then stopped. My mind closed down into a sleep.
A hand suddenly grabbed me roughly by the collar of my smock and pulled me up. The air hit my nostrils, water was stuck at the back of my throat making me choke and splutter loudly as I was dragged up a bank. My body felt too heavy to do anything but go with it. The water dripped off my crap hat and onto my face – somehow it had stayed on. All I could hear were lads’ voices around me shouting orders at each other. Somehow I managed to roll to one side then stand up, remembering where I was and what I was doing. But then something worse than drowning happened; I looked down at my hands then back up to the lads who followed my gaze. They knew what I was thinking.
I’d dropped my weapon in the river.
I was devastated and embarrassed because we all had to get in the river and find it – there was no way we could go back without it.
Twenty minutes later, my patrol and I were soaked, but I got my weapon back. I was livid, about to break down, but tried not to show it. I had no idea where the staff was but he had witnessed it all. It was over. I was going to be sent back to London.
The lads stood around me, hands on hips, seething, dripping wet. I gathered my thoughts because I still had to lead the patrol back.
‘OK, listen…’ I began.
They were listening alright, I imagined; they probably want to take this laminated map I was holding and ram it down my throat.
I gave the orders as best I could without looking at them, then we went on with me in front. We skirted around the river I had fallen in and across the mountains. It was getting late, we were all tired from the river drama and I was lost again, so we bashered up on a boggy marsh to get some kip. Nobody spoke to me but I was past caring; I just wanted to get back.
I tried to sleep but was too wet and cold so I walked around for a while until I could no longer stand up. My mind hit a wall, my body crumbled into a heap under a pine tree, my eyes closed and I was running through that forest again with the pack of wolves.
An hour later I woke up to three faces I didn’t want to see – the lads that pulled me out of the river. We got our kit together and began tabbing. Finally we reached the area, just before reveille.
Staff James was already back, waiting. He still had to debrief us.
‘’Ere they are,’ he said, standing with the rest of the training staff, watching our weary faces as we put our Bergens down. Briggs was amongst them and it was the first time I saw him smile, revealing a massive gap between his front two teeth.
I prayed it would just be a screaming, I could take that. It’s the other stuff I could do without, especially when we had an eight-mile run to do in less than an hour’s time. My shoulders were killing me after carrying a stupid radio that one of the lads had put in my Bergen en route. I could smell breakfast being cooked in the staff truck. Never in a million years could I imagine eating bacon or sausages, but the smell was making my mouth water.
I sat on top of my wet Bergen with my patrol, feeling miserable and shivering in my wet clothes as Staff James prattled on about the exercise, describing us as a bunch of losers.
I was only half listening. My mind wandered off to how I would be sent back to London. Would they do it tonight or first thing in the morning? Worse still, would they make me finish the weekend training before letting me go? The only other thing I could do was ask for my admin post back with Captain Wood, but that would be mortifying. How demoralising it would be to do paperwork for other girls coming through, while I sat there a failed candidate. Just the thought was making me well up.
‘And you, Ahmed … what the fuck was that!?’ Staff James’s eyes bulged with anger.
I looked at him, not knowing what to do. Inside I was broken into a thousand pieces.
‘You sounded like a drowning duck. You could have got your men killed with all that noise.’
My eyes prickled. I couldn’t believe my efforts had been dwindled to the image of a drowning duck. Was this what the last year of hell had all been about? Whether they would discharge me or not, I was ready to throw the towel in.
We were eventually dismissed so we all headed to the the area where the recruits were getting bashered up. They were getting ready for the morning run. I scanned around for Becky. I didn’t have time to put up my poncho and was going to ask Becky if I could share with her. Reluctantly I went behind a tree trunk, peeled off my wet clothes and changed into the dry kit which was in my wet Bergen. It turned out to be a useless exercise because, after the river, they were just as wet as the kit I was wearing.
I heard the recruits moving and went to join them, slinging the Bergen over my shoulders.
The run started up a muddy track congested with stones. There was lots of shouting by staff urging us to run faster. Sullivan ran up to me from behind. ‘Alright, Ahmed?’ he muttered under his breath. I guessed he had heard about last night’s ordeal by now. How kind of him to ask, I thought. He risked that split second of slowing down to do this when normally he was the dragon at the fr
ont. I wanted to turn to him and say something but instead stayed focused on the run. With that he was off like a shot, weaving through the lads up to the front.
I was falling back a lot further than usual. I’d managed to take a couple of painkillers to ease the pain from my hip, which seemed to be working, but mentally I’d hit a wall. I wanted to slow down even more. Taylor turned up from nowhere and stayed behind me. He was pushing me along with his usual aggressive comments. I worried that he may have caught Sullivan running with me earlier. I wanted to turn round and tell him to shut up but instead I widened my stride to get away from him.
Staff James was up at the front. He suddenly turned around and shouted something at the lads running alongside him. I didn’t catch what was said but three of them ran back down towards me.
‘Come on, lads,’ Taylor shouted as they approached us. They began running in line with me. ‘You get nothing until the last man is in.’
I thought back to the assault course and realised what was happening. Two of them grabbed an arm each and dragged me along while the third became a wall behind, setting the pace. My legs were forced to run faster than they could manage and their grip on my arms was pinching the skin so hard I wanted to scream out. Instead I repeated my mantra in my head: it’s only pain … it’s only pain.
By the time we finished, my sugar levels had hit rock bottom. I grabbed a dessert ration pack and wolfed it down with a couple of biscuits, watching the others light up the hexi burners and cook breakfast. I couldn’t think straight any more. I felt more like a casualty or someone who’d been tortured than a recruit on training.
Briggs suddenly came over, which was always scary, and told Becky and me to sort ourselves out as the colonel had arrived. By the look on his face I think it was a surprise to him too. The braids in my hair had come loose, causing strands to fall around my shoulders, which I’d scraped behind my ears; my uniform was muddy and wet but there wasn’t much I could do about that, and my weapon was still in a bad state.