Hung (18 page)

"
E
cho Company
, Echo Company, come in," I hear Tommy scream into the receiver to my left. I cling on to the M4 carbine clipped to my bullet-proof vest like it's my ticket out of here, releasing the magazine an inch or two to check it’s fully loaded.

I
know it is
, but it's a ritual, a routine, a way of taking my mind off the fact that there are men firing at me, men that want to kill me – and my dog.

I
put
my hand on Jake's back, pressing it in so that he doesn't panic and stand up. "There boy," I say in a soothing tone of voice. "Help's on its way." He can't understand what I'm saying, but we've been together since I graduated boot camp, and he knows me better than I know myself. My low voice seems to soothe him, and it's nice to have someone to concentrate on, so I keep going. I can feel him trembling, the uncontrollable, terrified movements reverberating up through my arm.

"
E
cho Company
, Echo Company, come in," I hear Tommy repeat into the handset beside me.

"
W
hat's going on
?" I ask calmly, feeling adrenaline flooding through my system and calming me down, preparing me for the inevitable fight. "Aren't they answering?"

"
I
'm just getting static
," he says as the bullets keep pinging into the soil around us. I clap him on the shoulder to let him know that I'm moving behind him. "Keep trying," I say loudly. "I'm going to lay down some fire." I move towards the squad machine gun mounted at the front of the watch post, knowing that from this altitude I should be able to lay down fire into the whole valley. I reach it, flick off the safety and fire blind downhill, the gun's thunderous kickback luckily being absorbed into its tripod, rather than my arms.

"
E
cho Company
, Echo Company, this is Echo Foxtrot, come in. We're taking fire from down in the valley, and I think there might be a flanking action. Echo Company, repeat, we're taking fire from all sides."

"
A
ny luck
?" I pant, feeding in another ammunition belt. "Maybe, I dunno," he says, pointing down at the green metal of the radio housing, and I notice that at some point it’s been winged by a bullet. "I think there's a chance they might be receiving this, but I'm definitely not getting anything back."

I
lay
down another round of weapons fire. "Come here," I bark at Tommy, feeling a natural, comfortable aura of authority beginning to emanate from me ever more strongly the longer this fight goes on. "When I stop firing, I need you to fire your entire magazine. I don't care what you hit, just do it – on automatic, okay?"

H
e runs
the short distance that separates us, crouching down, and nods.

"
G
ot it
, Mike."

I
pull
the trigger back again, watch the yard-long eruptions of flame jumping from the barrel, the odd streak of light as a tracer round shoots off into the valley. "On three," I shout, seeing the ammunition belt is almost empty.

"
O
ne
."

"
T
wo
."

I
fire
the last few rounds one-handed, grabbing my carbine with the other.

"
T
hree
!" I scream, picking up my weapon and nestling it in my shoulder all in one motion, feeling the hard, warm metal against my chin as I rest my head on the stock of the rifle. Beside me, Tommy is standing up, firing his rifle on full automatic. I'm not shooting, not yet at least – I need to take a look at what we're facing.

I
scan
the rocky mountainside below us, not using my scope yet, just looking for movement – and I see it. The valley below us is crawling with activity, dozens of men only a few hundred yards away from us now, mostly crouching down to avoid getting hit or running for cover.

"
W
hat do you see
?" I hear Tommy scream over the din his rifle's making. I don't reply, just look right and left.

I
was right
, there are Taliban coming from each direction, not so many as from down in the valley directly below, but far too many for just Tommy and I to fight, no matter how good we are. I know Tommy is coming to the end of this magazine, so I rest my chin back down my weapon, line my eye up with the scope, and take careful aim. I don't have much time.

A
round me
, everything slows to a crawl. The explosions, the bullet impacts, the screams from the injured below – I don't notice any of it. I line up a target in the scope, time my movements with my breathing, and pull the trigger. The man falls to the ground, deathly injured. I know that Tommy's stopped firing; I can't hear anything to the right of me. I haven't got long. I swivel my rifle to the right, picking out the insurgent closest to our pitiful little outpost, I exhale, I fire, he drops, I drop, clutching my arrival to my chest and leaning back against the sandbags, the world suddenly returning to full speed.

"
A
re you fucking crazy
?" Tommy screams. "You get down when I stop firing, okay? We're going to make it out of this."

H
is bravado can't change
the truth; I know we're not. "How many did you see?" he asks. "I couldn't see what I was shooting at – too much dust."

"
T
oo many
," I gasp. "If they don't come soon, we don't stand a chance." I reach out for my sidearm, gripping the stock firmly in my hand. It feels like an old friend.

"
D
on't let
them take me alive, okay?" I say, completely seriously.

I
don't mind dying
, I've known that that was more than likely to happen ever since I arrived in this godforsaken country – but being taken alive by the Taliban would be a fate worse than death.

T
ommy looks serious
. I don't like seeing him like this, he's usually a boisterous, effervescent ball of life.

"
O
kay
, brother. You'll do the same for me?" he asks quietly, and yet, strangely enough, I can hear him perfectly over the cacophony of the raging battle. I nod. I don't need to say anything else. And then, a humming sound fills the air.

"
Y
ou hear that
?" Tommy screams in elation. "I think it's the god damn air force!"

"
I
can't hear a thing
," I shout back, clicking a new magazine into my M4. It's true, but that doesn't mean a plane's not overhead, it's just that I've gone partially deaf from firing hundreds of fucking bullets into this valley.

"
Y
ou ready to do that
routine again?" I shout over the din. Tommy nods. "Let's mix it up this time," I say, grinning with morbid humor, unclipping two grenades from my belt and tossing one to Tommy.

"
I
like your style
." He grins back, and we pull the pins at the same time, count to five, and then lob them as far as we can downhill.

"
I
'm running low
," Tommy warns, but we need to keep up the covering fire and force the Taliban to stop approaching, at least until we get some help, so I just acknowledge the statement with a grunt.

"
I
'm out
," Tommy informs me next, dropping to his knees to reload and shelter. My machine gun is, too, so I switch to the carbine. I'm not aiming my shots now, not really, just firing madly downhill. I can see the barrel of my gun actually steaming, burning off whatever little vapor there is in this dry air. I see a glint in the distance, sun shining off something, but I don't have the time to look up – it could be a plane, or it could just be a vulture prowling for its next meal. After today, it's not going to struggle.

“
I
'm out
," I echo, dropping to my knees. Like a well choreographed dance routine, Tommy rises just as I fall, and it's my turn to reload. I grab the magazine from my waist, I eject the last one, I slammed the new one home, I pull back the slide, I get ready to stand.

"
F
uck
."

I
t’s just
one short word, but it's one that will change my life. I look left and I see Tommy standing with a shocked, uncomprehending look on his face, and I watch as his weapon drops to the floor and a crater of red balloons outwards, almost like someone has dropped a can of paint on his chest.

I
crawl over to him
, and Jake's already there – he knows something's wrong. He's licking Tommy's face, whining in a way I've never heard before; it's a terrible, keening, howling sound that I hope I'll never hear again. It's the sound of death.

"
O
h
, fucking hell, Tommy, how you doing buddy?" I say, plastering a smile on my face, but knowing it's not fooling anyone. He's covered in blood, and I press my hands down on the worst wound – the one on his chest, but there's blood pouring out from his shoulder and his leg, and I didn't even see but there's blood coming from his stomach now and I can't stop it. I feel like my thoughts are scrambled, like I don’t know who or what I am anymore.

"
I
'm dying
, Mike. Get out of here," Tommy croaks, his voice gurgling through the blood now pouring down his throat. I know he doesn't have long.

"
I
'm not going anywhere
, Tommy," I say, holding his hand, squeezing it tightly, trying to comfort him.

I
t doesn't matter
– he sighs once, and then he's gone. It's not like in the movies, there's no long, drawn out death – one moment the life is in his eyes, the next it's gone, and all that is left behind is a sense of overwhelming loss. Jake's there, just licking his face frantically, and the sight breaks my heart.

I
roar
, a frightful, unhinged sound, and I stand up, and I don't see people or bullets coming towards me. I just see a red mist of anger and sadness and loss and I depress the trigger and I feel the gun bucking into my shoulder. The pain feels good, and I keep the trigger pulled back; it feels like a bronco is kicking my shoulder and then, just like that, it's all over. The magazine's empty, and I'm just standing there in the open.

A
nd then I
feel a stinging in my thigh, as though an insect has bitten me, and within seconds I realize that it wasn't an insect, because now it feels like a hot rod of burning steel has been plunged into my leg to cool off, and I fall to my knees with shock. Now Jake's come to me, he's licking
my
face, and I know it's the end.

I
'm on my back
, I don't know how that happened, but I can see my leg and it's covered in blood. I put one hand on it, compressing the wound, and Jake's lying on me now, so I hug him, whimpering into my chest.

A
n explosion
. I don't know where it came from, but I feel a scorching, buffeting wind all over me, there's sand flying in every direction and I hear the heavy
whomp whomp
of rotating helicopter blades above me and I close my eyes – the last thing I see is something glinting in the sun, and Katie’s face in my mind, and then it fades to black.

C
hapter Two - Katie

"
I
feel
like I've put on ten pounds since we got here," I say, pouting at Sophie. "Whoever thought they'd build a Pizza Hut out here in the desert…"

I
pick
up another slice and wave it under my nose, teasing myself. At least, that’s what I’m trying to do – but as soon as the scent reaches my nostrils, I recoil and a dizzying wave of nausea overcomes me, sending my head spinning and my stomach turning. I drop the slice back onto the table and lean back, sucking in a huge breath of air.

"
I
know what you mean
," Sophie agrees.

"
I
t wouldn't be so
bad if there was something – anything – else to do, but I feel like all I ever do these days is come here. I'm happy – time for pizza! Oh no, now I'm sad – time for pizza," I say, still puzzling over why I suddenly feel so ill.
Surely my blood sugar isn’t low – I had a pretty good breakfast…

"
I
know
, right," I say. "Couldn't they build a movie theater here or something? I swear I heard someone talking about it…"

"
Y
ou've been here what
, nine months?" Sophie asks me with an amused look on her face. "I've been here three times – I'm coming up on three years in country now, and you know what?"