This is a bit short but I am unbelievably busy at the moment and this is a natural place to pause...
Sunday 26th October 2014
He slowly sipped his coffee as he watched the flags being lowered over Camp Bastion. The war, for Britain at least, was finally over. Bastion. Afghanistan. They were part of him. They had made him the solider and the man that he was. Was. For almost a decade he had never questioned the bigger picture, the orders from above, but now he felt bitter about the young lives lost, the catastrophic injuries sustained. At night, when the pain in his leg made him restless, the guilt took hold.
'They gave me back a flag'.
He reflected on the preceding year. He remembered feeling so alive, so much thirst and anticipation for that fourth tour. For theatre. His men were ready, the sections well drilled, coherent units. They would have a good tour. They would make a difference.
His leg twinged, bringing him back into the present, his cold gaze falling on to the MTP clad figures moving across the screen. Easing himself off the stool, he walked over to the coffee machine. He studied the replacement pod for a second, a thin smile passing his lips and a memory flickering in his eyes. He placed it into the machine and pressed the button.. He wasn't a fully functioning soldier without his first shot of coffee in the morning. He wasn't a fully functioning human being. Turning, the stiffness of his leg easing with movement, he walked over to the window.
The reds and golds of the trees pleased him, the life of the garden was so different from the barren landscapes of Afghanistan. He spent a lot of time out there, digging, trimming, planting, mowing. He liked the tangible efforts, he enjoyed the physicality. But although rehabilitating, that acre of escapism would soon need to be replaced by a more certain future. He frowned.
Beep beep.
He picked up the coffee, drinking in the aroma.
It was hot and it was dusty. 2 section were playing football, Dangleberries and Baz Vegas arguing about whether the ball would have hit the post, had there actually been any posts, not just a couple of bergens.
'Come on you pair of fuckmuppets! I ain't got all day!'
Sitting unseen on the steps of his cabin, he sipped his treasured coffee, smiling with her as she threw her head back in laughter.
He waited an age for the laptop to start, fidgeting impatiently. He cupped his coffee in both hands and paced the kitchen, pausing occasionally to glance out the window.
'Bloody bullfinches.'
The light from the laptop screen illuminated his features as he scanned the display, his stern expression offset by his keen eyes. After a few moments, he had the information he required and his strong, tanned hand closed the laptop lid with a satisfying click. In the corner of the kitchen, images of Bastion still flickered across the television and he paused briefly, looking again at the parade ground where he once stood, before grasping the remote and switching it off.
Picking up his neatly packed overnight bag, he took one final look at his garden, reached for his coat and walked out of that big, old house.
