Soldier's Daughters (36 page)

Immi was glad she’d gone with Jack to the village. It was more fun and more interesting than she’d imagined. The women were wearing brightly coloured dresses and were a wonderful splash of colour in an otherwise khaki landscape. The village was mostly mud and thatch huts with a couple of houses built out of corrugated metal and nothing like any settlement Immi had ever seen before.

‘Proper Africa, ain’t it?’ she said to Jack as they approached the compound.

‘Yup, the real thing.’

They approached the houses though a gap in a high fence made from branches of thorn trees that was there to keep the domestic animals – and the inhabitants – safe from the attention of hungry predators at night. Immi had noticed that the sappers employed exactly the same system for their camp by the river. Until now, she hadn’t had much faith in it, but, if the locals used it, maybe it did work after all. Maybe lions and leopards couldn’t jump over it.

Following Jack closely, they’d gone across the beaten and swept earth that seemed to form a communal area for the families, and Jack had introduced himself to a tall black man wearing a bush shirt and shorts.

The chap’s English was reasonable and before Immi knew it she was sitting in the shade by a hut, being offered tea by one of the women, while Jack was getting busy with his camera. The woman’s English was almost non-existent so Immi communicated with the occasional smile to demonstrate that she was enjoying her tea, while Jack filmed.

In front of her a couple of women were grinding some sort of grain by pounding it with hefty lumps of wood. On the ground was a tall but narrow wooden tub, and the two women alternately raised up their bit of wood, like human pile-drivers, and smashed it down onto the contents. Immi was sweating cobs in the heat, sitting still, so how on earth did these women cope with the temperature and the physical activity? They had to be so fit.

The women saw Immi staring and beckoned her over. Not wishing to cause offence, she joined them. They were both laughing and giggling and before she knew it she had the wooden ‘paddle’ in her hand and was obviously expected to have a go.

Immi managed about ten ‘bashes’ before her arms gave out.

‘You wouldn’t survive here, that’s for sure,’ said Jack, joining her.

‘Nope, I’d starve,’ said Immi.

She handed the wood back to more gales of laughter.

‘They think I’m crap, don’t they?’ she said.

Jack nodded. ‘Yup, utter waste of space. Still, your attempts make for an entertaining video.’

Immi swung round. ‘You didn’t!’

Jack nodded.

‘But I’m all hot and sweaty.’

‘You’re laughing and interacting with some wonderful welcoming ladies. Get over it. Honestly, it’s fantastic PR for the army. Really natural and happy.’

Immi wasn’t sure she agreed with Jack but what could she do? Besides, he really seemed to like her, so this little jaunt had been fun
and
she might wind up on TV. What a result – even if she did look a bit iffy.

She returned to her seat in the shade and watched as Jack and the tribal elder walked around the village, talking to the other residents and then as Jack did more formal interviews, his video camera in his hand and the local bloke doing some interpreting. Immi swigged her water and waited patiently, then dozed slightly.

‘Wakey-wakey.’ Immi jolted awake. ‘I’m done,’ said Jack.

Immi grabbed her water bottle and took a gulp of the now-warm water. Her mouth was like the bottom of a hamster cage. She swilled the water around her gums before she swallowed and wondered if her breath smelled as bad as her mouth tasted. Yuck.

‘Give us some,’ said Jack.

She handed the bottle over.

‘All set?’ said Jack. Immi nodded. ‘How’s the leg.’

She hadn’t thought about it. She pulled up the leg of her combat trousers. Four of the half-dozen puncture wounds looked a bit angry. Bruising, probably, she thought. She pushed the fabric down again.

‘Fine,’ she said and stood up.

‘Let’s go.’

The sun might have been past its zenith but the temperature was, if anything, higher. It seemed to take much longer to get back to the river than the journey to the village had taken in the morning.

‘And the kids do this and a lot more,’ said Jack. ‘Every day.’

‘Maybe if you’re born here you’re used to the heat.’

‘I imagine that helps,’ said Jack with a grin.

‘You’re laughing at me,’ said Immi. ‘What do I know about it? I’ve only ever been to Spain.’

‘I’m not laughing at you. I wouldn’t dream of it.’

‘Good.’ She slapped her arm as another insect had a go at her. And her feet were hurting – the blister wasn’t getting any better. And her shin was sore. ‘Can we stop for a breather?’ she said.

‘You’d do better to keep going.’

‘Yeah? How do you know? Your name Ranulph Fiennes or something?’

Jack did laugh properly this time. ‘No, but it’s far harder to get going when you stop than to keep going. Trust me.’

Immi sighed. ‘But I’ve got a blister.’

‘Even so.’

‘Slave driver.’

‘How about I give you a piggy-back?’

‘Don’t be daft.’

‘Seriously.’ Jack half crouched and held his arms wide ready to catch her.

‘OK,’ said Immi, ‘your funeral.’ She hitched her day sack up higher, grabbed his shoulders and jumped, wrapping her legs around him. Jack clasped his hands under her bum.

‘A featherweight,’ he said.

‘I felt you stagger,’ said Immi. It was nice here, she thought as she rested her cheek on his shoulder and inhaled the musky smell of his skin. She could feel his warmth through her combat jacket as he set off, his pace steady and even.

He walked for a good ten minutes before he told her he’d have to put her down.

‘Not so featherweight now,’ said Immi as she slid to the ground. She winced. Pain shot up her leg. Fucking blister. But then she remembered that the blister was on the foot on the other leg. Momentarily she wondered about taking a look at the manky, punctured leg but decided it would make her look a bit of a drama queen. Besides, there was nothing she could do here. It might as well wait till she got back to camp.

The temperature was beyond a joke. Sam had been in some saunas in her time but on those occasions you could always open the door and find some respite if you got too hot. And there was generally a refreshing plunge pool on offer as well. But out here, in the equatorial African bush, the heat was relentless. All around everything shimmered with heat-haze and the sun blazed down from a cloudless sky. Even the flies seemed to have lost the energy to plague them, although the air still reverberated with the sound of other insects, rasping and chirruping with such volume they could be heard over the Land Rover engine as they belted along the road.

Sam looked back down at the map, and tried to work out where they were; how long would it be till they got to their destination and into some shade? That was the trouble with an open-topped vehicle: you might get the benefit of the breeze but there was no shelter from the sun.

She traced the route to the sappers’ camp from Archers Post and looked at the contours. On the map, the long low hill that the road had been skirting was on the right of the road, but on the ground it appeared to be on the left. Maybe she was looking at the wrong hill. She tried to orientate herself using a couple of other features but still it didn’t stack up. She was sure they weren’t on the right road. She checked and double-checked the map and made her mind up.

‘Corporal Blake?’

‘Ma’am?’

‘Are you sure we’re heading for the right place?’

He fired a frowning glance at her. ‘Absolutely.’

‘So where are you planning on crossing the river.’

Blake took his eyes off the road to stare at her. ‘Is this is a trick question?’

‘No, it bloody isn’t. Where are you crossing the river?’

Blake slowed the car down and then parked it up at the side of the track. ‘What river is that, ma’am?’

Sam thrust the map under Blake’s nose and pointed. ‘This one.’

‘So why do we have to cross it?’

Sam suddenly clicked as to what was going on. ‘Where do you think the camp is?’

Blake pointed. ‘Here.’

Sam sighed. ‘No. The plans were changed. The sappers were ordered to camp on the same side of the river as the village so our tame hack can talk to the locals. You did check the grid reference before you left, didn’t you?’

‘Bollocks,’ he said, quietly. He mopped sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.

‘Indeed.’ Sam stared at the map. ‘If you ask me, we either have two choices: we either go back to here and this junction.’ She pointed to a spot on the map. ‘Or we cut across country to this crossing point here. You’re the one who’s been here before, what do you reckon?’

Blake shook his head. ‘We’ll be hours behind schedule with the first option.’ He used the top joint of his thumb to do some rudimentary measuring on the map. ‘It’s four o’clock now – there’s no way we’ll get to the sappers tonight and sundown is at six or so. We’d have to camp out. It’s too dodgy for a single vehicle to travel in darkness.’ He measured the distance across country to the right track. ‘If we go this way and don’t hit any snags we might be there before it gets completely dark. Nip and tuck, though.’

‘If we don’t hit any snags. So which route?’

Blake stared at her. ‘On balance, the second route. ‘We’d better get on the radio and let control know what we’re doing.’

‘Agreed,’ said Sam. ‘And you’re sure about the second route?’

‘Cross country? Yeah.’

Sam climbed into the back of the vehicle where the radio was bolted to the chassis. She checked it was switched on, picked up the mic and depressed the pressel switch. ‘Hello, Zero, this is Charlie Two Five, over.’ She released the pressel and got a faint hiss of static. She tried again and got the same result. She sighed. Bollocks. ‘Hello, all stations, radio check, over.’ Nothing. She repeated the call. Still nothing. Her last message should have been answered by anyone on the net if they received it. Silence did not bode well. She checked the settings, the frequency – everything was apparently OK. Maybe they were in a radio dead spot.

She made a decision. ‘OK, let’s set off. I’ll try and get through again if we get to some higher ground.’

Blake nodded and shrugged. ‘Might as well. We’re not achieving anything by sitting here.’

Sam got back in the front.

‘Sorry, ma’am. Sorry for fucking up the route. I should have checked.’

Sam stared at Blake in amazement. ‘Forget it, shit happens. Let’s get across the bush and onto the right road.’

Blake engaged the gear and off they went, through the sparse bush, keeping the sun on their right shoulders so they were heading pretty much in a northerly direction. Sam tried to keep their rudimentary navigation across country on track using nearby features and the terrain to aid their dead-reckoning, but she was relying on the fact that, unless they went way off course the direction they were headed in should cause them to meet the river, then all they had to do was find the ford, turn right and they would be back on course.

That was the theory at any rate.

Sam unscrewed the cap of her water bottle and took a swig. ‘Want some?’ she said to Blake, waving the open bottle at him by way of acknowledging his apology and accepting it. She waited for the same rebuttal as before.

‘Thanks, boss,’ he said as he took it and swigged. He handed the bottle back.

‘Tell me if you want any more.’

‘Sure.’

The Land Rover jolted and ground its way over the rough terrain. Sometimes the scrub was thin enough and the ground flat enough that he got up to third gear, but more often than not he was zigzagging around the thorn bushes and the stumpy trees, trying to avoid fallen branches, ruts, giant termite hills, random lumps of rock or almost anything that might damage the vehicle or pop a tyre. The last thing they needed was a broken wishbone or a blow-out.

Sam hung on to the top of the door with one hand and her seat belt with the other as she was thrown around. Every now and again she couldn’t help an ‘Oof’ escaping when there was a particularly large bounce.

‘I daren’t risk going slower,’ said Blake. ‘We’re up against it as it stands.’

‘I know and the sappers ought to get a working genny before nightfall. After all, delivering that is the whole purpose of the trip.’ She took another swig of water and passed the bottle across again. Blake drained it and Sam threw the empty into the back and got another full one from the case lodged behind her seat. Over their shoulders the sun was considerably lower and the lengthening shadows didn’t make it any easier to spot the dangers on the ground.

Sam glanced at her watch and then the map. As Blake had said, it was going to be nip and tuck to get there before dark.

Maddy and Jenna had scraped their plates clean and their trays were off their laps and on the coffee table in the middle of the room.

‘I’m stuffed,’ said Maddy.

‘That was yummy,’ said Jenna. ‘You’re a blinding cook. Me, I’m a dab hand with a microwave and that’s about it.’

‘It was only a shepherd’s pie.’

‘Still lovely.’ Jenna took a sip of her wine. ‘Right,’ she said, standing up. ‘Maybe I can’t cook but I can stack a dishwasher. You put your feet up and take it easy while I deal with the dishes.’

‘You can come again,’ said Maddy in appreciation.

‘Doesn’t your old man take his turn in the kitchen?’ said Jenna. ‘My Dan does.’

‘Seb isn’t exactly a New Man,’ Maddy admitted.

Jenna disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Maddy alone. In the quiet that followed she listened to, via the baby alarm, the faint snuffles and rustling of her sleeping son till she was distracted by another sharp twinge. She glanced at the clock. No, whatever had been going on through the day had come at such different time intervals it couldn’t be labour. It was the baby mucking about, she told herself. What she’d originally thought. And given the stress and strain of the day, was it any wonder it wasn’t behaving?

She lay back in the armchair and listened to Jenna clattering about in the kitchen. She wondered when she could take herself off to bed. It had been brilliant having Jenna here, and she couldn’t have coped without her presence earlier, but now all she wanted to do was have a nice hot bath and then a lie-down. She really needed to do something to ease her aching back. She’d have to ask Jenna if she’d mind being abandoned. There was plenty of wine in the fridge and she could watch whatever she wanted on the TV. Would she be doing anything else if she were in her own flat rather than here?