Dark Waters

Robert Jepson

Published by Robert Jepson, 2020.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

DARK WATERS

First edition. May 9, 2020.

Copyright © 2020 Robert Jepson.

Written by Robert Jepson.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

About the Author

Chapter 1

Mike caressed the watch on his left wrist as the final minutes ticked by. It occurred to him, ironically, that it had no face. It once belonged to his father, but there were no memories. Even the photos of him, which his mother kept, spurred no hint of recollection. He left home long before Mike’s young mind could form a picture of his face.

Hannah approached his side. "You okay, darling? You’re quiet."

"You know how it is, not long now. And this of all times, when you’re pregnant."

"I know, baby. But if all goes to plan, you’ll be back in time for the birth."

"I hope you’re right."

"Both Greg and Katie were on time, so I don’t see any need to worry."

She sat on his lap and kissed his lips.

"Six months of you being away again. I still haven’t got used to it after all these years."

"It’s the last time honey." He held her hand and squeezed it gently. "The shop will keep you busy and help take your mind off it."

"I’ll worry about you, as always. Soldiers are getting killed out there all the time."

"Not that many, considering the number of us are out there."

She sighed. "There’s always the chance, and it terrifies me."

"I know my job, I’ve come through many scrapes over the years. You know I can look after myself, and the lads. Let’s not dwell on it."

"You’re right, I need to lighten up. The kids will be home from school soon in time to see you off."

"look, eight months until I retire, then I’m home for good sweetie. I’ll finish packing, then we’ve got each other until I go."

"Okay honey, I’ll get the kettle on."

Mike went up the stairs in a daze. He was getting too old for this. No, he wasn’t old, but he’d had enough of time away from his family. All those months not seeing the kids grow up; the times when they had changed so much, and he hadn’t been there to witness the process. Now Hannah was expecting again, somewhat unplanned, but he was happy about it. He had the good fortune to be home during her previous pregnancies, and at the births. As she and the baby developed, he felt an enhanced closeness between them. He would miss that, but not her emotional roller coaster ride. He took that in his stride, though it wasn’t easy. He had fond memories of the difficulties. They always laughed about the hard times once they had passed.

His kit bag lay on the bed, where he would not sleep again until the summer. They had only put the Christmas decorations away ten days ago. He thought of all the nights Hannah would lie there alone aching for him, as he would for her, many thousands of miles away. It was almost too much to bear.

There was only one remaining item to pack. He had left it until last to avoid crumpling it too much, though it would make little difference with almost two days folded up in the bag. He withdrew from the wardrobe his dress uniform, that of a Colour Sergeant, complete with its extensive rows of medal ribbons. He handled it with reverence. He was proud of his role in the Army. It had been his life, his profession, a job he loved. But that love was wearing thin. He was a family man now and he longed to settle down into that role properly.

He folded the uniform carefully and gently tucked it into the bag before he zipped it up. He threw the bag over his shoulder and picked up the grip which held the rest of his belongings for the deployment.

He took one last lingering look at the bedroom before he closed the door and then turned away. That was always the most poignant moment. Of all the things he knew he wouldn’t see again for six months; the street, the house, the car, friends, and many other things, it was the bed they had shared for so many years which hurt the most. All would become strangers. It was that within the home, his wife, and children, which was the hardest to bear.

Hannah, too, was pondering the future without Mike. She loved him dearly, and although she would keep busy with her own business, it would be a tough time. As always, there was this final parting hour which they had repeated for so many years. The thought of the first night without him by her side; the comfort, the lovemaking, the intimacy. She would worry about him too, being in a combat zone.

She consoled herself with the thought that by the end of summer it would never happen again, except perhaps for his sailing trips with Bill. She loved sailing too but couldn’t always take the time away from her business for the longer trips.

She heard his footsteps as he came back down the stairs. As he appeared, he looked as handsome, more so she thought, as when they met. He was a well built, muscular man, well-proportioned for his height of six feet. He had a firm jaw and blue sparkling eyes; a ladies' man, but all hers and the gentle envy of her friends.

Now there would be the awkward silences as both faced the inevitable.

He dumped his bags on the floor and sat down with a cup of coffee in front of him.

"The usual route?" she said.

"Aye. Coach down to Brize Norton, then a direct flight out to Kandahar."

It was a pointless question and answer, both knew the routine. But such was the struggle to make conversation.

"Come here," he said.

They held each other close and kissed gently. No words were necessary, or easy. They had to cherish the last few moments before the kids came home.

Half an hour rushed by until Greg and Katie entered. They placed their school bags on the kitchen table and then sat down with Hannah for a hug with their parents. They knew how the game went too, though with far less experience than Hannah.

Katie began to shed tears which prompted Hannah to follow suit.

"Come on girls," Mike cooed. "Give me some smiles to remember you by."

"Oh, daddy, we will miss you so much," said Katie.

"I know. I’ll miss you too my angel."

All too soon, the taxi arrived to take Mike to Glasgow Central railway station.

He picked up his bags with a heavy heart and then gave Hannah and Katie a last kiss. Finally, he gave Greg a hug and a handshake.

"You look after the girls, son. You’re the man of the house now."

Greg gave him a sad smile.

––––––––

Mike shared the taxi ride with one of his best pals, Bill. They had worked together for years, though Bill was a very different man, portly and prematurely grey. But he had other strengths. He was the platoon medic, but also a man who could listen to other people’s problems. He could gain the deepest trust and empathy and then become privy to the most closely guarded secrets. All knew they were safe in his keeping. He was a popular port of call for anyone who had problems, especially those which involved troubled hearts.

Mike had seen him put a smile on many sad faces.

Bill was also junior in rank to Mike, a Sergeant. But this was no barrier to their friendship, one which also extended to their wives.

"All set Mike?" said Bill, as the taxi pulled away.

"As much as I ever will be. Eight months and that’s it."

"You sound like you’ve had enough."

"Ah, it’s getting to me, being away from the kids, you know."

"Yeah, that makes a difference, sure, and with another one on the way too. But it’ll be over soon enough. Then perhaps, we can get away on your boat. We’ll have enough leave owed to us, and some summer left."

"That’s something to look forward to."

"Is Greg going to look after the boat for you again?"

"Yeah. He’s a good lad, he did a fine job last time."

"Aye, he’ll become a fine sailor like his dad."

"I reckon he will, a good one too."

"Remember that foul weather off the Mull last year, when the genoa sheet parted?"

"Aye, a tense moment."

"That lad of yours was cool as a cucumber. He sorted it out in no time, and in rough seas."

Mike thought back to the trip. Other than Hannah and the kids, sailing was his passion. Most of his colleagues were into football, cars, and the latest electronic gadgets. None of these meant much to Mike. He loved the beauty of the wild landscape and islands of the Hebrides.

The last trip, apart from a few problems, was one of the best. Just Greg, Bill and himself, for three weeks. With fair winds, they made it as far as Stornoway. Quite an achievement in so short a time, yet they still visited many anchorages. Hannah came on the previous trip in the spring, and he longed to sail with her again.

His mind went back to her, he missed her already. He would get over the worst of it, in time. But right now, he felt a void in his heart.

They pulled into the railway station and hefted their bags onto a trolley. Then they went for a coffee while waiting for their train.

"How do you think this deployment will go, Mike?"

"I don’t know. Things are getting hot out there. But we’ve trained the lads for it, and for most, it’ll be their third tour."

"Quite a few casualties recently though."

"Aye, but it all seems quiet in the region we’re heading for."

"It’ll be good to see the guys again when we get to back to the barracks."

"It will, they’re a fine bunch."

"They have a lot of respect for you, Mike."

"It goes both ways."

"The officers too. They often listen to your better judgement. I know they like to keep it away from the lads, but I’ve seen it."

"Ah, they’re OK, they just lack experience sometimes. The Colonel and the Captain are the only ones with true combat experience, but the Colonel’s always back at central command."

"You’re too modest Mike, you hold it together most of the time."

"They say same of you, Bill."

"Oh?"

"You’re held in high regard from the top to the bottom."

"I guess we make a good team then, the two of us." Bill laughed.

Mike gave him a friendly pat on the back. He was feeling, once again, the camaraderie, which was one of the most fulfilling parts of the job. Everyone worked together and depended on each other, giving and taking while working towards the same goal. Most of all, it was all done professionally, in a spirit of friendship and trust.

"We’d better be off then, our train is due in ten minutes."

The train eased out of the station. It meandered slowly through the city, and then its suburbs, inexorably moving away from Mike’s home in Bearsden. The thought passed his mind once again. It would be six months until he saw these sights once more. In the meantime, what else would his eyes behold in the desert landscape of Afghanistan? Anything was possible.

Bill took out a pack of cards which kept them entertained. It also distracted Mike for the next hour of their journey. The destination was Glencorse Barracks, on the outskirts of Edinburgh. The home of his unit, the Battalion of the 2nd Scots, the Royal Regiment of Scotland.

Their second taxi dropped them at the barracks. The scene was busy with other taxi’s and private cars, bringing the rest of the battalion back to their headquarters after a well-earned period of leave.

Men milled around the parade ground and kit bags lay everywhere. Spirits were high. Inside the barrack rooms, some were clearing their lockers of the kit and personal items they wished to take on the deployment ahead. Some were playing cards while talking about their exploits on leave, laughing and joking. Mike did his rounds of the men, searching out those from his platoon. The ones he knew the best. And so, it began. The slow transition back to the role of a soldier. Mike could feel it in his blood. Hannah was still in the back of his mind, she would never leave it, but now he began to focus on the task ahead.

Mike felt better now he was back with his men. Some had brought along girlfriends and were saying their goodbyes, just as he had done in the morning. They would all be feeling similar emotions. But most wouldn’t be of the same depth as his own. He came from a relationship which was long, deep and established. These were just youngsters having fun.

But he felt for them all. Whether they had wives, girlfriends, or just their parents, all had someone to miss. Still, he looked on them with pride. They were dependable men, most of whom would give their lives for each other if it came to it. He noticed one or two new faces, youngsters, straight out of training, potentially heading for their first taste of combat. The old hands would look after them, though also subject them to the full brunt of twisted military humour, never more common than in a hostile environment.

They saw themselves as tough, but six months later they would return home with a different view of life. He spoke to one of the new lads.

The Private rose smartly. "Colour Sergeant!"

"At ease, lad. It’s usual to refer to me as Colour. What’s your name?"

"Private Philips, Colour."

"What do your pals call you?"

"Ben."

"The first deployment for you is it?

"Yes."

"There’s a lot of good men here to teach you the craft of army life, much of which you can’t learn in training. You have a girlfriend at home?"

"Yes, Colour. Her name’s Jenny. Only been seeing her for a few weeks, but it’s looking good."

Mike was older and wiser. He knew the chances of such a young relationship surviving six months' separation were slim. A young girl out with her mates and her boyfriend six-thousand miles away; some things were inevitable. He and Hannah had got through it, but then they had fallen deeply in love on their first date. Perhaps this lad had found the same thing too?

"So, she will wait for you?"

"Oh, sure. I’ll keep in touch with her whenever I can."

"Well, good luck to you, but don’t let it take the focus away from the job. Lives depend on it, and your life."

"No Colour, I won’t. I’m looking forward to this, it’s what I joined up for."

"Glad to hear it. Well, I’ll see you out there."

––––––––

Sergeants began to bark out orders as they rounded up the men. A fleet of coaches was ready to board which would take them to Oxfordshire. Kit bags were loaded and finally the men embarked. The vehicles pulled away and the duty guard closed the barrack gates as the last coach drove out.

As they passed into more scenic land, it began to rain. The grey skies echoed the sadness in Mike’s heart. They were now in the lowlands of Scotland, a pleasant area, but not as attractive to him as the towering hills and vast vistas of the Highlands.

As the coach approached the border between Scotland and England, Mike’s spirits soared for a moment. He recalled how proud he was to be a Scotsman. Sure, he was proud too of being British. But at heart, he was a true Scot. That had naturally led him to join a Scottish regiment. The regimental headquarters was based outside Edinburgh, which was conveniently close to home, and a boon in the early days when he and Hannah were courting.

He could still recall, vividly, those far off heady days, and the night they first met. She was beautiful, and it was love at first sight, a mutual feeling. Apart from deployments away from home such as this, they had been inseparable for over twenty-five years. In that time, they had grown ever closer, and he found Hannah even more beautiful than when she was in her late teens. She held a deep attractiveness to him, not just physically, but with her mind too.

If he were to admit it, she was more intelligent than he was, a bright, clever woman. As the kids had grown, she found time to start her own business, a flower shop. Under her stewardship it had thrived, no doubt because of her sharp mind.

He knew he couldn’t keep dwelling on home. It was making him morose. Bill snapped him out of his sombre thoughts.

"You’re quiet Mike, thinking about Hannah?"

"Of course." He forced a smile.

"I love my Sue too, but you and Hannah have something special. I know these times get to you. Now you’ve another bairn on the way. You’ve got a lot to look forward to when this is all over."

"I know, but it seems so far off."

"It’ll fly by when we get back to work properly and you’re with the lads. You’ll be going home again before you know it."

Bill’s words were soothing. What was it about this man that was charming and made people feel at ease? He could never figure him out.

Mike had a brief nap and woke as they sped around the Birmingham ring road and then onto the final leg to Oxford. They both took another snooze. It had been an early start and there was still a long journey ahead.

Their next stop was at the former RAF South Cerney airbase. Here, the 29th Regiment, Royal Logistic Corps, handled their baggage checks, processing, and onward travel to RAF Brize Norton a short distance away.

With all formalities completed they arrived at Brize Norton where a Lockheed Tristar aircraft waited for them; a reasonably comfortable mode of transport for the seven-hour-plus journey ahead.

––––––––

Mike settled into his seat next to Bill. He was looking forward to some sleep once the aircraft was in the air. The next chance wouldn’t be until they sorted themselves out at Camp Bastion, which could be at least another twelve hours away.

He was tired and yearned to stretch his legs out. The aircraft taxied out onto the runway, then the three Rolls Royce RB211 turbofan engines wound up to full thrust. Mike felt the power pushing into his back as they sped down the runway. Then came upward lift as the aircraft’s nose rose. The runway fell away rapidly.

Within a few minutes the flight levelled off and the movement of the aircraft smoothed out, a signal to Mike that he could relax and sleep.

"I will see if I can get a few hours kip, Bill."

"Don’t blame you. Think I ought to try myself, a long way to go yet."

Mike closed his eyes and drifted off almost straight away. Thoughts and images swirled through his mind as reality slipped away. Soon he found himself in a dream, or a series of dreams, which he barely recalled later.

Some were disturbing. Memories of atrocities he had witnessed in other combat zones through his career. He wasn’t a superstitious man and refused to see them as any kind of portent. But he wondered why he hadn’t even thought, let alone dreamed, about the incidents for years. They left a bad taste in his mouth.

He also dreamed of Hannah, the memory of which only tugged his heartstrings once again. It was from a time some ten years ago, when they bought their second, and current, house. It was before Katie was born and Greg was a wee boy, though he remembered now that Hannah was pregnant with Katie. Once the house was theirs, before Hannah set foot in it, he carried her across the threshold.

He picked her up in his strong arms and she giggled, that age-old way of hers that he found so sexy and made him feel weak at the knees. He almost dropped her. Greg was at preschool and she gave him a look which only meant one thing. He kept hold of her and carried her up the stairs to the bedroom. There was only a bare mattress, but he laid her down gently and began to remove her clothes. They made love for the first time in their new house with the sun shining through the window. It was spontaneous, loving, and beautiful.

Mike sighed at the memory. But he had slept well for most of the journey and they were about to enter Afghan airspace. Following the regulations, all personnel now donned body armour and helmets. They were going back into the fray.

"You were out of it all the way," said Bill.

"I know. Did you manage some shut-eye?"

"Not as much as you, two or three hours I think."

They began the final approach and the seat belt lights came on. Before long, they exited the aircraft and headed to the arrivals marshalling area.

Mike drew in the dry hot air, it almost felt it was burning his lungs. For a moment he picked up a sense of menace in the air too, which made him shiver momentarily, despite the heat.

The final, short leg of the journey remained. The troops transferred from the Tristar to a Lockheed Hercules transport aircraft. The interior was far more spartan and the aircraft shook and rattled down the runway. This would be a blind trip. There were no windows throughout most of the aeroplane. Mike never thought he’d be so pleased to reach Bastion.

Chapter 2

It had been nearly thirty-six hours since Mike had left home and he longed to call Hannah. But first, he had to ensure all the formalities of his platoon’s arrival at Bastion were completed, and they had arranged accommodation. All needed a full meal and the caterers had not let them down. As soon as the men had deposited their kit in the tents, they wasted no time in making their way to the canteen.

It was all a familiar routine for the old hands. But some new faces displayed a mixture of astonishment, uncertainty, and bewilderment. Even for Mike, much had changed. The base had become a sprawling metropolis since his last tour, almost a city. In 2008 he could walk across the base in ten minutes, now it would take a fifteen-minute vehicle trip to cover its expanse.

There was a constant movement of troops, vehicles, and aircraft. He couldn’t believe the volume of air traffic now. The airstrip, with its full-sized control tower, was handling hundreds of flights a day. It was said that it was as busy as Luton airport. It seemed every few minutes another aircraft or helicopter was taking off or landing.

The Americans were also present now, after Barack Obama’s decision to become involved in the area. Part of that force, Camp Barber, shared the area designated as Bastion One with the British contingent, Camp Viking.

Mike caught up with Private Ben Phillips. "Well, what do you think of it so far, young Ben?"

"Impressive, Colour. I knew it would be big, but wow, I wasn’t expecting this!"

"Don’t get too used to it, we won’t be spending much time here apart from a bit of R and R. This is luxury compared to the outposts."

"I guess it is, Colour, but I’m looking forward to seeing some action, kick some ass."

Mike studied the man, though he was little more than a boy. What did this young fellow know about action? It wasn’t glory, that was for sure. His tone might change somewhat when he heard the Colonels’ pep talk tomorrow, and then the training on IED’s — Mike still recalled how the graphic details hit him the first time he undertook it. Then there was the question of who the actual enemy was out here. They didn’t go wandering around in battle fatigues.

"Don’t wish too hard, Ben. Keep your sense of humour lad, but you’ll soon realise this is a hard place."

"Yes, Colour."

"Enjoy your food."

"Aye, Colour, I will."

Mike took a seat at the NCO’s table and filled himself with the food provided. Perhaps it was his hunger, but he felt the quality was better than last time. They still had Tom Williams as the cook for the platoon. He took comfort in knowing they would have fine food out on patrol.

With a full belly now, it was time to phone Hannah. As he excused himself and rose from the table, he felt butterflies in his stomach.

After a short wait, a telephone became free and he eagerly entered his home number. Converting the local time to UK time, he knew she should be home now. The dialling tone repeated six times. His anxiety increased with each repetition until at last, he heard her gentle voice.

"Hi, darling!"

"Mike! Honey, I’ve been dying to hear from you. How was the journey?"

"Not bad, not bad at all. We’re just getting ourselves settled in, then the usual briefings before we set off on patrol."

"How long before you head out?"

"A few days probably. How are the kids?"

"They’re good. Katie is feeling it, she’s been moping about ever since you left."

"She’ll get over it, I’m sure. And Greg?"

"Oh, he’s fine, you know he takes it easier."

"Yeah, he’s a sound lad. How about the baby?"

"Not kicking yet, but I’m sure that will come soon. I’m missing you already, it was lonely in bed without you last night."

"I miss you too, darling. I’ve not had a proper sleep yet, kipped on the flight for a few hours, that’s it."

"It seems an age until you’re back."

"I know, it’s getting to me too."

"You’ll still be able to keep in touch when you’re out in the sticks, like before?"

"Sure, I’ll phone as often as I can."

They continued with small talk for ten minutes, delighting in each other’s voices until painfully, they brought an end to the call.

Mike put down the handset and sighed. He wanted to be at home to care for her, but he knew his mum was always on hand, and Bill’s wife Sue. He missed her so much. But he had to keep focused on the job, for his sanity, and the safety of his men.

––––––––

The men were becoming acclimatised to the dry heat and had time to relax for the rest of the day after their long journey.

Mike made a tour of the tents and found most of his men asleep after their meal. The travelling had also taken its toll. Those who were awake were in good spirits, sorting through their kit, and cracking jokes.

The tents were air-conditioned, a luxury they would enjoy for only short periods away from the Forward Operating Base; their primary home for much of the tour.

Mike came across three of his men playing cards.

Corporal Colin Frost was the most senior and sprang to attention as Mike approached.

"Good evening Corporal, all the men well-fed and settled in?"

"Aye, Colour. Don’t seem long since we were last here, a home from home now."

"You could say that. How are the new fellas managing?"

"They’re okay, plenty of help from the experienced lads, with a bit of piss-taking."

"I’d expect nothing less," Mike chuckled. "Looking forward to getting back out on patrol?"

"Aye, perhaps have time to take a pop at a few Tali-Tubbies. Just gotta get through the days tied to this place with briefings and training. I mean, we all know the score."

"That may be so, but we need the latest intel from the Colonel. A lot has gone down out here since our last trip. They even grounded the US Marines a while back after a few suicide bomb attacks. So, keep your eyes and ears open, lad."

"I guess there’s some point in it."

"Also, we’ll get the latest gen on what IED’s they’re using. Just ensure the new guys take it seriously."

"Will do, Colour."

"Make sure all the lads make the best use of the time here to relax and enjoy the facilities."

"I’m sure they will."

"Well, carry on guys, enjoy your card game."

"Thanks, Colour."

Mike walked out into the cool air of the evening and took a walk. His mind alternated between thoughts of the mission ahead, the sights and sounds of the huge camp all around, and home.

Despite the mixed feelings, he relaxed. He was making peace with himself and the circumstances. This had been his life for many years, a life he loved. The travel, the camaraderie, the belief in the job he was doing, and the occasional piece of the action. The bravado of his younger days had left him a long time ago, partly through maturity and a sense of self-preservation, but more so he now had a wife and family.

Still, it was not without risk, a risk he played down to Hannah. She read the news report of the casualties and of course, she worried. But whenever he could, he told her the numbers were small among the thousands stationed out here. He knew it did little to ease her worry.

And he wasn’t invincible, that belief had left long ago too. But he still saw it in many of the younger guys, the desire for action and the belief they were indestructible in the face of an inferior enemy. But for a long time, that enemy had not played by the same rules, whether in Northern Ireland, Bosnia, or here.

All around him was a changing world, one he was withdrawing from. Though he believed in what he was doing, he was becoming cynical in his view of the politics behind their orders.

He carried on walking for an hour before heading back to his tent. He was tired and turned in for the night.

The never-ending sounds of aircraft, trucks, and voices didn’t prevent him from falling into a deep sleep. His last thoughts were of Hannah.

––––––––

The next day Mike had an informal meeting with his immediate superior, Lieutenant Graham Larson, and the Company commander, Captain David Ferguson.

The Captain was an experienced officer, like Mike, a veteran of many combat theatres. He held the Captain in high regard. In contrast, the Lieutenant was in his mid-twenties and had no combat experience except for their previous tour in Afghanistan. Mike was old enough to be his father. He gave him all the respect his rank called for, but inside he held a little disdain for him. His accent told of a privileged, public school upbringing. He was undoubtedly intelligent, having passed through Oxford University, but his common sense left much to be desired.

More than once in the past, Mike had to disagree forcefully with the Lieutenant’s decisions for the safety of his men. His objections verged on insubordination, but the Lieutenant had the intelligence to bow to Mike’s better judgement. This, at least, allowed Mike to have some respect for him.

There was no such questioning of the Captain’s orders. Mike had worked with him long enough to know that he was a shrewd tactician, and the lives of his men were a top priority. He, too, often fought with the demands of his superiors on a matter of policy. But he got the job done. Of a similar age to Mike, they got on well; in one-on-conversations they were on first-name terms. Mike suppressed a chuckle when he was so addressed in the Lieutenant's company. He knew the Captain did it to show his high regard for him. They both knew it irked the Lieutenant somewhat, even more so when the Captain encouraged Mike to call him Dave.

"Now then Mike," said the Captain. "How are the lads? I’ve spoken with a few of them and they seem in good spirits."

"Aye Dave. They’re ready for whatever we must face. A few new boys we must watch, but they’ll get up to speed."

The Lieutenant visibly squirmed at the informality between the two. "Sir," he said with emphasis on the word, "I’ve designated a ‘buddy’ soldier to each recruit, someone dedicated to watch over them and to report back to the Colour Sergeant on their progress."

"Good idea Graham. Now, things are changing out here, I’m sure that will come across in the Colonel’s pep talk this morning. Hostilities have increased markedly in some regions, and I’ll tell you now, you’re likely to move out to the FOB in the next few days."

"I thought we’d be here for a week?" said Mike.

"That probably won’t happen. They have already brought the IED training forward, you’ll start that this afternoon rather than tomorrow."

"The lads won't like it, so soon after the journey out here, it’s asking a lot."

"The command well knows that. But there are pressing operational concerns, particularly in the area we’re heading for. I’ve been out here for the past two weeks, so I’m privy to the latest intel. We could be in for an interesting few weeks. Much of this won’t come out from the Colonel, so I’ll tell you what I know . . ."

The Captain spoke for ten minutes about his latest knowledge of the area.

"Well, we must keep on our toes this time around," said the Lieutenant.

"I suggest you do. It’s down to all of us to make this work. Now, time for a brew before the Colonel’s speech, eh, what?"

––––––––

Mike informed his Sergeants of the latest plan. He instructed them to get the men assembled for the Colonel’s speech and that there would be only a short break before the introduction to IED training later in the day. He knew there would be some grumbling; the men had expected an easy first day, but now they had to hit the ground running.

Soon the men gathered in a large open area where a dais was erected for the Colonel to speak from.

The men talked quietly among themselves until the Sergeants brought them to attention as the Colonel appeared. He mounted the dais and surveyed the troops gathered before him; the Captain stood to his right.

"At ease, men. Welcome to Bastion and Afghanistan. I know, for most of you this is not your first deployment out here, but I’ll tell you now, treat it as though it is. Things are changing and there is much to learn. The Americans are now out here and that has changed our task somewhat, from a command point of view."

"One of our greatest concerns at present is the increased frequency of IED attacks, and the expanding variety and sophistication of the devices used. Our intelligence has improved, but I now consider it such a threat that I have lengthened the duration of IED training for all personnel."

"Once that training is complete, you will be sent immediately to your outpost. Contrary to what you might believe, that area is now subject to considerable hostilities. The team you will be relieving have suffered six casualties in the past two months, one fatal. Make no mistake, the situation has become dangerous. Keep your wits about you and put your training to full use. I know I can depend on you."

After hitting the men with a frank appraisal of the threats they faced, the Colonel gave an impassioned speech designed to fire the men with enthusiasm, confidence, and belief in the job they were doing.

"Now, I appreciate you have had a long journey, but time is of the essence. Have a brew then get ready for the intro to your training. Then you can relax and enjoy the camp’s facilities before carrying on tomorrow. Thank you, and good luck."

––––––––

Mike turned to Bill. "Sounds like things are different out here, not as relaxed as last time."

"Yeah, looks like we could see more action. I bet the Yanks being out here doesn’t help, the Taliban hate them more than us."

"You may be right; it’s probably riled them up and made them more determined. Let’s get a cuppa before the training kicks off."

Mike sat down with a cup of tea near his men. He could tell they weren’t happy, and who could blame them? A long journey then straight into training. He too had expected an easy first day, then a slow build-up before moving out to the Forward Operating Base. But he knew they would come to terms with it and take it in their stride.

They had barely finished drinking tea when two Sergeants from the Royal Engineers appeared.

"Good afternoon, Colour Sergeant," said one. "I’m Sergeant Franklin and my colleague here is Sergeant Baines. I know your men are tired, but we are under orders to get this training underway. Today will take only about an hour then your men can relax."

"Thanks, Sergeant, I’m sure they’ll be pleased about that. Where do you want them?"

"We’re set up in the tent over there, so if you can get your men together, I would appreciate it."

"No problem."

Mike called one of his Sergeants and gave him the instructions.

The men ambled over to the muster point without enthusiasm and filed into the tent.

Sergeant Baines welcomed them.

"We believe this is the most important training you will undertake, considering the latest developments here. IED’s are becoming the number one cause of death among troops in the area. The more you know about the techniques deployed and what to look for, the more likely you are to avoid becoming a casualty. I suggest you pay close attention.

"IEDs have a long history, but in the modern sense, our first large-scale exposure was in Northern Ireland. What began there as simple booby-traps and pipe bombs, became ever more complex with the use of electronics and remote wireless detonation. We are seeing a similar evolution here in Afghanistan, their more widespread use and other terrorist organisations bring their knowledge into the area.

"For today, we will play a video as an introduction to the subject. A bit of history, devices used in this theatre, and real-life footage of incidents, some very graphic. It will leave you in no doubt about the lethality of this threat. Tomorrow we will go deeper, and look at the latest devices used, of which we have actual examples. We will examine the tactics used for deployment. Then the psychological aspect of their use, both for the aggressor and the victim. Gentlemen, enjoy."

The Sergeant gave a twisted smile.

The video played for seventy minutes, at the end of which, interest, awe, and a touch of fear had replaced the men’s weariness. For the old hands, they understood the change in the threat since their last deployment. They were in no doubt how real it was. For the new soldiers, it was a reality check.

This was no longer just a war of men fighting men, but one with a hidden, sinister threat; of sudden death lurking in unexpected places.

––––––––

Mike decided he was well overdue a shower, he felt dishevelled and weary.

The cool water made him shiver. He always preferred cold or cool showers, but soon it began to refresh him. However, the tiredness remained.

He dried himself off, dressed in clean fatigues, and then resolved to call Hannah again. He was missing her more than ever before.

He took a stroll in the air and bumped into Bill.

"Hey there Mike, you’re looking better."

"Yeah, I feel better after a shower. I need some fresh air and exercise."

"Interesting, the IED training," said Bill.

"You could say that. But the statistics on the casualties they’re causing are grim."

"They are. I can see why they’re drumming it into us. I, for one, am paying attention. I hope the lads are too."

"I’m sure they will be after that video, it was hard-hitting."

"Sure was. I’m going to head for a shower myself now, perhaps catch up later Mike?"

"Aye, why not? Maybe head over to Heroes."

"See you later."

At that moment Mike wanted to be on his own. Something was troubling him. He carried on walking.

Almost aimlessly, he continued past the rows of tents. Soldiers milled about and trucks drove past, all obeyed the strict speed limits which the Military Police rigidly enforced. Eventually, he drew close to the airfield and found a place to sit.

He watched half a dozen aircraft take-off or land and then his thoughts turned inwards.

Hannah and the children came to mind. They were some six-thousand miles away and the fact stretched his emotions. He had been through this before, several times since the kids had been around, and through all the years he and Hannah had been together. He had always missed them, but now there was a deeper feeling. Negative thoughts whirled through his mind; what if he didn’t make it back? Many hadn’t. Where would that leave his family? He became unusually morose.

This wasn’t like him, not at all. Army life was always a risk, especially in a combat zone, and he had always accepted it. But now? What was he doing out here? Why were any of them? What were the politics behind it all? To what end was he risking his life?

He didn’t know the answers to those questions, but he knew the real reasons were not those made public in the media. The world had become a twisted place. No, it had always been so; it was just easier to see now. Political machinations, power struggles, and misguided judgements; these were what sent men like him into battle, while those who called the shots never risked their blood.

He suddenly felt fear, which shocked him. There was always fear when approaching, and during combat. But this was a different feeling. It was deeper, a sense of foreboding which held him in an icy grip. He had only eight months until retirement and yet the idea came to him, he might not make it. How had he lost his positive thinking? The experience troubled him. He took a few deep breaths and tried to pull himself together, but the feeling of unease remained.

Perhaps the call he intended to make to Hannah would cheer him.

––––––––

Mike made his way back to his home sector and eventually found a telephone. It would be late now at home with three and a half hours' time difference, but Hannah should still be up. He entered the number.

"Hello?"

"Honey, it’s me."

"Darling, I didn’t expect to hear from you again so soon. Everything OK?"

"Just missing you and wanted to hear your voice."

"You sound different."

"Oh, just been through a bit of a funny patch."

"How do you mean?"

"I don’t know, feelings I’ve never had before. Silly really, just worrying that I’m so close to retirement and won’t make this final hurdle."

"Oh, Mike. I worry about you, but deep down I know you’ll be fine."

"Thank you, honey, I needed to hear that. Just being irrational, I know."

"That's not like you. You always look after yourself and your guys."

"Yeah, we’ll come through. Maybe it was just the start of the IED training we had today. It’s become a major issue out here; they’ve increased the length of the training package. Also, the area we’re deploying to is seeing more hostilities. Shit, I shouldn’t be telling you all this, you’ve enough to worry about."

"Don’t worry honey, I can deal with it. I’ll worry about you until you’re back in my arms, no matter what you say."

They lightened the conversation, bringing up talk of the kids and what they would all be doing in the week ahead. They eventually said goodnight and Mike replaced the handset. He stared at it for a few moments. It had been good for him for Hannah to hear his troubles, though he hadn’t meant to alarm her. She seemed to have taken it well and her words soothed him.

But as he walked away, he could still feel a touch of fear in his heart.

Chapter 3

The following days passed steadily with ongoing IED training, equipment checks and maintenance, and briefings for their onward deployment.

Mike suffered recurrences of his doubts and fears but was learning to put them to the back of his mind and concentrate on the work ahead.

It was clear from the training that the threat had changed since their last posting, with IED’s now accounting for a higher percentage of casualties than regular combat. He understood the Colonel’s decision on sacrificing so much time.

So, it came as a surprise to Mike, that when the day came for them to move out, they were told that no helicopters were available. They had to undertake the fifty-plus-mile journey to Narwad District by road.

Mike vividly recalled the photographs and video of a Warrior armoured vehicle. A roadside bomb had left it blackened and gutted. It lay on its side with the bodies of three British soldiers nearby.

How could it come to this? With all the resources thrown into the region, they were being forced to take the most dangerous means of transport on a long journey through hostile territory. It was outrageous; he needed to speak to the Captain.

He found him in a debate with the Lieutenant. They were discussing the same subject and voices were being raised.

Agitated, Mike waited for a suitable break in the conversation.

"Sir, what the hell is going on!"

"Easy, Mike. I know this is bad news, but we must move out. The crew out there are struggling, we are a much bigger force and we need to make all speed to the area."

"But it’s potential suicidal!"

"We will have air cover."

"Damn that! It won’t protect us against roadside bombs, you’ve done the training. It happens often enough without deliberately and unnecessarily taking the risk. Why are there no helicopters available?"

"They’re all tied up with reconnaissance, casualty recovery, and other pressing operational concerns."

"It’s bloody madness!"

"They have allocated us a US Marines escort, that should indicate the high level the order has come from, and their concerns."

"And what size is that force?"

"A full platoon, Mike."

Mike began to come to terms with the situation, with their team of three platoons that was a lot of men and armour. But IED’s were a hidden threat, difficult to identify until it was too late.

"And this has the Colonel’s full backing?"

"I can assure you, Mike, it was with reluctance."

"OK, if we have no choice, so be it. But I want my objections noted."

"Duly noted, Mike. Now, let’s get on with it."

"Aye, sir."

Mike walked away from the Captain and Lieutenant Larson accompanied him.

"You were already at loggerheads with him when I arrived, Lieutenant?"

"I was, Colour Sergeant. I wasn’t as objectionable as you but I’m glad you said what you did, not that it made any difference. We’ll be okay with all the support we’ll have. Won’t we?"

"Lieutenant, sir, I just hope it doesn’t turn into a real clusterfuck, for all our sakes."

––––––––

Although Hannah had played it down, Mike’s words had disturbed her. She knew the risks of his job and together they had faced that as part of their lives for many years. But she had detected a tone in Mike’s voice she had never heard before.

It was late in the day and the kids were both occupied, so she took a trip to her mum’s, a short drive away.

Maggie and Adrian were Mike’s parents, but she had affectionately referred to Maggie as mum since her parents were killed in a road accident in the early days of her marriage to Mike. Adrian and Maggie had been a Godsend at the time and had helped Mike to console her in the loss with boundless love and affection. It had cemented their closeness forevermore, and Hannah ‘adopted’ Maggie as her mum. Through the years they had become ever closer.

Soon after telephoning Maggie to ensure she was in, Hannah arrived at their doorstep.

"Hannah, lovely to see you," said Adrian as he answered the door.

"Hi, Dad."

"Come on in, it’s cold out here."

Maggie wrapped Hannah in her arms.

"What brings you over so late in the day sweetie, everything okay?"

"Yes, of course. Well, actually, it’s Mike."

"Oh?"

"He sounded different on the phone, and he seemed troubled."

"In what way?"

"He’s morose, negative even, he talked about worries over not making it back."

"Oh, Hannah, he’ll be fine. He’s never been away before when you’ve been pregnant. That must get to him, he’s such a family man. He loved being around you when you were carrying Katie and Greg."

"I know. I miss him so much, mum."

Maggie attempted to lighten the conversation.

"So, how’s the baby?"

"Early days yet, but my first scan was good, all is well. But I worry, you know, with my age. The chances of something going wrong increase as you get older.

"You’ll be fine Hannah, you had an easy time with both Greg and Katie."

Hannah smiled. "I did." But her smiled faded quickly. "I worry about him, he said the threat level out there had increased a lot since his last visit. It all sounds so much more dangerous."

"He’ll come through, honey. Then you’ll have him home for good."

"I know. It’s only a few months, but it seems like forever."

"I’ll get the kettle on," said Adrian.

Hannah stayed for nearly two hours, chatting and drinking tea with Maggie and Adrian. By the end, she felt better. Maggie’s words were always so reassuring, she had the knack of gaining a deep empathy with people, much like Bill, she thought. It reminded her of those long-gone days when she lost her parents; she had no idea how she would have gotten through without Maggie’s help.

"I’d better get going," said Hannah.

"Okay," said Maggie. "We’ll see you again soon, and if you need anything, anything at all, you just ask."

"Okay mum, I will."

"We’re always here for you." Maggie kissed Hannah’s cheek, followed by Adrian.

Hannah drove home in a much happier mood, though Mike’s words still echoed in her head.

Greg and Katie were getting ready for bed when she arrived, both had school the following day. She made sure their lunches were all prepared and then sat down for a last cup of tea before she retired.

She wrapped herself in a shawl and switched the television on. The house felt empty without Mike.

––––––––

The platoons assembled for the journey out to the forward operating base, a mass of men and arms. The American Marines looked purposeful and intent and their transport comprised armoured Humvees, personnel carriers, and an Abrams tank with heavy machine guns loaded and manned. In comparison, the British vehicles seemed lightweight, but they were all armoured against landmines and packed ta punch, except the Landrovers. They were well-armed but lacked the protection of the other vehicles and been heavily criticised for their use in Afghanistan. The Captain placed these in the centre of the convoy, offering the best protection.

They moved out in the early morning air, kicking up clouds of sand and dust. The larger vehicles billowing plumes of black smoke as their diesel engines warmed up.

Mike’s place was in a Mastiff Armoured Fighting Vehicle at the head of the British contingent behind the US Marine platoon. He took consolation that no British casualties had occurred in these vehicles to date. Personnel had walked away unscathed, even after bombs, shrapnel, and machine-gun fire had struck the vehicle.

With a pair of high-powered binoculars and a thermal imager, he situated himself at one of the rooftop hatches. His body was half outside the vehicle. From there he intended to keep an intense lookout for the duration of the journey. They had also equipped the driving position with a thermal imaging system. Beyond that, he knew dozens of pairs of eyes would keep a sharp watch for anything which indicated the slightest threat, whether a movement, or the smallest object.

Even as they left the immediate surrounds of the base, all were on high alert. Soon a jet fighter flashed overhead, speeding over the road they were travelling. It was the promised air support. Mike wondered if such action was wise, whether following such a road it would tell hostile forces that something was on its way?

Mike felt the cool air caressing his face and sensed the tension all around him. Nothing was likely to happen this close to Camp Bastion, but such knowledge was uncertain; the reason high walls, topped with barbed wire, surrounded the base.

The convoy meandered on at a leisurely 20mph. Mike scanned everywhere from the horizon and to the vicinity of the convoy. It would take a sizeable force to have a chance of threatening them. But IED’s and roadside bombs could create carnage. It might be limited, considering the number of vehicles, but a correctly placed and detonated device could bring them to a halt and make them sitting ducks. This was Mikes greatest fear. He still considered it madness to be travelling in such a fashion. One or two Merlin helicopters, with several round trips to take his platoons out, while ferrying the others back on their return, would have sufficed. Forays out into enemy territory were the norm in armoured vehicles over limited distances, but this exceeded fifty miles.

As Camp Bastion faded into the background, despite the mass of troops ahead and behind him, he felt isolated and the countryside took on an ominous feel. He recognised this was mostly psychological. But here, as in Ireland, Bosnia, and every other theatre of war since the dawn of time, the psychology of warfare was a key element.

After half an hour the convoy ground to a halt. Mike didn’t know what was happening. Half a dozen Marines exited their vehicle and tentatively walked ahead along the road. What had they seen?

Soon a radio message stated that they had spotted a suspicious object. Mike waited on tenterhooks while keeping a lookout all around. Then the Marines turned around. The object had been nothing more than an old, discarded oil drum.

The vehicles regained their onward movement and he relaxed slightly. Camp Bastion was no longer visible, but they were; dust clouds and exhaust fumes would make them visible for miles. If anyone spotted them, their journey was long enough for insurgents to plan an ambush further down the road.

An hour later, all hell broke loose.

––––––––

First came the sudden appearance of two Apache helicopters speeding towards them from Camp Bastion. Radio chatter was intense, Mike tried to make sense of it. He soon gathered that aerial surveillance had identified substantial enemy movement approaching their position.

Next moment they were in the fray. Mortars exploded around them and small arms fire hit the vehicles. Where the hell had they come from? It was as if they had materialised out of the sand.

Rifle, machine gun, and cannon fire followed missile strikes from the helicopters as both the British and American troops countered the enemy fire. With a loud 'boom', the Abrams tank opened fire as targeting information came in from the choppers or high-level aerial surveillance. As the whistle of small arms fire overhead increased, he ducked inside the Mastiff for protection.

Inside the vehicle, nobody seemed to know what was happening. The Captain was two vehicles back and the Lieutenant another one behind that. To maintain command should the worst happen, the officers and NCO’s were spread across the length of the convoy.

A mortar landed close by and the vehicle shook which caused Mike to lose his footing as he moved position.

He cursed and then shouted, "fuck! That was close." He turned to the radio operator, "give me the headset."

He got through to the Captain who told him he was receiving continuous updates from central command. They were getting information from a drone and air support.

"It’s not as bad as it looks Mike, just sit tight. Shit!"

A loud explosion rocked the vehicle again and one of the Land Rovers rose into the air. It landed on its side and three soldiers rolled from it, evidently alive. A fourth lay motionless on the ground and his colleagues dragged him away.

"Casualty report!" the Captain yelled.

After a few moments, the reply came back. "No fatalities, one walking wounded."

Lucky bastards, thought Mike. He turned to one of his men, "I knew this would be a fuck-up!"

The roar of a jet fighter swooped in over them, the blast wave of several bombs followed.

From someone on the radio net, he heard, "that sorted the bastards out!"

The small arms fire being taken by the vehicles reduced, but he could still hear cannon fire from the helicopters.

An American voice came over the radio. "It’s nearly over folks, we’re just mopping up the last of the enemy now."

The sounds of gunfire diminished until all was quiet, other than the shouts of men tending to wounded colleagues. One US Marine had been killed and both the British and the Americans incurred several injuries, three serious but not life-threatening. In contrast, the entire force of thirty-six enemy combatants were dead. Later, they found that some were hardly more than children.

A hard lesson had been learned and Mike saw the pale, frightened face of Private Williams, huddled towards the rear of the vehicle.

"All right, son?"

Ben replied with a wavering voice, "yeah, I’m OK Colour."

"Welcome to the real world."

––––––––

The rest of the journey was incident-free, and they reached the forward operating base to the cheers of the men they were about to relieve.

Poor buggers, thought Mike, they’ve got to go back the way we came.

He could hear the Captain on the radio to the Colonel. In colourful language, he told him in no uncertain terms what he thought of the journey and the risk it had put them under.

He’s a good man, thought Mike. Despite the day’s ordeal, he smiled.

The gates of the base, a decrepit walled compound in the middle of nowhere, closed behind them. The only addition to the structure was two lookout posts, strategically placed diametrically opposite to each other and permanently manned.

The men began to disembark and unload their kit along with the arsenal of weapons they had brought. The American Abrams tank fascinated many of the younger soldiers, the biggest piece of military hardware they had seen for some time. The Sergeants soon had them in order and the handover of the base began.

Time was of the essence as the convoy had to return to Camp Bastion before nightfall. Mike didn’t envy them the trip.

With the Captain and Lieutenant, he joined the briefing with the outgoing command team. It was a formality; they had already passed all important information to them and they soon wrapped it up.

Many of the outgoing crew looked apprehensive as Mike’s men related the events on the way out. But the Captain had made it quite clear to the Colonel the requirement for full air support considering their experience. The Colonel promised to make it happen.

"Corporal Frost!" Mike called out.

"Colour."

"Allocate four men to relieve the guys in the lookouts."

"Will do, Colour."

Mike surveyed the scene. It was a ramshackle setup. A few enclosed stone structures remained, but tents and tarpaulins formed most of the living and working areas. The vehicles at their disposal were two Mastiffs and two snatch Landrovers, not bad for a small team. Those that were leaving busied themselves with gathering all their kit and loading it onto the transport vehicles, while his men took in the surroundings, chatted, or smoked.

Mike had taken a shine to Private Ben Phillips, perhaps he reminded him of his son. He caught up with him as he sat talking to a colleague. They stood to attention.

"At ease, men. Hey Ben, that was an eye-opener for you this morning."

"Aye, Colour, it sure was."

"Now you see the seriousness of this business, and the danger all around."

"I do, colour."

"Everyone has a part to play. We must remain alert at all times."

"Yes, Colour."

"You’ll get your turn on look-out duty. When you do, the lives of everyone here depend upon you keeping your eyes open."

"Yes, Colour. I understand that."

"Good lad. If the satellite phone is working, you’ll be able to call your girl later."

"That would be great, Colour, I have a lot to tell her."

"Go gently, it’s easy for people at home to worry. Perhaps not a good idea to tell her you’ve come under heavy fire the first day here."

"Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind."

"Carry on, men."

Mike walked away with a growing fondness for Ben. He couldn’t show it. But his naivety, uncertainty, and the fact he was in love reminded Mike of his own younger days in the Service. He smiled to himself.

A rumble came from the Abrams tank as it fired up its fifteen-hundred shaft horse-power engine and then turned on the spot with its caterpillar tracks to face the exit gate. Other vehicles followed suit as the last members of the departing unit embarked on their transports.

"Hey, Mike, Staff Sergeant Johnny McDougal." He shook Mike’s hand. "The place is all yours, good luck, pal."

"Thanks, Johnny, going on leave or just a quick spot of R and R."

"A few days at Bastion and then they’re shipping us out to another FOB, probably another shithole like this, but we head home in three weeks."

"Well, good luck."

"You too Mike."

"Cheers."

The main gates swung open and the convoy began to move out. Several of the departing soldiers mooned at those remaining as they bent over and dropped their trousers and showed their buttocks. Mike laughed. A little frivolity was always in order on such occasions. The rest of soldiers who were leaving cheered, while Mike’s men merely waved their berets.

As the last vehicle left, the gates were closed and barred. Within moments the camp was almost silent.

––––––––

Mike unpacked his kit. Because of his rank he had his own half-walled ‘room’ made complete with tarpaulins. It was little more than the rest of the men had, sharing tents, but it gave some privacy. It contained a camp bed, a small desk, and various lockers for his belongings. It was comfortable enough, though he still had to use the common ablution facilities.

The only touches from home were the three photographs he took out and placed on the desk. One was his favourite of Hannah, taken five years ago on holiday in Norway. He tenderly stroked the picture. Another was a family photo of Hannah, himself and the kids, and finally, one of his parents. Adrian wasn’t Mike’s biological father, but he had been part of the family since as far back as he could remember, and they were like a true son and father.

He sat back and studied the photographs; they represented his true world, where his heart lay. Relaxing after the tension of the day, he suddenly longed for a cigarette. Where had that come from? He wondered. He hadn’t smoked for over ten years and dismissed the minor craving.

He wanted to phone Hannah, though it was too early he longed to speak to her. With the time difference, it would be several hours until she finished work, a painful wait.

Something was changing within him; he had felt all these doubts and worries creeping upon him for the past couple of days. For the first time in his life, he started a diary, more a journal, of his day-to-day life and his feelings. Perhaps through that, he could get to the root. He always carried a notebook and the one he took out from his kitbag was unused. He opened it and wrote on the first page, 'Journal of Mike MacDonald, commenced Wednesday, 30th January 2008. Afghanistan.’

Despite the strong urge, he had no idea what to write. Some thoughts came to him at random and he began. Soon it was flowing freely from him. He wrote for over thirty minutes and, by the time he finished, he had covered six pages.

"Wow!" He said to himself. He didn’t know where the words had come from.

He reviewed his writing. It was a jumble of thoughts, emotions, and concepts, but he felt lighter. He had read somewhere that writing could be a cathartic experience and now he felt the truth of that.

Gone was the underlying moroseness he had been experiencing and he rose to his feet with new energy. Time to see how the lads are doing.

Mike straightened his shirt and brushed himself down. He had ironed and pressed his kit. Except in the heat of combat, he prided himself in always showing a smart military bearing. He stepped out into the courtyard.

He looked up and scanned the walls, noting the men in the lookout posts attentively carrying out their duties.

He spied some of his men, Bravo platoon. They were busy dismantling and cleaning rifles and machine guns while Private Laurie Gregor entertained them with jokes. A true raconteur, Laurie could make anybody laugh and was a master at telling tall stories. He was much in demand as best man at weddings.

"Good to see you keeping busy guys, and keeping on top of your kit," said Mike.

"We’re bringing the new boys up to speed, Colour," said Corporal Frost.

"Good to hear. I’m sure we’ll be heading out on patrol tomorrow, so make sure everything is top-notch. How are you all settling in?"

"Well, it ain’t exactly the Ritz, Colour," Private Andy Bell chuckled.

"But the food’s good," said Laurie.

"Aye, Tom’s a good man and a good chef," said Mike.

"Good job," said Laurie. "An army marches on its stomach - want to know where that phrase came from?"

"I’m sure you will tell us," Mike said with a smile.

"Fancy a brew first, Colour? We’ve got one on the go," said Colin Frost.

"Yeah, thanks, I do."

Mike sat with the men and Laurie told them his tale of the origins of the aphorism. It soon became clear that he had made up the whole story, but he got them all laughing. Once he’d finished, talk turned to the job and finally into small talk about wives, girlfriends, sport, and any other subject that entered their heads.

Mike had the skill to walk the fine line between maintaining his authority yet being open and friendly with his men. It endeared him to all, both his seniors and subordinates, everyone held him the highest respect.

The tea and the friendly banter with the men cheered him, but he soon realised he had the chance of catching Hannah at home. The time had flown by.

He found the satellite phone free and punched in the number. After several rings, she answered.

His heart soared and he caught his breath as he heard her soft voice.

"Hello?"

"Hey darling, it’s me."

"Oh, darling, so good to hear your voice. How are you, and where are you?"

"We’re at the FOB, moved out this morning, just getting ourselves sorted out."

"I’m missing you."

"You too."

The conversation continued over nothing of importance; they just delighted in the sounds of each other’s voices. He deliberately avoided the incident of the morning. There was no need to increase her worry.

After a few minutes, he noticed Ben waiting in the wings and knew he couldn’t hog the phone any longer. They brought the call to an end with several repeats of ‘I love you’ and ‘I love you too’.

Mike walked away happy and with a warm feeling inside. He momentarily placed his hand on Ben’s shoulder, "all yours. Lad."

Chapter 4

The soldiers settled into their make-shift accommodation and eased into daily life at the camp. Corporal Tom Cook, the chef, organised his kitchen and began to produce meals which would befit a three-star restaurant, a welcome highlight of the day. The average soldier cleaned and maintained equipment, wrote letters home, carried out drills, and, when time permitted, played cards and other games, or just chatted with their mates. Look-out duties were an ongoing task.

Then the patrols began.

Mike attended the first briefing which they held in the Captain’s accommodation and office, a stone-walled room with no windows and about four metres square. An old Persian rug covered part of the floor, dirty and threadbare, a bed and lockers were over to one side while a large desk and seat were on the other. A communications radio sat on the desk. This sufficed as the local command centre. In attendance were the Captain, Lieutenant, and the Sergeants from the three platoons.

"Good morning all," said the Captain. "I hope everyone is making themselves comfortable."

The captain sat at his desk while the men gathered around. Spread across the desk was a large tactical map of the surrounding area.

"As far as current intelligence goes," the Captain continued, "the areas circled in red are the current known hot spots of insurgent activity. There are several in our immediate vicinity. The previous team spotted movement within visual range frequently and I cannot stress enough that our lookout posts are our first line of defence."

"Do you think they are planning to target our camp directly, sir?" the Lieutenant asked.

"I believe it is possible. You saw the size of the force which attacked us yesterday. They are drawing a considerable number of recruits from somewhere. Patrols will go out daily, in force, to show our strength and to extend our intel, but they must proceed with extreme caution. Nothing less than a full platoon and with armoured vehicle support."

"Sir," said Mike. "May I suggest the tactic of trying to draw them to us rather than engaging them in the open. We’re well defended here."

"Good point, Mike. Yes, we’ll look at that idea, it could work. I want an extra heavy machine gun emplacement on the two lookout towers and see if you can organise another look outpost or two if possible."

"That will create substantial extra demands on manpower, sir," said the Lieutenant.

"I’m aware of that Graham, but if we can draw them closer, I want this place well-defended, plus the extra eyes."

"Yes, sir."

"Let us start slowly with gentle probing, I want minimal risk to my men.” He pointed to a red circle about five miles away, "Intel suggests this target is the lowest threat, with minimal defences and manpower. We’ll look at it today. Are you all in agreement?"

"It sounds like a good plan, sir," said Mike.

"Lieutenant?"

"I don’t see a problem with it, sir."

"Very well. It’s not far, so a foot patrol, give the lads some exercise. Begin preparations to get Charlie platoon on the move. Sergeant Reece, your team has a full complement of seasoned men."

"Aye, sir."

"Mike, your team will act as reinforcements, hang back a half-mile or so. Sergeant Faulks, your platoon will take over the security of the base during the mission. Lieutenant, you will lead the patrol with Charlie platoon. Good luck, gentlemen."

––––––––

Alpha platoon took over duties in the lookout positions and made ready to guard the main gate. Mike assembled his team for a check of kit and weapons before the patrol while his colleague, Sergeant Ken Reece, did the same with Charlie platoon. All was in order and the Captain gave the command to move out.

Charlie platoon was first out with a Mastiff armoured personnel carrier in the lead, while Mike and his men held back until there was a reasonable distance between them; then they also marched out.

The temperature was just above freezing which made the ten-mile round trip a comfortable walk. It would swing to the other extreme before the deployment was over.

With Charlie platoon little more than dots in the distance, Mike’s men talked quietly among themselves. He picked up conversations about the conditions at the base, home and girlfriends; all riddled with jokes. They were in good spirits.

Although this patrol could be uneventful, this is what they signed up for; they were doing their job, not holed up in Bastion undergoing training.

After an hour, Sergeant Reece called up on the radio stating they were taking a break for a brew. This was fine with Mike who relished the thought of a cup of tea too.

As they stopped, Mike called out, "Corporal McIntyre, get one of the lads to put the kettle on."

"Will do, Colour."

After Sergeant Bill Bradley, the medic, Gary McIntyre was the next senior in the platoon, closely followed by Corporal Colin Frost who was younger in service. Mike held Gary in high regard, it would not be long before he warranted getting his Sergeant’s stripes. He looked around at the men, a cross-section of characters and experience; the young lad Ben who was slowly being accepted by the others, and the more senior Privates like Alan Sterling and Stan Millar; and his old friend Bill.

He sat with Bill as they drank their tea.

"How’s thing’s Mike? Getting used to being away from home again?"

"Kind of. It’s good to be back out on patrol, you know, doing something."

"Yeah, the lads need it too. Are we expecting any trouble today?"

"I doubt it. We’re just going to give this village the once over. A friendly approach, see if we can get them on our side, show them we’re not the enemy. If there are any bad guys around it also shows that we mean business."

"Are we going in, or just Ken’s lot?"

"No, I think we’ll look too. You know, for all the hostilities out here I like the chance to meet ordinary Afghans, they’re a great people. They’ve been through a lot of shit, but they’re just like you and me."

"I know what you mean, Mike. I wish I could speak the lingo."

"Me too, it would help. I know a few words, how to say hello, things like that."

"So, Mike, how come you’re still doing these patrols? I mean a Colour Sergeant, people like you are usually back at Command, personal assistants to senior officers, or deputy company commanders, things like that."

"You know me well enough, Bill. This is proper soldiering. They tried to give me a desk job, but I dug my heels in. Eventually, I threatened them with demoting myself."

"Really? You never mentioned that before."

"Ah, it was some time ago. A storm in a teacup really, the only person I had to persuade was the Colonel."

"Well, that says it all! The way you get along with him, couldn’t have been much of a battle."

Mike smiled. "No, it wasn’t, really. I got what I wanted."

––––––––

The walk continued and within the hour Charlie Platoon made their incursion into the village.

Sergeant Reece called up on the radio after a few minutes.

"All quiet here, Mike, no sign of hostiles. Residents are pleased to see us or indifferent."

"Thanks, Ken," said Mike, "we’re coming in too. Get Private Nichols to talk to the elders and let them know, we don’t want to scare them."

"Will do, Mike."

Mike envied John Nichol’s fluency in the local language. He was competent enough that if he was of higher rank, he would undoubtedly have been on the intelligence team, he was a wasted asset. But he always liked to contact local people wherever he went, and he had easy access to the Private’s skills.

As Mike’s platoon approached the village, they saw the other platoon milling about in pairs. They had a relaxed attitude with their weapons lowered. Most of the residents appeared so too. Men were attempting communication with sign language and the locals reciprocated. Only Private Nichols was in fluent conversation with the elders who began to laugh. What humorous stories could he be telling these people? Mike went to investigate.

Private Nichols introduced Mike to the elders, and he shook their hands. With Nichols interpreting, he had a short conversation with the chief. He told Mike that his men were welcome in the village and they seemed much friendlier than the Americans they had met a few weeks previously. Mike smiled inside. In his experience, the Americans were OK but had a more brash attitude than the Brits.

Mike then probed for any intelligence, but the chief denied any knowledge, except for a group of dubious characters who had passed through the village a month ago. They were heavily armed. He pushed for more information, but the chief told him he had not made them welcome in the village and they moved on quickly.

Mike thanked the chief, shook his hand again, and then gave him a brief bow. He then went walkabout to meet others in the village. He was an imposing figure but carried himself in a non-threatening way and with a friendly smile.

Some children approached and tried to touch his rifle. He waved his finger just before an adult pulled them away. The children looked upset and Mike waved for them to come close again. Then he crouched down and used the surefire way of making friends with such youngsters; he offered them a bar of chocolate each. Their faces lit up and it drew their attention away from the fascination with his gun. As they bit into the chocolate, he gently touched their heads. They all laughed.

It was moments like these which brought a glow to Mike’s heart.

He walked further and saw similar exchanges with others of his men or Charlie platoon. Those locals who had been apprehensive about their visitors, now joined in and inspected the soldiers with curiosity.

It was a successful public relations exercise, though they had gained little in the way of intelligence.

Soon it was time to move out again and Sergeant Reece and the Corporals gathered the men into their respective units. They said their goodbyes to the village community and started the march back to the base.

"Home in time for afternoon tea," Mike said with exuberance.

––––––––

It appeared most of the men had a sprightlier walk on the return journey. Perhaps it was seeing something other than military personnel for the first time in over a week, or maybe the simple pleasure of mixing with friendly locals. Many soldiers had twisted views of the Afghans, seeing them as simple, ignorant people, in league with the Taliban. That was a long way from the truth. As in almost every other theatre of conflict in the world, the ordinary man had little in common with those who pursued violence and wanted nothing to do with them. So, it was with the Afghans, suffering through no fault of their own, first at the hands of the Russians, and in more recent times, the fanaticism of the Taliban.

Some talk was of attractive young women, and Mike could understand that; there were some beautiful girls in the village. He smiled to himself again, not a chance for any of them.

Mike felt lighter too and enjoyed the brisk walk across the firm dirt surface. He looked forward to returning to camp, getting a good meal, and hopefully phoning Hannah. It had the makings of a good day.

The air was cooling as the sun lowered in the sky and the Base came into view with only a mile to go. He suddenly became concerned as the men began to spread apart, the attitude was becoming too relaxed and they weren’t paying attention. Outside the Base, there was never a time to be off-guard. What he didn’t see, until it was too late, was Private Stan Millar wandering off along a track which was nearly parallel to their path.

Neither did he see, nor Stan, the large discarded paint can next to the path. Mike saw it a moment before the flash and called out;

"Stan!"

But it was too late. There was a bright flash followed by the sound of an explosion.

Everybody froze.

The smell of petrol, explosives, and burning flesh permeated the air.

Next came Stan’s screams.

Then near panic ensued as the platoons believed they were under attack.

Mike yelled out, "IED!"

The men focused on the area of the explosion and Stan’s motionless body.

"Oh, fuck!" Mike said to himself. "Bill get over there, see how he is!"

Bill Bradley and two other soldiers hurried over to Stan while the rest lay prone, weapons at the ready, scanning the area for any other threats.

Mike didn’t need to see any more, he called out to the radio operator, "call for a medevac, right now!"

"Aye, Colour."

––––––––

Mike walked over to the scene. Stan was writhing in agony as Bill injected him with morphine and then wrote on his forehead with a felt pen to show he had received one dose. It kicked in fast and Stan began to settle. But it was clear to Mike that his request for a medivac was right.

Stan’s legs were a mess, mangled and torn flesh mixed with his combat fatigues. One leg was almost severed above the knee. Mike almost retched.

There were shrapnel wounds to his face and body which at first look appeared vicious but were, in fact, shallow flesh wounds.

"Bill?"

"Not good Mike. He’ll live, but I hold little hope for his legs."

"Shit. Corporal Frost, any update on the medivac?"

"A chopper is on the way from Bastion, ETA twenty minutes."

"Can he hold out, Bill?"

"Yeah, he’ll make it. The heat of the blast sealed a lot of the major wounds. He’s sedated know and I’ll stem the rest of the blood loss."

Despite the cold, Bill was sweating.

"OK, do your best. Anything I can do?"

"No, I’ve got it all under control."

"Thanks, Bill."

The rest of the platoon was relaxing a little now it was clear it was an isolated IED. and became focussed on Stan.

"Men, we’ll wait here until the medevac chopper arrives," said Mike. "Then we’ll move on."

He went deep into thought, their first patrol and already they had the first casualty. It didn’t bode well. But it was preventable, they’d just had the IED training, Stan should have known better, he was an old hand at this. Perhaps his mind was elsewhere? It would be a wake-up call to the rest of the team.

The rest of the men looked shaken, especially Ben Phillips. They would all learn a hard lesson from this, he would speak to them later.

In the distance, the sound of a helicopter grew louder. Within moments it was landing one-hundred metres from their position. Two medics exited and rushed towards the party with a stretcher.

Expertly, they hooked Stan up to a drip and gave him an oxygen mask.

"OK, we’ll take it from here."

"You going with him, Bill?" said Mike.

"No, he’s in good hands, there’s little more I can do."

All eyes were on the stretcher as they carried Stan to the helicopter. As soon as he was aboard it rose into the sky and sped away.

"Let’s move out," said Mike. His voice was only just audible.

The platoon continued the last leg to the base, but the spring had gone from their steps. They had lost a man.

––––––––

Captain Ferguson was there to meet Mike as soon as he came through the gate. His face was ashen.

"What happened, Mike?"

"IED. He wandered off and that was it. It was avoidable."

"Stupid, it shouldn’t have happened."

"No sir, it shouldn’t. I’m sure they don’t need it, but I’ll have a word with the men."

"Do that. We don’t need this. Carry on Mike."

Mike took no time in gathering the men together, there wasn’t much to say.

"Our thoughts go out to Stan. But men, this is the reality. Drop your guard for a moment and this is what can happen. Anything out of the ordinary, anything at all, must be viewed with suspicion, even things you expect to be there. The threat is big enough from things we can’t see, there’s no excuse for leaving ourselves exposed to ones we can see. Look after yourselves and look after each other. There are no other duties today, men, take some time out."

Mike wandered around aimlessly, his thoughts on Stan. Such a waste. A good soldier and a sound man. He wanted to be alone, and he wanted to speak to his wife. But it was too early for that.

Towards the end of the afternoon, the Captain called him over to his quarters. Lieutenant Larson was also there.

"We’ve just heard from the medical centre at Bastion concerning Stan. They’ve amputated his left leg above the knee, the other they’re waiting until tomorrow to decide."

"Bloody hell," said Mike.

"As soon as he’s fit to travel, they’ll ship him back to the UK, he’ll need a lot of aftercare. And that’s the end of his career really, very sad. I also have the onerous task of informing his wife, a sorry state of affairs."

"Indeed, Sir," said the Lieutenant.

"Please pass on the news to the men, Mike."

"I will, sir."

Mike had suspected nothing less after witnessing Stan’s injuries, but, as the Captain said, a sorry state of affairs. And to add to it all, Stan was a keen soccer player, it was his passion.

He spoke to his men and gave them the news, then retired to his quarters. He lay down on his cot and stretched; he was tense. Within a few moments he fell asleep and an uncharacteristic dream came to him of a similar incident with a landmine in Bosnia which left three dead and one mutilated for life. He awoke with a start and a bad feeling deep in his bones.

He had to pull himself together. His men needed his leadership. They had to put it behind them. They had to carry on.

He had his feelings confirmed as he walked around the camp. The men were morose, Stan was a popular character. Mike had been through worse, many times before, and resolved to turn things around. But he would wait until the following day when everyone had rested and they had come to terms with the events.

All that remained for Mike was to eat and call home.

––––––––

After a satisfying evening meal, Mike was keen to speak to Hannah but there were another two hours until she would be home.

To pass the time, he found a quiet place in the compound and updated his new personal journal. Naturally, his primary thoughts were of Stan and the memories of the day were the first entry. After the straightforward facts, he started to think deeper.

All his adult life he had been a soldier. The job had its risks and he had faced many. Coming through all combat theatres unscathed, he had encountered many deaths and severe injuries among his colleagues. It was always hard, but he took the events as par for the course, though sad and often upsetting. Only recently had he realised the full impact on a casualty and his loved ones. Survivors, whether combatants or their families, often had to live with the consequences for the rest of their lives.

Now he began to wonder if it was all worth it. What were they risking their lives for? He had a family, and the thought of something happening to him like Stan, let alone being killed was unbearable. He had only a few months until retirement, then it would all be over. That was if he made it. He knew he shouldn’t think like that and dismissed the thought but included it all in his journal.

The time to phone Hannah came around at last and he made his way to the satellite phone, which he was glad to see was free.

Within a moment she answered. He thrilled at the sound of her voice.

"Mike! It’s so good to hear from you, how’s it all going?"

He debated whether to tell her about Stan, but came clean. She had met him once, and his wife.

"Oh, Mike, that’s terrible news. But you’re OK?"

"I am, darling. It’s not an easy thing to say, but it was largely his fault, a lack of concentration I would say."

"It’s all so easy to happen, honey, please take care."

"You know I do. How are you and the kids?"

"All good, though I’ve been feeling under the weather."

"Nothing serious I hope?"

"No, I’m sure I’ll get over it, just a bug I guess."

"You have to take care too, with the baby due."

"I do, as always sweetheart. I take it relatively easy, but it’s not an illness you know."

She laughed and Mike followed suit.

"I know honey, but you’re no spring chicken now."

"Cheeky!"

"Only teasing, you’re still as gorgeous as the day we met."

"Oh Mike, I love you so much."

"I love you too, darling."

The conversation descended as usual into endless words of love, laughter and nonsense. But it made him feel good and lifted his spirits, especially when she gave her intoxicating giggle. They soon ran out of words, there were none to describe how they felt about each other, and Private Finch was waiting to make a call.

Mike reluctantly wrapped up the conversation, promising to phone again as soon as possible. After many repetitions of ‘I love you’, they both said goodnight and Mike hung up.

"All yours, Finchy." Mike said to Dave Finch who had been waiting for the phone.

"Cheers, Colour."

Mike strolled back to his quarters but paused to gaze at the stars. They were so clear in the total absence of artificial light pollution. The Milky Way was a beautiful sight, spanning the sky, and he identified some better-known constellations. It was one way he used to find a perspective on life when times became difficult. He found it both calming and awe-inspiring.

With the long walk and the stress of the day he was soon ready to turn in. He stretched out and relaxed on his bed. Within moments he was in a deep and sound sleep. There were to be no demons tonight.

Chapter 5

The following morning Mike rose early. He washed and dressed then took a walk inside the compound breathing in the cold morning air. The events of the previous day still affected him, but he was coming accepting them. As one of the most senior men, in length of service, he knew he had to keep his men focussed and motivated.

Shortly after breakfast, he met with the Captain and the Lieutenant to discuss the way ahead. Graham Larson was unusually withdrawn and quiet. Added to the distress of Stan’s injuries, Captain Fergusson had given him the task of breaking the news to Stan’s wife. It was not out of loathing for the duty; he had performed it frequently, but to give Graham the experience. He had called her in the evening and had been subject to a prolonged emotional response. Mike realised he would have to work on him too.

"Come on Graham," said the Captain. "We have to move on from this."

"Yes, sir. I know, I’m fine."

Mike could see that wasn’t entirely true.

The Captain continued. "I sense a mood of malaise among the men. We can’t have them sitting around mulling over their thoughts. Get them out on patrol again today. It will do them good."

"I agree," said Mike.

"Nothing specific, just a random patrol. Take the two Mastiffs but make sure the lads get some exercise. I’m relying on you, Mike."

"I’ll get them moving, Dave."

"Good man."

As they were wrapping up the briefing, a call came through from the hospital.

"Shit!" said the Captain as he put down the receiver. "They’re taking Stan’s other leg off."

"Poor bugger," said Mike.

The Lieutenant looked apprehensive. "Should I break the news to Mrs Millar, sir?"

"No, you’re OK Graham, I’ll handle this one. I can see you could do without it."

"Thank you, sir."

"Let the men know Mike, then crack on with the day."

Mike left the Captain’s quarters and gathered his men together again. They seemed to take the latest information in their stride. A few shook their heads in disbelief, but the news wasn’t unexpected.

"Yesterday was a bad day, fellas, I know you’re all feeling it. But we carry on. In time you’ll get the opportunity for some pay-back, I’m sure."

He saw a small reaction from the men, a positive one. Mike wasn’t a vengeful person by nature, but he knew the comment would strike a chord with them. It was what they needed, the prospect of revenge. He gave them more of what they needed to hear and soon they were raring to go. Mike smiled, they would all come through this.

"So, let’s get out and see what we can find. I want full equipment checks completed by eleven this morning, including the vehicles. There’s no particular target, just a general patrol."

Mike dismissed the men and they carried on with a sense of purpose which was lacking before Mike’s pep talk.

––––––––

Just before mid-day, Bravo platoon marched out of the compound with their heads held high. After a brief setback, they were a fighting force once again. Mike was proud of them.

A couple of miles out he caught up, on foot, with Private Phillips who buddied up with Corporal Frost.

"Hey guys, quiet patrol today."

"No one around as far as I can see," said Colin. "The lads may have to wait for more action."

"I’ll look forward to it," said Ben. "After what happened to Stan yesterday."

"We all feel the same," said Mike. "But don’t wish too hard."

"Dirty tricks though, Colour".

"Yes, lad. But war is the same everywhere. You see it through young eyes, but there’s no glory in it."

"Maybe, but I want to do my bit and give the Taliban a taste of our justice."

"We all do, son. Just keep your head together."

"We had a good skirmish last time, eh Colour?"

"Aye, Corporal, we did."

"Ten of us against twenty Tali-Tubbies. Just us with small arms, not like the ride out here with US marines and a tank. We nailed the bastards good, didn’t we Colour?"

"Aye, and with nothing much more than a few scratches to our guys. But it was a fierce fight, I thought we’d lost it at one stage."

"Ah, we pulled it off though, eh?"

"Yeah, we did."

Mike recalled the battle. A routine patrol, until they came to the brow of a hill. On reaching the top they came almost face to face with a group of Taliban militia. The two opposing forces stood transfixed for a moment in shock, a mere hundred metres from each other. Then the shit hit the fan. Fortunately, the British troops had cover close by. They held their ground, took out most of the enemy and held two as captives for later questioning. It was the last time something had scared Mike, visions of Hannah and the kids passing before his eyes.

"It was touch and go for a time."

"Aye Colour, but a real adrenalin trip."

"You could say. I don’t fancy a repeat of that one though."

"Sounds exciting," said Ben.

Mike half-closed his eyes and shook his head. If Ben got a taste of real combat, he was sure it wouldn’t be adrenalin he’d excrete.

"OK, enough of this chitchat, we need to jeep our eyes open."

"Yes, Colour," Colin said.

The patrol continued without event, as did those on the following days. Whether on patrol or guard duties at the base while the other platoons were out, a routine developed.

Weeks went by until suddenly, everything changed.

––––––––

A month after arriving at the base, a major patrol took place. The destination was a village ten miles away. Bravo and Charlie platoons set out with the two Land Rovers and the two Mastiff armoured vehicles. Nobody would have to walk far today.

The target was a known hotspot of Taliban activity and attention grew sharper the closer they approached. The village was home to about three-thousand people, a maze of streets, alleyways, and buildings, some three stories high. A perfect environment for an ambush.

Because of the patrol, and his mastery of tactics, the Captain was along for the ride and was firmly in command. He had given the Lieutenant and the NCO’s a thorough intelligence briefing in the morning.

Mike was under no illusion; this was an important yet high-risk mission. It would take all the skills of the command team and each soldier for them to remain safe. But with all the will in the world, that guaranteed nothing.

The Captain determined to make the entry into the village a show of strength but also to do it in the least threatening way to the civilian population. He took the lead in a Land Rover, the Mastiffs some way behind. He ordered the men to keep their weapons lowered and a friendly smile on their faces.

As they made the incursion, Mike was eagle-eyed, glancing left, right, forward, behind, and to every window and rooftop of each building. He felt uncomfortable.

The Captain’s Land Rover came to a stop in a small square in the middle of the village. He stepped out with Private Nichols and walked forward slowly as an elderly man appeared in front of him. They shook hands. He engaged the man in conversation, with Nichols interpreting.

Mike had no idea what was being discussed, but the body language of the participants gave the impression of goodwill.

The Captain shook hands once again with the elder and turned back to his vehicle. Then he was on the radio.

"All personnel, we have permission to patrol the village. The representative I spoke with claimed he did not know of any enemy combatants in the area. As we know from bitter experience, there is no surety that this information is accurate. He may have been told what to say and have had a gun aimed at him while we were speaking. Keep your wits about you. I will take Charlie platoon West through South, Lieutenant Larson, take Bravo East and North."

"Roger that, sir," said the Lieutenant. He turned to Mike. "Let’s do it."

––––––––

Mike looked down the street they were about to patrol. It was narrow and lined with a ramshackle variety of buildings, some low, some up to three floors, and all with flat rooftop areas. Dark alleyways branched left and right through which locals came and went. Some shops were selling foodstuffs and cooking utensils. It had the look of any village out of countless in this area, similar and non-descriptor to the casual observer but each with a unique character.

Mike’s senses were all on full alert. A peaceful, quiet spring afternoon in an anonymous village, or a trap? If it was the latter, they could be pinned down in moments.

The Lieutenant looked apprehensive. "What do you think, Colour?"

"There’s only one way to find out. One squad on foot patrol. Though I’m not happy about the protection offered by the Land Rover if we get into trouble. Fair protection against small arms or small IED’s, but little else."

"Leave them in the village square?"

"Even more isolated there. No, they come with us, but we go first."

"I’ll go along with your suggestions for now."

Mike had worked with the Lieutenant long enough to know that he would probably let him decide for the duration. The Lieutenant had deferred to Mike’s more experienced approach a long time ago, at least in real combat situations.

The Lieutenant detailed an eight-man squad for foot patrol with Corporal McIntyre in charge.

"Okay, let’s move on. I want everyone else inside the vehicles with hatches closed for now, but ready to bring those men off the streets.

"I’ll tell the lads in the Land Rover."

"Thanks, sir."

Mike turned to the driver of the Mastiff, "get her moving, Corporal."

"Aye, Colour."

Mike took a firm grip of his rifle. He had a bad feeling in his guts.

––––––––

The Mastiff rumbled into the first street; it crawled alongside the men on foot and with the Land Rover forty metres behind. Some civilians turned and watched while others grabbed children and rushed into doorways or alleys.

Mike had a good view ahead, left, and to the right, but was almost blind to what was immediately above on the rooftops. This unsettled him further.

The soldiers on foot stopped and communicated in sign language to some locals they came across. Acting in a non-hostile manner, they brought forth nods and smiles from some. Mike began to relax a little.

They took a right turn into another narrow street. A similar view was before them. After another one-hundred metres, they took a left turn, something caught Mike’s eye. A group of four men acting differently to the rest. The men eyed the oncoming patrol with suspicion and then darted into an adjacent building.

"Corporal McIntyre, did you eyeball those men ahead?" Mike called out on the radio.

"Aye, Colour. Don’t like the look of ‘em."

"My thoughts too. All personnel on full alert, keep your eyes peeled."

The building the men had entered was just before a crossroads which Mike saw as the perfect place for an ambush. He called the Captain.

"Colour Sergeant?"

"Sir, we may have a problem," He explained the circumstances.

"You were right to call me. I don’t like the sound of it. Give me your exact coordinates, we’ll make all haste to your position."

Mike gave him the information then called out to his platoon, "hold fast men, Charlie platoon is heading our way."

The Mastiff came to a halt and the men on foot gathered around it, hoping for some shelter if any shooting started. The Land Rover kept its distance.

Charlie platoon was still five minutes away, Mike felt himself perspiring in the close confines of the vehicle

"How’s the air-con, Corporal?"

"Working, but not too well I’m afraid."

Mike saw a movement on a rooftop on the far side of the junction. He viewed two men through his binoculars; they appeared armed.

"Potential hostiles ahead," he called out, stating where he had seen them.

"Got ‘em," Corporal McIntyre responded.

"Fuckin' hell!" Mike shouted. "They’ve got an RPG! Take cover!"

The foot patrol hurried to the rear of the vehicle but was too late to get inside.

Mike saw a flash and plume of smoke from the rooftop.

"Inbound!"

Seconds later, the rocket exploded twenty metres in front of the Mastiff. The vehicle rocked as the blast wave hit but remained intact.

"Captain, we’re under fire from an RPG, no casualties!" Mike shouted into the radio.

"With you in two minutes. You have full permission for offensive retaliation."

The Mastiff opened fire with its 12.7mm heavy machine gun. The aim was good, and the two men disappeared. Mike didn’t know if they had hit them, but he was sure there were more.

From the cross-roads a vehicle spun around the corner at high speed, kicking up a cloud of dust. It was an old pick-up truck with a machine gun mounted behind the cab. As it rushed towards them it opened fire.

The Mastiff responded and its gunner reduced the vehicle to lumps of flying metal and flesh.

"Good shooting, Private."

"So, this is payback time," said Private Phillips. He was shaking.

"Anything could happen yet, lad," said Mike.

The patrol stayed where it was, waiting for any other movement from the enemy. All stayed quiet until Charlie platoon arrived, halting at the right-hand intersection of the crossroads.

Then several gunmen appeared on the rooftops ahead and on Mikes left. Small arms fire suddenly ricocheted off the vehicle. He wondered if they still had the RPG or access to more of them. That could be a game-changer.

"I want another squad out on the road. There are two buildings to search. I want those guns taking out. Lieutenant, I’ll lead the second squad."

"Very well, Colour. I’ll keep the Captain updated."

Charlie platoon likewise sent out two squads. As with Bravo platoon, they were keeping close into the walls of the buildings, preventing the enemy from getting a good shot. They too had identified other buildings to enter and search.

Mike took his team into a building through an old and battered red door. They were no longer in passive mode. They raised rifles ready to fire. Their urban training came into force as they expertly searched each room they came across, always providing each other with protective cover.

There were non-combatants in the building, the occupants cowered in fear, knowing they were part complicit in the Taliban’s presence in their homes. Mothers held their children close; many were crying. An old man held his hands up. Mike could only imagine the terror going through their minds, yet he knew they were under no threat from his men, and if it came to it, they would protect the innocent.

––––––––

Mike’s squad worked its way through the building, every room checked as being clear of hostiles. As they cleared the third and last floor, he knew the gunmen must be on the roof, and their numbers were unknown. A narrow stairway led to an equally small door, the only access to the roof. The situation was precarious.

He was spurred to action and towards a decision by the knowledge that the gunmen were firing upon his men down in the street.

"Private Granger, you have the angle-scope?"

"Yes, Colour."

"Good. Up the stairs, slow and quiet lad. See what’s up there."

Private Granger climbed the steps and crouched down by the door which was ajar by a half-metre. With his rifle at his side, he peered through the gap and then used the scope to scan safely, left and right, without having to put his head out.

He came back down.

"Colour, I see six hostiles, distance twenty to thirty metres, small arms only as far as I can see. They’re all concentrating on the street below and firing at random."

"Good job, Private. I want to look myself, hand me the scope."

Mike crept up the stairs until he was in the position Private Granger had vacated. His view confirmed the Private’s description, but he good now better make out the lie of the land. Several sub walls and chimneys could provide limited shelter and should provide the means for some men to get onto the roof unseen. They also had the advantage of the sun behind them.

He ducked as one hostile looked towards the doorway. Maybe it wouldn’t be that easy. They had seen the troops entering the buildings and were having an occasional check for any immediate approach to their position.

Mike weighed his options. They were limited. He couldn’t storm the roof because of the limited access. The only way was the covert placing of one man at a time on the roof, with limited hiding places. But he had to do it.

"Private Hunter, you have the GPMG, I want you out first."

Mike drew a rough sketch of the roof layout.

"With a bit of luck, you should find cover there," he pointed. “Three metres out from the door. Set up your weapon ready for as broad a coverage as possible and maximum immediate casualty rate if it goes pear-shaped. Private Granger as soon as he is out, you will cover from the door and when Hunter has set up move out to here."

He pointed again at his sketch.

"All to have grenades ready, this could be fast and furious, especially if we lose the advantage of stealth and surprise. Radios off."

Private Hunter hefted his GPMG onto his shoulder and climbed the stairs. He paused at the door, assessing the situation. After a minute he gave a thumbs up and then moved out on his stomach.

Private Granger took his place and then showed when Hunter had set up the machine gun. He too crawled out.

"Gregor, you’re next."

"Aye Colour."

Laurie followed the actions of his comrades and disappeared through the door.

It was going well, three men out so far. He could still hear the shots from the Taliban, but they were focussed on the street, the sound would be far different if they had seen his men.

"I’m going next. There’s little cover out there, so you men stay here. You get up those stairs as soon as any firing starts."

Ben Phillips looked disappointed.

"You’ll get your chance lad," said Mike.

Mike slid out of the door and ended up behind a low wall. He could now see eight hostiles. An equal force in numbers, but with half his squad still on the floor below.

One of the Taliban turned towards the door and scanned the area, taking away any decision on timing for their next move. He shaded his eyes and began walking towards Mike’s position with his weapon raised. What had he seen, how had they given themselves away?

Mike waited until the man was five metres away. He gave the signal to open fire.

With a single bullet, Mike dropped the man who was approaching. There was a deafening chatter as Private Hunter opened fire with the GPMG, followed by the crack of rifles. The door to the stairs swung open and the rest of his men spilt out onto the roof.

They shot two more hostiles, but the rest had found cover and were returning fire. A grenade was thrown and landed near an enemy point. One rifle stopped firing.

Mike gave the signal for his men to move out in a pincer movement. They took whatever cover they could find. One man fell wounded, Mike didn’t know how bad. He broke radio silence.

"Medic, medic, medic! Top of the building with the red door."

The sound of other gunfights filled the air as either his other squad or Charlie platoon engaged the enemy. He ignored it and concentrated on his battle.

His men knew what they were doing and there was no need now for commands from him. It was a straightforward firefight and he had the confidence that his men were better trained and disciplined than the enemy.

Slowly they whittled away at the Taliban force and then Bill appeared at the door.

"Watch yourself, Bill!" Mike pointed to the casualty.

As the last shots rang out and they defeated the enemy, he saw another soldier lying on the ground, motionless. He confirmed from his men that the rooftop was secure and then went to investigate.

It was Laurie, and as Mike bent to examine him, he knew it was too late. He had taken a shot through the neck and a large pool of blood was now spreading.

"Oh, no!" said Mike.

Bill came over. "Granger has a shallow flesh wound, nothing bad. How’s this fella?"

Mike shook his head. "It’s Laurie Gregor, Bill. He’s gone."

"Oh, fuck!" said Bill.

––––––––

The sounds of gunfire diminished until the air became quiet again. It created a poignancy for the moment as the squad gathered around Laurie’s body. Private Granger was holding his bandaged upper left arm. Despite the pain, he was no doubt thinking how much worse it could have been.

"I’ll get a stretcher," said Bill. His voice was barely audible.

Mike nodded. He thought of Laurie’s life as he had known it, and then of his girlfriend and the baby she carried. It brought a lump to his throat, bearing parallels with his situation; except that he had survived this skirmish.

He thought too of his men, how Stan’s injury and subsequent amputations affected their morale. Now this, in a matter of weeks. They could be hard men, and accepted the risks of the job realistically, but they were also like family to each other.

Captain Ferguson arrived on the roof and came alongside Mike.

"Sorry Mike, he was a good man, one of the best."

"Aye, he was. Any other casualties, sir?"

"Nothing serious, flesh wounds only."

He looked at Private Granger.

"How are you?"

"I’ll be fine sir, but it hurts like hell. A few days I’ll be right as rain."

"Good man." The Captain then spoke to the assembled men.

"Losing Laurie is tragic. I know he was a popular character and it will hit you hard. Believe me, I share your grief. But the mission was a success. We didn’t expect the size of the force we encountered, but we took them on and won. We killed all hostiles except for four who we will take to Bastion for interrogation. We need to find out what was going on here. Good work, men."

He took one last look at Laurie’s body and then walked away.

Bill returned with a stretcher and asked for volunteers to carry Laurie’s body. Ben Phillips stepped forward. He had just come through his first intense battle, which was short but hard-fought and bloody. Now he prepared to help carry Laurie's body. Mike was surprised. He could read Ben’s face, a mixture of shock and fear combined with a longing to be part of this family. There was a painful pride in carrying away the body of a fallen comrade.

With Bill’s help, Ben and Private Hunter manoeuvred Laurie’s body onto the stretcher.

"We’ll take him back to the base and have his body evacuated from there," said Mike. "It will give the rest of the lads time to pay their last respects. Carry on."

Mike had the onerous of writing a report on the engagement and the circumstances of Laurie’s death. He would deal with that in the evening. But that was nothing compared to informing his next-of-kin, a duty which would fall on the Captain or the Lieutenant.

They sanitised the battle zone and brought all the dead Taliban down to the street, lining them up shoulder to shoulder on the ground. Then they negotiated with the village elders who finally agreed to dispose of the bodies. There was a clear sense of relief that they had eradicated this dark presence among them, at least for now.

––––––––

They placed Laurie’s body in one of the Mastiffs while they took the prisoners to one of the Land Rovers under armed guard. They were a surly bunch, their faces writ with anger and hatred. Mike was sure they wished they had died in the battle rather than be captured, a dishonourable outcome in their eyes. After making peace with the village occupants and engendering their good-will, the convoy moved out.

With the extra bodies, conditions were cramped inside the vehicles and Mike huddled up next to his men. They were quiet. While coming to terms with Laurie’s death they still had the adrenalin of battle surging through their veins and they said little during the return journey.

As they approached the base, Alpha platoon swung the gates open. As the vehicles came to a halt inside, word spread fast about Laurie’s death. The stretcher was brought out and laid on the ground. Those who hadn’t been with him, gathered around with their heads lowered.

They corralled the prisoners into a corner with two guards.

Captain Ferguson made a call to Bastion requesting an airlift for the body and passed on the information to the intelligence department about the prisoners. A helicopter was being dispatched immediately. He then addressed the men.

"Transport will arrive soon to take Laurie and the prisoners to Bastion. I suggest you all pay your last respects. I know how you must all be feeling. A tragedy. But such is our work here. As normal, under the circumstances, a private communications blackout is already in force until further notice."

This was standard procedure when deaths occurred. The last thing the Army wanted was for next-of-kin to find out through mainstream media or social media before the official processes had taken place. Without such controls, despite best intentions, inevitably, details would be leaked inappropriately.

Bugger, Mike thought, I was hoping to call Hannah tonight.

"Carry on, men," said the Captain.

Without prompting, the men readied themselves for Laurie’s departure. By the time the helicopter arrived, they had assembled by the landing area outside the base in their platoons, as if on parade. Laurie’s covered body was in front of them on a stretcher.

The men removed their berets.

They loaded the prisoners first and two medics handled Laurie’s body. The Captain handed over the relevant paperwork, hurriedly prepared, and then the helicopter made ready to take-off again.

As the helicopter doors were closed, Mike issue the command, "salute!"

It was an emotional moment and Mike noted a few tears on the faces of his men. They had lost a good friend.

Chapter 6

Dreams disturbed Mike’s sleep and made him restless. He awoke with a start in the early hours of the morning. He was sweating. The memories of the previous day came flooding back and hit him hard. Laurie, one of the most popular members of the team and a highly competent soldier. Now he was dead. He couldn’t believe it.

He tried to get back to sleep but failed. He got up, had a wash and shave, and brushed his teeth. In the cool morning air, he took a stroll around the compound. The night watch was on lookout duty and he spoke to the men. They were all tired, and beyond that, he sensed the strain. Six weeks out, most of it in this hellhole and two men lost, one dead and one who had lost both legs.

At breakfast, the men were not their usual selves. It filled him with self-doubt. How could he hold them together this time? He was feeling so much himself, could he rise above it? He didn’t know.

After breakfast, he met with the Captain and the Lieutenant. Captain Ferguson appeared strained.

"Yesterday was a bad day, Mike," he said.

"Yes, it was."

"I’ve spoken with Laurie’s next of kin, his girlfriend. She took it hard, not surprising. She will get support if she wants it. It wasn’t an easy call."

"I can imagine, sir," said the Lieutenant.

"It troubles the men, it seems?" said the Captain

"Yes, sir. I’ve spoken to a few of them myself this morning. There is an air of despondency."

"Sir," said Mike, he was being unusually formal. "they just need some time."

"I know. We need to keep their minds engaged, it’s down to the three of us here to use our leadership skills. We have a job to do. No patrols today but keep them busy. There’s plenty to do, create jobs if it comes to it."

"They feel cut off," said Mike. "They can’t even call home at the moment."

"I know that’s an issue," said the Captain. "But hopefully, they will lift the restriction by the end of the day once I’ve confirmed Laurie’s parents have been told. It’s only a few days until we get some R and R, keep them motivated. That it is all."

Mike left the meeting and spoke to his Corporals. He gave them instructions on tasks for the men for the day. Equipment and vehicle maintenance, cleaning around the camp and their quarters, and suggested arranging an inter-platoon soccer match. It would be the last thing the men wanted but would allow them to let off steam. A bit of hard physical exercise would do them good.

There was little else for Mike to do, though he still had to write the report on yesterday’s engagement. That was his first task.

And he desperately wanted to speak to Hannah.

––––––––

In the late afternoon, the soccer match began. The men appeared unenthusiastic. But as time went by, they got into the mood and the games became highly competitive.

Mike watched from the side. He was fit enough but had no intention of taking part; he had other things on his mind. Nevertheless, he took pleasure in seeing the men more animated and in better spirits.

Just as the second half of the first match began, he received a message from the Captain. There was a telephone call for him, an urgent one from home. Immediately Mike’s heart lurched. Something must have happened. His parents? One of the kids? His mind went into override and he rushed over to the Captain’s quarters. He was on tenterhooks as he picked up the phone.

"Mike?"

"Hannah, what’s wrong?"

There was silence for a moment.

"Hannah?"

"Oh, Mike." She began to cry.

"Honey, what is it?"

She sniffled and then forced the words out, "I’ve lost the baby... a miscarriage."

Mike’s heart sank. "Oh, Hannah, you must feel awful."

"I’m so sorry, darling."

"It’s not your fault, you did everything right. When did it happen?"

"This morning," she began to cry again.

"Have you seen mum yet?"

She was having difficulty speaking. "... no... been to the hospital... and doctors."

"See mum, please, honey."

"I will, I just need some time to myself. Can you come home sweetie? I need you."

"It's unlikely, but I’ll see what I can do."

"Please try."

"I will, but you know we’re in a combat zone. I’ll see what strings I can pull. I love you, baby. I’m so sorry for you, it’s hurting me too... I don’t know what else to say."

His words were sticking in his throat.

"I know, you were so looking forward to it. I just needed to hear your voice. I love you, Mike. I’ll be okay."

They continued for a few minutes until there was nothing left to say. Both needed to let the tragedy sink in. He said goodbye, with the promise of phoning again soon.

Captain Ferguson had left Mike alone in his quarters, knowing such a personal call must be bad news. Mike slumped in his chair, there were tears in his eyes.

The Captain hesitantly put his head in the doorway.

"Mike, you okay?"

"She’s had a miscarriage, Hannah."

"Oh no, Mike. I’m so sorry."

"We’ll cope."

"How is Hannah?"

"It only happened this morning, so she’s pretty distraught."

"I can imagine. Your mum’s there for her, isn’t she?"

"Yes, she’ll be a rock for her, the same as when her parents were killed."

"Bad times, Mike. With everything else that’s happened."

"Sure is."

"Look, we’re due some R and R soon. What say we look at flying you home for a few days?"

"Can you spare me, Dave?"

"We’ll manage, there’ll be a bit of training, the usual, nothing we desperately need you for. I’ll speak to the Colonel."

"Well, thanks."

"It’s the least I can do for you. If you want to talk, I’m happy to listen."

"Thanks, but I need some time on my own."

"I understand. The men seem happier anyway, that’s one problem out of the way. A good idea of yours, arranging a soccer match. Oh, we should have the comms blackout lifted by this evening, so you’ll be able to call Hannah back. Take care, Mike."

"Thanks, Dave."

––––––––

Mike found a quiet place to sit between the perimeter wall and the end of a small building. The noise of the football match was in the background. He sat down with his back to the wall and drew his knees up to his chest,

It was only now that reality truly hit him. He folded his arms on his knees and buried his head in them. Then the tears began to flow.

A host of feelings flooded through him. Hannah’s loss as a mother, and his own. He had been looking forward to another child, one he could devote time to with retirement coming up. Then there was the effect on Katie and Greg, though he knew Hannah would be strong for them. Most of all it, was that they had lost something they had created together, in love. He even remembered the occasion when she must have conceived.

The love he and Hannah shared was a rare one. Together since their late teens they had grown together, worked hard, produced two wonderful children, and yet were as in love as when they had first met. He still found her stunningly attractive and she only had eyes for him. In moments alone they felt like teenagers, thanks in part to Hannah’s impish spirit. Now that love overwhelmed him. He missed her and they needed each other.

He pulled himself together and tried to put everything into perspective. Where did this fit on the scale of tragedy when compared to Stan and Laurie? They were all terrible losses, each very different, but who could say which was the worst?

He stood up, brushed himself down, and wiped the tears from his eyes.

Just then, Bill came around the corner.

"Hey Mike, I saw you come this way. Thought you might need some space, so I left you alone for a while. How’s it going? Something is wrong, I can tell."

Mike let out a sigh. "Hannah’s had a miscarriage, just spoke to her, half an hour ago."

"Oh shit, Mike. I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Yeah, maybe."

Bill had a natural ability to gain empathy with people and Mike knew this. If there was any man he could open his heart to, it was Bill.

"It’s hard, Bill. I was so looking forward to the new baby."

"I know, Mike. I could see it."

"I’ve just been trying to see it in terms of Stan and Laurie."

"Has that helped?"

"I guess."

"I know it doesn’t ease the pain, but you can try again."

"Yeah, I guess. But Hannah’s age doesn’t help."

"Nonsense, she’s fit and healthy. It was an early miscarriage, it can happen to anyone. You have every chance of success. But you need to get over this one first. Perhaps you can get home for a few days?"

"The Captain has already mentioned it, he will speak to the Colonel."

"Well, that’s settled then. I know how they both think of you."

"I hope so, she needs me."

"Of course she does. It’ll be okay, Mike," he patted him on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Bill."

"Come on, let’s get a cup of tea, that’ll help."

––––––––

Hannah’s day had begun with a small bleed, a drop at first, then enough to concern her. Standing to make a cup of tea, a puddle of blood formed on the floor. She choked on tears as she realised what it meant.

She didn’t feel up to driving, so she called an ambulance. Before she knew it, still in a daze, she arrived at the hospital and the paramedics rushed her into the Accident and Emergency department in a wheelchair.

A nurse attended to her immediately. She took her to an examination couch and drew the curtains.

The nurse had a pleasant and soft voice, but this did little to ease the dread she was feeling.

"Let me take a wee look at you, Mrs MacDonald."

She gently prodded Hannah’s belly. Her face gave nothing away.

"Any pain where I press?"

Hannah shook her head.

"We’ll do a quick scan now, dear."

She rubbed gel onto Hannah’s stomach and then moved the scanner in small circles over it. She put the scanner down and held Hannah’s hand.

A blurred image came up on the screen.

There was no movement. The nurse adjusted the unit and continued the scan.

"I’m so sorry, there’s no heartbeat." She gave Hannah’s hand a gentle squeeze. "You’ve lost the bairn, my dear."

The outcome was not a surprise to Hannah, her body, or some sixth sense had already told her. But the emotions welled up inside and she burst into tears.

The nurse rubbed her back. "I’ll get you all cleaned up and then fetch you a cup of tea. Try to relax love. If there’s anyone you’d like to talk to, we have counsellors here and even a chaplain is available."

"No," Hannah said between sobs. "I’ll be OK. Perhaps you can stay with me for a few minutes?"

"We are a little busy, but I’m sure they can make do without me for a short time. How do you take your tea, dear?"

"Milk, no sugar, thank you."

"I’ll be right back."

––––––––

She left the hospital with the recommendation to visit her GP as soon as possible for a full checkup. As she waited for a taxi to take her home, a brief giggle broke through her sorrow. She had no knickers on under the knee-length dress she was wearing; she had thrown the soiled ones she was wearing on arrival into the bin. The mirth was short-lived, she fell back into a sombre mood.

The pressure and dismay grew. How would she tell the kids, her mum, and most of all Mike, so far away? It would upset Mike for sure. It was far from over.

She tried to figure out the best order in which to do things, but her mind struggled to get away from centering on her loss. Eventually, she resolved to visit her doctor, then try to phone Mike. Next, she would visit her mum, and finally, there were the kids to deal with. But these were just the people close to her; there were all her friends, and Chloe and Sarah who helped her run the shop. She had managed a quick call earlier while waiting for the ambulance, to tell them she would be in late. It was almost overwhelming.

The taxi arrived; the journey home had gone unnoticed as she dwelt with her thoughts. The driver had to prompt her when they arrived at the house.

She fumbled with the keys to the door and eventually got in. She crashed onto the sofa and started to cry again.

"This is no good," she told herself. She wiped away the tears and blew her nose.

"Time to phone the doctor."

An appointment slot was available just after lunch. She spent the intervening time in no-man's-land, pacing up and down restlessly, interspersed with bouts of crying. She was in mourning.

––––––––

Bill helped cheer Mike up and he began to enjoy watching the soccer again, but Hannah was never far from his mind. He yearned to talk to her but didn’t even know what he would say. What was there to say?

He soon grew tired of the football, unable to concentrate on the game.

"Thanks for your time, Bill. I need to stretch my legs and get a grip of what’s going on in my head."

"OK pal, you know where I am if you need me."

"Sure."

Mike walked aimlessly and slowly around the compound. His head was spinning, all that was happening at home and all that had happened here. The men had perked up with the soccer match, but he knew there was a long way to go. They had been shaken. Discipline and routine were falling away, and they were exactly what the men needed right now. He felt that the unit was falling into disarray. So was his mind.

He had seen a lot of action in his time, and many deaths. He knew the deep effect it had on men who were close to each other. They put on brave and tough faces which covered the truth. Now, he thought, he may have to do the same. Push aside, or try to cover up, the rent in his heart.

He found a spot in the afternoon sun and sat down. There were no tears this time, but there was plenty of inner turmoil.

––––––––

After visiting the doctor and phoning Mike, Hannah knew the next port of call had to be her mum’s. The call to Mike had been heartbreaking as their love reached out towards each other over the thousands of miles between them. It was still on her mind when she rang the doorbell.

Maggie wasn’t expecting her, she couldn’t face telling her on the phone and she didn’t know how she could avoid it if she made the call.

"Hannah! Lovely to see you, you usually telephone before calling... Hannah, is everything all right?"

Her bottom lip began to quiver and her eyes moistened.

"Come in out of the cold and tell me all about it."

Before Maggie could take her coat, Hannah was wrapping her arms around her and tears started to fall once again.

"You don’t look well, sweetie."

"I’ve just come from the doctor’s, and the hospital before that. The baby... I’ve miscarried."

"Oh no, Hannah. That’s awful. Come on, let’s sit down."

"Then I had to phone Mike, and there’s still Katie and Greg to tell, and, and, everyone else."

"You poor darling. How did Mike take it?"

"Pretty bad, I guess."

"I’m sure. He was telling me how excited he was about it before he left, he’s a brilliant father."

"I feel I’ve let him down."

"Darling, don’t be silly. I’m sure he doesn’t see it that way. It’s just a terrible thing that’s happened."

"Maybe we shouldn’t have taken the risk, considering my age."

"Don’t be daft, you’re not that old. OK, the danger increases as you get older, but you’re not in the high-risk category."

"Mum, I just feel lost."

"Of course you do."

"I want Mike at home."

"Well, considering where he is..."

"I know, but he said he would try, there’s a chance. I don’t know how I will face the kids later. Could you come with me?"

"I will sweetie, I know it will be hard for you."

"Thanks, mum."

"Come here, let me give you a hug."

Hannah stayed for the rest of the afternoon until it was time for school to finish.

Maggie kissed Hannah’s cheek." Come on, let’s get this done. You’ll feel better once it’s off your chest."

"It will be one less worry."

––––––––

Mike got to his feet and continued his aimless wandering. He felt a great weight on his shoulders; they needed here him, but also at home. He knew which was the highest priority.

He resolved to visit the Captain. He had to get home. He had known Dave for many years and if he said he would speak with the Colonel he would, and he wasn’t one for procrastinating. The Colonel too was a man of his word and one who placed a high priority on his men’s welfare, especially senior NCO’s who he held in great respect.

He made his way to the Captain’s quarters and knocked on the door frame. There was no door, just a cloth curtain across it.

"Ah, Mike, come on in. Take a seat."

"Just wondering if there was any news on me going home?"

"Yes, Mike. I’ve spoken to the Colonel and he is all for it. He’s prepared to give you a week away."

"That’s great, Dave."

"The only thing is, you will have to wait four days until we leave for Bastion on E and R. There’s too much going on here to let you go right now."

Mike’s heart sank. It was now, in the aftermath of the shock, that Hannah needed him, not a week down the line. But he knew the demands of the job, and to get home at all was a blessing.

"I understand, Dave."

"Believe me, I would have you away today if I could, but we have to be realistic. We’re in an increasingly hostile combat zone, we’ve lost two men already, and the rest of them need you. I know Hannah needs you too, so it’s a bit of a compromise."

"It’s OK, I know the score."

"I spoke with Bill earlier and asked about you, I hope you don’t mind. I know he’s a good friend of yours."

"I’ve no problem with that."

"He said you’re feeling it, losing the men, and now the situation at home."

"I can deal with it, Dave."

"I know you can talk to Bill, he’s a Godsend in situations like this. But I want you to know my door is always open, Mike," he laughed. "Metaphorically speaking, if I had a bloody door."

Mike smiled.

"It's good to see you smile Mike. I mean it. We’ll have you home in a few days."

"Thanks for that."

"No problem at all. They have just lifted private communications blackout, so you can call home."

"That’s good news."

"So, you’ll be OK for the next few days?"

"You know you can rely on me, Dave."

"Always." He shook Mike’s hand.

––––––––

Hannah waited anxiously for Greg and Katie to come home. She was grateful for her mum being there to keep her calm; she had no idea how she would have coped with the situation on her own.

"Don’t look so nervous darling," said Maggie. "They’re your kids, all they’ll give you is love."

"Oh, I know. But Katie too was looking forward to a little brother or sister, she won’t take it well, she’s such a sensitive soul."

"They’re stronger than you think."

Just then, Hannah heard the unmistakable sounds of laughter as the children walked down the street as they approached the house.

She let out a sigh and Maggie squeezed her hand. “It’ll be fine."

Katie breezed in first, "Hi nanna!" She ran up and threw her arms around her waist.

"Hi, angel," She kissed the top of her head.

"Hi, nanna," said Greg. Then he kissed her cheek.

"Mum, what’s wrong?" said Katie. "It’s not dad, is it?"

Hannah was shocked that she could have been so stupid to let Katie see it that way. She had to tell the truth as soon as possible.

"No, no, dad’s OK. It’s me."

"What?" said Katie.

"Go on," said Maggie. "Tell them."

"I’ve had a miscarriage. I’ve lost the baby.

Greg looked impassive, but Katie was close to tears.

"Oh, mum," she said. Then she walked up and put her arms around her. Greg followed suit but said nothing.

Katie began to sob. "But you’re OK?"

"Yes, darling. I’ve been to the hospital and the doctor. I’m fine."

"You must be sad though," said Katie. "I am."

"Yes, but I’ll be OK. I’m just a bit upset, it was all so sudden."

"You’ve told dad?"

"Yes, I spoke to him this morning. He’s sad too."

"I’ll make us all a cup of tea," said Maggie.

Hannah sighed again, this time with relief. She had other people to tell in time, but the worst was over.

––––––––

At last, after thirty-six hours, they lifted the ban on private calls. Mike waited until he was sure Hannah would be home before calling. He knew she would have skipped work but also that she was seeing his mum and had the children to deal with. Best to let her get all that out of the way.

By the time he called he had a further wait as Corporal Frost was already on the phone. Time dragged slowly as he paced up and down waiting for him to finish.

After a few minutes, the phone was in his hands.

It rang several times before she answered, making him think she wasn’t in yet. But then her soft voice oozed into his head.

"Hi baby, how are you?"

"Mike, it’s lovely to hear from you." Her voice was strained. "I’m OK, sort of. Mum is here, she came with me to give support in telling the kids."

"So, they know?"

"Yes. Greg was OK, but it upset Katie."

"I feel for you, darling."

"I wish you were here."

"Look, it will be a few days, but they’re giving me a week of compassionate leave. I just have to wait until the platoons get a break in Bastion."

"Oh Mike, that’s wonderful news."

"So, there are no complications?"

"No, nothing to worry about. I’ve been to the doctor and the hospital."

"I still can’t believe it."

"I know. How come it has taken so long for you to call, been busy"

Mike wondered how much to tell her, he didn’t want to put more concern on her. But then he thought the best thing was to come clean.

"We had a blackout on private calls for a day or so."

"What’s been happening?" She sounded worried.

"We’ve been through a bad time. Two major incidents. First, Stan Millar fell foul of an IED, he’s lost both legs."

"Oh, Mike!"

"You met him once, the big rugby and football player."

"Yes, I remember."

"And then, two days ago, Laurie Gregor got killed when we were ambushed in a village."

Hannah began to cry.

"Honey, are you OK?"

She sniffled, "I’m putting all this on you, not realising you have problems too. I feel so selfish, what is my loss compared to those poor guys."

"It makes you think. Laurie’s girlfriend was pregnant with his baby too."

"Oh, the poor girl... to think about what she has lost, while I’ve still got you and the kids. I ought to get a grip."

"It’s still a big loss, you need time to get over it."

"I worry about you, Mike, but I know you always come through. I wish you were here to help."

"It won’t be long until I’m home."

"I don’t even know if I can face work tomorrow."

"You don’t have to. Let Chloe and Sarah handle it. Maybe just pop in to see how they’re doing. Take a few days off."

"If I go in, I will have to tell them, it’s so difficult. But maybe it’s best to get all that out of the way."

"Perhaps, baby. You do what feels best."

"I love you, Mike."

"I love you too."

"Do you want to speak to mum?"

"OK."

"Hi Mike, how are you?"

"Oh, bad times all around. Hannah will tell you. How is she?"

"It’s hit her hard, but she’s OK love, she’s a strong woman. I’ll stay here as long as she wants me to."

"You’re a rock, mum. How’s Adrian?"

Oh, his usual self, enjoying retirement, out playing golf. He doesn’t know yet; I tell him later to save Hannah doing it. Lovely to hear your voice, son. I’ll pass you back to Hannah. Take care."

"I will, mum."

Mike and Hannah spoke for another few minutes and then ended the call.

He was happy that his mum was with Hannah and that she had said she was OK.

His hand dwelt for a moment on the handset before he turned away as if the touch somehow kept contact between them.

Chapter 7

The following day, Mike awoke with a new sense of purpose. He still felt the grief he and Hannah were sharing, but he knew she was coping and was in good hands. In a few days, he would be with her.

There were pressing problems with the men. They were becoming demoralised after only a few weeks. It was understandable with the loss of two comrades, but he had to turn it around.

He walked around the compound listening to the men, trying to get a feel for the underlying mood. He picked up snippets of conversation, some of it filled with words of dissent concerning the accommodation, decisions made by the command, the quality of equipment, how many more deaths there would be before they could do their job properly, and much more.

They were good men but, apart from a few gripes, he had never heard them be so negative. He considered the best way to deal with it. He could assemble the men all together perhaps and lecture them but decided against it. He preferred the more personal approach and spoke candidly with the men in groups as he found them and took the Corporals aside for more specific instructions.

The plan went well, the men took on board what he said, at least they gave the indications they did. He had faith in them. He was sterner with the Corporals, telling them exactly what he expected.

As the day went on, the men became more animated and engaged in what they were doing. Their colleagues put down the remaining naysayers, or the Corporals pulled them up on their attitude. It had worked and he had to make sure it stayed so.

At four o’clock in the afternoon, an alert came from a lookout. They had spotted two suspicious vehicles about a mile from the base. Mike climbed a tower to see for himself.

The vehicles were driving around in circles, there were about six men with each. One was a small pick-up, the other appeared to be a large truck.

"What do you think, Colour?" said a Private.

"I don’t know what they’re up to, but I don’t like the look of it."

The Captain and Lieutenant appeared.

"What have we got, Colour Sergeant?"

"See for yourself, sir." He handed him the binoculars.

"Everyone on full alert I would say, Colour Sergeant?"

"I concur. Sound the alarm, Private."

Below, men rushed to put on flak jackets and helmets and then grabbed their weapons.

"Corporal McIntyre, brief the men on what we’ve seen."

"Aye, Colour."

Mike continued to watch the vehicles.

"Do you think they’re hostile?" said the Lieutenant.

"For now, we’ll take it they are," said the Captain. "There’s no reason for them to be where they are. Keep the men inside for now and the gate bolted."

As Mike continued to watch, the smaller vehicle stopped moving and the truck started to head for the base at slow speed. There was one person in it and at about half-a-mile distant the driver jumped out. But the vehicle kept coming and it was still being steered.

The hairs on Mike’s neck and spine prickled; he had seen this before and knew what it was.

"It’s a remote-controlled truck, probably full of explosives. I’d say they’re aiming for the gate!"

"Shit!" said the Captain.

Before anyone else could issue an order, Mike leaned over the rail and shouted down to the men below. "Corporal Frost! Get one of the Mastiffs to the gate, side-on, as close as you can. Now! There’s no time to lose!"

A plume of black smoke belched from the vehicle and the Corporal deftly placed it against the gate, just as Mike wanted.

"Good work, Corporal!"

The truck was now two-hundred metres away and Mike’s suspicions were confirmed. It was remotely controlled and was heading straight for the large wooden main gate.

"Clear the area near the gate, incoming!" he shouted again.

The men hurried to sheltered positions and waited.

The truck seemed to speed up and then it struck.

A huge explosion blew the gate to splinters and the noise reverberated around the base. But the Mastiff held firm after being rocked sideways and almost toppling over. It shuddered and righted itself. Without it, the truck could have smashed through the gate and detonated inside the base.

"Jesus!" said the Captain.

Mike looked through the binoculars. "The other vehicle is speeding away."

"Should we go after them?" said the Lieutenant.

"We’ll never catch up with them now," said Mike. "The priority is making what repairs we can to the gate and check for damage to the Mastiff. You never know, they may come back. We need to stay on high alert tonight."

"Well done, Colour Sergeant, that was some quick thinking, and it worked. I want a working party on that gate immediately."

"Absolutely," said Mike.

––––––––

They made effective repairs to the gate before sundown and ordained extra watches for the night. The worst scenario was that the Taliban intended to blow the gate and return later in force under cover of darkness. Their plan hadn’t worked fully so far, but that may not stop them trying.

All lookout posts had infra-red cameras to detect an incoming attack at night, but a battle in darkness was not Mike’s cup of tea.

The night passed quietly, although Mike found it difficult to sleep. Too much was passing through his mind and he knew the threat that existed from the Taliban. He was sure they would attack; he had a feeling in his bones.

The alarm was raised close to midnight, just as he was dropping off. He leapt off his cot, still fully dressed, dashed outside, and ascended the nearest watchtower.

"What is it, Corporal?"

The soldier handed him the night vision goggles.

"Over there, bearing about three-two-five."

Mike could see three vehicles but not the size or complement of men. Below, the platoons were assembling again, dressed and fully armed. He called the Captain on the radio and updated him on the threat.

The vehicles had stopped, in line abreast, about half a mile away, no lights were showing. Then they began to advance.

He turned to Sergeant Faulks "I want RPG’s on the west-facing towers, fast as possible."

The order was issued, and two men ascended with the weapons.

A radio call came from the Captain and Mike took it.

"After this afternoon’s incident, we’re not messing about. Fire at will, Colour Sergeant."

"Aye, aye, sir." He turned to the Sergeant. "Pass that message on."

As the vehicles got closer one of the Privates, armed with an RPG called out. "Target acquired, centre vehicle. Firing!"

The other RPG aimer echoed, "Left vehicle acquired, firing now!"

The two rockets shot out into the night. Seconds later the central vehicle exploded, lighting up the night sky. The second rocket missed its target.

"Bugger!" said Mike. "Reload and fire again!" he called out.

The hostiles were now in range and began to launch mortars from the moving vehicles. Mike knew their aim would be poor, but the explosives could land anywhere. Then the assailants began to lay down small arms fire, again blindly.

A mortar landed harmlessly outside the wall, throwing up sand and rocks, another hit the wall a short distance away but caused only minor damage.

"Open fire with everything we’ve got!" Mike shouted.

Most of the men were still down in the compound and couldn’t do anything. But some had supplemented the men on the lookout posts. The snap of rifle fire and the chatter of machine guns vibrated in the night air.

Another RPG streaked through the sky and disabled another vehicle. It carried on moving but it was clear they had damaged the steering. The occupants got out and began waving at the other truck which was still lobbing mortars in the general direction of the base. Gunners took out three of the men, the remaining vehicle picked up the rest and then it turned to make its escape.

The returning fire carried on but became more futile as the distance increased. Mike's men fired one last RPG round; it hit close to the truck and its rear end lifted a metre or so, but it carried on with what looked like flat tyres.

"Cease fire!" Mike called out. After they fired the last shot the night returned to silence, except for the diminishing sound of the struggling vehicle, its engine revving to the limit as it thrashed through the sand and gravel.

The Captain heaped praise on the lookout post personnel for a job well done.

"I suggest those not on look-out duty get some sleep now. I think we’ve sent them away with their tails between their legs, we’ll see no more of them tonight. Leave the bodies until morning. If the birds don’t get them, they or their vehicles may give some clue who they are and where they were from. Well done, men."

A new sense of pride and purpose came from the men as Mike made his rounds. There was the excited talk of a dozen Taliban killed. Mike thought it was only eight, but a little exaggeration was harmless.

They believed in themselves again.

––––––––

After the euphoria of the last skirmish, the men settled back into a routine in a positive frame of mind. Only days remained until a spell of time-out at Camp Bastion and they passed without incident.

On the day of departure, they waited restlessly for the sound of the helicopters which would carry them. No hazardous road trip this time. The talk was of burghers, games of pool at Heroes Bar, and pretty nurses.

Mike had other things on his mind, he was going home for a week. He had called Hannah with details of his travel itinerary; they were longing to see each other. He had spoken to her every day since the miscarriage and her spirits seemed to rise every day as she came to terms with the loss. But she needed the comfort of having Mike around, if only for a few days.

Around mid-day, the sound of helicopter blades thrashing the air drew close. Soon, two Augusta Westland Merlins made ready to land outside the base and the Captain gave them clearance. It was his responsibility to ensure the landing site was safe from hostile forces.

They settled onto the marked landing area and wound down their engines. Men from Charlie platoon opened the large wooden gates and welcomed the incoming team. It was just one platoon from the Battalion, and they would act as caretakers of the base for a few days. Though there was no talk of them staying as reinforcements because of the increasing level of hostility.

Their safety was of paramount importance and they had come with additional weaponry; a heavy machine gun, a grenade machine gun, and, to Mike’s surprise, a Javelin guided missile launcher, more than enough to take out any known Taliban vehicle. Also, the platoon Sergeant, Gavin Tomlinson was a fully qualified sniper with a L115A3 long-range, day or night, sniper rifle.

With the main gate now steel-reinforced, and immediate air cover available, Mike was sure they could handle anything.

––––––––

Once the rear loading ramp of Mike’s helicopter was closed and sealed it took off, followed a few moments later by the other. Mike looked down at the desolate landscape, Patches of ice remained on the distant mountains. They passed a small village and a group of herdsmen with their cattle, still wrapped up against the winter air. By the time he returned the Afghan spring would be coming around, temperatures would rise, and the landscape would become greener.

As the aircraft banked to line up for its landing approach, the vast expanse of Camp Bastion came into view. The lads would have a good time letting their hair down a little, but he wouldn’t miss the place.

The Colonel had made all arrangements in advance, typical of his thoroughness. An MP who had all the details of his departure time, flight number and where he needed to get to in the sprawling airport of the base met him.

"Colour Sergeant McDonald?"

"Yes, hi."

"Follow me, sir, there isn’t much time."

Everything ran like clockwork. He had expected half a day delay and was impressed when an hour later he was in the air, bound ultimately for home.

He had packed light and had all he needed, stowing a single small grip beneath his seat.

After the change of flight at Kandahar, back onboard a long-haul Tristar, they were soon outside Afghan airspace. Mike removed his body armour and began to relax. He read for an hour then took a snooze. It took quite some time to fall asleep as thoughts of Hannah filled his head. But there was still a long way to go, hours in the air followed by a train journey from Oxford to Glasgow, and he wanted to be fresh, not tired when he eventually met her. He didn’t relish the prospect of the arduous return trip in a week, but he would do so much more than that for her.

––––––––

After the termination of the flight in Oxford, Mike took a taxi to the railway station. He was taking the overnight express through to Glasgow and boarded the train. He still needed sleep but knew his body would need some encouragement. After finding his cabin and depositing his bag, he made his way to the bar for a nightcap or two.

As the train pulled out, he sat on a stool and asked for a pint and a double whisky chaser, That should do the job, he thought.

A man in his mid-twenties entered. "Mind if I join you, pal?"

Mike would have preferred his own company but then thought again. He had hardly spoken to a soul all day.

"No, take a seat."

"Ah, you’re a fellow Scot," the man said in a broad Glaswegian brogue.

"Aye lad."

"Military?"

"Yes, Royal Regiment of Scotland."

"Thought so, you can tell, can’t you?"

"Usually. Same with coppers." Mike laughed.

"Yeah," the man chuckled.

"And I would say you are, too."

"What, military or a copper?"

"Military."

"You got me. I’m a matelot. HMS Liverpool."

"Heading home on leave?"

"Yeah,"

"Me too. Only for a week, home from Afghanistan."

"A long way for a week, pal."

"Family problems."

"Oh. I see."

"And you?"

"Two weeks, then we’re heading off on a six-month deployment. To the Gulf."

"You live in Glasgow?" Mike asked.

"Aye, I hail from Drumchapel."

"You?"

"East Dumbarton."

"Ah, the posh side."

"I’ve worked for it."

"So, what are you?"

"A Colour Sergeant, Second Battalion, Royal Scots."

"Woo, what’s that equivalent to in our mob, a Fleet Chief Petty Officer?"

"Something like that."

"I’m a Petty Officer, Aircraft Technician."

"Ah, a technical bod."

"Sort of."

Mike was warming to the younger man.

"I’m Steve O’Neil. People call me Stevo."

"I’m Mike," he shook his hand. "What’re you drinking?"

"A pint of heavy, please."

Mike ordered the drink.

"Plenty of action out in Afghanistan then?"

"It keeps us on our toes. Guess it’s pretty quiet out the Gulf these days?"

"Yeah, just maintaining a presence and showing the flag."

"Seems like us lot do all the dirty work, while you lot swan around the oceans." Mike chuckled.

"Aye, you’re right. We have seen no true action since the Falklands. My dad was down there on the Sheffield when it got hit. He survived, otherwise I wouldn’t be here," he laughed.

"I was down there in my younger days too when the ‘Sir Galahad’ got bombed, I helped with the casualties."

"Oh man, that must have been bad."

"It was. A lot to take in as a youngster." Mike’s mind began to drift back to the horror of that day, but he pulled himself back.

"You must be due for retirement soon then?"

"Yep, later this year, not long after this posting."

"Bet you’re looking forward to that."

The comment produced mixed feelings in him. He wanted to be with Hannah and the kids. But talking with this young sailor, recalling the memories, and feeling the tenuous bond between them as fellow servicemen, was something he would miss, something that had been a part of him for so long.

"It will be a big change." Mike changed the subject. "Plan on doing much on your leave?"

"Aye, going to propose to my girlfriend."

"Congratulations."

"We’ll get married after I get back from the Gulf, then we’ll get our own house down in Pompy."

"That’ll be a long way from her folks, and yours."

"No loss there. Her dad’s an alchy, and her mum sleeps around."

"Oh."

"I get on with my mum all right, but my dad has turned into a cranky old bastard, does my fucking head in. If we see the whole rabble once a year, it will be more than enough for me. My girl, Michelle, sees it the same way too."

"Well, I hope it all works out."

"It will, once I get her away from that hell-hole."

They drank and talked about everything under the sun. Stevo bought another round of drinks, which Mike reluctantly accepted, and once he had finished the next, he made moves for bed.

"Look, pal. I’ve got to get some shut eye. It’s been a long journey and I want to be fresh to meet my wife. It’s been great talking to you. Best of luck." He shook Stevo’s hand again.

"Sure, all the best to you too, pal. I’m going to have another drink. Take care."

Mike was ready for bed, he could feel his eyes becoming heavy. He looked at his watch. If he was lucky, he would get four hours sleep.

––––––––

Mike was still asleep when the announcement came over the tannoy that the next stop would be Glasgow Central station. He had missed his alarm call and hurriedly dressed.

After the brief panic and with minutes to spare, his thoughts turned to home and his excitement grew. He would soon see Hannah and the rest of his family.

He was on his way to get a taxi for the last leg of the journey, but as he approached one a voice pulled him up sharp, an unmistakable one. He turned around and was astonished to see Hannah walking towards him.

To begin with, they said nothing as they wrapped their arms around each other and kissed. Both had tears in their eyes.

"Darling, I didn’t expect you to pick me up."

"I couldn’t wait to see you, baby."

"How are you?"

"I’m coping. Better now you’re home."

"It will be a short visit."

"I know. Let’s make the best of it."

"We will. Come on, I’ll drive now."

During the drive home, they held hands the entire time, unless Mike was negotiating traffic or changing gear.

"You’re OK?"

"Physically yes, emotionally, well, it hasn’t been easy. I cried a lot the first few days."

"I’m not surprised, it must have been a shock."

"Oh Mike, you’ve no idea how I felt when I knew. I was at the kitchen sink when it started, the bleeding."

"Oh, darling."

"It felt like my world was falling in on me. That baby was part of you too."

He squeezed her hand.

"I needed you."

"I know, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there."

"That’s not your fault. None of this is anyone’s fault."

"How have the kids been with it?"

"They’re old enough to understand, they’ve been great, and your mum has been a star. We’ve had a few long chats, she’s helped a lot."

"I’m glad she was there for you."

"She always has been, darling, ever since I lost my mum and dad."

She fell silent. Mike guessed she was recalling the hell of those days. The TV news about the motorway pile up, and then the telephone call. It devastated her, but Maggie kept her from falling apart; without her, Mike was sure she would have.

He could see she was choking back tears as she said. "You’ll just catch the kids before they head off to school."

"It’ll be good to see them."

Chapter 8

Mike consciously avoided becoming too settled at home. There was so little time. Instead, he concentrated on extracting the maximum out of every minute he had with his family, concentrating on Hannah during the day and the kids in the evening. There were other demands, his parents wanted to see him too. But at least he could combine that with being with Hannah, though with less intimacy.

The first two days flew by and he relished the time with Hannah. She told him how it was speeding up her healing, having him home, as they talked in-depth about both their feelings. They were as one, though Mike couldn’t feel the physical loss Hannah did. She grew stronger, emotionally, in his presence, and drew comfort from his promise they would try again as soon as he was home for good.

On the third day, Hannah awoke and clutched Mike’s arm hard.

"Oh my God, it hurts!"

"Where honey?"

"My stomach, low down

"You think it might be complications."

"Perhaps. I might have an infection."

"You’re boiling. We need to get you checked out. Doctor’s surgery or hospital?"

She moved to rise out of bed and let out a loud yelp.

"Honey?"

Hannah recovered, "I’m OK, get me to the hospital, please, baby."

Mike helped her dress and then threw on his jeans and a hoodie Jacket. He wrapped a thick coat around her but didn’t bother with anything else himself. The cold morning was the last thing on his mind.

"The kids!" she said, through teeth clenched against the pain.

Mike had not even thought about the time. He glanced at his watch.

"Honey, it’s only five o’clock in the morning! What shall we do with them?"

"They’ll be OK. Better tell Greg, but don’t panic him. He’ll know how to handle Katie when she gets up."

"You OK for a moment then?"

"Yes, just help me sit down."

He left Hannah on a chair at the foot of the stairs and quietly made his way to Greg’s room. He was surprised Hannah’s cry of pain hadn’t woken them.

He shook Greg, who stirred from a deep sleep.

"Son, it’s your mum. I’ve got to get her to the hospital."

Greg came to suddenly. "What’s up with her?"

"We don’t know, maybe an infection from the miscarriage. She’ll be OK, the hospital will sort her out. I’ll ring as soon as I can. I’m just worried about Katie, what she’ll think."

"I’ll try not to let her get upset, dad."

"Good lad. I’ve got to dash."

Mike hurried down the stairs. There was blood beneath the stool. He helped Hannah to the car and with the quiet morning roads, they made the hospital in fifteen minutes rather than the usual thirty to forty.

They pulled up outside the Accident and Emergency department and Mike struggled to get Hannah out of the car. She was suffering more pain.

"Oh baby, you’ve got to help me get you out." Mike said desperately.

An orderly spotted them as he left the entrance door.

"Hang on! Don’t move, I’ll get help."

Only seconds passed before two paramedics were with them, the orderly following close behind with a wheelchair.

"Thank God!" said Mike.

"It’s OK, sir. We’ll take over. What’s your name, Madam?"

"H... Hannah."

"OK Hannah, take it easy, you’re in good hands now. We’ll get you inside and have you looked at straight away."

The other medic spoke to Mike and got the background information on the situation.

"She had a miscarriage about ten days ago."

"OK, that explains the discharge of blood. Help me get her into the wheelchair."

Hannah managed a brief smile. "A bloody wheelchair for the second time in two weeks! I feel like a geriatric."

Mike squeezed her hand. "You’re gonna be OK, baby."

As soon as they were through the revolving doors to the reception area, the first medic called out, "we need a doctor over here!"

A junior doctor rushed forward. "What have we got?"

"Miscarriage about ten days ago. Severe pain, temperature and moderate vaginal bleeding."

"OK, get her into examination area three. Nurse!"

The nurse he addressed was taking a brief coffee break, but she came straight over, "Doctor?"

He explained the symptoms.

"I’ll get everything set up," she said.

Mike felt powerless to do anything, all he could do was wait.

"Sir," said the nurse. "If you’d like to take a seat while we have a look at your wife?"

"Err, yes, OK."

"Don’t worry. It looks like routine complications, she’ll be fine."

Mike looked at his watch again, five-forty. He hoped he would have something positive to tell the kids by the time they got up.

Another twenty unbearable minutes passed before the doctor reappeared and approached Mike. His heartbeat began to increase as he stood up.

"Relax, Mr MacDonald. It’s nothing serious. It would appear there is some remaining tissue from the miscarriage which has become infected. We will do a dilation and curettage to remove the infected matter. There will be a course of antibiotics to follow and in a few days, she’ll be right as rain."

Mike let out a long sigh of relief.

"So how long will she have to stay in?"

"Oh, she’ll be out by lunchtime. The procedure takes less than half an hour. We’re just waiting for a slot to fit her in."

Mike sat down and reminded himself he needed to phone Greg. He pulled out his phone and called the house.

"Hi, Greg, dad here."

Before he could continue, Greg interjected, "how is she?"

"She’s good, nothing to worry about. They’ll do a D and C then she’ll be straight out."

"What does that involve?"

"Just cleaning the womb out, it’s a straightforward procedure, nothing to worry about."

"Cool, I’ll tell Katie."

––––––––

Mike tried to relax, he had every reason to now, but couldn’t. He may be there for the rest of the morning, he just wanted to be with Hannah.

The nurse who had attended to her appeared. "Mr McDonald, it’ll be about an hour until we can deal with your wife. We’ve made her comfortable and given her something for the pain. You can sit with her."

"Yes, I’d like that."

"Well, you know where she is."

"Thank you."

Mike walked over to the examination suite and partially drew back the curtain. Hannah had her eyes closed. He wondered if she was sleeping. The distant moans of other emergency patients drifted away from his consciousness, but not the unique hospital smell; clean linen and floor polish combined with the faint hint of blood and bodily fluids.

As he crept towards her, she opened her eyes. He smiled.

"Darling, how are you?"

"Feeling better, from whatever they’ve given me."

He held her hand. "I’ve spoken to Greg, told him what’s happening."

"Good."

"I told him it was all routine, so Katie shouldn’t worry."

"She will though, you know what she’s like."

"Aye, I guess she will. But you’ll be then when they get home from school."

"I hope so."

"They said about an hour until they sort you out."

"As long as nothing goes wrong."

"It won’t, baby, you’ll be fine."

"I love you, Mike. Thank you for being here."

He kissed her forehead. "I’m glad you didn’t have to go through this on your own. But mum would have been here for you."

"I know, but not the same as having you, sweetheart."

"This is all we needed, with only a few days together."

"I know, I’m sorry."

"You don’t have to be."

"We’ll still have time together at home, but I must rest."

"Fancy a coffee?"

"I do, but they’ve told me not to drink if possible. But you get one, darling."

Mike wandered off to find the vending machine and bumped into the nurse.

"Could you tell me where the coffee machine is?"

"You sit down Mr McDonald, I’ll make you one."

"Well, thank you."

"How do you have it?"

"Milk, no sugar, please."

He went back to Hannah and a minute later the nurse returned with his drink.

"Personal service, eh? You must have charmed her," said Hannah. She gave a weak smile.

"I just gave the ‘little boy lost look’, and that was it."

"You charmed her, it comes naturally to you."

He patted her hand. "There’s only one person I want to charm."

They began to talk of the future, the few remaining months at home and then his retirement.

"I want to do something different," he said. "It’s like I’m changing, inside."

"How do you mean? Whatever you do will different from the Army."

"Yes, it will. But I’m thinking of a radical change in career."

"Oh?"

"It’s just ideas I’ve had. The injuries and deaths we’ve experienced have suddenly made me connect with people and see things differently. I think I know what I want to do."

"Tell me. I’m curious."

The revelation would have to wait as two orderlies came to collect Hannah.

"I’ll tell you all about it when we’re back home."

He kissed her lips before they wheeled her away.

––––––––

The procedure went without a hitch and by eleven-thirty they were walking out of the hospital. Hannah was uncomfortable, but she determined to walk. Mike leant her an arm to rest on as she walked but, aside from a few winces, she made it to the car.

"Well done, darling."

"I didn’t want them to give me a wheelchair again."

Mike chuckled. "You can be stubborn sometimes."

"I’ve learned it all from you, sweetie."

"Let’s get you home where you can rest."

Mike drove slowly and steadily, trying to avoid any unnecessary stress on Hannah, though she seemed to be holding up fine. But she always played down illnesses and pain. He wondered how much she had felt before they left home. Mike had also called his mum from the hospital and it was no surprise to him she was waiting for them with a fresh pot of tea and cakes.

As Hannah strolled into the room, Maggie put her arms around her. "Darling, how are you doing?"

"I’m OK, mum, all done. Just a course of antibiotics to get through now."

"I’m glad it was nothing serious, you’ve had enough to deal with."

"I’ll be fine now, a few days' rest, and Mike at home for another couple of days."

Maggie turned to Mike. "Such a short time and she needs you."

"I know, mum, but I’m lucky to be here at all."

"I’ll manage fine when he’s gone, mum."

"I know. You just call me if you need anything. Now, tea everyone?"

Mike helped Hannah sit down.

"Can you take my shoes off please, darling?"

He bent down, undid the straps, and slipped them off."

"Oh, God! That’s so good."

"Do you want your feet up, baby?"

"Yes, please."

Mike lifted her legs onto the sofa.

"Mm, that’s better," she said. "I could just fall asleep."

"You go ahead, angel," said Maggie.

"No, I’ll get a nap this afternoon, ready for the kids coming home."

Maggie finished her tea and then stood up. "Well, I’ll leave you all to it. I’ll let myself out."

"Thanks for coming over, mum," said Mike.

"Think nothing of it. I’d do anything for either of you, you know that."

Mike stood up and kissed her cheek. "I’ll see you before I go again."

"You’d better!" She laughed.

Then they were alone again.

"It was nice of mum to come," said Hannah. "But I’m glad it’s only the two of us now. I’m exhausted."

"I bet you are, darling." He sat on the floor next to her and took her hand. "I love you, Hannah."

"I know."

"I wish I was home under different circumstances. But not long now and we’ll get back to normal."

"We’ve never known normal, honey."

Mike smiled. "No, I guess we haven’t."

"So, what were you saying about your plans for the future, a radical change you said?"

"Ah yes. I can’t explain what exactly, what has led to it. The things that have happened out there, maybe that’s part of it. Perhaps Bill too, seeing the way he is with people. This has become almost a calling for me."

"Are you going to keep me guessing?"

"OK, I want to use my experiences to help other people, primarily from the military, but the scope is wider. I want to go into counselling, to become a registered mental health nurse, specialising in trauma."

Hannah sat up slightly. "Bloody hell, Mike! That is a big change. Have you thought it all through, what it will entail?"

"I’ve started investigating and it won’t be that bad. I have the degree I took a few years back, that will count a lot, reduce the study time."

"I don’t know what to say. I’m surprised, but I like the idea. I’ve seen you change over the years, I think it’s something you could be good at."

"I’ll have my pension to tide me over while I study, and you’ve got your business."

"Oh, we’ll get by. I’m fully behind you."

"You are?"

"Yes. I can see it’s something you are passionate about. I’ll be proud of you, I’m always proud of you, whatever you do."

Mike’s heart soared, knowing he had Hannah’s loving support.

––––––––

The remaining days flew by. Hannah’s condition improved as the pain lessened and she became more mobile. Mike spent all his time with her or the kids, relishing every moment until the time came to say his goodbyes again.

He hated leaving even more than last time and it pained him to see the looks on Hannah’s and Katie’s faces. Greg was impassive. As usual, Hannah tried to put on a brave face for Mike’s sake, but Katie couldn’t hide her feelings. The tears flowed as she held on to him until the very last moment. It took every ounce of emotional fortitude to avoid crying himself.

Finally, controlling himself with deep breaths, he turned away and got into a taxi. One last wave and he was on his way.

The repeat of the long journey undertaken a mere week before was irksome, but the time spent with Hannah was invaluable and he would do it all again.

As the final part of the journey ended at Camp Bastion, he felt a world away from that of a few hours ago, in the loving arms of his wife.

He would be counting the days until their deployment was over. But for now, he was going back into the fray, into a dark world with unexpected dangers lurking everywhere.

Chapter 9

Mike arrived back at Camp Bastion with hours to spare before his platoon was being airlifted back to the Forward Operating Base. He spent the time reflecting on the past few days and catching up with his men.

He tired of the repetitive questions and the same answers he had to give. Eventually, he found solace with Bill.

"Good to see you again, Mike, though I doubt you’re pleased to be back."

"It’s been a long, hard week, but it was great to see Hannah."

"How’s she doing?"

He told Bill all about the infection and the D and C.

"Poor girl, she’s been through it."

"God, I want to be with her, Bill."

"I’m sure. We’re nearly halfway, soon it will all be downhill."

"The way things have gone so far, I’m not so sure."

Lieutenant Larson reinforced his thoughts when he came to speak with them.

"Hey, guys. We’ve just heard about Stan, he’s doing well. He’s in good spirits, all things considered. They’re working on getting him fitted with state-of-the-art artificial limbs. He’s already talking about what he’ll be able to do again."

"That’s good news," said Mike.

"It’ll be a long journey for him," said Bill. "It takes months to learn how to use those things properly, especially high-tech ones."

"Aye, but he’s a determined lad, he’ll get there."

"Ow was your trip home, Mike? Hannah OK?"

"Good, but it was a long haul. She’s doing fine." He added no more, he’d told the story too many times already.

"Well, time to move out soon fellas, back to the job."

"Aye sir," said Mike.

––––––––

The helicopter ride back to the Forward Operating Base was short compared to the journey Mike had already taken.

They landed and the gates swung open. The Colonel was already on site and welcomed Mike with a handshake.

"Good to have you back, men. Lieutenant and Colour Sergeant, to my office for a quick update."

They dumped their bags outside his quarters and entered.

"Due to the increased hostilities, the caretaker platoon is now staying; designated Delta platoon for our time out here. They’ve already warded off a few minor attacks in our absence. It seems like this base is drawing some attention."

"What about logistics?" Mike asked. "The extra pressure on accommodation and victualling?"

"Already in hand Mike. It will improve the quality of life here. They’re giving us better equipment to help with the increased number of personnel. New tents and cooking facilities for starters. More choice on the menu too, Tom is relishing the prospect."

"Sounds good."

"I’m sure we’ll work it all out. We’ll have a full briefing on the upcoming tasks tomorrow. I suggest you sort your kit out and touch base with the guys from Delta platoon."

"Will do."

Having travelled light, there wasn’t much for Mike to arrange in his shack. Though he did pin-up some more photos of the family which Hannah had given him.

He took a walk among his men. From the talk he picked up, the time-out in Bastion had done them good. They were a cohesive fighting force once again.

He soon found Sergeant Tomlinson from the new platoon.

"Hi Gavin, you’ve had a busy time this week, from what I hear."

"Yeah, it’s been interesting. But I’ve had the chance to keep my hand in with this baby." He was stripping down his sniper rifle. Mike could tell by his touch that the weapon was part of him.

"You’ve used it in anger?"

"You bet. Took out three of the bastards in a little skirmish two nights ago."

"From what I saw of the weaponry you brought with you, we’ll be a lot safer here now. And a trained sniper too, you’re a valuable piece of kit yourself."

"You can rely on me, Mike."

"Well, we’ll see what’s kicking off around here tomorrow, when we get the Colonel’s briefing. Catch you later."

"Sure thing."

Gavin turned back to his weapon and continued to fettle it with loving hands.

A strange breed, snipers, Mike thought. He’d met a few in his time. They always seemed a little aloof; perhaps it was the long periods waiting in one isolated position, either solo or with a spotter. Hour upon hour of watching and waiting. Maybe it was single-minded dedication. Maybe they considered themselves to be the elite. Whatever, they were different.

The last thing Mike needed to do was call Hannah. There was no waiting for her to get home, she was home all the time at the moment.

"Hi, sweetheart!"

"Mike, darling. How was the journey?"

"Long and tiring."

"I appreciated you coming home, I know it was a long way for a short time."

"I’d do it again, baby. How are you?"

"Feeling a lot better all round. Taking tomorrow off then going back to work."

"You sure that’s not too soon?"

"Darling, I’m fine, honestly. Trust me."

"I do. I’m worrying over nothing."

"I’ve got the most to worry about, with you out there."

"Things will be safer here now, we’ve got an extra platoon with us and some extra, and pretty impressive, weapons too. This place is like a fortress now."

"Just keep safe."

"You know I will, for your sake and mine. I love you."

"I love you too, darling."

As the call ended, Mike felt happier. There was a spring in his step. Hannah was well, and he felt confident.

––––––––

Over the coming weeks, Hannah made a full recovery. Mike kept in contact with her almost daily and between them, they began to count down the days until Mike’s return home.

Hannah received full understanding and support from her family and Sarah and Chloe at the shop. She threw herself back into her life with verve and determination.

The shop flourished under her renewed enthusiasm.

"You’re pulling out all the stops," Chloe said one morning.

"I’ve got to keep my mind occupied after all that’s happened. If I keep busy it will distract from thinking about Mike all the time. It’s good for the business too."

"It sure is. Things have picked up since you came back to work, and now we’re out of the post-Christmas lull."

"I will give it everything I’ve got now. I’m even thinking of opening another shop on the other side of town."

"Wow!" said Sarah, "that would be something. A lot to take on though, extra staff and book-keeping."

"I’ve considered that; it’s not too onerous and I’m getting more time as the kids become more independent. Onward and upwards!"

She spent her evenings at home looking after the children’s needs and weekly visits to her mum’s. Life was good again, only one thing was missing.

––––––––

Back in Afghanistan, spring was turning into early summer and temperatures were increasing, which made life more comfortable.

They undertook regular patrols, some short-range close to the base, and others several miles out. There were a few minor skirmishes and some prisoners taken, but no further casualties.

Like Hannah, Mike was at a high point. The men were all back to their usual selves and everything was running like clockwork.

He now felt positive about the future as they whittled through the remaining weeks of the deployment. Retirement was becoming more real, a few short months away. Then what would his life be? He had plans, vague now, there was more to research. But Hannah was behind him whatever he did.

He wondered how he would miss this life; he had lived it for many years. But he would replace the camaraderie and risk with the role of a father, a true family man, and in pursuing new endeavours. There would be more chance for sailing too. A deployment that covered much of the summer, such as this one meant he hardly used his yacht some years. He had considered selling her some years ago for just such a reason. But as Greg grew older and shared his father’s passion for sailing, he took on the task of looking after the boat when he was away.

There was more to gain than to lose.

He called Hannah at the usual time.

"Hi, my sweet."

"Mike darling! How are you?"

"All going well, really well. We’re over halfway now."

"I know, I try not to think about it, but it won’t be long, the end is in sight."

"You sound happy?"

"I am. I don’t know why. I’m over the miscarriage and am grasping life by the throat, it’s too short to pussy-foot around."

"I know how you feel, I’m excited about the future. How are the kids?"

"They’re well. I hardly see them until late at night. They’re out with friends, or one club or another. Greg’s always playing football for the school, and Katie is just Katie; friends, music, you know how she is."

"Gorgeous, like her mum."

"Aw, Mike. I love you. You sound very upbeat too."

"Yeah, just a change in the air, I guess. Summer is here and I feel a sense of purpose."

"I’m glad. But you belong here."

"I know, that’s where I’ll be soon. I love you, baby."

"I’ll have to get going, I promised to pick Katie up from the cinema."

"OK honey, I’ll try to call tomorrow. Love you."

"Love you too, sweetie."

Mike moved away as if he was walking on air. It was always that way after speaking to Hannah. He felt good.

––––––––

All the patrols had been routine until the final weeks of the deployment. Then came more specific missions based on intelligence gathered from Special Forces. Some were about IED manufacturing, others about strongholds of Taliban forces. One had been an attempt to capture a person of interest, a high-level commander in the enemy forces. The mission was unsuccessful despite careful planning.

Now a new mission was being formed and the Captain gathered his key personnel together.

Attached to the wall was a tactical map of the area, already crisscrossed with lines, circles, and annotations from previous missions.

"Men, this is big. Our target is this village," he pointed to the area with a pole. "As you can see, it is about sixty miles from us. Lieutenant."

"Sir."

The Lieutenant attached another piece of paper to the existing map.

"Thank you, Graham. This is the layout of the village from satellite images. This building, which we have nominated as building ‘X’, is the primary target. We have positively identified it as a major IED manufacturing facility, supplying devices far and wide over the entire region. Abu Khan and Muhammad Haqqani, two of the most experienced bomb makers, are working in the area. Both learned their trade in Palestine. Our mission is to destroy the facility and, if possible, capture the two individuals along with their henchmen."

"A straightforward mission then, sir?" said Mike.

"Not quite. The remaining area," he swept across the image with his pole, "is a civilian village. They are non-combatants and must not come to harm. Also, the enemy forces based in the village numbers about fifty trained militia. If it all goes pear-shaped and we can’t identify who is who, we are in deep trouble."

"With that size of force, it’s asking a lot of two or three platoons, sir," said Sergeant Reece.

His statement mirrored Mike’s thoughts. This sounded like a high-risk mission.

"We will mount our attack under cover of darkness. If we can catch them off-guard, before they have time to react, we can seal it up in no time. Also, we have support from the Americans, this is an important mission."

"Ground forces?" said Sergeant Tomlinson.

"Err, no. Air support only. They have allocated four Apache attack helicopters to be at immediate readiness standing by ten miles away, along with the Merlin helicopters which will transport us to within marching distance."

Mike was feeling unsettled. A large contingent of highly trained enemy forces, probably outnumbering their own, set in a civilian village. It had all the makings of a potential disaster. If they could be pull it off in the way the Captain envisaged, it could work. But in his experience, the best-laid plans often went astray. If it all went wrong, the ‘deep trouble’ the Captain referred to could mean a high loss of life among his men and civilians. He didn’t like to face the fact, but that meant his own life too.

There were other troubled faces too, not least of all the Lieutenant’s.

"I can see how you’re feeling about this," said the Captain. "But this mission will go ahead. I’m open to any ideas to improve our chances of success. You have two days, gentlemen. We will meet again tomorrow evening to discuss final preparations."

––––––––

There was no point in arguing with the Captain, the orders had come from high up, from the Colonel or even those above him.

He took a walk in the afternoon sun. His mind was spinning. He wasn’t one to believe in premonitions or even intuition, but something felt wrong, deep in his bones.

He tried to analyse his feelings. Why did he feel like this? On face value, the mission was no worse than many he had been through during his career. However good the enemy might be, they had nothing like the training and equipment of his men. If things got tricky, they could retreat, abort the mission; that was a choice down to the commanders in the field, damn the hierarchy.

Perhaps it was retirement that was scaring him? He didn’t want to jeopardise anything with it being so close. He had always been lucky. Was that about to change? He couldn’t shake the negative thoughts, not for the first time on this tour of duty.

He thought of Hannah, and Greg, and his angel, Katie. All so far away. The concept of not seeing them again was one he couldn’t bear. This was the time to bring this all to an end.

He climbed a watchtower, said ‘hello’ to the men on watch, then withdrew again into his head. Mike wasn’t a fatalist either, he believed we all had the power to direct our lives. But now he felt at the behest of fate, that there was nothing he could do, he was powerless, other than to follow his training and the rules.

As he looked across the quiet, desolate landscape, he had the distinct impression of it being the calm before the storm.

For the first time in his life, it scared him.

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About the Author

Robert lives in the windswept Isle of Man with his partner and an extended family of crazy but lovable dogs and cats.

Writer, engineer, adventurer, sailor, and free thinker, he engages his overactive mind in the world of stories and loves creating tales of adventure with sub-plots, intrigue and love, whether psychological thrillers, science fiction, or general fiction.

When not writing, working at his day job, or in his preferred state of sailing in the Scottish Hebrides, he can be found walking hills and glens, pondering the meaning of life and the universe. He also exists at https://robertjepson.com

Read more at Robert Jepson’s site.