Kara’s Game

Go – he heard himself shout, heard himself scream.

He was out of the bunker and trying to run. Max bouncing on his shoulders and telling him he was okay. Up the slope of the hill fifty metres, then turn along the contour line – he had worked it out on the map, knew exactly what he had to do, drummed it into his head so he would do it automatically. Christ, Max was heavy. Christ, his legs and his chest and his head were suddenly hurting. He was running slower now, little more than a stagger. Control it, he told himself, keep it calm and measured, just get up the first fifty metres and you’re okay. Still no incoming rounds, still the wonderful blissful silence. Except for the pounding in his head and the heavy metallic rasping in his lungs. Thanks, Finn, thanks, lads. He turned right, along the hillside, the woods green in the night sights and his feet slipping on the ice.

‘You okay?’ he asked the man on his back. ‘Okay,’ Max told him. The rounds going into the town were like echoes in his head, the trees around him and the slope of the hillside making it difficult to move. He was walking now, holding on to the instructions Finn had given him and the directions he had instilled into his brain. Can’t be far now, halfway there already, probably more. He was no longer walking, was on his knees, forcing himself forward. Bit like selection: when you think you’ve had it, that’s the point you start really going. Bit like counter-interrogation: get your story fixed in your head and stick to it. So he was going well, going great guns, was getting there.

He was bent forward now, was on his hands and knees, the pain tearing at his chest and the ice and trees cutting into him. Don’t think about it, don’t think about anything. Just keep going. Finn and the lads will be waiting at the RV, and the chopper will already be airborne. Nice pint of beer at the end, nice fag to go with it. He was crying now, on his face and his front, reaching forward with one hand and grabbing anything, pulling himself and Max on, Heckler still in the other hand. Doing well, doing great, you old bugger. Christ he must have passed the RV point a hundred years ago. He reached forward again and grabbed the tree stump, pulled himself and Max up to it, lifted his face from the ice and reached forward again, felt for the next thing he could, pulled himself forward again. Tell Max to mind his legs on the stump, part of his mind warned him, tell Max to keep his legs clear.

The shelling on the town was continuing but the shelling on the hillside had stopped. Jovan’s fever was burning now, his breathing shallow and his lips moving, as if he was praying. Kara knelt by him and wiped his face and hands. Don’t worry, she told him, everything will be all right soon; you’ll be okay soon. She wet the flannel and held it against his lips. Heard the scream.

Like an animal caught in a trap. Like a fox when its leg is torn off. Except that it wasn’t an animal. It was a man.

Someone’s hurt – her mind was numb with the cold and the shelling and the shock. Someone’s been hit by a shell. Except there hadn’t been a shell before the scream. Her mind was still numb. It’s all right, she told Jovan, everything is fine. She dipped the flannel into the water again and cooled his face again.

Adin – it came out of the darkness, out of the black. Adin was outside. Adin had left the front line and was coming home. Adin was hurt, was trying to reach her and Jovan even though he was wounded.

Not Adin, it couldn’t be Adin, because Adin wouldn’t come that way. But could she take the risk …

She smiled at the boy and kissed him. ‘I’m going to get something.’ She wiped his forehead again. ‘I’ll be back in two minutes to tell you a story.’

She pulled on her coat and laced her boots. Made sure Jovan was comfortable and opened the door, slipped through it and closed it quickly so as not to let the cold in. Crouched in the dark and listened for the sound, listened for her husband.

‘Sorry, Janner.’ Max’s voice shuddered as his body was shuddering.

‘All right, Max. No probs. Almost there.’ The shells were coming in again, falling on the old town, falling near them. He was hardly moving now. One hand, the hand with the gun, trying to reach out and the other holding Max’s wrist and trying to pull him. The night sights were getting in the way, but he and Max needed them to see where they were going. Fuck me, part of his mind was saying, the places you take me. Ten green bottles, part of his brain was singing as he had sung with his wife during the last stages of labour when their first child had been born. Ten green bottles hanging on the wall, and if one green bottle should accidentally fall. You’re losing it, Janner; stop thinking about Jude, stop thinking about the kids. Because if you do you’re finished, you’re on the way out. The shrapnel was cutting through his chest now and the shells were bursting round him, his head was down and his face was scraping on the ice. You’re making it, he told himself. Just keep it up, just keep going.

The shell was coming in. He heard it explode. Heard the other explosion which it detonated. Oh Christ, he thought. Oh Jesus bloody Christ. I’m in a minefield.

Kara heard Adin, saw Adin. Dark and black against the snow and the ice. The shells and the noise and the hell pounding down on him, pounding down on them both. She was lying on the ground, wriggling forward trying to protect herself from the bombs and the guns. Adin, she whispered, no noise coming out. It’s me, Adin; please move, Adin. Don’t be dead, Adin. The shell was coming in, close to them. She ignored it, ignored everything.

Saw him.

Christ the pain in his head and his legs and his chest. Forget the pain, pain only exists when you acknowledge it. Got to get to the lads, can’t let the lads down after all they did so you could get this far, can’t let Max down. Christ the bloody awful fucking pain. Don’t give up, don’t give up now, don’t ever give up. Because you’re regiment, because you’re a Cornishman. Almost there now, Max. Almost made it.

He saw her.

Oh God – she felt the fresh fear. Not Adin, not anyone she knew. Not even a man. The shape in front of her was black and red, no face, especially no eyes. Just the face of something from another world staring at her.

Christ – he was reacting automatically, instinctively. Heckler coming up and finger on trigger.

The fear still froze her. Froze her body and her mind. Why no face, the panic screamed at her; why no eyes?

Janner’s finger was easing on the trigger, mind and body functioning instinctively.

She understood why she couldn’t see a face, why she couldn’t see the eyes. She had seen someone like this before, seen four men like this before. Except then they had been helping her, then they had been disappearing into the woods at night, then the planes had flown over and the food had parachuted down.

‘Ian …’ she remembered the leader’s name. ‘English?’ she asked. ‘Aid,’ she said. ‘Food drops?’

Except that it wasn’t Ian. Except that the man two metres from her was wounded and in pain. And the man behind him, the man he was carrying, was even more badly injured.

‘English?’ she asked again, her voice almost lost in the fear.

The eyes looking at him were wide with fright and the face framed green in the PNG was a woman’s.

‘English?’ Janner heard the words again. ‘Food drop?’

Ian Morris took a patrol in to organize a food drop – part of his brain pulled out of the numbness. Ian Morris had an interpreter – he remembered the briefing. A woman, not sure where she lived because she met them at their operating base.

‘English,’ he said. ‘Friend of Ian’s. Help me.’ The voice seemed distant, as if it was no longer his. ‘Two of us. Can’t move any more.’ It was as if the night was still and silent, as if the rounds were not falling round and on them. Got to trust her, got to trust someone. He took the pressure off the trigger and stretched out his hand towards her.

Their fingers touched, palms sliding across each other. Hers cold with ice and fear, his red and slimed in blood. She held his wrist, he hers, grip clamped like a vice. He tried to help, tried to pull himself and Max forward.

‘Minefield,’ he told her.

Oh God – she remembered what Adin had said, remembered the different explosions as she had left the house, as if the shells had detonated something else in the woods.

She let go his hand and he knew she was going to leave him. Can’t blame her, a distant part of his brain told him. On her own and she might make it back; her and one of them and the chances were falling; her and two and they were all dead.

Another shell landed thirty metres away.

‘You have a knife?’ she asked. What am I doing, she thought. Why am I doing it?

What the hell did she want a knife for? Janner let go Max’s arm, felt in his belt, and gave her the knife. ‘Don’t move,’ she told him. Christ – he understood why she wanted the knife and what she was going to do.

Slowly, carefully, she eased the tip of the knife into the ground, pressed it through the ice. Repeated the procedure. Made sure the area between her and Janner was clear. Then she turned and edged up the track made by her knees and hands.

There were no mines, she began to think; perhaps Adin was wrong; perhaps they hadn’t been laid. There were no mines, part of Janner’s brain told him; he’d been wrong about the different explosion. He saw the moment she froze. Sensed – split second before – the metallic contact as the tip of the knife struck something. Leave us, part of him wanted to tell her, save yourself. Except save herself and he was finished. Why was she doing this, she wondered; why was she risking her life when Jovan was sick less than a hundred metres away? She marked the location of the contact with her scarf and moved past it, suddenly rigid with fear and almost unable to move. Came to the place where the animal tracks were all along the route, and therefore where she was safe. Except that animals were lighter than men. She turned and crept back to the two men.

‘Can’t move both of you.’ She ducked as another round came in. ‘I’ll take you, come back for the other.’

Can’t abandon Max, Janner thought. And if she takes one, no way she’s coming back for a second. ‘Can’t leave Max,’ he told her.

‘I’ll take Max and come back for you.’

No way she would come back, he understood, but no way he could get Max out by himself. No way he and Max would get out without her. And if she got Max out then he might just make it by himself.

‘Okay.’

She crawled round him, half-dragged half-carried Max along the track to the point marked by the handkerchief. Don’t touch it, she told herself, make sure he doesn’t. Another shell came in. She eased him round the scarf, made sure his trailing leg didn’t touch it, hauled him clear of the woods and across the neck of open ground to the house. God he was heavy, God she could barely pull him. She opened the door, lifted him inside, and laid him on the floor.

Okay, Janner, he told himself. Nice and steady and you’ll make it. His chest and legs and head were hurting again, and he could barely move. Christ, he couldn’t move. Remember the scarf she put down, remember to be careful when you get there. Except he wasn’t going to get there, wasn’t going to get anywhere. In the sky above he heard another mortar, ducked and flinched as it landed and exploded, felt the tremor as it exploded. Close, he thought; too bloody close. Don’t give up, a voice was telling him, never give up. His legs were trying to stand, his fingers were gripping the ice and his arms were trying to pull him. His body was shuddering and he knew he wasn’t moving. The rounds were coming in again. Fuck, he thought, he was finished, and they hadn’t even launched an air strike against the fucking guns that were trying to kill him. Fuck – the strength was almost gone now. Fuck – he was going to die. One more effort, he told himself, one more try. He stretched out his hand and felt the trembling, felt the shaking. Felt the woman’s hand grab his.

‘Help me,’ she told him.

Didn’t think you were coming back, he almost told her. If a squaddie was doing what she was doing he’d get a DSO, he thought, perhaps an MC. And if it had been in war and witnessed by a superior officer, possibly even the big one, possibly the Victoria Cross. ‘Okay,’ he said.

Even though he was now barely conscious, she noticed, he did not let go of his weapon.

The shells were still falling. They were almost at the scarf, were round it, the trees like ghosts above them and the rounds falling round. This isn’t Bosnia, Janner thought, this isn’t 1994; this is 1914, this is bloody World War One. They were past the scarf and almost at the edge of the woods, were through the garden and stumbling into the house, Jovan’s eyes staring frightened at her. ‘It’s all right,’ Kara told him, told the two men. She moved the table back to allow them more room, knelt by them and tried to help them. Both were badly injured, bones broken and bodies ripped by shrapnel. Oh God how can I help them? Oh God what can I do for them? What about my poor Jovan? Where is my husband?

It’s all right, Janner tried to tell her, someone’s coming for us. The blood frothed at his mouth and he made himself stop crying with the pain. It’s okay, he tried to turn, tried to tell Max. Finn and the lads will be here soon.

She knelt by them and wet their lips, knelt by Jovan and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

The door opened and the two men came in. Guns in their hands, packs on their backs and goggles over their eyes. Moving quickly, closing the door and checking the room.

‘Picked up your trail,’ Finn took off his bergen and knelt by Janner. ‘It’s okay, Ken and Jim are wiping it, chopper’s due in soon.’ He pulled open Janner’s jacket, took the syrettes from the parachute cord round Janner’s neck, and gave him the morphine. First rule, even if the injured man was your best friend. Always use his morphine on him, never your own, because you didn’t know when you yourself might need yours. To his left Steve did the same for Max, then marked the M on his forehead so the medics would know what he’d been given.

‘Minefield,’ Janner struggled to tell Finn.

‘It’s okay,’ Finn calmed him. ‘They know.’

‘The woman saved us,’ Janner tried to tell him. ‘The woman brought us in.’ His voice and breath were slipping. ‘Interpreter for the food drops.’ The morphine was relaxing him. ‘Carried us out through the minefield. Max first. Then came back for me.’

Two more men came. ‘Clean,’ they told Finn. They slipped off their packs and pulled the makeshift stretchers together.

‘Oboe Oboe,’ Finn called Hereford again. ‘Bringing out own casualties.’ He gave Hereford Janner’s and Max’s NAAFI numbers, the codes agreed before, so that Hereford would already be checking blood groups, already getting things rolling. ‘Cas-evac and hot extraction.’ He confirmed the six-figure grid reference. Over the hill and into the valley on the other side. ‘Confirm landing site not, repeat not, secured.’ So the crew would know what they were flying into.

‘Romeo Victor two three four five hours,’ he was told. ‘Cab already airborne. Medics on board.’

‘Moving now.’

Kara held Jovan close against her and watched, body numb and mind bemused, Jovan pouring sweat and jerking in pain, and Kara trying to comfort him. Finn emptied his bergen and gave her the remaining ration packs, the other men doing the same.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

She was still confused, still frightened. Still numb. ‘Kara,’ she told him.

‘You were Ian’s interpreter for the food drops?’

‘Yes.’ The response was a long time coming.

The others laid Janner and Max on the stretchers.

‘We owe you, Kara. Janner and Max and I. And we’ll never forget. Anything you want you have. Anything you need you get.’

‘Take my son with you,’ she asked him. ‘He’s ill, he needs help. He’s dying, and there’s nothing I can do.’

Time to move it, one of the men was telling Finn, time to get going.

‘I’m sorry,’ Finn told her. ‘I can’t.’

Because it’s going to be rough anyway getting to the RV. Because there may not be enough space in the chopper. Because we’d have to take you with us. Because the shit’s going to hit the fan anyway after what we did on the hill to stop the bastards shelling Janner and Max. Because we don’t know what the hell is waiting for us between here and the RV or at the RV itself.

‘You said if there was anything I wanted, anything I needed.’ Her voice was suddenly firmer, suddenly like ice.

He was picking up his end of the makeshift stretcher. ‘Yes.’

‘I asked you for something and you said no.’ The voice colder, stronger.

Oh Christ, Finn thought.

‘I saved yours,’ Kara stood in front of him and stopped him leaving. ‘Now you won’t save mine.’

Because I can’t. Because my sole function at the moment is to save Janner and Max. Because my sole responsibility and my sole allegiance is to them. But you said you owed, he knew the woman would say. Anything I want I can have. Anything I need I get. And all I’ve asked is one small thing, but you’ve refused me.

‘I’ll be back,’ he told her.

Why commit yourself, Finn? Why say that? Why say anything?

‘When?’ She refused to move, refused to let him go. ‘My son is dying, like your people are dying.’ Therefore tomorrow, next week, next month, will be too late.

‘Tonight.’

‘What’s your name?’ she asked.

‘Finn.’

‘Don’t let me down, Finn.’

She stood aside and opened the door for him.

3

The room was dark and getting colder. Kara sat at the table and watched the candle flame flicker, knelt by the stove and fed the remaining wood into it. The shells were still falling – somewhere, everywhere – but at least Jovan was sleeping.

It was midnight, closing on one.

The man called Finn would be back soon, because he’d said he would be.

Finn wouldn’t be back, because he didn’t exist and what she thought had happened that night had not happened at all. Except there was blood on the floor where she had laid the two men. So the man called Finn did exist, so he would be back.

Except he had his own to look after. But Finn had promised, and she had believed him.

It was one in the morning, going on two.

She was hungry now, crying now. She knelt by Jovan and felt the fever on his forehead – red hot and burning now. Knelt on the floor and began to wash the blood from it.

It was two in the morning, almost three.

The door opened and the men came in. The ice was frozen in their eyebrows and their faces were grey with cold.

Finn was taking off the strange thing he wore on his head, taking off the pack on his back, putting the gun he carried by the table, then kneeling by the bed and pulling little Jovan out, feeling his brow then his pulse.

Steve was helping her up, telling her she was cold and hungry and asking her why she hadn’t eaten the food they’d left her.

‘What food?’ she asked.

He opened one of the packs, poured the contents into a saucepan, and put the pan on the stove.

Ken was tending Jovan, Finn spreading a map of Maglaj on the table and asking her where the hospital was. Steve took the pan off the stove, poured the stew into a bowl, and gave it to her. ‘Easy, it’ll be hot.’ She took it and smelt the stew, was shaking, crying again.

‘It’s not a hospital, it’s a medical centre.’ She held the bowl of stew tight and showed Finn on the map.

The shells were still falling, the mortars still coming in.

Why did you come back? she asked at last.

Because I said I would, he told her. Any way to the new town other than over the bridge, he asked.

‘No.’ She was numb, confused.

Finn was emptying his bergen, cutting two holes in the bottom. ‘We’ll take three food packs with us, leave the rest for when you get back. You know how to use them now?’

Yes – she was nodding. But we can’t go now, even though little Jovan needs to go. Because the shells and the rockets are falling and we’ll be killed.

‘Warm coat and boots?’ Finn asked her.

‘Yes.’ She began to put them on.

‘Where’s your husband?’

‘At the front.’ She was still numb, still confused. ‘Two days on and one off.’

‘When’s he due back?’

‘He’s already overdue.’

The others were standing, pulling on their bergens.

‘What’s his name?’

‘Adin.’

‘Leave him a note in case you and Jovan are still at the medical centre when he gets here.’

She did as he told her. Tightened the coat round her and laced the boots.

Finn lifted the boy from the floor, wrapped the coat and blankets round him, and slid him into the bergen so that his legs were hanging out of the holes in the bottom. Then he pulled the top over him and strapped the bergen on to his back.

‘Steve in front, Ken looks after Kara. Jim behind. Put this on.’ He gave her Janner’s PNG.

‘Why?’

‘So you can see.’

She put it on and allowed Steve to tighten the straps, looked round and saw the world in shades of green, everything in tunnel vision. What’s going on, part of her mind asked. This is not real, this is not happening.

They were out of the house – suddenly and quickly, no orders. The candle blown out and the door shut. Were going down the hill into the ghost of the old town. A shell was coming in and exploding somewhere to their right. The street and houses and figures of the others were a ghostly green through the ovals of the eyepieces. I don’t believe this, she thought again, I can’t believe this. The moon was up and the houses were like skeletons around them. They were moving in stages, she realized, sheltering in the lee of a building when a shell came in, then running in the lull after it had exploded, Steve in front as Finn had said, Ken grabbing her as she stumbled, Jim just behind them. Soon be there, my son. Soon be safe and well with the doctor looking after you.

They were crouching in the shelter of the last building of the old town, the bridge in front of them and the shells still coming in. Ken had pushed her forward so that she was beside Finn and to his left, Steve and Jim to his right, protecting her and the boy on Finn’s back.

‘Go.’

They ran on to the bridge. She no longer felt the cold. Her heart was pounding and her legs were moving automatically, Ken lifting her slightly so she seemed to be running on air. They were halfway across, almost three-quarters, almost there. In the still of the night she heard the sound of the express train. ‘Down.’ Ken pushed her, the others lying on the ground round her, Finn facing away from her, so that the boy on his back was protected, Steve facing Finn, his back upstream. The shell struck the building forty metres from them, then they were up and running again, suddenly across the bridge and into the comparative safety of the new town. They turned left, exposed now; turned right again. Came to the medical centre, opened the door, and tumbled down to the basement.

The steps were lined with people, mostly refugees but some locals afraid to move, more in the basement room. Staring at them, bewildered and frightened. The doctor recognizing her as she pulled the strange apparatus from her head. Finn knelt and Jim lifted Jovan from the bergen and laid him on the table in the middle of the room. The only light came from two Tilley lamps hanging from the ceiling, the shadows flickering across the walls.

I helped deliver this boy, the woman thought. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked Kara.

Jovan was crying with pain now, almost screaming. ‘Here?’ the doctor asked. She lifted his clothes and placed her hand carefully against his right lower abdomen.

‘Yes.’

Kara felt the relief. ‘Soon be okay.’ She held Jovan’s hand and comforted him, tried to reassure herself.

The doctor looked up. Her face was ashen, partly with fatigue and stress, and partly with what she was about to say. I helped bring him into this world, she thought again, and now I am about to witness his departure from it.