Thanks for reading and the kind reviews guys!
I hope you continue with me 8)
Just a quick note to say, I know absolutely nothing about army life (Though my brother-in-law was in for many years...I should probably quiz him a bit more!) so please don't be put off when my facts aren't quite correct...*ahem*
Happy reading!
Stiffly sitting in his seat at the far end of the plane, Charles ran his hand over his hair, before tugging the strands at the nape of his neck, in a nervous, habitual manner.
So far, the boys had been behaving reasonably well, or well enough that he hadn't needed to pull any of them up or deliver any bollockings. Though, he wouldn't count his chickens just yet, they'd only been flying for an hour and a half.
Unable to refrain from casting his traitorous eyes in the direction of little miss giggles, he pretended not to be looking at her and told himself he was just curious about who she'd ended up sitting with.
Surprisingly, it was Smurf that he found next to her, and chatting with a reasonably friendly mien. Did they know each other?
Geraint's double gave a small chuckle, as she grinned back at him, causing Charles to frown lightly, wondering what witty remark had been shared between them, before mentally kicking himself. He didn't care!
She was a pretty little thing, he'd give her that, but whether she was up to the job was the important part and that was as yet to be determined.
He wondered what had made her find her way into the army. Had it been a life long dream? He snorted through his nose, unable to believe that was a possibility.
Smurf spoke quietly to her, from the seat beside her and Charles found himself wondering how they knew each other. She brushed a bit of stray hair back behind her ear and he found himself internalising a groan, as he struggled to tear his gaze away. This was ridiculous. What was so interesting about the little imp. She hadn't proven she was up for the job and he was gazing at her with some wringly applied hero worship. He refused to even label it with any form od lust or desire. She was pretty, but that was it. Model status or grecian beauty were a far cry from the shewomble.
The assumption that they knew each other was strengthened by the fact that she hadn't said a word to NudeNut who was sitting on the otherside of her, staring into the wall of the plane opposite him with some ferocity.
Trying to switch off and stop his brain from over thinking things - which so far, he'd found almost impossible - Charles tried not to consider anything about the medic again, before shutting his eyes and pressing the back of his palm against them. Why was he interested in anything about her? He let out a sigh, before answering his own question. He wasn't, was the answer!
He hated this bit of deployment. The long, dull journey allowed him too much spare thinking time. He didnt want to contemplete his own failure at life. He was a divorced 28 year old, with a child he barely saw, because his job was the biggest love of his life.
It was hot and his body felt sticky from the sweat that molded his uniform to his skin. The dust was sticking to his throat as he dragged himself under the net of the obstacle course.
Charles, suddenly wasn't very sure, how he'd ended up here, or why? As Captain, he rarely joined in on these kinds of events. He was more likely to be found cheering on one of his fuckmuppets from the sidelines.
Dragging the heavy bergen along behind him, he considered it an unusual aspect of any obstacle course. Supposong that in real situations, the boys would have the weight of a bergen, so whoever decided to involve the packs on a training event, probably made a good call.
The weight of the bag behind him, sagged, suddenly heavier, as if it'd just soaked up half the nile and retained the weight of all that water. He turned his head, struggling to see through the fog of the sand flying around, slowly congealing against his lips.
A distant, maniacal cackle of laughter caught his attention, joined by several other, distinctively cold laughs, causing him to let go of his bag, reach for his rifle, and allow his eyes, guarded with worry, to dart around for the source of the noise.
Where the fuck was his gun?
It was gone. He ran his hand over his face in frustration, wondering what the fuck was going on and how he'd suddenly gotten here, with no weapon, plan or recollection of arriving.
The smell from his hands assaulted his nostrils, making him blanch. The net above him from the course, was suddenly gone and as he tried to glance at his fingers, the sand flying around him, calmed enough for him to notice the sticky red, that adorned his palms.
Blood!
Gagging, a feeling of dread filled his stomach, horror at where the red bodily fluid had come from.
He ran his hands over his body, taking a minute to breathe as he tried to determine if he felt any pain. Nothing!
Making a decision to get out of here and find his useless medic, so that she could double check for injuries, Charles moved to grab his burdenous bergen from behind him.
His hand connected - producing a sickening slap - with skin. He whipped his head around to see who he'd made contact with.
His bergen, no longer a bergen! Instead, he stared down at the lifeless body of Geraint. Blood gushing from his neck.
Charles felt bile rise up his throat, as the previously closed eyes of the corpse beside him, popped open. They were cold and lifeless, as his mouth moved. Geraint's voice wasn't the happy Welsh one that Charles knew so well. It was cold and angry, as he spoke to his one time boss. The sound eerie.
"You killed me!" Geraint accused, moving to sit up, his bloodied, sandy hand reaching out towards Charles' neck, fingers grazing his boss' skin, in the same place the bullet had entered his own.
Charles let out a gasping breath as the cold, icy skin made contact, before grasping harshly and gripping with ferocity, cutting off the air supply. He couldn't breathe. Choking, he wondered - was this the end?
Air found his lungs as he jolted, eyes shooting open as his limbs flailed slightly.
Charles gasped for every breath, trying to calm his racing heart as he looked around the plane.
Kinder looked at him, frowning lightly, as he opened his mouth.
"You good, sir?" Eggy whispered, and Charles was thankful, because it didn't seem like anyone else had noticed his momentary weakened state.
He nodded, unable to voice words, as he tried to catch his breath and regain his composure.
Massaging his temples, he was about ready to tattoo nandos on all of the idiots discussing it, using a needle from little miss giggles' med kit and the permanent marker he was carrying in his top pocket.
He sat near the front of the bus, with his left leg propped up on the seat in front of his, knee resting against the window. Running his finger over the embroided SHJ and the little heart in the corner below the letters on his handkerchief, Charles heaved a sigh, before rolling his eyes at Mansfield's eager and stupidic announcement that the sun was loads bigger than the Engish sun, like there was more than one.
"Jesus christ!" He muttered under his breath, hearing Kinders, who was sat just behind him, snort.
"Fellas" Kinders called as he entered the stag quarters just before him.
The lads all, very quickly fell in at the end of their chosen beds.
"I'll be leading a PT session at 05.30. Make sure you hydrate tonight and first thing in the morning." He finished his slow and deliberate walk down the Isle, before turning on one foot, in a very graceful, yet manly twist. "Any of you helmets not on top form and giving me 100% will get my new regulation combat boot six lace holes...up your arses." He finished, his tone suggesting a playful element, even when he knew, they knew, he meant it. His eyes flickered quickly over the miniature medic, before he spun again. "Best recruit at Catterick, one pace forward." Watching as Smurf stepped forward eagerly, Charles stopped next to the new recruit. "Now, did you pass geography at school, Dawes?" He asked, mockingly.
"No, sir." The medic answered, almost timidly.
"No!" He parrotted, sounding unsurprised, as he watched her face fall ever so slightly at his mocking tone. He coukdnt help noticing the spattering of freckles across her nose as he stood inches from her. Her green eyes met his and his traitorous breath caught in uis throat for a second too long, before he managed to let it out and drag his gaze away from hers. "Hmm! Did you, Smurf?"
"Oh, yes, sir." Smurf replied, proudly, as Dawes turned to look at him, with some form of self consciousness."
"Good." He watched as Dawes turned back to him, looking rather lost. She was so close to him, he could feel the heat radiating from her body. Or maybe that was just him reacclimatising to the Afghan heat. It had to be. "Then you can show our Doris where the female quarters are. This - stags only!" He turned away from her obviously embarrassed face and marched out, smugness filling him, as he couldn't resist one final twist of the knife. "See you later, Dot." He couldn't help it. His tone and coldness had been his defense, because he couldn't risk people thinking he was going soft or giving her special treatment. And maybe, just maybe, he was making sure he knew he wasn't giving her any special treatment. Because there, certainly, wasn't anything special about her. It was likely just because she was the only creature with boobs within a thousand mile radius. His teenage male hormones must have been making a reappearance, and he couldn't risk them becoming more like a lusty 15 year old, with uncomfortable situations, because she had a pair of green eyes, breasts and legs.
Because of his need to prove that she was just another member of his team, some might think he was too harsh, but it was better to weed the shit out from the clay, early. If she wasn't good enough to be a part of his team, he wouldn't have her, in any sense!
Going into the mess tent, Charles glared suspiciously as 2 section, huddled around a table, sniggering as the medic, Sara, from 6 section stood beside the table, regaling them with some tale or another.
"What are you cockwombles up to?" He grunted.
"Sara's just been...filling us in on our new medic, sir!" Kinders offered, with a smirk.
"Oh?" He questioned, with only a slight amount of interest.
"Apparently she froze at the hospital. Afraid of blood by the looks of it!" Nude nut announced and the table broke down into giggles once more.
Charles rolled his eyes, refusing to offer comment on his useless medic and wondering how the hell they were going to get through this tour if their only medical intervention had a phobia of the red stuff.
It didn't make him feel good to be a part of the gossip, even if he hadn't voiced any opinion. He'd still allowed it to happen and allowed the boys to think it was okay to make comments like that about their team member, to their boss.
Only slightly remorseful for not putting a stop to the unprofessionalism of the verbal bullying, Charles bit his tongue and left them to it, not wanting to look like he was favouring the unsatisfactory replacement they'd been given, because she was a female.
"Evening Charles!" Major Beck called cheerfully as he entered his quarters come office.
"Sir. Good evening!" Charles replied, standing to attention, the visit unexpected.
"Come, now. We've known each other long enough to not bother with that when we're not on show, Charles. Stand easy...Better yet, at risk of taking liberties in your domain, why don't we sit."
"Of course, si-" he let out a breathy laugh. "Habbits die hard!"
"Is everything okay? You looked a bit - how can I put it, without being too blunt - well, actually, in all honesty, you look shit, Charles."
"Don't give it to me softly, will you Roger?" He laughed.
"Well, to be honest, I'm getting to the point where its either ask you out right or panic call Harte and have him come and polish you up to normal standard." Beck offered, with a light smirk.
Charles sighed heavily, slumping onto the edge of the single bed across from where Beck had sat on the desk chair. It took him a minute to collect his thoughts and find his words.
"Am I crazy for being upset about my divorce, but not actually being upset about my divorce?" He laughed, without humour.
"Sorry?" Beck frowned.
"I got my decree absolute today. I guess I'm just feeling...to put it lightly- like a fucking failure. Rebecca and I had been over for a long time and part of me will always love her as a friend and the mother of my son, but, I guess I just think...we should have been able to make it work. For Sam. And then I remind myself, that that isn't always the best thing for a happy family either. I don't know! I suppose I just saw my life differently. I'm closing in on 30 and I'm already divorced, with no prospects and an irrevocable love for my fucking job."
"You're allowed to make mistakes as well as choices that are in your best interest. Nobody asked you to be perfect. Being divorced doesn't make you a failure. It shows that you tried and that in the long run you accepted what was best for you and your family. Because they still are, Charles! They're still your family. Those come in all shapes and sizes. You don't have to make yourself and Rebecca miserable to be successful. Success depends on how happy you are and you not being a failure depends on where you go from here and the kind of life you give your son."
"What I wouldn't give for a large scotch right about now!" Charles laughed, bitterly, before shooting his CO a grateful nod. He didn't need to acknowledge what had been said with words. He had heard him. It was just going to take some time for him to believe it.
He'd gone to bed in a foul mood, knowing that it was either that, or stare at his four, basic walls. Better to be bright and ready for his morning PT session.
Bright wasn't quite what he was feeling the next morning. Dreams of Smurf being shot in the neck on patrol, while little miss giggles froze and collapsed at the sight of blood, causing Charles to desperately try to apply pressure, before the blood stopped flowing, no more left in his comrades body, resulting in a ghostly version of Geraint appearing and taking Smurf with him, while telling his old CO that he'd failed them both, had haunted his sleep.
He found himself unfairly furious with the new medic. The dream wasn't actually real, but he still felt angry that she'd left him to deal with that shit alone, when it was her job.
He waited outside of the squaddies quarters at 05.25. The fellas were quick to meet him, coming out at 05.27, knowing better than to keep him waiting.
He said nothing, before turning to face the Doris quarters and waiting for private Dawes to emerge, with some form of misplaced wit.
Charles puffed out some air from his throat as he shuffled a foot on the dry, sandy floor. It was 05.36 and with every passing moment, irritation crept further up his spine, interlacing with the already misplaced fury.
"Where the fuck is she?" He huffed, before marching towards the entrance, the boys on his heel, not willing to bear his temper.
"Private Dawes! Private Dawes!" He shouted, his patience wearing thin...a bit like the shorts she emerged in.
He looked her up and down, eyes full of displeasure as she stood in front of the section in her gym clothes!
Charles found his mouth had gone dry, as his eyes swept up and down her little legs, before trailing up her torso, skipping quickly over her chest and following the light red flush that trailed up her neck, before he looked her in the eye, avoiding any chance of looking at her bare, enticing limbs once more.
"Well, I suppose we should be grateful you're not wearing your stilettos." He mocked. "It's full kit, Dawes!"
"Yes, sir." She offered, her eyes not meeting his as she answered, before retreating with embarrement. Seemingly, there was a lot of that going around when it came to this new medic.
He turned to the section behind him, as they sniggered madly, and gave them an amused look, biting at his bottom lip. Here he was again, mocking and allowing his team to mock the single female of the group. He winced inwardly, afraid that she was going to push him into the misogynistic bullying boss category, as he tried to avoid being the sleaze bag who tried it on with his subordinates.
"Let's go, lads!" Charles called, once Dawes was, finally, ready.
They'd run 11k by the time he'd challenged them to a final sprint.
"Are we all acclimatising to the conditions?" He called.
"SIR!"
"Right, we sprint the last 50, go!" He challenged before leading the charge. "Smurf, hit the deck, now!" The young Geraint double did as he was bid, before Charles cried "Medic, man down! Left leg blown off below the knee, what you going to do?" He watched as she took her time getting to Smurf and the faffed around with the tourniquet, all the while, gasping for air, her face red and pained. "Come on, what're you gonna do!" He screamed, exasperatedly. "You really going to let him bleed out while you gasp for air like a puffer fish?" It was a low blow, he knew, but she was weak and undisciplined and a liability to the team. "Come on, Dawes! This isn't Call of Duty on the PlayStation. Someone stands on an IED, there's a life to save. Get it?" The boys all watched on as time rushed past and Dawes was still twiddling her thumbs. "Come on, what are you going to do? Come on, Dawes!" He could see the worried looks of the entire section, as they witnessed this farce unfolding. "Smurf, get up. Who are we?"
"Under fives."
"WHO ARE WE?"
"THE UNDER FIVES!"
"Now get yourselves showered, now. Double away!" It was pathetic watching her, even as she clawed her way off the ground and made to follow the boys, still gasping. "Could have died just then! Please don't tell me we've got the only medic who can't stand the sight of blood." Charles sneered, his long legs keeping stride with her, before over taking her in a run and leaving her to gasp her way to the showers.
Okay, so mocking her and calling her a puffa fish in front of the section probably wasn't his best moment. His long legs had allowed him to walk alongside her as she struggled to run and he'd been a bit of a bully. He wasn't! He tried his utmost to be a fair and respectful captain. But he had a duty of care, that meant he had to look out for the welfare of a platoon of lads and not one medic. A medic, who so far, hadn't proved any worth.
Her file hadn't been a bad read. She'd been well liked by her CO'S at Keogh and Pirbright. Although, her original transcripts were more mixed. He wondered if she was perhaps the type who grew on you. It wasn't like the army was known for going easy on those they felt sorry for. There had to be something he was missing about the gobby little womble. He couldn't refer to her as a cockwomble in his head, because, well, she lacked one. He sniggered, lightly, as he made his way to command ops to brief his team. Gobwomble was what he'd call her now. He wiped the smirk from his face and pulled out his perfected captain no nonsense mask, carefully schooling his features and thoughts.
Entering the tent, the platoon stood, quickly, drawing themselves to attention as he moved to the front.
"Relax, lads!" And gobwomble he silently added as they relaxed and paid attention to what he was saying. "So, we're out of Bastion in the morning and heading to our special little Forward Operating Base." FOBs were always his favourite part of tours. They were the places that a platoon really got to know each other, as well as the community and they were often where his best memories where situated. As well as some of his worst, his brain added, more sedately. "This will be our home for the immediate. When we arrive at the village we will link up will a small tally of Afghan National Army. There's a small Taliban cell destabilising the area." He ignored a few silly mutters. "Any questions?"
"No, sir."
"We need the locals to like us and, more importantly, to trust us. Nobody let me down." He eyeballed them all, before nodding to Kinders and throwing the floor open to him to continue with the next set of instruction.
"Right, our task on the ground is to support, assist and advise the Afghan National Army with patrols around the general area of the fob and facilitate the local children's safe passage to their school."
"Sound easy?" Charles questioned, waiting to see which idiot thought he was iron man in khaki or worse, a joker.
"Lollipop men with guns." Christ, it had to be her!
"Then get your head out of your arse, Dawes. There is no such thing as an easy mission out here!" And there he was, back to being the equivalent of a bully, picking on this 5ft nothing little girl, because she was an idiot, who didn't know when to keep her mouth shut.
"Right, you'll be flown out in your sections 0400hrs tomorrow. So tonight I'll need you all to have seen the medic."
"It's like speed dating, Dawes. One minute each and then you sod them off out of it."
He was such a bastard!
"Sit-up!" Kinders called and the room straightened to attention, once more, before he stomped out of the room, pissed that she had once again made him look like the bad guy.