Page 1 of Conflict

PROLOGUE

JAMIE

It’s seven in the morning, and I’m bone tired. I’d give anything for a peaceful night’s sleep right now, but that’s a long way off. I’m up, washed, dressed and ready for the day ahead.

Tom, my best friend and comrade, slaps me on the back as he sits beside me to eat breakfast. “Morning, Spooky.” Rows of personnel are packed onto the bench seats that fill the tent, all hungry and need feeding before they go about their daily routine. The smell of body odour intermingles with the smell of the bacon and eggs and hangs in the air, along with the sound of soldiers tucking into their breakfast. The freezing night temperature abates as the early morning sun heats the canvas. Light-hearted banter soon rises around the cookhouse, everyone’s more awake now their stomachs are full. It’s not all doom and gloom. Daily life is pretty much the same as it would be anywhere else in the world, doing any job; the only difference is we’re on deployment in Afghanistan.

“It’s poker night, you joining us?” Tom asks me around a mouthful of scrambled egg and toast. “Seven thirty, if you’re in. I’ve got to message Scarlett first though; she’ll get twitchy if I don’t.”

I shake my head as I chuckle at an image of Scarlett that instantly pops into my head. She’s feisty for sure, twitchy is an understatement. She’ll go full-on batshit crazy if her brother doesn’t check in with her. “Say ‘hi’ from me when you call home.” I scoop the last forkful of beans into my mouth before I stand to leave the table. I’ve got around five minutes before I need to be in the truck, that gives me enough time to text my mum. I haven’t contacted home in a few days now, and although she doesn’t expect me to contact her daily when I’m away, I like to as much as possible. I know it puts her mind at rest. “I’ll be back in five, don’t leave without me.” I joke. There’s no chance in Hell of those trucks leaving until we’re all loaded in and ready to patrol the local area.

The messaging with Mum goes on longer than I envisaged. I can sense the relief in her words, that I’ve thought to contact her and I feel a little guilty that I didn’t bother yesterday. I promise to ring her later as I tell her I’m short on time and should’ve been out on patrol two minutes ago.

As I race through the base in the direction of the line of waiting Land Rovers, the early morning sun beats down on me, it’s going to be another scorcher of a day. They’ll have my arse if I’m any later. “Come on, Kasper!” Tom bellows from the gun position of the first vehicle. “You’re driving the second vehicle now, dickhead.” I flick him the bird as I fling open the driver’s door of the second Land Rover and climb in. As I turn the ignition and bring the truck to life, Scotty farts and fills the cab with noxious gas. “Seriously? You smell like something has crawled up your arse and fucking died.” I complain before I switch to mouth breathing. The lads in the back of the truck howl with laughter.

The first and last vehicles signal they’re ready to go and we begin the first tour of the day. All three trucks move slowly towards the base’s exit checkpoint. I watch as Tom’s truck iswaved through the barrier. All my senses are now heightened as my mind focuses on the task in hand. My vehicle is waved through the barrier next; I pull the truck out onto the dusty road and settle in line, at the required distance, behind Tom’s Landy. The sun blinds me, I’m forced to slip my sunglasses over my eyes so I can focus on the journey ahead. I scan the landscape, always on the lookout for even the slightest threat. The road to the nearest town is quiet as usual, and I settle a little as the nervous energy calms somewhat.

It’s day ninety-eight of two hundred. I’ve travelled this road a few times now, I know the terrain like the back of my hand, this journey should take us just over twenty minutes. That’s if we don’t encounter any snags along the way. I continue to survey the road ahead, the safety of the team rests with me today. We pass through these cornfields every day, and it unnerves me every damn time. The vegetation provides the perfect cover for the enemy, you can never be certain that there isn’t anyone hiding amongst the crops. Even the slightest breeze causes the sway of the almost six-foot crops, but I know the guys up top are scanning the fields, guns ready to take out any insurgents. The farmers work hard but always stop to acknowledge us with a wave or a salute of some sorts. They’ve come to appreciate why we’re here.

We’ve just passed the first cornfield and are approaching the crossroad when my concentration is sharply interrupted. The scene that plays out in front of me sends my world into turmoil. My hands grip the steering wheel tightly as sweat drips down my back, and I watch helplessly as Tom’s truck flies slowly through the air. Dust jets from every nook of the vehicle, a deafening thunderclap of noise, and a billowing cloud of dust follows. Shockwaves rock through my body. I’m instantly dislodged from normal time as my foot slams down on the brake causing the vehicle to skid sideways as I bring my truck to a sudden halt. Meand Scotty are jolted forwards, Scotty’s head makes contact with the windscreen as I’m jolted forwards against the steering wheel. The early morning light angles weirdly through the armoured windscreen of Tom’s truck as it appears to float above the road before crashing back to the ground on its roof in a hot, mangled mess. My blood runs cold as my heart hammers violently against my ribcage. The roof is crushed, the doors blown off and all six of the servicemen that were in the vehicle are now scattered lifelessly across the road.

CHAPTER 1

JAMIE

My eyes are focused on the little coloured squares of light that have formed a chequered pattern on the pristine carpet in the foyer. The weight I’m bearing on my left shoulder is nothing compared to the heaviness that seems to have settled and taken up residence in the centre of my chest. Absentmindedly, I shuffle my body weight, trying to ease the discomfort. The low growl that’s emitted from my surrounding colleagues and friends makes me realise my actions have caused them to readjust their positions, too. There’s no time to apologise, though, as the double doors to the church glide open, and we’re suddenly swamped with the sound of Dire Straits, Brothers in Arms; it takes my breath away, and for a split second, my brain freezes and floods with images I could do without right now. Memories of happier times mingle with those of destruction as sadness washes over me, all-consuming.

With a sharp shake of my head, I try to dislodge the memories for now and focus on the task in hand. As I hold my head high, I fix my gaze on the funeral director who stands to my left, just out of view of the gathered mourners. He nods his head once and we set off unhurriedly, in unison, carrying our brother on his final tour of duty.

It’s only a short distance from the doorway down the central aisle that we have to carry Tom, thankfully. But my mind is filled with memories from better times. I remember happier times with my mate, like the day we enlisted. We hadn’t told our families what we intended to do, instead we just headed off to the recruitment office. Our heads filled with ideas of glory and exaltation at the thought of serving our country. We’d come home heroes, having saved the world from mass destruction, or so we thought. There was no deterring us, but we were stupid and eighteen. The world was at our feet. My mum wasn’t surprised when I arrived home and handed her the papers that indicated I’d signed away the next two years of my life. Tom’s parents were distraught though, I remember there being lots of pleading on their behalf for him to reconsider but he was adamant he was doing the right thing.

Our passing out parade was another matter, though. His parents and my mum sat on the front row of seats, proud as punch as we marched past in pristine dress uniform. I think I saw his dad shed a tear, along with both our mums.

Now, the tears are for a different reason.

I’m acutely aware of all the eyes fixed on us as we continue to make our way gradually towards the front of the church, aiming for the bier where we need to place Tom, at the end of the aisle. The gentle sobs and sniffling begin to drown out the music as we near the end of our responsibility for the morning. This is the bit I’ve worried about the most; moving the casket that contains my best friend, from my shoulder to the stand without dropping him. Dropping him would be a really shitty thing to do. The sweat beads at my forehead, the collar of my shirt feels too tight but there’s nothing I can do in this moment other than try to put it out of my mind. I shoot a look across at my comrade, who is gripping the opposite handle of Tom’s casket with an iron fist. With silent instruction passing between us, weshift our position in unison again. My palms are sweaty as my heart pounds heavily in my chest, and the blood swirls around my ears, it’s enough to distort the gentle sobs that threaten to envelop me. There’s a slightly worrying moment when the weight of the casket shifts suddenly, and the breath hitches in my throat. I needn’t have worried though, in one smooth, careful movement, Tom is moved from his lofty position above us and set to rest on what I now realise is a mini conveyor belt that leads a short distance towards a small curtained area at the rear wall of the old church. Thankfully, it’s cleverly disguised with its sumptuous red velvet frills and drapes, which cover the mechanics. My stomach churns with nerves, the bile rises up my throat. I gulp in large volumes of air in the hope of suppressing the vomit. We all know what happens behind that little red curtain, but I’m not sure if now is the time we need to be reminded of it.

With the military precision we’ve had drilled into us for years, we all step back and salute our friend before turning on our heels. Our steps are in time as we move smoothly away from the coffin. We’ve practised this manoeuvre over and over again for the last few days, the six of us wanting to make sure we do him proud.

I think we have. I hope we have.

This should be a full military send-off with all guns blazing, but instead, we had to apply for fucking permission to wear our dress uniform as a mark of respect. It feels like we had to fight for the right to pay tribute in uniform, and in this moment, I’m angry that Tom’s been denied his full honours. He died a soldier, he’s still our brother. But his parents wanted a slightly lower key affair, and I, for one, have to respect their decision. A wave of dizziness overcomes me as the back of my throat burns, and I fear for a second, I may throw up or faint. I also realise I’m still holding my breath as my lungs fight to regain their use. Strong;I have to be the strong one. The thought plays over and over in my head, I blow out the stale air and allow myself to breathe in again, it gives me the courage to take my place amongst the congregation.

Tom’s family don’t need to deal with my emotion today, they have their own sorrow. As I pass the end of the first row of seats, I aim to take my place on the second row behind Tom’s parents, Tom’s dad reaches out and grips my arm with his vice-like fingers, he stops me in my tracks. Without words he indicates for me to take a seat next to him on the front row of mourners. “It’s only right, son. You’re family to us.”

Jack has always been like a father to me, in the absence of my own, who saw fit to leave me, my brother and my mother when I was just a toddler. I’ve never known why he left, only that he did. My mum won’t talk about it, and as he’s never taken the time to contact me since. He isn’t worth a second thought in my book. I owe my mum that much. She could have found someone else and moved on with her life, but instead, she poured all her energy into raising me and my older brother, Charlie. There’s only eighteen months between us, but man, are we different. I apparently look like my father, tall and quite big build, with dark hair, I’m also told I have his dark, brooding eyes. My brother takes after my mum, shorter in stature and fairer in skin and hair colour. Charlie is the sensible one, the go-getter, the one who excelled at school and life in general. Me, I’m the risk taker. If there’s a wrong way to do something, you can guarantee that’s the way I’ll try it. Mum always said if she’d had a pound for every time the school called her about me, then she’d be rich. But what’s life for if it’s not for living?

As the vicar stands to address the assembled flock, Jack leans in to pat my knee, squeezing slightly as he does to show his gratitude and support. I try not to crumble, Jack Wood has lost a son, Scarlett has lost her brother. And I’ve lost my best friend,my brother in every way possible except by birth. The thought that I’ll never hear him laugh or enjoy a beer with him again weighs heavy on my mind, my fingertips rub at the bridge of my nose to ease the thoughts from my head.

I’m vaguely aware of the vicar rambling on and on about things that seem irrelevant to Tom. It all sounds acutely impersonal and generic, but who am I to point that out? My gaze wanders before I finally settle on the oversized, ornately framed photo of Tom in his dress uniform, which sits atop the oak casket. It irritates me that people do that now, it just serves to remind me that my twenty-four-year-old best mate is dead inside that wooden box. A thought I’d rather not have invade my brain right now. I lower my focus to the highly polished brass handles that adorn the wooden box. Will they burn those, too, or will someone remove them before the actual cremation? Jesus, what the hell is wrong with me? As I sit here, I can’t help but think Tom would have hated this, all the weeping and wailing, he’d want us to celebrate his life, not mourn his death. But I guess funerals are for the ones who get left behind, not the one who’s died.

As I glance around the church, the colours of the flowers all blur into one and merge together. It’s then that I realise my cheek is wet and swiftly swipe my fingers along it, drying it quickly. I can almost hear my best friend’s voice belittling me for the show of emotion, a small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth before I have chance to keep it in check. The swift pat on my knee brings me back to the here and now instantly, Jack needs to make his way to the alter to give his eulogy. As he squeezes past me, he indicates for me to take care of his wife, Tom’s mum. Oh shit. Her face is buried in a wad of tissues, they’re doing nothing to muffle the sounds of her distressed sobs. I shuffle down the bench, my arm finds its way around her shoulders, as I try to offer some comfort. Julia Wood sagsinto me, and the decibels she’s emitting increase. My large frame almost engulfs her completely, she’s a small woman, and she’s buried into my side so tightly it’s as though my heart is beating for the both of us. All I can do is make stupid shushing noises and rub my hand up and down her arm. It’s inadequate at best but it’s all I’ve got. Tom’s sister, Scarlett sits on the other side of their mum, her expression is vacant as one of her friends grips her hand tightly in her lap, offering support. It’s all any of us can do today.

My only way of coping is to block out all of Jack’s words and focus on the carpet beneath my feet, if I don’t, I’ll never survive this nightmare. Nobody enlists expecting to die but if they do, they expect it to be in a war zone. That’s the accepted way out, defending your country and your fellow countrymen. I feel like I’ve let him down, betrayed him somehow. I shouldn’t have stopped to message home that morning, then I’d have been right where I should have been, driving the Land Rover that got blown up and we’d be in this Hell together.

I wouldn’t have had to watch my best friend die.

CHAPTER 2

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