LAST MORNING IN THE FOB
This is one of most moving parts of the Captain James/Molly Dawes love story to me. I have never been quite sure of what is going on between them as they look so intensely and wordlessly into one another's eyes. This, I think, is how it might have been.
Early morning light in Afghanistan had an eerie, blueish tinge. For Molly, catching the first few minutes of the dawn on her own was special. She would wait for the sun to lift itself lazily at first and then rapidly from behind the mountains, aware that the coolness she felt was only fleeting, that the heat would soon be searing. The blue haze would dissipate and there would be a gradual murmur of conversation as the platoon woke up. Soon the murmur would be punctuated with the loud man-noises with which she'd learned to live over the past months and the boys would stumble out to the latrines, to have their first smoke of the day, to get a drink, to stretch their awkward bodies.
Usually there wasn't a lot of spare time before Captain James would arrive, fully uniformed and kitted up, ready for a PT session which would be followed by a run around the internal perimeter of the base. Stragglers and slackers were rare, the consequences usually a day or two of latrine duty, the most hated job on the Base. Molly was always first up and first ready. This small window of time had become precious to her and she knew Captain James enjoyed it too. The two of them had a few minutes to talk alone as they waited for the rest of the platoon to surface. They would walk quietly to an area behind the medic's tent. Neither said so but both knew they were beginning a dangerous game as they sought more and more secluded spots on the Base.
Mostly they talked about home things. Molly told him stories of her brothers and sisters and about her life in East London. Captain James was an only child and was moved by the obvious love she had for her siblings, for whom she seemed always to have carried a great deal of responsibility. He was rather envious of them having a big sister like Molly. Of course, the feelings he was beginning to have for Dawes were anything but brotherly. She made him smile often and sometimes he laughed out loud at her tales, asking for more about her Mum and Nan. Slowly she revealed tiny parts of her very difficult relationship with Dave, her father, and he could begin to understand how damaging to her spirit it had been since she was a little girl.
Her early morning face was startlingly beautiful. She would plait her hair afresh each day. No tendrils would yet have escaped, her huge green eyes would sparkle and her skin was smooth apart from her dimples, at which he particularly enjoyed looking. Her neck and throat were enticing. Each morning he allowed himself the same fantasy. He could only imagine how amazing it would feel to nuzzle into her neck, to kiss her slowly under her ears and along her throat and jawline until he reached her mouth and then…
This was dangerous territory for the captain. He was sure that Dawes was onto him by the second week that they met in the morning but she was always there to greet him, all shiny and new. He was falling for her, big time. He needed most definitely to keep his hands to himself, to not touch. If he did he knew he would be gone in a heartbeat, betraying himself and Molly to the other squaddies as they tumbled out of the tent, bleary eyed and complaining. He had learned it was safer to move away from Molly a little earlier, to make his way to the front of the tent and to put on his best Captain Stern Face look as they formed ranks. She would fall into the line, making her way from a different direction than him.
Two weeks had passed, however, since their last morning meeting and there would be no more. Molly had returned from leave and he knew that his appalling, jealous behaviour the day before probably meant that she would never speak to him again.
This would have been the last time, anyhow, because they were going back to Bastion today, their work in the FOB supposedly done. He had his reservations about just how effective they had been. The level of risk to which they had all been subjected bothered him and he was certainly less ready to trust those higher in rank than he had been at the time of Dawes' first few patrols.
While she had been on leave, he had been through agonies of jealousy and worry over Molly. The squaddies invented a series of crude guessing games over what she and Smurf were supposedly doing on leave. Infuriated by their disrespect and crassness, he almost lost it with Fingers and Nude Nut one evening until he was saved from total disaster by Qaseem who diverted their attention towards a card game with a group of Special Force soldiers.
The Afghani , widely respected for his experience and quiet wisdom, told Captain James that he had become aware of the growing attraction between him and Molly. His daughter would have been the same age as Molly had she not been killed by the Taliban and he would have been very happy if that daughter had the strength and beauty of character that he recognised in Molly. As well, he said, had his daughter found a man with the captain's integrity, leadership and capacity to love, he would have been delighted. Captain James took this as the ultimate compliment.
Advising caution and the wisdom to wait, Qaseem warned the captain not to be blindsided by jealousy. Rather, he could be planning a safe way to talk with Molly on her return and to work out some strategies so that they could successfully wait out till they returned to Brize Norton. Smiling in his enigmatic, gentle way Qaseem said he was sure that Molly was having very similar feelings to those of Captain James. From a man who had truly been there himself, he said he could see two people falling very deeply in love. For now, they needed to manage their feelings so that neither career was put at risk and so that neither would be embarrassed or shamed.
So what had he done when Molly had arrived back? At the first sound of the chopper's approach he had gone racing to the lookout like a lovesick teenager and had fallen right into the trap of listening to the stupid stuff the squaddies called out to Smurf and Molly. Did he stop to think that she might have found it embarrassing? What they were calling out or his racing up the ladder? Had he waited to talk to her? Was he even really civil to her? No, he behaved like a prat, ordering her around and hurting her by his curtness. It was clear that she was bewildered at his greeting, but by now he was on a jealous roll and couldn't seem to stop himself. Afterwards, he was disgusted with himself when he remembered how she had had to know how he was, had joked about his blisters, had looked into his eyes and told him she had really wanted to come back. She had been to Newport, as it turned out, and when yet another quip about Smurf was made by Kinders, he completely lost the plot and swept out of the tent in a rage. He was very lucky that Kinders did not cotton onto what was happening. Molly certainly did. And none of it was her fault.
Unaware of the pain he had caused her in the tent, or more likely still angry with her for some imagined betrayal, he strode past her later in the day when she tried to tell him that she and Smurf had merely been keeping one another company and that nothing had happened between them. As she called out, asking when they were leaving the FOB the next day, he curtly answered with the time and told her to pack. When she further asked if that was the end, of them or of their time in the FOB he was not sure, he had turned his back on her and did not answer.
He had gone on guard duty, sulking as he stared out over their particular patch of Talibanland for the last time. Not once since she had been back had he thought about the day she left, the overwhelming surge of emotion as he had written 'Rosabaya' on her arm, asked her to buy him some of his special coffee in London and then to come back to him. He had not known he would speak those words that had been in his heart for some time, he realised. Nor had he been prepared for her promise to come back and that he should not worry. Letting her go in that helicopter had been very hard, especially when she made it clear she would rather stay.
And here he was off duty, taking his armoured vest off, and there it was, on his pillow, the sleeve of Rosabaya. Why would she bother to go out of her way to do this for him if she was with another man? Had it really meant something to her that he had written the word on her arm and asked her to return to him? Had she waited till he was out of sight to bring the coffee to his tent so that she wouldn't have to talk to him and be hurt again? Did she care for him, after all? What had he done? Had he got it all wrong?
His mind was racing. He sat, holding her gift, suddenly feeling very sad and, he had to admit it, ashamed of himself. He would have to sort this out, but there was nothing he could do tonight. What he must do was to pack his bergen and the rest of his gear, in readiness for their departure early in the morning before the heat got up.
Back before his jealousy had taken over he had hoped that this might be the morning that he and Molly would talk about their feelings, their future and waiting out. He had planned to ask her to join him a little earlier than usual but that chance was all gone now. It would be very difficult to find space and time to do so at Bastion. So, he had blown this, too. He would have to think through a new plan, one which would not wound Molly any further.
And here she was now, in the blue Afghanistan dawn, moving slowly around the FOB. He imagined that, like him, she was committing details about this place to her memory. Standing out of her line of sight, he watched her closely. She looked tired and sad and so beautiful that he wanted to stride up to her and hold her against his heart. He needed to tell her how sorry he was to have disrespected her with his poisonous jealousy and that he loved her so much that he thought his heart might burst.
He could not do any of this now because there were so many people about. A memory of words read long ago came to him unbidden, that the eyes are the window to one's soul. That was what he would do, use his dark brown eyes to tell her what he needed to say. He hoped she would understand at least some of his message. It was the best he could do for now.
Making her way to the back of their troop carrier, Molly scanned one last time around the FOB. James walked slowly towards her and looked directly and deep into her eyes. Without words, he told her that he had her gift, that he was so sorry he had hurt her and that he would make sure that they talked soon. He was not sure if she had understood how much he cared for her. Certainly her eyes were talking back to him and he felt some hope at what he saw in them.
That would have to be enough for now. They did have to get on with the everyday business of soldiering in Afghan. Still looking intently into her eyes, the captain indicated with a characteristic movement of his head that she should board the vehicle. He followed.
It seems Molly didn't get the message as clearly as the captain hoped and was seeking answers in the Sohail scene? I would be glad to get feedback. Thanks!