Kara’s Game. Gordon Stevens

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