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SNAFU Part 18

by Angharad

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

It rained on the day of the funeral of Mary Hunt. She was the nurse who was killed in Iraq. She was buried with full military honours, last post, a fusillade of bullets over the grave and all the rest of the pageantry. I along with the rest of the survivors stood in silence wishing we could do more to comfort her distressed mother and father.

Like me, she had seen it as an adventure. Sadly, it had turned into tragedy for her. Unlike me, she had been a career nurse. It was all she had ever wanted to do, and she saw the military option as a way of seeing a bit of the world. Ironically, her sense of adventure caused her death.

I saw her at the funeral, she desperately tried to speak to her parents, who couldn’t see or hear her, although her mother did look round once. I would go and see them some while later and possibly tell them what I saw and heard. It doesn’t always go down too well with everyone.

We paid our respects and left. There was a small funeral tea in the local hotel, but it was so sombre and sad, that I asked to leave early. As I was going, her mother intercepted me.

“You’re the one who’s getting the medal?” she said to me.

“I don’t know. It’s not important to me. How can a piece of metal be worth so many lives?”

“They say you’re getting an award for another act of bravery.”

Sensing that there was an unpleasantness coming, I tried to be noncommittal. “I don’t know.” I replied.

“They say, trouble follows you around.” She almost snapped at me and now I knew where we were going.

“So if you hadn’t been there, my Mary would still be alive.”

“I don’t think it works like that.”

“Doesn’t it?” she snapped, “Tell me, Miss Heroine, how does it bloody well work then?”

“Look, it’s been a long day, we are all overwrought. I’ll come and see you one day.”

“How dare you tell me how I feel. How do you know how I feel?”

“I can tell you Mary would be sad at your anger with me.”

“How dare you presume to tell me what my daughter thinks.”

“I’m not presuming, she is stood behind you asking you to calm down. She is holding a large pink elephant, a soft toy thing. She is telling you to keep it and to think of her when you hold it.”

Mrs Hunt went rather pale. “How do you know about the pink elephant?”

“I told you.”

“Are you messing me about?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. You felt Mary around you earlier. I saw you turn around when she was behind you. She was trying to tell you that she loved you both, and not to fret for her, because this was her time. She said something about an aneurysm.
Does that make sense?”

“My god, you can see her can’t you?”

“I could she’s gone now.”

“She had an aneurysm when she was small, it was repaired, but we were always worried it would return. Apparently, she died of it, caused by the explosion.”

“I’m sorry.” I said, “I didn’t know that.”

“No you wouldn’t. We were only told a few days ago.” She shook her head. “You are Jamie, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You did something special with some sick children?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mary said you sat up for a couple of days praying for them and they got better. Will you say some prayers for Mary? Please. Help her to rest.”

“Of course I will. Although I think she is already at peace.”

“I hope so.” She burst into tears and I tried to comfort her, but I was crying too.

“You’re a good woman Jamie, I’m sorry I misunderstood you.”

“That’s okay Mrs Hunt, no offence taken.”

“Do come and see me one day, soon.”

“I will, I promise I will,” I said as we embraced and comforted each other.

I hadn’t known Mary at all, only having spoken to her for a few minutes the day she died. The day we all nearly died, the day I killed four people. I shuddered at the thought. How could I have done it?

As I walked away from the hotel and out into the drizzle I relived the moments when I shot those men. It was awful. They might have killed me and my friends. If it had been just me, it wouldn’t have been so important. But we were there to help them, not as an occupier. How could they get it so wrong?

Then I stopped and thought, or was it us who got it wrong? Should we have just left them to get on with things? I didn’t know. Until I’d been there, I had the usual opinion, stuffed with preconceptions. As a Guardian reader, that meant being mainly antiwar. But that was several years ago and it was now about helping to set up an infrastructure and help the people do their own thing – yeah, but like do it our way.
So was my presence quite so benign? To my mind yes. To the people who tried to kill us, probably not. Then I go and kill them Oh bugger, we’re back to that again. I did what I felt was necessary at the time. Perhaps the men I killed did the same. Was it all fate or karma? Who lived and who died preordained or was it all serendipitous? My head was bursting with all these possibilities as I walked back to my room at the nurses home. I got there soaking wet about an hour later.

Sheila Brice was waiting for me. “There you are, we’ve all been worried sick about you.”

“You sound like my mother,” I replied.

“Where have you been?”

“I needed some air, I was walking.”

“But it’s raining, you are soaked.”
“Is it? Am I?” came my responses to the respective questions.

“Something is troubling you, Jamie, I know it is. Would you like to talk about it?”

“Not really, it can’t undo what I did.”

“If you mean Mary Hunt’s death, you weren’t responsible.”

“I don’t mean that, although if I hadn’t made the driver stop, maybe we’d have got away without any of it happening. So did I cause that too?”

“What do you mean then?”

“I killed four men.”

“Your action probably saved the lives of six others, maybe more.”

“Yeah, yeah. Eight people die so I get a medal. Before that three people die so I get an award. What comes next? How many more have to die before I get some other award? I don’t want the stupid medal nor the police thing.” I was now so angry, but powerless. I burst into tears.

Sheila put an arm around me and led me into my room, “I just want them all to come back to life.” I sobbed and sniffed. “I didn’t want anyone to die.” More sobs. “Why does this happen to me? Why me? Can you answer that?” With this latest outburst, I pushed away from her and threw myself on the bed.

“Jamie, it happened. You don’t like it. I can understand that. I don’t suppose anyone actually would. But it’s because you care, that it happened. You cared about those two little babies and they lived. You cared about your colleagues and friends on the bus. You didn’t start what happened, you simply responded to it. Doing what you thought was best at the time. With hindsight, you are perfectly entitled to change your mind. But it doesn’t stop it.”

I lay on the bed, sulking like a ten-year-old. In between sobs I heard what she was saying. “Sometimes when we care about others, we do things we wouldn’t otherwise agree with in normal circumstances. These were not normal circumstances. The men you feel you were responsible for killing, were trying to kill you and Sharon and several others from this school and other places. They deliberately attacked you.

You defended yourself, which is acceptable in any form of law known to me. It was unfortunate, but it was necessary. You might not see yourself as a hero, but those you saved think you are. They are as entitled to their opinion as you, are they not?”
Some of what she was saying made sense. It all did really, but I didn’t want it to. I was seemingly enjoying this tantrum.

“Of course you could always act like a six year old and chuck a dummy, or you could act like a true hero and accept what has happened and perhaps spend the rest of your time, saving lives.”

That last bit got through. “I seem better at taking them,” I snapped back.

“Fine, transfer through to a fighting unit, you can kill some more then.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“Perhaps you’d better make yourself more clear.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” The tears had dried up. “I didn’t want to kill anyone. I’m not sure that I have what it takes to save lives anymore.”

“Okay. You can cop-out, you wanted to from day one anyway. Go ahead, the press will love it. They’ll build you up and then tear you to bits like a pack of dogs. Maybe you’ll feel satisfied then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. You will be an archetypal flawed hero. They just love them, they’re easy to pump up and then pop. You see it all the time, sports heroes are the easiest, they have enormous egos and thin skin. They are also very self-centred, especially these days. It isn’t so much about representing your country as winning loadzamoney and lots of publicity.”

She paused while this sank in. “They’ll make great play of the nurse who killed and how things seem to happen about you. It’s pure coincidence, but they won’t worry about that, why let the truth get in the way of a good story?”

“What can I do?”

“In the short term, carry on as before doing what you believe in. Fulfilling your commitment to this course, your patients and your friends, colleagues and relatives. Accept that you are special, and in being so, accept its consequences.”

“Does that mean the gong and the award?”

“I think so. On both occasions, you probably saved more lives than were lost. Some of the people who survived think so anyway, and they’d like to thank you. Giving you some form of recognition, for your acts of courage recognition means they can then get on with their lives. It brings closure.”

“What about those who died? What of their families?”

“I don’t know what happens to them.”

“Don’t they deserve some closure?”

“Of course.”

“So how do they get it? Surely not from seeing someone they regard as an enemy, getting an award. One which arises from their suffering.”

“I accept what you are saying, Jamie. I don’t have any smart answers. But I do have opinions. Essentially, once someone puts another’s life in jeopardy then the normal rules no longer apply. When that jeopardy is intentional or deliberate, it’s an entirely different game. If I were an armed policewoman and you were a hostage-taker, threatening the life of a hostage, and I had a clear shot at you – then I would take it. If it killed you, I would have to live with the consequences.”

“It’s easier to say than do. I know.”

“I respect your experience. At the same time, I applaud your actions and hope that I would have had the courage and skill to do what you did. Remember you told the police at the nightclub you were a soldier and if they gave you a gun, you’d go and get those gunmen.”

“Yes but…..”

“No buts, it’s what you said. In Basra, you did that. You saved the lives of your friends. It was a spur of the moment, you didn’t have time to consider the moral position. I think you did the right thing and despite your doubts, I still think you did the only thing you could have done.”

“I’m not so sure, but I’ll try to accept it.”

“Good girl.” She smiled at me. “Ever since we first met, I have felt this bond with you. When I met your parents, I felt it with them too. I have watched you grow and develop as a woman, you took to it like a duck to water. I have also seen you become something very special. I know it embarrasses you because you are naturally modest, but one day you will have to accept that you are special. I believe you do have more of a mission than most of us lesser mortals, I also believe that the special qualities you have are designed for that mission. It is your destiny to use them wisely. Despite your youth, you have an old head. Accept your fate whatever it is, all these incidents are preparing you for something, when it comes you will recognise it.”

“I’m just an ordinary person, trying to make sense of this world and failing much of the time.”

“If that’s how you see it, that’s fine. I’ve said my bit. I expect you back in four week's time, at the start of the next term. Good day, Nurse Curtis.” She turned on her heel and left.

Oh shit. I thought, I’ve done it again.

I arrived home the next day, my parents were working but Mrs Johns was able to collect me from the station. With her was Eluned. I was very tired, the trauma of the past weeks was catching up with me, and I didn’t really want too much socialising. However, with a twelve-year-old in the car, it’s difficult not to.

“It’s nice to see you again Jamie, I hope we can do one or two things together this time.”

“I'll see what I can do.” Said my mouth, my heart said, ‘Oh no, just what I need, more babysitting.’

As if picking up my thoughts, Gwen Johns said, “We could do with a babysitter on Friday if you’re available.”

“Oh please say yes, Jamie,” squealed Linnie.

“I’ll need to check with Mum first, just in case she’s got something arranged.” I thought, ‘just play for time, maybe something can be arranged’.

“She’s playing bridge with us, so will your dad.”

My next thought was too unladylike to be recorded. It was a fait accompli, so like so many other things I had to lay back and accept it. Let’s face it, after my recent past, a month of nothing more strenuous than babysitting, would be welcome.
Linnie jabbered all the way home, which thankfully wasn’t too far. When we got there, she wanted to come in with me, but thankfully her mother called her back. All I wanted was a soak in the tub and an early night.

When I walked through to the kitchen, my mother had posted instructions to start the evening meal on the fridge door under one of those magnetic bits of fruit. Just what I needed.

However, I did as requested, peeling potatoes, chopping cabbage and carrots, putting the joint in the oven at the required regulo. Having got into chopping mode, I also did a fruit salad and shoved it in the fridge. Then I put the potatoes and carrots on low and went off to bathe.

I emerged from the bath relaxed, and whilst I couldn’t say refreshed, I felt a whole lot better than before. I dressed very casually, tee-shirt and jeans with my fluffy pink slippers. My hair was wrapped in a towel, secured with a clip.

I was just seeing to the dinner when my mother arrived. “Oh good, sweetheart, you got my note.”

We hugged and pecked each other’s cheek. “It’s good to see you again,” I said, giving her another hug.

“You too, sweetheart. That smells good. Did you do plenty of veg and spuds?”

“I think so, why?”

“Your father said he might bring someone back from work with him. He’s really got into this Browning thing.”

“Oh Mum, I only just got back from hell, and he’s inviting people back from work.”

“They can go in the study after dinner.”

“I also see you volunteered me to babysit on Friday. Thanks for telling me.”

“I got railroaded into it. It was our usual bridge night, and when I mentioned we might have to cancel because you would be home, Gwen and Linnie asked if you would babysit, I could hardly say no after their party.”

“I s’pose not.” I reluctantly agreed.

“Go and tidy yourself up a bit then for our guest. I’ll take over here.”

I slunk off to the bathroom, grumbling to myself all the while. ‘Sod it’, I thought, ‘I’ll dry my hair and put it up, but I’m damned if I’m going to dress up for some poetry nerd.’ So that’s what I did. A minor act of rebellion, but it gave me some satisfaction.
I returned to the kitchen, my mother took one look at me and shook her head. I thought my fluffy pink slippers looked quite stylish. She could hardly object, she gave them to me along with matching pyjamas. The slippers were shaped like pink bunnies, with ears and eyes, a nose and whiskers. On the back, they had little white scuts or cotton ball tails. The jammies had embroidered bunnies all over them, they were light pink with collars and cuffs in darker pink. Okay, they were rather juvenile, but I liked them. Remember I didn’t have much of a girlhood, so I’m catching up now.

“Right Miss Stubborn, can you do something for pudding?”

“Is fruit salad suitable?”

“Fine, we have some cream in the fridge.”

I opened the fridge, pulled out the bowl of fruit salad I’d made earlier, and with the silly noise sounding a fanfare, I waved it before my mother’s face.

“Don’t tell me, this is one I made earlier?”

“I always wanted to be on Blue Peter.” (A long-running children’s programme on BBC TV).

“When you get your award, they might ask you.”

“Which one, the one for getting people killed or the one for killing people?”

“Look sweetheart, I know it was unpleasant, but you’ve got to move on. You haven’t harmed anyone who wasn’t trying to hurt you. Please let’s not go down the misery path tonight. If you want to talk it through with your father and me, let’s do it when we have time to do it properly.” She leant over and hugged me, and it was all I could do not to burst into tears.

“Okay,” I said, holding back the deluge. Then to stop me choking up, I busied myself with setting the table. I had just laid the last piece of cutlery in place when the doorbell rang.

“Can you get that love?” called my mother from the kitchen.

“Alright.” I called back, while under my breath I was mumbling, ‘why can’t he use his key like everyone else?’.

I opened the door, and was about to say, “Hi Daddy.” When I almost fainted. My jaw gaped open and I began to cry. This time with joy. I couldn’t speak, my mouth wouldn’t work, I couldn’t even move.

The caller calmly walked in, wrapped his arms around me, kissed me, then holding me to him, said quietly, “Hello Princess.”

We stood there for an eternity, me, held in his strong arms, weeping with joy all over him. His shoulder was quite wet when we eventually broke the embrace, mainly because my father was stood patiently behind us, coughing politely.

“Where have you been?” I eventually managed to croak, “You said a few weeks, it’s been months.”

“I know princess, things went a bit pear-shaped. Some of our lads got killed in an ambush, they also got a nurse.”

I felt absolutely stunned and temporarily reduced once more to aphasia.

“You alright?” he asked, I was shaking in his arms.

“You were in Iraq?” I managed to squeak from my vocal cords.

“I’m not supposed to say, but yes. You probably read about it, we had a couple of redcaps killed, a bus driver and a nurse. They attacked a minibus and one of our Land rovers.”

“I…” my voice faltered again. Once more I was shaking and weeping. I tried again, “I… I…”

“You read about it.”

“N…n….n…no.” I stammered.

“You didn’t read about it.”

By now I was furious with my seeming inability to communicate and just screamed.
My father came rushing out. “Is she alright?”

John just looked at him and said, “I was telling her about the attack on a bus in Iraq, and she got upset.” He was still embracing my quivering body, I could feel his warm body staying so steady and calm, while his strong but gentle grip caressed me.

“The hospital minibus?” asked my dad.

“Yes why, did she know the nurse who was killed?”

“Worse I’m afraid, she was there.”

“What? On the bus?”

My father nodded his reply.

“Oh fuck. She wasn’t.” He squeezed me. “Oh baby, I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to upset you. “ He was squeezing me and rubbing my back, kissing my neck and apologising. It was lovely and horrible at the same time.

My mother who’d been in the kitchen and oblivious to the drama by the front door walked in on it, calling, “Dinner’s... is everything alright?” At which point my father escorted her back to the kitchen to explain why it wasn’t.

About twenty minutes and a stiff brandy later, I was almost human again. I didn’t want much dinner, but I pushed a small amount of food around the plate. “Come on Jamie, you’ve got to eat.” Urged my mother.

John leant across the table and whispered to me. “Can I tell you something?”

I nodded back to him.

“I love your slippers.” He smiled at me, and I began to laugh. The laugh became a giggle and the giggle became an embarrassed rush from the room as I wet myself.

They say, ‘ the path of true love does not run smooth’. I don’t know who they are, but they were absolutely spot on. I was making a total pig’s ear of it. If I wasn’t crying it was because I’d been temporarily struck mute, if that wasn’t happening, then I was hysterical or incontinent or both.

I took a good look at myself in the bathroom mirror, I looked ghastly, white-faced with red-rimmed eyes and vacant expression. I changed my wet clothes and pulled on a pair of corduroy trousers and a matching pink coloured top. I washed my face with cold water and returned to the table.

“Sorry about that,” I said and calmly sat down.

“Shall we have some pudding?” asked my mum.

“I’ll get it,” I said and went to the kitchen.

It tasted fine and I actually ate some. It was washed down with a glass or two of a Rioja. So by the time we had coffee, I was feeling much more calm. I helped my mum clear the table but she shooed me away from the dishes. I went back into the dining room, and said to John, “Can we go for a walk, I feel like I could do with some air.”

I threw on my black jacket and he grabbed his, and we set off. We had walked about half a mile before either of us felt the need to speak. It was me. The wine had loosened my inhibitions and I felt more capable of addressing the issue.

“I knew you were in Iraq.”

“How, we were keeping very quiet. I couldn’t get in touch, it could have jeopardised the mission.”

“I felt you were quite close to me.”

“I wish I’d known how close.”

“I killed someone.”

“You what?”

“I killed someone.”

“No princess, the terrorists killed the passengers on the bus and my boys.”

“Not them, I killed some of the terrorists.”

“What?” he turned me round to look into my face, into my eyes, and once more I could have swum in those deep grey pools. How I just wanted to throw myself into them and never come out.

“I heard someone on the bus fought back. It was you. My God, I’m dating a female Bruce Willis.”

I felt very cross with him, that was a sexist remark if ever I heard one. But the way he said it was very tongue in cheek, and his twinkling eyes simply danced their way into my heart, so instead of shouting at him, I smiled. Then he smiled with his mouth this time, then his smile kissed my smile and for a moment, I closed my eyes and forgot everything.

Later we were sat on a fallen tree watching the moon come up, I asked John a question. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

“I shot someone once. He didn’t die, but he’ll never walk again. Bullet lodged in his spine. There was hell to pay at the time, but the enquiry cleared me.”

“I had only ever fired a gun during my basic training. I couldn’t believe that when the bodyguard from the bus threw me a pistol, I calmly loaded it and shot someone. I fired four shots into him, three into his body and the fourth took half his head away.” I felt myself reliving the event.

John squeezed his arm tighter around me. I looked at him and smiled, although there was a trickle of hot liquid leaking from my eyes. “I meant to kill him. He was going to kill us unless I stopped him. He had a rocket grenade. As he fell it was shot into a nearby house. I hope no one was hurt.” I was aware of the monotone of my voice.

“It’s okay, princess, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“I need to tell you what sort of person I am.” I glanced at his eyes, they looked sad. I continued my narrative. ”After that, I shot another three men. I saw their souls leave them, and my lioness captured them. At the time I enjoyed this last part, thinking that if they thought they were going to heaven for attacking infidels, they were mistaken.”

“It’s okay, princess.” He cooed as he held me in his arms, lifting me he placed me on his lap and kissed me. I pulled my head away, I had to finish my story.

“No, it’s not okay. I need you to know what I am.”

“I don’t care what you are.” He said, taking my face in both his hands. “I don’t need to know. I love you for who you are. There I’ve said it now. I love you.”

The trickle of hot fluid continued down my face as he kissed me, and I felt his love for me holding me tightly in those strong but gentle arms. It flowed into me like a warmth, like a radiance. I felt this golden energy flowing from his body into mine. I held onto him as if I was scared he’d leave me, or I’d lose him. Weeping silently as he healed my pain with his love and strength.