Andy McNab - War torn

'My boss has a garage back in his home town. And it's not doing very well. He wants me to spend a few weeks sorting it out.'

There was a long silence.

'Where this garage?' she asked at last.

'Great Yarmouth. East. The other side of London. Not far from Poland.'

'You not come back for a few weeks?'

His face drooped.

'I'll try. But the place is in a right mess. I'd rather get the job done and finished…'

'When you go?'

'Today.'

'Oh!'

She turned away from him, back to the window. It sounded as though someone was throwing gravel at the glass. But it was just the rain.

'Look at me, Aggie.'

She did not want to face him. She felt desolate. Desolation was a long, flat field, covered with snow. The field had been there when her father died. And when she had first arrived in England. She had cried herself to sleep each night for a whole month at the hotel where she worked. The field was there every time Jamie went away, every time Luke went to the hospital. And now here it was again. That blanket of snow over frozen earth in a field in a frozen world far from anywhere.

'Ags? Come here.'

She walked over to him obediently and he put his free arm around her. He managed to kiss her, although he was still holding Luke with the other arm.

'Aggie, it's not for long and I'll ring you often,' he said softly.

He stroked her hair and the repetitive movement was soothing.

'I want to take care of you. I wish you hadn't sent me away the other day, after the beach.'

She closed her eyes. She leaned against him. It was one thing to look at Adi Kasanita on a summery evening laughing with her brood of healthy kids and think that was how life ought to be. And another to send away your only friend when you were stuck alone in a small house with a sick child on a rainy day. She was sure now that she did not want Darrel to go.

'Will you miss me?' he asked.

She nodded. She was frozen.

'I have to get to work,' he said softly. 'I'll be back soon, Ags. Take care of yourself.'

He carefully settled Luke into the corner of the sofa and this time the baby did not object. Darrel bent over Agnieszka. When she didn't turn her face up to him he kissed her on the forehead.

She stood at the window watching the beautiful car drive away. She did not permit herself to feel anything.

She switched on the TV. The screen was filled with British soldiers. They were wearing desert camouflage and streaming out of the back of a Chinook. This must be Afghanistan. Her heart missed a beat.

'A new development,' said the anchorman, 'in the unfolding Afghan hostage crisis.' Afterwards, Steve held Leanne so tightly that it crossed her mind he was trying to kill her. It was a moment before she realized he was trying not to cry. The thought that this big man had been moved to tears by having sex with his wife brought tears to her own eyes.

'You can cry if you want, sweetheart,' she said. 'I am.'

As soon as she had spoken, his entire body was shaken by the immense sob that followed. He held her as he cried and cried. When she looked at his face she saw the pain there. The pain of the leg he had lost, the pain of the new reality, the pain of all the hopes and possibilities that had been exploded in a few seconds under the hot Afghan sun. She cried too, as though she could carry some of his pain and save him some tears.

'Life's going to be different now, love,' she said at last, passing him a third wad of tissues. 'But that doesn't mean it's going to be worse.'

He nodded and put an arm around her. 'I still love you. I don't always show it but I do.'

She smiled.

'And,' he added, 'thank God I can still do it.'

'Oh, you can still do it all right.'

When she stood up to go and make them a sandwich she realized that she felt relaxed for the first time in months. If she fell asleep now she would sleep for the rest of the day and the whole of the night. Instead of waking up and tossing and turning for hours and then sneaking down to the fridge as though it was her secret lover.

'Turn on the TV, sweetheart, it's time for the news,' said Steve. He sounded like his old self again.

She switched on and went into the kitchen. She didn't feel hungry! She decided to go without a sandwich and just make one for Steve. She was reaching for the bread when she heard shouting.

'Bloody fucking stupid bitch!'

She ran back to the living room.

'You left the zapper over there, fat cow! Look, there's something about the lads and I can't reach the zapper to turn it up!'

He was roaring. His eyes were bulging with fury, his face was angry black lines.

She rushed to the zapper and dropped it.

'For fuck's sake!' he screamed. She picked it up and hastily turned up the volume. His eyes blazed as he turned away from her. He was intent on the screen.

Leanne sat very still. She watched the newsreader without listening.

'… now made a ransom demand for the safe return of the American hostage, oil exploration expert Martyn Robertson. The Foreign Office has refused to comment on reports that his kidnappers are demanding as much as thirty million dollars, as well as the release of a number of Taliban detainees.

'Martyn Robertson was kidnapped by insurgents in Helmand Province while under the care of a British Army escort. The army has issued a statement saying that every effort was made to keep Mr Robertson safe but members of his family are calling for a full inquiry into how the Taliban slipped through the army's security net.

'The kidnappers are rumoured to have set a two-week limit for the delivery of the ransom. They are unlikely to let the hostage live past that deadline.'

The picture changed, the story changed, a different reporter appeared on the screen. Steve and Leanne continued to watch, mute and motionless, from separate chairs.

THE MEN WERE CLUSTERED AROUND THE TV IN THE COOKHOUSE. Martyn Robertson was the first news story. There was a shocked silence as the newsreader announced the ransom demand and execution threat.

A grainy video was shown of Martyn looking miserable. He said he was being well treated and he read out a prepared text about the evils of imperialist powers in Afghanistan.

The watching men searched the background for clues to Martyn's whereabouts but behind him was only a mud wall that could be anywhere in Helmand Province, anywhere in Afghanistan. The report cut to politicians from both sides of the Atlantic talking about their determination to free the hostage without giving in to terrorist demands.

'That's a load of crap,' said Swift from 3 Section. 'We should be driving around this area ripping the shit out of every Taliban bastard for miles around.'

'Can't we just go through the whole town looking for him?' asked Aaron Baker. 'He's probably in someone's cupboard.'

'Why aren't we doing something to find Martyn?' people shouted.

'And what good are fucking diplomats?' asked Mal.

The OC was in the cookhouse with the men. He looked tired. 'Secretary of State Clinton is making a surprise visit to Kabul. While she's here, she's going to talk to the Afghan President about Martyn.'

His words were met by silence. Finally CSM Kila said: 'With respect, sir, that'll do fuck all to help.'

Major Willingham was doleful.

'I know.'

'Can't we find him? Can't we go and fight with the fuckers?' men said. 'We've got to get to him before the bastards slice his head off.'

But the OC held his hands up to indicate his helplessness in the world of politicians and diplomats.

After dark, Asma escaped from the ops room to have a cigarette and join Gordon Weeks for a walk around the perimeter. Foreign Office staff, walking with their heads tilted back so they could see the amazing Afghan stars, kept bumping into them.