Chapter Eleven

JENNY WOKE UP in the night. she didn’t look at the clock; she looked at her mobile, to check she hadn’t slept through a call from Dave. That was her waking routine when Dave was away and she had slipped back into it without even thinking about it because his absence was beginning to feel more normal than his presence these days.

No missed call; 1 a.m.

She gathered the covers more tightly around her and closed her eyes. Dave would be awake now; he had said that the platoon was on some kind of night exercise. He was probably loving it, especially if the snow had reached Wales. There was nothing Dave enjoyed more than stomping across a dark landscape, and the wilder the terrain and the weather the better.

Snuffle, sob, wail from the next room. So that was what had woken her. She waited, to see if Jaime would go back to sleep.

The crying stopped for a moment and then started again. Her body heavy, she dragged herself from the bed. She picked Jaime up out of her cot and the baby closed her eyes at once. In the other bed, Vicky slept soundly. Jenny wandered downstairs with Jaime, waiting for her to fall back to sleep.

She pulled back the curtain and looked up the road. The window emitted cold. She rested her cheek against its hard, freezing surface. Outside, under the street lamps, she could see snow was still falling, and more heavily now. It had settled and the children would be excited to wake up to a white world in the morning.

All the way down the street the houses were dark. It made you feel like the only person awake in the camp, in Wiltshire, in England, in the world. Then, suddenly, a light went on over at the Buckles. Leanne? Jenny thought of ringing her: occasionally, if the men were away, the women rang each other in the middle of the night if they saw a light on. Then she remembered that Steve had not gone to Brecon and he might be up tonight, clattering around on his metal leg. She didn’t want to talk to him at one in the morning. Sometimes he was too much these days and she didn’t want to talk to him at all. She thought Dave was crazy for helping him go back to Afghanistan.

She sat down at the computer. She had forgotten to switch it off so, Jaime asleep in one arm, typing with the other hand, she opened her email.

There was a message from the Appointments Agency. She remembered she had applied for a job with them. Which one? Was it the part-time hotel receptionist? Or the waitress for the busy deli? No, it was that other, strange ad which had asked for typing, simple accounting, organizational abilities and a helpful manner without saying exactly what the job was.

She was invited to an interview. She remembered that the ad had contained a phrase she loved: Hours to suit. That might mean that the hours would be arranged to suit her, although more likely it meant to suit the employer.

The interview was next Monday. Just when Dave was leaving for Afghanistan. But he would leave first thing in the morning and the interview was in the afternoon. She would ask Adi to take the children. She would need a bit of time to get herself looking smart. She glanced at the address again. Tinnington. She knew it was a village on the edge of the Plain; she had seen signs to it and would check the route before Monday. The interview was at Tinnington House. It was probably one of those country houses which had been taken over by IT companies and was full of dust and electrical leads. Did she want to work in IT? Did she care if it was hours to suit?

She switched off the computer and carried Jaime upstairs, laying her carefully back down in her cot. She decided not to tell Dave about the interview. Although he had told her to earn some money if she wanted Vicky at the new nursery, he had not seemed enthusiastic when she told him she was applying for jobs. She didn’t want another row just when he was due to leave for theatre. It was better to wait and tell him if and when she was offered something.

Dave had noticed how the stars were disappearing and the temperature was rising. He couldn’t see the clouds but he knew they must be there. He hoped they weren’t snow clouds. Then he felt the first flakes land on his nose, like tiny whispers of cold breath. He heard a small buzz pass through the line of men as they noticed. But the commander still did not pause.

They tabbed on as the snow thickened. The flakes were so large and soft at first that they were unthreatening. They touched the ground and instantly disappeared. But gradually they turned small and hard and the world became white.

Sol dropped back and walked alongside Dave.

‘Are we still going the wrong way?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Some of the men are flagging a bit. Tiny’s big but he’s not bulky and he’s not used to carrying kit around. Binman’s never good over a distance.’

‘It’s not just 1 Section,’ said Dave. ‘Fife nearly didn’t come to Brecon because he got some sort of a stomach bug and he’s struggling. And look at Gayle. He got a foot injury on Salisbury Plain and now he’s leaning on Senibua.’

The snow intensified the moon’s light so that it was easy to see Gayle up ahead, his large frame walking unevenly. The top half of his body was leaning heavily to one side and each step looked an effort.

‘The boss is beasting us,’ said Sol. ‘We don’t need this just before a tour.’

Suddenly there was a shout ahead and the file came to an abrupt halt. From the noise it seemed someone had fallen over. Tiny Hemmings and Gayle sat down gratefully in the snow. Their faces glistened with sweat.

Gerry McKinley said to Gayle: ‘You OK, mate?’

Gayle nodded but remained silent.

Dave pushed up past the men to the commotion at the front. The platoon commander and the 3 Section medic were leaning over Corporal Si Curtis.

‘Shit, Si, what have you done?’ demanded Dave.

‘I’ve fucked up, Sarge.’

Si’s face was distorted with pain and he was making no attempt to move. From his expression alone Dave was prepared to bet a bone was broken. Chalfont-Price was leaning over Si’s left ankle and when he looked up his face confirmed the diagnosis without him saying a word.

‘How did you do it?’

‘I tripped over a rock and my other foot went down a hole and I sort of fell this way and …’ Si breathed out pain and swallowed his words.

Dave studied the ankle. It was so misshapen that he knew this was a bad break. They were far from camp or base, it was snowing, the men were tired, too tired to carry a casualty far, and they had no radios just when they needed an air evacuation. He relived in a fraction of a second the entire night’s events and saw his own foolishness. He had allowed the rudeness and arrogance of the young platoon commander to override the men’s welfare. He should have stood up to the idiot hours ago. And now this was the result.

Si Curtis was saying something about Afghanistan and having to be all right for deployment but Dave ignored him. He ignored Chalfont-Price too, who was hanging over Si asking if he could keep walking by leaning on someone.

‘Everyone over here!’ Dave roared. Most of the men had already gathered around but now they formed one large group.

‘We need to get Curtis out.’ He was unfolding the map as he spoke. It was rapidly covered in snowflakes. ‘Which means we need some comms. Which means that someone here has to be brave in the face of danger, only the danger’s not the Taliban. It’s me.’

They all stared at him. They waited while he studied the map.

‘OK. I know, because I know you, that at least one man here will have disobeyed orders tonight and brought his mobile phone. He’ll either have it because he forgot to take it out of his kit or because he couldn’t be bothered to or because he wanted to use it. I don’t care what the reason is. Right now, I don’t give a shit. I’m offering an amnesty. Produce your phone if you have one and I promise no reprisals.’

There was a deathly silence.

‘Come on, I know I’m scary but let’s put Si Curtis first.’

The silence continued.

‘No penalty, nothing written down, no one outside this platoon will know. Will the guy who disobeyed orders just get his fucking phone out now.’

There was a slow shuffling at the back. That would be 1 Section. Dave felt mild surprise, but then he remembered Blue Balls Slindon. It had to be him. It just had to be. But to Dave’s astonishment Jack Binns stepped forward.

‘Here you are, Sarge.’

Dave raised his eyebrows in surprise.

‘You, Binns, I never would have thought it!’

‘See, I was just—’ Binman’s face was a fire red.

‘Don’t bother to explain.’ Dave grabbed the phone. ‘The fact is you’re man enough to admit it.’

‘Well done, Binman,’ said a few voices.

‘Let’s hope it’s not the end of your fucking career,’ said a few more.

Dave knew that the chances of finding a signal here were slim. But he knew where they were and it wasn’t nearly so far from civilization as most of the men assumed. When he switched on the phone there was one bar of signal. Thank God.

He dialled Iain Kila. After a few rings it was picked up. The voice which answered had the uncertainty of someone who does not recognize the number.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s Dave Henley, sir.’

There was a pause.

‘Where the fuck are you?’

‘We need to casevac someone out. Broken ankle. I’m going to give you our grid ref now.’

A small murmur went around the company when Dave rattled off their exact coordinates to the sergeant major.

‘So Sarge knew all along where we were!’

‘Why didn’t he fucking tell us, then!’

‘Because the boss wouldn’t listen.’

‘This is fucking nuts! It’s more nuts than O’Sullivan’s nuts.’

Dave ignored them and he did not look at the platoon commander’s face. In fact, he had forgotten that the boss was there at all.

He gave Si Curtis’s details and added: ‘Iain, I’m leaving Max Gayle to care for the wounded. He’s got a dodgy ankle himself. He’ll have this mobile phone. I’m taking everyone else on.’

‘On where? You haven’t even got to fucking Checkpoint 1 yet!’

‘We’re near Checkpoint 5.’

‘Listen, the checkpoints packed up hours ago and went on the piss. Just get back here now.’

‘I estimate we’re about an hour away.’

‘I hope you’ve got a fucking good explanation for this.’

‘Fucking good,’ said Dave grimly.

He handed the phone to Gayle, who had limped up from the back on hearing his name. He looked better for the brief rest and relieved not to be tabbing on. While the medic was busy around Si Curtis, Dave turned to Chalfont-Price. He expected to find the man looking humbled or embarrassed in some way. He even hoped for an apology. But the man blinked back at him, lizard-like, his face expressionless.

‘Right.’ Dave moved closer to show him the map. ‘We are here.’

Chalfont-Price studied Dave’s finger. ‘No, I think we are here.’ He was pointing at a position miles away. But he did not sound quite so sure of himself now.

Dave sighed. ‘Sir, it’s time you listened to me. If you’d listened before this never would have happened. We’re here. And the camp’s there. Now will you lead the men back or will I?’

The boss grimaced and shook some snow off his head. ‘I will. Of course.’

Progress to the camp was slow because, although the snow had stopped, in places it was deep. A new wind had carried it into drifts and occasionally the men found themselves plunged into unexpected valleys of snow. Behind the boss there were a few snowball fights but most of the men were too tired to play. They arrived back at the camp just over an hour later. The group of trainers who had been waiting for them had the wagon engines running to keep warm.

‘OK, everyone sort out their kit now and get in a wagon,’ Dave instructed. The men fetched their things and climbed in the back of the vehicles gratefully and wordlessly.

Kila positioned himself in front of Dave and Chalfont-Price. ‘What the fuck happened?’

Dave remained silent. So did the boss.

‘Well?’ Kila looked directly at the officer.

‘The platoon couldn’t agree on its map-reading,’ Chalfont-Price said through tight lips as he turned to climb into a cab. Implying that in some way he had been open to discussion, even persuasion. Dave wanted to punch the man.

Left alone with Dave, Kila turned to him, his face still a question mark.

‘What news on Curtis?’ asked Dave quickly.

‘Helicopter had a bit of bother with the weather but it got him to hospital. They’ll operate later.’

‘Operate?’

‘It’s a bad fracture.’ Kila’s hands were still on his hips. ‘And Gayle wasn’t in a good way either. They’ve kept him in overnight.’

The men were all on board now.

‘OK,’ said the sergeant major to Dave. ‘You’re travelling down with me now, Dave, and I want to know what the fuck happened.’

In the warmth at the front of the truck Dave just wanted to go to sleep but he knew he had to tell the sergeant major the whole story. Kila listened in silence as the driver tugged the steering wheel to right and left while the wagon slithered along the icy tracks.

When Dave had finished he sighed.

‘Who was the fucker who had the mobile phone?’

‘Doesn’t matter. I declared an amnesty.’

Kila raised his eyebrows but didn’t pursue the question.

‘I’ll hear what Chalfont-Price has to say.’

‘Well, he’s not going to tell you that he’s a pompous, arrogant little twat, but that’s the truth,’ said Dave. ‘Can’t Gordon Weeks come back for this tour?’

‘You know he can’t.’ Kila sighed and wrinkled his brow. The truck skidded for fifty metres downhill, the driver grimacing, his arms tense. The light was still dim but it was the cold, precise light of dawn instead of the moon’s glow.

‘Now probably isn’t the time to talk about this,’ said Kila at last, ‘but the fact is, Dave, you aren’t handling your platoon commander too well. He’s not the only one who has to clean up his act. So do you. Or your men are going to be in the shit when we get to Afghanistan.’