Luka
It’s so hot. Not even the tiniest breeze stirs the arid air as we patrol through the dust-filled alleys of the small Afghan village. A group of men loiter against the wall a few yards down from us. Something about their body language puts me on high alert. The group of young girls playing don’t notice. They are too absorbed in their game. Their bright dresses flutter around them like butterfly wings as they dance. They are shards of colour in the beige landscape.
I heft my gun higher onto my right shoulder. The tension in the air grows until I don’t know if it’s the malice pouring off the men choking me, or the roaring heat.
The men do not move away at our approach. I gear myself for the inevitable stop and search because these bastards look shady as fuck.
In front of me, one of our group stiffens. I clock the movement and sense the same change in the air he does.
We’re accompanying a small team of Navy engineers, who will be defusing bombs and IEDs around here. Four men from the army infantry are with us. They will be part of the rebuilding group getting the village back to life. We want them to get eyes on the ground and see how the land lies. It’s meant to be a normal patrol, but it feels all wrong.
Corporal Richmond is a young recruit leading us. He’s sweeping his gaze back and forth, on constant alert. Every now and again, the high-pitched call of our radios reverberates in the quiet around us. The sound jars in its monotony.
To my right, a heavy boot enters my line of vision, and I know Ethan, my friend and colleague, has flanked me. The engineers are bunching together, pulling in closer, a sign they feel the same change in the air we do.
A woman appears in a dark doorway, looks at us, and her eyes widen. Her gaze flicks between us, the local men lounging against the wall, and the girls playing. Time slows as she starts to shout at the girls, who still dance unaware, kicking up dust with their heels.
One of the children looks up and right at me. Her startling blue eyes are striking against her dark skin and hair.
Something catches my attention, an odd tingle, nothing more than a tiny frisson that makes every hair stand on end. The next second, the sand at Richmond’s feet explodes. It spurts from the ground like a geyser, and the Corporal is blown three feet to his right. The boom hits me, a wave of energy that knocks me from my feet. Richmond’s screams cut through the air and the girls are no longer laughing. They are screaming, too.
Bullets fly and chaos reigns. We are firing, and some of the engineers are, too. The men by the wall are firing. The girls…the girls are screaming and crying as they crash into one another to get out of harm’s way.
I can’t get a proper shot in. Not on my belly like this, sand in my face.. I stagger to my feet, and start to move towards the children. I need to cover them, get them out of harm’s way. The one with the blue eyes is looking at me, but something’s wrong. Her mouth slackens, and she holds her arms out wide as a dark, dirty stain blooms across her chest. The blood starts to drip down the yellow silk onto the sand.
Despite the desperate situation, I can’t move. My fucking legs won’t work, won’t carry me, and I can only stare in horror. A nasty chuckle grabs my attention. I turn to see the men by the wall. They are not lounging any longer. They are firing guns and laughing. And as they laugh, and everyone dies around me, the men against the wall open their mouths until they yawn as wide and dark as caverns.
I sit up wide awake, heart pounding, and realise I’m shouting. I’m sweating buckets and I push the duvet from my soaked body. Jesus Christ! Will the nightmares ever stop? I’d been lured into a false sense of security with the blessing of a few weeks of sound sleep, but it seems the therapy isn’t working as well as I’d believed.
Mouth tasting metallic and bitter, I flail around for the glass on the bedside table. I take a long drink and wash away the taste of blood. My tongue throbs. I must have bitten it. I feel more human as I drink some more, and the dream recedes. But the darkness starts to close in, and hating my fucking weakness, I turn on the bedside lamp.
It’s going to be light soon, but I won’t be getting anymore sleep.
One step forward, two steps back. I am so sick and fucking tired.
Talk about it, my therapist says.
Last thing I want to do.
Let your emotions out. Cry.
Cry? I would if I could, but I can’t.
All I feel is this simmering pissed off-ness at everything. A low-level hum of irritation, as if I want to crawl out of my own skin.
And now, I have to go to some class once a week and sit still for ages as someone drones on about some bullshit or other. All because I’m working with my friends, Ethan and Liam, and Liam seems to think it’s a good idea to make me the sap that trains the new recruits to our training program.
Ha fucking ha. I can’t even train myself not to have these nightmares.
I glance at the clock and wince. Five a.m., but I won’t be getting any further sleep, and the only thing that stops me from imploding into a black hole of fucked-upness is to move. So, I clamber out of bed and pull on my running shoes.
Another fine day begins.