Bosnian Inferno. David Monnery

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       3

      Docherty could hear the familiar London accent before he was halfway down the corridor.

      ‘…and in hot climates there’s one last resort when it comes to infected wounds. Any ideas?’

      ‘A day on the beach, boss?’ a northern voice asked.

      ‘Several rum and cokes?’

      ‘I can see you’ve all read the book. The answer is maggots. Since they only eat dead tissue they act as cleaning agents in any open wound…’

      ‘But boss, if I’ve just been cut open by some guerrilla psycho with a machete I’m probably going to be a long way from the local fishing tackle shop…’

      ‘No problem, Ripley. Once the wound gets infected you can just sit yourself down somewhere and ooze pus. The maggots will come to you. Especially you. Right. Yesterday you were all given five minutes to write down the basic rules of dealing with dog bites, snake bites and bee stings. Most of you managed to survive all three. Trooper Dawson, however,’ – a collective groan was audible through the room’s open skylight – ‘used the opportunity to attempt suicide. He didn’t report the dog bite, so he may have rabies by now. It’s true that in this country he’d need to be very unlucky, but the Regiment does occasionally venture abroad. And it doesn’t really matter in any case because the snake got him. He not only wasted time trying to suck out the venom, but managed to lose an arm or a leg by applying a tourniquet instead of a simple bandage. Of course he probably didn’t notice the limb dropping off because of the pain from the bee sting, which he’d made worse by squeezing the poison sac.’

      In his mind’s eye Docherty could see the expression on Razor’s face.

      ‘Well done, Dawson,’ Razor concluded. ‘Your only worry now is whether your mates will bother to bury you. Any questions from those of you still in the land of the almost-living?’

      ‘What do you do about a lovebite from a beautiful enemy agent?’ a Welsh voice asked.

      ‘In your case, Edwards, dream of getting one. Class dismissed. And read the fucking book.’

      The Continuation Training class filed out, looking as young and fit as Docherty remembered being twenty years before. When the last man had emerged he could see Darren Wilkinson bent over a ring binder of notes on the instructor’s desk. Razor looked, like Docherty himself, as wiry as ever, but there was a seriousness of expression on the face which Docherty didn’t remember seeing very often in the past. Maybe life in the Training Wing was calming him down.

      Razor looked up suddenly, conscious of someone’s eyes on him, and his face slowly split open in the familiar grin. ‘Boss. What are you doing here? If you’ve not retired I want my twenty pee back.’

      ‘Which twenty pee might that be?’

      ‘The one I gave to your passing-out collection.’

      Docherty sat down in the front row and eyed him tolerantly. ‘I’m recruiting,’ he said.

      ‘What for?’

      ‘A journey into hell by all accounts.’

      ‘Forget it. I’m not going to watch Arsenal for anybody.’

      ‘How about Red Star Sarajevo?’

      Razor lifted himself on to the edge of the desk. ‘Tell me about it,’ he said.

      ‘Do you know John Reeve?’ Docherty asked.

      ‘To say hello to. Not well. I never did an op with him.’

      ‘I did,’ Docherty said. ‘Several of them. We may not have actually saved each other’s lives in Oman, but we probably saved each other from dying of boredom. We became good mates, and though we never fought together again, we stayed that way, you know the way some friends are – you only need to see them once a year, or even every five years, and it’s still always like you’ve never been apart.’

      He paused, obviously remembering something. ‘Reeve was one of the people who helped me through my first wife’s death. In fact if he hadn’t persuaded me to get compassionate leave rather than simply go AWOL I’d have been out of this Regiment long ago…Anyway, I was best man at his wedding, and he was at mine. And we both married foreigners, which sort of further cemented the friendship. You know my wife – you were there when we met…’

      ‘Almost. I was there when you had your first argument. About which way we should be running, I think.’

      ‘Aye, well, we’ve had a few since, but…’ Docherty smiled inwardly. ‘Reeve married a Yugoslav, a Bosnian Muslim as it turns out, though no one seemed too bothered by such things back in 1984. He and Nena had two children, a girl first and then a boy, just like me and Isabel. Nena seemed happy enough living in England, and then about eighteen months ago Reeve got an advisory secondment to the Zimbabwean Army. I haven’t seen him since, and I hadn’t heard anything since last Christmas, which should have worried me, but, you know how it is…Then last week, two days before Christmas, the CO comes to visit me in Glasgow.’

      ‘Barney Davies? He just turned up?’

      ‘Aye, he did.’

      ‘With news of Reeve?’

      ‘Aye.’

      Docherty told Razor the story as Davies had told it to him, ending with the CO’s request for him to lead in a four-man team.

      ‘And it looks like you said yes.’

      ‘Aye, eventually. Christ knows why.’

      ‘Have they reinstated you?’

      ‘Temporarily. But since the team won’t be wearing uniform, and will have no access whatsoever to any military back-up it doesn’t seem particularly relevant.’

      Razor stared at him. ‘Let me get this straight,’ he said eventually. ‘They want СКАЧАТЬ