it out.’
Toki banged his chipped Best Dad in the World mug down on the bench and grinned up at me. ‘Too late, mate. She was straight on the radio.’
Si, with half a jam sandwich stuck in his hand, plonked himself down on the bench beside Toki. ‘Mate, s’pose you’re going to be using twice as much bog paper now.’ He obviously thought it was funny as he burst into a fit of hysterics.
I sat down opposite them both and resigned myself to hours of ritual torment. ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. Got any more?’
‘Woah! Quiet, everyone.’ Flash leapt over to the TV and turned the sound up. A blonde news presenter in a pink dress was going on about a famous singer being admitted to hospital for a suspected drug overdose. Apparently she had threatened to take legal action against some nightclub owner because his nightclub staff had let her get so drunk that she couldn’t control her habit.
The news presenter than moved onto her second item of the day: ‘Last night, another soldier was killed in southern Afghanistan. The latest British casualty died from wounds sustained during a clash with the Taliban …’ After this very brief mention, the presenter went on to a story about their news team finding a talking dog in Southampton.
Si was not impressed. He strode up to the TV set, still munching on his sandwich, and turned the sound down. Spit and breadcrumbs fired out of his mouth as he shouted at the TV screen. ‘That it? John’s in bits and that’s all he’s worth? Shoved between a slapper and a dog? Don’t they get what’s going on out here!’
Flash looked unsurprised by the report or Si’s outburst. ‘Course not, mate. Come on, calm down and finish your sandwich.’
Si wasn’t interested in finishing anything other than his rant. ‘What do they think’s happening? Patting kids on the head and giving out sweets? That all he’s worth? Ten poxy seconds?’
Toki remained as calm as ever. ‘What government would want people to know what’s going on out here anyway?’
Si was about to respond with another furious outburst when Flash butted in. ‘They want them to see the sweets and the smiling Afghans. They don’t want them to see us burying a lad’s foot when we find it two days after his body has been sent back home. Not good PR, mate. I can understand that.’
Toki nodded at Flash. ‘That’s right. You’ve just got to get used to it, lads. Same as Basra. No one understands because they don’t really know.’
‘They don’t want them to know,’ added Flash as he pulled Si back to the table in front of his mug and the second half of his sandwich.
They both had a point. ‘Yeah, MacKenzie got that about right this morning.’ It was beginning to feel like MacKenzie was on the Star Ship Enterprise or something, because suddenly he materialized behind me.
‘That’s right, Briggsy, I always do.’ He bent down and poked me in the chest. ‘That’s why it’s Sergeant MacKenzie to you.’
‘Yes, Sergeant,’ I mumbled.
It seemed even Sergeant MacKenzie couldn’t resist taking the piss: ‘So, seeing as you are always talking out of your arse, are we all going to hear twice as much shit from you now?’ He tipped back his head and roared with laughter at that one, and of course everyone else joined in.
I braced myself for more banter, but luckily MacKenzie had more important things on his mind. ‘Shut up, everyone, and listen in. Warning Order. We are going back into the zone to finish the job. Orders at eighteen hundred, and no move before twenty hundred. All fatigue parties to have their jobs done before midday scoff so we have the afternoon to get prepped up. Let’s go!’
‘Sergeant …’ I mumbled again. It was now or never. I didn’t get a chance to get my sentence out, though. He already knew what I was going to say.
‘No, Briggsy. Get yourself fit, then we’ll get you back on the ground. Don’t worry, we’ve still got another three months to go yet, mate. Now, get out there and burn those turd drums. We don’t want yesterday’s scoff floating about in them for too long, do we? Cookie might want to recycle.’
Chapter Seven
I hobbled over to the toilet block where Si and Flash were ready and waiting, armed with a couple of jerry cans of fuel. The bogs were pretty basic – just four fifty-gallon oil drums that had been cut in half for the Army to