Futile Glory

Futile Glory

By S. L. Heaton

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © S. L. Heaton 2013

The right of S. L. Heaton to be identified as author of this work is asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

All rights reserved

No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with the written permission of the author.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims damages

ISBN

This is a work of fiction. All characters, organisations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Prologue

Night after night Nick watched and waited for the quiet to be shattered by the sound of explosions and gunfire. His mind was constantly filled with anticipation as, day after day, he trod carefully, cautiously, aware that the ground might suddenly explode beneath his feet. Was he willing it to happen? He had been blissfully ignorant of the real obscenities and violence of war before enlisting. But after serving time in Diyala, north of Iraq, reality had sprung from what had earlier seemed intangible and so far away.

And now in the deadly heat of the desert in Afghanistan’s Helmand Province, frustration attacked him as the elite unit settled camp. He stared ahead. In the distance a light breeze was whipping up the sand and flinging it into the air. Nick knew what was coming. And, as the breeze strengthened, its more powerful effects quickly travelled towards them.

When the sandstorm hit, he was almost blinded by the force of the tiny grains pounding his eyelids and pricking his skin like fine needles. He turned his back on it but the damage was done. He peered through slits of eyes that were constantly red and painful with a burning sensation that never seemed to disappear.

The sandstorm stopped as abruptly as it had started. And stillness once again enveloped him as, tentatively he opened his eyes. Tears washed down his cheeks and he wiped them away with the backs of his hands, careful not to brush the clinging sand into his eyes.

The going was easier now and Nick released his thoughts, contemplating the current situation. The lack of sleep did nothing to ease the rawness inside, and the constant vigilance felt like his lifeblood was gradually trickling away. But he never stopped to ask himself how much more he could take and still survive. Pessimism rarely infected his mind. As easy as it was to dwell on the negatives – and there were so many – he was determined to remain positive, not only for himself but for his men too.

Soon the sand petered out and was replaced by scrub. Nick raised his hand to bring his platoon to a halt. Kandahar was within reach. ‘This is it. We go no further as a team.’ The men started to gather round him. ‘Major Korsovski’s orders are to go it alone from here. You all know his plans. It’s time we changed into our gear. It’s time to go it alone.’

In silence they covered their uniforms with traditional Afghan clothing, chapans, lungees and pakols – coats, turbans and hats. Some of them wrapped keffiyehs on their heads instead. They grinned at one another.

Nick remained stern-faced and gave his men a final briefing. ‘Look out for each other,’ he stressed. ‘You know as well as I do these outer roads will be riddled with IEDs. When you reach the city, mingle with the crowds. Don’t isolate yourselves.’ He pointed to a rough map in his hand. ‘When the mission is complete, head for the meeting point.’ He paused. ‘Good luck!’

The men took different directions and headed for the city, treading warily over the withered yellow scrub that clung to the barren, almost infertile ground. Nick stared after them and sent up a silent prayer for their safe arrival.

All was quiet now. He was alone.

But he’d barely put one foot in front of the other when his peace was disturbed. A scuffling sound came from behind and a flash of movement caused him to stop dead. Slowly he turned and his eyes took in the area around him. He scoured the bush. Nothing.

His immediate decision was to take cover. He dodged behind a clump of dry scrub on a tiny hillock, spreading himself out on his belly. After shuffling for position, he quickly lifted his SA80 and cocked it ready to take aim.

What he saw through his sights alarmed him. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He did a double take. It was Sergeant Pat Malloy and his platoon. A single thought entered Nick’s mind. What the hell is the guy playing at in an area out of bounds to his platoon?

Nick kept his focus on Pat and, imperative he remain calm in both mind and body, he maintained his stillness. Any sudden movement and Pat could raise his weapon and pull the trigger. When the platoon was gone a short distance Nick followed stealthily and came silently from behind, taking the rear soldier by surprise. He clapped a hand over the guy’s mouth and dug the SA80 into his back. ‘Don’t move,’ he whispered before calling out ahead of him. ‘Stay where you are, Pat. It’s me, Nick.’

Pat swung around, his eyes starey and wild. He lifted his rifle ready to shoot and several of his men followed suit. But when Pat saw one of his own being used as a shield, he held back and indicated to the others to hold fire.

Seeing his chance, Nick snatched the keffiyeh from his shaved head and slung it to the ground. Still keeping his grip on the soldier, he identified himself. ‘Pat, it’s me, Nick.’

Pat stared back, disbelieving and Nick stepped aside, his hands still trained. He lifted his weapon and brought the sergeant into his sights. Pat sprang forward. ‘Fucking hell. I don’t bloody believe it.’

Nick put his hand to his lips. ‘For God’s sake shut it, Pat. What the hell are you doing here?’

‘Same as you, big fella.’ Pat punched Nick on the arm, ‘you handsome bastard,’ he whispered jokingly, now approaching Nick, grinning broadly and hugging him.

Nick stepped back and they exchanged a high five. ‘Are you crazy, man? You shouldn’t be here.’ Momentarily Nick’s concentration lapsed.

Without warning and with no sound to break the silence, a blur of movement flashed ahead of him. The silhouette of a man, eyes drenched in anger, mouth set in vengeance, loomed before him, inches behind Pat and his platoon. He was poised to kill. Nick saw the gun. He saw nothing but the gun. The barrel stared him in the face.

The intrusion triggered an instant of fear. Nick’s legs turned to jelly. All was still. He snatched at his SA80 and cocked it but the insurgent beat him to it. Nick heard the click and his heart gave a single, heavy thud. The pit of his stomach pulled tighter and tighter before it froze into a solid block. His throat sealed shut as fear attacked him like a monster.

Nothing happened. But he could feel the dark, wild eyes of the enemy penetrating, burning into his own. Was the guy playing Russian roulette or had he run out of ammo? Nick told himself he couldn’t outrace fear but he could maintain some control. He ordered himself to stay calm.

Pat swung around and saw the enemy behind him as Nick steadied himself, gripped the rifle tight and pulled the trigger. The adrenalin flowed. Simultaneously another shot rang out. Gunfire exploded, shattering the stillness. It was Pat who’d fired the second shot. ‘We got ‘im!’ he shouted.

Nick turned and stepped back. But he’d triggered something lethal. He was flung into the air and thrust backwards, unaware of what had happened to the insurgent. His ears were ringing. His heart was thumping. His breathing was deep and slow. And when he landed on his back the whole of his body was screaming with hurt as he lay there. A hot, searing pain shot down his left leg and a heavy load fell on top of him. He cried out in agony. When he opened his eyes, Pat was shouting, ‘It’s all right, mate,’ and appeared to be dragging away the lifeless body of the enemy.

But it wasn’t all right. Nick tried to fill his lungs with air. He winced noisily and his eyes flickered shut as more and more pain ripped through him. He turned his head to the side and vomited. And then he felt himself floating as though he were disappearing beneath the surface of the earth. He was suffocating. He began clawing to get out. His nails seemed to scrape the surface.

But then he felt his energy flowing rapidly away, draining from his body. He was slowly descending into darkness when a black wall engulfed him.

Chapter 1

Patrick Malloy turned over in his army issue cot and glanced at his watch. Four fifteen. Almost time to leave. His heart raced in his chest and the thrill of anticipation gripped him. He was ready for some real action. He was ready to face the challenge.

It wasn’t his first posting to Iraq. He’d been there when the country was in the thick of it. But now the small combat posts were being handed over to Iraq as the allies withdrew. And when the orders came through he reckoned it would be mainly retro. But at the briefing they were given a mission to clear out the remaining insurgents to the north of the country. Some of them were lying low in the villages, terrorising the people there. It was all about getting them on the back foot, pushing them deep into enemy territory and then, Kapow! Goodnight Vienna!

He smiled to himself. He’d be united with his trusty pal and sidekick, Marty, a black Labrador, brilliant at sniffing out pressure-triggered bombs. Pat was confident the two of them were ready for frontline work again. But Marty wasn’t Pat’s only mate. It was whilst they were training the new intake Pat came across Nick. He was impressed.

In conversation with his commanding officer Pat had broached the subject. ‘Have you come across Ramsden yet, Sir? He’s one of the greenies. Stands out from the crowd, mentally and physically,’ he vouched. ‘He’s bright and he’s tough. Not wet behind the ears like some of the others.’

‘You mean Nick Ramsden?’ Captain Morrison smiled. ‘I have indeed, Malloy. And I’m inclined to agree with you there. He’s a cut above the rest, bright with it too.’ He looked down at the papers on his desk and flicked through them absently. ‘And it’s not surprising. He has a science degree, first class. Accepted to read medicine but declined in favour of the army. The way he’s shaping up, it looks as though it won’t be long before he’s promoted. But we’ll see how things pan out.’

Pat was puzzled. He frowned. ‘A degree? He never mentioned it.’

‘He’s that sort, Malloy. He wouldn’t.’

‘But most graduates enter at officer level, sir.’

‘That’s right, but not Ramsden. He said he preferred to earn it.’

Pat shook his head. He could never understand why guys like Nick took that route if they didn’t want a commission. What was the point of all that hard work, studying and sitting exams? ‘You don’t need a bloody university degree to fight the enemy. All you need is confidence and plenty of guts.’ The commanding officer smiled.

Pat pulled his thoughts together and reflected on his own background. It was lucky he hadn’t consulted Mam before he enlisted. Pat was her darling and the youngest of seven boys born in a tiny village on the outskirts of Belfast. But the one thing Mam dreaded was any of them joining the army. Her husband had been killed in action fifteen years earlier. The devastation had never left her. But it wasn’t easy dissuading them when every man in Belfast had nothing else on his mind but fighting.

At the time Patrick had looked up to his father as a role model and was allowed to play war games with the others. His passion was to follow in his father’s footsteps and join the army. But his mother was desperate. ‘War’s about killing, son, not playing games with your friends in the street.’ But the words floated over Patrick’s head.

By the time he was seventeen, Pat had shot up to gangly six foot three. Supposedly heading for a job in Liverpool he travelled to England. But it was no ordinary job he chose. He joined the Royal Engineers and waited until the passing-out parade before telling his mother he’d enlisted. And once the army had him in their grasp, he absorbed everything they taught him. By the time he was twenty there was little he didn’t know about AFVs. He could handle the Challenger 2 equipped with its L30 rifled tank gun, the Titan armoured bridge-laying tank – the best in the world – and the Trojan armoured vehicle. He was determined to succeed. Pushing his mind and body to the absolute maximum he scaled the lower non-commissioned ranks and, by the time he was twenty four he was promoted to sergeant.

Kathleen Malloy wasn’t happy. How could she be? Her youngest was still a bit of a kid as far as she was concerned. Certainly not ready to be going abroad and fighting the enemy. And Pat was aware Mam was holding back her anxieties, trying to stay calm even though at the back of her mind like most mothers, she probably had a nagging feeling that one day her boy wouldn’t come back. ‘You always have to be the leader just like the captain of a sinking ship, leaving yourself until last. That’s your trouble,’ she declared. She frowned. ‘Just like Daddy. It worries me, Patrick.’

But Pat was emphatic. ‘That’s me, Mam. You can’t expect me to change.’ And he refused to listen to her warnings. On the numerous occasions she harped on, he laughed it off.

‘Don’t lose any sleep, Mam. No-one will get the better of me.’ He grinned. The old girl couldn’t help it, worrier that she was.

He became restless. He pulled himself up from the pillow and slipped his feet to the floor, staring at the wall in front of him. His mind reverted to the present. Tomorrow he’d be heading back into mortal danger. Pinpricks of excitement laced with a modicum of fear began to build up inside at the thought of the impending mission. But, despite his mother’s reminders to stay safe, he knew what he was doing. He was a professional. He’d sort the bastards out. The more insurgents his men took out, the fewer were left to lay the IEDs.

Nick felt the impact of the ground as the aircraft touched down on Iraqi soil and bumped its way down the airstrip in the vast desert.

‘This is it!’ Malloy called out. ‘No going back.’

The men looked to each other, grinned and started to clap.

With no fuss they disembarked in the usual military style, stepped into the vicious heat and onto parched earth crazed like a mosaic and crunching noisily beneath their feet. Nick stopped, pulled himself up to his full six five and looked around before taking a deep breath and joining the others. Within the space of twenty minutes they’d unloaded the huge cargo plane of its gear and enormous field bags.

But the aircraft didn’t taxi away immediately. Nor did it go back empty. Nick felt the gooseflesh creep slowly over his body and he watched in silence as four coffins were loaded, ready to be sent home to grieving relatives.

‘It’s the worst feeling in the world. One day they’re here standing next to you, laughing and joking, and the next day they’re gone,’ the sergeant whispered. ‘It’s something we have to live with.’

Before the aircraft left, the whole battalion stood to attention during a short ceremony in remembrance of the men who’d lost their lives. Despite the intensive heat, Nick shuddered. This was reality. And after that depressing scene the aircraft took to the runway and left, quickly disappearing in the sky.

With the desert temperature now surging to the mid-forties, the men left for base-camp. The guys up front were vigilant, checking every step of the way for improvised explosive devices. And the journey by truck in the draining heat through the sand and scrub was monotonous. Jammed together on benches down each side of the vehicle, the soldiers shuffled for position and pressed their shoulders back to rest their weight. But as soon as Nick relaxed he could feel the vicious heat of the metal penetrating his back. He was soon forced to sit upright only to endure the body heat of the men beside him radiating all the way down the line. His face became flushed. Sweat trickled from his forehead and down to his cheeks. He wiped it away and tried to close his mind to the intensity of the heat. But then his feet started to throb. If only he could drag off his heavy boots, rid himself of the thick, army issue socks and feel the air around his toes. But that wasn’t an option.

For some time he sat quietly, occasionally closing his eyes and trying to ignore the discomfort until about an hour on the corporal sitting beside the driver shouted, ‘Fucking hell!’ as he pointed to evidence of the insurgents’ brutality ahead. ‘They’ve taken some hammer.’ His sudden comment caused an instant reaction from the men. They jerked forward and peered through the windscreen as the convoy drew closer. Burnt-out vehicles abandoned after enemy fire had been reduced to heaps of scrap metal.

Nick’s eyes were drawn to the piles of rubble, some of it scattered a distance from the spot where the blast had occurred. ‘Now we know why some of the lads went home in coffins.’ He stared aghast, the depressing images of them being loaded onto the aircraft floating into his mind. He closed his eyes and tried to eradicate them.

Sergeant Malloy followed his gaze. ‘Christ almighty!’ he yelled. ‘They’ve made a right meal of it. The area must have been infested with fucking land mines.’ He stared hard and shook his head. ‘The bastards cause some suffering.’ He tipped his helmet back, ran his hand through his fair hair and wiped his forehead with his hand. He sighed. ‘The bomb squad’ll check it out. They’re the experts. It’s a tough job,’ he stressed, jumping down from the truck. ‘It’s bloody nerve-racking approaching and disarming them. But a job’s a job. It has to be done.’

Slightly baffled at the words, Nick turned and cast a glance at Pat’s snuffling, inquisitive dog. ‘But what about you and Marty? Isn’t that part of your job?’

‘This one’s not for me and the lad here, not to start with, not until an initial check’s been made.’ Malloy ruffled the hair on Marty’s head. ‘There’s too much at stake. Sometimes the bastards hide more IEDs under the wreckage. They’re a bloody crafty lot. But we have the measure of them.’ He turned his head and surveyed the area slowly. ‘The Colonel’s right,’ he preached, addressing his men. ‘Now you know what it’s all about!’ He slipped the helmet back onto his head.

Nick couldn’t take his eyes off the full horror of this scene of destruction, a visible reminder always to be on the lookout. Appalled at the scenes of devastation, he felt sick to the stomach when, further along the route, he spotted a group of children crouching down and drinking water from a puddle. The kids looked up, their faces etched in apathy, their eyes like shiny black coals staring deadpan at the men in their armoured vehicles. ‘God Almighty! That water’s filthy!’ Nick exclaimed, feeling the churning inside his belly. ‘It’s got to be stagnant.’ Most of the men seemed to ignore his comment, but he continued to stare in numb disbelief shaking his head before offering the kids a friendly smile. But his gesture failed to hide the revulsion on his face.

Malloy patted him on the back. ‘These kids know nothing else. It’s the normal way of life for them,’ he explained. ‘They’ll come to no harm. They’re used to it.’

Nick turned away and when he thought about the home comforts back in England a shiver of guilt sliced through him. His first reaction was to get involved, to help these kids. But there was absolutely nothing he could do except follow instructions. The colonel had made it quite clear. ‘You’re soldiers, not bloody social workers! And don’t you forget!’ Nick pulled his thoughts together. It was difficult to assimilate this alien culture and the underlying poverty surrounding them. But it was something he would have to live with.

As they neared the base camp, not far from the Diyala Province, they came across an enormous crater fifty yards from its entrance. Pat turned to Nick and pointed. ‘I saw this on the news before we came away. I reckoned we might come across it. Some brazen suicide bomber detonated his load. But Ali Baba missed the spot!’ he said gleefully.

Nick couldn’t understand the sergeant’s relaxed approach. But then he realised the lads gained nothing by being serious, except ulcers or a nervous breakdown. And he took Pat’s comment in the spirit it was given. ‘I’ll say; he missed by a mile.’ He looked up above as they passed through the huge, heavily reinforced metal gates. ‘He wouldn’t have made it through these in any case,’ he observed, pointing to the building where the dormitories were protected with sandbags and machine-gun nests were set up on the roof. He lightened up and grinned, realising that was the only way to tackle these adversities. ‘I think we might be safe here.’

Once they disembarked from the trucks Colonel Rossett assembled his men outside. ‘I’d like to see you all in the mess. Thirty minutes.’

The soldiers flooded into the dorms, quickly set down their kit bags and headed for the mess.

The colonel was pacing the area at the front of the mess waiting for his men to settle themselves and, once there was quiet, he approached the dais, leant on his elbows and steepled his fingers. For a few seconds he gazed in silence and then he said, ‘Sand, sand and more sand!’ He paused and shook his head. ‘But you’ll have gathered we’re not issuing buckets and spades. You won’t be building sand castles,’ he joked, a ghost of a smirk on his face. He looked around. A roar of laughter from the greenies followed and sniggers from the hardened guys who’d heard it all before. It was their way of coping with the hazards of military life. ‘You’ll feel groggy from the heat for a day or two. It’s likely to reach fifty.’ There was a chorus of murmurs and groans from the men. ‘But I’ll be generous and give you a couple of days to acclimatise.’ He wiped his brow before his expression changed to one of gravity. ‘After that it’s down to business.’ His delivery was slow. ‘Let me tell you the enemy’s main method of attack is as surreptitious as it is deadly. Every footfall could invite death or serious injury.’ He sighed heavily. ‘You’ve seen the destruction first hand caused by IEDs. The place is peppered with them. For God’s sake, be vigilant.’

He switched on the projector and continued. ‘These guys use all manner of ways to detonate roadside bombs. They wrap up switches and pressure plates like these and hide them in the sand,’ he pointed to the screen. He flicked to the next image, a huge six-foot diameter drain. ‘Culverts are constructed to carry water underneath the road but, more often than not, they’re dry.’ He paused. ‘They’re damned good hiding places for those using radio-controlled devices to activate IEDs. That’s another of their devious tactics. Culverts need searching and clearing. Check everything; take nothing for granted,’ he stressed. ‘Cooking pots, plastic containers, things you might look on as rubbish.’

He switched to the map and pointed. ‘There’s a pocket of Sunni insurgents to the northeast, close to the Iranian border. It’s one of the last burning embers and, if it’s not snuffed out it’ll re-ignite. Violence is rife there. The buggers have never been defeated.’ He paused and frowned heavily. ‘Listen up carefully. We’ll be supporting a special squad on a highly sensitive combat mission to eradicate this tough band. The lads in the squad are dependent on us to support them.’ He glanced around the room to check that his men were listening before he continued. ‘The minute the squad goes in, our job is to sweep through the villages in search of the enemy.’ He raised his voice. ‘I can guarantee there’ll be insurgents hiding in some of the hovels.’ His eyes searched theirs. ‘But how can we tell them apart from the others?’ He hesitated and shook his head. ‘We can’t! But, if there’s any sign of danger you must defend yourselves and take aim against anyone armed. I want each and every one of you back here in one piece. Understand?’

The men looked at one another in the sudden, frozen stillness. This was the first real mission for some, including Nick.

The colonel continued. ‘The squad will be attempting to dismantle a complex network of explosives laid by the enemy to protect their sanctuary. And that’s a hell of a tricky one to tackle. We’ll be covering them and countering any mortar attacks.’ There was a hum of voices around the room. The colonel raised his hand to signal he required silence. ‘Believe me, the bastards are a cunning lot. They’ve managed to get hold of Russian-made RKG-3 grenades weighing no more than five pounds. They cost peanuts. We’ve come across young lads fastening them to parachutes and lobbing them into our vehicles. It seems a pastime of theirs. They can penetrate even our armed vehicles.’ He turned to leave. ‘Get back to the dorms and rest up. You’ll need it. I want you focused and alert once we’re into it. Keep your eyes open, and for Pete’s sake take care!’ He dismissed his men and left the room.

The men began to wander back. Nick took a deep breath and a sudden wave of anxiety washed over him. It was the words take aim that suddenly came into focus. Something, mostly in bravado, the lads had talked about, shooting to kill. But he told himself he’d joined the army to fight for his country, and now reality beckoned.

His sleep was fitful that night. The next morning he was drenched in sweat. He rubbed his temples, trying to pull his thoughts together. His nightmare was a confused mixture of everything happening around them. And, last night it haunted him. It was a deeply disturbing nightmare, beginning with an explosion and ending with those coffins floating above him on a conveyor belt. Sleep had eluded him after that. His stomach flipped at the horror of images he couldn’t obliterate from his mind.

And he knew why he was feeling this way. Morale at the camp was rock bottom after the deaths of the four lads. With insider knowledge, the insurgents had been lying in wait as the lads made their way to the airfield to be flown home for a well-earned leave. But, dazed and shattered by grief, their families wouldn’t be expecting their loved ones to return in boxes.

Nick held those thoughts in his mind. He knew first-hand about death and grief. Both his parents had died in a car crash when he was just seventeen.

But at the camp the monster of vengeance raised its head. The men, filled with a mixture of sorrow and rage, were determined to make the enemy suffer for their atrocities. It was payback time.

It was three days later when seven platoons, led by the special team, set out towards the village along roads littered with IEDs. At one point Nick noticed the shadowy figures of snipers shooting at random, but the shots were totally inaccurate, and a rocket launched by the insurgents failed to reach its target.

The confident Malloy turned to his platoon and grinned, as he lowered himself from the vehicle. ‘They’re nothing but a set of novices!’ But then his face became serious. ‘OK so far. But be vigilant. Keep away from the paths. Don’t forget, dogleg tactics,’ he insisted. ‘And, remember, don’t bunch up. Follow in line.’

Dripping wet through an armoured vest Nick moved stealthily on foot following the others in a zigzag pattern until the platoon reached the outskirts of the village. Pat held up his hand as he surveyed the area and an ominous silence enveloped them as he searched for signs of life. It seemed obvious the village had once been prosperous, but now it was derelict and deserted, its occupants having fled from the clutches of the insurgents. Several houses appeared to be unoccupied, some with boarded windows, some with doors swinging on hinges.

Dusk was settling around them when they took up position on the hillocks at one end of the village. Nick lay on his belly, shuffling for position and peering through his sights. Nothing. But he remained there knowing something – he didn’t know exactly what – was about to happen. Minutes later a volley of rifle shots barked through the stillness, whistling past the men and pummelling the ground. A young lad of sixteen or seventeen who’d obviously spotted them arriving but seemed unsure as to where they had settled, dodged out of one of the derelict houses. He advanced stealthily towards them, lifting his rifle, looking right and then left, and wildly firing shots.

Nick’s first reaction wasn’t alarm. It was more – what happens now? But he readied himself to retaliate, easing his way up on the rough ground, crouching on one knee and holding the guy in his sights. He was about to squeeze the trigger when the lad backpedalled and ducked into the doorway.

In that moment of restraint, Nick realised he was about to kill a man. A hum of anxiety bombarded his