Andy McNab - Last Night-Another Soldier…

I blinked on purpose and looked away. I wasn't in the mood for Si's stupid games.

Sergeant MacKenzie moved his head about, making eye contact with as many of us as he could. 'It's our job to look out for each other. And to remember John, your mate. Remember all of those who've died, because none of those pencil necks in the real world will. This time next year they'll still be wetting themselves over Beckham's new haircut, Jordan's latest tit job and Jamie Oliver reinventing toast. No point being angry about it, that's just the way it is. Even Iraq is a distant memory for them. It's up to you to keep our guys' memories alive. Because they are one of us. They are soldiers, just like you.'

MacKenzie pulled the ring tab back on the beer can he was holding in his left hand. I knew what was coming, but it felt worse this time around. All of us pulled our tabs back and the room let out a long hiss. Everyone's eyes were on MacKenzie. 'To keep John's memory alive, you've got to stay alive, so keep switched on and look out for each other. It's your job.' MacKenzie raised his arm high in a toast. 'To Rifleman John Hammond. To John.'

We lifted our cans in response and toasted our dead mate. It all felt a bit overdramatic, a bit unreal, but we had to do something for John. Sergeant MacKenzie gave pretty much the same toast every time we lost a lad. This was number sixteen and the battalion was still only halfway through its tour. Good job we weren't doing it for the wounded, too, or we'd be out of beer by now. Not that it was real beer, of course. Alcoholfree Heineken was all we were allowed.

As I left the cookhouse, Sergeant MacKenzie screamed over to me. 'Briggsy! Stand still.'

I did as I was ordered. Got my feet together, arms down by my sides, and waited.

'Yes, Sergeant?'

Everyone was scared of MacKenzie. Stupid really. He sounded harsh, but the man was a star. It was his job to control us. He had to keep us together, to stop anyone falling apart over John, or anyone else getting zapped. Or worse than that, getting bits of them blown off.

To MacKenzie we were all dickheads, but the thing is, we were his dickheads. He always stuck up for us, even when we'd cocked something up. Last week he punched another sergeant from HQ Company for picking on one of the platoon. That's the sort of dad I would have liked. At least in MacKenzie I had one while I was there.

He hovered over me, pointing a stubby finger at me. 'What's wrong with you?'

'I think I got cut up a bit last night, Sergeant.' I tried to be all casual about it. If Toki was right and everyone was going back into the Green Zone soon, I wanted to make sure I was going with them.

'You seen the medic?'

I shrugged. 'No, Sergeant. It's no big-'

'Wind your neck in,' he bellowed. 'Who do you think you are? Schwarzenegger, the Terminator?'

'No, Sergeant.'

'Correct. So get hobbling over to the medic centre. Get Corporal Rankin to sort it now.'

'Yes, Sergeant.'

As I lay on the bench in the Medical Centre, I realized I was in a pretty ridiculous position. I was lying on my stomach with my combats around my ankles and my bare arse facing the ceiling. The tinny sound of the Red Hot Chili Peppers rang out from Emma's cheap iPod speakers. Emma was pretty. She was Scottish, with long dark hair that she pulled back in a ponytail. As she leant over the bench to examine me, I prayed my arse wasn't covered in zits.

Emma's voice was kind but matter-of-fact. 'Right then, Briggsy. What did you do, exactly?'

I stared down at the plastic flooring. 'Don't know. Must have cut my arse during the contact last night.'

She put one hand on the edge of the bench and the other on the back of my thigh as she leant in closer. Her movement made me flinch in pain so I thought I'd try to chat a bit to distract myself. 'Emma, d'you really like the Chili Peppers?'

'I'd rather have one of them lying half naked in front of me than you.' She smiled and prodded carefully, but not carefully enough.

I let out a yelp. 'Whoah. That's it, right there.'

She burst into laughter. 'Stop being a wimp, Briggsy.' She prodded again.

'Ow!'

She kept on with her examination. 'Keep still, get a grip… that's no cut. I think we can safely say, David Briggs, you have been well and truly shot in the arse.'

My heart sank. Not that it came as a great surprise really. I hadn't been able to sit down all morning because of the pain. I'd hoped it was just a cut, and the news that it was something worse got me flapping. I twisted round to look at her. 'There a bullet in there?'

She shook her head. 'No, it just nicked you. Here, have a look in the mirror. I'll hold it up for you. See how it just went in and out in less than, what, a centimetre?'

I twisted my body round some more. There was a gash in my arse, but the fact that there was no bullet to dig out was a big relief. I started to worry about something else. 'Don't tell anyone, will you, Emma? It's not exactly macho is it? I'll get a hard time from the lads. They'll take the piss out of me big time.'

Emma put the mirror down. 'It's when the guys are being nice to you that you need to worry.' She didn't seem to realize how embarrassing it all was. She was busying herself with bits of kit, ready to sort out my wound.

'Yeah. But really, you won't tell anyone, will you?' I was begging now, but it would be worth it if she would just agree to shut up about it. 'Please, Emma?'

She started cleaning the wound with some liquid and cotton wool. 'No, you're all right. I wouldn't be that cruel. Now, lie still and let me clean this thing up and close the wound. We don't want it getting septic, do we? Just think of the hard time you'd get then.'

As Emma cleaned and sewed, I gasped and winced with the pain, trying hard not to show how much it hurt. Then I noticed a big black rubber body bag lying in the corner of the tent. It had to be John. I'd heard that MERT hadn't been able to fly him out yet. No spare helis. They were still all up with D Company. I asked if I could take a look at him, but Emma shook her head. 'What for? You know what happened. You were there.'

She was right. I mumbled something about how dark and confusing it was out there, but to tell you the truth, I really had no idea why I wanted to see him. What good would it do? Besides, Emma couldn't be persuaded. 'No, Briggsy. I haven't hosed him down yet. Remember him as he was. That's best.'

I nodded, but I wasn't sure if I agreed. Emma quickly changed the subject. 'Heard that one of them tried to take you last night…'

We were back on that old chestnut. Well, I wasn't going to tell the story again. It had been bad enough telling Si and the others the first time around. I just didn't want to think about it. But Emma kept on.

'I heard you shot him in the face. Sounds very frightening. And pretty full on for a guy who has only been here three weeks. You OK?'

I tried to shut her up fast. 'Yeah, it's what I get eighteen hundred quid a month for, isn't it?'

'Well, seeing as you're the new boy, and you've just had quite a major experience, and you can't run away because your combats are round your ankles… you are now going to get the potted Post Traumatic Stress Disorder lecture.'

I groaned loudly, but it wasn't like I had a choice. She banged on about all the symptoms of PTSD. Nightmares, mood swings, anxiety, that sort of stuff. Problems with alcohol and drugs. Trouble communicating with friends and family. Feelings of isolation, like nobody else understands. Violence. Even sexual problems.

We had watched a training film about it while I was at the Infantry Training Centre, but I'd fallen asleep halfway through. I'd been knackered after a day on the assault course. I wasn't really in the mood for hearing it all again, but then she said something I didn't know. She said PTSD normally took years to develop. Well that was news to me.