The New Patrol

by Andy McNab

  Liam started to complain, but the stare the medic shot back stopped him dead.

  ‘You’re with 4 Rifles, right?’

  Liam, Clint and Martin nodded.

  ‘Then you’re leaving camp in a couple of days. The last thing anyone wants is you lot charging off into the thick of it, then collapsing during your first patrol. You’re all going to the medical centre.’

  ‘I always thought angels of mercy would have a sweeter edge to them,’ said Clint.

  ‘You’re seeing it,’ said the medic. ‘Now, all of you, up and out and fuck off over to the medical centre. Move!’

  Liam was on a bed and getting itchy with impatience.

  ‘I’m bloody well fine,’ he said, looking at Martin. ‘Why the hell am I still here? And, more to the point, why hang on to me and not you or Cowboy?’

  ‘Perhaps that medic fancies you?’ said Martin, grinning.

  ‘Ha fuckity ha,’ said Liam.

  It wasn’t just that he was impatient to get out, it was also that he was worried that some doctor was going to come along and say he couldn’t head out with the rest of the battalion.

  ‘I can’t stay here,’ he said. ‘I can’t. I need to get my stuff together. Replace anything that’s damaged from the mortar attack.’

  ‘You’re in for twenty-four hours,’ said Martin. ‘That’s it. And there’s only twelve left to go.’

  ‘What if I’m kept back?’ asked Liam. ‘What if I don’t get to come out with you lot and end up stuck here in Bastion for the rest of the tour? Then what?’

  ‘Doesn’t sound so bad,’ said Martin.

  ‘Sounds fucking horrific!’ said Liam. ‘I’d go mental!’ He slammed a fist down onto the bed.

  ‘Someone’s grumpy,’ came a voice from behind Martin, and in walked the medic who’d come to them after the explosion had smashed apart their quarters. Her name was Nicky Harper, and this was her third tour. Liam had already realized that she didn’t take any bullshit. It didn’t stop him moaning.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with me,’ he said. ‘I’m fine. It’s just some cuts and bruises. Let me go. I’ve got stuff to do!’

  The medic stood at the side of Liam’s bed. ‘So have I,’ she said. ‘And that includes making sure that the people I’m heading out into the badlands with are fit and well enough to be there in the first place and won’t just walk off and get themselves blown up, shot or captured. Got me?’

  Liam couldn’t help but like Nicky. She didn’t mess around, that was for sure. He’d also caught something in what she’d just said. ‘You’re coming with us?’ he asked. It was the first he’d heard about it.

  ‘Would I need your approval if I were?’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘Good,’ said Nicky. ‘So do me a favour: shut up and let me do my job.’

  She checked Liam over, but didn’t give anything away. ‘You were lucky,’ she said eventually. ‘All of you were. The mortar landed close, but most of the blast was directed elsewhere.’

  ‘Am I OK?’

  Nicky had a face on her a pro poker player would be proud of, thought Liam. ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘You need to calm down a little, bin the impatience to get out of here and into what’s out there. When I said you were lucky, I meant it. Some others didn’t fare so well.’

  Liam fell silent. Lying in his bed, his only occupying thought had been the fear of not heading out with the rest of 4 Rifles. He hadn’t really given a thought to what else had been going on.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked.

  ‘Four mortars were sent over the perimeter,’ Nicky explained. ‘One didn’t detonate, so the bomb disposal lads had some fun with that. I tell you, they were almost excited.’

  ‘And the other three?’ asked Martin.

  ‘You were one,’ said Nicky. ‘The other two caused considerably more damage.’ She fell quiet, stood up. ‘No one was killed,’ she said. ‘But a fair few were injured. And one lad is flying back home to sort out the mess that’s been made of his leg. He’s stable, but there’s only so much that can be done out here. If they don’t get him back ASAP, there’s a chance he’ll lose it.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Liam, because that was all he could say. He’d been too wrapped up in himself to give a moment’s thought to anyone else.

  ‘So like I said,’ continued Nicky, ‘don’t be in too much of a rush. You were lucky. Deal with that first. Then, when it’s time for you to leave, just do your job and do it well. It’s not a race or a competition. The only thing that matters is to go back home alive.’

  Nicky made to leave. As she neared the exit, Liam called after her, ‘Harper?’

  She turned.

  ‘Cheers,’ he said, and attempted a smile, but it fell from his face almost immediately, its brief appearance a moment of awkwardness he instantly wanted to forget.

  Nicky nodded, then was gone.

  ‘You’re in there,’ said Martin, leaning in, his voice the whisper of conspiracy.

  ‘Don’t be a twat,’ said Liam. ‘Didn’t you see?’

  ‘See what?’

  Liam raised his left hand, waggled a finger. ‘She’s married,’ he said.

  For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then Martin shook his head. ‘Poor bastard,’ he said. ‘Married to a bitch with a halo.’

  Liam wasn’t sure he agreed.

  At last, Liam was free to go. And it was Nicky who delivered the news.

  ‘Remember what I said: don’t go being all impatient when it comes to soldiering. You know that anyway, but I’m just making sure.’

  Liam swung off his bed as someone else walked in.

  ‘Fit to go then, Scott? Not taking the easy route and staying at Bastion while the rest of us head out?’ It was Corporal Cowell.

  ‘Yes, Corporal,’ said Liam, immediately wondering why he was getting a special visit. ‘Harper here says I’m fine, right?’

  Nicky nodded. ‘He’s good to go, Corporal.’

  Liam caught Cowell glance at Nicky, then snap his eyes away almost like he didn’t know where to look.

  ‘You all right, Corporal?’ asked Liam.

  ‘Yes, absolutely, why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘No reason.’

  ‘I’ve just come to check that you’ve heard about the politician.’

  Liam shook his head. ‘No one’s told me anything.’

  ‘That’s because I’ve only allowed Saunders in to visit you,’ said Nicky. ‘And he was under strict orders to worry you with nothing outside this room.’

  Again, Liam caught Cowell glancing over at the medic.

  ‘We’re having a visit from someone important,’ said Cowell. ‘And they’re turning up just before we’re due to head out, which is all we need.’

  ‘What does it matter?’ asked Liam.

  ‘It matters,’ said Cowell, ‘because everything needs to be perfect, or else we end up sending a politician back home thinking we can’t hack it out here. That then gets fed back to the press, twisted, fucked around with, and everything goes tits up.’

  ‘Spit and polish then,’ said Liam.

  ‘Beginning now,’ said Cowell. ‘As soon as you’re out, start getting your shit together. And start off by having a shower and a shave. You look like a bag of bollocks.’

  Without another word, not even a nod to Liam and Nicky, Cowell left.

  ‘He’s a bit weird, X-Factor,’ said Liam. ‘Can’t work him out.’

  ‘X-Factor?’ said Nicky, then smiled. A rare sight, thought Liam. ‘Oh, right, as in Simon Cowell!’

  ‘That, and the fact he’s also a prize bastard,’ said Liam, then added, ‘Did you see him, though? Why was he acting so weird?’

  ‘There’s a few like him left, I’m afraid,’ said Nicky. ‘Don’t like the idea of women being out in the thick of it, and most definitely not out in theatre. See it as a man’s job to be shot at.’

  ‘So you are joining us?’ Liam remembered Nicky mentioning it earlier but hadn’t known if she was be
ing serious or not.

  ‘Lieutenant Steers has requested a female medic.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ll be able to double up as a female searcher,’ said Nicky. ‘Just another way of building bridges and showing respect. Makes my life nice and interesting too.’

  Liam thought about this and about what Nicky had said about Cowell. ‘You know, there’s probably a load of folk back home who’d agree with the corporal,’ he said. ‘You know, about women being in theatre.’

  Nicky’s head snapped up, eyes burning a hole in Liam’s skull.

  ‘And you? What do you think?’

  Liam raised his hands in defence. ‘Go crazy,’ he said. ‘Join in the fun! Anyway, I’ve seen you work. I want you out there, just in case.’

  A flicker of another smile graced Nicky’s mouth. ‘You can always tell someone who’s already been out in theatre,’ she said. ‘And someone who hasn’t.’

  Liam knew she was talking about Cowell.

  ‘X-Factor will be fine,’ he said. ‘They wouldn’t send him out if he was crap, would they?’

  7

  With the arrival of the politician imminent, Bastion went crazy. If it moved, it was pinned down and reinforced. If it didn’t move, it was painted or polished. If you could drive it, then it was put in a nice neat line. Even the Apache helicopters. Not that they need to be in any sort of line, thought Liam, having seen them flying overhead every day since they’d arrived. They’re just cool, and they know it.

  After the mortar attack had gutted their quarters, Liam and the others had been moved to a new building. It looked no different from the last, not that Liam had expected it to. Bastion may have been huge, but it wouldn’t be winning design awards anytime soon.

  Liam was ironing all his clothes, hanging or folding them neatly away. They didn’t have the locker space afforded them back in the UK, and had to make do with canvas wardrobes and shelves that collapsed for ease of transport. But that wasn’t an excuse to let standards drop, or at least that was what they’d been told.

  ‘I thought I’d left all this shit behind when I finished my Phase 2,’ said Martin, buffing his boots to a blinding sheen. ‘What use is a shiny boot out here? Does anyone really care?’

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  Liam didn’t need to turn to see who it was: Corporal Cowell.

  ‘No, Corporal,’ Martin replied, his hand paused above his boots.

  ‘Don’t let my interruption stop you, Saunders,’ said Cowell. ‘And what was it you were saying about Phase 2?’

  ‘That it was the best time of his whole life,’ said Clint, clearly joining in to support Martin. ‘We all feel the same, don’t we, lads?’

  Everyone offered a brief acknowledgement, but Cowell was obviously not in the mood. ‘You trying to be a funny man?’ he asked, sidling up now to Clint. ‘Bit of a comedian, are we?’

  Liam had stopped ironing. Whatever was going to happen next was sure to be a whole lot more interesting. He’d already clocked that Cowell and Clint didn’t see eye-to-eye. Though he was surprised to see them both so open about it.

  ‘No, Corporal,’ said Clint. ‘Being in the army is a very serious business indeed.’

  Liam caught the hint of sarcasm, but Clint’s face was stony and gave nothing away to Cowell.

  ‘That’s good then,’ said Cowell, eyeing Clint hard, ‘because if I can’t trust you sad fucks to get even the basics right, to keep a place and yourselves clean, rather than turn everything into a shit tip, how do you think I’m going to feel?’

  No one said anything.

  Cowell leaned forward, his nose only millimetres away from Clint’s chin. ‘I asked how you think I’d feel?’ he said. ‘And it is not a rhetorical question. I want an answer.’

  Clint eventually said, ‘It’s all in the detail, Corporal.’

  ‘Too fucking right it is!’ Cowell spat back, the words out of him quicker than poison. ‘So how’s about we stop the complaining and belly-aching and give it some, eh?’

  Footsteps approached and Miller, with a smirk on his face, appeared behind Cowell.

  ‘Everything spick and span, lads?’

  ‘All good,’ Corporal Cowell replied.

  Miller nodded. ‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘Can’t show a politician grubby soldiers and muddy grenades now, can we? Might get the impression we don’t know how to look after ourselves.’

  Miller left. Cowell grinned.

  ‘Once you’ve finished whatever the fuck it is you’re doing, I want the floor matting up and the gravel underneath raked flat. Uneven floors are dangerous. And they look like crap.’

  Liam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘You want us to rake the floor?’

  ‘I’m sorry, is there an echo in here?’

  Liam said nothing more.

  ‘Didn’t think so,’ said Cowell. ‘See you later, lads, eh? Have fun.’ And he was gone.

  ‘They’ll have us polishing our fucking rounds next,’ said Ade. ‘Jobsworth bastards.’

  ‘You mean you’ve not done yours yet?’ asked Clint. ‘Shame on you, Sunter.’

  ‘It’s their job,’ said Liam. ‘It’s like Cowboy said, it’s all in the detail.’

  Ade snorted. ‘And what are you, Scott, X-Factor’s pet?’

  Liam knew arguing with Ade was pointless, so he went back to his ironing.

  It was early afternoon when the politician eventually arrived and was given the official guided tour – the one that didn’t include the shit pits and focused much more on the amazing resources, the state-of-the-art hospital, and the row upon row of shiny bits of hard-looking metal. Liam joined the rest of 4 Rifles, all standing at ease, out in front of some neatly placed helicopters and other impressive motorized transport.

  Grey clouds were high in the sky, doing little to combat the raging heat from the sun, and Liam hoped that whatever the politician was going to say, it would be quick, to the point, and over in a few minutes, so they could all get back to sorting their kit and prepping themselves mentally as well as physically. Preferably in the shade.

  The politician, a woman called Hilary Barton, stood behind a microphone in front of the troops. She was dressed in sand-coloured clothing, observed Liam, in some poor attempt to combat the heat, look smart, and to try and fit in. With her were the top brass of Camp Bastion and some not-inconspicuously-dressed bodyguards. Liam had heard that she was part of the Cabinet and had been sent over by the Prime Minister on a morale-boosting mission, though he was pretty sure that anything she did or said would make little if any difference to his morale. He got that from his mates, from the folk he’d be living with in the dust and grime of some Afghan compound, people he could trust to back him up in a firefight. And from the reliability of the weapons at his disposal. If he couldn’t depend on any of that, he might as well give up now.

  As Hilary Barton began to speak, Liam tuned out. He couldn’t quite hear her anyway, and he wasn’t overly bothered about what she was here to say. Instead, he spent a few minutes running over a few things in his mind: weapons drills, how to sort out a casualty, stripping and cleaning his SA80, how to handle a Gimpy . . .

  ‘ . . . role is no longer a case of taking the fight to the Taliban. We are here to work with the locals and to eventually hand over security to the Afghan National Army.’

  Liam’s ears pricked up. Perhaps what she was saying was relevant after all. He wouldn’t put money on it, though.

  ‘Courageous Restraint,’ continued the politician, ‘was a term coined some time ago and perhaps misinterpreted by some. But the motivation behind it, the reasoning, is still something we should all think about.’

  She paused, Liam assumed to add drama to what she was saying. What he didn’t like was that she sounded like she was about to start telling them about the ROE – Rules of Engagement. And that just didn’t seem right coming from a glorified office clerk. That stuff was down to generals, the ones running the operation who knew exactly what was going on. Not some vote
-grabber without a clue about anything.

  Barton spoke again, this time with renewed purpose, her voice pitched at a well-practised serious tone. ‘We must not be seen as a force looking for war, but instead looking for peace. We must not be judged by our willingness to open fire, but instead by our courage in holding off the trigger, and engaging in conversation.’

  Another pause. She was being clever, thought Liam. Without directly mentioning the ROE she was getting away with sounding like she was here just to give them all something to think about. It was dangerous ground. Soldiers didn’t like being told what to do by politicians, period, even if it was dressed up all fancy.

  Barton leaned forward, emphasizing her words with carefully rehearsed hand gestures. ‘We are here to help the Afghan people regain their lands, their lives, from the Taliban, and to do that we must show them that the only way forward is the path of tolerance, understanding and compromise. Then shall we all have peace.’

  The politician went on some more, but Liam was no longer listening. He was trying to compute what she’d just said. Because, to his mind, and remembering everything he’d experienced during his last tour, the concept of Courageous Restraint, however morally justified, sounded like complete and total bollocks.

  Not being able to fire back scared him shitless.

  8

  A while later, waiting to gather for a final get-together before heading out, Liam was sitting staring at his kit, all packed and ready to go. He was tempted to strip his weapon again to keep himself occupied, but resisted.

  ‘You’re quiet,’ said Clint.

  ‘Mmm,’ said Liam.

  ‘And talkative.’

  Liam apologized. ‘It’s what that woman was on about,’ he said. ‘Courageous Restraint sounds mental.’

  ‘She wasn’t advocating it,’ said Clint. ‘Just using it to support her views. Anyway, Courageous Restraint was binned back when that US general left theatre.’

  Liam stayed quiet.

  ‘You’ve read Card Alpha. That’s all you need to worry about.’