Desert Heat & Native Tongue

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Wilkes and the rest of the platoon dismounted the Mastiff vehicles and entered the Forward Operating Base that would be their home for most of the next six months. He had mixed feelings—the sense of trepidation he always got when he left the relative safety of Camp Bastion, immense relief to be out of Hunter’s clutches, and also happiness to be with a group of people he liked, doing a job he loved. Sometimes it was easy to lose sight of that fact—he did enjoy what he did for a living. It had its ups and downs, but so did every job. He’d yet to meet a single person who didn’t have a single complaint about their job or career.

Passing through the gates, he greeted the sentries, exchanging a few extra words with a rifleman he’d met on an exercise in the UK, then headed into the compound. It wasn’t huge, but the HESCO-block surrounded, barbed wire-topped camp was now home.

Immediately, he spotted the officer he was to replace —another young captain undoubtedly delighted to be heading home at the end of his tour—and strode over. Captain Tom Wolfe spotted him and grinned, turning to face his replacement with his hand outstretched.

“Wilkes? Good to see you, albeit very briefly.”

Wilkes grasped Wolfe’s hand. “You too. Got time to give me an update on the situation before you head off? I can’t believe this screw up—we’re a bloody week late coming out here. So much for a crossover period.”

Looking out through the camp’s gate toward the waiting vehicles, Wolfe said, “Absolutely. We’ve a lot to discuss and not much time.”

Smiling, Wilkes replied, “Great.”

Without another word, the two men headed for the mess tent, grabbed a cup of tea each and settled down at one of the tables. Wilkes dumped his bag down by his feet.

“So, how’s it been?” he asked.

Wolfe pursed his lips. “Quiet, actually. I wondered if the insurgents might get cocky again now they know we’re pulling out. But on the other hand, perhaps they’re on best behaviour until we’re actually gone. Can’t see them wanting to give us any reason to linger.”

Taking a sip of the sub-par tea, Wilkes replied, “Well, let’s hope the latter is true. A quiet six months to top up my tan would be nice. Looks like you’ve done a good job with yours.”

“Yep,” Wolfe shot back, admiring his outstretched arm, “been in my bikini every day, turning over every half hour to make sure my colour is even. I’ve even been swimming in the river, to cool myself down.”

Wilkes swallowed his tea quickly before he spluttered it everywhere. You wouldn’t wash your dog in the local rivers, never mind go swimming in them. “Sounds like heaven. I can’t wait to get started.”

Smirking at each other, they sipped at their drinks for a few moments. A few other soldiers filed in, both from the platoon that was leaving, and the one that was replacing them. It seemed they were doing their own hasty handovers, making the most of the situation that poor planning had put them in.

“Don’t get too comfortable, lads!” Wolfe shouted. “Get a drink down ya, go and take care of your business, then get ready to go. We’re just having a quick debrief.”

There were murmurs of agreement, and the two captains returned their attention to each other, making a concerted effort to hide their smirks. “Right,” Wolfe said quietly, “suppose we’d better actually do that handover, eh?”

Wilkes nodded.

“Okay, well, as I said, it’s been quiet. We’ve mostly been patrolling the village, talking to the people, checking in with the police, the schoolteachers, you know the drill. We heard a couple of murmurs about attacks on the FOB, but nothing came of it, thankfully. Could have been idle gossip, or maybe information deliberately disseminated to keep us on our toes. Either way, we haven’t seen hide nor hair of an insurgent for months. Probably all holed up in the mountains with their Paki friends.”

Letting all the information sink in, Wilkes nodded again. “Well, let’s hope it stays that way for the next six months, eh? Then we can all bugger off home and let them get on with it.”

“Which is what they’ve wanted all along.”

“Any aggro from the locals?”

“Nah, not really. Most of them know what’s good for them, know we’re there to protect them. We’ve had the occasional insult from a youth or two, but they’re all mouth.”

“For now. Won’t be long before they’re joining up with their fathers and brothers and plotting to bomb the s**t out of the infidels.”

“Probably. But the main thing is, the important folk are on our side—the tribal elders, the police, the politicians. If they hear any whispers, they’ll let you know.” Wolfe paused, looking around. “Your terp here yet?”

Wilkes glanced around the tent. “Should be here somewhere. Picked him up at Bastion this morning. He’s a nice guy, Balkhi.” Just then, the man in question entered the mess. “Ah, there he is.” He tried not to stare at the Tajik as he came in with what he assumed was Wolfe’s interpreter—given they were the only two not in uniform.

Too late—Balkhi’s deep brown eyes met with Wilkes’ blue ones, and they exchanged a nod of acknowledgement before turning back to their respective opposites. Wilkes fought to slow his racing pulse and keep his mind on task.

“All right, is he?” Wolfe queried.

“W—what do you mean?” Wilkes asked, probably a little too quickly. Christ, had he gone and outed himself with a single glance?

“The terp. I said is he all right? Good, like.”

“Oh.” Relief seeped into Wilkes’ brain. Calm down, you moron. “Well, I dunno, really. Only met him a few hours ago. As I said, he seems like a nice guy. And this isn’t his first tour. Don’t know how many he’s been on, but he’s no newbie, so I assume he’s good.”

Narrowing his eyes at Balkhi, Wolfe said, “Yeah, I think I may have seen him before, actually. I’ve not worked with him, but I’ve probably seen him in passing, either here or at Bastion. Mine’s been a good ‘un, I have to say.” He pointed with his chin toward the other Afghan. “Old Juma Zazai there. Professional, quick, keeps his cool. Couldn’t have asked for better, to be honest. Trouble is,” he lowered his voice again, “you’re the last lot coming out here, and you’ve already got your terp, so that poor fucker is essentially out of a job. He hides it pretty well, but it’s obvious he’s worried about what’s going to happen next.”

“His family isn’t supportive?” Wilkes knew the score—the British Army had recruited interpreters from all over the country to help them communicate with locals, and often when they returned to their villages, they were vilified. Even if their families were okay with them helping the Brits, there was usually at least one local radical wanting to string them up for helping the “infidels.”

Wolfe shrugged. “Far as I can tell, his dad’s dead. His mother and sisters are okay with it—probably because it’s his damn wages putting food in their mouths. But his grandparents aren’t happy, and they’ve got links with some crazy bastards who’d sooner execute him than let him return to the village and get on with his life. I dunno what he’s going to do—whether he’ll get his mother and sisters out and go and live somewhere else, or whether he’ll strike out on his own. Feel damn sorry for him, to be honest.”

Sucking his teeth, Wilkes replied, “Can’t he apply for a British passport or anything? I’ve seen some of this sort of stuff on the news, and heard about it from others, but not actually known a terp it’s happened to. He’s done us a huge favour, least we can do is keep him safe.”

“I know.” Wolfe’s tone was resigned. “I’ve mentioned it to him, and told him that I’ll do anything I can to help him out, but he seems to be playing his cards very close to his chest. I can’t force him to do anything, can I?” Gulping the rest of his tea, he put the paper cup down a little too hard, crushing the bottom and causing the dregs to leak onto the table. Grumbling, he swiped the liquid up and wiped his wet hand on his combats.

“No, mate,” Wilkes said carefully, “you can’t. Sounds to me like you’re already doing everything you can to help the bloke. I just hope he takes your advice.”

“Yeah, me too. You done with that?” He indicated Wilkes’ cup.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Grabbing both empty cups, Wolfe dumped them in the nearest bin, then returned to the table, but didn’t retake his seat. “Look, I’d better get a shift on. We want to be back at Bastion before it gets dark. It may be quiet, but I’m not taking any risks with my men.”

“Of course not. Go on, mate, you get off. Thanks for the info, and safe trip home. Sorry we didn’t have longer to handover.”

Shrugging, Wolfe said, “It’s not your fault. Cheers. Look after yourself.” He gave Wilkes a meaningful look before heading out of the mess, yelling to his platoon to get a move on as he did so. There was lots of shuffling of chairs and feet, and a hubbub of voices as the soldiers hurried out after their boss, eager to get on with their long journey back home, to their partners, family and friends.

Wilkes watched Juma Zazai exchange some final words with Balkhi before taking his leave. Shaking his head sadly, he hoped the poor guy would find a solution to his shitty problem. For God’s sake, why couldn’t people just live and let live? Deep down, he knew they never would, but he could live in eternal hope.