War Torn

About an hour after the Chinooks, the convoy of Vectors finally set off, carrying the last of A Company back to Bastion. They roared past the sangar sending up choking clouds of powdery dust, which hung in the air long after the vehicles had disappeared between the town and the mountains.‘Goodbye and good luck,’ Angus McCall muttered insincerely. At lunchtime he’d got into a heated argument with two men from A Company, insisting that Manchester United led the Premier League in 2005. Later, Dave had told him quietly: ‘You were wrong. It was Chelsea. They were defending champions and they won it again.’Angus had looked sheepish. ‘I remembered that halfway through. But I wasn’t going to give in to the bastards.’That night, he booked some phone time with his father. He said: ‘I hate marines.’‘A lot of them are big, strong, brave men,’ his dad said. ‘The sort of man you should be, Angus.’Angus immediately regretted the argument in the cookhouse and thought that he’d probably never be that sort of man, like a marine, like his dad. If he was, he’d have backed down from the Premier League argument and admitted he was wrong.‘Did you know any marines?’‘Course I did. Marines, Paras and . . .’ John McCall dropped his voice. ‘SF.’There was always something in the knowing way his dad talked about Special Forces which made Angus sure his dad had been in the SAS. He knew that John McCall had fought with distinction in the Falklands, although the medals themselves had been stolen many years ago.His parents were divorced and since early childhood he’d spent every Saturday afternoon with his father. From the moment that John McCall turned the sign around in his newsagent’s so that the door read ‘OPEN’ from the inside and ‘CLOSED’ from the outside, Saturdays were war stories, war films, war games. And whenever his dad talked about the SAS, Angus knew that he would apply for Selection himself one day. Even though he was sure he could never be good enough to get in.‘So!’ said John McCall resuming his normal tone. ‘Was the journey to the base OK?’‘Had a contact.’If he’d told his mum that, she would have panicked. But he could hear the shrug in his dad’s voice. ‘Oh, well, start as you mean to go on.’‘Now we’re two men down in my section.’‘Two men down already? What’s the matter with them?’‘One lost a leg, the other had burns.’‘Dear oh fucking dear. They didn’t last five minutes, did they? Where are they now?’‘I had to carry my mate who lost a leg to the helicopter. They were flown to Bastion. Soon as they’re stable they’ll be back to Selly Oak.’‘Helicopter!’ scoffed John McCall. His accent was still strong although he had left Scotland years ago. ‘A helicopter! Sitting there waiting, was it? On the TV they’re always saying you boys haven’t got enough helis. Turns out they’re on hand twenty-four seven. Fuck me, warfare’s changed.’Angus felt himself deflate. Of course his dad was right. All that fear and excitement he’d felt during today’s contact had been sheer cowardice. Because there was always air support waiting to bail you out.‘I was scared,’ he admitted. ‘Until a Harrier came in to sort them out.’‘There you are! You knew a big machine would come and save you! Och, you lads have got it good. I mean . . .’But now the line was breaking up. There had been a two-second delay which meant the men kept talking over each other. Angus lapsed into silence. He wasn’t sure he should have told his father anything about the contact over the satellite phone. John McCall’s voice came and went in his ear.‘I have to finish now, Dad,’ he shouted. ‘I have to ring Mum on this card.’But his father didn’t hear.‘Air support . . . Harrier . . . Goose Green . . . weather conditions . . .’Angus finally hung up.‘All right, mate?’ Corporal Curtis from 3 Section was next in line for the phone.‘Yeah.’ From the day Angus had joined up, conversations with his father had left him feeling flat. He’d thought his father would be ecstatic at his enlistment but he’d received the news quietly. Then, during the passing-out parade at Catterick, Angus had stumbled over his own big feet. It was something he’d never forgive himself for. He’d immediately, anxiously, looked into the crowd, to the place where he knew his divorced parents were sitting together in hostile silence. He’d been in time to catch the look of contempt on his father’s face.