As I lay on the floor, I noticed that my breathing was very shallow now and my heart was pumping more slowly. Everything was slowing down. I could feel myself gradually declining. I couldn’t swallow. Everything was a haze.
I took another blow from the rifle butt. Bubbles of vivid light exploded before my eyes. Then there was darkness.
I was semiconscious when they lifted me back onto the chair.
“Look, Andy, we just need to know some things. Let me do my job. We don’t have to do this. We are all soldiers. This is an honorable profession.” All of this in a low, soft, comforting voice. A sort of “Let’s get it over with, let’s be mates’ sort of tone.
“We could just leave you out in the desert to be eaten by the animals, Andy. Nobody would care, except your family. You’re letting them down, you’re not being brave, you’re just playing into the hands of the people who sent you here. They’re having a good time while people like you and me are fighting each other. You and me, Andy-we don’t want to fight this war.”
I was nodding and agreeing with everything he said, and all the time I was doing it the wonderful feeling was growing inside me that I had actually beaten him. He saw me nodding, but he didn’t know that inside my head my attitude was totally different. I started to feel better about my capture. Everything had felt so negative up till then. I was thinking: He must be believing this crap. He’s chatting away and I’m agreeing with him. I couldn’t believe I was getting away with it. I was on top of this discussion, and he wasn’t even aware of it. I’d got something over him. This could be the start of a wonderful relationship.
I was winning.
“Just tell us, Andy, and we shall send you back to England. What unit are you from?” He made it sound as if he had the power to summon a private jet there and then to whisk me back to Brize Norton.
“I’m sorry, I cannot answer that question.”
This time, as the kicks connected with my skull, there was a hissing, popping sound in my ears, and as I clenched my jaw, I heard the bones creak together. I felt blood trickle out of my ears and down my face. I was worried. Blood coming out of your ears is not a good sign. I thought, I’m going to be left deaf. Shit, I was only in my early thirties.
“What unit are you with?”
I was hoping desperately that he’d get on to something else, but he wasn’t going to let go.
I said nothing.
“Andy, we are not making much progress.”
Bizarrely, the voice was still soft and chummy.
“You must understand, Andy, I have a job to do. We’re not getting very far, are we? There is no big problem, just tell us.”
Silence.
More kicks. More punches. More screams.
“We already have this information from your friend, you know. We just want to hear it from you.”
That was a lie. He’d have got jack shit out of Dinger. Dinger was harder than me; he wouldn’t have said a word. The reason he had got himself so badly filled in was probably because he’d treated them like anybody else he didn’t like the look of and told them to fuck off.
“You must understand, I’m a soldier,” I said. “You’re a soldier, too-you must understand I can’t tell you this.”
I was trying to get some affiliation, I was trying to put it over in a sobbing, pathetic way. I hoped to appeal to their own traditional fear of loss of face.
“My family would walk around in shame for the rest of their days,” I cried. “They would be disgraced, I’d be discredited for ever. I just can’t tell you these things, I can’t.”
“Then Andy we have a big problem. You’re not telling us what we need to know. You’re not helping the situation, you’re not helping yourself. You could be dead very soon, for something that means nothing to you. I want to help you, but there are people above me who don’t want to do that. Admit it,” he said, in the tone of my best mate giving me advice. “You are an Israeli, aren’t you? Come on, admit it.”
“I’m not an Israeli,” I sobbed. “Look-I’m not dressed like an Israeli. This is British uniform, and you’ve seen my identification tags. I’m English, this is British uniform. I don’t know what you want from me. Please, please. I want to help. You’re confusing me. I’m scared.”
“This is stupid.”
“You’ve got my identification tags, you’ve seen that I’m English. I’m scared of what you’re saying.”
His tone suddenly changed. “Yes, we have your identification tags, you haven’t,” he exploded angrily.
“You’re who we say you are, and as far as we’re concerned you’re an Israeli. If not, why were you so near Syria? What were you doing? Tell me, tell me, what were you doing?”
Even if I’d wanted to answer, he wasn’t giving me time. He hit me with a nonstop torrent of questions and raging rhetoric. “You mean nothing to us! You’re nothing, nothing!”
It must have been fun in his house. The kids wouldn’t have known if he was coming or going.
What do I do now? I asked myself.
Let’s get back to the Israeli thing.
A dread was creeping into my mind concerning Bob. Bob had tight, curly black hair and a large nose. If he was captured or they found his body, he could be taken as Jewish.
“I’m British.”
“No, no, you’re Israeli. You are dressed like commandos
“Everybody in the British army wears this uniform.”
“You’ll die soon, Andy, for being so stupid, for not answering simple questions.”
“I’m not Israeli.”
It had got to the stage where I was having to remember what I’d been saying and what I had not been saying, because I knew that if these things were being written down-and I could hear the scribbling-I was going to get myself into severe shit.
Let’s keep on the Israeli thing. Maybe if this character keeps on talking to me, we can get a relationship going. Him and me. He’s mine. He’s my interrogator. He just might} | take pity on me.
“I’m a Christian, I’m English,” I set off again. “I don’t even know whereabouts in Iraq I am, let alone if I’m near Syria. I don’t want to be here. Look at me, I’m scared.”
“We know you’re an Israeli, Andy. We just want to hear it from you.
Your friend has already told us.”
I thought, Dinger looks like he could be a bit Jewish also, with his tight, wiry blond hair.
“You’re commandos.”
In their army only commandos wear DPM.
“We’re not! We’re just ordinary soldiers.”
“You’ll die for being so stupid. All we want is simple answers from you. I’m trying to help you. These people want to kill you. I’m trying to save you. How do you expect me to do that if you’re not helping me? We want you to answer these questions. We need to hear it from you. You want to help us, don’t you?”
“Yes, I want to help.” I was sobbing again. “But I can’t help you if I don’t know anything.”
“You’re so stupid.” The voice was aggressive, but he mixed some compassion with it. “Why aren’t you helping us? Come on, I’m trying to help you. I don’t want you to be in this situation any more than you do.”
“I want to help you, but I’m not an Israeli.”
“Just tell us and we’ll stop. Come on, you’re so stupid, aren’t you? What’s the matter? We’re civilized people. But I need you to tell me that you’re an Israeli. If you can’t tell me that, then tell me why you’re so near Syria?”
“I don’t know where I am.”
“You’re near Syria, aren’t you, so just tell me. These people will kill you. Your friend’s okay, your friend has told us. He will live, but you’re going to die, for something stupid. Why die? You’re stupid.”
I heard his chair scrape on the floor. I was trying to take in what was going on without showing that I could focus. I was physically wrecked. I was hoping for just the slightest hint of humanity in this man. Shit, I could always turn the waterworks on so easily as a kid, win my aunties round, and get a packet of crisps. What was wrong with these people?