Harry Parker - Anatomy of a Soldier

‘I just heard on the ops room radio they got to the checkpoint fine, by the way. Not a peep all night. The insurgents never seem to like the dark. But I’m sure they must know we’re moving about.’

BA5799 put his helmet on a bench and I pointed up at him, bright green in the light of the door. ‘It was pretty eerie,’ he said. ‘Good to get out in the dark for the first time though.’ He slid his day-sack off and removed his armour, ripping the Velcro at the sides. He pinched his wet combat shirt away from his skin.

‘That’s your third time out, isn’t it?’ the man said. He held a mug that waved as he spoke. ‘We’ve got a framework patrol tomorrow. You can join in if you want. It’ll probably be a short one to check some empty compounds to the east.’

‘Fourth, if you include the one last night.’ BA5799 picked me up and unscrewed me from the helmet mount. ‘Any news on when the relief in place is due to start?’

‘We talked to HQ earlier — it’s still planned for two days’ time, largely by road but a few helicopter loads too. Most of your lot should be in by midweek,’ the man said. ‘I’ll be in the last packet out, leaving on Thursday.’ He drank from the mug. ‘We still need a couple more sessions in the ops room to complete the handover. Fancy a brew now?’ He pointed the mug at BA5799.

‘No thanks,’ BA5799 said and flicked my off switch. I was blind. He placed me in a small pouch. ‘I’m going to hit the sack. What time’s the next patrol?’

‘Be prepared from ten hundred.’

‘I’ll get a few hours then. See you later, Dave.’

‘Catch you in a bit.’

I’m attached to the wall by a wire. My serial number is 245-81-BS. I am a small white box with a red button labelled CALL. I’ve operated on Ward L4 since I was installed three years ago. Recently, the patients that use me have changed. Now they are young, fit men, often sun-tanned and sometimes with body parts missing. They can be angry but mostly they joke and go outside to smoke. The hospital has improved the food for them.

Two nurses wheeled you in late one night when the ward was quiet and the lights had been dimmed. They pushed your bed up against the wall and moved a table next to you. Your mother was there and she thanked them. They smiled at you and said the team would collect you for surgery in the morning.

Your mother sat next to you for a while and looked around the ward and at the shadows of other beds under the closed curtains. She told you this was an improvement. You felt sicker than you had since regaining consciousness but didn’t want to tell her that. You said you’d be fine now, that she should go and rest.

She was worried about you. She knew the colour of your skin and the gleam of perspiration on your forehead was wrong. She asked if you were sure you were okay.

You told her she needed some sleep; she said she’d be back in the morning before you went in. The pain you felt made it sound like you were exasperated with her, but you weren’t. And once she’d gone you wished you hadn’t sent her away, that she’d come back and stay with you. You were lonely and the shadows that walked up and down the corridor seemed very far away. You looked over at me resting on the table next to you and my wire running into the wall.

The room closed in. You knew there were others, like you, in the beds nearby, but they were silent; it was late. And then the anxiety started to build. And the pain wrapped itself around the anxiety and you were scared. Someone walked past in the corridor and you called out to them, but your voice was still too weak and damaged from the bomb and the tubes the doctors had pushed down it. Nobody could hear you.

Adrift in the nausea, you pleaded again but they kept disappearing, even though you called to them as loudly as you could.

Something was happening in your right leg that you didn’t know about, nor did the doctors. The leg was badly damaged and dragging you down. You sensed something wasn’t right. But you were a soldier and trained to endure and you didn’t want to bother anyone. So you endured and the pain grew where you knew an artery was weak and exposed — they’d told you about that.

And the pain pushed hard into your leg until a huge weight crushed against your bone. You remembered you were meant to be brave and withstand the pain, a rite of passage, but you cried silently and were ashamed.

You tried to shut it away but you were worried for yourself and it throbbed as part of a fear that was overwhelming. All you could experience was yourself. No past, no future, only loneliness. You thought you were a coward and the pain grew. The agony was everything and you wished you hadn’t been saved. It was the most despairing thing you’d ever thought. You wished they were with you.

‘Please come back,’ you said.

You were sweating and thirsty. There was a plastic cup of water next to me. You tried to reach for it but couldn’t bend your arm. And you were too weak to shuffle across the bed. You lay still and panted and looked at the water you desperately needed. And then you tried again and you arched your back and pain seared through your damaged elbows.

You knocked the cup over and it fell onto the floor and rolled around. You were angry and called for them again but your throat was now so dry no sound came out. Frustration distorted the agony.

You could hear them joking by the nurses’ station — were they laughing at you? You reached for me and managed to grab hold. You let the pain win and pressed my button; you no longer cared about losing. You waited, panting and relieved that help was coming.

Nothing happened. You longed to press me again but you didn’t want to cause a fuss. I was in your limp hand by the leg that hurt you so much, grotesquely swollen under the covers you’d soaked through.

Still no one came. So you pressed me again and again and you worried that I was unconnected or broken, so you pressed my button down hard with your shaking thumb and held it there. You closed your eyes.

*

You were still. At the nurses’ station a few feet away, one of them said he’d handle it and the curtain around our bed was pulled back. He asked if you were okay, and when you didn’t reply he came closer.

‘Hello, are you all right? We were just doing our shift handover. I’m Paul,’ he said. ‘You must be our newest resident.’

‘Hello … help—’ You were feverish but didn’t want to show any weakness so you mastered it. ‘Help me, please. I’m in a bit of pain.’

‘Sorry, come again?’

‘I’m in a bit of pain,’ you shouted silently through chalky lips. ‘I’m very thirsty.’

‘I’m afraid you’re on nil by mouth. You’ve got surgery planned early tomorrow.’

‘Please, just a sip.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t give you much. Oh, you knocked the cup off. You shouldn’t have had that anyway.’

He wiped up the water and left, then a foot-pedal bin clattered in the corridor. You could hear them at the nurses’ station still laughing and you were desperate.

Then he came back. ‘Here you go,’ he said, holding in plastic tweezers a small piece of blue foam that he placed on your tongue. ‘Try sucking on this.’

The water was wonderful in your mouth, just too little. ‘Please,’ you croaked, ‘can I have a bit more?’

‘Just a little then.’ He removed the foam from your mouth and dunked it in a full cup.

You sucked it dry, trying to get some of the liquid down inside you. ‘Can I please have a proper sip?’

‘Say again.’ He leant closer.

‘Please, a proper sip?’ you said, exaggerating your words.

‘I’m really sorry, your notes say nil by mouth.’

‘I’m in a bit of pain.’