“When can we expect to be reassigned, Sir?”
“Not before the reinforcements arrive,” Weston looked at Revar as if to check for permission to tell Zinner, “If you're looking to keep your men busy I suggest you have them familiarise themselves with the defences at Veruct and tactical plans in case of an enemy incursion.”
Zinner didn't need any more of a hint, he snapped to attention and saluted, “Yes, Sir!”
Weston returned the gesture, “Dismissed, Captain.”
Section 33
“Right, you horrible little bastards!” Keir shouted, “Tonight's exercise will be the most demanding, challenging and difficult assignment yet.”
Over the past few weeks Jackson, Lan and Nasim had gone through day after day of gruelling training. They had looked forward to a night off and the chance to relax in their billet and now Keir was going to quash their repose.
“No fucking way!” Jackson exclaimed, “You promised us this Saturday night off.”
Keir drew himself up to his full height and eyeballed Jackson. “That, Captain Jackson is insubordination. You do not question your superior officers; no matter what rank you hold in the navy I'm in charge of your ass down here!”
Keir looked at his watch, “Be dressed in appropriate gear for tonight’s mission and report to the motor pool by twenty one hundred hours. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Sir!” barked Lan and Jackson. Although Nasim had taken part in all the exercises he had never involved himself in the Military protocol.
“Now get a move on you have less than an hour to get ready,” shouted Keir.
All three of the new recruits started rummaging through their bergins for equipment.
“What the hell do you think you're doin'?” bellowed Keir.
All three looked at Keir, confused as to what they had done wrong.
“Get your civvies on, our mission is to assault as many bars in town as we can before these passes expire!” Keir said.
He tossed a set of base passes at the stunned group and left to get ready himself.
“What did you call this place?” Jackson shouted over the din. Lights throbbed on and off in time to the music blaring out over the dance floor.
“The Garden,” Keir screamed back to make himself heard.
“This is the best one so far,” Jackson's voice was becoming hoarse from the shouted conversations in the previous night-spots.
He took a mouthful of his drink to soothe his throat. It was the first time he had drunk alcohol since leaving Greda and his lack of practice was showing. This was only his third and he was already feeling the effects. Had this been back during his college days those three drinks would have been a warm up before leaving his flat, but enforced abstinence had robbed him of his tolerance.
There was a group of young girls standing near the dance floor. Overflowing with Dutch courage, he decided to make his move.
“Here, watch this,” he said as he passed his half-drunk beer to Lan.
“You want to join in?” Jackson asked Keir.
“I thought you were married!” said Keir.
“I'm just going for a dance. Now are you coming or what?”
“I wouldn't want to cramp your style,” Keir grinned.
He turned his attention to his other wards, Lan and Nasim. Nasim had refused to take alcohol and instead ordered a fruit juice. He was served with a sweet chemical concoction, which judging from his wide grin had met with his approval. The artificial taste was a novelty to him and Keir suspected he had sickened himself with it. Nasim was sitting quietly at their table with a queasy look on his face and a spaced out gaze. He looked more intoxicated than anyone.
Lan wasn't much company either, he just sat watching the bubbles rise in his bottle of beer, taking the occasional swig.
Keir turned his attention back to the dance floor where Jackson appeared to have gotten lucky. He was now thrashing his body around mimicking a man on fire. The girl opposite him reciprocated with a similar, if not more graceful, motion.
Nasim stood up, “I need to get outside.”
“Yeah, sure man,” Keir said sympathetically, “you look like you could do with some fresh air. Lan, when Jackson gets back, meet us outside at the jeep.”
“Fine,” said Lan.
The air was chilly compared to the night-club's sultry atmosphere. “Feeling better?” asked Keir as they walked back to the jeep.
Nasim just nodded.
The road was quiet, the bars wouldn't close for a few hours so most revellers were still inside drinking. When Keir had been here before the streets had been dotted with knots of drunks. Groups of people boisterously shouting at the night trying to prolong the merriment. Normally Keir would have been among them, shouting and singing at the top of his voice.
It was strange to be out so early and so sober, but that was the drawback of being chaperone.
“Was it something you drank?” Keir asked.
“Just all those people. I couldn't think straight. They were pressing in on me. I couldn't shut them all out.”
Keir fished out his keys, “We'll just sit in the jeep until Lan and Jackson catch up with us.”
A couple of young men, unkempt and unsavoury stepped into their path.
“Pal, give us some change,” said one of the men.
“Sorry mate, I don't have any on me,” Keir lied to get rid of the beggars.
“I don't think you were listening,” the first man spoke again as he pulled out a knife.
“We're not looking for trouble,” Keir raised his hands in front of his chest, palms towards the men in a submissive gesture.
“And there won't be any if you give us your wallet.”
Keir slowly pulled his wallet from his back pocket and started pulling the money out.
“Just give us the damn wallet!” snapped the second mugger.
“I'll give you the money but you can't have the wallet, it's got my base pass in it and all my I.D.”
“Fuckin' give it here!” the mugger with the knife barked as he lurched for the wallet.
Keir swiped the arm away blocking it with his left arm. He grabbed hold of the mugger's wrist and snapped it at an awkward angle to the mans arm. The mugger squealed and dropped the knife. With the same pressure on his attackers wrist Keir stepped into the lock and forced the man to the ground. Before the man knew what had happened he was on the pavement, face pressed hard against the concrete, unable to move.
The second mugger lunged at Keir but before he could strike Nasim stepped in the way. The pair squared up, watching for the first move.
The slight boyish frame of Nasim was no match in the mind of the burly mugger, so he thrust at the youth with his knife.
Nasim let forth a deafening yell as he threw a punch at the mugger.
Keir could have sworn that the blow fell short of its target, maybe in the dimly lit street he had been wrong? None the less the second man flew back and lay sprawled on his back.
“Glad to see you're feeling a bit better,” Keir said to Nasim.
“OK pal, fuck off before I let my friend have a go at you,” Keir kicked away the knife and released the terrified mugger.
Free of the grip, the man picked himself up and ran off down the street deserting his accomplice.
Keir checked over the unconscious body.
“He's out cold. That's some punch you've got there,” Keir eased the unconscious man into the recovery position, “What fighting style did you study?”
“It isn't a fighting style. It's more of a focus for your energy but it teaches you how to disrupt other people's auras. I learnt it to help my meditation.”
“Well, kid, I won't need reminding not to interrupt your meditation.”
Lan went to the bar for another drink. Behind him on the table he left a row of empty bottles, more casualties in his quest for oblivion. It was only when he stood up that he realised how close he was to his goal.
There seemed to be a time lag between his request fo
r movement and his body's compliance. He pushed his way through the oscillating crowd shouting, “Excuse me” every time he had to barge through a knot.
Then as he got to the bar he saw the unmistakable flash of blonde hair.
His breath stalled at the top of his chest and his stomach felt like it was falling. In his rib cage his heart pounded trying to escape like a dog taut on its leash. Standing at the bar her back to him Nicola stood laughing. The man she was flirting with tall and slim with short dark hair identical to Lans.
“Nicola?” Lan placed his hand on Nicolas bare shoulder.
Her skin felt soft and warm but unfamiliar. There was no spark of recollection.
The girl whipped round.
“What?” the girl looked blankly at Lan
“Nicola?” Lan looked at the girl’s features. She was attractive but her eyes were brown and her nose more angular than Nicolas.
“Hey buddy, what you after?” the girls male companion demanded.
“Nothing,” Lan let his hand drop from her shoulder, “My mistake.”
The girl turned back to her conversation.
Lan looked down at his hand. He could still fell the texture of the girl’s skin. He couldn’t explain how but it was wrong. It hadn’t felt like Nicola.
“I need more drink,” he told himself and stepped up to the bar.
A few moments later he was back at his table swigging on a fresh bottle.
From here he kept looking up at the bar to the blonde girl. The more he saw of her the less feasible it was he could have mistaken her for his ex. The way she moved, her posture, her skin tone. Even the hair was the wrong shade. But there was something about her that reminded him of Nicola, a nuance to her face, the sweep of her jawline, the rise of the cheek bone.
The more he looked the more he picked out subtle similarities, the tiniest glimmers that had fooled him for that miniscule moment.
Lan felt flushed, the adrenaline and the alcohol mingling with his disappointment. He reached out for his drink his hand trembling.
“What if it had been her?” Lan asked himself.
He didn’t have an answer.
Lan was deep in his own brooding when a young girl danced over to his table. She was youthful and although not stunning she was nevertheless attractive. Her outfit, Lan guessed from the other women around, was the height of fashion. He'd seen this look the year before in Euler, now it looked dated and cheap to him. It occurred to Lan what a state he must look in his scrounged civilian clothing. His borrowed black tee-shirt, a few sizes too small, clung to his chest straining against each movement of his muscles beneath. His khaki trousers were the opposite, baggy and overly long with turn-ups to stop him from tripping over. At least Lan hadn't chosen his attire, he was blameless in this fashion atrocity unlike the girl before him.
“My name's Meena, what's yours?” the girl asked.
“Lan.”
“You look out of place here.”
“I am.”
She looked despondent with the curt answers. She tried one last time to strike up a conversation, “What are you doing here?”
“Getting pissed,” for emphasis he took a long swig of his beer.
The girl gave up and walked off.
“Where have Keir and Nasim got to?” asked Jackson as he returned to the table.
“They went outside. Said that we should meet them at the jeep.”
“Oh,” said Jackson.
“I saw,” Lan corrected himself, “I thought I saw... never mind.”
Lan decide not to tell Jackson about mistaking the blonde at the bar for Nicola. It wouldn’t make any difference to the feeling he had in the pit of his stomach and it would be too much hard work to shout it out over the din of the night club.
“Look can we go,” asked Lan, “The shine’s kind of worn off this.”
Jackson nodded his agreement.
The journey back to the jeep had taken three times as long as it should have. The cold, night air had hit Lan smack in the face. The blow from such a formidable opponent had left him understandably fazed.
Lan was practically being dragged along by a slightly less drunk Jackson.
“I love you, Jackson,” Lan dribbled saliva down Jackson's collar to punctuate his sincerity, “I mean it! You're my best friend ever,”
“You could have turned me in, fucked me over good and proper ,” Lan paused for a gulp of air, “But you didn't.”
Jackson put a finger to his mouth, “Shh, don't blurt it out you could still get found out,”
Lan stopped dead and slapped a hand on Jackson's chest, “You didn't have to but you did and I... Well, thank you,”
With a nod Lan tried to bow but the weight of his head pulled him over so far off balance Jackson had to steady him.
Jackson hooked an arm around Lan and the two of them continued their stagger back to the jeep.
“You two have indeed reached a karmic level of intoxication,” laughed Keir on spotting the swaying pair.
Lan piped up, “You think we're bad! There's a guy back there asleep in the middle of the street! Now that's drunk!”
It was eight a.m. and the mess hall would stop serving food shortly. Everyone was up and dressed to get something to eat. Except Lan.
“Hey, projectile! Are you coming for breakfast?” Jackson hollered.
“Uurgh!” replied Lan.
Even that had been laboured. His gut was surprisingly knotted for being empty. There was a rich acrid taste of vomit in the back of his mouth. His short hair was caked to his head by some unknown substance and his muscles and head ached. All in all he felt dreadful.
In what seemed like no time at all his bunkmates noisily returned.
Jackson thrust out an object in Lan's direction.
“You might want this later, projectile,” Jackson said placing the sandwich on his locker.
Lan mumbled from within the safety of his sleeping bag, “What's with this projectile?”
“You don't remember?” said Nasim.
“Na, what I do?” slurred Lan.
Jackson was only too happy to retell the incident, “Well, we were half way back to the base when we were stopped at a check point. Keir passes over his credentials and one of the blokes pops off to confirm them. We quite happily chatted with the other guy until his pal gets back. He says we're fine and Keir goes to pull away.
“The jeep bounces as he puts it in gear and the jolt dislodges your dinner! Right down the front of the guy on guard duty.”
Nasim helpfully added, “It must have flew six or seven feet to have hit that guy,”
“And your aim was spot on too,” Jackson concurred.
“I don't remember any of that,” Lan said, “I remember my head was cold?”
“That's because I stuck it out the window. You were puking everywhere, it was the least messy solution.”
Keir entered the room and butted in, “Well I hope we all enjoyed last night because it's going to be a while before we get another one. That guard you threw up on has handed in a formal complaint about our behaviour. All our furlough privileges have been withdrawn for the next two months.”
“Two months',” Lan scratched at his matted hair, “sounds about right to recover from this hangover.”
“It makes no odds anyway,” Keir paused to let what he was about to say sink in, “we're shipping out to the front tomorrow.”
“Bad luck comes in threes,” Nasim prophesied.
“That's just superstitious nonsense,” quipped Jackson.
Lan's nostrils had taken hold of the smell coming from the warm greasy sandwich. His stomach did not appreciate this reminder and decided to show its disdain. Lan felt his stomach spasm and he tried to dash for the showers, but the instant he rose from his bed the floodgates opened.
There was a gagging noise from Lan followed shortly by a wet splosh as his vomit hit the floor. The force splattered droplets of sick into the air and onto his gathered friends.
“Well, that
's the three for today,” Keir said as he wiped a droplet from his cheek.
“Nasim,” said Jackson packing his kit, “We've got a bit of time before we have to leave, you don't fancy teaching me some of that, um...”
Jackson paused trying to find the right word but then couldn't, “stuff?”
“Yeah, sure. Just sit down and make yourself comfortable,” said Nasim.
Jackson sat at the head of his bunk with his legs crossed.
“Just close your eyes,” Nasim said softly, “I want you to relax your breathing.”
Jackson listened to Nasim's voice and started to relax.
Nasim continued, “Feel the pure clean air filling your lungs.
“Feel that pure air cleansing and relaxing your whole body with each breath.
“Feel how much more relaxed you become with each and every breath. Feel yourself sinking deeper and deeper. More and more relaxed,” Nasim spoke slowly in soft, warm tones.
Nasim could see Jackson's muscles relaxing and a calm sedate expression on his face.
“Imagine the dawn. See a warm clear sun rise over the horizon and feel its warmth against your face. As it rises you feel your mind become more and more relaxed. The higher it travels the more relaxed you become and you know that by the time it sets you'll be much more deeply relaxed than you have ever felt before.”
Nasim's voice slowed to match the pace of Jackson's breathing.
Jackson watched as the sun sank slowly beneath its imaginary horizon. Everything was dark and peaceful. In Jackson's mind it was a beautiful starlit night. It was like the clear night skies one would see from space.
“In your mind simply call out and ask if there is anyone there,” Nasim instructed.
Standing on this make-believe landscape Jackson looked up and shouted, “Is there anybody there?”
At first nothing happened but then he spotted some movement. One of the stars had fallen out of place and was moving towards him, growing larger as it came. It was an electric blue in colour and about the size of a man.
From the Torment of Dreams Page 26