John Watson is standing on top of a flat, square concrete building, between antennas and satellite dishes. The army doctor looks down onto the organized chaos of the camp, walls and corridors made of sand bags, canvas roofs and separated canvas sections that give only the faint illusion of privacy. The noises of the camp reach even here, the building barely higher than the rest. The temperature has dropped about ten degrees compared to daytime, but it is still uncomfortably hot. The concrete makes it worse, having absorbed the heat of the day and emitting it slowly now.
Watson hears the sound of army boots on concrete and grumbles in disapproval. He often comes here, seeking solitude and a little privacy, distance from the busy human anthill that is the camp.
John looks over his shoulder at the very young soldier in crinkled camouflage trousers and shirt who disturbs his solitary resting place. The other man stops and nods a silent greeting, before moving on and unfurling a sleeping bag as far away from Watson as possible. John continues his staring. After some minutes of mutual silence, he finally shrugs. The two men on the roof , very aware of each other, silently agree to ignore the fact that the place they thought was theirs alone is occupied by another human being.
oOo
After some nights of ignorance, the younger man walks over to Watson, silently offering a bottle and cigarettes. John shakes his head at the cigarettes but reaches for the bottle with a smile, while the youngster sits down next to him with his cigarette.
Watson breaks the silence asking for his companion´s name, and when the bottle is empty, they almost act like old friends. Many nights later John is still wondering how easy it is to form a friendship over a bottle of vodka.
John sits at the edge of the roof, hearing the familiar tap of boots on concrete.
"Hy Mattie," John nods, lifting the bottle with a warm smile. It is his turn to bring the alcohol today.
"Evening, doc," the soldier grins. "You still think that cigarettes are more lethal than war?"
"They are bad for your health," John replies with mock earnestness.
Mattie´s grin becomes broader."If I´d care for my health, I shouldn´t take part in a war, don´t you think?"
"They shouldn´t allow idiots into the army", John answers, frowning.
Mattie just laughs. "You say that war is dangerous, but you´re still here."
Watson´s frown turns into a smile and they laugh like this is a real good joke, agreeing that they both are crazy bastards.
oOo
The meetings on the roof become more and more regular. John admits to himself that he is disappointed when Mattie doesn´t show up. He discovers that his friend has an affinity for astronomy. So John spends a lot of nights looking at the clear night sky while Mattie gestures at the stars, cigarette between his fingers, telling him about the constellations. John uses to lie down on the flat roof, hands folded beneath his head, feeling the warmth of the concrete through his clothes, at peace with himself.
Peace is a fragile and temporary thing in Helmand. It shatters along with the first attack after weeks of silence.
A bomb, exploded next to one of their patrol jeeps. Watson is trained for situations like this. He does his job calmly and efficiently, though it turns out to be mere aftersearch instead of a rescuing mission. There are no injured people to take care of, no survivors. The car is an unrecognizable heap of metal, and John is crouching on the ground, putting pieces of charred flesh and shattered bone into black body bags. The dog tags will be the only way of identifying the victims. His hands start shaking when he realizes that the dog tag he is holding reads "Matthew Thompson" and belongs to one of the unrecognizable bodies.