less than, what, a centimetre?’
I twisted my body round some more. There was a gash in my arse, but the fact that there was no bullet to dig out was a big relief. I started to worry about something else. ‘Don’t tell anyone, will you, Emma? It’s not exactly macho is it? I’ll get a hard time from the lads. They’ll take the piss out of me big time.’
Emma put the mirror down. ‘It’s when the guys are being nice to you that you need to worry.’ She didn’t seem to realize how embarrassing it all was. She was busying herself with bits of kit, ready to sort out my wound.
‘Yeah. But really, you won’t tell anyone, will you?’ I was begging now, but it would be worth it if she would just agree to shut up about it. ‘Please, Emma?’
She started cleaning the wound with some liquid and cotton wool. ‘No, you’re all right. I wouldn’t be that cruel. Now, lie still and let me clean this thing up and close the wound. We don’t want it getting septic, do we? Just think of the hard time you’d get then.’
As Emma cleaned and sewed, I gasped and winced with the pain, trying hard not to show how much it hurt. Then I noticed a big black rubber body bag lying in the corner of the tent. It had to be John. I’d heard that MERT hadn’t been able to fly him out yet. No spare helis. They were still all up with D Company. I asked if I could take a look at him, but Emma shook her head. ‘What for? You know what happened. You were there.’
She was right. I mumbled something about how dark and confusing it was out there, but to tell you the truth, I really had no idea why I wanted to see him. What good would it do? Besides, Emma couldn’t be persuaded. ‘No, Briggsy. I haven’t hosed him down yet. Remember him as he was. That’s best.’
I nodded, but I wasn’t sure if I agreed. Emma quickly changed the subject. ‘Heard that one of them tried to take you last night …’
We were back on that old chestnut. Well, I wasn’t going to tell the story again. It had been bad enough telling Si and the others the first time around. I just didn’t want to think about it. But Emma kept on.
‘I heard you shot him in the face. Sounds very frightening. And pretty full on for a guy who has only been here three weeks. You OK?’
I tried to shut her up fast. ‘Yeah, it’s what I get eighteen hundred quid a month for, isn’t it?’
‘Well, seeing as you’re the new boy, and you’ve just had quite a major experience, and you can’t run away because your combats are round your ankles … you are now going to get the potted Post Traumatic Stress Disorder lecture.’
I groaned loudly, but it wasn’t like I had a choice. She banged on about all the symptoms of PTSD. Nightmares, mood swings, anxiety, that sort of stuff. Problems with alcohol and drugs. Trouble communicating with friends and family. Feelings of isolation, like nobody else understands. Violence. Even sexual problems.
We had watched a training film about it while I was at the Infantry Training Centre, but I’d fallen asleep halfway through. I’d been knackered after a day on the assault course. I wasn’t really in the mood for hearing it all again, but then she said something I didn’t know. She said PTSD normally took years to develop. Well that was news to me.
‘So, Emma, you mean you might not even know you’ve got it until you’re out the army and maybe even married with kids?’
‘Exactly. And we need to remember that guys hit by PTSD are casualties of war, just like John. It’s a normal reaction to an abnormal experience. There’s even an American general with it.’
‘Nah, you’re joking.’ I kept on looking down at the ground as she pressed on the wound.
‘No joke. You heard of the Falklands war? It was years ago, early eighties?’
‘Yeah, I have. I know a lot about it.’
‘Bet you didn’t know that since that war more guys have committed suicide as a result of PTSD than the 255 guys that were killed in action?
‘It’s just a small percentage of people who develop PTSD. But if any of those symptoms start happening to you, you must get help.’ Emma was looking at me like she expected me to be