Andy McNab - War torn

'Sometimes Binman doesn't eat nothing at all.'

Sol looked at Binns for an explanation. Binns stared at the ground.

'It's too fucking hot to eat and I'm too fucking knackered carrying all this kit around.'

'What about your rations when you're out?'

'They don't taste nice. That boil-in-the-bag chicken stuff just makes me want to puke. I always give it to Angry.'

Sol turned to Angry who looked defensive.

'Yeah, well I like it.'

'Don't eat the sprog's rations!' said Sol. 'You can swap but you can't eat his or he'll die of starvation.'

'But I get hungry! And he doesn't want it!'

Sol ignored him.

'The Lancashire hotpot's good,' he told Binman. 'Try finding someone who'll swap you a chicken for a hotpot. And they're bringing in a lot of new flavours now.'

Binns looked unconvinced.

'He's a vegetarian, that's the problem,' said Bacon. Binns shot his mate an angry glance.

Finn hooted.

'Fond of little furry animals, are you? Well, so am I! Served up with brown sauce.'

'I just don't eat meat,' said Binns. 'I wouldn't call myself vegetarian.'

'There's some no-meat meals,' said Sol. 'We'll have to sort you out. Why didn't you tell us before?'

Binn glared at the ground. 'I'm not gay.'

Sol looked around dangerously at the others. 'Does anyone here think gay men don't eat meat?'

'No, Sol.'

Sol glanced at the isoboxes to see if there was any sign of the civilians. They were already half an hour late.

'Give your meal bag to Mal and he'll get it changed if there's time.'

'The colour won't give you any new meals. They're all his own personal property. He buys them with his own fucking money,' said Finn.

Binns searched through his pouches for the bag and handed it to Mal, who headed off to the CQMS.

'And don't you nick it! Change it for a vegetarian one!' Sol yelled after him.

'I did try and eat the meat. Only it made me puke,' said Binns miserably.

'Listen, man, no one's going to make you eat pukey stuff, but you got to eat something. You're worrying me. This is a harsh climate and we're doing a hard job and you've got to take care of yourself. You drinking enough?'

'Yeah. My Camelbak's full.'

'Good. Show me your pouches.'

'You mean… open them?'

'Yep. You show it for kit inspection. But now I want to see where you keep it. Where's your ammo?'

'Here.'

'On your right hip, good. Make sure the rounds are facing away. What else is in there?'

'Nothing.'

'Where's the rest of your ammo?'

'In my day sack.'

'What good is it there?'

'I can get it out when I need it.'

'No, Binman, you don't want to scrabble around in your day sack under fire. You need to be reaching into the pouch on your belt. What have you got in your left pouch?'

Binns opened it and pulled out a toilet roll.

'Try throwing that at Terry Taliban, he's never seen it before,' said Finn.

Angus said: 'Yeah, he'll be scared shitless.'

'Toilet roll should be somewhere out of the way,' said Sol. 'Keep the rest of your ammo in your left pouch and a bit of gun oil there too.'

'Er… I've got gun oil here somewhere…' Binns was frantically opening and closing pouches.

'No good. You have to be able to put your hand on it when you need it. That's why I keep mine in my front left. Where's your bayonet?'

'In my day sack.'

'How's it going to help you there, Binman?'

'Well, it's on the side so I can reach in and…'

'It goes on your webbing! Frog edge on, tie it in with something. There's no point having a weapon if it's not to hand. Last time I checked you had everything in the right place!'

'It all went wrong when I started losing weight and nothing fit me any more.'

'Right, open that pouch for me… let's take a look. Hexi, water, peanuts, picture of pretty girl, OK. Where's your morphine?'

'Left map pocket,' responded Binns automatically.

'Good. Okay, let's get your kit on so it fits.'

The lads watched.

'That webbing wouldn't even go around Angry's arm,' Finn said.

'Wouldn't even go around my dick,' Angus said.

'Dream on,' Jamie said.

'Take no notice of them and try this,' Sol told Binman. When Binns nodded, Sol passed him his pouches to hang on it, working his way carefully from the back round to his hips.

Mal appeared holding a meal pack.

'Pepper risotto with cheese. The colour said he's got an impressive array of vegetarian dishes produced to the highest standard and he looks forward to sharing them with you and hearing your comments.'

'The colour boy said that?' asked Sol, astonished.

'Nope,' said Mal, flopping down on the ground with the others. 'He said: look through this box, find one of your gay meals and then fuck off, nancy boy.'

'Ah, that sounds more like him.'

Angus was shuffling about, smoking impatiently. 'If an entire platoon of men and support and a fucking convoy of vehicles can be ready to go at 0700 hours, why can't Martyn Robertson get himself out of his isobox on time?'

'I could have stayed in my cot a bit longer,' said Mal, who was always last to get up.

'Which wagon are the contractors in?' asked Jamie.

'See that one up there with the cushions, the air-conditioning, the reclining seats, the bar and the satellite TV?' said Finn.

At that moment the civilians appeared. Martyn was surrounded by a cluster of young engineers, but marching determinedly ahead of the group, handbag over her shoulder and a bulging shopping bag in each arm, was Emily.

'Oh no!' said Sol, who had heard all about Emily's last outing.

'That's why they're late, they're bringing a woman,' said the lads, pulling each other up. 'Because ol' Emily's been getting sexed up in front of her mirror.'

The vehicles started and men began jumping aboard. The boss greeted them and gallantly helped Emily into the civilians' wagon before jumping into the front himself.

CSM Kila, throwing Dave a crafty look, opened the door at the front of the second Vector, where Jean was seated.

'Mind if I join you?'

She gave him a faint grin and he leaped aboard as the convoy moved off.

'Funny the way the civilians hardly ever get attacked,' he remarked, settling himself next to her.

'Because the Afghans want this oil and gas project to go ahead.'

'But what do a bunch of flipflops know about oil and gas?'

Jean pursed her lips. 'At the shura the town headman was friendly and showed a real interest in the exploration.'

Kila thought for a moment.

'Listen, diplomacy isn't my strong point. I'm a soldier and I just say what I think.'

'And you think…?'

'Well…' He looked at her. 'I think that you are very beautiful.'

Jean began to colour. He watched as a pink glow, turning to red, rose from her neck up to her cheeks. She glanced involuntarily at the driver, hoping he hadn't overheard.

'Sorry, sorry,' said Kila hastily. Although he didn't look sorry. 'Got distracted for a moment there. What I meant to say is that I think the town headman may not be so friendly.'

'You weren't even at the shura.' Her voice was cool.

'If he can call off the Taliban because he likes the oil exploration project then he's got to be Taliban himself. At a high level. Otherwise they'd just tell him to fuck off. Oh!' He looked shocked at himself. 'Excuse my language!'

Jean reddened but said nothing. Instead she pursed her lips again and indicated that she had picked up something on the radio which required her intense concentration. Kila smiled.

Their destination was a parched place at the foot of hills which were themselves at the foot of mountains so that layer upon layer of rock towered above them on one side. On the other the desert was so hot and flat that when the men dismounted it was like stepping into a giant frying pan. Heat radiated up as if it came from the centre of the earth.