Andrew O'Hagan - The Illuminations

The troops felt inspired. It was not the job they wanted but they were susceptible to the major’s speech. Inspiration is a con, thought Luke. It always has been a con. People who want blood will always encourage each other with talk of life-giving water. ‘The main convoy is set to avoid Route 611,’ Scullion said. ‘For that place be riddled with insurgents. They have been smashing us for months. Many of you enjoyed this routine in Helmand, being locked down, but this operation can’t fail. The logistics boys have established a route through the desert: Route Harriet. There are more than a hundred vehicles in the convoy. Canadian troops have delivered the parts here this morning from Kandahar. The Western Fusiliers have a role in the command group as part of 13 Air Assault Brigade. We will have attack helicopters providing overwatch, and, as well as the Canadians, we have the Dutch rolling with us and Yanks in the distance.’

A lieutenant in 3 Platoon raised his hand during questions. Luke knew him from the base: he was clever, modern, speeding up the ranks, a counter-insurgency nutter from County Louth. Nobody liked him. He took notes. He looked like a future boss. Luke listened to the guy and imagined he’d been designed by computers at the Dundalk Institute of Technology to get right up Scullion’s nose. ‘We wanted to destroy the dam in 2001,’ he said. ‘Now the Taliban wants to destroy it. So this op is real progress, trying to build things not destroy them. It’s like government-in-a-box.’

‘Just man your guns,’ Scullion said, almost sneering at the boy. Luke could see the major’s contradictions coming gently to the boil. ‘We’ve got a hundred miles of bandit country to cross out there. And the area to the south of the dam, the area called Kajaki Sofla, is crawling. We’re going to have a fight down there soldier, so keep your powder dry.’

‘But building partnerships,’ the soldier said. ‘The aim is to secure and serve the population. Understanding local circumstances. In the long run — just like we did in Iraq — we want to stop Afghanistan from being a sanctuary for transnational extremists. Right?’

‘We’ll see. If we can make it past their IEDs we can start to talk about partnership.’

Luke stood up. ‘Logistics?’ he said.

‘We’ll be dispersed along the convoy,’ said Scullion. ‘And part of 3 Platoon will go on Highway 633 to join a decoy convoy to throw them off. Our group, Captain Campbell, will be part of the main formation over the mountains to the dam. Your big job is mentoring. Show our ANA colleagues how it’s done. I want you at the front and I want you all eyes. We want safe passage to the dam for delivery tomorrow p.m.’

The soldiers filed out and Luke came to the front and was joined there by Rashid. ‘We need more, sir,’ said Luke. ‘We’re setting out. That’s clear. But what are the details? Who’s doing what?’ Scullion lowered his voice and he picked the book off the table and smiled at the emptying hall.

‘Zero pyrotechnics,’ Scullion said. ‘We’re rolling along and protecting the delivery of the turbine. Cool? No fucking drama, Campbell, and no fucking gang-bang and no big deal. Just roll along the road and keep your boys in or alongside the vehicles ready to shoot any fucken Terry daft enough to run at the iron horse as it passes by. Got that?’

‘Should there be any separation of duties?’

‘The decisions are coming from above on this, Luke. Let’s just get through the mountains. It’s a taxi run. There’s beer on the other side. Just stick to your group and keep the signaller listening.’

At that, the keen young lieutenant from Louth came back into

the hall to shake the major’s hand. Scullion had languages, but he didn’t have this soldier’s way of talking.

‘You boys are the decoy,’ is all he said.

‘We can spread the word as we pass through the villages,’ the lieutenant said with enthusiasm. ‘We’ve got terps. We can say that this is all for the good of the community.’

‘I wouldn’t bother,’ Scullion said. ‘Just roll up the fucking road like a good boy. Your job is not to dish out philosophy, okay? It’s to look like you’re delivering a fierce bit of kit to a dam.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘It’s electricity. It’s power. And I don’t give a fuck for the rest of that shit you’re spouting.’

‘Really?’

Luke stepped back to let Scullion lose his temper. He knew it was about more than the boy.

‘Yes, fucking really. Ask Rashid here. Let the American generals say what they like, Lieutenant. The people in these villages would sooner we were delivering fucking Mars bars. And even more than that: they’d sooner we’d let them deliver our no-use fucking arses to Allah. They have no great sympathy for our sympathy, and, believe me, Lieutenant, they would sooner strap a bomb to their firstborn child and throw him at you as thank you for your efforts in bringing them democracy.’

‘This is true, sir,’ said Rashid. ‘The people here do not know this American democracy you talk about.’

‘We’re doing a good thing,’ the lieutenant said.

‘How do you stick him?’ shouted Scullion, looking at the boys standing by the door of the hall. The major smirked and returned his gaze to the young man in front of him. ‘It’s all good. We’re the excellent fucken citizen that helps the poor old lady across

the road. No more, no less. So just keep your men in the convoy and they’ll be back in Shadows Nightclub drinking pints of piss-water in the time it takes you to spell counter-insurgency, sure they will. You with me, Nosey?’

‘This is truth the major speaks,’ Rashid said. ‘Oqab Tsuka, which means Operation Eagle’s Summit, the beginning of the new Kajaki. The people will have justice.’

‘No, Rashid,’ Scullion said. ‘They’ll have electricity. That’s all.’ The ANA captain turned and Luke saw him muttering something as he wiped the board.

THE CROSSING POINT

The convoy had travelled a few miles north when Luke looked down and told the boys to cut the chat. The engine was quiet; other vehicles rumbled and heaved to a stop. A bird screamed up in the trees that stood along the banks of a canal.

The signals guy was called Bosh-Bosh. He had waved three fingers at the captain and now they were at a stop. But Luke knew: he’d been watching from up top and saw the guys at the crossing point hurriedly changing into their police uniforms when they spotted the first vehicles. Luke jumped down and signalled for Sean in the WMIK behind to come out. Then he shouted back to his own Vector for one of the boys. ‘Dooley, come down here. These guys are dodgy. Sling us my helmet.’

‘Right, sir.’

‘Where’s the terp?’

‘With the Leper,’ Dooley said. The captain pulled on his helmet and tapped his radio mouthpiece. ‘And Sean-Sean,’ he said.

‘Bring the terp down here. Walking up to the checkpoint. Over.’

Soon they were all there and Dooley and the captain had their rifles up as they walked forward. ‘Shouldn’t we check the ground?’ Sean asked. They called him the Leper, the Leprechaun, or Sean-Sean. He was the sergeant and he got respect from the boys without trying. To Scullion, Sergeant Docherty was too private and too calm: by that stage of the game the major needed friends who raised the volume and showed their weaknesses, and Docherty was the quiet man of the platoon.

‘Let’s go forward, man,’ said Dooley. ‘These fuckers are crooks but they’re not daft enough to mine their own doorstep.’ The heat went with them, every step of the way. It was baking out there, and a soft, choking dust lay over the chunked-up road. Steam was rising from some of the vehicles and heads appeared down the line, curious for news.