Andy McNab - War torn

'They get paid danger money to come to an FOB,' said Asma. 'It's a fortune. But the first sign of any incoming and they're into the bunker and down on the ground.'

Weeks stepped around a stumbling man in a smart suit and body armour.

'Their greatest risk is falling and breaking a leg while they stargaze.'

She giggled.

'God it is so fucking good to get out of the ops room! It's stuffy and smelly and horrible. And so are all the officers.'

Weeks decided she had just paid him a compliment without even knowing it. Suddenly he felt happy. Happy to be with Asma, under a spectacular night sky, hearing her laugh.

Without thinking he reached out and drew her to him. Their body armour bumped. He smelled the hint of perfume and the odour of cigarette. Her arms were bare and the softness of her skin excited him. Then his courage failed. He kissed her on the cheek and released her.

'What was that for?' She was laughing at him.

'I don't know what came over me,' he said. 'I hope you don't mind.'

She laughed again and then they walked on in silence.

'So,' he began awkwardly. 'Are you sitting there with your headphones on just listening all day?'

'Yup. Except when someone nicks me headphones.'

'Is it ever interesting?'

'It's enough to make me take up fucking knitting. I mean, why do we look at the radio when we're listening to it?'

'But are you getting anywhere?'

'Well, it's frustrating. I knew Martyn and I feel this sense of urgency, especially now we've only got two weeks. But there are guys in there who are treating it like just another bloody day's work. It's more about politics than about finding him.'

'But do you hear anything on the radio that may lead us to him? The men all want to get out there and search.'

'Hmmm. Depends how you interpret what they say.'

'Because the Taliban speak in code?'

'Their codes aren't very complicated. But they chatter a lot about nothing. So it's hard to tell what's crap and what matters. There was a lot of stuff about a holy place today so the colonel's convinced they're hiding him in a mosque.'

'Well, they might be.'

'Or they might just have been talking about mosques. Because Moslems do.'

'Any idea which mosque?'

She laughed again.

'No. So if your blokes want something to do, they could search them all.'

'FOLLOWING AN INTELLIGENCE BREAKTHROUGH WHICH SUGGESTS THAT Martyn is being held in a mosque, the colonel has decided that every mosque within a one-hundred-kilometre range of this base is to be cleared and searched tomorrow morning,' announced the boss.

'So what will we do after lunch?' asked Jamie Dermott.

Gordon Weeks said: 'It is important to clear as many mosques simultaneously as possible and clearly this base doesn't have the manpower. So troops from other bases will be taking part and other companies are being flown in to help.'

'How many are we doing?' asked Angus.

'There are three mosques in the town by the base and each platoon will clear one. You will, of course, behave respectfully and politely. To you it may feel like any building to be searched: to a Moslem a mosque is a very holy place.'

Dave involuntarily glanced at Mal. He was staring at the ground, his face red.

'Don't they have to leave their shoes outside? Well, I'm not taking my fucking boots off,' said Angus.

'You can keep your boots on,' said Dave, rolling his eyes.

The boss continued: 'There is to be no shouting or swearing in the mosque. And, although we will have to enter with our weapons, we must avoid firing them unnecessarily. It's a green entry so strictly, strictly no grenades. Plus total respect for any religious objects like the Quran, please.'

'On training they told us that the Taliban store weapons in mosques,' said Bacon. 'Where's their respect, then?'

'They not only store weapons but they frequently fire from mosques. But that's no reason for us to do the same.'

'So how can Martyn Robertson be held in a mosque if it's a public place?' asked O'Sullivan.

'Good question. Either the Taliban has to ensure the silence of an entire community, which is possible. Or he'll be kept in a cupboard, room or underground area around the mosque. In short, we don't know.'

'Will there be many people inside? Saying prayers and things?' asked Binman.

'The operation has been deliberately timed to avoid the five Moslem prayer times. But there may well be people inside the mosque and we will have to indicate to them, very politely, that they should step aside while we search the place.'

'Right, lads,' said Dave. 'We'll show you a map of the town and the mosque so you all know what you're doing. Concentrate. Stay alert. Use your eyes and your heads. We're undermanned, we all need each other and we're doing a vital job tomorrow. We're going to try to find Martyn alive. I don't have to tell you what happens to him if we fuck up.'

As they approached the town the next day they saw with relief that the place was busy. It was market day. The narrow streets throbbed with people, cattle and goats. The smell of sewage met the smell of spice. Women, their faces covered, their bags bulging, stepped around steaming animal dung. Stalls groaned beneath the weight of their produce, sellers shouted for buyers, bright fabrics were draped psychedelically on top of one another.

To the soldiers the bustle could only mean one thing: no Taliban.

1 Platoon split from the rest of the convoy to go around the outskirts of the town. The men would be dropped at a point nearest their allocated mosque and had been told to make their way towards it rapidly.

Everything went according to plan at first. No one tried to stop them and the locals ignored the presence of armed soldiers in their midst.

'So… er… where is the mosque?' asked Mal, who was point man.

'What do you mean?' demanded Sol.

'Well, according to the map, it's here,' said the boss.

'Where?'

They were lingering in a side alley now. Dave, at the rear, said: 'Get moving, we're supposed to take the place by surprise.'

'Get moving where?' asked Mal. 'I don't see a mosque.'

Everyone looked around them.

'Shit, shit, shit,' said Dave. 'They could have Martyn gagged, bound and out by now. Half the town knows we're here.'

'Can't we ask the way to the mosque?' suggested Bacon.

'How's your Pashtu then, Streaky?' Finn said.

The boss, staring at the map, shook his head: 'I don't understand. This is supposed to be the right place…'

'What's the problem? This is the fucking mosque, look!' Binman was pointing to a tannoy above the door of the low, squat building on their right.

Mal took a step back to stare at it.

'That's never a mosque! In England mosques don't look like this. No one would go if they did.'

'It's just an ordinary house…' said Finn.

Sol said: 'Ordinary houses don't have loudspeakers to call people to prayer. In you go, Mal.'

'No minaret, no arches, nothing written on the outside, nothing,' muttered Mal mutinously. 'How was I to know?'

'In you go, mate,' said Sol.

Mal paused.

'Go on!' roared Dave from the back.

Angus finally pushed in front of him and the others followed.

Dave asked Mal, 'What's the problem?'

'I haven't washed my hands and face.'

'What?'

'I didn't think I cared. But we're supposed to wash before praying. I don't usually go in a mosque without…'

'Listen, mate,' said Dave, 'you can stay outside with 2 Section if you like. I'm sorry, I should have thought.'

'Fuck that,' said Mal, and he stepped into the mosque.

Inside it was almost dark. After a few moments their eyes began to adjust. As the interior materialized they quickly spread out. There were just a few men, kneeling on the mats provided, who looked up in shock at them. Light filtered in through small, high windows. There were arches overhead and at the back some cupboards and a couple of rooms. Without saying a word, the soldiers quickly and quietly searched the place.