“What a good idea, but I’ll pay. You can pay when we go to your house for tea.”
Sam laughed. “I won’t be able to afford a Chinese once I’ve got my own place.”
“So, we’ll eat beans on toast. But tonight, I’m paying.”
Half way across the world, Andy was settling into life in theatre. It was a basic way of life, with few of the luxuries of modern living that most people take for granted. Boredom was commonplace and the food, by necessity, was uninspiring.
The vast expanse of sky had been the first thing to hit him when he stepped off the plane in Kandahar. It had been the middle of the night but the sky was clear and it was hung with a myriad of stars. The atmosphere had changed perceptibly en route, with the excitement of the beginning of the flight subduing by mid-flight and then replaced with a more contained sense of tension by the end.
The empty stretchers on the plane had been a chilling reminder of where they were heading. When they transferred onto the Hercules for the short stretch to Helmand, donning helmets and body armour for a blacked-out approach, the adrenaline had definitely begun to flow.
Camp Bastion, in northern Helmand, was the closest to civilisation they had, with its facilities and air-con pods, but it carried with it its own shadows. The hospital for all the casualties was based there too. But for now, home was a forward operations base to the south near Lashkar Gar.
This was a compound that had been deserted by fleeing locals during some fierce fighting a couple of years before. Andy looked around him at his fellow soldiers. They were all back safe. Relief was expressed in the whoops and cries of the men in his team as they dispersed to their various corners and took off their kits.
Andy checked in with the guys who had been on guard that day, to see if there had been any more contact while they were away. There hadn’t. He looked about him. Piles of water bottles were stacked up under a tarp in one corner and Andy wished he could dive in and bathe in every single one. He was filthy. Dust had got in everything. Mud caked around the bottom of his legs from crossing the drainage ditches and tacking in and out of the fields. It baked hard in the sun as he walked and added to the considerable weight he carried around with him. He took off his helmet and started to remove his body armour. Tomorrow was their turn to man the base while the other team ventured out, so he could wash his clothes in the morning and they would dry out in the heat of the day. He checked his rifle and made sure it was clean and then went in search of food.
The following day they took a delivery of mail, one of the highlights of the week for most of them, but Andy didn’t lose too much sleep looking forward to it. A letter from his mum every couple of weeks and the odd parcel was the most he could expect. However, if one of the lads happened to have a birthday while they were there, you never knew what treat might wing its way over to them.
He decided to take personal responsibility for distributing the mail that day. He wandered through the compound calling out the names and delivering the post to each in turn. Some men got loads. Andy assumed they must have a harem back home constantly writing to them, while others got only one or two. Where they were, they received deliveries of mail about once a week. In larger bases there was internet communication, but he knew from experience that those in other more remote posts had it worse. He shoved his letter from his mother into his pocket and carried on calling out the names.
In a shady, mud-floored room in the corner of the compound Dean answered his call. Andy walked in and handed over a bundle of letters. Dean thanked him and started rifling through his post to see who his letters were from. Spike looked over at the number of letters Dean had received and rolled his eyes. Andy handed Spike his letter from home and he lay back and began to read.
“How’s Sam doing?” Andy asked, turning back to Dean momentarily before studying hard the name on the next letter in his hand.
Dean looked up. “Shit, check this out, guys.” He held out a picture of a girl Andy did not recognise. She was a blonde girl wearing a bikini and posing provocatively. Dean snatched the photo back. “Hey, don’t wear her out! Spike.” He held the photo up for Spike to see.
“Got any of those going spare?” Spike asked.
“I’ll swap you for your sister.”
“On your bike.”
“Your sister is my bike.”
“Piss off!” Spike launched a dirty sock across the room and the lads laughed. “Cocky little shit!” he mumbled.
Dean grinned and threw the sock back. He looked back to Andy, still standing in the room. “What?”
“Are you and Sam no longer an item?”
Dean rifled through his things and pulled out a handful of old letters. “Oh, I’ve got one in here from her too somewhere…” He flicked through, flipped a letter over and read the back. “Yeah, here you go. This one’s from her.”
Andy’s guts twisted. He wanted to tear him limb from limb for treating Sam so thoughtlessly, but he knew he couldn’t say a thing. “Who else have you heard from?” Andy asked.
“Oh you know, Mum and Dad, Jules, two from Soph, a couple of mates. How about you?”
“Parents.”
“Never mind, Prof.”
Andy stiffened and looked back at the letters in his hand. He turned and called out the next name in the stack.
A little while later Andy found a shady spot up against a wall and pulled out the letter from his mum. His older brother, Simon, had got engaged to a girl called Helen from some rich family in London and they were going there to meet them in a couple of weeks’ time. - Andy remembered the day he had told his parents he was getting married. For once he had done something right and everyone seemed happy… for a while. – But back to the present: Simon’s business was thriving and he had just bought a new Audi to drive around town. His dad was apparently fine and the garden was looking lovely. Great. He put the letter back in his pocket and felt Sam’s letter lying there.
After lunch it was his turn to go on watch. He manned the lookout post with his binoculars trained on the tree line. His men were in position, covering all sides of the compound.
Privacy wasn’t a word synonymous with army life and the letter languished in his pocket for a few days. Eventually it was rescued from being ruined by being washed and hidden away in Andy’s box of personal things. Finally, Andy decided he had to take a chance and write to Sam. But what was he to say? How could he write a letter without hurting her feelings? It took him a few days of racking his brains before he came up with an idea.
April arrived and with it, at last, a letter from Afghanistan. Sam got home from work and her mother greeted her, smiling from ear to ear. She pulled out a blue envelope from behind her back and Sam’s eyes lit up. “He wrote!”
Mrs Litton handed her the letter. “Go on. Go up and read it. I’ll have a cup of tea ready for when you get downstairs again.”
Sam hung her coat and helmet on the rack behind the door and skipped off upstairs, excited to finally be hearing news back from Dean. Humphrey followed her up the stairs, barking eagerly. He panted and wagged his tail at her feet as she sat on her bed carefully opening the folded envelope. He barked loudly and got the attention he desired. “Come up, Humph,” she said and patted the bed. Humphrey hopped up on to the bed beside her and rested his head on her lap. “It’s Dean,” she told him. “Let’s see what he has to say after all this time.”
Sam started to read and then checked the name at the bottom of the letter. She was confused. She checked a second time and then began to read again from the beginning. When she had finished she was at