“Yes, sir.”
I saluted and headed back. I hadn’t really unpacked, so it didn’t take long to lay out what I needed for the next few days. But when I felt the crinkle of paper in my pocket from Caro’s letter, I knew what I had to do.
I was going to try my damndest to make it back, but it was never guaranteed and this mission .... I wanted to come back, I wanted to live, more than I ever had in my whole life. But if I didn’t…
I pulled out a small notebook and stub of pencil and started to write, the words coming painfully, not just because I was out of practice with putting lines on paper.
Caro, my love,
Just writing these words makes me happier than I can remember being for a very long time—ten years, in fact.
I’m not one for words—I leave that to you—my beautiful, talented Caro. But we’ve had the news we were waiting for and soon we’ll be heading out. I hope you never read this letter, but if you do, it means I’ve gone on to the next big adventure.
Knowing that you are in the world and wearing my ring, makes me the happiest man alive, and the last two weeks have been the best and happiest of my whole life.
Be happy, Caro, because that’s what you deserve.
I love you, I have always loved you, and wherever I go after this world, I will always love you. Sempre e per sempre.
Sebastian
Then I folded it up and went to the comms room to scrounge an envelope from Chiv.
He was checking over his portable Satcomms radio.
“Are you coming with us, man?”
He nodded, his face serious. “And that ain’t all. The boss is steamin’ ‘cause some ANA just turned up and he’s been ordered to send them with us.”
“What the fuck? Seriously? This is supposed to a fucking top secret mission!”
“I know. Grant ain’t happy, but the orders have come from HQ, so we’re stuck.”
“Shit!” I rubbed my forehead.
“Well, yeah,” he sighed. “Fuckin’ top brass for ya.” Then he glanced across. “You need an envelope for that letter?”
My gaze dropped to the sheet of notepaper in my hand.
“Yeah.”
He didn’t need to ask why I wanted it, he just handed one over.
I thought for a moment about what name to write on the envelope. And then, with a small smile on my face, I wrote, Carolina Hunter.
I really liked the sound of that.
We headed out twenty minutes later, two ANA guys following us. Neither seemed interested in talking and we were also moving too fast for conversation. We were all uneasy at the thought of having them with us, knowing that Grant didn’t want them anywhere near this op.
We were in Now Zad in the first place to make contact with Gal Agha. If I could get him onside, he’d bring us to one of the Taliban leaders so we could take him out. For all we knew, the ANA men could be spies.
That’s why Military Intelligence wanted me, because they were worried about using local interpreters for a sensitive op.
We headed out into the mountains, prepared for it to take a day to meet the contact, another half a day to meet with our contact, and if things went well, take out the target, too. Then a day and a half back—that was the plan.
As soon as we were past the foothills, the path rose steeply. We couldn’t go as fast as we wanted because we were still checking for IEDs or ambushes ahead of us. The safest route was usually to follow goat tracks, but the rest was down to dumb luck. And then our ANA colleagues kept stopping for prayers, rolling out their mats, facing east and telling Allah what good guys they were. Okay, that sounds shitty, but we were in a hurry and being out in the open made us all nervous.
We spent the first night an hour’s walk from the village where we’d meet Gal Agha. The ANA kept to themselves and we had a cold camp, not wanting to risk lighting a fire.
Then we woke before dawn and made the last three mile hike into the village.
I knew right away that something was wrong—it was just too damn quiet. There was nobody in the fields, no one sitting outside their houses, no one getting ready for the day. We were all on edge.
I went ahead with the ANA guys and they were calling for Gal Agha to come outside. I mean, what the fuck? Not what anyone would call stealthy!
Then this skinny old guy came out from behind one of the buildings and he was talking really fast and he looked fucking terrified.
He stuttered and stammered, and I realized he was quoting from the Qur’an.
“Those who disbelieve, theirs will be a severe torment; and those who believe in the Oneness of Allah and do righteous good deeds, theirs will be forgiveness and a great reward of Paradise.”
His pupils were dilated with fear, and then I noticed that his robes were covered by a heavy winter coat in the middle of the fucking summer. And I knew—I just knew that he’d been turned into a human bomb.
“Get back! He’s a fucking suicide bomber! He’s…”
But then I felt like I’d been punched in the shoulder. I stared in disbelief as my M16 fell in the dust, and blood started to spread across my shoulder and chest. I sank to my knees and saw Chiv running toward me.
“Medic!” he yelled. “Medic!”
More shots punctured the air, and I stared up groggily to see that one of the ANA guys had tried to take me out, then shot his colleague and turned his rifle on the rest of the squad. The firefight started and I could hear Jankowski yelling at the contact to get down. I tried to say the words in Pashto, but nothing came out.
Jankowski aimed his rifle at the guy, flanked by a kid called Jez. They both took aim.
Without warning, there was an explosion and I felt a blow on my leg that flung me through the air. I hit the ground and all the breath rushed out of my lungs. I felt like I was drowning. As I stared up, Chiv and Jankowski disappeared in a haze of blood and tattered flesh.
That was the last thing I saw.
I was dreaming about her again.
That was nothing new. I dreamed about her every night. I tried to wash away the memory in whiskey. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes I woke up in bed with a woman I didn’t remember meeting, let alone fucking.
Shit, this was one helluva hangover: everything hurt. I tried to move my head, but it felt like someone had filled it with concrete and then encased it in lead. I tried to move my right hand, but I couldn’t lift it. Then I tried to move my left and a bolt of pain shot through me.
Flashes of memory flickered like an old black-and-white movie, but I wasn’t sure if they were memories or dreams. Had Caro really come back into my life, or was I hung-over as fuck in my shitty apartment in Geneva?
My eyelids shuttered open and I blinked in the harsh light. Nope, definitely not Geneva.
The room was white and sterile, and I was surrounded by screens and monitors. Huh, a hospital room?
I gazed down at the thin sheet covering me. I had a box-like frame over my legs.
There was a beeping noise that was annoying the shit out of me.
Suddenly, like a door opening, I remembered: the village, the bomber, being thrown through the air.
And I knew I was in a hospital, in Afghanistan and nothing had been a dream. I guess that when real life decides to smack you between the eyes, you don’t have any fucking choice.
Chiv? Jankowski?
I closed my eyes with one clear thought in my mind: Caro.
When I woke up again, an older guy in green scrubs was standing over me.
“Welcome back. You had us worried there for a while. Do you know where you are, son?”
I tried to speak, but my mouth was bone dry. I wanted to lick my lips, but my tongue felt thick and heavy.
The guy turned around to speak to someone, and a woman in blue scrubs put a couple of ice chips in my mouth. They felt like heaven.
“Doc?” I managed to croak.
The man’s eyes smiled. “That’s right. You’re in the field hospital at Camp Leatherneck. You’ve been here for five days.”
“Doc,” I croaked again, “have I still got my balls?”
He grinned. “Everyone asks that. Yes, you do, son.”
I closed my eyes, relieved
“My legs? Anything missing?”
“Well, you’ve lost some muscle mass from your right quadriceps and adductor muscles—your right thigh. It’s a very deep wound caused by shrapnel, and the femur is fractured. You were also shot in your left shoulder and had a collapsed lung. You’ve got some nerve damage, resulting in loss of fine motor function. We’ll know more in a few days.”
I was struggling to understand him: shot and blown up? Fuck me.
“You were comatose when you were brought in with severe blood loss,” the doctor went on. “We medically induce a coma when there’s brain swelling; you had blood poisoning and...” He stopped speaking suddenly as I tried to take it all in.
My brain creaked and whirred, and more memories came back in flashes. I wished they hadn’t.
“The guys who were with me? Chiv and Jankowski?”
The doctor’s eyes flickered away from me. I knew then that it wasn’t good news.
“They didn’t make it. I’m sorry.” He paused. “But the rest of your Unit were EVACD safely…”
I screwed my eyes shut, the pain of surviving was sudden and unbearable.
“You’ll be alright, son. You made it.” He patted my arm and forced a smile. “And if my girlfriend looked like yours, I’d be making a miraculous recovery, as well.”
“Caro?” I whispered, confusion tangling my thoughts into tight knots.
He nodded. “She’s been here every day. We could barely get her to leave long enough to eat. She’ll be back soon.”
“Caro,” I said again.
My eyes closed, but I was smiling.