A thin blue airmail letter arrived from Josh at an RAF air base in Kuwait. He sounded excited. He was about to leave for his ‘floating airfield’, somewhere he could not specify. He was flying a Lynx Mark 7 and extolled its virtues in the enthusiastic way pilots talk about their aircraft.
The aircraft carrier had left British waters before Josh had been picked to take over from a sick colleague, and he told Gabby he was looking forward to joining the rest of his squadron.
There is quite a lot of frustration here in Kuwait among the pilots flying the RAF Tornados over the no-fly zones in Iraq. The living quarters are quite basic, with overcrowding and not enough washing facilities or airconditioning. Added to this, there is a lot of rumbling about the high temperatures affecting the jets, which are designed for cold war airdefence. The Yanks flying side by side with us have far superior equipment, so you can imagine the envy of British pilots!
Gabby … This is just a quick bluey while I’m on dry land … got to go … Hope all is well at home … Give my love to everyone … Love you lots, Josh.
Gabby smiled and tucked it in her pocket. It was seven days old. Josh would be on the aircraft carrier by now. She looked up at a clear sky. How far away he seemed.
How different Cornwall seemed, too, Gabby thought. People were beginning to descend on the coast in the run-up to the eclipse and the roads were full of foreign cars and television vans. The landscape seemed to have been hijacked and plundered. Even the beach no longer belonged to her and Shadow. There were figures doing strange dances to the rising sun and sitting in yoga positions and chanting and drawing strange circles in the sand.
‘I even found someone in my garden,’ Elan said indignantly, ‘and when I asked him why he was there, he said “The cliff top belongs to everyone, man.”’
‘I suspect you told him exactly who it did belong to?’ Nell said, trying not to laugh. ‘The television companies are camped out on Marazion beach. It is quite festive down there, actually.’
Nell, who had thought the smallest cottage beyond the barn too shabby to rent out, had been offered a ridiculous amount by a Dutch television station.
‘I showed them round first,’ she told Gabby and Charlie, ‘and they jumped at it, though where they are all going to sleep is a mystery.’
‘I wouldn’t worry,’ Charlie said. ‘I expect they have an expense account for twice the amount you are asking.’
The days were hot and sticky, the air full of anticipation and something elemental too. There was an unnatural lack of wind to lift the heat haze which hung over the fields. Everyone longed for a breeze to come off the sea, cool and sharp.
Nell reluctantly set off for Truro one morning with a painting. She was going to lunch with Peter, but could have done without a morning in a town. Charlie left early for the auctioneers in St Austell with some cattle, and Gabby set off along the coastal path to the village with Shadow to buy stamps, airmail letters and bread.
She met Susan Dale riding Hal through the village and the horse tried to bury his nose in her pocket. Gabby laughed, stroking his whiskery old face. The two women talked of Susan’s children and Josh for a few minutes and moved on.
Gabby felt restless. She thought of Mark. Now she was here she ached to be back with him in London. Should she walk over to Elan? She decided against it, she would go home and write to Josh.
As she came up the path which skirted the top field, now full of almost finished houses, she spotted a black car moving fast down the lane towards the farmhouse. Something about its speed alarmed her and she broke into a run as she entered the yard.
Three men got out of the black car and stood outside the front door which was never used. Two were in naval uniform. One was a padre wearing a black cassock. Gabby called out to them and they turned towards her, their faces serious. For a moment she thought they must have come to the wrong house and were looking for someone else, then something grim in their faces alerted her and she stood quite still as they moved towards her.
‘Mrs Ellis?’
Gabby nodded. Please God. Please God. Please God.
Josh!
‘Could we go inside, Mrs Ellis?’
‘Please … tell me …’
‘Let’s go inside.’
Gabby turned like a sleepwalker and they followed her round into the yard and through the back door into the kitchen. She saw one of them had a roll of paper in his hand and was preparing to read a statement from it.
‘Is my son …?’
‘No,’ the padre said quickly. ‘Your son is not dead, Mrs Ellis.’
They kept asking her to sit down. Gabby sat on a chair and the naval officer said, ‘I’m Lieutenant Commander Paul Drew. This is the naval family officer, Don Watts, and our padre, Commander Paul Mitchell. We are here on behalf of the army as your son was operating from a Royal Navy aircraft carrier in a multi-service operation.’
He nervously unrolled his piece of paper and stood in front of Gabby and formally read out in a monotone:
‘I regret to inform you that at fifteen hundred hours yesterday, your son, Joshua Ellis, along with his co-pilot and two passengers, was reported missing in hostile territory. All the British soldiers involved were participating in a training exercise with an Air Assault Brigade.
‘It is believed that Captain Ellis was forced to land his Lynx helicopter through bad weather or hostile fire. Search and rescue were immediately mounted. We regret that at the present time we do not know the whereabouts of your son, his co-pilot, or the other two British soldiers, and they are now listed as missing.’
Gabby felt the strange displaced feeling of sudden shock. The naval officer lowered his piece of paper and looked at Gabby anxiously. The family officer hovered at her side. She realized they were waiting for her to break down.
‘Let me make some tea,’ the family officer said.
‘Are you saying that the helicopter was forced to land somewhere in Iraq?’
‘I’m afraid so, Mrs Ellis. More information is coming in all the time. There had been a sandstorm earlier in the day and that alone could have brought the Lynx down.’
Gabby stared at him. ‘But the helicopter didn’t crash?’
‘No, it had a forced landing.’ But the Lt Commander did not meet her eyes.
‘How do you know this?’
‘The Lynx was traced. Radio contact was maintained after it was damaged and forced to land.’
‘I don’t understand. If you had radio contact, why don’t you know where the men are? Why wouldn’t they stay with the helicopter so they could be rescued?’
The Lt Commander sat down opposite her at the kitchen table. Gabby saw he was anxious and very young. Perhaps it was the first time he had had to do this sort of thing.
‘Mrs Ellis, we are constrained by the nature of this operation as to what we are allowed to divulge. The political situation is extremely tricky … The helicopter, once on the ground, would have had to be made inoperable in case it fell into Iraqi hands …’
‘You say missing …’ Gabby’s chest was so tight she could hardly breathe. ‘You mean captured, don’t you? You mean captured …’ She heard the kettle boiling behind her, held on to the edge of the table.
‘No. Not necessarily. The four men would have had to split up in order to evade capture. Unfortunately they will also be unable to use their radios because if we can pick up their signals so can the Iraqis. But you must remember, Mrs Ellis, all those men have been trained for this sort of eventuality.’
‘My son had only been out there about two weeks.’
‘I assure you, if he had been picked for this operation he would have been training for months.’
‘But not in desert conditions.’
They all looked at her. ‘He would definitely have trained in desert conditions, Mrs Ellis.’
Gabby felt sick. There was so much about Josh’s life she did not have a clue about, obviously could not be told. There she had been, thinking he was safely flying a few hundred miles up the road in Wiltshire, and he had been somewhere quite else, thousands of miles away in Kuwait, training for this. Every week they had talked. Every single week. But she should know, for God’s sake she should know, with a mobile phone you could be anywhere.
She got up to find clean mugs and pointed out the tea, got the milk out of the fridge. Everything had gone into slow motion and she was watching herself calmly doing these things. She forced herself to ask, ‘If they are captured, what will happen to them? Will you know? Will they be paraded in the streets like those two poor RAF officers in the Gulf war …?’ She could not bear it. Josh beaten-up, humiliated … maybe alone and frightened.
‘We are not at war with Iraq. We are maintaining a UN-sanctioned no-fly zone for the protection of Northern Iraq, the Marsh Arabs, the Kurds, and countries such as Turkey and Saudi. Unfortunately this means constantly being under Iraqi fire, but I do not believe Iraq wants a diplomatic incident at the moment.
‘Mrs Ellis, there are a lot of people out looking for your son and the other officers. This includes the American helicopter pilots. God willing, we will find them before they are captured.’
‘You … really believe this?’
The young officer paused. ‘I do, Mrs Ellis. There is a concentrated effort being mounted to find and air-lift them out …’ He swallowed and met Gabby’s eyes. ‘We must remain optimistic that all four men will come out … safely.’
To his credit he did not flinch from the truth, but Gabby was suddenly very cold. He had just stopped himself saying, alive.
‘However, the situation is extremely grave. We have a Foreign Office minister flying out to Kuwait tonight. I promise you everything that can be done is being done.’
A cup of tea was placed into her hand. In a moment, Gabby thought, I will wake up.
‘May I say that you are taking this remarkably well, Mrs Ellis.’
He sounded so relieved. Gabby smiled. What a horrible job the poor man had.
‘Your husband? Can we ring him for you?’
Charlie! ‘He’s in St Austell. I’ll ring his mobile.’
Charlie picked up straight away. ‘Gabby, this isn’t a good time.’
‘Charlie, please come home. I have some naval officers with me. It’s Josh … Josh’s helicopter has come down over Iraq … he’s missing … Charlie, he is missing … maybe captured.’
Gabby was suddenly shaking as the words began to sink in.
‘Jesus,’ Charlie said. ‘I’m on my way now.’
The Lt Commander said to Gabby gently, ‘I need to reach one more family in Plymouth in case the news breaks at six p.m. Apart from alerting the families we are trying to keep this low profile for obvious reasons relating to safety. So any information you are given is restricted, Mrs Ellis, to immediate family. I have to make you aware of this. I am so sorry to leave you. Would you like the padre to stay?’
Gabby shook her head. ‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’
‘The family officer will stay with you for as long as you need him and certainly until your husband gets here. This is a contact number to ring for information. Give them about twenty minutes for new information to come in.’
‘Thank you.’
The Lt Commander smiled at Gabby. ‘Take care, Mrs Ellis, I will speak to you tonight.’
He disappeared with the padre and Gabby heard the helicopter overhead and the black car speed down the lane towards it.
‘How are you getting home?’ she asked the family officer.
‘I left my car at the bottom of the lane.’
Nell! Gabby thought suddenly. Oh my God, Nell must know. She grabbed the phone and dialled Nell’s mobile, but Nell had switched it off. How long would it take Charlie to get home? She walked around the room willing Nell and Charlie to be there with her.
Josh. At this moment in some frightening, unimaginable landscape, while I got dressed, ate my breakfast, walked and laughed …
The family officer – Don … John …? She did not like to ask – was saying something to her, but Gabby could somehow make no sense of it. She could see his mouth moving as she walked round the kitchen tidying and wiping and placing things in cupboards, but his words did not seem to reach her brain. She felt as if she was in a bubble.
After a while he gently took her by the shoulders and guided her to a chair, put another mug of hot sweet tea in her hand and went on talking and talking, words that flowed over her as she watched his mouth intently.
Nell was in Truro Museum with Peter.
‘We should lunch more often, Nell, you always cheer me up.’
Nell smiled. ‘Do I?’
‘You always did.’ He stirred the teapot and found cups. Nell felt sudden tenderness. Peter must be one of the last people on earth who loathed teabags and mugs.
He started to pour the tea and Nell was watching his long, pianist’s hands when she heard this piercing cry deep inside her, eerie and childlike. She jumped, her heart jerking, and leapt out of her chair.
‘What on earth …?’ Peter looked at her in alarm. ‘Nell, you’re as white as a sheet. Are you ill?’
Nell could not answer. She was gripped by terror. She stared at him and then grabbed her bag. ‘I must get home. Sorry, I have to go.’
She turned and literally ran down the corridor with Peter behind her, calling, ‘Nell, what …?’
Nell was in her car and starting up the engine. She zapped the window down and looked out at him. ‘Something has happened. Don’t know what.’
‘Nell, for heaven’s sake, wait, we’ll ring Gabrielle …’
‘No time, must get back.’
She was gone, her silver Honda joining the flow of traffic. Peter stared after her, disturbed, then went back inside to ring Gabrielle but found the line engaged.
Nell, who rarely drove fast, raced down the dual carriageway willing herself home. Her body was tense and hunched and what she felt was icy cold fear without knowing why, for that terrible cry had been one of terror.
‘Gran!’ Josh had screamed. Not Nell, Gran.
She looked at the radio and turned it on. There was a woman rabbiting on about pensions and Nell was leaning forward to switch it off again when the programme was interrupted by a newsflash. Nell steeled herself. Prayed she was wrong.
‘We are getting uncorroborated reports of a British helicopter being shot down over Iraq. The helicopter is thought to be part of a joint operation between … part of multi-service … It is thought that as well as the two army pilots there were two British soldiers aboard. The Foreign Office refuses to confirm or deny that two of the soldiers were part of an SAS team …’
‘Oh, my darling boy,’ Nell whispered.
Charlie had never found the route home so endless. Josh will be OK, he kept repeating to himself. He can look after himself. Was he alone? Unlikely. They must be trained for this sort of situation. They know what to do. Yes. They can handle themselves. Know how to play it cool. He’ll be all right. Of course he will. Of course he will.
Gabby rang the number on the piece of paper. It was engaged. It was engaged every time she tried. She tried to keep the panic out of her voice when the phone suddenly rang in the silent kitchen.
‘Mrs Ellis? This is James MacDonald-Brown. I was Josh’s Commandant at Sandhurst. We met briefly when Josh passed out. I’ve just heard. I am so sorry. I know you must be worried and if there is anything at all I can do to help …’
‘Please,’ Gabby cried, ‘I’ve been given this military number and I can’t get through to get any more information …’
‘Mrs Ellis … Gabrielle, isn’t it? Give me the number. I’ll ring you straight back.’
Gabby replaced the phone and watched it. If she took her eyes off it, it would not ring again. The family officer viewed her in silence from across the table. There was nothing left for him to say. All he could do was just be there.
In a few moments James MacDonald-Brown rang back.
‘Gabrielle? Have you got a pen? This is the new number you need to ring. You will be contacted shortly. An officer will be assigned to you to answer any queries and to give you all information as it comes in.
‘This is my telephone number, please ring me if I can help in any way. Gabrielle, I have every faith in Josh, he is a very mature and competent officer. They are all trained for this eventuality, dwell on that. But of course, my thoughts are with you.’
‘Thank you. How is Marika? Does she know?’
‘Not yet. Her mother is frantically trying to contact her in case the story breaks on the six o’clock news.’
‘Please give her my love.’
‘Thank you, I will. Goodbye.’
Outside there was the sound of the Land Rover sliding across the yard. Gabby threw open the back door and ran out.
‘Charlie, Charlie, Charlie …’
Charlie grabbed her. ‘Gab. It’ll be all right. Really. Come on, Gabs.’ He led her back inside and took Don Watts’ hand as he introduced himself.
‘Thank you for staying with Gabby, it was kind.’
‘Not at all. I’m sure there are questions you want to ask and then I’ll go. You will want to be on your own. I’ll ring later and come and see you tomorrow. This is my phone number. Please contact me at any time, it’s what I’m here for … I am so sorry.’
‘Thank you.’
Nell turned into the lane as Don Watts climbed into his car. She stopped and wound down her window.
‘Are you something to do with Josh? I’m his grandmother.’
Don walked over to her car. ‘Yes. I’m the naval family officer …’
‘Is my grandson …?’ Nell’s voice quavered.
‘No,’ Don said hastily, ‘he’s not dead. I’m afraid his helicopter came down in hostile territory … Captain Ellis, his co-pilot, and two other British soldiers are missing. We have every hope they will be picked up by our forces soon. I am so sorry.’
‘Thank you.’
Nell drove on up the lane and into the yard. Gabby and Charlie heard her coming and went quickly out to meet her. Gabby was shocked at how grey Nell was.
They all held each other, standing there in the doorway like drowning men, then Charlie went to the cupboard.
‘Would you like a drink?’ he asked Nell.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘A strong brandy.’
‘Gab?’
She shook her head.
It was five forty-five and they switched on the news with dread. The phone went suddenly and it was a soft-voiced officer on the other end, rather breathless.
‘Mrs Ellis? My name is Simon Cottrell. I am your contact. I am afraid the story is about to break now on the six o’clock news. We were unable to keep it from the public domain. Be prepared.’
It was all so unreal. Gabby felt numb. Charlie, looking at her from the other side of the kitchen, thought how small she looked, as if she was shrinking.
‘This line is open for you and your family. You can contact me night or day for any reason or no reason. Often it just helps to talk. I will ring you as the situation develops. You will not hear anything on the news before I have spoken to you. Please ring me if you have any concerns. We are all thinking about your son and the other soldiers. Please remember they have been prepared for this sort of situation. They will not be panicking or putting themselves at risk or danger.’
‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’
As Gabby replaced the receiver the six o’clock news started. Before the announcer had even spoken there was footage of an aircraft carrier sailing through tropical waters, the camera zooming in on the helicopters tied to its deck. Then there was footage of the RAF’s Ali Al Salem air base in Kuwait where helicopters filled the sky.
‘There are unconfirmed reports of a British Lynx helicopter being shot down over Iraq today. The pilot, co-pilot, and two British soldiers are missing, feared captured.
‘It is believed the incident happened while it was taking part in a multi-operational exercise between the three services. Lynx helicopters are regularly used by the British army for sorties over Iraq. These particular helicopters are flown from the aircraft carrier … serving in the Gulf.’
The announcer handed over to a colleague with a huge map and enlarged photographs of helicopters.
‘The Lynx helicopter is used by the British army to counter the threat posed by enemy armoured formations. It can be armed with eight TO W missiles and is currently the mainstay of the British armed helicopter fleet … In addition to its role as an anti-tank helicopter the Lynx can be used for fire support, operating machine guns, troop lifts, casualty evacuation …’
‘What was Josh into out there, for God’s sake?’ Charlie said, white-faced.
The announcer faced the camera. ‘It is believed that a Gazelle helicopter was flying with the Lynx but why it did not land to lift the stricken crew out is not known. Neither the Foreign Office or the Ministry of Defence were forthcoming, and in the light of the current political situation and the safety of the missing soldiers there is little information about the details of the incident or what the helicopters were doing in that area.
‘The safety and whereabouts of the servicemen are unknown. Their names have not been released by the military. The situation is considered grave and a Foreign Office minister is preparing to fly out to Kuwait tonight.
‘This incident highlights the dangers of all pilots monitoring the UN-sanctioned no-fly zone over Iraq. Any capture of British or American servicemen could trigger a highly volatile and unpredictable situation. We will be giving you news as it comes in, meanwhile …’
Before the announcer had finished speaking the phone began to ring. It was Elan, breathless.
‘Gabby? I’ve just caught the news. It’s not Josh, is it? He’s only been there five minutes … Oh, child …’
Then Peter; ‘Nell, my dear Nell … I’m so sorry. My thoughts, please, to Gabrielle and Charlie.’
Marika asked for Gabby. Her voice was shaky and Gabby could hear she was in a bad way and talked to her calmly. ‘Marika, Marika, listen to your stepfather. Josh is going to be all right. He is going to come out of this. OK? Now we’ll talk again, soon …’
Friends and neighbours in the village, anxious and unbelieving: ‘It’s not Josh? Please say it’s not Josh?’
Nell and Charlie fielded most of the calls.
‘I only want to speak to Simon,’ Gabby said.
She sat bolt upright on the old kitchen chair with her knees drawn up, watching the turned-down television, willing it to newsflash.
At nine o’clock they turned the sound up. Again, the same footage. No more.
At ten the phone suddenly rang. It was Simon to warn them the names of the missing servicemen had been released.
Then, suddenly, startlingly, there it was on screen.
‘The four missing British soldiers in the helicopter believed to have been shot down over Iraq are: Captain Josh Ellis AAC, the pilot. Captain Duncan Rivers AAC, co-pilot. Major Andrew O’Conner, 16 Air Assault Brigade, and Sergeant David Mackenzie, Air Assault Brigade.’
Charlie poured a tiny drop of brandy into a glass and forced Gabby to drink it.
‘So much for restricted information,’ he said.
‘I imagine with journalists out in Kuwait and probably on the aircraft carrier it is almost impossible to keep it from the public arena,’ Nell said.
Gabby was so pale and cold, Charlie did something he had not done for years. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her onto his knee, holding her tight.
Nell took an old sweater from the kitchen door and they pulled it over Gabby’s head. Her eyes were still glued to the screen.
At eleven o’clock a Special Branch officer arrived wanting a description of Josh; a recent photo, any distinguishing features, birthmarks. Colour of eyes, what kind of eyebrows, colour of skin. Fair? Dark? Build? Height? Weight?
Gabby gave them the latest photograph they had. One of Josh and Marika at the dinner the night after he had received his wings. Josh in dress uniform. Marika in a dramatic dress of aquamarine blue. Both laughing.
Blessed and beautiful people, Nell thought, full of life stretching seamlessly ahead …
The policeman stared at it without comment.
‘I’ll return this to you if I can, but I have to forward it to my London colleagues.’ He was thinking, Thank God this is not my son.
Charlie, Gabby and Nell did not ask him why he wanted all this information; they knew. It was the moment they all acknowledged the stark reality they might have to face; the possible identification of Josh’s body.
Gabby handed the photo over with difficulty. It was her only copy of this particular snapshot. ‘I would like it back, please, it’s the only one I have.’
The policeman nodded. He said, as Nell and Charlie answered the constant ringing of the phone, for it was the only practical help he could give, ‘It might be an idea to put a special line in for you and then it can be kept clear for important calls and your contact with the army. It will also mean the press cannot get hold of you. I am afraid they could begin descending at any time. I’ll leave a car at the bottom of the lane. If there are any problems, contact me on this number.’
He paused. ‘Everything that can be done is being done. We hope for the safe return of all those officers as quickly as possible.’
Before they went to bed, Simon rang and gave Gabby his home and mobile numbers. ‘If you need to talk in the night, it doesn’t matter, ring me. If I hear anything at all during the night, I’ll ring you. Try to get some sleep.’
‘Thank you.’ Gabby was touched. ‘Thank you.’
Do they pick special people, she wondered, with soft voices that soothe, with an ability to imbue comfort by just an inflection?
Nell made up a bed in the spare room. Charlie walked down to the village with Shadow to warn the publican, the post office and friends and neighbours to close ranks when the press arrived. Not to direct them to the farm. He knew it was pointless, they would be found, but it was something positive to do and he was touched as well as mortally afraid by the reaction and warmth of people he had known most of his life.
Josh was one of their own; born, baptized, schooled and grown up among them, and one of their own was in danger. Walking back up the lane, Charlie stopped for a moment to speak to Darren, the young policeman sitting at the bottom of the lane in a police car.
‘Thanks, Darren. I’m sorry, it’s going to be a long night for you.’
‘Not as long as Josh’s, Charlie,’ Darren said quietly. ‘I’d be here even if I wasn’t getting paid. Josh and I go back to primary school and Cubs, remember?’
Charlie nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He walked on up the lane and stopped in the yard and looked upwards. Milky Way, Great Bear. Infinity.
Don’t let him die in some terrible way, God, so far from home. God, I beg you, if You exist … this is my son …
When he went in, Nell told him Gabby was in the bath with the telephone next to her. Nell was in her dressing gown. Charlie poured himself an enormous whisky and sat at the table. Nell put her cup of tea down and went behind him, placed her arms around him and kissed the top of his head.
‘Charlie, Josh is going to come out of this alive. He is. Keep saying this. Believe it.’
Charlie nodded, held on to Nell’s hands. ‘Let’s go to bed.’
Gabby was curled up in bed with her Walkman, listening to the news all over again. Charlie knew she would lie listening to the World Service all night. He fell heavily into bed beside her.
‘Wake me if you hear anything. If anything happens, Gab.’
‘Of course, Charlie.’
‘Josh is going to be OK. He is going to come out of this.’
‘Yes,’ Gabby said, dully. ‘Yes.’
They sabotage the helicopter and split up quickly. Shock makes Josh slow at first. At least the Gazelle was unharmed. Josh and Duncan split up, each pairing with the two specialforces soldiers. In a situation like this there is no one else Josh would prefer to be with. Andrew has done time in Bosnia and Northern Ireland. Both men’s thoughts are with the soldiers they had been sent to airlift out. Now they are in the same danger.
The first night is the worst as the temperature plummets. Andrew uses his beacon every hour to try to alert their position for rescue and then they move on quickly. They have calculated the risks, as both men know the longer they are on the ground the greater their chance of capture. Josh thinks how different this feels to his escape and evasion exercises on Dartmoor. The adrenaline rush, the fear, changes everything.
They come to a river and work their way along it cautiously. Both men pore over the map with a torch, pulling their jackets over their heads and the map so that no glimmer of light escapes into the cool desert night. They calculate they are two hours from where they were headed in the Lynx to pick up the four Hereford boys doing surveillance. They decide to head in the same direction; risky, but easier for rescue.
As dawn comes they find a deserted village. Not a house remains standing. The surrounding area is strewn with shells and burnt-out tanks. The atmosphere is pungent and stilled by death. The two men crawl into a derelict house and lie at the outer edges of the walls to be in shadow and try to sleep. As the sun rises Josh falls into strange and hallucinatory dreams.
He and Andrew wake to the same noise at the same time and peer up into the muzzle of Kalashnikovs held by two young and nervous Arabs. They are poked roughly and told to get up. Outside the derelict building stand twenty more men, hard-eyed and threatening, who yell into their radios.
They are quickly stripped of their radios and equipment, watches and Andrew’s wedding ring, and bundled back towards the river. The Arabs seem unsure and argumentative and both Josh and Andrew realize they are not regular militia despite their camouflage combats and equipment. In the distance both men can hear the faint clatter of helicopters. Without warning Josh is suddenly knocked to the ground and made to kneel while his hands are tied behind his back. He feels a knife pressed into the back of his neck, is aware of Andrew also on the ground.
This is what fear is. Josh prays. Let it be clean. Don’t maim me. Kill me outright. Make it clean and quick.
He thinks of Marika, of Gabby and Nell and Charlie. Of home. This is what it feels like, the moment before you die. A sudden strange calm.