Andy McNab - War torn

The chef rolled his eyes. 'This is disgusting. I am not housing a human foot in my freezer with its leg attached. It is not worth millions to me.'

Streaky put the leg quietly back in the bag. He was still embarrassed that he had looked scared in front of everyone. He would lose face for that. There were already people here not showing him respect because he was new and now Dave, fucking Sergeant Dave who was always on his back, had made things worse.

Dave was watching him. He turned away from the din to Streaky.

'All right, mate?'

'Man, why you fucking do that to me?' asked Streaky. 'You got no respect.'

In the circumstances, Dave didn't think he would insist on Sarge.

'It's all right,' he said kindly. 'You did all right.' But he could see Streaky disappearing inside himself, his face sullen, head down.

'Suck it up, mate,' Dave told him.

Streaky glared at the ground.

'Well then, rap your way out of it,' Dave suggested.

Streaky did not look up. 'What, man?'

'You said you could rap. You told me you've been thinking hard about your raps. Well then, let's hear you.'

Streaky shrugged. He watched as the cooks opened negotiations with the soldiers. Somehow a complicated deal was being struck which involved freezer space for the leg until Steve decided what he wanted to do with it, a consignment of Sin City T-shirts for the whole platoon and some bootleg DVDs.

The leg was finally carried back to the freezer, upright like a flag. People were beginning to drift away or gather around the football match.

Streaky stood up, his heart beating fast.

'You planning to rap?' Binns asked, recognizing the look.

Streaky nodded.

'I been thinking about it…' He climbed up on the table.

'Oh, yeah!' said Binns. 'I'll beatbox.'

They had done this routine at Catterick more times than they could count. Binns knew he was a sprog when it came to fighting but when it came to beatboxing, he was confident. At last here was one thing he could do well and he wanted to show it.

He climbed up on the table beside Streaky and put his fingers to his lips and made a series of such extraordinary sounds that everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to the sprogs.

'Hey, listen to Binman!' said someone. A few people began to clap to the rhythm. Once it was established, Streaky joined in.

You get hot in Sin City, you get tired in Sin City

You got a lot on your plate when you live in Sin City.

Brother you get hungry here in Sin City,

Brother, you get hungry, so what do they do?

Brother, of course they offer you stew.

They offer you stew but take my advice.

Don't start to chew, just you think about it twice.

Everyone was swaying now or pointing to the rhythm. Binman, red-faced, was a one-man drum kit.

'Get off that table!' howled the RSM from the back of the cookhouse. Streaky and Binman could hear him but they took no notice and neither did anyone else. The whole cookhouse was enjoying the beatbox and waiting for the rest of the rap.

Take my advice when they offer you stew

Oh soldier just you think twice before you chew,

Get a knife, cut a slice of that belly of pork

'Cos it could be marinated Buckle you got there on your fork.

His left leg was wrapped up in deep refrigeration,

And Buckle leg and carrots are not the best combination.

People were laughing now as they clapped. Binman's face was an unhealthy shade of red but he was still beatboxing. The RSM was advancing with a roar: 'Just get down off my table, please.' But even his assistants weren't listening to him and a couple of lads reached out to prevent him closing on the rappers. If the carrots are too crunchy then just you consider this, That could be Steve Buckle's toes you chewing with your chips. I'm telling you man, the cooks in Sin City never run out of meat, I'm telling you man, they got freezers full of soldiers' feet. We the British Army, we don't feed no Taliban, We keep British arms and legs just for the British man, We don't put no tasty morsels on the Taliban shelf, Our lads get blown up, we gonna eat them ourself.

Streaky had run out of breath and run out of words. He was amazed he'd got that far. He'd thought each line was the last and then more flow had arrived from somewhere in the back of his head.

During the applause that followed he looked back at the smiling faces. They were telling him this was a good rap. He had earned back some respect. Even the officers had enjoyed it, and the civilians were nodding approval.

Streaky searched for Dave's face. For a moment he couldn't see him. Then he found him standing in the corner, arms folded. Dave nodded. Streaky smiled back.

Someone came up and tapped Dave on the shoulder. It was an officer who had just slipped into the tent. He hadn't heard the rap and he wasn't responding to the atmosphere. He had a serious expression on his face and he was muttering something to Dave.

DAVE FOLLOWED THE 2 I/C OUT OF THE COOKHOUSE INTO THE DARK night.

'What's all the hilarity about?' He was leading Dave towards the ops room.

'A couple of the lads are rapping.' Dave would've gone on to talk about Steve's frozen leg if the 2 i/c didn't look so grave. He guessed he had been called to the OC for some reason. It could be the insurgent they'd shot in the ditch. CSM Kila was always warning there would be an inquiry. Maybe his interview was tonight.

'Well, I'm sorry to interrupt,' the officer said. 'There's an urgent message for you.'

Jenny. Dave's stomach lurched.

'It's from Selly Oak.'

His stomach lurched again. Steve Buckle. The whole cookhouse had just been in uproar over Steve's leg. And now…

'What's happened, sir?'

'That's not clear. But his doctor has recommended that you phone him.'

The OC was in the tent under a desk light, surrounded by papers. He greeted Dave but carried on working. There were half-opened packets of custard creams on the tables and on the 2 i/c's desk a crumbling fruit cake that people had obviously been picking at.

Dave would have preferred to use the satellite phone in some private place instead of the ops room phone within earshot of officers, signaller and company clerk, but the 2 i/c was already waving the handset at him with a number to dial. The man who answered sounded uncertain. Dave asked to speak to Rifleman Steve Buckle and after a pause the man said: 'That's me.'

'I didn't recognize you, mate! It's Dave, Dave Henley. How are you?'

'Thank Christ.' The voice sounded stronger, but it still wasn't completely Steve. 'Shit, I need to talk to you.'

'Good to hear you're in the UK at last!'

'Tell me how everyone is! Please! What's happening out there?'

Since this was the ops room phone, Dave spoke more freely than he could on the satellite. 'A lot of the time it's quiet. But we were caught in one fuck of an ambush…'

'What happened?'

There was a note of longing in Steve's voice. Dave guessed that knowing his mates were fighting without him was hard. He gave Steve the detailed description of the ambush he knew he wanted.

'If AH had got there much later, we'd have had it. There was one of the bastards already just ten metres away from us and our ammo wouldn't have lasted another fifteen minutes, even at a very slow rate of fire,' he concluded.

Steve was silent.

'Steve?'

Silence.

'Steve?'

Nothing.

'Has the line gone dead, mate, or did my bedtime story lull you off to sleep?' Except it was a summer's afternoon in England.

No response. And then there was a strange, strangled sound. Was Steve choking? He sounded in pain. Maybe his leg was hurting a lot.

'Shit, I wish I was there!'

Then Dave knew that Steve was struggling to control his tears.