Ashe stared at the flat horizon. That overused word ‘infinity’ dropped into his head; he recoiled from it. That which was welcome at death was no friend to the living. The word ‘desert’ was too close to the word ‘lost’ for comfort. Ashe became aware his teeth were grinding as he tried to get a sense of himself and where he was. What had appeared from the highway as sand was mostly hard-baked earth littered with loose stones and rocks. Sand was scattered over the surface like pepper on a pizza. It made for a bumpy ride and a nagging heckle of irritating gear changes.
The rocking and rolling made loading the M4 difficult; Ashe’s fingers were shaking. Richmond told him there was a spare combat jacket stuffed into the corner under his seat: useful for additional magazines. Ashe looked for a quip to lighten the atmosphere, but nothing came.
The truth was dawning: Richmond was less than optimistic about returning to the main road without incident. The tension inside the vehicle rose; the CD was left switched off without comment.
Mile after mile, they advanced northwest to the coordinates of the supposed troop-plane crash site – or, hopefully, the site of a crash landing – halfway between the main road to Mosul and Tel Afar, sixty miles away.
Richmond, observing Ashe through the rear-view mirror, could see he was nervous. Richmond was an experienced morale-builder, but his techniques were normally used on trained soldiers. Soldiers could be reminded of shared training experiences, encouraged to remember that they were more than ready for action; they could depend on one another. Ashe had not imbibed the ethos of regimental solidarity, tradition and discipline.
‘I’m going to stop the convoy in a second, Toby.’
‘Why’s that?’ shot back Ashe, nervously.
Richmond surmised that Ashe was moving fast towards a knife’s edge of anxiety, without the training to control it. The experience was entirely new to him.
‘Tell me how you feel, Toby.’
‘Sorry, Simon. It’s a bit… I’m a bit hot in here, that’s all.’
The air-con was on full blast.
‘Vinny’s a one, isn’t he Toby? Always makes everything sound so easy. Look at him out there on that gun. He’s loving every living minute of it. But, I tell you, he’s as afraid as you are.’
‘Really?’
‘It’s natural. He just knows a few tricks to keep it under control. Try something?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Take some deep breaths. As you do, make a picture of something here you’re afraid of. Now let it come over you. It won’t hurt you. Let it pass through you; don’t resist it. It’s a picture, a fear. How’s the breathing going?’
‘Difficult.’
‘Gets easier. Don’t bother resisting what you fear. Face it, but don’t oppose it.’
‘Fuck!’
‘Yeah, fuck.’
Ashe tried to breathe deeply. He hadn’t realised how short his breaths had become.
‘You’re doing fine. Give your brain some of that oxygen. Now hold it in. A few seconds. Now let it out very slowly. Slowly… Good. Trust me. Anyone can see you’ve got what it takes.’
‘As sure as you’re gonna be.’
‘I’ve never killed anyone.’
‘Just breathe deeply. Let the air out slowly. That’s it. The fear is washing over you. But you are a rock. You didn’t know it before. But you’re a rock.’
‘And this… is a hard place.’
‘Doesn’t have to be. Make it your own.’
Richmond knew to let Ashe’s own system take over the process of regaining control. He let the convoy roll on another half mile.
It was now two o’clock. Richmond suppressed a twinge of anxiety. Twilight descended so early in Iraq’s spring, and he would rather not be returning from the target site in the dark. The men would be tired; vision poor. Experience told him that most accidents happened on the way down from the summit.
‘Now, Toby, you need to consider the mission.’
‘Become the mission: target-centred.’
‘You’ve got it!’
‘At the centre of the circle, the Master Mason cannot err.’ Ashe remembered the great old line from the Masonic Third Degree lecture. Suddenly it seemed spot on.
‘Yeah, we’re at the centre of the circle, as you masons say. We’re instruments of the mission. The mission will take us through. We have each other and, in case you thought we were alone out here, we’re ringed by US airstrips, minutes of flight time away from here. It’s not like the old days with legions disappearing in the desert!’
Ashe laughed. Richmond joined in. ‘Poor buggers! I presume Vinny told you about the Blue Force trackers.’
‘Yeah. Four buttons; three times.’
‘You’ll make a soldier yet. See the route map here on the right of the dash?’
‘Yes.’
‘That little dot on the screen there is us. See to the south?’ Richmond adjusted the monitor. ‘That’s Qayyarah West airstrip. Near the oil well, there at Tall ’Azbah. West of there: another one at Sahl Sinjar. North of there: Tel Afar. That’s recently been reinforced. And thirty-odd miles away you’ve got the air base at Mosul.’
‘Bloody busy the desert, these days! Can’t you get any peace?’
Richmond laughed. ‘Big Brother’s everywhere. So long as that dot keeps flashing, they all know where we are. If I press this thing, choppers’ll be here in minutes.’
‘Shit! And I was thinking we were having a real adventure.’
‘It’s real, all right, Toby.’
‘Just one thing, Simon old boy.’
‘Yeah?’
‘If those choppers can be here in the time you suggest, what the hell are we doing making the reconnaissance?’
‘Standard procedure.’
‘Standard procedure?’
‘Yeah. Standard procedure to call in unengaged Blue Force in the vicinity.’
‘But where are the choppers?’
‘Glad you asked. Didn’t I mention the action northwest of here?’
‘Action?’
‘There’s been an attack on a village. I don’t know anything else about it, but the position has drawn in the available local air power, short of base defence.’
‘So what’s all that stuff about pressing buttons and the air cavalry turns up?’
‘If we encounter Red Force, Toby, they will send a detachment. You can take my word for that. Believe me, we’ll get air support if we need it. Standard procedure. Now I’m going to switch the convoy round a bit.’