War Torn

That night, the base came under attack again. 1 Platoon advance party knew where to go and what to do this time. As the rest of the company floundered they slid easily into their positions while the new arrivals dithered.The contact was brief. It consisted of one badly aimed grenade, which almost missed the base completely, and ten minutes of light arms fire.‘You were a fat lot of fucking useless tossers,’ Finn said to the newcomers.‘Better sharpen up a bit,’ Jamie added.It was a while before they had a chance to do so. There were few contacts on patrols through the town or the desert. Attacks on the base were minimal. Each day a small party of contractors, escorted by 3 Platoon, left and came back reporting no threats. And there were no sightings of Emily around the civilian area.‘Because she doesn’t exist,’ Sol said. ‘That’s why.’‘Ever thought the marines were winding you up?’ Jamie said.Lunch had been sausage, egg and chips, Finn’s favourite. He pushed his empty plate away and leaned back in his chair. ‘I’m absolutely sure that Emily is in those isoboxes. She just doesn’t come out much.’‘Well, why doesn’t she come to the cookhouse with the others?’The civilians were becoming a familiar sight in the cookhouse. They generally sat together in one corner with their food and their cans of beer. Their boss, Martyn Robertson, and a few of the others mixed with the soldiers. But most looked as if they’d prefer to have their own cookhouse in their own quarter of the camp.‘Miss Emily work very hard, she mostly take her meals in isobox,’ said a cook, who happened to overhear them. ‘I take her meal over now.’Mal, Angus and Finn looked enviously at the lad. He was small and brown-skinned.‘I go now. You go if you want.’ He held out a tray.‘Go where?’‘You ask questions! You take Miss Emily lunch and you find out answer!’The lad handed Finn the tray.‘Thank you!’ said Finn, balancing it expertly on the tips of his fingers. ‘Miss Emily, here I come . . .’Mal and Angus leaped up to join him.‘Oh no you don’t,’ Finn said.Mal’s expression was deadly serious. ‘We’ll need to form a cordon.’‘I’m the second i/c of your section and you’re staying here. That’s an order, McCall.’ Finn swept out, tray held aloft.The boss came into the cookhouse in time to see Finn waltzing away with the tray. Jamie noticed him smile rapidly at the dark-skinned woman from Intelligence, who was sitting alone. The woman did not smile back.‘Where’s Finn going with that tray?’ Weeks asked as he sat down.Jamie grinned. ‘Undercover.’The boss looked concerned.‘I hope he’s not going to make a nuisance of himself.’Finn still had not reappeared when the others went back to their base duties.‘We’re out on patrol at 1500 hours,’ Sol said. ‘And there’s going to be big trouble if Finny’s not back.’‘He’s probably just helping Emily sync her iPod,’ Jamie said. But neither of them was now so sure that Emily the sex grenade was just a joke.Finn did reappear by the vehicles at precisely 1445, adjusting his clothes and grinning broadly. He winked at Angus and some of the other lads.‘Whoops, I seem to have forgotten something!’ He bent ostentatiously to tie his bootlaces.Sol put his hands on his hips.Finn straightened, beaming and stretching lazily. ‘She just wouldn’t let me go! Fuck me, I could use a cigarette . . .’‘Shut up and get into the wagon, you lazy bastard,’ Dave said.Once the convoy was under way, Finn’s PRR went into meltdown.‘Sorry, lads,’ Finn said. ‘Can’t say too much. Ongoing mission . . .’‘Is she hot?’‘Rocket-propelled, mate. So hot she’s on fire.’‘In your dreams, Finny.’ Jamie shook his head.‘You were right about one thing, Jamie. She’s no grenade. She’s heavy fucking artillery.’‘Lance Corporal Finn,’ Dave snapped, ‘if you don’t can this crap and start looking pretty fucking sharp you’re going to experience some heavy fucking artillery from me.’PRR went silent.

Chapter Seven