Andy McNab - War torn

'Did you remember to put that cream on, Binman?'

'Yeah, but they don't hurt much.'

'That's because I gripped you in time.'

Mal said: 'They'll hurt when you've been on your feet all day, Binman. I let my heels get cracked and every step was like treading on fucking knives.'

'Is that why you lost the shotgun?' asked Finn. 'Because your heels hurt?'

'Fuck off,' said Mal, lighting a cigarette and handing Finn one.

'All right, Mr Angry?' Finn asked Angus, who was sitting leaning on his Bergen with his eyes closed. 'Want one of Mal's ciggies?'

Angus did not open his eyes. 'Nah.'

Sol had been watching Angus too.

'What's up with you?'

'Nothing.'

'Had anything to eat this morning?'

'Nah.'

'Not scared of a fight, are you?' asked Finn.

'Course not. I just don't want to fuck up in front of the Paras.'

Sol's face creased into a frown. 'Who cares about the Paras?'

'I do.'

'Thinking of doing P Company, Angry?' asked Mal. 'Is that what it is? Scared you'll let yourself down?'

Angus opened his eyes. 'I'm not good enough to do P Company.'

'Bollocks,' said Mal.

'You're the right size. Toms are mostly gorilla-shaped people,' said Jamie.

'Toms are mostly gorillas,' said Finn. 'Forget the people bit.'

'You've got to think you're God's gift to the British Army,' said Sol. 'Or you can't join the Paras.'

Finn drew on his cigarette: 'I thought of doing P Company.'

'Why don't you, then?' Binman asked.

'Because he'd miss us,' said Mal.

'What's the point? Just so I can wear a red beret and jump out of aeroplanes? I thought: Finn, you already have enough women chasing you, so forget it.'

'You said your old man was in the Jedi, right?' said Bacon to Angus, who had closed his eyes again now. Angus did not reply. But Streaky continued.

'Well, why join the Paras? Why don't you follow in your dad's footsteps and go straight for the Jedi?'

'Selection,' said Finn. 'Now that really is a killer. Have a go at joining the Jedi, Mr Angry.'

'I wouldn't be good enough.'

'Your dad could give you a few tips about Selection,' said Mal.

'He never talks about it.'

Jamie said: 'Are you sure he was in the Regiment?'

Finn narrowed his eyes. 'In the Regiment? In it? Angry's dad fucking ran it. And I mean he almost couldn't find the time because he was so busy walking on water. He walked right across the fucking South Atlantic and single-handedly took back the Falkland Islands.'

Angus jumped up, like a sleeping animal suddenly woken, and grabbed Finn.

Sol roared: 'Get off him, McCall, NOW!'

'Don't you insult my dad, you fucking diddicoy, you fucking piece of thieving shit from a caravan, you fucking…'

Two people grabbed Finn's right arm just before the knuckles came into contact with Angus's face. Four people dragged Angus away.

Dave appeared.

'What the hell is going on here?'

'This piece of shit insulted my dad!' yelled Angus.

'For Chrissake, McCall, anyone who doesn't get insulted by Billy Finn isn't worth knowing.'

Finn's eyes were narrowed but between the lids they glittered dangerously. His face had thinned with fury.

'Show a bit of respect,' said Sol, letting go of Finn's arm. 'And you, Angry. Save your fighting for the Taliban.'

The pair melted back into the group, shoulders still squared.

It was almost 0400. Sol took Finn and Angus aside as the others climbed into the Vectors.

'A section with its own fight is no good at fighting the Taliban. Put it behind you. Both of you. Now. And I don't mean: snarl at each other across the wagon. I mean put it right behind you so you can fight alongside each other as mates.'

They both nodded at Sol and then at each other. It wasn't much but it was enough. They jumped on board and sat at opposite ends of the wagon.

Asma had climbed up beside the boss at the front and this had put Gordon Weeks in a very good mood despite the day that lay ahead. He had barely slept but now he felt wide awake and alert.

'I hope you won't have to fire one at the Taliban this time,' he said. 'They won't be more lenient on you because you're a woman.'

Asma sighed and yawned. 'You don't understand the Taliban.'

'Does anyone? Do you?'

'It's not like being in the army. It's not one bloody great organization. It's a bunch of smaller groups all arguing among themselves. A few are fundamentalists, most aren't. Some are part of a big machine, some aren't. Some people hedge their bets and join because they think the Taliban will be here for ever and the British will go. Or they join because they're made to. Or paid to. Or because they're angry at civilian deaths. Or because they think the British are bad for the opium crop…'

Her voice disappeared inside another yawn and she closed her eyes. Weeks sneaked a long look at her. She was beautiful in the early morning, too, but it was a different beauty from the Asma who smoked under the stars every evening. In this light she looked more fragile. He started to imagine waking up next to her and then remembered abruptly that he was supposed to be discussing the Taliban.

'Today the enemy isn't disaffected local farmers. We know that a lot of the men in the compound are committed international fighters who want to control Afghanistan.'

She shrugged. 'We'll never eradicate the Taliban or drive them out.'

'Are you telling me we can't win today?'

'What's to win? All this fighting won't bring peace. But I'm sure we'll clear the compound and kill a lot of them.'

Too soon they reached the edge of the Green Zone. The boss told his platoon to debus and then jumped out himself. Asma was to be driven forward behind the inner cordon fighting and he smiled at her before he slammed the door.

'Be careful today,' he said softly.

DAVE STOOD COUNTING THE MEN BY EACH VECTOR AS THEY JUMPED out into the dawn.

'Two hands on your weapon, McKinley!

'For Chrissake, Gayle, how many times do I have to tell you to unhook your sling clip?

'Do your pouches up, Bacon! Get a grip.

'Two hands on your weapon, Mara! Get a grip.

'Sling clip, Broom. Get a grip.

'I hope there's water in that fucking Camelbak, Binns.

'Two hands on your weapon, you. And you! Get your finger out of your arse.

'Switch on, O'Sullivan, your pouches are a mess, sort yourself out.'

Maybe he should count the number of times he told lads to get two hands on their weapon and, when he reached a million, leave the army the way Jenny wanted him to. Jenny. He watched the section commanders lead their men off and then followed them into the orchard. Jenny. He hadn't told her he loved her. He had just talked about Steve and Leanne, his mind on his ammo. And then he had put the phone down with a sense of loss.

They proceeded in silence, waiting for the enemy to know they were there, waiting for the first shots. Within five minutes, the shots came, peppering the silence. But they sounded far enough to the right to allow the men to continue without changing direction. No one fired. They continued to stumble into the half-dark along a field's edge, against the cover of a treeline, listening for the next shots.

After a long pause there was more firing. It was still to their right and this time it was much closer. 2 Platoon reported that they would take cover and open fire.

Dave and the boss had a brief conversation and decided to keep going. As the shots got louder, Dave wondered if they were moving towards the enemy or the enemy was closing in on them.

'We'd better take cover,' he told the boss as they emerged from the field and reached some crumbling walls, pink with age. Previous fighting, perhaps with the Russians or maybe more recently, had turned this building, whatever it had once been, into a ruin. You could see the holes of previous explosions.