They were halfway across the field when a shot rang out. So much for being safe from snipers. Lee dropped as if he himself had been wounded and his heart rate went mental. No one yelled 'man down', indicating an injury, but instantly there were shouts and commands from the more senior, experienced members of the patrol. For a couple of seconds it seemed as if chaos reigned while the patrol tried to identify the direction of the shot.

'Bravo one four,' bellowed the radio operator into the mic. 'Contact, wait out.'

Lee and the rest of the patrol began to leopard crawl through the tough maize stalks, heading, as near as they could tell, towards where the shot had been fired. Despite his fear, Lee's training had taken over, together with the most powerful feeling that he couldn't let his mates down. The stony soil jagged into his knees and the dry leaves of the corn had razor-sharp edges which slashed at his bare hands, but he ignored the discomfort, as he ploughed on. After a couple of minutes, he could tell he was nearing the edge of the field. He slowed down; the last thing he wanted to do was barrel out into the sniper's line of fire. Carefully, he peered through the stems.

Lee jumped out of his skin, as a machine gun rattled off next to him.

'Ten o'clock, in the treeline,' yelled one of his colleagues.

Lee swivelled, as another bullet cracked past, this time very close. He didn't see where the bullet went, but he was pretty sure he could identify where it was coming from. The crack-thump of the shot had almost no discernible time between the two parts. The crack was the supersonic shock wave in front of the bullet as it pa.s.sed by and the thump was the ordinary sound wave of the rifle actually being fired, which followed like the flash and bang of lightning and thunder. The closer together, the closer the proximity. This crack-thump had been almost simultaneous; the sniper could only be about a hundred yards ahead.

Lee lay as still as he could and peered through the stalks, to try to see a movement. This guy, if he was still in the area, was either stupendously brave or stupendously stupid. How on earth could he possibly hope to survive, when the odds were ten against one? And the odds had just got shorter: Lee could hear the radio operator sending coordinates for some air support. Lee hoped to G.o.d the map reference was correct. He did not want to be picked off by some trigger-happy Apache pilot, mistaking him for the sniper. In this thick vegetation, he had no doubt that they would be relying on thermal imaging, and his signal would be just the same as the other b.a.s.t.a.r.d's. The glow from his body heat on the screen would look no different human was human, no matter if you were a terrorist or not.

Trying not to let his growing feeling of apprehension get the better of him, he lay as quietly as he could, waiting to hear the sound of the approaching chopper. And after a few minutes, because he knew what to listen for, he heard it: barely more than a whisper in the distance. And then, from out of nowhere, the earth a hundred yards ahead of him exploded. The bang was monumental, and the ground Lee was lying on shook and trembled. Lee had had no idea that the h.e.l.lfire missile had been launched, and neither would the sniper. One moment he would have been lying there, trying to get a squaddie in his sights, and the next oblivion. Clods of earth, stones, bits of tree clattered down and, if it had been a direct hit on the gunman, Lee didn't care to think what else.

'All clear,' said the radio operator after a quick exchange with the Apache pilot.

Feeling very shaky, Lee rose to his feet, staggering once again under the weight of his pack.

'What you done, Perkins?' asked the sergeant.

'No idea what you're on about,' said Lee.

'Your leg.'

Lee glanced down. The left leg of his multicam trousers was torn and his knee underneath had a cut, pouring blood. 'No idea, Sarge. Must have cut it on a stone or something, in all the excitement.'

'Get it washed and put a dressing on it.'

The rest of the patrol waited while Lee took off his Bergen, rolled up his trousers and sorted out the worst of his cut. After slathering it in antiseptic cream and putting on a dressing they were ready to set off again.

'You keep an eye on that, Perkins,' ordered Sergeant Adams. 'I don't want to have to send you sick, understand?'

But by the time they got back to base that evening, it was obvious that that was exactly what they were going to have to do. Lee's knee was very painful, to the extent he could hardly walk on it, plus it was red and swollen and pus was oozing from the cut. Their medic took one look at it and declared that he didn't think he had strong enough antibiotics in his kit.

'Besides, boss, there's a chance the infection might spread. If he gets septicaemia it could all go s.h.i.t-shaped really quickly.'

'You'll be going back tomorrow on the supply truck,' said Adams. 'f.u.c.king waste of s.p.a.ce you are. Battle casualty replacement means you're supposed to replace the guy that got injured, nor bring us a new injury to cope with. t.o.s.s.e.r.'

22.

Seb stared at Major Milward across his desk in his office in stunned silence. Finally, he said, 'You're joking.'

'Nope. G.o.d's honest truth. The woman actually made a pa.s.s at me. I mean, if putting your hand on someone's thigh counts as a pa.s.s and it does in my book.'

Seb just managed to choke back the question, 'Why you?' He'd met Jenna, he knew what a stunner she was, and Alan Milward was not babe-magnet material. But then he thought of the note on Perkins' file about Jenna having caused fights in Tommy's Bar. The inference had been very clear: she was free with her favours and not too picky about who with, but Alan Milward...?

Seb brought his thoughts back to the main problem. 'But did she agree to cease trading?' he asked.

'No, but I gave her an ultimatum.'

'Is she likely to abide by it?'

'I don't think she'll be doing hairdressing from her house. Even Jenna Perkins isn't that stupid. She can earn money from hairdressing in the wives' own homes, I can't stop that, but I can stop her from trading from her quarter.'

'I suppose that's fair,' said Seb.

'To be honest, I'd have probably turned a blind eye to it, if it had just been a bit of illicit hairdressing, but she's made unauthorised alterations to her quarter. Straws and camels' backs and all that.'

'And then she made a pa.s.s at you.'

'Indeed. Don't think I'll be telling Cath about that last bit.'

Not if Alan Milward had any sense, thought Seb. He remembered meeting Cath at Susie and Mike Collins's dinner party and the word 'formidable' had been invented for her.

'But I could mention to Cath,' continued Alan Milward, 'that Jenna mightn't be the best person for the officers' wives to go to, if they want to get their hair done. I'm not going to let Jenna Perkins get away with this.'

'Isn't that a bit draconian?' asked Seb, forgetting he'd effectively told his wife exactly the same.

'She broke just about every rule in the book. Plus she's done her d.a.m.nedest to undercut Zo. I had her complaining to me, only the other day, that there is no way she can compete with Jenna if Jenna isn't paying business rates, or VAT, or anything like that. I'm sorry, Seb, but that woman is a liability and she's going to be real trouble.'

'Fair enough,' said Seb.

He couldn't argue with Alan's a.s.sessment. Hadn't he come to much the same conclusion himself? However, he wasn't convinced that Alan would be able to put an end to the problem of Mrs Perkins. 'And what are we going to do about her behaviour towards you?'

'My word against hers, but next time I'll take a woman with me, as a chaperone. I'm pretty certain I'll be going back there. There's going to be a family breakdown to deal with before too long, if that's the way she goes about getting herself out of trouble. Can't see this marriage going the distance, can you?

Seb sighed. Perkins was a b.l.o.o.d.y good soldier and deserved better than this. The last thing he needed, while he was on an operational tour, was to be distracted by problems at home.

'There's a mate of yours, just come in,' said Major Tomlinson, as he entered the ready room where the crew waited on standby. He saw Chrissie's eyes widen in fear and quickly added, 'Minor injury. Nothing to get too excited about.'

'Who?' Chrissie had made friends other than Lee and Phil since being out in Bastion, but the nature of the place was very transitory. Soldiers arrived, did their initial training and then went into Helmand; the people based in Bastion came and went, so she wasn't very close to anyone outside of her MERT and as far as she was aware, everyone in that was alive and kicking.

'Chap called Perkins,' said the major.

'Lee?' Her heart gave a little bounce of pleasure at the thought of seeing him again.

'If that's his name. Got a message to say he's asking for you.'

'Really?'

'The Lee Perkins you vommed over on exercise?' asked Phil Johns, joining in the conversation.

'The one and only,' said Chrissie.

'And he still wants to talk to you?' Phil's face was a picture of incredulity.

Chrissie nodded.

'Must be a head injury,' said Phil.

Chrissie threw her paperback at him. 'f.u.c.k off,' she said amiably. 'Can I go and see him, boss?'

Tomlinson nodded. 'Of course, except if they call Op Minimise while you're away, I want you straight back here.'

Chrissie nodded back. She knew the form well enough now. Op Minimise might well presage a call-out for themselves, and no one would thank her for delaying their departure when minutes, even seconds, counted.

'Anyway,' asked Phil, 'what's Perkins doing here? 1 Herts are still tucked up in Kent.'

'He's a BCR for 2 Herts. Want to come with me? Talk man-talk with him: football and c.r.a.p like that. He'll probably find it more interesting than me banging on about the shortage of soft loo paper, or the lack of Mills & Boons in the camp bookshop.'

Phil laughed at that and arched an eyebrow. 'Not sure I'm the best person to talk about footie, but I promise I'll do my best. Besides, I could do with a leg-stretch. You sure?'

Chrissie nodded, why not? Besides, she didn't want Lee thinking there was anything between them other than a casual friendship, even if her own emotions were doing their level best to undermine her resolve.

The pair made their way through the labyrinth of corridors to the non-acute ward. Lee was in a bed near the entrance. He had a drip in his arm, but other than that he looked remarkably fit, for a hospital case.

'Hi, Lee,' said Chrissie. His face brightened as she pulled a chair out by his bed and sat down. 'This is my mate, Phil. You two have met before he's the guy that sorted me out, after I was taken poorly by the guts on that exercise. Remember?'

Phil stuck his hand out. 'Hi, Lee.'

Lee looked from Chrissie to Phil before he shook it. 'Hi,' he grunted.

'So, what's the matter?' asked Chrissie.

'Infected leg.' Lee flipped off the sheet covering his leg, and Phil and Chrissie peered at his wound. The cut had been st.i.tched but it was still a very angry red and the skin around his knee was inflamed. Between the sutures were yellow beads of dry pus.

'Nasty,' said Chrissie.

'Better than it was,' said Lee, pragmatically. 'And on the bright side, I've had a hot shower, food that isn't compo, a s.h.i.t in a proper lav and a night in a proper bed.'

'Worth the injury, then,' said Chrissie. She tried to ignore the feelings that were surging through her. I am not interested, she told herself firmly. 'How's Jenna?'

'I got a satphone call through to her last week, from the compound. I'm hoping to Skype her while I'm here.'

'That'd be nice. I spoke to Immi the other day, who b.i.t.c.hed about being bored. I told her to get her a.r.s.e out here that'd stop any of that b.o.l.l.o.c.ks.'

It was Lee's turn to laugh. 'Can you imagine Immi and all the blokes here?'

Chrissie chuckled. 'Let's not go there.'

'Who's Immi?' asked Phil.

'A clerk in Battalion HQ,' said Lee. 'You must have seen her around the barracks. Brunette, long legs, big blue eyes...'

'Sometimes brunette,' said Chrissie. 'She changed to that from blond and before that she was a redhead.'

'Oh, her,' said Phil. 'Yes, I know her. Not really my type, though.'

'Really?' said Chrissie archly.

'Not my sort at all. I can see the attraction, though.'

'You must be one of the very few blokes in the battalion who doesn't dream of getting into her knickers. And one of a small group who haven't succeeded,' said Lee. 'Myself excluded. Happily married bloke and all that.'

'Hey,' said Chrissie, 'I know she's got a bit of a reputation, but that was harsh.' But she laughed because although Lee had exaggerated hugely about Immi, it was quite funny.

'Sorry,' said Lee, not looking as if he was in the least.

Chrissie changed the subject. 'When will you be fit to go back?'

'A couple of days, at the most. As soon as they're sure I'm clear of any infection, that'll be it back on the next supply truck.'

An alarm sounded over the tannoy. All movement and conversation on the ward stopped and attention was swivelled to the speaker in the corner.

'Op Minimise, Op Minimise,' said the disembodied voice. 'All personnel are to be aware that Op Minimise is now in force.'

'f.u.c.k,' said Chrissie. 'Gotta go, Lee, we may be needed. Come and find me, when you're up again. I'm with the MERT,' she called over her shoulder, because she was already legging it down the ward with Phil racing behind her.

When they arrived back at their HQ, they found that it was an American team that had been tasked.

'Not one of ours,' said Chrissie, panting but relieved.

'No,' said Phil, 'but it doesn't make it any better, does it?'

Jenna stared at the email. Going 2 try to skype this evening. x.x.x. She wondered why. They'd only spoken on the satphone the previous week, and Lee didn't seem to have had much news then. What else was there to tell her about the minging place he was in, or the rubbish food he got to eat? And she didn't have much to say to him. Besides, what news she did have was hardly good: that the housing commandant had tried to shut her business down, she'd burned her bridges with Zo, and all the appointments she had had in her diary had suddenly been cancelled all the snotty officers' wives who used to queue to get their hair done with her had suddenly decided they couldn't make the dates they'd booked and didn't know when they'd be able to come back. Jenna knew who to blame. Sodding Milward. He was at the bottom of this. He would have put the word out and the wives would have followed like sheep. She'd seen enough of the military to know that wives thought that if they didn't toe the party line, they could wreck their husbands' careers. Frankly, Jenna rather doubted that this was really the case, but they seemed to think it was so. Baa-baa.

So did she really want to break the news to Lee that she was effectively unemployed and unemployable? All that time, money and effort to set everything up, and then one interfering little Hitler and it had all come tumbling down.

Jenna sighed heavily and looked around the sitting room. The payments on the furniture weren't cheap, and the TV had rinsed what was left of Lee's savings after she'd paid for the bathroom. She wondered how she'd be able to juggle the finances so she could honour the credit agreements, and what if she couldn't? She wasn't even going to think about the cost of restoring the bathroom back to its original state not that she had to face that expense till they moved out, but even so. Yes, indeed, a Skype call from Lee was the last f.u.c.king thing she needed tonight.

She considered not switching on her laptop, but Lee would just phone her mobile, using the satphone, so one way or another, she'd end up talking to him. She sighed again. She was being unfair of course she wanted to talk to him, but she just wished she could pick the times when they did. Not that that was possible she understood that. d.a.m.n the army, she thought for about the umpteenth time that day. And d.a.m.n Lee Perkins for being a part of it. It didn't cross Jenna's mind that she'd been the one so keen to marry a soldier and get a quarter that she'd practically frogmarched Lee to the altar.

She reached forward and pressed the b.u.t.ton on the side of her lappie and watched the machine wind itself up. When the screen had settled down, she hit the Skype icon and made sure the volume was switched on, so she'd hear the notification when Lee called. Then she went into the kitchen, got a bottle of Chablis out of the fridge and helped herself to a large gla.s.s. So what that it was only three in the afternoon? There was sod all else to do.

23.