Rain

by Barney Campbell

  They drove into the barracks, where the boys were by the guardroom, hanging around a white minibus. He smiled as he saw them in their characteristic poses. Dusty was reading a book in front of the bus, GV and Jessie were smoking, and Trueman was making the others laugh. ‘Mum, come and meet them. I promise they won’t bite.’ Tom felt very proud that he was able to introduce Constance to the lads. As the car pulled up and he got out the boys started heckling him.

  ‘Oi oi, boss, what time do you call this?’

  ‘Aw, boss, no haircut? Standards, sir, standards.’ Then they saw Constance and instantly became more formal.

  Tom led her over, and cigarettes were stubbed out and clothes straightened as though they were getting ready to meet a general. ‘Well, Mum, here are the pirates I’ve told you about. Lads, this is my ma. The one who’s kept you all, and particularly you, Lance Corporal Miller, in chocolate brownies all tour.’

  The boys laughed politely but genuinely. Trueman was the first to break the ice and thrust his hand out to shake hers. One by one they did the same, and Tom was amused to see them all become paragons of clean language. He excused himself to go to the mess for his body armour and helmet, and when he came back, as he knew would be the case, he found that Constance had them all wrapped around her finger, telling them stories about him when he was young. He stood off for a moment and smiled at the scene. Then he went in to break it up, and they all laughed at him. After a few more minutes Trueman looked at his watch and said, ‘Sorry, boss, we’d better get a move on. Don’t want to miss the plane.’ He grinned at Constance. ‘Well, we do, but it ain’t really the done thing.’

  ‘Sure. Right fellas, let’s go,’ said Tom. As they got on the bus he turned to Constance for one final hug. ‘Bye, Mum. Get in the car now and go before we do. I promise you, it’ll be easier.’

  ‘OK, Tommy, OK.’ She wanted to make this as short as possible too. She extracted herself from the hug but then pulled him back one more time and whispered into his ear, ‘Take care, darling boy. I’m so proud of you all. Look after them, but look after yourself, please.’

  ‘I will. See you in a month. Just a month. I’ll hardly be away.’ She pulled away, blinking more than was natural, got into the car and drove out of the camp, leaving Tom waving after her. He turned to get on board. Jessie held his hand out and hauled him on, his eyes meeting Tom’s and saying all that needed to be said. And then they too left camp and headed to Brize.

  The helicopter came in low, skimming over compounds. Tom looked out the tailgate, gazing down at battlefields already famous in regimental lore as they flew over Eiger and then up Route Canterbury. They approached the DC, and the heli slowed, gained some height and then spiralled down to touch onto the HLS, and they ran out. Some infantry guys ran on to take their place, off for their own R & R, and the Chinook lifted off again, leaving 3 Troop in the warm mid-morning sun. They were exhausted after two days in transit: from Brize to Minhad in Dubai, up to KAF and then to Bastion, where they were hurried off the plane to pick up their rifles and then driven over to catch the heli. They had only just made it and cursed that they did; if they hadn’t they would have been able to spend a day in Bastion sorting themselves out and getting some kip. None of them felt ready to come straight back into the thick of things. Tom put his kit in the tent and went into the ops room. Frenchie, Jason and Jules pored over a map of the AO.

  ‘Well well well, look who it isn’t!’ Frenchie smiled, and Tom immediately felt back into the zone. ‘How was it? You look well, my boy.’

  ‘Gleaming, Frenchie, gleaming. Sorted me right out. Best two weeks ever.’

  ‘Welcome back to the suck, Tommy,’ said Jules.

  ‘Jarhead. Very nice.’

  ‘You know me. We’ve got some news for you.’

  ‘What about, Ops Box Republic?’

  Jules frowned. ‘How do you know about that? Who told you?’

  ‘Scotty did. I went to see him in Selly Oak.’

  Frenchie laughed. ‘So much for opsec. How is he?’

  ‘All right. High as a kite on morphine, but he told me all about what’s been happening to Pilgrim.’

  ‘Is he going to keep his arm?’

  ‘Oh yeah, definitely. Smashed up his collarbone but the docs say he’ll be back to normal in a few months. Lucky boy.’

  ‘Too right. Did he tell you about it?’

  ‘Bits of. Not all. What happened?’

  ‘When he got hit the sergeant major ran out to drag him out under a massive weight of fire. I was about fifty metres away when it happened. Bravest thing I’ve ever seen. I’m putting him up for a gong. With any luck he’ll get an MC.’

  ‘Awesome! Does he know?’

  ‘Don’t think so. As you can imagine he’s being fairly blasé about the whole thing, but the CO’s going to give it his full backing. Anyway, what did Scott tell you about Republic?’

  ‘Just that it was all kicking off. Bigger than Ben Hur.’

  Jules butted in. ‘You could say that. It’s been frantic up there. Pilgrim are getting smashed every time they go out the gate.’

  ‘And so?’

  ‘We’re going to sort it out. That’s where you come in.’

  ‘OK, hit me. Don’t beat around the bush, please. Am I on point?’

  Frenchie and Jules looked at each other as if debating who should break the news. Frenchie decided he would. ‘ ’Fraid so. The CO wanted our best troop, so I told him that the Chamberlain and Trueman show wouldn’t let him down.’ He watched the news sink in. ‘No pressure then.’

  Tom’s throat was dry, but his brain was racing. ‘Well, that’s um, flattering, Frenchie. Thanks. But we’ve only just got back in.’

  ‘Don’t worry; D-Day’s not for a week yet. Plenty of time to bed in. O Group in five days. We’re just doing shaping stuff at the mo and bidding for brigade assets.’

  Jules continued: ‘And we need a shedload of them – UAVs, Chinooks, Uglys, the works. Brigade are being OK about it.’

  ‘What do I do in the meantime?’

  ‘I imagine the sergeant major’s sorting Trueman out already. Your lads are going to get the Scimitars ready this week.’

  ‘I don’t like the sound of that – sounds like something else for me.’

  ‘You’re good, Tom. Just for three days or so you’re going to take over Scott’s troop. Sergeant Williams has D & V, and I don’t want Corporal McMaster to have to troop-lead; he’s too crow. So you’re on the Mastiffs, troop leading Two Zero till Willie’s better.’

  ‘Roger. Are we doing anything today? Please say no.’

  ‘No, low ops today. But tomorrow you’re going down to Eiger for an admin run. Milk run, just to ease you in.’

  ‘Where have I heard that before? Yeah, sure, of course. It’ll be good to get back into it. But I can kip today?’

  ‘Fill your boots, whatever floats your boat.’

  ‘I’d bite your arm off for it. I’m knackered.’

  Frenchie chuckled. ‘Then crack on, son.’ Tom went to leave, picked up his rifle and helmet and pulled away the hessian over the doorway. ‘Oh, Tom?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Nothing. Just it’s good to have you back, that’s all.’

  ‘Thanks. Can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s actually quite exciting to be back.’

  Jules replied, ‘There you go, mate, like I always said. You bloody love it out here.’

  The next day the Mastiffs went down to Eiger, carrying a replacement generator. A Squadron had managed to break another one. It was a clear run. They barma’d the usual VPs but came up with nothing. The whole of the AO’s focus had shifted to the north since Christmas; it was as though the troubles down south had never happened.

  Tom enjoyed being back amongst it and working with Scott’s troop. They were good lads, and their drills were immaculate. Their banter wasn’t as good as 3’s, but then they’d never had Trueman, and their sergeant, Williams, while solid and a decent soldier, was pretty dour. It took t
hem an hour, and when they got there he chatted with the A Squadron officers, swapping stories about R & R and hearing how since it had all started happening up in Jekyll their own contacts had completely dried up. They made a show of complaining about it, but he could see relief etched into their faces. They themselves only had five weeks to go and were clearly content to moan about a lack of action while actually revelling in it. He didn’t blame them.

  At the front of the PB was the same soldier Tom had talked to on Christmas Eve, standing before the red and white corrugated iron gate. It was dirty, and riddled with bullet holes that the sun sent shafts of light through on to its shadow. Borrowby was wearing lance corporal rank now. ‘Congratulations, Corporal Borrowby; when did you pick up?’

  ‘Cheers, sir, about a month ago. The boss did it out on the ground. On patrol, he came up to me, told me I was going to be charged for being improperly dressed and then tossed me the rank slide. It was a good crack, actually.’

  ‘Well done. How are things here?’

  ‘Same old. A bit quieter than last time you were down, sir, but I ain’t complaining about that. I’ve had enough contacts to last me a lifetime to be honest.’

  ‘How are those two little kids?’

  ‘What, Jack and Jill? That’s what we used to call ’em. Yeah, they were good crack.’

  ‘Do they not still come down?’

  ‘Nah. Fucking sick, sir. About three weeks ago, like, we hadn’t seen the girl for ages, just the lad. So we asked the locals what had happened to her.’ He looked away into the distance.

  Tom could guess what he was about to say. ‘Go on.’

  ‘She got married to some bloke in a village ten miles to the south. Arranged by her parents. She was taken off and given to him. She was only thirteen. Sick, sir. Fucking sick.’

  ‘Christ.’

  ‘What are we doing out here? These people are barbarians, sir, you know?’

  ‘Well, we can’t judge, Corporal. It’s their culture, and they’ve got their way of doing things.’ Even as he said the words he realized they sounded idiotic.

  ‘Fuck off, sir; we don’t have to swallow all that cultural bollocks. We can still judge by our own standards. If that kind of shit happened back home, back in my town, some pervert raping a girl like that, he’d get his balls cut off, no questions asked. It just ain’t right, sir, it just ain’t right.’

  Tom made no reply as they stood there, lost in their lonely thoughts. What kind of reality is this? What are we doing here?

  Borrowby coughed, shook off his anger and asked Tom politely, ‘How was leave then? Heard you guys were away.’

  Tom was grateful for the new conversation. ‘Awesome, thanks, really awesome. You had yours yet?’

  ‘Yeah, but it was shit. Over the New Year. Went home and me missus had been shagging some other fella from Aldershot. Some electrician. So we split up. We had this blazin’ row and it’s all over.’

  ‘Jesus. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Fuck it, sir.’ He grinned sadly. ‘More fish in the sea, all that crap. And then when I got back here I discovered about Ransome.’

  ‘He your mate?’

  ‘Yeah, joined up together. Been mates since the off.’

  ‘I saw him in Selly Oak last week.’

  Borrowby’s eyes lit up. ‘Did you? How is he?’

  Tom didn’t reply immediately. ‘He’s … doing OK. He’s bloody brave. But I’m afraid what’s done is done. He’s going to have a long hard struggle for the rest of his life.’

  ‘But he’s cheerful, is he?’ Borrowby looked at him as if desperately needing reassurance.

  ‘Yes. Yes, he’s cheerful. But he’s going to need a lot of support.’

  Tom thought back to Ward S4 and his ghastly journey through it, and was quiet for a few moments.

  Again Borrowby broke the silence: ‘I dunno how those boys do it, to be honest. We’ve got this thing down here, some of the lads. This informal pact thing that if one of us gets fucked, like truly fucked, then we’re just going to pump him full of morphine so he dies of an overdose. Better that than what comes after.’

  ‘No. No, I don’t agree with that.’

  ‘Come on, sir; better than a lifetime of shit.’

  ‘No. Honestly, maybe a couple of months ago I’d have agreed with you. It’s a valid view. But, personally, since I was in that hospital, I disagree. It was horrible there, but it made me realize that what you have is so precious that if there is a tiny chance to save a life and keep it going, it has to be taken. I don’t expect you to agree with me. That’s just the way I see it.’

  ‘But what if you’ve had your balls blown off?’

  ‘Even then, I think.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. And anyway it’d be cheaper.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Well you wouldn’t have to bother taking girls on dates.’

  Borrowby smiled. ‘Fair one. Boss, that’s your guys hot to trot.’

  Tom looked over and saw 2 Troop milling around the Mastiffs. He held out his hand. ‘Well, good to see you again, Corporal Borrowby. And congratulations.’

  They shook. ‘Cheers, sir. Will I see you boys again?’

  ‘Dunno. We’re back to Bastion in about three weeks, and I think most of the time till then we’re going to be up north.’

  ‘On this mental op?’

  ‘Yeah. You heard about it?’

  Borrowby grinned and lit a cigarette. ‘Too right. Sounds like the circus is in town for that one. Clown cars, lion tamers, the works. Sounds Mickey Mouse to be honest.’

  ‘I’m inclined to agree.’

  ‘Take care, sir. It’s too late on for any funny business now.’

  ‘I don’t know about that. Always room for funny business. Remember, if you can’t take the joke, Corporal Borrowby, what shouldn’t you have done?’

  Borrowby’s creased and dusty face grinned back through the smoke from his cigarette. ‘Shouldn’t have joined, sir. Shouldn’t have joined.’ Tom jogged off, hopped onto his Mastiff and the troop rolled back out northwards, leaving Borrowby at the gate like a statue, like he had always been there, like he was always going to be there.

  Through the week the tempo picked up. Sergeant Williams got better, and Tom was able to rejoin 3 Troop. Newcastle became crowded as platoons and sections were stripped away from across the AO and formed into composite units for the op. D-Day was Tuesday. Full orders would take place on Sunday in Newcastle, and on Monday they would leave Newcastle and forward-mount around Jekyll for the next day’s drive. They were going in with sledgehammer force.

  The company at Jekyll, the Pilgrim callsigns which had fought so hard throughout the month, were to be the lead sub-unit. In support of them they had two companies of ANA under the supervision of the OMLT. Two troops from C Squadron, Clive’s and Henry’s, were on their feet under Frenchie, with a platoon of US Marines also under him. BG Tac were coming out; Sergeant Williams commanded the Mastiff troop and 3 Troop were in their Scimitars as intimate support for the infantry. They also had a REST from Bastion with one of the best ATOs in theatre heading it up. Even the mortars from Eiger came up for it. They had lorries loaded with Hesco, and diggers from the engineers, who would build the new patrol base.

  The force had two and a half miles of the town to push through, which would take about three days, BGHQ thought. Int said there were forty or fifty Taliban in the area. The plan was simple: to push north, clear and destroy all enemy in boundaries until they reached the edge of the town and then establish a new patrol base. The town had round-the-clock UAV surveillance to watch for any IED activity. Opsec had gone out the window. With such heavy ANA involvement it was a foregone conclusion that most of the details would be leaked, but the CO didn’t mind. He wanted the Taliban to know they were coming, to intimidate them into leaving. Better that than they stayed and fought. But the downside was that the Talibs had had weeks to prepare defensive positions, and weeks to guess approaches through the town.

&nb
sp; The operation had been calculated with two things in mind. First, it would provide a real buffer to the north of the brigade’s entire area and make it impossible for the Taliban to infiltrate down into the town. Second, and more immediately, it would be a massive and emphatic show of strength, a chance to show that ISAF ruled the town, no questions asked. For that reason, and unlike the assault through Shah Kalay, there was to be no cut-off force to the north. The CO wanted the Taliban to be able to escape if they wanted to, and, even better, to be seen to be running.

  Every day helicopters arrived with more supplies: more artillery shells, mortar shells, 30 mil ammunition, ladders, water, all in great underslung loads. One box was being carried off a heli and the soldier carrying it tripped and the box burst, spilling pristine bodybags out onto the ground. The humour became even darker than usual. The Scimitars heaved with water and ammunition, Trueman making sure every available space was filled with HE, gimpy link, schmoolies, LASMs. Even before the big O Group, bergens and daysacks were already packed. Link, extra tourniquets and FFDs filled every pouch. Every GPS, every torch, every head torch had new batteries inside, and spares taped to it. Marker pens renewed faded and dusty Zap numbers and blood groups written on body armour and trouser legs. Everyone carried spare batteries for the Vallons. Their operators, almost surgically attached to them, let no one near the detectors, recognizing by now every single variation in the tones of their beeps. Everybody knew that while grenades, rifles and gimpys would win the fight, the Vallons would determine its cost.