Fit For Purpose Julian Parrott (best ebook reader for chromebook TXT) 📖

had reported an uptick in Taliban activity and the night was cloudless and a half-moon provided enough light to read by. The helicopter’s veteran crew were nervously scanning the valley sides stretching above them for the tell-tale flashes of assault rifle fire or worse, the fiery streak of an RPG. The Chinook’s passengers were a mixed bunch; wiry, tanned men sporting large, grizzled beards that usually meant special forces, most of whom slept, a group of wide-eyed female nurses, looking small under their helmets, and a platoon of regular army guys rotating out from a Forward Operating Base. Major Tom Price MC couldn’t help catching the eye of the nurse who sat opposite. He had already been captivated by her large brown eyes, the wisps of red hair that snuck out from under her helmet, and her shy smile when they had chatted briefly at the FOB. She had been apprehensive about the helicopter flight; he had tried to assuage her fear even though he, too, hated helicopters. He had made sure he sat opposite her. They nodded to each other across the Chinook’s cabin as it was too loud to talk, and they exchanged smiles. He quickly took in her uniform again; fresh and reasonably clean, her name on her chest, Roberts, the single pip of a second lieutenant. He knew that she was at the fresh-faced start of her career while he was in the tired twilight of his.

The Chinook reached the head of the valley and swung hard to port. Suddenly, there was a change in the pitch of the helicopter’s engines. All the special forces guys were now awake and alert. Through the cabin noise, they all heard a shearing sound followed by a deafening crack and then the Chinook began to rotate at sickening speed. Price shut his eyes. The helicopter spiralled violently until it crashed into the valley side.

Price came to and vomited, then he felt someone grabbing his webbing and pulling. His body screamed in pain. He screamed in pain. His vision cleared and he could see one of the special forces troopers was pulling him away from part of what had been the Chinook.

“No worries mate,” the trooper said. “You’re good. You’re going to get through this.”

Price wasn’t convinced. His tunic was covered in vomit and blood and something that looked like Chinook bulkhead was sticking out of his right thigh. Every movement was agony. He moved gingerly against the valley side forcing himself into a sitting position, grimacing and sweating with the pain. Sitting up, he observed the scene around him. A couple of the special forces’ lads had taken up defensive positions constantly scanning the valley sides above and around them. The Chinook had broken in two on impact. The front of the chopper lay out its side and was ablaze. The rear, containing the passenger and cargo compartment, had apparently burst on impact. The trooper who had freed Price from the wreckage had been joined by one of Price’s own men and a nurse as they sorted through the human wreckage. There were several broken bodies. Another soldier was carried and laid next to Price. He recognised the brown eyes. They were impossibly large with fear. Roberts was in a bad way. Silent and pale in shock. She had been placed on her left side and faced him.

One of the nurses knelt in front of Price and began to apply a field dressing around his thigh wound.

“Work on her,” Price ordered through gritted teeth and nodded towards Roberts.

The nurse almost imperceptibly shook her head. Price noticed the tears running down her dirty, blood smeared cheeks.

To his right, Roberts reached out a bloody hand and Price held it while the other nurse continued to work on him. Waves of nausea and darkness began to break over him like surf. He turned to face Roberts through the descending haze. Price watched a single tear leave her eye, follow the contour of her cheekbone and down her face before falling onto the rough sand. He stared deeply at her and squeezed her hand as the light appeared to fade from her eyes.

“Roberts,” he shouted. “Fight it. Stay with me kiddo.”

He felt her grip on his hand loosen, he tried to hold on, but her hand slipped out of his and she slipped away. Her eyes remained open, but he knew that she was gone. Then, a wave of nausea spread over him, his vision clouded and then he felt or saw nothing more.

***

Present. Mid-Atlantic. November 21st

Tom held Nia’s hand as she drifted off into a shallow airplane sleep. He watched as she snoozed. He wondered just who this exciting woman lying next to him was? He felt he had connected more with her in four hours than he had with his wife across their four years together. To be fair, he recalled, he had spent most of their relationship bouncing from trouble spot to war zone to army base and back again. But, also to be fair, she did sleep with his best friend and his best friend’s best friend. She had really wanted to marry an officer, any officer. He had heard she was now on her third. He felt that he never did really know her.

Tom released Nia’s hand gently. He carefully manouvered out of his seat pod and made his way to the toilet. There, he washed his face in the tiny sink. He was tired, he recognised it in the corners of the blue grey eyes that looked back from the mirror. He still wore some of the familiar fatigue from the years of taking and giving orders, of mentoring young men with hopes and fears he no longer shared, of dealing with civilians who barely concealed their contempt for his uniform, of making life and death decisions. It was the tiredness that had come with being around so much death and killing. He had