War Torn (55 page)

‘Can’t I use that too?’ demanded Martyn.

‘No,’ said Emily. ‘This is the Ladies.’

‘I don’t want to take a crap in front of everyone in this camp,’ Martyn complained to the OC.

‘You’ll have to,’ said Major Willingham, ‘unless Emily agrees to share it.’

Otherwise the camp consisted only of a collection of tents and the perimeter wire.

Martyn studied the wire.

‘Nick,’ he said to the OC. ‘Think we could move it about twenty feet to the right? Seems to me that part of our exploration area is just outside the fence.’

The OC said, in a voice that was many degrees lower than the ambient air temperature: ‘No, Martyn.’

Martyn burst out laughing.

‘Just kiddin’ you, Nick!’

The OC did not smile.

The camp sat at the base of the hills which swept up to the huge, looming purple mountains. The hills were to the north and so gave it no protection from the desert sun, which was even more merciless here than at the FOB. A constant hot wind created dust devils, tiny tornados that span purposefully across the desert, through the wire and straight into the camp. In the distance, the Early Rocks rose out of the flat plain like weird and lonely skyscrapers.

The wind distributed the sand everywhere. It got into people’s clothes, their tea, their ration packs, their boots, their ears.

Dave and Sgt Somers of 2 Platoon did not keep their men on boil-in-the-bag; they had resolved that every day they would boost morale by cooking something from the ration packs. Dave liked to think he could turn virtually any ration pack into a presentable meal: he’d trained as a cook when he first left school, before he’d been seduced by the army recruitment ads. And he had persuaded Masud to let him take some fresh food and a few spices from the kitchen to Jackpot.

But the men’s reaction to his first concoction was unenthusiastic.

‘Delicious, Sarge,’ they said, digging their plastic spoons into his stew. ‘Tastes of sand.’

‘Oh shit,’ said Dave.

‘No, Sarge,’ said Finn. ‘Sand. That’s better than shit.’

‘I can sense that you’ve attempted to include a subtle blend of herbs and spices,’ Boss Weeks told Dave. ‘But I’m sorry to tell you that the predominant taste is definitely sand.’

‘If we had to stay here and eat sand for a long time,’ said the OC, who had heard Dave was a good cook and so was eating with 1 Platoon, ‘our teeth would be ground down to almost nothing. That’s precisely what happened to the Native Americans. Ancient skulls show that, by the end of their lives, desert dwellers had no teeth left.’

The men looked at him miserably.

‘We could just swallow without chewing,’ suggested Jamie. ‘That way we’d fuck up our intestines but we’d keep our teeth.’

Dave laughed at that. It was relieved laughter because this was the first time he’d heard Jamie speak since they’d left Sin City. He walked around looking so miserable that his eyebrows were
knitted together. It could only be something to do with Agnieszka.

The soldiers were soon bored. All they could do was keep watch and stare in disbelief at the wild enthusiasm of the engineers for this desolate and empty place. Even Emily stalked around the camp in her sensible shoes, rubbing her hands and smiling happily.

‘I told you. This is R&R for us, while the civvies do a bit of work for once,’ said Finn, dealing another hand of cards to a group of lads from 2 Platoon, who he assured Dave just played for cigarettes.

Angus preferred to be busy. He volunteered for any job going, helped the engineers carry their kit and did other people’s stag for them while they slept or played cards.

He stood up in the tower surveying the endless flatness of the desert. He liked to stare at the Early Rocks in the distance; they looked like something that had been there since the beginning of time. He also kept an eye on the antics of the civilians. They’d brought a lot of equipment in separate wagons, including some kind of drill.

‘They’re never drilling for fucking oil already!’ he said to Streaky, who was on stag with him.

Streaky yawned. He was not interested in the oil exploration. ‘I am so fucking bored. At least back at Sin City there was a bit of to-ing and fro-ing and stuff in the town to look at. I even got to like that geezer calling from his tower every five minutes.’

‘Moslems have to stop what they’re doing and pray about twenty times a day,’ said Angry knowledgeably. ‘That geezer’s telling them to get down the mosque.’

Streaky yawned again. ‘I used to think he was a noisy bastard but at least he kept me awake.’

‘Don’t you write rap in your head when you’re on stag?’

‘I’m so bored I can’t even write nothing,’ said Streaky. ‘I just want to go back to the FOB. And so does everyone else. I never seen so many miserable soldiers. There’s the boss was fighting hammer and tongs in the wagon with that Intelligence woman and now he’s gone sad, there’s Dave worried because his missus is having a baby, there’s Jamie in a strop about something. Even Mal’s not his normal self.’

‘I’m my normal self,’ said Angry.

‘Me too. And Binman. I reckon it’s because we’ve been out here a long time but we’ve still got a couple of months to go.’

Angus said: ‘I could do another six months. I don’t want to go home.’

Beneath, the contractors were burying something that looked like a bolt. They had drilled a hole and buried three so far. Emily and Martyn argued about the exact location of each hole. The last bolt had been buried and then, after a heated argument, dug up again.

‘Streaky . . .’

‘Yeah.’

‘I saw something move over there.’

Streaky looked. ‘Emily?’

‘No! Up in the hills.’

They both stared at the rugged and scarred landscape. Where they rose out of the flat sand, near the perimeter fence, there were prickly, moisture-starved bushes that looked as hostile as the desert itself. Huge boulders, which geological eons ago might have cascaded down from the mountains, lay like pebbles on the hillside.

‘Where?’

‘See Three Boulders? See Red Bush? In between.’

Streaky creased up his eyes to peer at the landmarks.

‘I can’t see anything. Nothing’s going to fucking move in this heat.’

‘I saw a shadow or something!’

Streaky stared and stared.

‘You imagined it. Everything looks as though it’s wiggling about a bit in the heat.’

Angus was stubborn.

‘I saw something . . .’

‘Well, nip down to the boys at the entrance and tell them to get on the radio,’ said Streaky, yawning. ‘And I’ll keep looking.’

Angus ran down to the men from 2 Platoon on stag. They looked anxious and immediately radioed the tent that had been set up as an ops room. Angus ran back up to Streaky.

‘Seen anything else?’

‘Nope.’

‘Have you been looking? Just to the left of Red Bush?’

‘I’ve been looking but there’s nothing out there.’

Word was now spreading around the camp. A few people came out of their tents with their weapons. Everyone was staring towards the hillside. Even the contractors realized that something was up and stopped work. The OC emerged, pen in hand, hands on hips. Dave came up to the sangar.

‘What did you see, McCall?’

Angry began to feel embarrassed.

‘I don’t know, Sarge. Just movement.’

‘What sort of movement?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Did you see anything, Bacon?’

‘Nope. And I’ve been looking.’

Angus described again where he had seen the movement and Dave stood still watching for some minutes.

‘It was probably the wind,’ he said at last. ‘Look.’

He gestured out across the desert behind them to the Early Rocks where a sandstorm was visible. A hot breeze had begun to bluster against their helmets and throw sand onto their faces. It was approaching.

People went back to their tents and closed them up against the sandstorm. Only the contractors worked on.

‘Can’t you stop until the storm is over?’ asked the OC.

Martyn looked astonished.

‘Why would we do that? We’re just getting to the exciting bit.’

The OC did not share his excitement. ‘Which is?’

‘Dynamite!’

Even Emily looked pleased.

‘For many years now, for environmental reasons, dynamite has been rarely used. But because we are working under exceptional conditions here we have been given permission.’

Martyn grinned happily. He did not seem to notice the sand in his hair, teeth and ears. He wore sunglasses but it was probably in his eyes too.

‘In my view, dynamite’s always been the best. See, we send a charge down into the shot hole over here . . .’

‘It will be over there,’ corrected Emily.

‘And the geophones we’ve planted will give us seismic readings.
Now, if we’ve got them in the right place and if Emily can get her signal and imaging processing right . . .’

‘It will give us a sort of picture of what lies beneath the surface,’ finished Emily excitedly. She walked off to the group of waiting engineers. When she was out of earshot Martyn leaned towards Major Willingham.

‘Which we don’t need because when you’ve been in this game as long as me you know from the aerial photos, some elementary surveying and the gravity readings exactly what’s under there. But I’d hate to put these guys out of a job.’

There was another radio message from the sentries.

‘Excuse me,’ said the major. ‘We have a keen rifleman who’s insisting once again that he can see something moving in the hills.’

‘Which keen rifleman?’

‘McCall.’

Martyn smiled. ‘Angus. He’s too darn keen. Probably just wants something to do.’

Anyone prepared to brave the sandstorm came out to look at the hills. But there was noticeably less interest this time.

‘Where was it?’ Dave asked Angus patiently.

‘Same place!’

‘Did you see it, Streaky?’

‘Nope.’

‘It must have been something big if you saw it in a fucking blizzard.’

The hot wind lashed their faces and threw handfuls of sand at them. The sky was turning orange.

‘Yeah, it was something flapping. Like, in England it would be washing on the line. But here it’s probably someone’s clothes.’

Dave watched the hills.

‘Angry,’ he said at last. ‘Either it’s gone or you’re imagining things. Now you two get down off this tower and send Jamie Dermott up. We’ll finish your stag for you.’

Streaky looked grateful but Angus said, as he climbed down: ‘I definitely saw something, Sarge.’

Jamie arrived.

‘Thanks, Sarge. Stag in a sandstorm is every soldier’s dream.’

‘They only had another ten minutes to go and McCall kept seeing things.’

‘He just wants something to happen.’

Dave told Jamie where Angus claimed to have seen movement but now there was so much sand you could barely see the hills at all.

‘I wanted to talk to you, Jamie,’ said Dave. ‘Anything up?’

Jamie did not look at him.

‘No.’

‘Don’t piss about with me. You don’t have to tell me but I wish you would. I’m getting sick of seeing you slope about like a sore prick at a stag party. What’s happened?’