Hey, my lovelies! My army and political knowledge is deriving from what I learnt at school a few years ago so please, excuse me if I'm wrong! Other than that, I hope you enjoy this first chapter and I would love to hear your opinions on it x
Regrettably, one of the first things Molly thought of when she learnt of her husband's affair with Georgie Lane was the fact that she was glad that no children were involved.
Ascending into the third year of their marriage, at the tender age of twenty-five, Molly Dawes – or Molly James, as she was referred to at the time – had found herself thinking of children. She had been raised with a house full of bleeders, as she called them, and from an early age she had concluded that she didn't want to end up like her mum. Molly had grown up watching her mother from the side-lines, pursuing a marriage that consisted of blinding lust and an obligation to stay together for the sake of the children. Molly didn't want that, she didn't want Charlie to resent her later on in life like he did to Rebecca. The thought of him hating her somewhere along the line had scared Molly, so much so that she and Charles had avoided the topic of having children of their own for years.
But now, after everything, Molly was glad they wimped out of the serious conversation. Because, as horrible as it sounded, Molly was almost certain she would have stayed with him, with Charlie, if they had had children. After making it through Keough, then Afghan and then the loss of Smurf, Molly's skin had thickened, and she knew she would have done exactly as Belinda had – compromised.
And, she thought of such compromise at the strangest of moments. She was doing her job, caring for patients in the most surreal of situations and the thought of her own children flickered into her mind. They were always fleeting but it was something that chilled Molly to the bone. Now that she wasn't as young and as heartbroken, Molly could picture herself with a child or two. She could picture little toddlers with curly hair and foul mouths and in her head, the bleeding kids always looked like Charlie. The fantasies in her head consisted of the stereotypical nuclear family that she always hated seeing on the tele as a kid. And that was what scared the willies out of her the most, that even after all this time, he was the one she thought of being with.
It bothered her, actually, a lot more than she cared to admit. She would sit on her bed, the rest of her platoon asleep, and she'd thump at the side of her head; an attempt to rid the painful memories of his cheeky grin as she called him 'boss-man' It was like her mind was a TV that only played reruns of their time together. She remembered it all as if it were yesterday, her heart simulatenously content and aching at the thought of her first tour, their dates … their wedding day. As the flashbacks from her big day came, the stream of silent tears were triggered. Her little frame would shake in bed as she tried to rid herself of the painstaking memories. But usually, her attempts were to no avail. His lingering gaze still penetrated her through her own memories and so, Molly was forced to do the only thing she knew how – work.
The past year after filing for divorce – which still hadn't been finalised – had consisted of Molly trying to be the best medic she could possibly be. When she was sent home for some rest and recuperation following the disastrous end to her marriage, Molly took it upon herself to go back to school. The idle time she knew she would have once tour was over meant that she'd have to dwell on her relationships with both Charles and Georgie. And honestly, Molly couldn't handle that. She felt like an idiot, betrayed – it was like experiencing Proud Mary and Artan all over again. So, she decided to keep herself busy. It had been hard, practically impossible, but unlike she had during high school, Molly actually studied. She had moved in with her fellow medic and friend, Jackie, and for the first time in her academic life, she tried.
At first, Molly realised why she had hated school so much. She didn't test well and that was evident as her course progressed. As a result, people looked down at her for her grammar and her fiery nature, but she learnt to ignore it. She was at the library as often as she could be, drowning herself in textbook terms about the human anatomy. She didn't make any friends or socialise with anyone other than Jackie, which admittedly wasn't healthy, but it got her through. It stopped her from overthinking her relationship and most definitely gave her a greater understanding of the importance of her job.
When it was all done and dusted, she'd barely made it, but – she had, made it.
Hence, why Molly Dawes became one of the medics that was always in high demand. She was known for her courage – her award for gallantry consolidated that – but with her added knowledge, every platoon wanted her on board. And frankly, every time a tour ended, Molly was ready for another. Her work became her life and she was seemingly okay with that fact.
Her current role consisted of assisting both her platoon and the locals with medical care in the Middle East. The likes of the Arab and Israeli conflict wasn't something that Molly was incredibly knowledgeable about and so, her job merely entailed her helping as many people as she could; she had no political stance on the matter. However, what shocked Molly the most was that most of the causalities that she dealt with were children. She had a special attachment to kiddos – she blamed the herd that she'd grown up with – and so, seeing them facing poor sanitation, sexism, abuse … it was all difficult for Molly face.
It made her life problems seem so trivial, especially on a day like today.
She'd been deployed in Israel on a humanitarian mission for the past few months and was beginning to find an unexpected liking for the place. It reminded her of Afghanistan in a way. The dusty air, the bright blues skies and the endless mountains; the place was beautiful. If it weren't plagued with war, she would have been content growing old in a place like Israel. But unfortunately, the world wasn't as idealistic as Molly Dawes wanted and she'd, clearly, learnt that in the hardest of ways.
A girl named Chana Lubellski had stumbled into Molly's care a few weeks ago. Molly and her new platoon, section six, had been out establishing relationships with locals. The objective of her mission had purely been to create a rapport between natives in order for them to trust that the British Army did not come bearing hostility. Whilst doing so, Molly had encountered upon Chana.
She was the epitome of everything wholesome in the fucked-up world of war; the equivalent to Bashira in Molly's mind. With the fairest of skin and yet the brightest of eyes, Chana always reminded Molly of Snow White. She looked like a princess, both beautiful and innocent. The only difference was that Chana was not as loved as the beloved Western fairy-tale character that Molly had once cherished. There was no Prince Charming in the world that Chana had grown up in – just the monsters that plagued Molly's nightmares.
Thanks to the assistance of translators, Molly had learnt that at the tender age of ten, Chana, a girl of a Jewish background, had lost her parents whilst migrating to the Golan Heights region. They had been ambushed by police for no apparent reason to her and she'd been thrown into a refugee camp. The poor conditions in the camp had resulted in her falling putty into the hands of some horrible people and without protection from her parents, Chana was quick bait. She'd been victim of sexual assault and animalistic violence from guards for years. And, now, at thirteen years old, Chana was heavily pregnant.
Besides the protruding bump on the young girl's frame, the first thing Molly had noticed when she saw her was the fear in her eyes. There was this redness in her cheeks that never seemed to fade, a sight that Molly was all too familiar with. Because, Molly's face did the exact same thing when she cried. And, over the past year, Molly had cried her fair share. Instantly, sympathising with the girl's plight, Molly had taken her into her care. But not before Chana had cowered into her hold as they had passed one of the patrols men on the grounds of the camp. His eyes followed them creepily as they walked, and Molly found a shiver run down her spine. He was older – older than Molly – with a tinge of greying hair at the sides of his face. If Molly had faced him back in London, she would have pegged him for a pervert; the likes of one of her ex-boyfriend's uncles or some sort. But Chana wasn't just creeped out by this man as they walked past him, she had been terrified. And in that moment, she hadn't had to stay anything – Molly had figured it all out on her own.
The guard was her rapist; the father of her unborn child.
Since that moment, Molly hadn't been able to get the man's face out of her head. She couldn't understand how somebody could be so evil. Chana was just a child and he'd violated her in the worst viable way imaginable.
But, like most things, there was the tiniest ray of light at the end of the tunnel. Because Chana was an infectiously good human being, a characteristic that her name suggested. Chana translated to the English word, grace, and she embodied everything that the word connoted. Many locals spotted the distinguishable uniform of a foreign soldier and immediately expressed their distaste. Molly had had things thrown at her, one man had even spit at her, but Chana was nothing of that sort. Despite her tragic childhood, Chana had a smile that could light up any room. She would smile and laugh and from what Molly could see, she was incredibly bright. Within the space of weeks, Chana could hold a conversation in English that half the tossers in her region couldn't do. And Molly was in awe of her, in awe of how she could forget about the trauma she had had to face and still be so darn respectful.
"Morning, Molly." It was an expression Chana had picked up from fellow medics and without a doubt, every time Chana spotted Molly – day or night – she wished her good morning. It was rather comical but without a doubt, Molly would reciprocate the greeting just to see the girl's face brighten. It was usually after these moments where Molly felt sick. She would think about happy Chana being forced onto a bed so that a filthy man could have his way with her.
But, that sickness had passed - now all Molly felt was an ache, a sadness that she'd once felt as she'd watched Bashira being sent to Kabul without a chance to say goodbye. But ultimately, Chana wasn't Bashira. From what Molly had heard last, Bashira was thriving in school and as safe as could be; a liberty that Chana was not awarded with. Because, as of a few hours ago, she had had died during child birth, the baby along with her. Her body hadn't been able to handle the whole trauma of it all and Molly had been there, holding her hand as it had all tragically unfolded.
"For … you, muter." Chana had chocked whilst on her death bed, handing her the Star of David necklace that she treasured dearly around her neck. It had been a possession of her mother's and now it rested around Molly's neck alongside the thread that still held the engagement ring that Smurf had given her.
Molly fingered the chains absentmindedly with a deep sadness resting within her. Just like with Smurf, Molly had witnessed as the last embers of life had left Chana's eyes.
It was this unconventional situation where Molly began to think of her own children again. She was sat by the empty delivery bed, Chana's body now gone. Despite this, Molly couldn't bring herself to move. Her mind kept conjuring up the image of Chana alive a few hours ago. Her laughter was fresh in her ears and Molly tried to keep the strangled sobs from escaping the back of her throat. She imagined if she had a child, a daughter, she'd be like Chana.
"Molly, I'm so sorry." Molly's Commanding Officer, Captain Adams, placed a hand to her shoulder, pulling her from stream of thought. Everyone knew about Molly's connection with Chana and they empathised with her greatly following the girl's untimely death. However, Molly was still on duty and there were more important matters at hand. "But, we're going to need you in the mess hall at twenty thirty hours. Get some dinner whilst you can, will ya?"
"Yes, sir." With tears still in her eyes and a puffiness to her cheeks, Molly made her way to the mess hall. She was trying so hard to seem put together, but it wasn't working. Everything around her moved slowly and the simple thought of ration food made her stomach lurch. But like the good private that she was, Molly made her way to the mess hall. She sat in a hidden corner with a glass of water in her hands, her fingers shaking every time she lifted the flimsy cup to her mouth.
It was like she was in a movie, Chana's laughter ringing in her ear over and over again, like those creepy horror soundtracks. As the sunlight bled into hues of orange and blue outside, all Molly wanted to do was scream, scream at it to stop but she knew if she need, it would make it real … all traces of Chana would suddenly just evaporate. And, Molly wasn't sure if she could handle that, not right now at least. Her wounds were too fresh. Chana had been a friend, a saviour to Molly in some form, and she couldn't let go … not right now. Molly had always had to be the person that let go first. She had lost her family when joining the army, lost her friends, lost Smurf … Charlie. And for once in her life, Molly didn't want to let go. So, she coped with it; the laughter that was screeching from within her. Molly listened, distraught, to her mind's cruel remembrance of Chana until it was interrupted by her CO. As Captain Adams spoke to the whole of section six, Molly felt the laughter quieten down and a sudden panic arose within her chest.
Chana was gone.
With an increased heart rate and a sudden clamminess in her hands, Molly's body began to shake. It was a tremble at first but then it felt like a weight being forced upon her chest. She was having a panic attack. In that fraction of a moment, she almost thought she was Chana. She could envision that creepy old man on top of her, his weight pressing down against her chest and Molly couldn't handle it. She felt disgusting or disgusted (or both) She hated that that one man had resulted in the death of such a precious human being. She hated that she'd been unable to save her. And the weight of both those things made Molly feel suffocated. She scrambled at the air, forcing the imaginary figure off of her before racing out of the mess hall for some air.
As the cooler night air brushed against her face, Molly felt her body begin to calm down. In the wind, she was able to recognise her surroundings and her chest heaved in and out violently until she gathered the strength to face the rest of her team. As expected, they all smiled at her as she made her way back inside. Thankfully, nobody overtly acknowledged what had happened just minutes prior, they simply nodded in her direction to see if she was okay, a gesture which Molly was appreciative of. Sadly, they had all had their own encounters with death and they knew sometimes, a few moments of freaking out was needed. Yes, they were soldiers, but they were also human, and they'd be more worried if Molly wasn't as fragged as she was.
"Sorry, sir, I jus' needed some air."
"It's alright, Dawsey." As far as CO's went, Captain Adams was a good one. He was the right level of stern but caring and right there, Molly couldn't have been more grateful for his understanding manner. "But, we need to discuss something, and I need to know if you're up for it." Captain Adams was talking at Molly, but his words were seemingly directed at the whole platoon. "Now, I know you all signed up for a humanitarian tour, but some intel has cropped up that suggests the presence of Palestinian extremism within our region. It hasn't spewed into anything significant as of yet but it's one those nip it in the bud situations. Now, the intel is being handled by American intelligence but from here on out, it's a joint operation."
"What's the intel, sir?" Clark, one of the youngest recruits, asked.
"This is where I need to know you're okay and ready to get in there, Dawes." Adams dismissed Clark by answering his question with his gaze firmly planted on Molly. "It's an immediate ring of men, assumingly, using their assertion of power to undermine the Israelis, it's the likes of corrupt police men, doctors, guards-"
"Like the one who assaulted Chana?" Molly piped up, her previous panic replaced with a sense of immediate interest.
"Exactly. Special Forces believe she was abused in an Arab controlled refugee camp simply because of her Israeli descent and she's probably not the only one. They're using children as assets of war and it needs to be stopped. Now, our jobs are to assist the US, but another platoon will be joining us in the mornin' to assist with the simultaneous humanitarian work. The Eagles make the decisions and we follow but Molly, their missions will most probably include you, if you're up for it, since you're the only one who has eye-balled some of the corrupt Arab men in power."
"It would be my pleasure, sir." Molly didn't hesitate as she spoke, her mind clouded with a need to protect all the young boys and girls who were innocent victims to a conflict that had been going on for centuries.
"Now, the rest of youse are dismissed until zero five hundred hours. Get some shut eye and we meet with the US Major after breakfast."
As Molly got up to leave with the rest of her team, Captains Adams seized her wrist, halting her movement instantly. "Are you sure you're up for this Molly, after Chana?"
"It's my job, sir, I'll be there." This wasn't Molly's first encounter of death, after all.
"There's something else we need to discuss before you sod off to bed, Dawes." Captain Adams paused, his eyes shutting almost as if he were scared to gage Molly's reaction as he spoke up again. "The platoon flying in from Cyprus tomorrow … it's two section."