Andy McNab - War torn

Dave's lads looked boyish and confused as they made safe their weapons, gathered up magazines and straightened their bodies. The Officer Commanding A Company appeared, checking out the damage with his second i/c. A sandbagged area of the FOB had been badly hit.

'We'll leave R Company to sort that,' the outgoing OC told Boss Weeks cheerfully.

Nobody wanted the contact to prevent A Company from going. The FOB was too crowded. CSM Kila had to break up a fight between one of the ginger lads in 2 Section who had sneaked into the cookhouse and an A Company Royal Engineer who had called the infantry platoon a bunch of ginger mingers. Finally, to everyone's relief, it was announced that A Company would be leaving at 1600 hours.

1 Platoon spent a sweaty day filling sandbags and remaking walls.

'Been swimming, mate?' a passing A Company engineer asked Billy Finn. The Lance Corporal wore only a pair of shorts and sandals. His wiry body was running with sweat. His face was bright red from his exertions and because he had failed to use any sun block.

He tried to reply but his mouth was so dry he had to take a swig of water first.

'You'll get used to the heat,' the engineer said.

'Since you're used to it already, fancy lending a hand?' Finn croaked.

The engineer shook his head. 'If I had a quid for every sandbag I've filled, I'd be a fucking millionaire.' He was going home. He couldn't wipe the grin off his face. 'My body's here, mate, but in my mind I'm already cuddled up with a nice curvy bird.'

At 1545, when people were already starting to imagine they heard the distant thud of Chinooks, A Company vacated their tents. Dave's platoon rushed in and grabbed their cots and started to hang up their posters.

'Oh, Christ…' Angus McCall watched Mal attaching a picture to the tent rails by his cot. 'I thought she was all mine.'

He held up an identical photograph.

'She was waiting for me in Nuts,' Mal said. 'Your girl must be her twin sister.'

The air was thick with the thunder of helicopter rotors and suddenly the rest of R Company were streaming into the base.

Dave didn't greet them. His first words were: 'Brought the mail bag?'

They'd been away from the UK for well over a week now, training in the comparative luxury of Camp Bastion before leaving for Sin City. He knew that, consciously or unconsciously, everyone was waiting for their letters. It was important to distribute them as rapidly as possible.

When he went over to the sangars to where Sol and Angus were on stag, he saw two bottles of urine and a condom beneath the tower.

'I reckon the condom must be something to do with Emily, Sarge,' Angus said.

Sol Kasanita laughed. 'The marines had a lot of women supporting: medics and psych ops and Intelligence,' he said. 'Emily isn't the only woman in Helmand Province.'

'What is all this shit about Emily?' Dave asked.

'Emily's the number two civilian here. Their number one is that old guy who wanders around, Martyn someone. And Emily's his side-kick. The marines have a name for her.'

'Let me guess.'

'The sex grenade.'

'Uh-huh.'

'Now,' Sol said, 'according to the marines, when she needs a man she just whistles.'

'And one bloke isn't enough, Sarge! Sometimes she needs a whole platoon!' Angus added.

'I can't wait to meet her.'

'If she exists,' Sol said.

The air was still now. From up here the town seemed to have grown out of the ground. Its walls were the same colour as the surrounding desert. Suddenly, hauntingly, the call to prayer crept across the sand towards them.

'Not him again,' groaned Angus. 'He never stops wailing.'

'It's Friday,' Dave said.

Angus looked blank.

'Holy Day. Like Sunday used to be in England before we found out PC World was more fun than "All Things Bright And Beautiful".'

Sol didn't catch his eye. Dave remembered that the Fijian was a practising Christian. He never mentioned it, but Dave had seen the Bible by his cot and back in Wiltshire he'd seen Sol, Adi and the kids all bundled into their rusty old car in their best clothes on Sunday mornings. About an hour after the Chinooks, the convoy of Vectors finally set off, carrying the last of A Company back to Bastion. They roared past the sangar sending up choking clouds of powdery dust, which hung in the air long after the vehicles had disappeared between the town and the mountains.

'Goodbye and good luck,' Angus McCall muttered insincerely. At lunchtime he'd got into a heated argument with two men from A Company, insisting that Manchester United led the Premier League in 2005. Later, Dave had told him quietly: 'You were wrong. It was Chelsea. They were defending champions and they won it again.'

Angus had looked sheepish. 'I remembered that halfway through. But I wasn't going to give in to the bastards.'

That night, he booked some phone time with his father. He said: 'I hate marines.'

'A lot of them are big, strong, brave men,' his dad said. 'The sort of man you should be, Angus.'

Angus immediately regretted the argument in the cookhouse and thought that he'd probably never be that sort of man, like a marine, like his dad. If he was, he'd have backed down from the Premier League argument and admitted he was wrong.

'Did you know any marines?'

'Course I did. Marines, Paras and…' John McCall dropped his voice. 'SF.'

There was always something in the knowing way his dad talked about Special Forces which made Angus sure his dad had been in the SAS. He knew that John McCall had fought with distinction in the Falklands, although the medals themselves had been stolen many years ago.

His parents were divorced and since early childhood he'd spent every Saturday afternoon with his father. From the moment that John McCall turned the sign around in his newsagent's so that the door read 'OPEN' from the inside and 'CLOSED' from the outside, Saturdays were war stories, war films, war games. And whenever his dad talked about the SAS, Angus knew that he would apply for Selection himself one day. Even though he was sure he could never be good enough to get in.

'So!' said John McCall resuming his normal tone. 'Was the journey to the base OK?'

'Had a contact.'

If he'd told his mum that, she would have panicked. But he could hear the shrug in his dad's voice. 'Oh, well, start as you mean to go on.'

'Now we're two men down in my section.'

'Two men down already? What's the matter with them?'

'One lost a leg, the other had burns.'

'Dear oh fucking dear. They didn't last five minutes, did they? Where are they now?'

'I had to carry my mate who lost a leg to the helicopter. They were flown to Bastion. Soon as they're stable they'll be back to Selly Oak.'

'Helicopter!' scoffed John McCall. His accent was still strong although he had left Scotland years ago. 'A helicopter! Sitting there waiting, was it? On the TV they're always saying you boys haven't got enough helis. Turns out they're on hand twenty-four seven. Fuck me, warfare's changed.'

Angus felt himself deflate. Of course his dad was right. All that fear and excitement he'd felt during today's contact had been sheer cowardice. Because there was always air support waiting to bail you out.

'I was scared,' he admitted. 'Until a Harrier came in to sort them out.'

'There you are! You knew a big machine would come and save you! Och, you lads have got it good. I mean…'

But now the line was breaking up. There had been a two-second delay which meant the men kept talking over each other. Angus lapsed into silence. He wasn't sure he should have told his father anything about the contact over the satellite phone. John McCall's voice came and went in his ear.

'I have to finish now, Dad,' he shouted. 'I have to ring Mum on this card.'

But his father didn't hear.