The New Recruit Page 2

  ‘When we find him, I’m going to break his legs,’ said Jon, his face stern. ‘Even if I have to use a sledgehammer.’

  Liam understood the sentiment; he was up for giving Matt a kicking as well. But just then he heard something: an odd rumbling, breathing sound, like a paddling pool deflating.

  ‘Over there,’ he said, and motioned for the other two to follow. A few metres on they all spotted Matt at the same time. He was flat out on the ground and fast asleep, his rifle at his feet.

  Liam went over and sent a hefty kick into Matt’s thigh. ‘What the hell are you doing? You’re in the wrong sodding place, Penfold! Bloody useless, or what?’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, lads,’ said Matt, clambering to his feet.

  ‘Sorry wouldn’t mean shit if we were out in Afghanistan and you let the Taliban past to slot us!’ said Jon.

  ‘Never mind the Taliban,’ said Cameron. ‘What about Corporal McKenzie?’

  ‘What about me?’

  Liam froze. They all did.

  ‘A word,’ said the corporal as he slipped out from the shadows. ‘Not a great start, is it, lads?’

  Just as Liam had suspected, someone had been watching them all along. And it just had to be Corporal McKenzie, didn’t it?

  ‘Let’s just say you’re all bloody lucky this is just an exercise.’

  A moment’s silence, like Corporal McKenzie wanted them to think about each and every word he was saying.

  ‘A man goes missing? That’s serious,’ he said, eyeballing them one by one, his voice rising. ‘This isn’t a bloody Cub Scout camping trip! What if this happened in theatre? What if one of you walked off and got lost, tripped an IED, or got captured?’

  No one said a word.

  ‘Anything like this happens again, you’ll be in serious trouble,’ said the corporal. ‘Understand?’

  Liam and the others responded with a sharp, ‘Yes, Corporal.’

  Corporal McKenzie said nothing more, turned, and marched off, his presence replaced by a thick, heavy blanket of ominous quiet.

  Cameron broke the silence. ‘Renton?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You were right about the balls.’

  2

  THE BRICK BUILDING had no windows, no way out at all except for the solid metal door now in front of them. It was the second half of the first term and Liam was lined up with a group of other junior soldiers on a rare bright day, his stomach twisting itself like steel rope. He was getting used to the sensation of having to deal with his nerves when faced with doing something new, but this time, more than any other yet at the college, he was really feeling it.

  Dressed in his combats, he was also carrying a respirator. They’d all practised putting the respirators on, getting them to fit snug to the face, and they’d even worn them round the assault course, which had been no fun at all. Liam had soon discovered that running while wearing a respirator was horrific: they were made of rubber and stuck to your face, and no one had warned them that the only way to get rid of the build-up of sweat inside the mask was to drink it.

  ‘You all know why you’re here,’ said Corporal McKenzie. ‘CS gas is something you all have to experience so that you know what it feels like and how to deal with it. Also, it gives me a bit of entertainment.’

  Liam wasn’t so sure about the whole ‘need to experience it’ aspect of what they were about to do. Earlier that day, junior soldiers had been chatting about how the CS gas experience was going to be a right laugh, and betting which one of them was going to choke first, even pass out. Breathing in gas sounded horrific and he just wanted it over and done with.

  Since the run-in with McKenzie after Matt had gone missing on the night exercise, Liam and the others had worked hard and kept their heads down. The weeks were mostly flying by. Locker inspections had gradually become less stringent and they were all getting fitter by the day. Liam now knew how to wear his uniform without getting bollocked for something being in the wrong place, he could march, and his basic skills were improving day by day, as was his ability in the classroom. He even had a good knowledge of how to strip and clean an SA80 and could survive on less sleep than he’d ever thought possible. He was actually enjoying pretty much everything he was doing. Now, though, he had a feeling that this was about to change.

  ‘To recap,’ said Corporal McKenzie, ‘CS gas, or tear gas as it’s also known, is used for riot control. And trust me, it really works. Fire a can of this stuff into a crowd and they’re yours.’

  Liam had heard this already, as had they all, but the corporal was obviously enjoying laying it on thick.

  ‘The chemical reacts with moisture, be it sweat on your skin, the water in your eyes, saliva in your mouth, snot up your nose.’

  Yep, thought Liam, it still sounded absolutely fucking dreadful.

  ‘You’ll feel a burning sensation and your eyes will shut automatically. Nothing you can do about it. So you’ll be blind.’

  The corporal paused, and Liam had no doubt that it was for dramatic effect.

  ‘Next, you can expect all or any of the following: your eyes will stream with water, you’ll cough like you’ve something stuck in your throat; mucus and snot will pour out of your nose, your eyes and throat will burn like they’re on fire, and you might even throw up. You’ll be disorientated, dizzy, and unable to breathe. And there is no backing out. Everyone does this. And I know most, if not all of you, don’t want to.’

  His piece said, Corporal McKenzie walked over and opened the door to the brick building.

  ‘I’m going to call you in by name. File in, line up, shut up. Scott!’

  Liam was relieved. Being called first at least meant he’d have it all over and done with before anyone else.

  Inside, the brick building was as plain as it was on the outside. It was an oppressive place, dark and damp, and the air was stale, with an acrid tang to it that stuck in the back of his throat.

  Another junior soldier lined up next to him. It was Cameron, but neither of them spoke. A nod was enough. They were too focused on what they were about to go through. Then came Matt, Jon and the others. Silently they stood in a line, like they were waiting for a firing squad.

  Corporal McKenzie strode in, shutting the door behind him. The only light getting into the room now was through a grubby skylight that wasn’t really up to the job thanks to the amount of bird crap on it.

  ‘In a moment,’ began the corporal, ‘CS gas will be released in this room. After that, I will call you in turn. You must then take off your respirator. And to stop you attempting to hold your breath, you will call out as clearly as you can your name, rank and number. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Corporal!’

  ‘Good. Now, respirators on!’

  Liam ignored his heart, which was now racing and hammering hard at the inside of his ribcage, and pulled on his respirator. It stuck to his face immediately. He checked it like he’d been shown, to make sure there was no way for any air to get in except through the filter. Already, the eye visors were steaming up, making visibility, if possible, even worse. Breathing just added to the problem, and he couldn’t just hold his breath for the next ten minutes.

  When Corporal McKenzie released the CS gas, then a few moments later called out the first name, Liam realized something. First in meant last out. He was going to have to stand here and listen to all the others rip off their respirators, choke and splutter, before he got to have his turn.

  His heart thumped harder.

  The first junior soldier to have his name called out ripped off his respirator and spoke, but he barely got his surname out before the coughing and choking became too much for him and he was through the door. Liam hadn’t seen it, hadn’t dared move, but he’d heard it and that had been enough. It had sounded like a man dying, choking on his own vomit, drowning in his own spit.

  The next junior soldier, a girl whose thick Brummy accent had made it almost impossible for Liam to understand a word she said, fared much the same, though af
ter pulling off her respirator she at least managed to get through her full name before faltering and collapsing to her knees. Liam turned his head just enough to see what was happening and saw her being pulled to her feet by Corporal McKenzie and pushed out through the door. It was, in an odd way, comforting to see that the NCOs weren’t any easier on the girls. Everyone here was treated the same and that was the point, thought Liam. Didn’t matter what sex you were: make the grade, or sod off, simple as that.

  And so it continued, with one after another after another taking off their respirator, attempting to speak, being hit by the CS gas, then collapsing into a fit of coughing and spluttering and panic. By now, Liam’s own respirator was doing what it seemed to do best, making his face overheat, causing him to sweat. Drips of the stuff were sliding down his cheeks, and pooling around the edge where the respirator gripped at his face.

  Jon’s name was called. He lasted no longer than any of the others, and was pushed out of the door a few seconds after saying his name.

  ‘Penfold!’

  Liam caught a flicker of movement as Matt heaved his respirator from off his face. He didn’t even manage to get his name out before coughing so hard that the force of it sent him forward and down onto his face with such violence that Liam couldn’t help but wince.

  Corporal McKenzie called for help from another corporal, and they quickly helped the stumbling, spluttering mess that was Matt out of the room and back into the outside world.

  ‘Dinsdale!’

  Liam saw his mate rip his respirator off, heard him say his name, then that was it. Cameron’s eyes snapped shut. He coughed like his lungs were trying to get out through his mouth. Snot burst from his nose and he doubled over. Then he was grabbed by the corporal and marched out through the door.

  Liam was the only one left. He stood waiting for his name to be called while Corporal McKenzie stared at him. Why the hell wasn’t he calling his name out? What was going on? Was he trying to mess with him? If he was, it was working.

  ‘Scott!’

  As if a switch had been flicked, Liam had torn the respirator from his face almost before he’d realized what he was doing. He opened his mouth to speak but instead took a huge breath. It was like sucking in a petrol bomb as the match was lit. His insides felt like they were burning up. Then his face reacted, his eyes slammed shut, and his nose started to seep snot. He couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. If he tried to suck in air, his nose closed up, or he just sucked more mucus and saliva down his throat. Panic squeezed him. Snot and mucus poured from his nostrils. He was going to die! He knew it! No way could he survive this. He was going to pass out, stop breathing, and that would be it, game over.

  Fuck . . .

  Liam felt a shove in his back and he stumbled forward, only just managing to stop himself falling, then a bright light crashed into his barely open eyes. He was outside, but the CS gas was still working on him. He breathed fresh air, but it only made it worse, like drinking a beer after a hot curry. He doubled over, coughed, spat, pulled great streams of slimy shit out of his nose. He tried to stand up straight, but he still couldn’t see well; he was disorientated and stumbled sideways into a metal bin. It clattered to the ground, the sound ringing like a church bell in his ears. Hands grabbed him, helped him stand, and at last the burning sensation started to subside.

  Liam, his eyes now able to open, blinked at the brightness of the day. For a moment, he still couldn’t focus properly. When he did, Cameron was in front of him, checking he was all right, watching his back as they had begun to do during exercises.

  ‘Penfold’s fucked,’ he said, nodding behind him.

  Liam turned to see what Cameron was on about. Matt was sitting on the grass, his face racked with pain. A corporal and another member of staff was with him, checking him over and bandaging up one ankle. They’d left his boot on, as there was no point taking it off yet; it was still providing support and would do so until they got him back to the college medical centre.

  ‘What happened?’ Liam asked.

  ‘Looks like his ankle’s broken,’ said Cameron. ‘Not confirmed, but with the noise he’s making I can’t see that it’ll be anything else. You know what that means, don’t you?’

  ‘Possible medical discharge,’ answered Liam.

  ‘Probably a good thing anyway,’ said Cameron. ‘Never really been able to work out what the hell he was doing here in the first place. Penfold’s a lazy sod.’

  A stretcher arrived and everyone watched as Matt was carried off. Then Corporal McKenzie ordered them all to line up.

  ‘I’m not going to bother asking how that was for you all, because I know the answer: it was shit, right?’

  Liam and the others all nodded. Some were still coughing, including Liam; his eyes were still watering and his nose running like he’d got the worst cold in years.

  ‘You experienced it for just a few seconds and it knocked you all flat,’ said McKenzie. ‘Now think how effective it is in a crowd where you can’t escape from it, and not just one but half a dozen canisters have been thrown at you.’

  That evening, back in their room, Liam and the others had still heard no word about Matt.

  ‘He’s going to be binned,’ said Jon. ‘Everyone saw him tumble. His ankle must be a mess.’

  A shadow fell across the floor.

  ‘Evening, lads.’

  At the sound of Corporal McKenzie’s voice, everyone in the room stood to attention.

  ‘Just thought you should know that Penfold’s bust his ankle. It’s a medical discharge. He can come back when it’s mended if he still wants to, but for now he needs to let it heal.’

  And that was it; no more was said, and McKenzie left the room.

  For a moment, silence reigned.

  ‘One down,’ said Cameron, slumping onto his bed.

  ‘He was weak,’ said Jon. ‘Bloody waste of space, Penfold. Always had it coming. Amazed he made it this far. But we can hack it, right?’

  ‘Yeah, we’re nails,’ said Cameron, smiling, but also a little serious, if not confidently so.

  Liam liked the sense of camaraderie. With Matt binned, it seemed as though the three of them were suddenly pulled closer together.

  ‘Three to go,’ he finished, and remembered his dad signing the papers, half drunk. He had nothing to go home to; there was no future back there, of that he was absolutely sure. Liam knew he had to see it through to the end and finish the course. Become a soldier.

  3

  WALKING TO THE firing range, Liam went through a quick mental recap of everything they’d been taught, and everything they’d learned, both in the classroom and on the 25-metre range, about the British Army’s SA80 A2, the semi-automatic rifle they would all be carrying in active service. He particularly remembered how Corporal McKenzie had clearly enjoyed telling them the fabled story about the weapon being so accurate when it was introduced that the Army marksmanship tests had to be redesigned. As for the technical stuff, it was a cinch. He knew it off by heart. Now they were in their second term, they all did.

  Made by Heckler & Koch, the SA80 was a semi-automatic rifle that fired 5.56mm ammunition from a 30-round magazine. It was fitted with the world-famous SUSAT sight, which gave a 4x magnification and had tritium-powered illumination, so a soldier could carry on fighting when the light was low, at dusk and dawn. The SA80 could be fitted with an under-slung grenade launcher, was accurate out to 400 metres, and the user could select single-shot or fully automatic mode with just a flick of the change lever. And one thing that had been drilled into them from the off was that on the range they’d only ever use the weapon on single-shot mode, period.

  ‘Anyone here thinks they can go all Die Hard on me and empty a full magazine into a target on automatic had better just fuck off now,’ the corporal had bellowed at them while demonstrating the change lever. ‘You ever find yourself in a position to use one of these on full-auto, then you’ll be fighting for your life anyway, so go right ahead. But here, on the range? Don�
�t even think about it. Chances are someone will get hurt. And by hurt, I mean have their bollocks shot off. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, Corporal,’ they had shouted back.

  The lessons on the SA80 back in the first term had all been classroom-based, covering the basics of the weapon: how to strip it, clean it, all the technical stuff that the Army wanted to make sure every junior soldier got right before they were allowed to pull a trigger for real.

  In the classroom, Corporal McKenzie had sat opposite them, an SA80 cradled in his hands like it belonged there. To Liam, it had seemed as though the corporal was trying to drill his stare into every single junior soldier in front of him, to make sure he had their absolute and undivided attention.

  ‘This is your personal weapon. You must become skilled in its use to kill all enemy on the battlefield. It is as simple as that. Got it?’

  Liam remembered how the corporal had emphasized the word personal. Like he wasn’t just saying this weapon was yours to keep, but that you’d better look after it or you’re dead and it’ll be your own fault.

  As one, the junior soldiers had all replied with, ‘Yes, Corporal.’

  ‘Well, that’s something.’

  Corporal McKenzie had then gone through the process of stripping the weapon, pointing out the main components as he went, until the rifle was laid out in pieces in front of him.

  ‘From the live end of the weapon: muzzle and flash eliminator. Trigger, trigger housing, safety catch . . .’