dear. They didn’t last five minutes, did they? Where are they now?’
‘I had to carry my mate who lost a leg to the helicopter. They were flown to Bastion. Soon as they’re stable they’ll be back to Selly Oak.’
‘Helicopter!’ scoffed John McCall. His accent was still strong although he had left Scotland years ago. ‘A helicopter! Sitting there waiting, was it? On the TV they’re always saying you boys haven’t got enough helis. Turns out they’re on hand twenty-four seven. Fuck me, warfare’s changed.’
Angus felt himself deflate. Of course his dad was right. All that fear and excitement he’d felt during today’s contact had been sheer cowardice. Because there was always air support waiting to bail you out.
‘I was scared,’ he admitted. ‘Until a Harrier came in to sort them out.’
‘There you are! You knew a big machine would come and save you! Och, you lads have got it good. I mean . . .’
But now the line was breaking up. There had been a two-second delay which meant the men kept talking over each other. Angus lapsed into silence. He wasn’t sure he should have told his father anything about the contact over the satellite phone. John McCall’s voice came and went in his ear.
‘I have to finish now, Dad,’ he shouted. ‘I have to ring Mum on this card.’
But his father didn’t hear.
‘Air support . . . Harrier . . . Goose Green . . . weather conditions . . .’
Angus finally hung up.
‘All right, mate?’ Corporal Curtis from 3 Section was next in line for the phone.
‘Yeah.’ From the day Angus had joined up, conversations with his father had left him feeling flat. He’d thought his father would be ecstatic at his enlistment but he’d received the news quietly. Then, during the passing-out parade at Catterick, Angus had stumbled over his own big feet. It was something he’d never forgive himself for. He’d immediately, anxiously, looked into the crowd, to the place where he knew his divorced parents were sitting together in hostile silence. He’d been in time to catch the look of contempt on his father’s face.
That night, the base came under attack again. 1 Platoon advance party knew where to go and what to do this time. As the rest of the company floundered they slid easily into their positions while the new arrivals dithered.
The contact was brief. It consisted of one badly aimed grenade, which almost missed the base completely, and ten minutes of light arms fire.
‘You were a fat lot of fucking useless tossers,’ Finn said to the newcomers.
‘Better sharpen up a bit,’ Jamie added.
It was a while before they had a chance to do so. There were few contacts on patrols through the town or the desert. Attacks on the base were minimal. Each day a small party of contractors, escorted by 3 Platoon, left and came back reporting no threats. And there were no sightings of Emily around the civilian area.
‘Because she doesn’t exist,’ Sol said. ‘That’s why.’
‘Ever thought the marines were winding you up?’ Jamie said.
Lunch had been sausage, egg and chips, Finn’s favourite. He pushed his empty plate away and leaned back in his chair. ‘I’m absolutely sure that Emily is in those isoboxes. She just doesn’t come out much.’
‘Well, why doesn’t she come to the cookhouse with the others?’
The civilians were becoming a familiar sight in the cookhouse. They generally sat together in one corner with their food and their cans of beer. Their boss, Martyn Robertson, and a few of the othersmixed with the soldiers. But most looked as if they’d prefer to have their own cookhouse in their own quarter of the camp.
‘Miss Emily work very hard, she mostly take her meals in isobox,’ said a cook, who happened to overhear them. ‘I take her meal over now.’
Mal, Angus and Finn looked enviously at the lad. He was small and brown-skinned.
‘I go now. You go if you want.’ He held out a tray.
‘Go where?’
‘You ask questions! You take Miss
‘I had to carry my mate who lost a leg to the helicopter. They were flown to Bastion. Soon as they’re stable they’ll be back to Selly Oak.’
‘Helicopter!’ scoffed John McCall. His accent was still strong although he had left Scotland years ago. ‘A helicopter! Sitting there waiting, was it? On the TV they’re always saying you boys haven’t got enough helis. Turns out they’re on hand twenty-four seven. Fuck me, warfare’s changed.’
Angus felt himself deflate. Of course his dad was right. All that fear and excitement he’d felt during today’s contact had been sheer cowardice. Because there was always air support waiting to bail you out.
‘I was scared,’ he admitted. ‘Until a Harrier came in to sort them out.’
‘There you are! You knew a big machine would come and save you! Och, you lads have got it good. I mean . . .’
But now the line was breaking up. There had been a two-second delay which meant the men kept talking over each other. Angus lapsed into silence. He wasn’t sure he should have told his father anything about the contact over the satellite phone. John McCall’s voice came and went in his ear.
‘I have to finish now, Dad,’ he shouted. ‘I have to ring Mum on this card.’
But his father didn’t hear.
‘Air support . . . Harrier . . . Goose Green . . . weather conditions . . .’
Angus finally hung up.
‘All right, mate?’ Corporal Curtis from 3 Section was next in line for the phone.
‘Yeah.’ From the day Angus had joined up, conversations with his father had left him feeling flat. He’d thought his father would be ecstatic at his enlistment but he’d received the news quietly. Then, during the passing-out parade at Catterick, Angus had stumbled over his own big feet. It was something he’d never forgive himself for. He’d immediately, anxiously, looked into the crowd, to the place where he knew his divorced parents were sitting together in hostile silence. He’d been in time to catch the look of contempt on his father’s face.
That night, the base came under attack again. 1 Platoon advance party knew where to go and what to do this time. As the rest of the company floundered they slid easily into their positions while the new arrivals dithered.
The contact was brief. It consisted of one badly aimed grenade, which almost missed the base completely, and ten minutes of light arms fire.
‘You were a fat lot of fucking useless tossers,’ Finn said to the newcomers.
‘Better sharpen up a bit,’ Jamie added.
It was a while before they had a chance to do so. There were few contacts on patrols through the town or the desert. Attacks on the base were minimal. Each day a small party of contractors, escorted by 3 Platoon, left and came back reporting no threats. And there were no sightings of Emily around the civilian area.
‘Because she doesn’t exist,’ Sol said. ‘That’s why.’
‘Ever thought the marines were winding you up?’ Jamie said.
Lunch had been sausage, egg and chips, Finn’s favourite. He pushed his empty plate away and leaned back in his chair. ‘I’m absolutely sure that Emily is in those isoboxes. She just doesn’t come out much.’
‘Well, why doesn’t she come to the cookhouse with the others?’
The civilians were becoming a familiar sight in the cookhouse. They generally sat together in one corner with their food and their cans of beer. Their boss, Martyn Robertson, and a few of the othersmixed with the soldiers. But most looked as if they’d prefer to have their own cookhouse in their own quarter of the camp.
‘Miss Emily work very hard, she mostly take her meals in isobox,’ said a cook, who happened to overhear them. ‘I take her meal over now.’
Mal, Angus and Finn looked enviously at the lad. He was small and brown-skinned.
‘I go now. You go if you want.’ He held out a tray.
‘Go where?’
‘You ask questions! You take Miss
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