Andy McNab - War torn

'I don't know, sweetheart,' she said. Had he been lingering with Agnieszka's coffee on the outskirts of their conversation so that Jenny didn't see him? She felt her face reddening. She didn't know why.

AT SENZHIRI FORWARD OPERATING BASE, NOTHING MOVED IN THE baking afternoon heat. The contractors were out with 2 Platoon. 3 Platoon was on patrol in the nearby town. 1 Platoon was on base duties. They'd been away a month now, three weeks of it here at Senzhiri. Time and the heat had dulled their yearning for home.

Mal had finished cleaning his weapon and fallen asleep on his cot. It was night time and his mother was writing someone a letter. The kitchen smelled of her home-cooked spicy food and his father's cigarettes. Mal was running through, on his way out as usual. His mother gave him a sweet, weary smile as he left.

He went to a club. His clothes were right, he smelled good and he felt lucky. The music throbbed inside him like his own heartbeat. He was watching a girl dancing and she was looking back at him as she moved. Her name was Emily and she was hot, hot, hot…

'Move, you lazy bastard!' a voice roared in his ear.

He opened his eyes. No hot babe. Just Sergeant Dave Henley, hands on hips, standing over him.

'And if you're going to get your head down, get your boots off! How many times do I have to tell you?'

Mal scrambled off his cot. The dream was over but the beat of the music thudded on inside his head.

'Chinook's here, you should be unloading with the others.'

Mal blinked. So that wasn't a bass line. It was rotor blades.

He stumbled out of the tent, still half asleep. The dream refused to go away. He was partly in Afghanistan and partly inside his dream in England. He remembered his mother's face, her tired smile. The thud of the helicopter's blades seemed to cut into him. They cut through to a vein and tapped directly into a homesickness he had felt on first arriving but had not known was still there.

But a Chinook meant supplies and supplies meant mail and there would certainly be a letter from his mother. That must have been what she had been writing in his dream. He'd dreamed the letter and now it would arrive. Also, he'd met a couple of girls just before deployment and both relationships had reached that red-hot stage where the girls wanted more. So they might write too. With luck, they might even have included pictures. With a lot of luck, they wouldn't be wearing any clothes.

His step quickened as the Chinook blades slowed and men emerged from different tents and buildings around the camp.

Finn was there already.

'Oh yes oh yes!' he said. 'Our new toys have arrived!'

Angus was standing over a wooden crate. Mal took the other end and Finn went with them to the Company Quartermaster.

'So what's in here?' Mal asked.

'I reckon it's the new shotguns,' Finn said.

The platoon had trained on Salisbury Plain with the new Benelli M4 shotguns but when they had arrived in Afghanistan they had found the first consignment was behind them.

'If it's the new shotguns,' Mal said, 'why aren't there more of them?'

'Because there are more coming. Or so they say.'

'I've heard that one before,' Mal said.

'Why are you lot hanging around?' The CQMS glared at them. 'Not got anything better to do?'

'Just interested to know what's in the crate, Colour,' Finn said.

'Well you can fuck off because I'm not telling you.'

Angus started to argue but Finn and Mal pulled him back to the Chinook.

'No point getting nasty with the colour boy,' Mal said.

'You want to get nasty, Mr Angry, you could try killing the Taliban some time,' Finn said.

'Kill them?' Mal cried. 'Kill them? Why would he do that when he could just stand in a fucking ditch and stare at them instead?'

Angus reddened. No one ever noticed your best moments; they just picked up on your mistakes and failures and kept throwing them back at you. And Mal was the worst. Angus thought his mate should understand and maybe even tell the others to fuck off but Mal seemed to feel Angus had let him down personally.

Nobody took much notice of the new lads on the Chinook when the bulging mail bag emerged. Dave sent them to find a cot while the letters were distributed.

Finn had learned not to expect blueys, but he hung around in the hope that someone, maybe one of his babymothers, might have written for once. He watched his mates opening their letters and, for a few minutes, he saw them all go home. They read their mail and they weren't here in Afghanistan any more. Finn thought that, if the Taliban knew what they were doing, this was the moment they should choose to attack.

Angus had a bluey from his mother. It didn't say much but, still, it was a letter. Angry hoped his father might remember how much the post mattered when he was far from home, but his old man seldom wrote.

Jamie had a whole stack, as usual. His entire family were enthusiastic letter-writers but he tore open Agnieszka's envelope first. She'd sent pictures and a poem she'd read in a Polish magazine. Her English translation was almost incomprehensible but Jamie liked it all the more for that.

Sol hobbled up and found a thick envelope full of drawings from the kids.

Dave had a long bluey from Jenny. He glanced at a few lines halfway down the page before unfolding it. '… how much you think of us, if you ever get time to think about us out there, because sometimes you don't even call once a week and I…'

He decided to read it later. Included was a card from Vicky which he pulled out at once: she'd dipped her toes in bright paints and treated him to a vibrant, fire-coloured footprint. He imagined Jen pressing the little foot onto the card and Vicky squealing. He tried to imagine their faces. But he couldn't.

Mal opened his post eagerly. There was just one from his mum in her shaky writing, half capitals, half small letters. He watched while the blueys were distributed in case there was more for him. Nothing. He sighed. He wanted a woman, one he knew or one he didn't. This Emily woman, the elusive civilian who kept herself so hidden here at the base, she was the only hope.

It took a while for people to notice the new lads hanging around by the empty cots and to realize who they were.

'Which section are you in?'

The two younger lads, one black, the other small and fair, said they were in 1 Section. But all eyes were fixed on the third newcomer.

'Are you in 2 Section?'

'Yeah. 1 Platoon. I'm Ryan Connor. Moved over from D Company. They sent me because I'm a gimpyman.'

'Yes!' yelled everyone who had taken a bet with Finn. 'Yes!' Rifleman Connor was strawberry blond.

'No, no, no!' cried Finn. 'We said ginger. This man's no pisswizard.'

'He is fucking ginger.'

'Come on, mate, you're beat, he's pure pisswizard!'

'He is not!'

Finn started to pull Rifleman Connor out of the tent into the sunlight. Connor was a tall, gangly man with uneven skin and scars on his face. He allowed himself to be dragged for a few paces before he grabbed Finn by his shoulders and swung him around.

'What the fuck do you think you're doing?'

Finn looked at Connor's face for the first time and saw the street there.

'Sorry, mate, very sorry.' He offered his hand. 'Billy Finn, 1 Section second i/c.'

Rifleman Connor looked at him uncertainly. Then he shook hands.

'Basically,' continued Finn, 'these guys are trying to screw me out of a lot of money because of the colour of your hair.'

'What's the colour of my hair got to do with anything?'

'Just walk into the light, mate, and I'll explain.'

Connor stepped out into the burning sunlight. He was taller than most of the men around him.

'Just crouch down a minute, bruv, so we can all see the top of your head.'