Phone

  sodden – Let me take those off with my … teeth! is what his lover likes

  to say … as we’re getting our sweds down. – Such passion! Such raw,

  unadulterated passion – could it possibly have endured this long if

  they’d been together, wandering the leafy aisles of some out-of-town

  garden centre … bickering over begonias? All good, sir,

  Bessemer had said – and then: Routine for our multiple is, Sarge

  won’t count us out ‘less we’ve a full Camelbak an’ twenty more litres

  on board … But his SeeOh had seen through Bessemer’s readiness

  – seen through the reddish fuzz of the trooper’s number one, looked

  past the streaky-red rinds of his ears. Gawain had eyedeed the weak

  chin and the bony wrists of the … committed masturbator – also registered

  his bemusement: Why am I getting all this fatherly attention?

  — The orders group is reaching inconclusion: the Adjutant running

  rapidly through the list, receiving snappy Rogers and batting back

  still-snappier Roger Outs … the first shall be last. Anything further,

  Gawain? – Well … speculative stuff, sir, but there’re indications of

  some sort of link-up between these bad boys coming over the border

  and our local, um, Ali Babas. – Response? – Prob’ly a good idea

  to do a few hard knocks in town, see what the local notables

  have stashed in their knicker-drawers … Well … the GeeOhSee’s

  bass-baritone booms over the radio net … eucalyptus and honey –

  keep those airways clear! … be seriously careful, Gawain – the sitch

  in Baghdad is, as you know, problematic, and the insurgents are,

  ah … exporting their tactics. And I wonder who’s fucking fault that

  is! – Roger – Roger that – Rogering Missus Major-General on a big

  old brass bedstead: Ooh-ooh! Roger … Her finely stitched lacy skin …

  crawling … Ooh-ooh! Ro-oger… –out! But the idle-minded overlings,

  who quibbled while they died … Shall they thrust for high-employment,

  as of old? The noble cadences fade away into the hot and dusty

  recesses of Gawain’s memory, and for a few moments he follows

  them into a past in which … I had a brilliant career ahead of me.

  Then he shakes his … knobbly knob-head, and before he can be

  cut in two yanks off the cans, rises, takes two rocking paces and

  yanks open the door: Camp Val, named for General Sir Valentine

  Carmichael-Harrington, EmmSee, DeeEssOh and Bar … brilliant

  tactician … unbeatable war record … abusive bully, is spread out

  before him in all its aggressive simplicity: scabrous and tumbled-down

  concrete walls on all four sides that’ve been Hesco-reinforced.

  There’re sangars at each corner and flanking the main gate, while a

  low jumble of flat-roofed and squalid structures occupies the north-west

  corner. A helipad is marked out on the dusty maidan, and six

  or seven Portakabins – of which the comms room is one – in the

  south-east corner, and scattered just about everywhere else – but

  mostly concentrated along the eastern wall – are … tents – fucking

  tents! It’s just as well the local troublemakers haven’t taken to lobbing

  mortars into the camp … ‘cause there’s barely any hard cover. Camp

  Val is home to about a thousand men, boys, and one or two mannish

  women. There’s no chogee shop for the men, so they’ve taken to

  diverting patrols through the bazaar, where they can load up with

  lollipops, toiletries, knocked-off fags … Marlborough, Pell-Mell

  and biscuits of … the Nice type. Gawain could have put a stop to

  these shopping expeditions altogether but … flexibility is the essence

  of command, especially if you’re a … fucking bender. He could’ve

  enforced the two-can rule rigidly as well, rather than turning a

  myopic eye to its persistent infringement. Still … on his regular

  trips down to Basra, what’d struck Gawain wasn’t the obvious

  tension in the streets, the limbless beggars or the red-faced Brits

  clumping through the vulgar marble halls of their Basra Palace

  aitchqueue – but the obviousness with which they were … murdering

  it. He’d seen squaddies flagrantly filling Camelbaks with cans of

  Foster’s – and when he went to talk to some scaley about glitches

  with the eye-net, the man’d had the nerve to pull a bottle of Bell’s

  from his desk drawer and ask if Gawain fancied … a wee dram.

  There was some tipsiness up at Camp Val – but no outright drunkenness,

  despite the extra workload of having to support hundreds of

  Kiwi sheep-shaggers – a considerable force that’d entered the

  theatre with no defined role … no lines and no logistical support.

  Which is what you require to operate effectively any of the following:

  laser-guided and computer-controlled anti-aircraft systems,

  squadrons of advanced aypeesees, multiple-launch surface missiles

  … and so-bloody-on. Gawain had explained to all the prospects he’d

  canvassed during his nine months of flogging arms on behalf of

  AitchEmmGee: Along with your bespoke suit of Chobham armour,

  gentlemen, comes our dedicated after-sales service … a bunch of

  dull, uniformed techies on hand to oil your war machine – plus Jonathan,

  or some of his pals, pitching up at our embassy to keep an eye on

  things and apply a little … hands-on parenting: Hold it like this,

  aim it like that – this has a range of ex kilometres. Night-sight

  capability? But of course: simply put on these goggles and at once

  you’ll be plunged into another dimension, where your enemies’

  heat-signatures worm through the greenish haze of my own …

  toxic-fucking envy. That was the deal, wasn’t it? The furtive men,

  with their unshaven sock-puppet faces veiled by cigarette smoke,

  and their poor taste in … expensive suits. It was these cowards

  who’d be the heroes – or at least provide them with logistical

  support. They who’d take the salute, from the dais, beneath the

  triumphal arch … they say the detail is impressive – right down to the

  hairs on the backs of the hands that hold the scimitars. It’s they who’ll

  stand in the hellish light of a burning government building, fending

  off fuzzy-wuzzies with a fire-flobbing AyKay, while I sit back in

  this Rolls-Royce of a military machine with my … foot off the bloody

  accelerator. In New Delhi, in the toilet stall, all the shitty-Greeny-envy

  had pissed out of me … into the filthy hole between the filthy

  footings. Hovering over his own haunches, adopting a manoeuvrist

  approach, he’d directed the jet and finally … hit the target: I see …

  I see … I see … I’m the new fucking SeeOh! — Well, he’d said to

  Bill, I’d better get back as soon as I can, then. He’d touched the

  button and the most momentous phone call of his career was over.

  He’d rocked on his haunches as he inserted the Nokia Seven-One-One-Oh

  back into his bunched-up pocket. Surely, you were

  never more … more … what was the word … ? Embodied – that

  was it: embodied, than when you were doing a shit. Yet he’d

  also felt smeared through space: a brownish stain, arcing high above

 
; the clear waters of the Indian Ocean, across the desert sands, the

  Mediterranean and the liberal democracies of Western Europe

  he was … sworn to defend, before finally falling back to the earth.

  Soon enough, he’d ruminated, smearing shit around annaround

  his chilli-stung arsehole, he’d be smearing behind it back to

  Catterick – via Scotch Corner in the rain … and how triumphal

  is that? A congratulatory greeting from Fiona – her tacky coral

  lips … smearing my cheek, then a speedily scheduled meeting with

  the full complement of officers in the briefing room. Gawain at the

  lectern, burping sulphurously – the mega-antibiotic had started

  working within twenty-four hours, just as the aitchqueue quack

  said it would … and I burped along with the jetstream. While I’m

  awaiting final confirmation of my promotion … he told the serried

  faces … envious, envious, envious, indifferent, hung-over, envious –

  possibly insane … I think the best we can do as a light cavalry unit

  will be exactly what our Queen and country needs … jut of Patton

  jaw, shoulders back – chest out. Gentlemen – and lady – Gawain nodded

  in the direction of the Rams’ new medic, Lieutenant Gail

  Petersen, whose blonde curls, snub nose, freckles and goo-goo-blue

  eyes strongly suggested she’d be … another fucking liability – the

  geopolitical situation, as I’m sure you’re aware, is in a period of rapid

  transition. In terms of the armed forces’ remit, the question is no

  longer whether we’ll see action – but when. Our task is to shear

  our woolly troopers, for too long now we’ve been put out to graze –

  it’s time we put the fighting back in the Fighting Rams. A and B

  squadrons under my command will depart for the Naytoe exercise

  in Canada at the end of next week. This presents an excellent

  opportunity for us to begin transforming the regiment overall

  into a completely manoeuvrist unit. From now on … chest out, eyes

  front … our entire effort will be focused on the following priorities:

  physical fitness, mental robustness – and, most important of all,

  war-fighting spirit! – Afterwards came the sneering: Youngest

  SeeOh in the Rams’ distinguished history is it, Greeny? Later –

  much, much later – Gawain thought back to Major “Tizer”

  Townshend’s iffy behaviour in the run-up to the deployment. By

  then, after sitting for hours in an office at Shaibah, waiting for

  the investigating red hat, he’d had plenty of time to also recall

  these words from a training manual issued to his int’ cell by the

  green slime who’d instructed them at Chicksands: Aim to provoke

  humiliation, insecurity and disorientation. Wearily concluding this

  must’ve been Tizer’s intention as well – one Gawain had sought to

  frustrate immediately by putting an arm round his shoulders and

  guiding him away from his brother officers … so much unforced

  physical contact in the army – it’s scrumming down for … a lifetime:

  So, Andy, I realise this is a blow for you … Tizer’s expression

  was an exercise in studied indifference, while his small black eyes,

  glittering with envy, had tracked back and forth across Gawain’s

  chest … leading my fugitive heart. As the lecturer at Staff College

  had said … Hup! Two, three … four times: The character of any

  military unit is intimately connected to the character of its commander –

  with Tizer as SeeOh the Rams would’ve had plenty of war-fighting

  spirit, certainly, and become as fit as butcher’s dogs, yet they’d’ve also

  been slapdash … quite possibly aggressive as well – too aggressive.

  There was the incident when Trooper Sweeney ended up in the

  infirmary – high jinks that’d got a little out of hand, or so all parties

  concerned … agreed to say, although Gawain wasn’t so sure. One

  thing he was certain of, though, by the time the balloon finally

  went up – the massive, silk and ornately brocaded balloon, with its

  vast gondola, big enough to house geese, ducks, guinea pigs and

  plenty of Fighting Rams – the regiment was indeed taking on

  the character of its commander … secretive, divided, insecure and

  humiliated. The Saskatchewan jaunt had turned out to be the Rams’

  best exercise ever, and the absolute confirmation of Gawain’s skills

  as a panzer commander – not only providing excellent long-range

  recon’, but also demonstrating how a manoeuvrist doctrine,

  properly understood and flawlessly executed, could result in the

  elimination of a far larger lumpa-lumpa-lumpa force … Lumpa-lumpa,

  lumpa-lumpa, lumpa-lumpa … the rows of alien spacecraft

  sank inexorably down the screen … shitting out bombs:

  cheeuwww-cheeuwww-cheeuwww! Gawain, aged n-n-n-nineteen, jabbed the

  button with his thumb while expertly taking a swig of his pint with

  his other lumpa-lumpa, lumpa-lumpa, lumpa-lumpa … hand. It’d

  been that easy – as easy as playing Space Invaders in the student

  union bar. By the time dusk rolled over the wide expanse of dirt and

  shrubbery, so many Blue Force outfits had been put out of action

  it was long after dark before the support crews dragged them all

  back to base. Handshakes all round – and a YouEssEmm four-star

  general … Phelps? Phillips? made a special point of complimenting

  Gawain within hearing-range of his own GeeOhSee, which was

  thoughtful, and afforded the Rams’ new SeeOh with the pretext to

  come out with some like shooting fish in a barrel self-deprecation.

  P’raps this is what being successful feels like, Gawain had mused

  … a fucking cliché. After that there’d been an awful lot more beers,

  and a night of rising from and falling back to his bed … a human

  water-feature. In the morning Gawain rose for good and headed to

  the deefac, where he drank dreadful Canadian coffee, ate … eggy

  medals and blearied over the Rams’ shorn heads at a wall-mounted

  teevee. They’d all seen it live: a new world of possibilities rise up as

  the second of the towers collapsed in a cloud of toxic speculation.

  Is this the habit of command? he’d thought, because the news

  thread running across the bottom of the screen looked uncannily

  like … baa-baa-baa braid: a two-up promotion, that’s what the

  deadliest terrorist attack ever on American soil made Gawain

  Thomas think about … even as it was happening. It wasn’t a snow

  globe that’d been shaken up, but a … sand one – bought on a day trip

  to Ventnor and more or less immediately … broken. The pretty colours

  trickled through my … fingers. There was no possibility of the Rams

  getting a ‘Stan deployment – if anyone were to go, it’d be EssEff

  bods or the Paras. The months passed, the diplomats shuttled –

  while Gawain shuffled about the establishment, trying to engender

  war-fighting spirit. By the time Blix was … buggering about in the

  desert he was close to despair. I don’t believe I’m speaking out of

  turn, Jonathan had said, turning Gawain’s face to his own, but I can

  assure you of this much: TeeBee is gonna do everything necessary

  to get thi
s vote – I’ve seen the light of destiny in the man’s eyes,

  seen it up close and personal. If he could, he’d have us and the

  plods grubbing up dirt on every single vacillating EmPee …

  A fool’s errand, that’s what they’d all been on – even as Jonathan’s

  cigarette smoke was warming his neck, Gawain had seen the

  painted frieze of parliamentarians unroll around the dado of Room

  Three-Nineteen in the Sudbury Days Inn – which can be easily

  accessed via the EmmTwentyfive. Brightly painted into their suits,

  they marched into the division lobbies. A fool’s errand, indeed –

  not that Gawain thinks of it as such until two more years have …

  bimbled by, and he finds himself, the orders group conference call

  fading from his mind, standing with the sun drilling through

  the camo’ netting slung over the Wimmiks. Standing with his

  Adjutant, the dependable, unflashy, unflappable Major Kevin Armstrong,

  and haggling – Yes! Haggling! – over who should go. It’s

  a fool’s errand, Boss, Armstrong says, the Kiwis’ve gone a little

  off-piste, that’s all. Get the Mayor on the blower, Gawain snaps,

  we need to start damage-limitation right away – what the bloody

  hell did those sheep-shaggers think they were doing? Anderson

  touches one tip of his neat moustache with his index finger, the

  other with his thumb … feel the width, he swallows the Fox’s Glacier

  Mint he’s been sucking, and Gawain watches his Adam’s apple

  rise and fall … time to bite the bullet. – It’s the garden chair thing,

  Boss – Kiwis’ idea is every spectator – all the men, that is – should

  have one for the Six Nations. They heard about this chap over on

  the east bank, ‘parently he’s a big stash of the things … Armstrong

  even wears his aviators studiously – while his desert camos appear,

  if not pressed, at least … dry-folded. The Mayor of Ali al-Garbi

  isn’t some marrow-judging worthy, but a wheedling Sheik who

  wears heavy, gold-plated watches on either wrist and smiles a lot,

  though … he’s fuck-all to smile about. Gawain has only encountered

  him twice – once when doing the handover with the Coldstreamers’

  SeeOh, “Trimmer” Trimmingham. Watch out for that one, he’d

  said – indicating the third dish-dash along in the room full of …