Harry Parker - Anatomy of a Soldier

We kept on down the track to the road. The firing had stopped and all he could hear was their breathing and the effort pounding in his ears. The man’s leg was soaked with blood and he left a dark trail behind us. He was whimpering.

‘We should stop soon, Aktar,’ the boy said. ‘I don’t think Paugi can take any more.’

‘A bit farther, Latif. We need to get beyond where they will follow us. Beyond the bridge,’ Aktar said, trying to glance back. ‘Are they still following, Abdul?’

‘I cannot see them.’

‘We should cross into this field, Latif,’ Aktar said.

They stepped over an irrigation ditch, awkwardly pulling his legs across, and moved along the edge of the field. Then bullets started clipping the thigh-high leaves around us.

‘Fire back, Abdul,’ Aktar grunted.

‘I can’t see where they are.’

‘Fire anyway. Just keep shooting.’

And he fired his weapon back towards the camp in a long automatic burst and the red tracer drifted away to the horizon.

‘Get to shelter,’ Aktar said.

They staggered down a path thick with foliage and came out next to a wall. A young man was sitting against it. His bicycle was propped next to him and he was eating dried apricots. He looked up as we appeared.

‘You. Come here, we need help,’ Aktar said as he saw him.

The young man stood and backed away towards a green bicycle.

‘I said come here, boy.’

‘Latif?’ he said.

‘How do you know Latif?’ Aktar studied him. ‘Quick, you can help us. We need to get this man to safety.’

The boy looked at Latif, who was bent under the weight of the injured man. ‘Are you okay, Latif?’ he said. ‘I know a place that’s not far. Follow me.’ He reached out for Latif’s weapon, then me, and slung us on the handlebars of his bike.

He pushed the bicycle beside him as he led them across the field. I swung off the handlebars as it rolled through the wheat to a small building edged by irrigation ditches. They all rested against the wall as the boy took a key from his pocket and opened the door.

‘You will be safe in here,’ he said.

‘Thank you,’ Latif said.

They edged the man sideways through the door and into a dark storage room filled with cans of fuel, bags of grease and buckets among stacked tools and farming equipment. They gently laid the man down on the concrete floor.

‘What should we do with Paugi?’ the boy said. He put his hands on his knees and coughed. ‘He might die.’

‘I will go for the doctor,’ Aktar said, then unhooked my strap from the handlebars and held my grip.

‘You must stop the blood leaving him,’ the other boy said. ‘Here, let me.’ He crouched down beside the body, tore a strip of cloth from his shirt, wrapped it around the thigh and pulled it tight.

‘Thank you, Faridun,’ Latif said and joined him, tearing his own shirt and wrapping another cloth around the leg.

Aktar looked at the injured man. ‘He might survive, so do what you can. I will be back soon.’ He stepped towards the door. ‘Abdul, come out here. You must keep guard.’

‘How long will you be, Aktar?’ he said as they walked out and he knelt beside the building.

‘Not long, Abdul. I will return from that direction.’ Aktar pointed towards the road. ‘The infidels shouldn’t come this far, but keep watch. Here, take this,’ he said and unclipped the magazine from me and threw it to him.

He held me at his side as he ran across the field back to the road. We dropped down to the water tank and he swung his leg onto his motorbike. He slipped his head through my sling so I was across his back, then kicked down on the bike and powered it up onto the road. His turban fluttered against me as we sped away and the wind whistled on my barrel.

He was pleased by how well the boy Latif had done.

But something flashed off to his right and caught his eye — a mushroom of grey dust that lifted out from among the trees. He knew there was no longer any need for a doctor before the shockwave of the explosion passed through him.

He thought he should go and check if any of them had survived, but fear paralysed him and he imagined another missile dropping towards him. He clenched low over the petrol tank and drove on, his eyes watering in the wind.

‘This is for you, Tom,’ the nurse said as she wheeled me up to your bed. You pushed yourself up on your elbows.

‘Great,’ you said and looked down at me. ‘About time.’

‘Do you want to try it?’

‘Sure,’ you said and started to pull yourself from the bed with a grunt.

‘Wait, Tom, not so fast.’ She laughed. ‘You’ll need this until you’re stronger.’ She reached for a wooden board propped by the wall and balanced one end on the bed and the other on my seat.

‘Now, slide slowly onto the board.’ She put her hands under your arms and helped you inch across. ‘That’s it. No rush.’

You were thin and weak and your arms trembled as you pulled yourself into me. You puffed out your cheeks.

‘Are you okay?’ she said.

‘Just a bit dizzy.’

‘That’s normal. You haven’t done much exercise for a few weeks.’

‘Five, it must be now,’ you said.

‘Right, have a quick try.’

You placed your hands on my rings and pushed my wheels around and reversed me away from the bed. Then you pushed down with your left hand, my castors flicked around and I turned to the right and rolled into the centre of the bay.

‘Aha, look who’s got new wheels,’ a man said from one of the other beds. He dropped a magazine into his lap.

‘How am I doing?’ you said.

‘Pretty pathetic, I’m afraid, mate. I’m not sure you’ll make it to the pub.’

‘Well that’s a blessing, Adam. I won’t have to listen to your chat.’ You pushed the tops of my wheels forward and I glided across the lino.

‘I’ll let you have a few days, Tom, and then I’ll race you. We’ll see if you can make it onto the hot-laps leaderboard.’

‘Adam, there’ll be no more wheelchair racing. The ward manager isn’t at all happy about it.’

‘John’s currently winning, but he’s cheating as he’s only blind in one eye. Maybe we need to develop a new handicap system. What do you think, Sister?’

‘And deaf in one ear,’ a man shouted from another bed.

‘Speak up, John. We can’t hear you.’

‘What?’ The man cupped a hand around his ear.

‘Adam, it’s not funny, somebody’ll get hurt,’ the nurse said. ‘And leave John alone.’

‘We’ll make it non-contact from now on,’ he said, blew the nurse a kiss and hopped into his wheelchair.

‘Come on, Tom, I’ll show you the rest of the world.’

You pushed forward again and we followed the man out of the bay and along the ward. He waved and joked and introduced you to someone, who laughed, and you gently shook his two-fingered left hand. We wheeled on and the nurse called after us and told you not to go far. We went on out of the ward and farther into the hospital.

‘Where are we going, Adam?’ you asked as we coasted around a corner past a doctor.

‘For a fag,’ he said, pulling his chair forward with loping strides of his one remaining leg.

‘I don’t smoke.’

‘The fresh air will do you good, mate.’

We freewheeled down a slope and into a lift.

‘Come on, how long’s it been since you were outside?’

‘Fair enough,’ you said.

We rolled out of the hospital and you leaned on my brakes and were just able to clip them on. ‘I’m so weak.’

‘It’ll come back.’ He sucked on a cigarette and dropped the pack on his seat in the space where his other leg should have been. ‘Sure you won’t have one?’