Soldiers' Wives (20 page)

‘I'm going to Bastion – BCR.'

Chrissie's jaw slackened. This
was
a sick joke. ‘Battlefield casualty replacement? Bastion? But you can't be.'

Lee tugged at the sleeve of one of his comrades. ‘Hey, Mac, where are we going?'

Lee's mate Mac looked at him as if he were bonkers. ‘Afghan, you twat.'

Lee grinned at Chrissie. ‘Now do you believe me?'

She nodded. ‘So am I.'

‘
You?
'

She nodded again.

‘Why?' he asked, his brow creased in incredulity.

‘Because I volunteered.'

‘But why?'

‘Because I wanted to.'

‘You coming, Perkins?' Mac interrupted.

‘Yeah, right with you.' Lee looked from Chrissie to Mac and back again, as if wondering who had priority for his attention. ‘Here, hang on,' he said, apparently arriving at a decision. He stopped Mac from moving on, hauled Chrissie's stuff off her trolley as if it was a couple of feather pillows, and split it between his own and Mac's trolleys. ‘Don't say squaddies don't know how to behave like gents,' he said. Then he gave Mac a nod and they moved off, Chrissie with them.

Together, the three of them made their way across the car park and up the ramp to the terminal. Inside the doors there was a small waiting area, with a few chairs and tables for people meeting any arrivals, a little coffee shop, a couple of vending machines, and then to the right was a corridor that led to the massive hall which was the check-in area. In many ways it was very like a normal civvy airport, except here everyone was dressed in multicam combats. They joined the queue of other soldiers waiting to be processed.

‘Bloody hell, Perkins,' said another soldier. ‘Have you pulled already?'

‘Fuck off,' said Lee amiably. ‘This is Chrissie. She's a combat medic.'

‘Cool.' The guy stuck his hand out. ‘Nice to meet you, Chrissie, I'm Tim. And if Lee doesn't want to pull you, can I?'

Everyone laughed, except Chrissie. She was still reeling from the shock of seeing Lee.

The soldiers shuffled forwards, yard by yard, while the RAF movements staff checked names and documentation against the manifest. When they finally made it through, they were herded towards the big departure lounge with floor to ceiling windows which looked out towards the runways and taxi areas and the massive grey C17 aircraft, lit by huge floodlights, which sat nearby waiting to take them all to the war. They weren't due to take off for a very long time, not until the small hours of the morning, but, this being the military, everyone had to be there and accounted for, way ahead of time.

Their Bergens had been checked through to be loaded onto the aircraft, leaving them with their day sacks, helmets and body armour. They joined the rest of the troops in the hall, who were doing what soldiers always do, given the opportunity: making themselves as comfortable as possible, using their day sacks as pillows and grabbing a kip. Lee, Mac and Tim were no exception, and wasted no time in getting their heads down. Chrissie sat on one of the seats and watched the slumbering shapes on the seats and the floors.

How could they be so relaxed? she wondered. She herself was taut with apprehension and, unless things went horribly wrong, no one was going to shoot at
her
. But for these boys, being shot at was part of their job description, along with risking your life and being blown up. She wondered which of these guys, about to fly out with her, would be coming back injured, or worse. As she looked at their young faces, she felt tears form and the back of her nose start to prickle. Hurriedly she blinked and looked out of the window. She mustn't think like that. Strong and professional – that was what was expected of her. She'd managed it in the pre-ops training, and she'd coped with the countless gruesome injuries she'd had to deal with. So given that she was now officially ‘tough', it wasn't going to do anyone any good if other emotions turned her into a snivelling waste of space. Brace up, she told herself.

The time for take-off drew nearer. Chrissie, unlike her male counterparts, unable to sleep, watched what was going on outside. The tailgate had been lowered off the huge Globemaster aircraft, a vast jumbo jet-sized aircraft, with high wings and four monster engine pods suspended underneath, and lights glowed from inside its enormous maw. It was a warehouse with wings, she thought idly, and wondered how on earth such an enormous structure could be held up by air. She vaguely knew about aerodynamics and the theory of lift, but it still didn't seem possible. She watched the dozens of pallets of kit and supplies get pushed up the rollers on the ramp and lashed into place in the cavernous body of the plane by RAF loadmasters. A couple of vehicles had also been driven on, and Chrissie was starting to wonder how the hell they were going to fit on all these people as well.

Despite her own anxiety about the journey, Chrissie was just beginning to feel her own eyes droop with tiredness when there was a tannoy announcement ordering the assembled troops to prepare for embarkation. Around her, the slumbering shapes began to stir, collecting their stuff, yawning, stretching, cracking jokes as if they were about to board a cross-channel ferry. Once again, Chrissie felt her heart jump. This was it.

The doors from the departure hall were thrown open, and the soldiers shuffled forward, once again, to pass through them, out onto the concrete, and head towards the giant plane. No air-bridge for boarding here, at Brize Norton. The straggling lines of troops walked up the ramp, into the enormous tube that was the body of the C17. Two corridors were left either side of the cargo, to allow passage to the front of the aircraft, which was kitted out a bit like a civvy plane, only with some significant differences. There were seats ranged down the sides in line and also rows of seats in the middle. If you focused on the seats in the middle, you might just be able to kid yourself this was a holiday flight. But the instant you took your eyes off those, there was no way this could be an ordinary airliner: there was a cavernous space above the seats, but no overhead lockers, no neat plastic panels to cover up the bleak metal skin, no portholes with twee curtains or blinds, no TVs in the seat backs, no tray tables, no carpet, no galley, no smiling stewards to welcome you aboard. Not that Chrissie had ever flown before, but she'd watched enough episodes of
Airport
and
Come Fly With Me
to know what was what. This might be her first ever flight, but vicariously she'd been around the world. And no way had any airline she'd got to know through the TV had
green
lighting in the cabins. Green was weird. Green was
wrong
. It was all quite surreal, Chrissie decided as she followed Lee to a free row of seats in the centre.

She took her cue from the others and shoved her helmet, day sack and body armour under her seat, before sitting down and buckling up. Somehow, she thought, as she looked about her, she didn't think she was going to be pestered by cabin crew trying to flog her overpriced sandwiches or duty free.

‘You OK?' asked Lee.

Chrissie was agonisingly aware of his presence next to her. For fuck's sake – she'd volunteered for Bastion to get away from him, and now here he was, closer than ever. How ironic was that?

‘Fine,' was all she said. She was going out to Afghanistan to do a job, not to be mates with guys on the ground. She didn't want to be worrying about anyone but herself while she was out there, least of all Lee, and she was going to try not to get any more friendly than was absolutely necessary, before he deployed to work with his multiple and she did some proper nursing.

She jumped at the sound of some clunks and thumps, but realised it was nothing to be worried about when she heard the low whine of a jet engine being fired up. The noises were repeated three more times, until all engines were running, and then there were a few rattles and shakes, and suddenly she realised that the plane was moving. They were off and taxiing towards the runway.

‘We're off,' said Lee.

‘No shit, Sherlock,' said Chrissie with feigned calm. She felt her muscles get more and more tense as the huge plane lumbered along the taxiway towards the end of the runway, bouncing gently as the wings flexed when it passed over the slightest bump. She felt it turn through ninety degrees, pause, then move forward, and as it turned again, the whine from the engine increased to a bone-shaking, mind-numbing roar and then the plane began to hurtle forwards. Chrissie felt herself being thrust back in her seat as the acceleration increased and then zoom, the bouncing stopped as the plane took to the sky and its natural element.

‘Next stop, Afghan,' said Lee. ‘In the meantime, I think I'll get my head down.'

Chrissie knew what he was suggesting was wise, but she reckoned she was far too wound up to follow suit. Even so, with nothing to look at and precious little to do, she shut her eyes and, like all the soldiers around her, she was soon dozing too.

The aircraft intercom bing-bonging woke Chrissie. She glanced at her watch which glowed weirdly in the green cabin lights. Nearly twelve. No, that couldn't be right because she hadn't changed her watch to Afghan time. Oh well, whatever, it was the middle of the night, she thought, only with no portholes to provide a clue, it could have been midday. It was odd not to be able to see out. Not that she had any idea what it
would
be like to see out from a height of thirty thousand feet, but it had to be better than what she was experiencing right now. She promised herself a nice holiday to somewhere exotic when she got back – if she got back. She put that thought out of her mind: of course she'd get back. Maybe Cyprus would be nice. They'd had a stopover in Cyprus and had been allowed off the plane. The air had been warm, the sky blue, and she'd spotted real oranges growing on trees. But, although they'd stopped for ages, they hadn't been allowed out of the terminal at the RAF base before they'd finally re-embarked for the last leg. She'd had no chance to see anything other than the terminal itself, a glimpse of a lagoon and those oranges. Yes, she thought, sun, sand and sea would be a treat to look forward to – assuming she hadn't had enough of sun and sand by the time her tour was over.

Anyway, they must be almost about to arrive. It had been explained to them during the in-flight briefing that for security reasons they would be arriving in the middle of the night.

‘So we can't see how shit-scared the pilot is,' quipped the squaddie who had cast himself as the in-flight entertainment.

Never mind the pilot, thought Chrissie to herself. She reckoned she wasn't going to be too cool about landing in a war-zone herself.

Bing-bong went the tannoy again, just to make sure everyone was awake. Then: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I am sorry to disturb your sleep, but this is to tell you that in a few minutes we will be approaching Camp Bastion. Please don your body armour and helmets. When you have done that and are safely strapped back in your seats, we will black out the aircraft and begin our descent. For those of you who have flown this route before, you know what to expect. For those of you who haven't, please be assured that neither I, Squadron Leader Foulkes, nor my co-pilot, Flight Lieutenant Gurney, have a death wish. The manoeuvres we will be taking are well within the airframe tolerances and designed to minimise any possibility of a surface-to-air enemy attack. If you think you might be prone to motion sickness – and even if you don't – it might be wise to have a sickbag on standby. I hope you enjoy the ride.'

Chrissie's eyes met Lee's and she was almost grateful to see a flicker of worry in his. ‘What manoeuvres, what tolerances?' she asked him. ‘What the fuck did he mean?'

‘Haven't a clue, but we'll be finding out shortly. But I
think
he was trying to tell us the wings aren't going to fall off.'

Chrissie gazed at him, open mouthed. ‘Wings? Fall off?' she squeaked. ‘Thanks, Lee.'

They got their body armour on and fastened the straps of their combat helmets. A couple of minutes later, they were plunged into darkness. Chrissie held her hand in front of her face. Nothing. She touched her nose with her fingers. Not a sausage. When they said blackout, they meant it. Her heart rate began to increase. She had a feeling this was going to be scary and was glad she was clutching a sickbag in her other hand.

Then the plane tipped forward. This hadn't happened when they went into RAF Akrotiri. That had been a gentle glide and her ears had popped intermittently. This was something else entirely; this wasn't a descent, this was a nosedive. Shit, she thought as they plunged, planes weren't meant to fall out of the sky like this. OK, little nippy fighters might do this sort of thing – she'd watched
Top Gun
, she'd seen them strut their stuff – but a huge, fuck-off transport job, a block of flats with wings attached? No way!

The noise of the engines seemed to block out all other sound but, even so, she clenched her teeth to stop herself from screaming as the plummet continued. Then the plane banked violently to the right, followed by a roll to the left. So far in her life Chrissie had experienced just two take-offs and one landing, but even she knew this was way beyond normal. And she didn't care what the pilot had said about tolerances, the wings
were
about to fall off, or maybe they already had. Maybe this was how it had felt on the 747 that had crashed on Lockerbie. S-h-i-i-i-t.

A sour whiff of vomit made Chrissie's stomach churn even more. She clutched her bag and the plane jolted and jounced and continued to dive. At this rate they'd hit the deck any second now. Surely. They'd been plunging earthwards for what seemed like hours. The pilot had lied; he
was
a kamikaze terrorist and they were all doomed. The jinks and jerks seemed to get worse, if anything, as did the smell of sick, and someone was screaming. The engines didn't block out all sound as she'd thought they might, and Chrissie was thankful she'd managed to keep herself under control. But just as she thought that, her resolve crumbled, fear got the better of her and she began to cry. She didn't want to die, but still the nightmare continued, and now it had got to a pitch where she didn't care if it ended in oblivion. Live, die, what the hell: she just wanted peace and an end to this mind-numbing terror.