The Illuminations by Andrew O’Hagan Page B

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 acrossthe 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.
The Afghan National Police guys at the crossing looked suspicious, but to Luke they always looked that way. Dooley was at