War Torn (34 page)

Binns looked unconvinced.

‘He’s a vegetarian, that’s the problem,’ said Bacon. Binns shot his mate an angry glance.

Finn hooted.

‘Fond of little furry animals, are you? Well, so am I! Served up with brown sauce.’

‘I just don’t eat meat,’ said Binns. ‘I wouldn’t call myself vegetarian.’

‘There’s some no-meat meals,’ said Sol. ‘We’ll have to sort you out. Why didn’t you tell us before?’

Binn glared at the ground. ‘I’m not gay.’

Sol looked around dangerously at the others. ‘Does anyone here think gay men don’t eat meat?’

‘No, Sol.’

Sol glanced at the isoboxes to see if there was any sign of the civilians. They were already half an hour late.

‘Give your meal bag to Mal and he’ll get it changed if there’s time.’

‘The colour won’t give you any new meals. They’re all his own personal property. He buys them with his own fucking money,’ said Finn.

Binns searched through his pouches for the bag and handed it to Mal, who headed off to the CQMS.

‘And don’t you nick it! Change it for a vegetarian one!’ Sol yelled after him.

‘I did try and eat the meat. Only it made me puke,’ said Binns miserably.

‘Listen, man, no one’s going to make you eat pukey stuff, but you got to eat something. You’re worrying me. This is a harsh climate and we’re doing a hard job and you’ve got to take care of yourself. You drinking enough?’

‘Yeah. My Camelbak’s full.’

‘Good. Show me your pouches.’

‘You mean . . . open them?’

‘Yep. You show it for kit inspection. But now I want to see where you keep it. Where’s your ammo?’

‘Here.’

‘On your right hip, good. Make sure the rounds are facing away. What else is in there?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Where’s the rest of your ammo?’

‘In my day sack.’

‘What good is it there?’

‘I can get it out when I need it.’

‘No, Binman, you don’t want to scrabble around in your day sack under fire. You need to be reaching into the pouch on your belt. What have you got in your left pouch?’

Binns opened it and pulled out a toilet roll.

‘Try throwing that at Terry Taliban, he’s never seen it before,’ said Finn.

Angus said: ‘Yeah, he’ll be scared shitless.’

‘Toilet roll should be somewhere out of the way,’ said Sol. ‘Keep the rest of your ammo in your left pouch and a bit of gun oil there too.’

‘Er . . . I’ve got gun oil here somewhere . . .’ Binns was frantically opening and closing pouches.

‘No good. You have to be able to put your hand on it when you need it. That’s why I keep mine in my front left. Where’s your bayonet?’

‘In my day sack.’

‘How’s it going to help you there, Binman?’

‘Well, it’s on the side so I can reach in and . . .’

‘It goes on your webbing! Frog edge on, tie it in with something. There’s no point having a weapon if it’s not to hand. Last time I checked you had everything in the right place!’

‘It all went wrong when I started losing weight and nothing fit me any more.’

‘Right, open that pouch for me . . . let’s take a look. Hexi, water, peanuts, picture of pretty girl, OK. Where’s your morphine?’

‘Left map pocket,’ responded Binns automatically.

‘Good. Okay, let’s get your kit on so it fits.’

The lads watched.

‘That webbing wouldn’t even go around Angry’s arm,’ Finn said.

‘Wouldn’t even go around my dick,’ Angus said.

‘Dream on,’ Jamie said.

‘Take no notice of them and try this,’ Sol told Binman. When Binns nodded, Sol passed him his pouches to hang on
it, working his way carefully from the back round to his hips.

Mal appeared holding a meal pack.

‘Pepper risotto with cheese. The colour said he’s got an impressive array of vegetarian dishes produced to the highest standard and he looks forward to sharing them with you and hearing your comments.’

‘The colour boy said that?’ asked Sol, astonished.

‘Nope,’ said Mal, flopping down on the ground with the others. ‘He said: look through this box, find one of your gay meals and then fuck off, nancy boy.’

‘Ah, that sounds more like him.’

Angus was shuffling about, smoking impatiently. ‘If an entire platoon of men and support and a fucking convoy of vehicles can be ready to go at 0700 hours, why can’t Martyn Robertson get himself out of his isobox on time?’

‘I could have stayed in my cot a bit longer,’ said Mal, who was always last to get up.

‘Which wagon are the contractors in?’ asked Jamie.

‘See that one up there with the cushions, the air-conditioning, the reclining seats, the bar and the satellite TV?’ said Finn.

At that moment the civilians appeared. Martyn was surrounded by a cluster of young engineers, but marching determinedly ahead of the group, handbag over her shoulder and a bulging shopping bag in each arm, was Emily.

‘Oh no!’ said Sol, who had heard all about Emily’s last outing.

‘That’s why they’re late, they’re bringing a woman,’ said the lads, pulling each other up. ‘Because ol’ Emily’s been getting sexed up in front of her mirror.’

The vehicles started and men began jumping aboard. The boss greeted them and gallantly helped Emily into the civilians’ wagon before jumping into the front himself.

CSM Kila, throwing Dave a crafty look, opened the door at the front of the second Vector, where Jean was seated.

‘Mind if I join you?’

She gave him a faint grin and he leaped aboard as the convoy moved off.

‘Funny the way the civilians hardly ever get attacked,’ he remarked, settling himself next to her.

‘Because the Afghans want this oil and gas project to go ahead.’

‘But what do a bunch of flipflops know about oil and gas?’

Jean pursed her lips. ‘At the
shura
the town headman was friendly and showed a real interest in the exploration.’

Kila thought for a moment.

‘Listen, diplomacy isn’t my strong point. I’m a soldier and I just say what I think.’

‘And you think . . .?’

‘Well . . .’ He looked at her. ‘I think that you are very beautiful.’

Jean began to colour. He watched as a pink glow, turning to red, rose from her neck up to her cheeks. She glanced involuntarily at the driver, hoping he hadn’t overheard.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ said Kila hastily. Although he didn’t look sorry. ‘Got distracted for a moment there. What I meant to say is that I think the town headman may not be so friendly.’

‘You weren’t even at the
shura.
’ Her voice was cool.

‘If he can call off the Taliban because he likes the oil exploration project then he’s got to be Taliban himself. At a high level. Otherwise they’d just tell him to fuck off. Oh!’ He looked shocked at himself. ‘Excuse my language!’

Jean reddened but said nothing. Instead she pursed her lips again and indicated that she had picked up something on the radio which required her intense concentration. Kila smiled.

Their destination was a parched place at the foot of hills which were themselves at the foot of mountains so that layer upon layer of rock towered above them on one side. On the other the desert was so hot and flat that when the men dismounted it was like stepping into a giant frying pan. Heat radiated up as if it came from the centre of the earth.

The contractors debussed.

‘You want to watch this little lot,’ said Kila to Dave. ‘When you’ve got your engineering degree you might be back here doing a bit of oil exploration yourself.’

‘As a civvie?’ said Dave. ‘Guarded by 1 Platoon? No way, you can kiss my swingers.’

Kila lit a cigarette, waved the match out and threw it away. It bounced a few times on the thin, hard desert floor.

‘Jean reckons the Taliban aren’t targeting the civvies because they’re keen on some oil revenue.’

‘How are you getting on with the monkey, then?’ asked Dave. ‘I’ve seen you with her in the cookhouse.’

Kila looked sly and drew on his cigarette. ‘I’m finessing her.’

They heard the sound of raised voices: Martyn’s deep and slow, Emily’s fast and high-pitched. They were taking it in turns to grab a site map and jab their fingers at it. The boss was attempting to broker peace.

‘He should just bang their fucking heads together,’ said Iain Kila.

Dave smiled. ‘Finessing is definitely your strong point, Iain.’

The work started. The young engineers carried a black box where they were instructed, mostly by Emily, and everyone was ordered to switch off machines and engines and be silent whenever it was in place and the engineers were taking readings.

Angus started a dirtiest joke competition and soon everyone was joining in. Raucous laughter swept across the desert. Men in 2 Section not on look-out or covering the contractors challenged 3 Section to a poker game, which also became noisy. The sun moved slowly in the sky. People munched their way through their ration packs.

Mal, Angry and Streaky had a meal but Binns, pale and puffy-faced, did not open his bag.

‘What’s up, buddy?’ asked Martyn as he passed.

‘He’s right off his rations,’ said Angus.

‘I’m not surprised, they look like crap and they smell like crap,’ said Martyn. Binman looked grateful.

‘He’s going to puke,’ Streaky said knowledgeably. ‘His face always goes puffy first.’

Martyn said: ‘Wait here.’

He came back with a bag of sandwiches.

‘We get ours made for us by the chef and they’re good. Go on, try one.’

‘What’s in them?’ asked Binns miserably.

‘Egg and mayonnaise, stuff like that.’

Binman, with great reluctance, bit the corner of one sandwich. His face brightened and he ate some more. Martyn’s face broke into a smile as Binns began to tear pieces off the sandwich hungrily.

Angry watched with disgust. ‘You’ve spoilt him now. He’ll never eat his ration pack.’

Martyn turned to glare at Angus.

‘This kid just needs to eat, it doesn’t matter what. He looks half starved.’

‘That’s because Angry always eats his rations,’ said Mal.

‘Makes sense. I’m hungry, he’s not.’

Martyn glared at Angus, shaking his head.

‘Just clean up your act, son. He’s your buddy, you should take better care of him.’

Angus’s large, round face turned bright red. He looked as though he wanted to reply but he said nothing.

Martyn turned back to Binns. ‘Finish it up, I don’t want it. I have to get back to Enemy now or she’ll make my life hell.’

He strode off across the sand.

‘Fucking nosy American know-all,’ said Angus McCall, as soon as he was out of earshot.

‘Oh, come on, he’s a nice old guy,’ said Mal.

Binns nodded, his mouth full.

‘He’s an American shitbag,’ said Angry. ‘They all think they know everything. Binman has to eat rations like the rest of us.’

But the sandwich had fortified Binns and now he was opening his risotto. After the first slow taste he began to spoon it into his mouth enthusiastically. Sol, on stag, swung around in time to see this and gave him a thumbs-up.