Battle Lines

by Andy McNab

  ‘I must’ve fallen on the spare battery.’

  Dave looked at him. ‘We’ve only got one radio?’

  The signaller did not reply. He just looked miserable.

  ‘And what’s up with the battery? It’s supposed to last eight hours.’

  ‘I thought I put in a fresh one, Sarge … so either it’s knackered. Or I didn’t charge it properly.’

  ‘Well, let’s not go into that now, Goater. Are you sure the one in your Bergen won’t work?’

  ‘Yeah. See, with two batteries I thought I’d have sixteen hours. That’s more than enough coverage for this exercise and I’m already carrying a lot of kit, see.’

  ‘Yeah, I see,’ said Dave gravely. ‘I see we’ve got no fucking comms.’

  Goater looked at the ground. ‘Sorry, Sarge.’

  ‘Good thing it’s only training,’ said Dave.

  ‘It wouldn’t happen if we were operational.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it, Goater?’

  ‘We’d never be out in the middle of nowhere without comms in theatre, Sarge. Not ever.’

  The thought was a chilling one. ‘I hope you’re right,’ Dave said.

  Si Curtis had pulled his men in behind the boss. Corporal Aaron Baker had shouted 2 Section into line. Sol did not need to speak to 1 Section, because they had already fallen in neatly at the back of the file and now Dave slipped in behind them at the end of the march. Billy Finn dropped back.

  ‘Shit, Sarge!’ he hissed. ‘Have we lost comms?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘How far out of our way are we?’

  ‘You heard the boss. We’re right on course.’

  ‘Did you make a mistake, then?’

  ‘Seems I must have done.’ Dave’s voice was wooden. He was beginning to doubt himself. The commander was so confident of his map-reading skills that Dave feared he might have to apologize to the man. One thing was sure, he thought grimly: he wouldn’t be offering any further help.

  They did not pass the checkpoint in ten minutes, fifteen minutes or thirty. They were crossing open fields now and men pulled alongside each other and began to chatter in concerned undertones as they walked. The boss tabbed on at speed and without looking back. Dave had to admit that the man had stamina. He just hoped that everyone else had enough stamina to keep up because it was going to be a long night.

  After another hour, when they should have passed Checkpoint 2 and be well on the way to Checkpoint 3, Chalfont-Price stopped. Dave was relieved to see him get his map out. Danny Jones sidled up to Dave. ‘Go on, Sarge, take a look at the map and give him a bit of help or we’ll be out all fucking night.’

  Dave raised his eyebrows but did not make a move towards his map.

  Streaky Bacon from 1 Section looked miserable. ‘Oh man, just try to put us straight, Sarge.’

  Dave said: ‘I already did. About six kilometres ago.’

  ‘If he won’t listen to you, maybe I should try to help him?’ said Sol. ‘He can only bite my head off.’

  ‘What about us?’ suggested Andy Kirk and Gerry McKinley.

  ‘Too late. Looks like he’s already found someone.’

  The men watched as the officer beckoned 2 Section’s corporal, Aaron Baker.

  ‘Oh no!’ muttered Sol. Everyone liked Aaron but his map-reading skills were notorious. Once, during a night exercise on Salisbury Plain, he had ended up with all his men huddled by the London-bound carriageway of the M4. He was usually saved by GPS or the two men in his section who were outstanding with a map, Andy and Gerry.

  Aaron Baker pored obligingly over the map with the officer now. He was talking and nodding his head. Dave could not hear what he was saying but it was probably rubbish. It wasn’t that Aaron had no sense of direction. He had a sense of direction which was at least 180 degrees out.

  Gerry McKinley and Andy Kirk hung around looking frustrated and awkward.

  ‘If we’re a bit lost now, we’ll be fucking lost when Aaron’s finished,’ said Kirk.

  ‘Maybe the checkpoint’s on the M4. He can usually get us to the M4,’ said McKinley hopefully.

  ‘Go on, then,’ Dave told them as the debate between the boss and Aaron Baker went on and on. ‘You’d better offer.’

  He watched Gerry McKinley approach the officer gingerly, Kirk behind him, as though he was a big dog which might snap. After a brief pause the riflemen retreated rapidly. So the dog had snapped.

  ‘Well, now we’re well and truly fucked,’ said Finn, ‘if Aaron Baker’s finding our way home.’

  ‘Could end up in Essex or Scotland or anywhere really,’ agreed Mal.

  ‘Why do we have to go so fucking fast? If we slowed down we might not get lost or need to go so far,’ said Bacon.

  ‘I’m knackered,’ said Slindon.

  ‘I’m hot,’ said Binman.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ said Hemmings. ‘I ate all my rations before we even started.’

  ‘Have a fag, Big Man,’ Angry told him, handing him a roll-up.

  ‘No thanks, I hate fags.’

  ‘If you have one you can go for longer without food.’

  ‘Did someone say food?’ asked Danny Jones. ‘I am so fucking hungry. Give us some of your nuts, Sully.’

  O’Sullivan’s mouth froze mid-crunch and he shook his head and pulled his bag of peanuts protectively inside his webbing.

  ‘Keep your hands off my peanuts.’

  ‘It’s painful listening to you chewing,’ said Jonas. ‘Sounds like a zoo.’

  ‘Should have thought of that before you sold me your rations, mate,’ said O’Sullivan cheerfully. He loved peanuts and had bought up everyone’s rations before they had left Wiltshire.

  ‘I’ve got a bit of scoff,’ said Mal.

  ‘Yeah, me too. I’ll share it if you lot pay me back later, OK?’ said Bacon.

  As the discussions continued between Aaron and the boss, Dave finally decided that he should look at the map himself. The platoon commander had insulted him by ignoring his advice and asking a corporal instead. But almost thirty men were lost in the cold, with snow forecast. He should be ready to put things right if that twat Chalfont-Prick actually asked for help.

  It took him a few minutes to work out what had happened. They had followed a strange and tortuous route. They’d moved off east, which was correct, but they had gone too far and then veered south-east. The swing had continued until they were going due south. And then south-west. After that, due west. Then … Shit! They had been going around in a massive and ragged circle. However, he could also see that there was a road nearby which they could move along quickly and which would cut through all their mistakes and bring them to Checkpoint 4. True, they would have missed out all the earlier checkpoints and would be in trouble for that, but by now the training staff manning them would have given up and gone back to camp for a beer anyway, and at least the platoon would be on course and not too far behind time.

  Suddenly there was a roar. The commander had looked up from his map.

  ‘Just what do you think these men are doing, Sergeant?’

  You could ask them yourself, thought Dave. Except that would mean talking to them.

  Dave looked around at the men. Some were sitting on a wooden fence, others were on the ground, most were passing flasks or food around.

  ‘We’ve been tabbing hard across country, sir, and now they’re thirsty and hungry.’

  ‘This is a night extraction exercise, not a picnic! Get them back on their feet and ready to go within three minutes.’

  Dave said carefully: ‘Are you confident of the route now, sir?’

  Chalfont-Price threw him a contemptuous look.

  ‘Corporal Baker has been very helpful and we’ll shortly be arriving at Checkpoint 2. We’ve bypassed the first RV but that’s not too much of a problem.’

  Dave looked down at his map. There was no way they were within an hour, or even two, of Checkpoint 2.

  ‘Sir—’

  ‘Sergeant, get these men moving now. Corpora
l Baker and I have established our position.’

  ‘We are nowhere near Checkpoint 2, sir.’

  The small man inflated with anger, like a balloon which would soon be so full of air it would float away. ‘Sergeant Henley. We know what we are doing and we have no time to waste chatting about it. Now sort out these men.’

  Dave told the men to get back into file. They moved slowly. It took them a while to put away their food and drink and Chalfont-Price shouted twice at Dave to shout at the men to hurry up.

  Just before the platoon commander moved off, Dave decided to swallow his pride and offer help one more time.

  ‘Sir, if you look at the map—’

  But the officer was already walking away. He either did not listen or did not hear. Dave knew it was his job to make the young man hear. He knew that if this situation arose in theatre they could all die. He should run after Chalfont-Price’s retreating back and insist on showing him their position on the map. And if the officer had apologized or given some small indication that Dave had been right earlier, Dave would have done it. But Chalfont-Prick was an arrogant shit. So, thought Dave, fuck him.

  Chapter Eleven

  JENNY WOKE UP in the night. she didn’t look at the clock; she looked at her mobile, to check she hadn’t slept through a call from Dave. That was her waking routine when Dave was away and she had slipped back into it without even thinking about it because his absence was beginning to feel more normal than his presence these days.

  No missed call; 1 a.m.

  She gathered the covers more tightly around her and closed her eyes. Dave would be awake now; he had said that the platoon was on some kind of night exercise. He was probably loving it, especially if the snow had reached Wales. There was nothing Dave enjoyed more than stomping across a dark landscape, and the wilder the terrain and the weather the better.

  Snuffle, sob, wail from the next room. So that was what had woken her. She waited, to see if Jaime would go back to sleep.

  The crying stopped for a moment and then started again. Her body heavy, she dragged herself from the bed. She picked Jaime up out of her cot and the baby closed her eyes at once. In the other bed, Vicky slept soundly. Jenny wandered downstairs with Jaime, waiting for her to fall back to sleep.

  She pulled back the curtain and looked up the road. The window emitted cold. She rested her cheek against its hard, freezing surface. Outside, under the street lamps, she could see snow was still falling, and more heavily now. It had settled and the children would be excited to wake up to a white world in the morning.

  All the way down the street the houses were dark. It made you feel like the only person awake in the camp, in Wiltshire, in England, in the world. Then, suddenly, a light went on over at the Buckles. Leanne? Jenny thought of ringing her: occasionally, if the men were away, the women rang each other in the middle of the night if they saw a light on. Then she remembered that Steve had not gone to Brecon and he might be up tonight, clattering around on his metal leg. She didn’t want to talk to him at one in the morning. Sometimes he was too much these days and she didn’t want to talk to him at all. She thought Dave was crazy for helping him go back to Afghanistan.

  She sat down at the computer. She had forgotten to switch it off so, Jaime asleep in one arm, typing with the other hand, she opened her email.

  There was a message from the Appointments Agency. She remembered she had applied for a job with them. Which one? Was it the part-time hotel receptionist? Or the waitress for the busy deli? No, it was that other, strange ad which had asked for typing, simple accounting, organizational abilities and a helpful manner without saying exactly what the job was.

  She was invited to an interview. She remembered that the ad had contained a phrase she loved: Hours to suit. That might mean that the hours would be arranged to suit her, although more likely it meant to suit the employer.

  The interview was next Monday. Just when Dave was leaving for Afghanistan. But he would leave first thing in the morning and the interview was in the afternoon. She would ask Adi to take the children. She would need a bit of time to get herself looking smart. She glanced at the address again. Tinnington. She knew it was a village on the edge of the Plain; she had seen signs to it and would check the route before Monday. The interview was at Tinnington House. It was probably one of those country houses which had been taken over by IT companies and was full of dust and electrical leads. Did she want to work in IT? Did she care if it was hours to suit?

  She switched off the computer and carried Jaime upstairs, laying her carefully back down in her cot. She decided not to tell Dave about the interview. Although he had told her to earn some money if she wanted Vicky at the new nursery, he had not seemed enthusiastic when she told him she was applying for jobs. She didn’t want another row just when he was due to leave for theatre. It was better to wait and tell him if and when she was offered something.

  Dave had noticed how the stars were disappearing and the temperature was rising. He couldn’t see the clouds but he knew they must be there. He hoped they weren’t snow clouds. Then he felt the first flakes land on his nose, like tiny whispers of cold breath. He heard a small buzz pass through the line of men as they noticed. But the commander still did not pause.

  They tabbed on as the snow thickened. The flakes were so large and soft at first that they were unthreatening. They touched the ground and instantly disappeared. But gradually they turned small and hard and the world became white.

  Sol dropped back and walked alongside Dave.

  ‘Are we still going the wrong way?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Some of the men are flagging a bit. Tiny’s big but he’s not bulky and he’s not used to carrying kit around. Binman’s never good over a distance.’

  ‘It’s not just 1 Section,’ said Dave. ‘Fife nearly didn’t come to Brecon because he got some sort of a stomach bug and he’s struggling. And look at Gayle. He got a foot injury on Salisbury Plain and now he’s leaning on Senibua.’

  The snow intensified the moon’s light so that it was easy to see Gayle up ahead, his large frame walking unevenly. The top half of his body was leaning heavily to one side and each step looked an effort.

  ‘The boss is beasting us,’ said Sol. ‘We don’t need this just before a tour.’

  Suddenly there was a shout ahead and the file came to an abrupt halt. From the noise it seemed someone had fallen over. Tiny Hemmings and Gayle sat down gratefully in the snow. Their faces glistened with sweat.

  Gerry McKinley said to Gayle: ‘You OK, mate?’

  Gayle nodded but remained silent.

  Dave pushed up past the men to the commotion at the front. The platoon commander and the 3 Section medic were leaning over Corporal Si Curtis.

  ‘Shit, Si, what have you done?’ demanded Dave.

  ‘I’ve fucked up, Sarge.’

  Si’s face was distorted with pain and he was making no attempt to move. From his expression alone Dave was prepared to bet a bone was broken. Chalfont-Price was leaning over Si’s left ankle and when he looked up his face confirmed the diagnosis without him saying a word.

  ‘How did you do it?’

  ‘I tripped over a rock and my other foot went down a hole and I sort of fell this way and …’ Si breathed out pain and swallowed his words.

  Dave studied the ankle. It was so misshapen that he knew this was a bad break. They were far from camp or base, it was snowing, the men were tired, too tired to carry a casualty far, and they had no radios just when they needed an air evacuation. He relived in a fraction of a second the entire night’s events and saw his own foolishness. He had allowed the rudeness and arrogance of the young platoon commander to override the men’s welfare. He should have stood up to the idiot hours ago. And now this was the result.

  Si Curtis was saying something about Afghanistan and having to be all right for deployment but Dave ignored him. He ignored Chalfont-Price too, who was hanging over Si asking if he could keep walking by leaning on someone.

/>   ‘Everyone over here!’ Dave roared. Most of the men had already gathered around but now they formed one large group.

  ‘We need to get Curtis out.’ He was unfolding the map as he spoke. It was rapidly covered in snowflakes. ‘Which means we need some comms. Which means that someone here has to be brave in the face of danger, only the danger’s not the Taliban. It’s me.’

  They all stared at him. They waited while he studied the map.

  ‘OK. I know, because I know you, that at least one man here will have disobeyed orders tonight and brought his mobile phone. He’ll either have it because he forgot to take it out of his kit or because he couldn’t be bothered to or because he wanted to use it. I don’t care what the reason is. Right now, I don’t give a shit. I’m offering an amnesty. Produce your phone if you have one and I promise no reprisals.’

  There was a deathly silence.

  ‘Come on, I know I’m scary but let’s put Si Curtis first.’

  The silence continued.

  ‘No penalty, nothing written down, no one outside this platoon will know. Will the guy who disobeyed orders just get his fucking phone out now.’

  There was a slow shuffling at the back. That would be 1 Section. Dave felt mild surprise, but then he remembered Blue Balls Slindon. It had to be him. It just had to be. But to Dave’s astonishment Jack Binns stepped forward.

  ‘Here you are, Sarge.’

  Dave raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  ‘You, Binns, I never would have thought it!’

  ‘See, I was just—’ Binman’s face was a fire red.

  ‘Don’t bother to explain.’ Dave grabbed the phone. ‘The fact is you’re man enough to admit it.’

  ‘Well done, Binman,’ said a few voices.

  ‘Let’s hope it’s not the end of your fucking career,’ said a few more.

  Dave knew that the chances of finding a signal here were slim. But he knew where they were and it wasn’t nearly so far from civilization as most of the men assumed. When he switched on the phone there was one bar of signal. Thank God.

  He dialled Iain Kila. After a few rings it was picked up. The voice which answered had the uncertainty of someone who does not recognize the number.