Out in the Army: My Life as a Gay Soldier (19 page)

Personally, my longing for my boyfriend back home in the UK and the opportunity to call my family without being under
pressure
to get off the phone and give someone else the chance to use it was increasing by the hour. As the days decreased until our flights out of Iraq, the tension among us increased. It seemed to me that every time a rocket came into the COB, they’d each get nearer and nearer to where I was taking cover. I thought my luck was slowly running out and that I may never get to see Thom and my family again.

There was one significant task left to complete before
heading
back to the UK for R&R: the withdrawal from the desert.
Unfortunately it wouldn’t be as simple as just getting on a
chopper
and flying everyone out of there. We had millions of pounds’ worth of equipment sitting up in the desert that all needed
careful
extraction. A huge plan was drawn up and the entire squadron was flown out to the desert to ensure maximum effectiveness.

The plan was to move the battle group south-west towards the large town of Nasiriyah, where the Australian forces had an airbase. Our equipment was to be left there to be collected at a later date and we were to be flown back to Basra on a Hercules. The task was huge and as our large convoy slowly meandered its way through the dusty roads of southern Iraq, problem after problem hindered our painful move until we came grinding to a great halt. The endless hours of driving coupled with the dry
dusty environment we were ploughing our vehicles through just proved too much of a match for our efforts. People were having accidents due to their fatigue and trucks were breaking down constantly. The move seemed to take forever and, at one point, I thought the task was just too much to ask, but in great British style we eventually turned up at the finishing line with the Australian Army greeting us with open arms. Our time in the desert was over. And for the most part, we’d escaped unharmed.

Once back in the COB, 1 Troop just needed to plain sail until R&R, which was a little over a fortnight away. We weren’t to be given any major taskings before then apart from the usual array of duties that befalls any unit within a camp environment – guard and the like. We almost felt like the family relative that had been forgotten about. Other soldiers from other regiments were having a very tasty time in downtown Basra while we Household Cavalry boys were just left festering away in our camp within the COB. I wasn’t complaining too much, however: the desert had taken its toll on us. I felt like we’d done our bit.

But just as me and the other boys in 1 Troop began to unwind slightly from the stresses of the desert, looking forward to our break, the Iraqis threw a stick in the works. The final two weeks before our flight out of Basra would be jam-packed with stress.

I was in a tall watchtower next to the main entrance to the COB sat behind a machine gun when that awful attack came in. I felt more exposed than usual being so far off the ground, reacting to the screeching noise of the incoming alarm. I heard the rockets scream overhead and impact shortly afterwards towards the centre of the base. I could see they’d had a direct hit on a large object of some sort; there was a huge plume of fire initially, followed by thick black clouds of smoke. Rockets were still landing so I returned my attention to the perimeter fence and main entry point to the base, cocking my weapon ready in case the rockets were followed up by a ground attack of some sort. I wanted to close my eyes and curl up into a ball, but I had a responsibility to remain alert overlooking the gates with my machine gun as the ground security took cover. It was some time before the all clear was given, by which time it was obvious to everyone that the four or five rockets that had landed centrally in the COB had caused serious damage. About an hour later we
were informed at the main security point in and out of camp that two members of the Royal Air Force had been killed instantly in the strikes and a third member was fighting for his life at the field hospital. It was crushing news and it struck us all deeply. Rockets could land on anybody. They’re so indiscriminate.

By the time the news had broken about the third casualty dying from his injuries, the COB had been rocketed about six further times, each rocket having a deeper psychological impact than the last. The bad guys in town had done a good job of
securing
fear in our hearts and minds, and they’d done it in the space of an hour or two.

When guard finished for me the following morning at 8 a.m., I wasted no time in getting to a phone and calling Thom. I knew it would wake him, but I needed to hear his voice. I broke down to him with tears of genuine fear. I was more terrified in the COB counting down the days to safety than I’d been at any point in the desert near the Iranian border. I just felt that a rocket was sat somewhere in Basra with my name on it, waiting to land on me. Thom tried his best to talk me around on the phone but it was to no avail. I was very, very scared.

I wasn’t alone. Mentally, many soldiers were struggling to cope with the relentless aerial bombardment we all found ourselves on the receiving end of. The toll it was taking on almost everyone was incredible. The padre was very busy over those two weeks counselling soldiers over their grief and fear, as were the other welfare teams that were dotted around the many camps that made up the COB.

Kempy and I didn’t really buy into the whole religion thing and found ourselves coping by talking through everything and usually having a bit of laugh. We’d never think of it as
counselling
but it certainly was, on reflection. Our bed spaces, which had gradually become more and more bombproof as the weeks and
months passed by, were side by side and we’d spend many hours talking and giggling about the situations we found ourselves in. I’d joke with him that there was nothing faster in the world than Kempy taking cover when the incoming alarm sounded. And it was true to an extent. We could be watching a movie or playing a hand of poker with some of the other guys, perhaps even a board game, but as soon as the dreadful screeching sound of the
incoming
alarm sounded, everyone would dive for cover, closing their eyes and hoping for the best. Often the impacts were far off and we’d react accordingly with relief, other times they’d be nearer and someone would shout ‘Fuck, it’s close!’ but on every occasion we always ran like the wind and dived for cover.

Over the course of a few days, I’d become closer to a lad in the squadron who I’d never really worked with in my time at the regiment due to us being in different troops. He lived in the tent next to ours and had become generally more chatty and keen towards me in the days that led up to that afternoon. He was someone I quite liked and I was fairly pleased to be making a new friend while serving abroad.

One afternoon I was in my bed space, which was now surrounded by large concrete bricks to help with cover from the rockets, reading a copy of
Attitude
magazine. I’d emailed the team at
Attitude
and told them there was nowhere to access any
gay-related
media in the middle of Iraq and they’d kindly sent me a copy. The lad came into my tent to see what I was up to and ended up climbing over the little wall and reading the magazine with me on my bed. The whole situation felt strange and I wondered initially if he was trying to find a way to tell me something. He kept looking around to see if anybody else was in the tent, which nobody was, and then he’d tell me who he thought was hot in the magazine and then the squadron. He reminded me that he wasn’t gay, but deep down I’d decided that he was and was just struggling
to accept the fact. I felt excited by the revelation. This guy was a popular lad, very well liked and good at his job. I also found him very sexy, but I was simply too in love and very much missing my Thom to do anything about it. I knew that the guy was trying to get his end away with me that afternoon in the tent and the whole situation was, although slightly awkward, a very close and personal moment between two soldiers, both individually
struggling
with various aspects of fighting a war. I hurried off to use the internet and the phones soon after, not wanting to do something I knew I’d regret.

The guy and I carried on talking in the days that followed, though neither of us mentioned much about the situation that we’d found ourselves in. The truth was I had been dangerously close to indulging in something that would have been totally wrong and, in a way, the whole thing made me long for Thom even more. I was on a desperate countdown to the moment I’d see him, which would be within five days.

The rockets continued to fall, our stresses and worries raised each time one hurled in. Finally, as the clock ticked slowly by in the blistering Middle Eastern heat, the morning of our flight to safety dawned and 1 Troop excitedly began the long process of getting home.

Right up to the moment of boarding the plane the rockets continued to land closer and closer. It felt like they knew we were moments away from returning to the West, to our homes – and to safety.

Three months almost to the day since we left England, we headed home in our desert uniforms stained with blood, sweat and tears, back to the land where our families and loved ones awaited us. We’d made it, and I intended to enjoy every single moment of my two weeks off with my beautiful boyfriend, Thom.

T
he moment our wheels touched down in Brize Norton on the morning of 4 August 2007, the most unimaginable relief was felt by everyone. We’d made it back to the peace and tranquillity of Oxfordshire and were about to embark on two weeks of rest and recuperation. Thom and I were going to make it count. I had imagined spending every moment of our precious time together and, before I’d even set eyes on him, I already feared the moment I’d be saying goodbye again.

He was waiting for me in the small arrivals lounge at the Oxfordshire airbase. Dressed perfectly in his usual splendour, he highlighted just how very rough and tired I looked in my desert attire. I hugged him without a care in the world, tears rolling down my face. It was perfect.

The first thing that struck me about Thom was that he looked like he’d grown up while we’d been apart. As he drove me away from the airbase, I looked at his beautiful sun-kissed skin and floppy brown hair. He moved much more elegantly than before. I put it down to his new career in the airline industry and always having to be well turned out. He spoke with a certain level of confidence I’d never noticed before as he told me tale after tale of his work antics in various foreign countries with his many new friends. I enjoyed just listening to him as we drove towards
Windsor. He didn’t ask much about me, only about the flight and the airline we’d travelled from the Middle East on and how the service was. I could tell he was stepping around the whole Iraq thing and the fact I looked so worn out and tired.

That night, we were both going to be in Liverpool to surprise my nan on her eightieth birthday. I was delighted to have the chance to surprise her on her special day and even happier that Thom would be right there with me. Already, we were starting to look more like a regular family. It was so important for me to have him there that night; I wanted everyone in my family to see Thom again and get to know him more. It was the man I was spending the rest of my life with, and the pain of our separation over the previous three months had cemented that fact. After a long drive to the north-west, we arrived at the party, surprising my dear nan and causing many cheers and claps of happiness.

Since the death of my granddad in 2002, Nan, as a widow, had become the figurehead of our family, and everyone respected and loved her dearly. She’d had a bit of a rough ride with my granddad after the Second World War and was a classic example of true British resilience. A week after I told Mum I was gay, we let Nan know, too. She passed a judgement that, I think it’s fair to say, is typical of people in their eighties who have lived through a generation where homosexuality was illegal for the most part. As expected, she’d rejected the news, citing that it was more than likely a phase. She wasn’t ready to accept the fact that her
youngest
grandson was gay. I didn’t let her opinion or comments get in the way of the huge amount of affection I held for her; I count her as one of the most important people in the world to me. I admire her deeply, but in the months and early years after I came out to the family, she couldn’t accept that I was gay.

This made me want to bring Thom into the family fold even more. I hoped that she would soon see him for his true colours
and accept him, as she had done with every other person brought into the clan. In the two weeks that followed, however, it seemed that Nan was more right than wrong about not wanting to get to know Thom.

Thom had warned me that he had to work a flight to Barbados midway through my time off. He was sorry about it but didn’t really have much choice. After spending four days in North Wales with my parents, we were back in the car heading to Windsor for Thom to get ready for his work trip to Barbados. I was a little annoyed about the whole thing, but I accepted it as a matter of fact. I’d be alone for the three days he was away, but as soon as he returned, I figured we could just make up for lost time before my departure back to Iraq.

Eventually back in Windsor, Thom got himself sorted before departing for the airport. He went to work looking like a
different
person. Three-piece suit, nice black shoes, smartly done hair and a face plucked and made up to death. He looked incredibly sexy in his uniform and as he pecked me goodbye as I dropped him at the airport, I wondered how many heads he’d be
turning
as he walked through the terminal to his aircraft, pulling his black suitcase along as he went. I sighed as he walked away and drove myself back to the house.

Three days later, Thom was due to land back at Gatwick. It was his nineteenth birthday and I’d made secret plans to surprise him on his big day. Firstly, I was going to pick him up from the airport without him knowing. He’d said he would get the shuttle bus from Gatwick to Heathrow and then just use public transport to get home. I thought it would be nice to turn up and surprise him as he walked through the arrivals gate. Secondly, Thom had organised a party to celebrate his birthday that night, inviting our friends and apparently some new faces that I didn’t know. I spent the three days helping Thom’s housemate Nicole prepare
the place for the big event. I bought Thom a fairly extravagant present, more so because I could afford to, but also because I really, really loved him and I wanted to spoil him. My sister was also travelling to Windsor to enjoy the party, it being the last time she’d see me before I headed back to Iraq a few days after. All was ready by the day of Thom’s arrival.

I was at Gatwick early, so I bought myself a coffee and waited for his plane to land, keeping an eye on the arrivals board. Soon his flight landed and, holding a ‘Happy Birthday’ balloon I’d bought especially, I stood patiently with a huge grin on my face ready for the moment he appeared through the swinging doors.

I was still waiting an hour later. Initially I put it down to passengers taking their time to get off the aircraft. It was
annoying
but I continued to wait. By the time another half an hour had passed, I started to wonder if Thom had even caught the flight. I went over to the help desk for his airline and asked the lady at the counter about him and his flight.

‘He landed over an hour ago. Yes, I can see here he collected his bags some time ago, too.’

How strange, I thought. Why hadn’t he come through the gate? Why wasn’t his phone switched back on by now? Where on earth was he?

I sat back down at the coffee shop and thought about what to do. I was still in sight of the arrivals gate just in case he came through, but I began to realise that it wasn’t going to happen. I wondered if he’d left the airport through a different exit and caught his shuttle bus to Heathrow. I continued to try his mobile. Nothing. A flat battery, perhaps?

I rang the house and Nicole confirmed he hadn’t come home or made contact. I tried his dad’s mobile to see if he knew anything. Again, nothing. I was really starting to get worked up over the whole thing.

Defeated, and taking the advice of Thom’s dad, I decided to drive back to Windsor and wait for news there. Where was Thom? What was he up to?

Some time later, as I neared Windsor, my mobile phone rang and I saw it was Thom trying to get through to me.

‘Hey! I’ve just landed. How are you?’

I knew he was lying. I knew he’d landed about three hours before and he’d had his phone turned off since. I told him I’d arrived at the airport to surprise him and that he was nowhere to be seen. I expected him to be quite defensive about the morning’s events. Instead, he simply said: ‘We need to talk when I get home.’

We need to talk when I get home? What the hell did that mean? What did we need to talk about? We loved each other. Nothing was ever going to break us apart. Surely we weren’t going to be…

I sat myself down in the living room waiting for Thom to get home. I had so many questions I needed answering. Where had he been? An hour later, the key turned in the door and in walked Thom, topped up with suntan and looking fairly tired from his long flight. He didn’t say a word to me, just sat down on the couch opposite and looked at me. Immediately tears filled his eyes.

‘I’ve met somebody while you’ve been away.’

Seven words and my entire life was ruined.

‘I didn’t mean to. It happened while I was away on a trip and I just met somebody. I’m sorry but you just weren’t here.’

The tears were now flooding from his eyes, and indeed mine. This had happened because of things completely out of my control. I’d been away fighting a war, for God’s sake. All the phone calls, all the letters I’d sent him, all those moments I was terrified but coping because I knew soon enough I’d be back with Thom, and all along he’d met somebody else.

What did that even mean, anyway? ‘I’ve met somebody else’?

I could only think of one thing to say: ‘Happy birthday.’

Thom took himself and his suitcase upstairs and I stayed on the couch trying to make sense of everything that had gone on. I still didn’t know where he’d been all morning. I didn’t know who this ‘new’ person was or why Thom had decided he was a better choice than me. I’d never experienced the thoughts and feelings that were flooding my body in the moments after those awful words. I absolutely hated everything about the job that had driven us apart. The army! This was all the army’s fault. If I hadn’t have been sent to Iraq, I’d never have found myself in this
situation
. If I’d been there for Thom, he’d never have needed to ‘meet’ somebody else at all. We’d be just great.

We didn’t speak for some hours but as Thom’s party edged closer, and guests started to arrive – like my sister who’d spent four hours travelling to be there – we forced ourselves to answer each other with single words and agreed to attempt to put on a unified front. This, of course, wouldn’t last.

The party started and I avoided most conversations, drinking far too quickly, far too soon. Liza told me to pack it in at one point, but she had no clue what had gone on earlier in the day. I saw some people look at me and assume that Iraq had put me in this state, but that wasn’t it at all. All my sudden problems were down to Thom meeting someone else. About Thom falling out of love with me. I was falling into a hole.

At about midnight I took myself away from the party. I sat on a deckchair in the garage with a drink in one hand, staring into the darkness. I was drunk, and the feelings I’d suppressed for most of the day surfaced. I was in a bad way and I wanted answers.

And as chance would have it, into the garage walked Thom, looking for something. I pounced on him with my many
questions
. Thom had met a guy on a trip who also worked for the
airline, called Johnny. He was older and completely different from me. He had long blond hair, was tanned like Thom and seemed a bit of a hippy. Thom told me he was a vegan. I also discovered, although deep down I had known all along, that earlier that morning, when Thom should have been surprised by me in the Gatwick arrivals terminal, he was actually in a hotel next to the airport with his new lover, trying to get some
last-minute
precious time together before their next meeting.

I’d been completely cheated. This wasn’t just a one-off fling that could be worked out; Thom had met somebody else and fallen in love with him. And he was a bloody hippy of all things. Thom wasn’t like that at all. How had these two fallen in love?

It didn’t matter. I asked Thom if he still loved me and he told me he didn’t. That was it. We were over.

The boy who’d rescued me from my old ways on the scene in London; the boy who’d fallen in love with me the previous summer, and had moved to London to be with me, had found another fish in the sea. It was just too much to accept. I stormed out of the garage and into the house where the party was still in full swing. People tried to talk to me as I struggled through the kitchen. I saw Liza talking to a group of people who were Thom’s friends and felt embarrassed to see her. I didn’t want her to know my life had fallen to pieces. I didn’t want her to be upset and see me in that state but, as I headed to the front door, I slammed the living room door shut, smashing the window pane as I went. The music stopped and everyone looked. I left the house and headed off into the night.

The following morning I woke up in the guard room at Combermere barracks. I wasn’t in trouble; they just hadn’t known what to do with me when I turned up at half-past one in the morning in a drunken state. The easiest thing was to just put me in a cell for the night. I woke up with a huge headache and soon
remembered what had happened. I had created a massive scene. I sorted myself out and went back to the house. I wanted to talk with Thom in the hope that I might be able to salvage our
relationship
, but he had already left to be with his new lover for a few days until I’d returned to Iraq and was out of the way. That was it, then. We had certainly come to our end. He didn’t even want to see me before I went back to war. What if I died? He’d never see me again. Maybe that’s what he wanted.

I told my sister everything and she, as you’d expect, completely sided with me and comforted me in my state of shock. Heartbreak was a completely new experience for me. I’d never been through anything like it. It felt as if someone had ripped my beating heart clean out of my chest. The pain was unbearable.

I packed my things and returned to the barracks. I always liked the safety net soldiers are afforded when things go wrong. There was always a roof over your head if you needed it. There was always somewhere you could hide. I said my goodbyes to Liza and locked myself away in my little room in the base to think about my life. I’d never felt so bad before and I struggled to make sense of it all. I’m sure I’d have coped better if he’d
written
to me weeks before, explaining the situation. I’d have had a job to focus on and lots of people around me to help me through. Right then, I was alone. Alone with lots of problems and no shoulder to cry on.

After a day or so of lying around and feeling sorry for myself, I realised that I needed to do something. I resented the army and Iraq for costing me my relationship. ‘The most beautiful boy in the world’ had slipped through my fingers and it was because I hadn’t been around. I took myself off to see the doctor. I didn’t feel I was in a state to return to Iraq and just carry on my duties; armed to the teeth, I didn’t trust myself. I told the doctor
everything
and he agreed that I needed more time off to sort myself
out and awarded me ten extra days in the UK. I realised that we were fighting a war, although I hadn’t yet come face to face with an enemy, and that I had to go back eventually, but an extra ten days was very much welcomed. I rang Gibbo and told him I wouldn’t be on the flight back to Basra with him and the other boys of 1 Troop. He accepted it and told me to stay safe. In
hindsight
, I wish I’d just boarded that plane and moved my life on straight away.