The following evening the Boss left quietly with a small group to attempt to pin down the location of the SAM. Dawes watched him go from a look out point on the roof. She'd felt anxious ever since she'd heard about his mission and as he appeared on the street below the unease rippled through her.
Discreetly she followed his tall frame moving stealthily through the shadows as it became more faint and then ghost-like, until she knew for certain she couldn't see it any more. She resisted the urge to find Captain Newlish on some pretext so that she could listen to the mission on the radio. Trying to keep calm she went down to the med centre, and nervously packed and repacked her Bergen, just in case she was needed.
In the more rational corners of her mind she knew the chances of her being needed were pretty non-existent. Lane was out with him. 'So, why?' she asked herself, 'Why would he need her, unless things went badly wrong?' And then her mind would return to the day on the bridge with Badrai, and she remembered how quickly it had all gone to shit then.
This was Afghan. You could never tell what might happen. It could go to shit in seconds.
Finished with her Bergen, she moved restlessly to sort out bandages and was almost grateful when Maisie brought an Afghan police man down to get a splinter removed from under his nail. At least there was someone to talk to and take her mind off the Boss. Although with Maisie chatting Molly wasn't able to listen out for any shots rifling through the still, dark night.
The other girl left eventually and Molly returned to wear out tiles at her watch point. Unexpectedly she found Captain Newlish standing in the half darkness, radio in hand, staring at the still, darkened town.
"Has anything happened, Sir?" she asked him nervously.
"Nothing so far. They're out by the cornfields now."
Molly scanned the black spaces beyond the houses. "Isn't that where the Taliban hang out during the day?"
"Yes, but they come to town to sleep at night." Newlish looked over at her curiously. "You worried about Lane? I'm sure she'll be fine."
Molly nodded still scanning the darkness.
"Aren't you on duty tomorrow?" Newlish gave her a hard look. "Try to get some sleep She's an experienced medic and she's with Captain James. He'll look after her."
"Sir."
Molly realised she was drawing attention to herself. She left the rooftops to lie down on her bed in the dark. The shelling seemed to slow down. She took a small sip of water and swirled it slowly round and round her dry mouth trying to ignore her thirst. The bunkroom was so hot it was almost impossible to sleep. She realised the shelling had stopped. That didn't sound good. Why had it stopped? Had they been discovered? She wished over and over that she'd had a chance to talk to Charles before he'd left. What if something happened?
She closed her eyes and forced herself to think about something else… anything. She thought back to her brief holiday with the Boss back in August; the last time they'd actually been able to talk and laugh openly without looking over their shoulders and worrying that someone had seen something they shouldn't have done.
Of course, they weren't the only ones in a relationship. There were several girls – medics mostly – she knew personally at Bastion who were in relationships with more senior officers. And there were some others she assumed of more dodgy – well fleeting – relationships, having observed a few couples sneak out of the bed linen store on the first floor of the hospital when she was working in the early hours!
But, as Charles was at pains to point out, those other couples didn't have a Smurf in the background, or an operation that had turned to shit, like the morning they'd gone out to stop Badrai on the bridge. Poor old Smurf might not be around any more, but she wished the fading memory of his breakdown that morning didn't hover like a guilty burden around Charles' defensive shoulders.
In Charles' eyes it meant they should 'keep schtum' – whatever that meant! – and tell no one they were together. It was bit bleedin' frustrating having to pretend among her friends, but since he'd cop more shit than her if their long relationship was discovered, Molly went along with his determined discretion, even though it caused her periodic doubts about… well, whether he was really into her. It also stopped her from being truly open and having a good laugh about his posh ways with her mates and her family.
But, Jesus! The thing that irked her most about his insistence on secrecy was that he would never sanction a request to have their home leaves together. And that, she grimaced, was a right pain in the Gregory!
But by some miracle at the beginning of August someone high up in their respective chains of commands had unwittingly done them both a favour and allotted them short leave at the same time. Hell they'd even booked them back to Bastion on the same transport! They'd had two weeks – well eight days actually – because Charles had to spend some time in the UK with Sam. And those eight days had been… theirs. A bloody perfect, perfect holiday from beginning to end. She smiled at the memory.
For bleeding starters, Charles had said he'd book them a holiday away, and then teased her with an anonymous note, mysteriously left in her locker at the hospital, which said:
MD
Joint Ops 5.8.15-13.8.15
Meet: 5.8.15 - 1100 hours
Check in desk 35
Heathrow Airport, Terminal Four
Kit: passport, hiking boots, swimsuit, mosquito repellent
CJ
Molly still had that friggin' note folded and tucked under the cover of her notebook! She smiled, remembering how stoked she'd felt when she discovered it, and how she'd tried to work out where they were going by looking up all the flights leaving Heathrow airport around midday on that date!
There were too many planes flying out and she couldn't recognise the names of many of the destinations, so in the end she gave up. She was not really used to holidays abroad. There hadn't been enough money at home for that sort of stuff. She'd been to Butlins with her mum when she was little and unexpectedly to Benidorm once, when her gran had won Spot the Ball in the paper. But she'd never been on any kind of holiday that meant going to Heathrow.
Would it be somewhere warm if she needed a swimsuit? What if there was just an indoor swimming pool at the hotel? It could be anywhere: Iceland, for all she knew! It sounded like you'd freeze in Iceland!
Would Charles book them a holiday somewhere cold? Nah.
Knowing him he'd book some suspect culture tour! And if they needed insect repellent, then it couldn't be that cold. You don't get mosquitoes freezing their arses off in the winter! As for the hiking boots, who bloody well knew? She really hoped that didn't mean they were going to be walking around forests. She hated trees!
Molly decided to ask Charles the next time she saw him. But despite going to their usual places and walking past his portacabin a couple of times, she didn't bump into him anywhere, until one evening when she saw him returning from the gym. This was her chance!
She glanced up and down the corridor. It was almost empty. An American sergeant, whose leg she had treated for infection a few weeks ago, limped slowly out of earshot.
There was no one else.
She put on her most official, most respectful voice: "Uh, Captain James, can I have a word please, Sir?"
He came to a stop in front of her. In a missed beat she took in his sweat streaked T-shirt and damp, darkened hair, separated into curls. His potent male smell whirled over her and her stomach fluttered with desire.
"Dawes?" he prompted.
She found it hard to talk. Even in this public corridor she longed to lean into his chest, to feel the rugged power of his arms around her.
The gym door opened at that moment and shattered his raw spell. A group she recognised from COMINT spilled noisily into the corridor behind him.
Charles raised a seemingly disinterested eyebrow at her and smiled formally, all semblance of restraint.
Damn him!
"Well Dawes?" He was being deliberately provocative now.
She thought furiously and then smiled.
"Sir, you asked me to recommend some mosquito repellent for your forthcoming leave?" she lied sweetly.
His eyes widened at the faintest trace of impertinence in her voice. "I did?" he asked in a slightly puzzled voice, as if he had no memory of the conversation. "Well?"
His tone was formal, but she detected a hint of enjoyment playing about the corners of his mouth.
Behind him one of the COMINT boys gave her a cheeky thumbs up and she almost lost her nerve.
"Sir. I'd need to know where you're going to, to give you the best travel health advice, Sir."
Comprehension dawned on Charles' face. "I'm sure you do Dawes," he agreed with a joyful appreciation of irony. "But it's no longer necessary, thank you. I ordered some already."
'Bugger him!'
"Oh Good" she agreed through gritted teeth. "I'm glad to hear that, Sir."
"I'm sure you are Dawes." He winked at her with some enjoyment and swivelled to follow the COMINT group out of the door.
Then he turned back just as the corridor emptied. "Well done for following up. Diligent as ever!" he observed. "Thank you Dawes."
She stepped forward, finally able to talk openly. "Please Boss! Just tell me the country?"
He shook his head teasingly. "That would ruin my enjoyment."
"The temperature, then? I need to know what to pack!"
He put a finger his lips, shook his head smilingly and opened the door.
"Hot, or cold, Charles… Sir?"
"Both," he said mysteriously as he disappeared through the door. "Hot during the day. Cold at night."