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SNAFU Part 17

by Angharad

This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.

The trip back to Barbury was uneventful. In fact, I dozed for much of it. Despite my assertion that I was female and had to get on with things, there was a small part of me that was in mourning for my lost maleness. However, futile the process of being male may have seemed, it was what my chromosomes had intended and I had contemplated nothing else. Which I presume shows that we can take nothing for granted.

I was getting fed up with this maudlin feeling catching up with me, every now and then. I was girl or woman now, tits, fanny and big bum. But then I thought, while it makes things easier, what makes us men or women is what happens between our ears, not between our legs. It’s a matter of how we see ourselves and how we think, our experiences and the reactions of others. It’s quite complicated when you sit down and think about it, and it is just as complicated when you stand up and walk about too. I was so engrossed in my own thoughts that I didn’t watch where I was going as I walked out of the station.

A young man came rushing past me grabbing my shoulder bag as he ran. The strap was over my shoulder, and I instinctively grabbed it as I felt it move. The consequence was that I was pulled over doing a sort of sideways somersault as I went. For all the shock of the attack and the fall, I held on.

He kept pulling at me, screaming at me to let go and I screamed back. Several people just stood and watched, one or two were too elderly to do much others had no such excuse. No one seemed to want to intervene.

The bag-snatcher came closer and went to kick me to prevent my holding the bag when a soldier walking past came to my assistance. He was a big chap, a very big chap and he launched himself at my attacker and pinned him to the floor. It was Pam’s partner Stuart, the gentle giant. Only he wasn’t being too gentle at this moment.

The police arrived, and the would-be robber was taken away, we were asked to go to the copshop to give statements. I gave Stuart a huge hug and thanked him, he stood for a few moments with his arm around me and I felt so safe, I was now safe enough to cry and I bawled the place down.

We gave the statements, were given a cuppa and I felt a little better. I had bruises all over me, especially my knees and elbows. As I was leaving the police station we were spotted by Superintendent Mitchell. “Ah, Miss Curtis, to what do we attribute this unexpected pleasure?”

“Hello, Mr Mitchell, just doing my duty.” I smiled back at him.

“Not with gunmen I hope.”

“No, this time it was an attempted robbery.”

“You didn’t actually eat this one did you?”

“No, I’m trying to give it up. I did promise you last time.”

“So you did. I was just checking.”

It was quite funny watching the faces of Stuart and my attacker who had been brought past us as the conversation was in progress. He was taken away by the escorting bobbies, and both the superintendent and I laughed at his expression.
As we left, Stuart niggled me for an answer, so I gave him a potted one. He was shaking his head. “You deal with three gunmen and need me to help you with one spotty little git.”

“I didn’t have my superhero’s costume on,” I smirked back at him.

“Oh, I see.” He commented back then after thinking for a moment, “Did you wear it at the nightclub then?”

“Oh yeah, only it was bloody hard finding a telephone box to change in, so I had to use a cubicle in the toilets.”

He roared with laughter, “Jamie Curtis, you are completely crazy.” Then he hugged me and walked me back to my quarters. I noticed the time, I was going to be late.
My packing to go home had been quick, this was even quicker. I washed and changed into my uniform. I threw spare clothes into my kit bag and a holdall. I grabbed a couple of books and a pen, my handbag and shot off to the assembly point. I was last (as usual).

Unbeknownst to me, my face had taken some slight trauma during my most recent incident and I large bruise was developing on my cheek and around my eye.
Captain Smith approached me. “Well Nurse Curtis, your punctuality didn’t last for long.”

Blushing I looked at the ground. “No, ma’am, I am sorry.”

She gently gripped my chin and lifted my face upwards and to the right. “What happened here?” she asked pointing to my now discolouring face.

I hadn’t seen what she was talking about, so felt very puzzled. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Nurse Curtis, you have a bruise about the size of California coming out on your face. Don’t tell me you don’t know how it got there.”

“I didn’t know it was there, ma’am.”

“Well, it is. How did it get there?”

“I got mugged coming out of the station. I had to go and give a statement to the police which is why I was late.”

“No heroics this time then?”

“No ma’am, I left that to a passing soldier friend, he saved the day.”

“Does trouble follow you around, Jamie Curtis? If so, did I do the right thing in inviting you to come to my hospital?”

Before I could respond she had moved on to speak to another nurse. I looked around to see who else was going and spotted Sharon, my partner in crime. She saw me at about the same time and we hugged and giggled, being very pleased to see each other.

“I wuz ‘opin’ you’d be ‘ere too. When ya wasn’t, I fought ya weren’t comin’. In I glad t’see ya.”

Having translated from Essex –speak to English, I worked out what she had said. Actually, I’d spent so much time with her over the past year that her accent no longer grated on my ears as it had once done. It was just part of her, and she was about the most generous, kind and thoughtful person I could wish to know. I was so glad to have her as a friend.

It was quite a journey, but with Sharon about it seemed much shorter. A coach to RAF Lynham, then a flight to Iraq. We arrived in the early morning and it was hot, with a capital aitch.

We saw little of the city of Basra on our journey, we did, however, see lots of dust or sand because just after landing a sandstorm began. In just the few minutes of running across a yard to our bus, we had sand in our eyes, our mouths, our hair and inside our clothes. It was everywhere. How the driver managed to get us to our compound I shall never know, but somehow he did. Then even with scarves tied across our faces, the dusty sand found its way into mouths and other orifices. It was ‘orrible to quote my good friend and compatriot.

“ Oo ordered this bleedin’ wevver?” enquired my little buddy, “I’ll bet I even got sand in me fallopian tubes.” At this, we all laughed, including Captain Smith.

We were shown to our rooms. It made my little one at Barbury seem very spacious and comfortable. It was about ten-foot square, with a window, which although closed seemed to allow the sand to still enter the room. It was hot and claustrophobic. Two beds in that room seemed like one too many, but at least they were beds not bunks, and we had rooms not, dormitories. The shutters on the window rattled under the weight of the wind-driven sand, and everywhere was dark. It was not a pleasant welcome although I hadn’t at that point seen it as an omen. There was no air conditioning, but we did have a fan, so it was possible to redistribute the dust continuously.

We had a washbasin, and one working tap, we had a small double cupboard which was the sum-total of wardrobe space. Later on, we found there had also been chests of drawers but these had been removed to give more space.

The toilet and showers were down the corridor when they had water running. In summer the water was always warm, in winter it was frequently cold. Under no circumstances did one drink the water, except bottled varieties. These were available from large fridges on every floor when they had the power to run them. That wasn’t true, they had generators, so we had power most of the time being on the hospital site. But it was going to be an experience staying here, how did people manage it for months at a time, let alone live here.

In thinking these thoughts I tended to forget this was temporary accommodation and a military one at that. Many Iraqis had lovely homes or were restoring them to the previous pre-war state.

We set about unpacking, there was dust in everything. We undressed, washed the dust off each other and shook our clothes out, then assembled with everyone else an hour later. Thankfully Sharon kept my spirits up, because alone here, would not be a nice place to be.

“Welcome ladies, thank you all for volunteering.” Said Captain Smith to the thirty of us who were assembled in the large room, which seemed to serve as a dining room, common room and meeting place. Most of us were swigging water from half-litre bottles, as she addressed us.

“This storm should blow itself out by tomorrow when you might get a chance to see a little of Basra. Please only go out on organised trips, you may get lost on your own and there are hostiles about. If you go anywhere, take a bottle of water with you, it is essential. Do not drink the local water.”

She continued her discourse about staying here, about rules and regulations and especially safety. Then we were split into four groups and shown around the hospital.

The term ‘field hospital’ conjures up scenes from the second world war, of canvas, camp beds and make do. This was a serious hospital, it was to eventually be handed over to the local people, but for now, it was run by the British army, and they were a field hospital unit, so it was a field hospital. If you don’t understand don’t worry, I didn’t and I was there, being given the guided tour.

It had two operating theatres, which were both in use, four intensive care beds, and two other wards of eight beds. They had a small CSSD, kitchen and laundry, and a laboratory area. There were four single rooms that were used for isolation. (A CSSD is a place for sterilising instruments and other equipment – most of our stuff came as pre-packed sterile supplies, but they occasionally had to deal with shortages and instruments or equipment could be sterilised as necessary).

After the guided tour, we had dinner. The dining room became the staff common room or mess, and we fraternised with the regulars. Some stories were told that night, and quite some alcohol was consumed. I’m not much of a drinker and given that we were told, alcohol dehydrates, so don’t drink much, I had just one glass of lager. Many chose to indulge to the full. It was relatively cheap even if the choice was limited, and it seemed warnings were forgotten.

Mind you, I was more worried where I’d be able to get chocolate that didn’t run out of the packet. That night, the temperature dropped to forty. That’s degrees Celsius. It was in the words of my good friend, “bleedin’ ‘ot.”

I went to bed dripping with sweat, the showers were working but only just and the water felt warm. I drank some water and went to bed. Did I mention the mosquito nets? Good fun this.

Sleeping was not easy. What an understatement. The way the sweat was pouring out of me, anyone would think I was a human watering-can. Since dinner, I had downed at least two litres of water and hadn’t felt the need to pee. At home, I’d have been back and fore all night. My bed felt like a sauna.

What with the heat, the dust and the noise of the storm rattling the shutters, sleep was impossible. I tossed and turned much of the night, wearing as little as possible and covered with just a sheet, I still steamed like a giant Christmas pudding. The next morning, I felt like a bit of wet rag.

Sharon, who had imbibed considerably more alcohol had not so much slept as become comatose, if one can snore in a coma, she did. At one point her snoring was louder than the storm, and in the faint light that came under the door, I could see her, lying on her back, stark naked, with her legs wide apart and bent at the knee. It was a picture, as they say, and I turned over to face the wall hoping her impression of a ram-jet would feel less convincing.

As previously mentioned, I awoke with all the vitality of a wet flannel, she woke up feeling like one with a headache. She had drunk two litres of water before we left for breakfast, her throat was sore from snoring and she had managed to swallow some sand. The fan did tend to redistribute it, and an open mouth, well I think you get the picture.

I won’t dwell on our routines, because they aren’t necessarily that interesting. Routines may be a misleading term, because the only routine was work and bed, with occasional meals thrown in. Anything could and did happen, and shifts began early and often ended late.

I helped to treat many different people and an equally varied series of illnesses or mishap. A busload of Iraqi police who were blown up by insurgents was the biggest emergency we had, sharing the casualties with a local hospital and even flying some up to Baghdad for the Americans to treat. They had a plastics team who treated burns, and explosives often cause burns. This all happened in my first week.
In the next week, we had three shootings, injuries from an anti-personnel mine, two very sick children and a caesarian section. I helped to nurse the children, they were brother and sister and they drank infected water. They got amoebic dysentery, and we nearly lost them.

Like most women, I love children. However, each time I have close contact with them I am reminded that I shall never have any. Not of my own. It makes me sad when I think of it and one night I did cry myself to sleep.

I had worked a sixteen-hour day, with little time for meal breaks. I was helping to look after the two kids, whom we called Pinky and Perky. Much of the time they were asleep and it was a question of keeping them clean and stopping them from pulling out the drips in their delirium, they were very ill. Their mother was also admitted with the same problem and she died. Their father had been killed a year before in one of the flashes of trouble that tend to happen here. Most of the time it’s quite quiet, then there’s some shooting or an explosion, a suicide bombing or a car bomb and sadly people are killed or injured. I don’t understand it, but then I don’t live here. Northern Europeans and Arabic peoples are different in temperament.

One explanation is that the Arabs are ‘in-timers’, meaning they live in the moment and are emotionally associated with it, having little sense of time outside it. Whereas Europeans are largely ‘through-timers’, being mainly dissociated from the time, and thus able to take a more distant view of things. ‘In-timers’ often don’t see consequences. It’s all to do with timelines, which is a psychological construct about how we see our lives in a linear form. Associated people are stood on their lines, dissociated are not. It’s to do with NLP and I read a book about it once, it made sense while I was reading it, which made me an in-timer.

Back to my story, Pinky and Perky’s mum had just died, they were still very poorly. I had spent most of the day looking after them, and much of the night too, when I thought I’d nodded off and was dreaming. In my dream, I saw, the mother come to get the little girl.

I sat up with a start, it wasn’t a dream. The mother had just walked in through the closed door and was trying to pick up the little girl, who was the sicker of the two. I was gobsmacked. It didn’t make sense, then my tired brain began to understand. The mother was dead, she was trying to take her children with her. Maybe she had that right, maybe she didn’t. Whatever, it wasn’t going to happen on my shift.

I challenged her. She didn’t seem to realise she was dead, but after a few minutes I convinced her of that, she still seemed intent on taking her daughter and I began to see the child’s spirit or soul, begin to be drawn from her body.

It was awesome, but it felt wrong. The child deserved to have a chance at life, and I began to visualise her soul returning to her body, simultaneously asking the mother to go towards the light.

We battled for hours, with my mind binding the child to this world as her mother tried to take her. Finally, in exhaustion, I called for help, and I saw the mother being whooshed away by a sort of blast of light. I then prayed for both the children and was apparently found in this position some hours later by Sharon, who wondered where I was. I was asleep.

I wasn’t sure for several days what had happened, because it felt rather dreamlike and I was put on sick leave with exhaustion. I slept for two days despite the heat. Even then, I felt myself staying with the children in my dreams and was seen sitting with them, even though I was in bed. Much to everyone’s surprise and delight, they came out of crisis and it looked as if they would recover. I was told when I returned to my duties.

I was summoned to Vera Smith’s office. “I hear the two children are going to be okay.”

“It looks like it.” I beamed back to her.

“They have you to thank.”

“Me, I was off sick, what did I do?”

“Jamie, if I knew, I would bottle it and sell it. I was warned, no that’s too strong a word. Shall we say, a friend mentioned that when you are about strange things can happen. People recover from near death, or large felines may be seen. I didn’t see any lions or tigers, but I did see you sitting with those children when I knew you were deeply asleep in a different building.”

I looked at the floor, thinking, ‘here we go again’.

“I know that you are a very special person, with enormous energy and love. I also know you have gifts which most of us don’t have, no matter how much we love or care. Whatever you did for those two kids, saved their lives. The little girl, in particular, was very ill, we didn’t think she’d make it. But she did, thanks to you.”

What do you say when you don’t know any more than everyone else? I coughed and spluttered and shrugged my shoulders.

“I don’t expect you to be able to tell me what happened. I have seen it before and it is simply miraculous. I know you didn’t bring her back to life but stopped her life leaving her. I think that’s a miracle, although it might be seen as blasphemy to say so. However, I think God works in many ways and through many instruments. You might be one of them. Whatever happened, I believe you are a very special person and I feel privileged to know you.”

Oh shit, this sort of thing seems to be happening all the time. I knew I should have packed my ‘Superman’ tee shirt. “Thank you ma’am, is there anything else.”

“No Jamie, except my thanks.” She smiled at me, and I left.

I saw the occasional dead person and sent most of them on their way. Frequently they didn’t realise they were dead. I met one old chap who had died during the first world war, he said it explained why he couldn’t find his friends and once he understood, he went quite happily.

So to summarise, here was I in a strange place, seeing and seemingly doing strange things without it affecting me too much. I was becoming used to being weird. Then something even stranger happened and it nearly blew me away, quite literally.

This was at the end of week three, nearly week four. Life at the hospital was so busy that we’d had no chance to do much sightseeing. So when the opportunity for six of us to go out in the minibus for a little look-see, Sharon and I jumped at it.

We were being driven by an army driver and his mate who carried a small machine gun, they also wore pistols. Being nurses, we only had an elastoplast between us.
Back to my story, we’d just been shown around a mosque and had started towards the town centre, when I had an awful feeling which centred in the pit of my stomach. I felt incredibly sick and had a sense of impending doom.

I was doubled over in my seat. Sharon was trying to understand what was wrong. “Tell them to stop the bus.”

“You alwight?” she kept asking me.

“Tell them to stop the bus, now Now,” I heard myself screaming.

“What’s happening back there?” Called the driver.

“My friend is ill, she asked you to stop the bus.”

“Maybe, I’d better get her back to the hospital.”

I was writhing in pain, but with my last breath I shouted at them, “Stop this bus now, or they’ll kill us.” I collapsed back into my seat.

The driver stopped and began to come towards me to find out what I was on about. His mate was keeping a watchful eye open. An army Landrover pulled up alongside, to see why we had stopped. “Tell them to go.” I gasped, “Tell them to go.”

Nobody did, and what I had seen in my mind's eye, happened. I managed to grab Sharon and pull her down and a second later there was a deafening bang, and we were thrown about in a chaos of metal and glass. We ended up in the street. There was the sound of automatic gunfire and a second blast. I honestly thought we were going to die.

The pains in my stomach were replaced by a generalised one and a sense of shock. Two of the soldiers were trying to get us into a nearby house, except the occupants weren’t keen on the idea.

So we were stuck sheltering behind two burning vehicles. I tried to pull myself together, but my head was splitting, I could feel something wet running down from my scalp, it was warm and red. It was only a little bleed, so I’d be okay.

I tried to take stock of casualties. Sharon was lying on the floor with some lacerations, but she was still alive. One of the nurses and a soldier were in a bad way, and I suspected those in the Landrover were dead. Seeing me, sitting up, our bodyguard chucked me his pistol. “’Ere love, take this, I ‘ope you know ‘ow ter use it.”

I snatched it up, and in snicking off the safety, and pumping a round into the chamber showed I did. Shit, I thought, this is supposed to be my day off and now I might have to kill someone. Not good. In fact, bad. But I figured, they are trying to kill me.

A shot hit the ground between Sharon and me, ricocheting off with a ping. Then there was another, and a man dressed in black with a mask over half his face took aim. He had a rocket-propelled grenade. I fired at him over and over again. I felt sick in doing so, but what else could I do. I saw the bullets hit his body, three times and a fourth took off part of his head. He spun around in a spray of blood and as he did so fired his grenade into a nearby house. He fell to the floor and I saw his spirit leave his body, a moment later a lioness rushed through and devoured it. ‘So much for seven virgins’ I thought.

In the shock and the chaos, I had forgotten about my guardian angel, okay, hardly the archetype I grant you, but effectively the same. I sensed another threat near me. I turned and fired twice. The man screamed once and fell convulsing on the ground, then it stopped. Once again I saw the lioness carry off a soul. Weird huh.

He had dropped a Kalashnikov and two magazines. If I could get them we’d have a little more firepower. The odd zip of bullets was still coming our way, and I knew it was only a matter of time before we were overrun and probably killed. I supposed it was my duty to try and defend my comrades and friends as long as I could.

I got into a crouched position and ran bent over grabbing the gun from its deceased previous owner. As I picked it up I somersaulted over and slid behind a low wall. A series of zips followed my progress.

I checked out the gun, the magazine was nearly full and two more were attached to it by tape. They also had bullets in. I wriggled around the far side of the wall and could see two attackers trying to outflank our position. A minute later, the lioness was feasting again. I was now a practised killer. I felt nothing just a numbness.

I was trying to assess the situation when there was another bang, and I was thrown down backwards over the wall. I struggled to stay awake but the fight was in vain, and things went black.

I awoke with a splitting headache. It was dark, I had a bandage around my head which was now tender, my back was also sore and I was blindfolded. I lay as still as I could. I was out of uniform, in jeans and a shirt, we were after all off duty, I could feel the shirt was damp, water or blood? I’d have to wait to find out.

I could feel my jeans tight around my waist, so at least nothing had been done to my bottom half, and my trainers were still on my feet. I smiled to myself, when I thought they’d be flying the flag. They were Reeboks and they have a little ‘Union Flag’ on each of them.

I can feel my feet, I thought, so things are probably not too bad. Now I lay still listening to hear what I could to learn where my companions were. Were they okay? If not, especially if anything had happened to Sharon, then I’d do all in my power to pay back things in spades, and I had some powers they weren’t used to.

Why did I say that to myself? If I had special powers, why am I lying here trussed up like a Sunday joint? It’s my day off, don’t do superheroes on days off. Very funny. I can’t fly, nor am I invincible like Superman. Nor do I actually turn myself into a lion, that’s more the energy around me.

I began to call for my lion spirit. Laying absolutely still, I began to feel the warmth arising in me, something was happening. I began to imagine myself in a lioness’s body and walking around the place where I was. It was dark, there were at least five other people tied up like me. I hoped one was Sharon. I think one was the bodyguard.

We were in a courtyard house, in the cellar. Invisibly, I projected myself through the door and up the stairs. There were five of them. Two on the roof, two eating and one watching their prisoners in the cellar. I returned to my body.

My hands were bound behind me with tape of some sort. I could not break it, nor could I put my feet through my wrists and have my hands in front. My feet were bound at the ankles. In short, I couldn’t do anything.

That wasn’t quite true. I began to concentrate until I could feel the sweat running down my brow. I began to project myself into the hospital, into Vera Smith’s office. She was pacing to and fro, there were two others in there as well, two army officers I’d not seen before.

I tried to attract her attention, but I could feel a tiredness overcoming me and I felt things going black again.

I don’t know if I passed out or slept, but I awoke to the sounds of battle. It raged for ages. We all kept quiet, not knowing where the fight was, except it was close. I was also worried, if the kidnappers thought we were about to be rescued, they might kill us. I let my senses patrol the room, we were alone.

I wriggled over to one side until I hit someone, they understood my effort and pushed their head into my hands, where I managed to pull off the blindfold and gag, then they did the same for me. We struggled for several minutes getting the tape off our hands, then our feet. However, we did manage it. In the gloom, I couldn’t really see who I’d released, but it was a man.

He set about, trying to secure the door, whilst I released as many prisoners as I could, my Swiss army penknife slashing through the tapes in moments. As I released my fellow prisoners, it suddenly occurred, my penknife was one of the few possessions from my old life which was retained in the new. Thank goodness I had.

The room was dark, but it was just about possible to make out the main obstacles. There were boxes of something, a sack of something else and a table. All of these were pushed against the door. We built our barricade only just in time. Someone tried to enter, then beat at the door with I presumed a gun butt then fired at it. We were all sitting against the wall behind the door, so were unharmed, but I nearly wet myself. I have never been so frightened.

Even in the club and out on the street earlier, I didn’t so much feel frightened as angry. Now I was scared. Shit scared would not put too fine a point on it.

A loud bang from above us, distracted our would-be attacker, we sat still hugging each other. The battle raged on above us.

Then it went quiet, followed by a sporadic burst of small arms fire. There was a loud bang just outside the door with a blinding flash, then the door was smashed open and two men with red lights attached to the guns they were waving, burst in. We froze. They stopped as we raised our hand above our heads, then they grabbed at our hands and pulled us to our feet.

“Up, geddup,” they shouted. We didn’t argue. “Geddout,” they shouted and once more we complied without a murmur. They led us through the courtyard and out into the street and into an APC, a ‘Warrior’ I think. Then we sped off into the night.

It all seems a bit blurred. We were debriefed and checked out. I had a scalp wound that needed a couple of stitches, and I was black and blue with bruises. Sharon had a concussion and multiple lacerations, but nothing too serious. The others were in various stages of injury, and our bodyguard had a bullet wound in the shoulder.

I found out later that the target was the RMP Landrover, and they killed the four soldiers in it. They also got our driver, and one of the nurses was dead.

I admitted to being probably responsible for the deaths of four attackers. I was upset about it, but we might all have been dead if I hadn’t done it. I hoped I could live with it.

Resting in our room, later the next day, Captain Smith paid us a visit. “How are you today, girls?” she blithely enquired, as if we’d just come back from shopping.

“I’ve felt better,” I replied.

“Awful”, commented my colleague.

“I just thought I’d let you know you are being sent home at the weekend.”

“I was just beginning to like it here.” I joked.

“Things do seem to happen around you, Jamie Curtis, I’m not sure I can afford to keep you here.”

“I shall go quietly, ma’am.” I offered.

“I can tell you that you’re up for another bravery award.”

“What?!” I exclaimed. “What for?”

“Keeping a cool head and saving the lives of six other people.”

“But I didn’t.”

“How do you think we found you?”

“I have no idea.”

“Well just think about it.” Said the captain enigmatically. I had no idea what she meant.

We did do a bit more work, well pretended to. It was light duties, which for me meant babysitting Pinky and Perky until they had relatives come and collect them.

The day before we flew back to Blighty, I was summoned to Captain Smith’s office. Knocking I was bid enter.

“Come in, Jamie.”

“You wanted me, ma’am?”

“Yes. I wanted to say goodbye.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“I also wanted to thank you for your resourcefulness under fire.” I blushed at this. “Without your very special help, we could have been burying a dozen of our countrymen.”

“How did you find us?” I asked, still somewhat puzzled by her comment of a day or two earlier.

“I followed your signals.”

“What?”

“I was here that evening, worried to death about you hostages. We had no idea where you were, and it was too soon to get much feedback from intelligence. Then I saw, what I thought was a lioness. At first, I was bemused by it thinking it was just stress. Then I remembered what Sheila Brice had told me. ‘Watch out for the lioness when Jamie is about’. I suddenly knew what to do.”

I stood blushing as she continued. “I had awful trouble getting the others to accept my sudden insight. But I eventually managed to get them to cooperate. They sent a couple of APCs following my Landrover, and I followed the lioness. No one else seemed to see it, until the very end, when Major Jones saw it standing at the door of the house you were in. He changed his attitude then.”

“You saw a lioness, walking down the road?”

“Yes, Jamie. I saw the lead you were giving us. I saw your animal guide.”

She walked over and embraced me. “I can see why Sheila is so fond of you. You are so generous and courageous. You are so special, don’t let these things become corrupted.”

“I already have.” I began to cry, “I killed four people.” I buried my head in her ample bust and wept. She hugged me and rubbed the back of my neck, it was like my mother was there. It was so nice. I just wished I was home, with my mother. Instead, I was here, and at the age of nineteen had killed four men. I felt like Billy the Kid.

“Which would have been worse? Taking life or watching them kill your friends?”

“I don’t know.” I sobbed.

“I think you did the right thing. I hope in time you will see that too.”

“I don’t know!” I sniffed.

“They have recommended a DCM.”

“Why?”

“Personally, I think it could have been more than that, but it will do. Remember, it will be given to you, but it’s to all of the nurses and troops out here, who perform acts of courage every day.”

“I know.” I sniffed, “why not give it to them, then?”

“Because they want to give it to you. Do me a favour.”

“What ma’am?”

“Accept it on behalf of the others, but also for yourself. What you did was outstanding, an example of Distinguished Conduct, and thus worthy of the medal. You didn’t start the fight, but neither did you run away.”

“I couldn’t, there was nowhere to go.”

“For truly heroic people, there never is. They have to stand and fight for what they believe in.”

“I didn’t see it as a battle of philosophies.”

“Protecting your friends is a very personal philosophy.”

“Not taking life is another.”

“I hope you can reconcile what happened one day. I am going to recommend you get at least a month’s leave and I hope a chance to talk these things over with a psychologist or counsellor.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I’d better go.”

“Before you do, go and see George.” He was the bodyguard and was still in hospital with a damaged shoulder. I did as I was told.

“Hello, George,” I said as I walked up to his bed.

“Hi, flower,” Was his response. He leaned forward and I kissed his cheek. “Oh, that’s nice.” He said, “I could do with you coming here on the hour every hour and doing that.”

“It might not do much for your blood pressure George,” I riposted.

“Bugger that,” was his response.

“I’m going home tomorrow,” I said.

“Lucky you. I’m stuck ‘ere with this bloody thing.” His arm was in plaster and held up level with his shoulder. “But another couple of weeks and I could be back meself.”

“I hope so.”

“Me too.”

“So you’re gonna get a gong.”

“I don’t know about that.” I glanced down at the floor and felt the blush rising.

“You’d bloody well better ‘ad.” He said. “I asked Major Jones to see to it. You were magnificent, girl. Couldna done better with ‘andful of paras.”

“I think that’s more than a slight exaggeration George,” I laughed at him.

“I saw you take out that bastard with the rocket grenade. You ‘it him with all four shots, from an ‘andgun. I ‘ave never seen shooting like it. If you ‘and’t got ‘im, we’d all be playin’ ‘arps now, sittin’ on bloody clouds.”

“I don’t know George. Killing is not a good thing to do, so I might not have got to heaven, Valhalla maybe. Fluffy clouds, I don’t think so.”

“Val whatever, ‘ere ain’t that on the Costa Brava?”

“Something like that.” I smiled back. “Thinking of a pile of Vikings cavorting around a pool in Spain, didn’t quite gel.

“Well girl, give us another kiss.”

I obliged him with a smacker on his cheek. Then we shook hands. “I hope you get a medal too.” I said, “after all, if you hadn’t thrown me that gun, we might have been somewhere else now.”

“Yeah, I reckons that was pure inspiration.”

“Sure was.” We laughed and I left him with another peck on the cheek. As I walked away I wondered where John was. I’d had a feeling he was closer than in England. It was worrying. I’d heard nothing.

The next day I was on my way back to England, sadder and wiser. We had four other nurses on the flight, including Sharon, and one in a coffin in the cargo hold, draped with the Union Flag. I did not look forward to meeting her parents, as I knew I would. Sheila Brice had told me I’d learn a lot. I don’t think it was quite as she imagined it. But then life is what happens in between our plans.