Chapter Nine

A LOT OF the lads complained when they were sent to Brecon on training since the following week they were leaving for Afghanistan. Finally it was announced that the training had been cut from seven days down to three.

‘We’ll just have to fit a lot in,’ said Kila grimly. ‘Or we won’t be back in time for the party in London on Saturday.’

It seemed to Mal and Binman that Angus must have forgotten all about his plans to go to Wythenshawe. There had been no TA activity on the Plain, so he had not been able to steal a weapon. And he had been home last weekend and returned relaxed without mentioning Aamir.

‘The thing about Angry is he just won’t fucking listen,’ muttered Mal as they lined up for a final kit inspection in the cold, grudging light of a February morning. ‘But he’s the sort of bloke who’d do anything for a mate.’

‘The thing about Angry is he’s mad,’ said Binman. ‘He’s been slotting Taliban fighters called Aamir for so long that he gets back to Britain and he thinks it’s all right to carry on slotting people called Aamir.’

‘Well, he can start banjoing Terry Taliban next week,’ said Mal. ‘So that should keep him happy.’

Dave had finished with 3 Section and was approaching the 1 Section line-up. And so was Steve Buckle. He was here from Stores as usual, on the pretext that he was delivering something to someone. He stood tall, the structure of his metal leg on display. Kila and Dave had agreed to tolerate his continued and unnecessary presence because Major Willingham said it helped his rehabilitation. Dave just hoped Steve wouldn’t hang around at kit inspection when they got to Bastion.

‘Something missing, mate, something very important missing,’ Steve informed Slindon. Seeing someone was speaking to him, Slindon tugged at his earphones.

‘What’s that?’

‘Round your neck.’

‘What?’

‘What should you be wearing around your neck?’

By now Sol was bridling.

‘Thanks, Steve,’ he said. ‘I’m section commander, so I’ll deal with Blue Balls Slindon.’

But Steve, a towering, metallic presence, did not move. ‘You should have your dog tag on, mate, Dave’ll go spare if he catches you without your ID.’

‘Thanks, Steve,’ said Sol through gritted teeth as Slindon dived for his day sack, glancing around anxiously for Dave.

‘We’ll miss you like hell, Steve, when we get to Bastion and you’re in some little office on the other side of the runway where you can’t tell us what to do,’ said Billy Finn sarcastically.

‘We’ll see, pal, if they manage to keep me in my little office!’ Steve replied.

‘He used to be our mate,’ murmured Angus as Dave approached and Steve strolled off to annoy 2 Section. ‘How did he turn into such a pain in the arse?’

‘He changed after he got blown up,’ said Finn.

‘He was always a bit that way. Bossy and bigging himself up.’

‘Yeah, but he could laugh at himself too.’

‘They shouldn’t let him go to Bastion,’ Angry said.

‘He’ll be all right in Stores. But he’s kidding himself if he thinks they’ll let him fight.’

They fell silent as Dave’s eagle eye ran over their kit and stopped when it reached Slindon, who had just finished putting his dog tag on.

‘SLINDON! Where’s your water?’

‘It’s raining in Brecon, Sarge,’ explained Slindon. ‘I saw it on the weather forecast.’

‘Yeah. So what?’

‘Well, if I get thirsty I could just open my mouth.’

The men burst out laughing. Dave held his head in disbelief.

Slindon sounded less sure of himself now: ‘See, water weighs a lot, Sarge …’

Dave took a deep breath. ‘There’s an enemy ambush, you’re under heavy fire, and you’re standing there with your head tipped back and your mouth open because you’re thirsty …’ He illustrated the stance to loud laughter.

Sol said: ‘Blue Balls, it rains on the Brecon Beacons but it doesn’t rain a lot in Afghanistan.’

‘Yeah,’ said Slindon, ‘but today we’re heading for Brecon.’

Dave was still speechless.

Sol said slowly: ‘The whole point of training is that we prepare ourselves for what lies ahead. And what lies ahead is a dry, dusty country.’

Dave recovered. ‘Blue Balls, I’m not arguing about it. Just get a fucking Camelbak, get some water in it and some more in your day sack. You keep your mouth shut and you wind your neck in or you won’t stay alive long when we get to Afghanistan.’

The sun shone weakly as they loaded up the wagons. But by the time they rolled out of the camp, the winter morning had clouded over again. They had all seen the weather forecast. Rain. Turning to snow.

Dave was at the front of the second wagon. The new platoon commander had established that he always liked to sit at the front of the convoy by rudely telling Dave to move on the first morning they had worked together. Dave had bitten his tongue. Even this morning there had been a disagreement between them over who was picking up supplies and when. Dave had argued and Chalfont-Price had simply overruled him. The officer had ordered Finny to drive to Donnington halfway through training to get the supplies and Angus had immediately offered to go with him.

‘There. Sorted,’ snapped Chalfont-Price. ‘Your analysis of the situation simply wasted time, Sergeant.’

Dave wished he could think of a smart retort but the best retorts seldom occurred to him within two hours, often not until the next day and sometimes not for a month. Although a put-down wouldn’t help. The more he argued with the new boss, the worse relations would get. He knew that. And he knew that a sergeant and commander who can’t work together are dangerous in theatre. He would have to try harder with Chalfont-Price.

His fury was overtaken by melancholy as they moved off. They drove past the sentries and climbed the hill. The fields were sown in neat rows and below them were the houses of the camp, also in neat rows. He wondered if Jenny happened to be at a window watching them go. She had woken this morning with that sad going-away face he recognized too well. He had held her close and said: ‘It’s only for three days, love.’ But they both knew that next week he would leave for a lot longer.

The men travelled quietly in the truck. As they passed from England into Wales the silence became pervasive. This was another arrival and the next arrival would be at Camp Bastion, Helmand. It might be hard living outside on the bleak Welsh mountains for a few days but at least they were safe here. The enemy were targets which popped up as if in a game, without ever firing back effectively. There were no roadside bombs. No one really died. Training was nothing more than a rehearsal. But it was a rehearsal for a grim reality. Reminded of this, some of the men began to ask themselves just why they had wanted so much to return to Afghanistan.

They got very wet tabbing across the hills to the RV in the rain. Now they were supposed to be resting before a night extraction exercise but the temperature had dropped dramatically. Most of the men felt too cold and wet to sleep. They lay in a hedge watching afternoon turn to evening.

Mal and Angus were huddling under their ponchos when Angus said quietly: ‘By the way, mate …’

Mal knew at once, from Angry’s careful tone, just what he was going to talk about. He braced himself.

‘I couldn’t get my hands on a TA sniper rifle.’

Mal felt relief spread all over him, as though someone had just switched on a heater.

Angry continued: ‘But I won’t need one. I’ve come up with a new plan to sort out your little problem up north.’

The relief ebbed away. Mal slid further down inside his maggot. His teeth began to chatter.

‘Angry, mate, there’s nothing you can do before deployment. There isn’t time.’

‘Oh yes there is. I’ve got time and I always keep my word.’ Angus leaned forward and his voice hissed through the cold air. ‘Now listen, you were right that there’s no way I can get a clear sight on the target at one kilometre.’

Mal realized he was frozen. He had already been very cold but this was worse.

‘How do you know that?’ he demanded anxiously.

‘Last weekend …’

‘You went home last weekend!’

‘Nah. I said I was going home. But I didn’t.’

There was a long pause while Mal felt the impact of his words. They hurt his head, as though Angus had hit him there.

‘Shit! Shit, Angry. You never went to Wythenshawe!’

‘Don’t worry, I didn’t visit your mum. Would have been too dangerous. I just went to recce the place.’

‘Fuck!’

‘It’s a bloody big shop Aamir works in, World in Your Lounge. And most of the furniture’s crap. I agree with your mum, it’s overpriced crap.’

‘You went up to Wythenshawe to where Aamir works!’

‘To World in Your Lounge, yeah. It’s mostly cheap imports. They probably pay some Indian a fucking fiver for a sofa and then sell it for five hundred. Anyway, I saw Aamir. Smallish bloke, stocky, deep voice, with sticking-out ears, right?’

Mal gulped. ‘His ears do stick out. Sort of,’ he whispered.

‘I got a good look at him. Then I recced the side door, which is where the target goes outside for a smoke. The best line of fire I could get would be from the motorway bridge. But that’s a no-no.’

Mal said nothing. He had been turned to ice.

‘The thing is, I can do the job with an SA80. I’m good for four hundred metres with it. I reckon there’s one place I can fire from, around the back of this old warehouse place in the next car park. It’s less than two hundred metres.’

‘But they’ll identify your round and find—’

‘Nah. I’ve checked. The army’s got fucking thousands of rifle barrels everywhere. There’s no way they can identify the weapon from the round if I use an SA80.’

Mal still could not speak. He couldn’t even swallow.

‘I’ve got it all sorted, mate. I just needed to make sure I’m on the supplies run up to Donnington and guess what, I’m going with Finny. Easy. It’s near enough to Wythenshawe and I’ve told Billy Finn I’ve got a hot chick up there I have to see before we deploy. He’s going to wait at the NAAFI in Donnington chatting up birds until I get back. Then we’re down the motorway and back to Brecon before you can say sniper. While the police are questioning every bloke in Manchester. Sweet, innit?’

Mal closed his eyes. Angus was insane. He was plotting to kill a civilian. Mal wanted to tell someone, to confide in Dave, even ask his mum for help. But God knew what would happen to Angry if he did. He decided that during the night exercise he would find a way to talk to Binman. And they’d make their own plan to stop Angry. He thought some more. The plan would probably have to involve Finny.

Jenny yawned and decided that she was too tired to carry out her daily trawl through the internet for jobs or even to check her email. She just wanted to go to bed, although it wasn’t ten o’clock yet.

The bedroom felt cold and empty without Dave. He had been home just a few months and when he had first arrived it seemed to her that he filled every available space in the house – and some that weren’t available – with his presence or his noise. But now that she was used to him again, his absence felt acute, as if he was a whole crowd of people who had suddenly disappeared.

She remembered how, that morning, she had paused at the window on the stairs as usual. From here you could look up the hill that swelled beyond the camp. It was always changing colour. Brown in the autumn. Green stripes in winter. The lines broadened in spring to a bright swathe of green. Then in the summer the whole hillside was magnificent in gold. But it wasn’t summer now. It was winter and the land was a chalky brown dotted with the green pinstripes of some half-hearted crop. It was intersected by the road out of the camp and at that moment a convoy was crawling along it.

She had watched the vehicles snaking up the hillside and wondered which one Dave was in and whether he looked back at the camp, at their street, at their house.

As she climbed into bed now she felt something hard, with corners, dig into her side. She turned on the light and pulled back the bedclothes. An envelope. Her name was written across it in Dave’s big writing.

She smiled and tore it open. She didn’t care what was inside. It was from Dave and he had planned the note and hidden it so she would find it when he was gone, and she loved him for that.

Left you a small present. Because you are so beautiful. It’s not medicine and it’s not wine, it’s in between. BTW, I love you.

She smiled more broadly. When they had first lived together he had left her something to find every time he went away. But that was the sort of game you gradually forgot to play when you married and had kids. Until now.

Jenny reread the clue. What was in between medicine and wine? Vinegar, maybe? Why would Dave give her vinegar? She threw on her dressing gown and went downstairs to the kitchen. She opened cupboards. Nothing unusual. She thought hard. Brandy! Some people used it as medicine. She went to the cupboard where they kept wine and beer and, maybe at Christmas, brandy. It was empty now except for two cans of beer.

She read the clue again.

It’s not medicine …

Well, it was worth looking in the bathroom anyway. She hunted through the wall cabinet. Nothing. She went back to the kitchen. It had to be in the kitchen or the bathroom. No, wait. The treasure was between the medicine and the wine. It must be in the hallway.

She started an inch-by-inch search, including behind the radiator and under the phone. She ran her fingers along the edges of the stair carpet, around the top of the lamps on the landing, behind pictures. Nothing. It didn’t help that she had no idea what she was looking for. But, since Dave’s presents were often jewellery, she suspected it was a very small box.

Finally she gave up. She checked the doors were locked one last time. Through the back door, she saw snow falling. She wondered if it was snowing in Wales. She dialled Dave’s number. A mechanical voice, not his, informed her that he was unavailable and invited her to leave a message.

‘I love you. Good night,’ she said quietly. He would know that she had found the clue.

She went back up to bed and read the clue again before she turned out the light. She planned to lie thinking about it for a while, but within a few moments had drifted off to sleep.