Read Online If I Should Die (Joseph Stark) by Matthew Frank - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Matthew Frank
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from small anti-infantry to massive car-bomb.
‘Okay, which type were you injured by?’
‘Remote-detonation. There was no phone coverage, so it was operated by radio nearby, part of the ambush.’
‘Was this unusual?’
‘Yes and no. In Iraq it was mostly plant-and-forget, and contact was usually just incoming fire from some distant treeline or compound. You hardly ever saw the man shooting at you. We shot back, but even if we made it to their firing point we rarely found bodies. Either we missed or their mates hauled them away. Or we called in an air strike. Either way they were gone. Afghanistan was different. Closer-quarters contact and remote-detonation devices were common. But a close-quarters, three-sixty ambush … that took planning.’
‘You saw faces.’
‘Not really, no. Not that I remember. Too distant. Too … hectic.’ In his dreams they often did have faces – who knew whose? People he’d met, Afghan civilians, just people off the street? ‘It was a determined assault at close quarters. They pursued when we tried to escape, changed location to keep firing on us, never more than two hundred metres or so away, to begin with right over our heads on the rooftops.’
‘More personal, then, than your previous experiences.’
‘There’s nothing impersonal about kinetic contact. Even if the arseholes shooting at you are invisible it’s hard not to take it personally,’ Stark joked ruefully.
Hazel just nodded and made a note. ‘Talk me through it.’
Stark hesitated, reluctant. ‘All right. Well, it’s hot. Your kit’s heavy and starting to rub. You’re standing in the open in clear sight of numerous buildings, any of which may contain people eager to gun you down and, apart from those with you, the only living thing in sight is a skinny dog too stupid to know better. But it’s going well, you’re getting the job done. Then some shit presses his radio trigger. But his timing is off, inexperienced or over-zealous, he’s impatient and fails to get the vehicle broadside.’
‘You were lucky, then.’
Lucky? Another fine choice of word. Luckier than Walker and Smith, certainly. ‘I truly hope that fuck with the trigger didn’t live out the day,’ he said, with sudden ferocity. At least, he felt the ferocity, but it remained inaudible, as if the anger was being stripped from hiswords as they left his lips, as if it were somehow remote from him. ‘What does that say about me?’
Hazel seemed unprepared for direct questions. It was almost fun to see that momentary look of panic. Mostly it added to his sense of futility. She made a contemplative face, playing for time. He was starting to spot her tools. ‘I should say it was understandable to focus thoughts of retribution on the man who struck the first blow, killed your colleagues.’
‘Comrades,’ corrected Stark, not for the first time. ‘“Colleagues” whine about wives nine to five, then go home and whine about colleagues.’
‘You’re not married.’
Here we go again, thought Stark.
‘Your girlfriend split up with you while you were in hospital.’ She pretended to read this from his file, as if it was just occurring to her, but to Stark it seemed she was more comfortable pulling this string than the others. ‘And now you’ve moved away from home, family, friends, to start work at a new job in a strange city. Perhaps we could talk about that for a while.’
‘It’s your dime.’ It wasn’t, but she didn’t seem to get that.
She waited.
‘Julie wasn’t my girlfriend. We’d been out a couple of times, shagged a few times more. She came to see me in the hospital because she thought she ought to. I let her off the hook.’
‘Did she say that or did you put the words into her mouth?’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘Maybe she wanted to be there. Maybe you pushed her away for your own reasons.’
Maybe he had. Then again, maybe the barely concealed relief on Julie’s face as she left was as real as
‘Okay, which type were you injured by?’
‘Remote-detonation. There was no phone coverage, so it was operated by radio nearby, part of the ambush.’
‘Was this unusual?’
‘Yes and no. In Iraq it was mostly plant-and-forget, and contact was usually just incoming fire from some distant treeline or compound. You hardly ever saw the man shooting at you. We shot back, but even if we made it to their firing point we rarely found bodies. Either we missed or their mates hauled them away. Or we called in an air strike. Either way they were gone. Afghanistan was different. Closer-quarters contact and remote-detonation devices were common. But a close-quarters, three-sixty ambush … that took planning.’
‘You saw faces.’
‘Not really, no. Not that I remember. Too distant. Too … hectic.’ In his dreams they often did have faces – who knew whose? People he’d met, Afghan civilians, just people off the street? ‘It was a determined assault at close quarters. They pursued when we tried to escape, changed location to keep firing on us, never more than two hundred metres or so away, to begin with right over our heads on the rooftops.’
‘More personal, then, than your previous experiences.’
‘There’s nothing impersonal about kinetic contact. Even if the arseholes shooting at you are invisible it’s hard not to take it personally,’ Stark joked ruefully.
Hazel just nodded and made a note. ‘Talk me through it.’
Stark hesitated, reluctant. ‘All right. Well, it’s hot. Your kit’s heavy and starting to rub. You’re standing in the open in clear sight of numerous buildings, any of which may contain people eager to gun you down and, apart from those with you, the only living thing in sight is a skinny dog too stupid to know better. But it’s going well, you’re getting the job done. Then some shit presses his radio trigger. But his timing is off, inexperienced or over-zealous, he’s impatient and fails to get the vehicle broadside.’
‘You were lucky, then.’
Lucky? Another fine choice of word. Luckier than Walker and Smith, certainly. ‘I truly hope that fuck with the trigger didn’t live out the day,’ he said, with sudden ferocity. At least, he felt the ferocity, but it remained inaudible, as if the anger was being stripped from hiswords as they left his lips, as if it were somehow remote from him. ‘What does that say about me?’
Hazel seemed unprepared for direct questions. It was almost fun to see that momentary look of panic. Mostly it added to his sense of futility. She made a contemplative face, playing for time. He was starting to spot her tools. ‘I should say it was understandable to focus thoughts of retribution on the man who struck the first blow, killed your colleagues.’
‘Comrades,’ corrected Stark, not for the first time. ‘“Colleagues” whine about wives nine to five, then go home and whine about colleagues.’
‘You’re not married.’
Here we go again, thought Stark.
‘Your girlfriend split up with you while you were in hospital.’ She pretended to read this from his file, as if it was just occurring to her, but to Stark it seemed she was more comfortable pulling this string than the others. ‘And now you’ve moved away from home, family, friends, to start work at a new job in a strange city. Perhaps we could talk about that for a while.’
‘It’s your dime.’ It wasn’t, but she didn’t seem to get that.
She waited.
‘Julie wasn’t my girlfriend. We’d been out a couple of times, shagged a few times more. She came to see me in the hospital because she thought she ought to. I let her off the hook.’
‘Did she say that or did you put the words into her mouth?’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘Maybe she wanted to be there. Maybe you pushed her away for your own reasons.’
Maybe he had. Then again, maybe the barely concealed relief on Julie’s face as she left was as real as
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