Blackout - By Tom Barber Page 0,49

between, and it was pretty damn boring. NATO bombers were just about to start hitting Belgrade, but the Serbs and the Albanians were only interested in engaging each other. We were like an umpire on a tennis court, watching it go back and forth, trying to keep score.’

He winced again as he took another deep breath, the effort causing one of the drops of sweat on his brow to slide down the side of his head. He licked his lips with a dry tongue, then turned his head to the side, looking at a small table. There was a cup of water with a straw there.

Fox read what he wanted and moving forward, he picked it up, holding it closer as Fletcher took a drink.

'Thanks,' he said, leaning back in the bed, continuing. 'Anyway, the camp was the main base for the US Army in Kosovo. I was one of the only Brits on site, but that wasn’t intentional. I shouldn't even have been there in the first place. I'd taken two bullets, one in the leg and one in the chest from a sniper. We were out on a peace-keeping patrol when I got hit, and the nearest hospital was at Bondsteel. I was told I had to stay there until I was fit to travel and return to my battalion.’

He coughed. It seemed like his body just wanted him to shut up and lie back.

‘Once they’d patched me up and I'd recovered enough to be released from the hospital, I had a lot of time to kill. I was hanging around, waiting for some transport to be released to pick me up, but it was all committed elsewhere so I had to wait. Everyone there was US Army or Marine Corps and as I wasn’t officially there, there was no chance of me being called out on patrol or anything, nothing to break up the days, plus I was still recovering. Although there was stuff to do on site, I got bored as hell quickly, spending all my time alone. I watched all the movies they had, and got sick of Burger King. So, to keep busy, I used to do down to the shooting range.'

He paused.

'The standard weapon for my squad was the SA80,’ Fletcher continued. ‘Typical English weapon. Solid, straight-shooter, gets the job done. Zero glamour. Not the kind of gun you’d ever see in the movies. But the Americans, they did it different. They had M-16s and Berettas. I got friendly with the quartermaster down at the range and he let me work out with one of the M-16s.’

He paused, and licked his lips, his tongue already dry again.

‘It was a lot of fun. I’d never handled a weapon like that before. I spent all day there on the range, drilling the targets, getting used to the feel of the rifle. Given the amount of spare time I had, I got pretty good with it. Seeing as I never had to answer any roll call, I spent most of my days down there. Other soldiers would come and go, but there was one other guy who was always there, almost every time I was. His name was Floyd. David Floyd, a Private, US Marine Corps. Southern boy, out of Georgia. Spoke like one of those cowboys in the movies I used to watch as a kid. He was off the frontline too. He’d broken his ankle and was having to wait to heal up before he could return to duty.'

He paused.

'Now I came from a strong battalion in the British Army. We had some good shooters, believe you me. But Floyd was surgical. He was one of the best I’d ever seen. The quartermaster told me he was down there for hours every day. Soon enough, we got talking. People get to know each other on base, but I was a newcomer, an outsider. I didn’t know anything about him. Turned out he was a real loner. Didn’t have any friends there aside from one other guy.’

‘Carver,’ Jackson said quietly.

Fletcher nodded.

‘Yes. After we got friendly, he introduced me to Carver, who was his Captain. Should have told me something then. Officers and NCOs are not usually mates. It crossed my mind - why wasn’t Carver hanging out with other officers? Anyway, I’d heard about him from the quartermaster. Stay away from that asshole, he said. For your own good. Carver had a bad reputation, and I mean really bad. There were all sorts of rumours