Prologue
The smoke is thick, spiralling up through the hot air, blocking out the sun. It is complete sensory overload – I can smell the burning fuel, the smoke, and underneath it all, the metallic coldness of blood. All the sounds are coming from far away, barely audible behind the ringing in my ears. Orders are being shouted, but nobody can hear them. It doesn't matter. We all know what to do without being told. After years of training it becomes instinctive – every man in the unit moves as one.
We form up, weapons ready, each man checking that his brother on either side is whole. I take the point, moving forward towards the broken building. The smoke parts, and she emerges. She is young, local, injured. I can see the blood on the side of her terrified face. She's screaming something as she runs towards us, and in that instant I made the decision. There is only one question in this situation – Iraqi fighter or terrified civilian? I look into her wide, brown eyes, and lower my weapon.
I can see the relief on her face as she realises that I'm not going to shoot her. She is still running towards us, stumbling over the cracked concrete. As she reaches us, she smiles, and I have time to notice that her smile is beautiful, and genuine. She pulls out the grenade from her black robes. Time is almost at a standstill now. I raise my gun as she pulls the pin, but my arms are moving through treacle, and I'm not quick enough. She doesn't throw it – she doesn't need to. She is only a couple of feet away now. She clutches it in her fist. My gun is finally up, and I shoot her right between the eyes as the world explodes around me. I was too trusting, too slow.
I woke up with a start, heart hammering, the dying screams of my brothers in arms still ringing in my ears. I got out of bed - my bed now, not our bed - and paced the room, trying to slow my breathing. It is over , I told myself. I am home, and it is over.
I opened the curtain, and looked out. The streets were dark and deserted, and the rain fell softly, washing away the sins of the day. It had been a while, since I had had the dream. At first, it had been every night, every time I closed my eyes. But things had been better lately, since her. And now she was gone. I had trusted her, and she had betrayed me. Amongst the death and the chaos, I'd only learnt one thing in Iraq – trust no one but your brothers.
It’s not over , I thought, not yet. But it will be.
It was time.
Mason
"You look well," I said.
It was true – he did. Last time I saw Adam, he had been skinny and pale. He'd got his fair share of the ladies back then - hell, we all did, but now he had filled out.
"I guess prison life suits me," he said, his mouth twisting into a grimace. "You look like shit. How long have you been back on civvy street?"
"A couple of months," I said. "I'd have come sooner, but I didn't want to take the visiting hours away from your mum. What the hell happened?"
He pushed the air out from between his lips. "If you've seen my mum, you'll have had the story. Been on remand for six months, trial in another four."
It was true that Adam's mum had filled me in. According to her, some sick bastard had raped his girlfriend. The police had found the rapist three days later, in a skip. He'd been badly beaten, and shot in the head.
"Why didn't she report the rape to the police?" I had asked her. She had taken a long drag of her cigarette, eyes narrowed against the smoke.
"And what good would that have done? Waste of fucking time, everyone knows that. Do you know what they call it, if a girl off the Cottonmill estate gets raped? Non-payment of goods. Even if they'd have believed her, she'd have had to go through the trial, and odds are he'd have got off, anyway. No," she had said, pouring out another cup of tea, "my boy did the right thing. It kills me, to see him locked up, and I hope to God he gets off, but he did the right thing."
"Yeah, she told me,” I
The smoke is thick, spiralling up through the hot air, blocking out the sun. It is complete sensory overload – I can smell the burning fuel, the smoke, and underneath it all, the metallic coldness of blood. All the sounds are coming from far away, barely audible behind the ringing in my ears. Orders are being shouted, but nobody can hear them. It doesn't matter. We all know what to do without being told. After years of training it becomes instinctive – every man in the unit moves as one.
We form up, weapons ready, each man checking that his brother on either side is whole. I take the point, moving forward towards the broken building. The smoke parts, and she emerges. She is young, local, injured. I can see the blood on the side of her terrified face. She's screaming something as she runs towards us, and in that instant I made the decision. There is only one question in this situation – Iraqi fighter or terrified civilian? I look into her wide, brown eyes, and lower my weapon.
I can see the relief on her face as she realises that I'm not going to shoot her. She is still running towards us, stumbling over the cracked concrete. As she reaches us, she smiles, and I have time to notice that her smile is beautiful, and genuine. She pulls out the grenade from her black robes. Time is almost at a standstill now. I raise my gun as she pulls the pin, but my arms are moving through treacle, and I'm not quick enough. She doesn't throw it – she doesn't need to. She is only a couple of feet away now. She clutches it in her fist. My gun is finally up, and I shoot her right between the eyes as the world explodes around me. I was too trusting, too slow.
I woke up with a start, heart hammering, the dying screams of my brothers in arms still ringing in my ears. I got out of bed - my bed now, not our bed - and paced the room, trying to slow my breathing. It is over , I told myself. I am home, and it is over.
I opened the curtain, and looked out. The streets were dark and deserted, and the rain fell softly, washing away the sins of the day. It had been a while, since I had had the dream. At first, it had been every night, every time I closed my eyes. But things had been better lately, since her. And now she was gone. I had trusted her, and she had betrayed me. Amongst the death and the chaos, I'd only learnt one thing in Iraq – trust no one but your brothers.
It’s not over , I thought, not yet. But it will be.
It was time.
Mason
"You look well," I said.
It was true – he did. Last time I saw Adam, he had been skinny and pale. He'd got his fair share of the ladies back then - hell, we all did, but now he had filled out.
"I guess prison life suits me," he said, his mouth twisting into a grimace. "You look like shit. How long have you been back on civvy street?"
"A couple of months," I said. "I'd have come sooner, but I didn't want to take the visiting hours away from your mum. What the hell happened?"
He pushed the air out from between his lips. "If you've seen my mum, you'll have had the story. Been on remand for six months, trial in another four."
It was true that Adam's mum had filled me in. According to her, some sick bastard had raped his girlfriend. The police had found the rapist three days later, in a skip. He'd been badly beaten, and shot in the head.
"Why didn't she report the rape to the police?" I had asked her. She had taken a long drag of her cigarette, eyes narrowed against the smoke.
"And what good would that have done? Waste of fucking time, everyone knows that. Do you know what they call it, if a girl off the Cottonmill estate gets raped? Non-payment of goods. Even if they'd have believed her, she'd have had to go through the trial, and odds are he'd have got off, anyway. No," she had said, pouring out another cup of tea, "my boy did the right thing. It kills me, to see him locked up, and I hope to God he gets off, but he did the right thing."
"Yeah, she told me,” I
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