Andy McNab - War torn

Dave waited. Order was gradually slipping from the boss's control and he wanted to give the young officer a chance to wrestle it back. He glimpsed Jamie Dermott sitting silently at the back, his face a deep shade of red as the boss lost the meeting.

Gordon Weeks's eyes bulged and he swallowed again and for a moment he did not speak or move. Then he started to explain things once more to the closest group while the noise grew louder around him.

Dave decided that it had all gone far enough.

'Right!' he roared. 'Wind your necks in!'

There was instant silence.

'This has been decided and we're not interested in hearing what you think about it. Order of march is: 1 Section, 2 Section, 3 Section out first as decoys, then 3 Platoon takes off with the contractors. Got it? Now we'll show you where you're going and when and you can shut up and listen because we're not saying it a third time.'

Dave proceeded to give the orders.

'Thank you, Sergeant.' Boss Weeks looked around. 'Any questions?' He was obviously hoping there weren't.

Finn opened his mouth. One look from Dave and he shut it again.

'Sir, are there enough medics for each section?' Jamie asked.

'Good question,' said the boss. 'The strategy we've devised for the civilians is stretching all our resources. The remaining medic will be with 1 Section because they're going through the Green Zone.'

'I'll also be with 1 Section and so will the boss,' Dave said. '1 Section is crossing the river at a hot point. We've cleared it once and the Taliban have given every indication they're keen to take it back so God knows what we'll find there. But thanks to the demands of Topaz fucking Zero we're so undermanned that we won't be able to do anything about it except report back.'

'Does 1 Section get the WMIKs?' another lad asked.

'Always nice to have the fire power,' Dave said.

'Very nice,' agreed the boss. 'That's why the civilians get the WMIKs.'

'Will 1 Section get a shotgun?' Mal asked.

'So you can try giving it to the Taliban again?' someone called.

'A shotgun would be nice, too,' Dave said.

'Very nice,' the boss agreed. 'That's why the civilian escorts get the shotguns. I don't believe we get a mortar man either.'

Finn made himself heard above the noise of disbelief. 'So there's just one medic, then, for 1 Section? That's all the support we get because the civilians have got the rest? Even though we're going through the Green Zone?'

'That's right, Lance Corporal,' Dave said firmly.

'Do we get a driver?'

'Nothing to drive, we're not getting any vehicles!' said Corporal Baker from 2 Section.

'Apart from drivers, obviously, the only personnel the civilians can spare are two engineers, a signaller and an interpreter,' the boss said.

'And a fat lot of fucking use they are,' Dave said, 'when all we can do is keep moving.'

There were no more questions.

'Good, well then, rehearsals will be at 1930,' the boss said. 'Synchronize watches. In one minute it will be 1635…'

Everyone looked at their watches in silence. The minute passed slowly.

'It will be 1635 in ten seconds. Five, four, three, two, one. Mark one, two, three, done.'

Boss Weeks left, looking relieved.

Nobody moved. They knew what was coming next. As soon as the commander was out of earshot, Dave started.

'Right, shitheads, I don't ever want to hear that fucking backchat again. Not ever. Anyone who gives lip in this platoon gets gripped by me. And you know I'm not nice. Because lip in the FOB is soon going to turn into lip the other side of the hesco and if shitheads don't do what they're told out there then there's only one fucking outcome. And that's more casualties. Got it?

'Since some of you have got such short memories, I'm going to remind you what we told you before deploying to Afghanistan and what we told you when we got here. One in ten of you goes home in a body bag or fucked up for life. And it's going to be a fucking sight more than that if you don't work in a team. Look around you. Look at the lad sitting next to you. He might not go home. He's looking at you. You might not go home. Think about it before you try to be funny next time. Because corpses can't laugh.

'So wind your necks in and get on with your jobs. I want to see some teamwork. And let's hope I'm not phoning the hospital at Bastion to see how you are after tomorrow.'

He was angry. But it was hard to be very angry after the men had been given such a bad set of orders.

They trooped out in silence. Some exchanged glances. Some, like Jamie Dermott, still looked embarrassed. Others, like Sol Kasanita, just looked unhappy.

'You can stay behind,' Dave said as Finn passed him. Finn studied the ground. Dave waited until the room was empty.

'Time for you and me to have a little talk, Billy Finn…'

Face reddening, Finn continued to stare at the footmarks the men had left in the Cowshed's dust. For once, he made no attempt to respond. When he was finally dismissed he left slowly, the setting sun throwing a long, faltering shadow before him.

Dave found Boss Weeks alone in the ops room.

'I was piss poor, wasn't I?' the platoon commander said. 'I just don't seem to be getting any better at it.'

Dave smiled. In spite of everything, he couldn't help liking Boss Weeks.

'If you don't mind me saying so, sir, it's a bad idea to involve the lads in the full strategic picture. Each man needs to know what he's doing, but if you give him too much detail he gets confused. And if you explain everything to everyone, they think they have the right to contribute. Or the cocky ones do, anyway.'

'I knew that. But it's the same every time. I open my mouth and it all goes out of the window.'

'I've dealt with Lance Corporal Finn,' Dave said. 'I can guarantee you won't have a problem with him again.'

'Has he often challenged orders in the past?'

'He's a bright lad and a very good soldier. But he never stops talking and he's still got a lot more to learn.'

Boss Weeks looked down at the ground. 'He's not the only one,' he said quietly.

THE FLAT WAS ONE SPECIALLY RESERVED FOR FAMILIES VISITING wounded men at Selly Oak hospital. It was lovely, at least it had been before Leanne filled it up with all their stuff. There was no lift and she had made many journeys carrying baby paraphernalia up and down the stairs, the twins screaming and trying to follow her each time she left them for the next load.

There was no sign of her mother. Because she was lost. Of course. And probably too flustered to use her mobile.

Leanne looked at her watch again and again, aware that visiting time had begun and that Steve was waiting for her. Maybe she should just go, and take the twins. But everyone had told her not to do that. She would be unable to have the conversation with Steve she had waited such a long time for. And the hospital couldn't really want children on these wards, not for long.

The old Leanne would have blustered her way in. But now she didn't have the confidence. Steve had lost a leg and God knew what else, while she had lost some other things that probably didn't even have a name. Bits of herself. The bits that usually didn't worry and thought they could cope with any crisis. She had always been good in a crisis. But this wasn't a crisis. This was the rest of her life.

At last she heard the sound of her mother's car outside.

Leanne jumped up with a twin under each arm and ran down the stairs.

'Nana! It's Nana!' she told them. That tone of anticipation again, intended to whip kids up into a frenzy of excitement. The same tone everyone used when telling the twins they would soon see Daddy again. Except that the boys were only eighteen months old and might already have forgotten who Daddy was. They probably thought he was some sort of chocolate bar they'd get if they were good.