and laid them out side by side at the edge of the road.
Andy, meanwhile, realised Mike was nowhere to be seen. He finally found the American at the back of the coach, holding Farid. The old man had taken a hit in the stomach. His pale checked shirt was almost black with blood. On his belly, a small, perfectly round hole slowly oozed blood that looked as dark as oil by torchlight. But beneath him, the pooling blood, and shreds of expelled tissue, spoke of a much larger exit wound.
Mike looked up at Andy, silently shaking his head. ‘Not good,’ he said quietly.
Farid stared up at Mike with glassy eyes. He spoke, but in Arabic; private words, not for either of them. He spoke in short bursts, punctuated by painful spasms that caught his breath and made him screw up his eyes and grimace.
A US soldier approached down the aisle. He pointed his torch down on to the old man’s face. ‘Who’s the—’
‘Our translator,’ interrupted Andy. He didn’t want to know what euphemism the young American sergeant was about to use.
‘Our friend,’ added Mike, looking up pointedly at him.
The sergeant seemed to have the sense not to say anything, and nodded silently. He turned round and shouted up the aisle, ‘Get the medic! We got a live one here!’
Mike stroked the old man’s face. ‘Hey, we got some help coming. You hang in there.’
Farid focused on him and managed a faint smile. ‘I know you are good man. Good man inside.’
‘Just a normal guy, that’s all,’ said Mike. ‘Save it for later, okay?’
Farid placed a bloodied hand on his arm. ‘God is open door to all good men.’
The medic squeezed past Andy and crouched down to look at the old man. His examination was brief, and after gently easing the old man over and inspecting the rear wound he looked up at his sergeant, barely shook his head before saying, ‘I can hit him with morphine, but that’s really all I can do.’
‘Do it then,’ said the sergeant.
The drug had an almost instant effect, and Farid sagged, no longer tensing and flexing with the pain. He smiled. ‘I see my family soon. My son . . .’ the rest he muttered in Arabic.
‘You go see your son, and your wife,’ said Mike quietly.
CHAPTER 66
3.25 a.m. local time Southern Turkey
‘You’re kidding? How far away from here?’ asked Andy outside.
The sergeant nodded, ‘No, I’m not kidding. It’s not far, just a few miles. The landing strip’s not big enough for the large transport planes, shit . . . nowhere near long enough. But we’re getting a steady stream of C130s down on it okay.’
‘You guys can get us out?’
‘Fuck, I don’t know. We got a lot of stragglers like you, American, British, some UN troops from all over. We got planes coming in and going out like a goddamn taxi rank. It’s bedlam, man. Absolute fuckin’ bedlam. And then we got all sorts crowding outside the strip, civilians - Turks, Kurds, Iraqis - all wanting us to fly ’em all over the place, thinking things ain’t so bad elsewhere.’
‘How are things elsewhere? We haven’t heard anything much since Tuesday.’
The sergeant looked at him with incredulity. ‘You don’t know?’
Andy shook his head.
‘The answer is . . . shit. We got food riots back home. My home state’s under martial law. Fuckin’ internment camps everywhere. And I’m pretty sure we’re doin’ better back home, than most places.’
‘Hear anything about Britain?’
The sergeant shook his head. ‘Not much, but I heard enough to know you guys have got it pretty bad over there. It’s all very fucked up.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Anyway listen, you guys get back in your coach, and I’ll have one of my boys guide you there. You don’t want to waste any time. We’re holding that strip for just a while longer, maybe until tomorrow afternoon, then that’s it, we’re bailing out of here.’
Andy turned to head back inside the coach.
‘Listen fella,’ called out the American. ‘I’m sorry about the . . . we just. We’ve had hostiles taking pot-shots at us all week, you know? My boys’re all strung out.’
Andy nodded but didn’t say anything. ‘Sorry’ fixed nothing. It didn’t bring back to life the four young men lying beside the road, or an old Iraqi translator.
He turned back to the truck. Westley and Derry had lifted out Farid’s body from inside the coach and placed him alongside the four young squaddies, shoulder to shoulder with them. Maybe they’d not done that consciously, or maybe