by Harry Parker
*
One day BA5799 removed us and I was sliding up the magazine again. His thumb dragged me out and he added me to a row on a table. The table was covered with graffiti, and I rested in the groove of a cap badge that had been carved into its surface. He bent over me and the other rows of bullets on parade.
At the end of the table was a stripped-down rifle. He picked it up and started to clean it, pulling a string down its barrel and pushing a cloth into its breech. He leant back into a decaying sofa.
We were in a gap between two buildings, in the shade of a tarpaulin sagging over us. A board rested on the back of the sofa behind him, pinned with pictures of women and letters. A wooden sign was nailed in the corner. It said TWO WAY RANGE and pointed towards the gate of the camp, out across the yard trembling in the heat.
BA5799 picked up another piece of the weapon and flicked at the dust caught in its mechanism with a brush. A man looked over a partition at the end of the sofa. His hair was plastered down his forehead and he ducked to pour more water over his head with a bowl. Water ran over his mouth and he blew droplets of it out.
‘I need to do mine too,’ he said before dropping again to scoop up some water.
BA5799 peered into a weapon part, clicked the trigger forward and looked up from the sofa. ‘I had a stoppage.’
‘Never nice,’ the man said. He stepped from behind the partition, tucking a green towel around his waist. ‘Back in a sec.’
BA5799 reassembled the weapon, pressing bolts together and propping it against the end of the sofa.
The man came back wearing flip-flops and shorts and sat in a plastic garden chair across from him. ‘I needed that,’ he said, running his fingers through his hair. ‘When’s Six Platoon due back in?’
‘Not sure.’
‘I wish he’d get on with it.’
‘Should be any minute,’ BA5799 said and started to scrape carbon from a black cylinder.
‘God, it’s hot today. Take a shower and you’re pissing sweat two minutes later.’ He leant forward, grabbed a paper from a chair, opened it, then threw it back down. He looked around. ‘Do we know when the next helicopter’s scheduled?’
‘No news. Two, three days, maybe.’
‘Feels like they’ve forgotten all about us. I need some post. And these papers are two weeks out now.’
‘It’s busy up north,’ BA5799 said, then slid the cylinder onto the rifle and cleaned the magazines, blowing out the dust and wiping them down. He took a round from the table, twisted it through his fingers to remove dirt and pushed it back into its slot. ‘I heard they’re sending fresh on the next one.’
‘Who said that?’
‘One of the CQ staff.’
‘Well, it better be more than a couple of manky oranges,’ the man said, crossing his arms and leaning back on his plastic chair.
‘I quite enjoyed those,’ BA5799 said.
In the distance gunfire crackled. BA5799 held the bullet over the jaws of the magazine and looked at the other man. ‘Too far away?’
‘That has to be up in PB50’s area,’ the man said and they listened as the gunfire sounded again.
‘Definitely too far away,’ BA5799 said.
They relaxed. Two figures, translucent in the heat, crossed the camp above dark shadows. The man picked up the paper and then threw it down again, sighing. ‘Got anything to read?’ he said.
‘If you look under my bed there’s a few magazines. Got sent them last week.’
‘Dirty ones?’
‘Afraid not. They’re from my mum.’
BA5799 clipped each round away and the rows disappeared from the table.
Then a man dressed in his armour and carrying a weapon walked out of the vertical sunlight into the shade. He unclipped his helmet.
‘Move over, Dan,’ he said, pulling another chair into the shade and slumping down. ‘Getting hotter out there.’
‘Nothing?’ BA5799 said.
‘Few farmers beyond Lima Three Three, but they didn’t want to talk.’
‘Is that everyone in, then?’
‘Yup, shop’s shut for the day.’ He lifted his armour over his head and drank some water.
The three men talked as BA5799 cleaned and refilled another magazine. One of the men went out and came back with a bottle of shampoo.
‘Not more contraband, I hope, Dan?’
The man smiled and prised the blue lid off. He tipped it up and a small bottle of whiskey rolled out across the table, knocking apart the row I was in. ‘The girlfriend sent it,’ he said. ‘Want some?’
‘Sure, everyone’s back in,’ BA5799 said. He was on the final row, wiping down each round and then pressing us back into a magazine. A glass was placed down and brown liquid was poured. BA5799 was cleaning me and he picked up the glass with the same hand and I was next to his mouth as he drank. He forced a cough from his throat and smiled at the others. ‘Thanks, Dan.’
‘Not very much, I’m afraid.’
‘I’ve got more,’ BA5799 said.
‘You kept that quiet, Tom.’
‘I’ll just get it. Been saving it for a special occasion.’ He pressed me through the jaws of the magazine and I was back in the dark, zigzagging stack of rounds.
*
The next time I climbed up the magazine, the rifle bucked twice and then we were moving and the bottom of the magazine was crunching in the dirt. It fired again and I was below the dull metal of the weapon, pushed up by the spring and ready to work. We bucked again and the bolt carrier ejected my predecessor, recoiling to sweep me from the top of the magazine and ram me into the chamber.
Ahead, a small hole of light shone at the end of a silver right-hand spiral. The weapon wobbled, then steadied, and my cap was hit by the firing pin. My propellant charge ignited, burnt and split me in two, sending the front half down the barrel.
The weapon worked around me and extracted the empty part of me, which glinted as it fell onto the soil next to BA5799. He was in a line of men with his elbows pushed into the dust.
The other half of me accelerated down the spiral towards the light. The grooves of rifling melted into me, scarring my jacket and spinning me. I burst out of the barrel at 940 metres per second, away from the weapon with BA5799 tucked behind it, and his soldiers all firing and sweating beneath their helmets on the hill by the cemetery.
In an instant they vanished away behind me.
My trajectory was predetermined: gravity, atmospheric pressure, a gentle southerly wind and the world spinning on its axis, all acted on me. Friction heated me to 276 degrees as I ripped a silent hole through the air, building a centre of pressure in front of me. The constant bang I made trailed behind in a cone of noise and turbulence, spreading out to shock everything in my wake.
Many others were in motion around me, churning the air with kinetic energy. Some slapped past but most were ahead or behind and converging on our target. I flew in a flat arc towards my terminal event. An irrigation ditch flashed below me, and then another and another as the fields whipped brown, green, brown and then I was over the ruins of compounds.
The round that had been below me in the magazine was in the air now, following behind, its tip glowing red. Friction sapped my energy and my arc deepened as I started to drop.
My target was ahead but he pulled away and I silently passed him before my noise cracked against his eardrum.
I travelled to the far side of the derelict building, where I slammed into a mud wall. I dragged my shockwave in after me and it lifted flecks of stone and rock up in an explosion of pressure.
30
The room I was in looked over the garden. I wasn’t used much, only when guests came to stay.
Your father and brother stripped my mattress and twisted me through the door and down the stairs. They took me across a hall into a room that was used at Christmastime and smelled of fire and scented candles. I was positioned against the wall.
Your mother was there, moving tables and rearranging ornaments o
n the mantelpiece. The men helped her with the sheets and blankets and she plumped the pillows and pulled my duvet flat. She took a few things away and brought in some others.
Your father looked around and told her to stop fussing, then they went and I was on my own. The shadows of trees swayed across the windows that overlooked the garden and squares of sunlight tracked over the cream carpet.
A car crunched over the gravel drive and the dog barked with excitement. Your mother brought you in and you rolled up to me in your wheelchair.
‘Do you think this will be okay, Tom?’ she said as she put your bag on the sofa.
‘Of course, Mum, it’s great,’ you said.
‘How about a nice cup of tea?’
‘Great. Thanks,’ you said and hopped onto me, my springs bouncing under you. ‘You didn’t need to bring the TV in.’
‘We thought it would help, just for a bit. You don’t want to keep wheeling around the house.’
You pulled yourself up on me and looked at your phone and then around the room and thought about the last time you’d been in here. There had been ripped wrapping paper and a fire; your grandparents had been drinking sherry.
She came back with a tray, passed you a mug and sat at the end of me. ‘I hope it’s okay. We just thought it would be easier than trying to get upstairs.’
‘It’s fine, Mum.’
‘The occupational therapist inspected the house last week. She said this was the right thing to do. It won’t be ideal with the shower but we’ll have to make do.’
‘Mum, it’s great. It’s just good to be home,’ you said. ‘The garden looks nice.’
‘Your father’s been at it any chance he gets. You know what he’s like. He should be back soon,’ she said. ‘Biscuit?’
‘Thanks. And is David still coming?’
‘He should be back for supper. I’ve cooked your favourite.’
‘Thanks, Mum, I can’t wait. The food’s been okay but I’ve been looking forward to coming home.’
‘I thought we could drive up the hill to the woods if you wanted. Freddie needs a walk. You could sit in the car. I’ll just give him a quick run.’
‘Great.’
You left with her and struggled to push your chair across the thick carpet. When she asked if you needed a hand, you said you’d manage.
*
When you came back you were tired and pulled yourself into me and under my covers. You felt safe in me and you slept deeply.
Your father came and sat on the edge of me and turned to look down at your face. You seemed untroubled and stronger and he smiled. He placed his hand on your shoulder.
‘Tom,’ he said. ‘Would you like some food?’
You rolled onto your back, opened your eyes and stretched. ‘Hello, Dad.’ You smiled. ‘God, that was a nice kip.’
‘Do you want something to eat? It’s seven o’clock. David’s back.’
‘Sure.’
He pushed your chair closer and you transferred into it and followed him out. The sun set and it was dark. The garden was quiet but there was laughter from another room and the sound of family and food.
But when you came back you were drained and pale. You hauled yourself onto me and stared at the ceiling.
Your mother came in. ‘Are you okay, Tom?’ she said.
‘That was delicious, Mum. Thank you.’
‘I hope it wasn’t too much.’
‘No, I’m just tired. It was so great to be with you all. I started to feel a bit odd.’
‘In what way?’ She sat down on me.
‘Please, Mum, it’s nothing. I just need a good night’s sleep.’
‘I’ll go and get you a bowl,’ she said.
She came back with a blue plastic bowl and a flannel and put them on my covers. You pulled off your T-shirt and shorts and started to wash yourself.
‘I’m going to let Freddie out,’ she said.
You dunked the flannel in the bowl and wiped it under your armpits, then across the back of your neck, over your body and down around your stumps and groin.
Tears filled your eyes as you started to wash your face, and you wiped at them with the flannel. You leant forward and held your face in your hands. The flannel was pressing against it and water dripped onto my covers. You sobbed, the sadness overwhelming you, and your whole body heaved. You slapped your hand down on me with all your strength and grunted in frustration.
‘Stop it,’ you said, ‘for fuck’s sake, stop it,’ and pulled the flannel hard against your skin.
But sobs shook you and she came back in. ‘Tom?’ she said, then walked over and gently sat on the edge of me. ‘Oh, darling. It’s okay.’
‘Please, don’t,’ you said, but you were crying now and couldn’t fight through the tears to speak. ‘Please. I’m fine,’ you whispered.
You held the flannel to your face and cried into it. Your face creased up and your mouth pulled down with saliva strung across it.
Your father and brother came and sat next to her. Your whole family was on me.
‘I’m sorry,’ you said. ‘It’s pathetic.’
She put her hand on your shoulder. ‘Tom, don’t worry. This is normal.’
The three of them looked at you.
‘It was so nice tonight at supper, and I forgot all about it,’ you said. ‘It was just all of us together.’ A sob fought up through you and stopped you speaking and they waited. ‘It was so nice,’ you whispered, ‘being back here at home with everyone around the table. And I’d forgotten. But when I slipped at the table it suddenly reminded me of what’s happened.’ You sniffed. ‘I’ve been stuck in a hospital, in this weird existence. It’s all been so unreal and suddenly I’m here. And it is real. This is me.’
‘It will get better,’ she said, her face sad.
‘I’ve got no legs. That will never get better.’ You cried again and then spoke through the tears. ‘I used to go out that door and run up on the hills. And now I can hardly get across this carpet.’
You wept and covered your face with the flannel again and bent forward so your head was between your stumps.
‘Let it out, Tom,’ your father said. ‘You’ve got to go through this. If you didn’t, something would be wrong.’
‘It’s all wrong.’ You smiled at him and laughed through a moan. ‘It’s all wrong. I feel like I’ve been chosen for a main part I never wanted to play and everyone’s come to watch. They’re all watching me, looking to see what’s happened, what’s gone wrong. Half of them I don’t even know. I don’t want them to see. They should mind their own fucking business.’
‘People just care about you. About us,’ your brother said.
‘I know, David,’ you said. ‘But it’s such hard work. I can’t pretend it’s all okay. It’s too much effort. Oh, look at Tom, isn’t he doing well, poor thing – and then I have to live up to always doing well and getting better. What happens if I don’t?’
Your father laughed. ‘No one thinks it’s all okay, Tom. They’re rooting for you. And we’ll be here to help you through it.’
‘I’ll never run again, or dance or do anything normal – like help bring the shopping in.’
‘You never did that anyway,’ your brother said, and you all laughed despite the tears running down your face.
‘Well, I’ll probably still be more help than you, David,’ you said.
You sniffed away the tears and started to wipe the back of your neck again and your father gave you a toothbrush.
‘Thanks, Dad,’ you said and gave your mother the flannel.
‘We’re all in this together. People really do care.’
‘I know, I’m sorry. It’s bloody self-pity. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be so pathetic.’
‘You’re mourning a loss, Tom. I know it feels like you’re not the same,’ he said, moving closer up me and looking at you. ‘To us you are the same. We feel so lucky that it’s still you in there, that you’re still here. You might never run, or bring in the bloody shopping, but y
ou’ll – we’ll – get through this.’
You started to brush your teeth and closed your eyes and the tears had stopped.
‘I know, I was just being silly,’ you mouthed around the toothbrush.
‘It’s not silly at all,’ your mother said.
‘You’re the one at the centre of this and none of us can imagine what you’re going through,’ your father added.
‘You’re doing so well, all the doctors and physios are really pleased.’ Your mother held out a cup for you to spit into.
‘I know.’ You passed the cup back. ‘I suppose being back here, at home, just made everything seem so stark. I’ve been a sick person in a bed, with no legs, broken in hospital. Now I’m getting stronger, I’m becoming a normal person with no legs—’
‘It’ll take time,’ she said. ‘You’re getting better every day.’
‘—I’m back in the real world and I suddenly remember what I used to be able to do, what I might have achieved – and it feels like all that’s been taken away.’
‘You will still achieve,’ she said.
‘You’re determined, mate,’ your brother said. ‘There are so many things you can accomplish; it just may not be in the same ways.’
‘And we’re here to help you, Tom.’
The sobs still gripped you, but you all talked together and laughed. You felt lucky again.
‘I’m sure I’m fine, you should all go to bed,’ you said finally. ‘I feel much better for it. I needed a good blub. It’s hard in hospital with so many people around. And you don’t want to let the side down.’
They smiled, said goodnight and left. The pills didn’t let you dwell on it and you fell asleep, despite the nerve pain and the discomfort in your arm and all the thoughts in your head.
*
At dawn you woke and the drugs held you in a daze and made your eyelids heavy. The birds were singing and you reached for a bottle, manoeuvred yourself over the edge of me and urinated into it. You fell asleep again and dreamed of running. You were running through tents and the grass was long and made it hard but you needed to get to the school on time. Lines appeared on your legs, cut with an invisible scalpel, deep around your calves, and they were red and started to bleed down to your feet and made running harder. The lines became deeper but you managed to keep going and then there was no one to save.