Soldiers' Wives Part 18

'The whole f.u.c.king garrison, that's who. No one likes you, Jenna Perkins. You're a ho, we all knew that, but now they think you're a lying, cheating, devious slapper too.'

Jenna launched herself again at Zo, but the sergeant just managed to hold her back, and Zo swept out of the supermarket, leaving Jenna hurling insulting epithets after her.

Maddy looked at Caro. 'Still want to invite her to the Wives' Club?'

Caro looked defiant. 'Frankly, I feel sorry for her. She's trying to make her own way and the system seems to be against her.'

Maddy clenched her jaw to stop it dropping. 'You can't be serious?'

'I can. If anyone needs a leg up it's her. Especially if Zo is bad-mouthing her around the garrison.'

'But no one will come.'

Caro shook her head. 'No? I'll just put "local stylist" on the posters. By the time they find out it's Jenna, it'll be too late. I can't see them making a dash for the door, once they've paid their subs and got their tea and bikkies.'

Maddy followed Caro into the little shop thinking that Caro might have misjudged things completely. And Susie's words about Caro being a 'loose cannon' floated back to her. But she was the new kid on the block so what did she know?

Lee was in the watchtower in the corner of the compound, looking across the Neb Ca.n.a.l. Below him, under the scaffolding of this makes.h.i.+ft sangar, were the mud walls of the compound; behind him were the basic living quarters that the soldiers had rigged up for themselves; and in front of him was the twenty-metre-wide ca.n.a.l. On either side of the ca.n.a.l were the high, grey berms, raised d.y.k.es which had a road running along the top. Beyond the berm, on the far side, were more compounds occupied by Afghani families and their livestock, and behind that were the bare fields waiting for the next poppy crop. Squinting through the telescopic sight on his gun and trying to ignore how cold he was, Lee scanned the compounds on the opposite bank and then the trees that edged the far side of the empty field. Freezing rain was hammering down yet again he was soaked to the skin but he knew it wasn't just the cold that was making him s.h.i.+ver. The hot intel was that the Taliban in the area had acquired a sniper rifle, with a range of almost a kilometre. For all he knew, the cross hairs might be on him right now. It was a sobering thought, a thought that made him hunker down lower behind the wall of the sangar. Not that it would do much good. He doubted the planking would stop a high velocity bullet; it'd more than likely just make it tumble so that, when it hit him, it would cause all the more damage. He told himself to stop thinking like that and instead keep his eyes open for the slightest sign of movement in his current field of view.

Below and behind him, he could hear the banter of his colleagues. There was a discussion about what they were going to do with the compo rations, to make them slightly less dreary. The consensus seemed to be to add curry powder to the tins of stewed beef. Lee groaned. Not curry again. Jenna might be a s.h.i.+t cook but at least she bought a variety of ready meals. It's a shame, he thought, that Chrissie wasn't here to look after them; she'd be able to create something original out of the army's rations. He remembered the slap-up Christmas dinner she'd produced, and his mouth watered at the thought.

Concentrate! he told himself. He was here to do a job, not think about Chrissie. And he shouldn't be thinking of her, anyway.

Except he did. All the time.

He glanced at his watch; nearly six. Not long now till the end of his stag. Johnny would take over from him just before nightfall. Lee quite liked the dark out here. For a start, the stars were epic. Here, in the desert, the nights were the darkest that Lee had ever experienced and, consequently, the sky was completely coated with little pinp.r.i.c.ks of light. Until he came out here he had no idea just how many stars there were. But the second reason he quite liked the dark was the soft glow of faint orange light on the horizon Camp Bastion. There was something very comforting about having a tangible reminder of its presence, when you were stuck out in the back of beyond, surrounded by a lot of hostility.

The corner of his eye caught a movement, and he swivelled to look at what had got his attention. A small boy and a donkey were walking along the flat ground: nothing to worry about. He turned back to the line of trees several hundred yards away. If he were a sniper, that's where he'd hide to pick off a British soldier.

He heard footsteps on the ladder behind him.

'Hey, buddy,' said the voice of Johnny Flint. 'My turn now. Much happening?'

'f.u.c.k all. A kid with a donkey is just about to walk past.'

'Rush hour, then.'

Lee grinned. 'That's about the size of it. Still, I suppose it's better when it's quiet.'

'Dunno. Makes you wonder what they're plotting.'

Lee took a swig of his water. 'So aren't any of the locals friendly?'

'To your face they are; all smiles and "salaam alaik.u.m", but you just know that if the Taliban move in to the area, they'll probably want to change sides. The Taliban make the locals offers they can't refuse, and they don't bother with rules of engagement, either.' Johnny gave a hollow laugh. 'Actually, they don't bother with any f.u.c.king rules.'

Lee moved so Johnny could position himself behind the gun and then made his way down the ladder to the main compound. Water dripped off the rectangles of camouflaged waterproof fabric that had been lashed up to provide shelter from both the rain and the sun. It made him appreciate just how gleaming Bastion had been. It might have been Tent City, but the bogs flushed and there was running water. Here, the only running water was a stream that ran across the compound every time it rained heavily, and the only sign of civilisation was the interminable puttering of the diesel generator which fed their comms equipment. Basic didn't come close when it came to describing their conditions.

Still s.h.i.+vering, Lee decided to skip his meal and head straight for his bed s.p.a.ce, which was a two-man tent, hard-up by the compound wall. He peeled off his wet clothes and hung them from a makes.h.i.+ft was.h.i.+ng line strung from a couple of scaffolding poles, which held up yet more cam netting and tarps for shelter. Lee was certain his kit wouldn't dry before he had to put it on again, but he had dry clothes to wear in his sleeping bag. More important to sleep in comfort than to have that luxury on stag. Besides, it was much easier to keep alert, if you weren't feeling too cosy.

He decided to get his head down and try to grab some zeds. He was on duty again tonight, and then he'd come straight off his watch and go out on patrol at first light. Still, he wasn't going to complain, not even to himself. It wasn't as if he'd joined the army on a whim.

He pulled on a dry T-s.h.i.+rt and shorts and then his softie suit, which was like pyjamas made out of a duvet, and then climbed into his sleeping bag. Cosy at last, he thought, although both his softie suit and his bug bag already smelled less than fresh. He wondered how bad they would get by the time his tour was over. Minging, probably.

Lying down on his camp bed, he pulled his day sack out from underneath. He rummaged around till he found a chocolate bar he knew to be in there and the letter that had arrived this morning. Post was sporadic, he'd been told, and reality bore this out. If there was room on the supply run, they'd sling the postbag on too. If not, it stood to reason that water, food and ammo were more important.

Dear Lee, he read as he chomped on the Crunchie. All is well here, although the place seems pretty dull and boring without your ugly mug cluttering up the joint. Work is the same old, same old with nothing much of note to report. People come and go. I've got a new neighbour, although you'd expect that given the turnover around here. She seems nice enough and we haven't fallen out yet. I'll try and send you some mags next time I write. Which would you prefer lads' mags or cars? Or maybe something else. The shop here stocks a variety of stuff. Is there anything else you need? Let me know and I'll send that too. You look after yourself and I meant what I said about your size 12s. Watch where you're going. Best, Chrissie xx Two kisses? Habit or significant? Part of him hoped for the latter explanation, although his head told him it was more likely the former. They got on well, if he wasn't already married, he'd have liked it to be more, but no point in contemplating that. And Chrissie's letter was, at the moment, the only one he'd received. No word yet from his mam, or Jenna. Of course, the post from the UK was bound to take longer. There were probably several letters on the way, he reasoned. He just needed to be patient. He slipped the letter back into his day sack, finished his snack and snuggled down to get forty winks. But it was Chrissie he was thinking of, not Jenna, as he drifted off.

20.

'Summers.'

'Yes, boss,' Chrissie answered. She finished writing down the patient's temperature on the chart at the end of the bed, gave the soldier an apologetic smile and turned to give the doctor her attention.

'How's it going?' asked the colonel.

'Good, thanks, sir.'

'Settling in OK?'

Chrissie nodded. 'Getting used to it. I've almost stopped hearing the noise of the helicopters.'

The colonel grinned. 'I know what you mean.' The sound of helicopters was the soundtrack of the base: starting up, winding down, hovering, landing, taking off. There was never a minute of the day without the clatter and the accompanying high-pitched whine of the engines. 'And talking of helicopters, I'm looking for a volunteer.'

'What for?' asked Chrissie warily. She might have volunteered to come out here to Bastion but, like all soldiers, she didn't readily put herself forward for other duties outside her job spec.

'The MERT team.'

'Oh.' Well, that would be something different. The medical emergency response team were the medics on standby to fly in a Chinook to scoop battlefield casualties off the ground and rush them back to the hospital. The Chinook they flew in was kitted out like a full-on A&E, so the treatment could be started as soon as the soldier was on board. The golden hour gleamed a little brighter and was extended a little longer with this facility.

'You'll want time to think about it.'

'A little,' Chrissie conceded. Wanting to save lives was a no-brainer, but Chrissie knew that it wasn't the safest option. OK, so Bastion had incurred attacks, guys inside the huge camp had been killed, but the MERTs flew into raging battles. They had protection from the Apache attack helicopters that accompanied them, and they flew with armed troops on board, who deployed on landing, to protect them on the ground, but Chinooks were still b.l.o.o.d.y big targets and had been shot out of the sky before.

'How long?' asked the colonel. 'Only we'll need a replacement on the MERT by the end of the week. If you say no, I've got to n.o.bble someone else.'

Chrissie made up her mind. She wasn't a heroine, but she didn't have any dependents. If anything happened to her, there wouldn't be any knock-on. No kids left motherless, no grieving parents, no husband or fiance to mourn her. Anyway, she quite fancied a ride in a helicopter. 'I'll do it.'

'You sure?' said the colonel.

Chrissie nodded. 'Why not? I've had a really quiet life. It could do with some pepping up. A bit of excitement might be nice.'

'Brilliant. And if it's excitement you're after, you'll be sure to get it. Go and see Major Tomlinson, he'll brief you. You know where to find him?'

Chrissie certainly did. The MERT teams had their own s.p.a.ce at the far end of the field hospital, the end nearest the helipad. There they waited for the calls to come in with the details of the casualty to be rescued. While the pilot raced for the chopper and got it started, the team grabbed the necessary medical supplies. Happily they spent a lot of their time being bored, but the trouble was, it wasn't enough of their time.

She finished her immediate duties, got permission from the ward sister to go and talk to the MERT team, and slipped down the tented corridors of the hospital to where the standby team hung out. She went into the rest room and introduced herself to Major Tomlinson.

'Welcome aboard, Summers,' he said, shaking her hand. 'A willing volunteer being worth ten pressed men and all that baloney.'

'Yes, possibly,' said Chrissie.

'Hi, Chrissie.'

She spun round. 'Phil!' She was genuinely pleased to see him. A ready-made friend and a familiar face and, finally, their paths had crossed.

'Don't sound so surprised. You knew I was here.'

She laughed. 'I know, I know, and I did try to find you to start with, promise, but there's so much going on, I sort of forgot.'

Phil's face fell. 'You forgot me? I am well insulted.' He stepped back and smiled. 'It's good to see you here, Chrissie.'

Chrissie felt a surge of pleasure at being so welcomed. 'Thanks.'

'So,' said Major Tomlinson, 'let's get back to your briefing, shall we?' But it was said in an easy tone. He, too, seemed pleased that the new addition to the team appeared to be such a welcome one. 'You know how we work?'

'The basics, obviously.'

The major reached behind him and picked a pad off the table. 'You've seen one of these before a nine-liner?'

Chrissie scanned the pro forma. It was a checklist of nine details required when the request for a casualty evacuation was radioed in. Stuff like how serious the injuries were, how many patients, how they were going to locate the pick-up point and another six other details, including the consideration of whether or not they might have to operate under hostile conditions and the like. 'Only in training. I've not seen a real one filled out.'

'Lucky you,' said the major grimly. 'After you've been with us a week, you'll start wis.h.i.+ng you'd never seen one at all.'

Chrissie wasn't quite sure what to say to this, so she kept silent. She just hoped she'd made the right decision and it wasn't one she'd regret later.

'Your mate Jenna has been causing trouble again,' said Seb, as he walked into the kitchen at lunchtime.

Maddy stopped stirring the soup and sighed. How often did she have to tell him? 'She's not my mate. Anyway, what's she done now?'

'She had another slanging match with Zo. This time in the Spar.'

'I know, I was there.'

'You were there?'

'I was popping to get some bits and pieces when Zo stormed out with Jenna yelling some choice phrases after her.'

'You didn't tell me.'

'I didn't think it was that important.'

'But she's the wife of one of my soldiers.'

'I didn't think you wanted me to get involved.'

'Maddy, there's a difference between getting involved and telling me stuff.'

'I'll remember next time.' She knew she sounded sulky and petulant but she'd been much more worried about Caro's mad plan to invite Jenna to talk to the Wives' Club and the trouble that was likely to cause, than she had been with the spat in the Spar. And she couldn't tell Seb about Caro's scheme, because he'd tell Will and Will'd probably get cross with Caro and it would all be her fault.

'Anyway, I don't suppose there'll be a next time,' said Seb. 'I can't see how Jenna's business will fly, if Zo's got it in for her.'

'Doesn't that make you feel a bit sorry for Jenna?'

'It isn't as if she's invested anything in her venture. She hasn't got a proper shop like Zo, has she?'

'Salon,' corrected Maddy automatically.

'You know what I mean. Whatever she's doing, it's a bit tinpot in comparison. Stands to reason.'

'And it's not a tinpot business.' s.h.i.+t. She hadn't meant that to slip out.

Seb looked bewildered. 'What do you mean?'

'Nothing.'

'Maddy?'

She couldn't meet Seb's eye.

'Maddy, if you don't tell me yourself, I'll find out. What's Jenna been up to?'

'She's had alterations done to her quarter,' mumbled Maddy.

'She's done what?' Seb's bewilderment turned to anger in a heartbeat. 'You knew this and you didn't tell me?'

'You didn't want to know,' retorted Maddy, now equally angry, although mostly with herself for letting the cat out of the bag. Nate, on the floor in his bouncy chair, looked startled at the outbursts and screwed his eyes up ready to cry. Maddy hunkered down beside him and gave him a kiss. He gurgled instead. 'I asked you if you wanted me to find out what she was up to and you told me "not to meet trouble halfway". Your exact words, Seb.' She stared up at him belligerently. 'You made it perfectly clear I wasn't to get involved or interfere.'

'Yes, but I didn't know she'd done that!'

'You didn't want to know,' she repeated, as she got to her feet again and went back to stirring the soup.

'So what's she had done, exactly?'

'She's got a proper hairdressing basin in her bathroom. And she's had the bath taken out and a shower put in.'

Seb's jaw hung slackly. 'She's what?'

'You heard,' said Maddy.

'And she's got away with it?'