Andy McNab - Last Night-Another Soldier…

Flash pushed aside his empty plate and immediately reached for his bowl of spotted dick.

'Well, we're all pleased you're not dead, or being tortured by some drugged-up Tali right now.'

Si nodded and pointed his fork in my direction. 'Mate, you were lucky.'

I probably was, but it didn't mean I wanted to keep on going over and over it. 'Yeah, anyway.' I changed the subject. 'Anyone know why Toki joined up? If it really was to make his fortune, I reckon he messed up big time.'

Flash was now having trouble with the custard. It had missed his mouth by miles and was beginning to trickle down his chin in big yellow gobs. A little pool of it had even dripped down onto the table. 'Nah, probably just wants to fight, like all the Fijians. For him, it's recreation. He'll be in the army for the full whack. All the Fijians say they're staying in for life.'

Fortunately, someone shouted out that the welfare phones were back on, which meant I could get away from Flash and the yellow stuff. He'd somehow got it up his nose, so it looked like he had a big yellow bogey hanging out of one nostril.

'Got to go.' I scraped back my chair and stood up to leave.

'Going to phone that bird of yours again?' Si grinned and cupped his hands in front of his chest as if weighing two melons.

'Yeah, good one, Si. See ya!'

After queuing for about fifteen minutes, it was my turn to push aside the canvas curtain and enter the wooden stall. I picked up the receiver and dialled. Mum picked up the phone so quickly it was like she was hovering over it. She sounded relieved. 'Thank God you're OK. I've been watching the news all day, and when you didn't call I got so worried. You know what I'm like, thinking the worst and-'

'Mum, I keep telling you, I can't call when something happens. They cut the phones off until the family of the dead guy knows he's dead. Someone might phone the papers or whatever to try and make a few bob. The family needs to know first, don't they? But soon as they're working again, I call, don't I? Make sure you know I'm OK.'

She sighed so loudly I could hear it over the noise of some lads arguing about the football match as they stood in the queue.

'Yeah, you're a good boy. You're all right, and that's all that matters. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you. I sit and watch the news every day, smoking myself to death, just praying that-'

'Mum, I'm fine. Don't worry. I'm the new boy, they won't even let me out of the camp yet. Listen, I've been thinking about Dad and-'

I heard the sharp intake of breath and the change in her voice – a hint of anger mixed in with panic. 'What? He been writing to you? What does he want? Money? You tell him to keep away from us.'

I tried to sound calm, like it was nothing. 'No, he hasn't written, but…'

Her voice went up even higher. 'I ain't having him nowhere near us. He never lifted a finger to help us, why should we get involved with him now? What has he done to-'

I tried to talk over her. I just needed to get it out. 'But, Mum, I think he needs help. I think you should-'

It was hopeless. She was off again. 'Don't think, don't think anything about him. He's a drunk who never cared about us. Why should I worry about him? I have you to worry about.'

'Mum, I've been learning about PTSD. You know, combat stress. I think he might have it because of the Falklands stuff.'

It was no good. I had picked open an old wound and nothing could stop her now. 'Listen to me. I don't want to talk about him any more, and I don't want you even thinking about that man.'

'But Mum, just call him. Tell him to go see a doctor.'

'Why are you dragging all this up? What have I done to deserve this? Haven't you given me enough to worry about? You calling just to get me even more upset? It's no fun back here you know. You think it's all…'

Then, as always, her anger quickly turned to guilt. 'I tried my best to bring you up good. I know I wasn't there all the time, but that's because that bastard didn't lift a finger to help us. I know I should have done more…'

I could hear the tears were about to come. Anything but that. I couldn't hack it when Mum cried. 'Mum, it's all right, you done good. I like the army. I'm sorry, forget it. Listen, I'll call in a couple of days because I've only got a couple of minutes left for this week on my phone card so-'

I cut myself off mid-sentence and put the receiver down gently. Stupid, stupid idea!

I walked back to my tent and saw all John's stuff in bags and bin liners in one neat row on his bed. There was no sign of Flash and Si, but Toki was sitting on one of the plastic fold-up chairs with John's laptop resting on his knees. He must have carried on sorting through John's stuff during scoff. His fingers tapped and paused, tapped and paused on the laptop keys.

'He got any porn, Toki?'

Toki tapped again. 'Video of some contacts, a couple of pics of dead Taliban and some of Julie, just in stockings, that sort of stuff. Nothing terrible.'

The screen went black and he carefully closed the laptop. He pulled out the plug and started to coil the lead. 'I still hate doing this job, though.'

I nodded, though I wasn't really concentrating on what he was saying. I kept staring at the bed. All John's kit was in black plastic bags, while he lay in a big black rubber one. That was it when you died. That was all there was.

'I can't stay behind, Toki. I want to be out with you lot tonight.' The words came out thick and fast. 'Can't you talk with Sergeant MacKenzie… please?'

Toki looked up, his brown eyes showed concern. 'You OK?'

I tried to pull myself together. 'Yeah, I'm all right. Just don't want to be left behind when you lot go back out. The last thing I want is time on my own to think.'

Toki nodded at the plastic chair opposite him and I took a seat. 'You mean about last night, Briggsy?'

I took a deep breath. 'Yeah. Know what, the more I think about it, the more I think I just got lucky last night. I mean, what if I had got taken, or got a round in my spine. You know, the rest of my life in a wheelchair, like Si said. Feels worse than getting chopped up… I'm worried I might get out there next time and think too much about it and start flapping. Know what I mean?'

Toki looked down at my shirt and pointed at the brown stain. His voice was firm. 'Right, first thing, get that kit off and get washed and scrubbed. You don't need the smell of blood on you for a start.'

'It's not that, mate. It's, well… I'm more scared I'll let everyone down. I just want to get out there and not think too much about it.'

Toki sighed and nodded slowly, more to himself than to me. 'Sounds normal to me. All you have is self-doubt because it's all new and different, that's all.'

I suddenly felt pathetic, like a school kid again. 'I don't see any of you Fijian lads being scared of anything.' It came out more like a whine.

Toki paused for thought and then smiled. 'Everyone is, at some time or other. Anyone who says they have never been scared is either a liar, or has a screw loose in the head.'

I laughed at that, and Toki laughed with me. I was glad I'd come out with it. But Toki was lost in some memory of his own. He spoke slowly as if he was choosing his words very carefully. 'My first kill was in Basra. I was eighteen, too. We were on a strike op, hitting some houses right in the city centre. I got upstairs when a guy came out of nowhere with a knife – a big butcher's one. He jumped me before I could get my '80 up. We fell down the stairs fighting, I could smell his breath.'

Toki pulled his chair closer to mine and lowered his voice. 'I can remember his spit spraying in my face. He kept screaming as he tried to stab me with his knife. His eyes were really wide, like a mad man's. I had one hand trying to stop the knife going into my face, while I tried to get my bayonet out with the other.'