War Torn (57 page)

‘She pisses me off, to tell you the truth. It’s the way she looks at me. All sympathy.
Sit there. Let me do that. How are you feeling?
Dabbing her eyes when she thinks I won’t see. I want to clock her one. I went home for the weekend between Selly Oak and Headley Court. Big mistake. I ended up chucking my crutch at her.’

Broom was silent, thinking that Steve Buckle could be a scary sort of bloke.

‘It’s not her fault, mate. Why are you so pissed off with her?’

‘Dunno. She’s overweight. Doesn’t take care of herself. Sits around doing nothing in front of the telly. Then she comes in looking all sorry for me and I think: I could live without you easier than I can live without my leg. And other times I think: why’ve you got two legs? You hardly use them.’

Broom eased himself off his elbow and lay back down.

‘I do get really angry,’ Steve said. ‘You will too.’

Ben Broom was assaulted by fear after fear. They came sneaking up on him like a series of ambushes.

‘Will I have to leave the army?’

‘Shouldn’t think so.’

‘What will I do?’

‘What do you want to do?’

‘Same as before.’

Steve got up.

‘Then do it.’

‘My bird might not fancy me any more.’

‘So find one who does.’

Steve started to leave the room. He used a crutch this time, moving forward with comparative ease.

Broom felt desperate. He didn’t want to be left alone.

‘When will they make me look at it?’ he called.

Steve was near the door now.

‘What? Your stump?’

Stump. The word was horrible. Broom nodded and swallowed.

‘Not until you’re ready. They know what they’re doing.’

‘When are you coming back?’

‘When I’ve seen Ryan Connor and after your mum’s been and your bird if she’s here. And if either of them starts crying all over you, just tell them to fuck off. I mean it. Don’t put up with their shit. You’re soon going to be skiing better than they ever could.’

Ben Broom started reorganizing his face. It took a bit of effort. The muscles felt tired before he’d even started to practise a smile. But by the time his mother walked in with the welfare officer, red-haired, freckled and too tearful to speak, he was ready for her.

‘Hi, Mum! Great to see you. For Chrissake, there’s no need to cry because I’ll be learning to ski soon . . .’

‘I’M
GETTING
FED
UP
WITH
CLEANING
WEAPONS
ALL
THE
TIME
AND
never using them,’ said Sol.

They had just eaten another sand sandwich. The civilians were busy. Angus had disappeared on stag again.

Binns said: ‘I’m wishing the Taliban would attack us just to give us something to do.’

‘Write a rap about Jackpot, Streaky,’ Finn said to Bacon. ‘We’ll help. It’ll give us something to do.’

‘You can’t write a rap about nothing happening,’ said Streaky. ‘Rap’s rough and angry. Not bored and sleepy.’

‘It’s another game of cards then, lads,’ said Finn, reaching for the pack.

Jamie groaned.

Mal closed his eyes.

‘OK, guys, we’ve finished with the dynamite for now.’

Martyn had appeared in a cloud of fine dust.

‘That’s a shame,’ said Finn. ‘It was the only interesting thing going on around here.’

Everyone had wanted to set the dynamite off but Emily had shaken her head and wagged her finger.

‘This is a radio-controlled explosion and human error could have a catastrophic effect on our results.’

‘What happens now, Martyn?’ asked Jamie.

Binns looked up hopefully.

‘If you’ve finished with the dynamite, can we go back to Sin City?’

‘Emily has to collate the results from all the seismometers. When she’s put them together in the lab –’ Martyn gestured to one of the Vectors – ‘they should give us a complete picture. But if the images are wrong then we’ll have to adjust them and repeat the experiment. So we can’t go anywhere until she gives us the all-clear.’

‘What are you going to do, then?’ demanded Finn. ‘While Emily’s in her lab?’

‘Play blackjack with you,’ said Martyn, sitting down on an upturned crate.

The sandstorm had ended a couple of days ago but the camp was still covered with its sand. Even the playing cards retained a gritty residue.

Dave came out of the ops room holding a radio.

‘McCall thinks he’s seen some movement in the hills again,’ he said.

Everyone groaned.

‘Right, we’ll have a few more pairs of eyes over there,’ said Sol. ‘Mal, Binman, Streaky, go for it.’

‘But last time he said that we called out aerial surveillance and they didn’t find anything!’ moaned Binns.

‘Yeah,’ said Dave, ‘but there was a sandstorm so the eye in the sky might have made a mistake.’

‘Certainly,’ agreed the OC, emerging behind him. ‘And we shouldn’t get complacent.’

But the men came back reporting there was nothing to see.

‘Maybe,’ said the boss to Dave, ‘Angus should spend less time in the tower.’

‘Well, let him finish his stag,’ said Dave. ‘He’s down in ten minutes anyway.’

When a lad from 3 Section had replaced him, Angus climbed down from the tower to find Martyn sitting in the shade of the sangar.

‘Hey, Angry, come talk to me.’

‘What? Now?’

‘Yeah. I’m sort of interested in this movement you keep seeing.’

Angus was already red from the heat and now he reddened still more.

‘No one believes me.’

‘Well, describe it, can you?’

Angus was surprised, but he sat down and got out a cigarette. He offered Martyn one and looked relieved when he didn’t accept.

‘Well, it’s like a shadow. When the sandstorm was starting and I could hardly see the hills, that time it looked like it could have been a person. But the other times it’s been like when you see a cloud shadow. Which sort of appears and then disappears when the sun goes in . . .’

‘What do you think it is?’

Encouraged by his interest, Angus said: ‘At first I thought maybe it was the shadow of an aircraft. Some sort of aerial surveillance. But I don’t think so. I don’t know what it is.’

‘An animal?’

Angus shrugged.

‘You want it to be Taliban. Right?’

Angus flicked his ash down. ‘Well . . .’

‘Because you want some action. Right?’

‘That’s what I signed up for.’

‘You’ve already shown one helluva lot of courage. I’ve heard about some of the things you’ve done. Your dad must be proud of you.’

Angus looked at the ground.

‘Not really. See, my dad was in the Regiment. So he did some amazing things himself. Especially in the Falklands war.’

‘This is really none of my business . . . but can I say something?’

Angus watched Martyn’s corrugated face curiously.

‘Supposing I told you that you’ve already done much more than your dad ever did? Supposing I said that you don’t have to keep trying to impress him, being a hero, looking for action. Because he never was in the Special Forces. Would that be a relief?’

Angus’s eyes had grown suddenly bulbous. His cheeks were bright red. His cigarette was turning to ash.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve grown to like you, Angry. I used to think you were a big thug but since then I’ve seen that you’re a good guy underneath all that noise. That’s why I’m telling you this.’

Angus seemed to swell in the heat.

‘Your dad wasn’t the hero you think.’

‘What?’

‘I’ll tell you something. It’s going to upset you at first. And then, in a little while, you’ll begin to feel good about it.’

JENNY
LAY
IN
BED
STARING
AT
THE
DOCTOR.
HE
WAS
YOUNG,
brown-skinned, very busy and ordinary in every way. Except that his head kept erupting into bright stars.

‘Feeling terrible?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘We can’t let you go on with blood pressure like this. We’ve tried everything to get it under control but it’s moving the wrong way. So I’m afraid we’ll have to induce you.’

The doctor had no idea, Jenny thought, that now his head was spinning round and round like a horror movie.

‘I just want it to stop now.’ She meant his head, her sickness, the pain, the swelling, the whole horrible pregnancy. She wanted to swap it for a baby.

‘It’s not doing the baby any good either. So we’ll go for some oxytocin now and we’ll see how dilated you are in an hour.’

‘OK.’

The nurse nodded and the doctor began to leave.

‘Oh!’ He turned. ‘It may be quite quick once it starts, so I should get your partner here as soon as possible.’

‘Ha!’ said Jenny. It was a cross between a laugh and a cry. ‘Ha!’

The nurse muttered something to the doctor.

‘Afghanistan?’ Jenny heard him say. ‘Well, I don’t think he’s going to get back in time.’

Jenny wanted to shout:
Get back in time! He won’t even know about it until next week!

The midwife bustled in and started messing around with drips.

‘Do you want to phone your birthing partner?’

Jenny called Trish who did her best not to appear flustered.

‘Right. OK. I’ll get Vicks over to your friend’s house.’

‘Mum. You don’t have to do this. If you take Adi’s children, she’ll come.’

‘Of course I want to be there!’

‘Are you sure?’

Jenny found herself wishing that Dave’s mum was staying again and could be her birth partner instead of Trish, who would approach the entire process anticipating that it could and probably would go wrong.

‘Well, I think so . . .’

‘Listen, just dial the number I left by the phone and talk to Adi. I don’t care who comes.’

She felt too sick to argue. The nurse was taking her blood pressure and frowning.

‘This had better work quickly . . .’

‘Or what?’ asked Jenny.

The nurse didn’t answer but she continued to frown.

Jenny closed her eyes.

‘Oh, Dave, Dave, Dave. You are such a fucking bastard.’

‘I beg your pardon!’ said the nurse.

‘My husband. Should be here.’