Carney's War Page 13

  “No, in fact she’s from a different tribe entirely if you must know. She’s not even a Sunni. And by the way how is Surrey these days; I understand they have a real problem down there with people marrying their first cousins?” Khalil responded while continuing to look at the rest of the gathering rather than the men in front of him.

  The man blushed slightly and said briskly, while nodding his head, “Good one.”

  Jeff interjected: “Yes, I heard that as well; shocking problems down there; Yorkshire and parts of the West Country as well. Still we aren’t doing too badly overall, are we chaps? Khalil, you’ll have to come over for dinner again – I mean it. Now come on chaps you need to circulate.” Jeff winked at Khalil and the group walked off after they had shaken hands with Khalil.

  He soon realised that the odd questions had been part of some bizarre sparring ritual designed to see how he would react. He remembered similar attitudes when he was at his old independent grammar school. Boys often taunted each other loudly with ridiculous questions, which usually ended up with them all shouting ludicrous racist insults and homoerotic observations at each other down the school corridors and cloisters. This wasn’t any different; it was a game of brinkmanship. He had rather enjoyed the brief spat and looked forward to the next one. Saira would never understand such things, Khalil thought; she had gone to a decent comprehensive and was far too sensible.

  ***

  Az and Shakil were sat in the lounge. Az broke the silence: “You know Shak, there are no honest public figures any more; they’re all fake. These politicians don’t believe in anything. They don’t even believe in this country.”

  “I think you’ll find they believe in lining their pockets,” replied Shakil.

  “There’s no value system; no morals,” continued Az. “Look at all these reality shows; loads of fake ‘celebs’ – no talent whatsoever. It’s an industry; it just sells magazines. It’s an industry of the untalented, bruv. That’s all it is.”

  “I think most people out there would agree with you, but what can you do? They don’t know what a value is these days.”

  “Well, there won’t be any justice until we start bringing justice, bruv,” exhorted Az.

  “Don’t start that again. I don’t go along with all that; I’ve told you,” said Shakil.

  “I know you don’t, but it doesn’t mean I’m not right about it; just that you don’t want to know.”

  “There’s not a lot you can do with corrupt people wherever they are, Az; politicians, muggers, dole cheats, drug dealers, you name it - nothing. It’s a global issue.”

  “There are things you can do; but it takes guts man. That’s what the future’s about, the righteous having guts. I mean when have the media ever asked the right bloody question? When will the politicians be brought to account over not just Iraq, but the whole of the Middle East? Even with Saddam Hussein the hypocrisy is there; it was British, American and European industrialists and politicians who gave him the chemicals and means to kill innocent people in the first place. He used them on the Iranians and then the Kurds. And all the politicians can do now is kill more and more innocent Muslims. It stinks man.”

  “Calm down, bruv; I don’t disagree with you. But we have to live here, don’t we? You have to get on; people get sick and tired of hearing the same crap all the time. They just laugh and walk away.” Shakil deliberately lowered his voice.

  “They’re very lucky that there haven’t been many attacks here, very lucky indeed,” continued Az. “The politicians even look like they can’t believe they’ve got away with it. But don’t forget who it was that put them back in power; the people you see walking around every day of your life, out there on the streets. Some of us are becoming more and more aware of all the bullshit and the politicians are still trying to pull the wool over people’s eyes. You know what I’m saying.”

  “There’s nothing I can do about it, Az,” asserted Shakil.

  “Well, you might not want to do anything, but I am, Shak. It’s about time the British realised the real lesson of their history and stopped blowing the crap out of innocent people. They love to go on about World War Two and ignore everything else that they’ve done. But look at the reality, not just in the Middle East. They’re the biggest hypocrites going; if it isn’t convenient then don’t talk about it. Even Churchill used chemical weapons on the Iraqis. People like you and me are supposed to co-exist with all this shit, are we? I mean nothing has changed in the last fifty years.”

  “I don’t know, Az, but I am not going to worry myself stupid over it.” Shakil paused. “You need to settle down man: get a good job and try and live here peacefully. That takes guts; doesn’t it?”

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Wazir had the right angle, but lacked composure in the shot. He didn’t have a steady enough grip, but took the shot anyway. He was practising on Khalil with Shakil’s camera.

  “What the hell are you doing, Waz? I thought you said you knew how to use it?” Khalil was both tired after a long day and frustrated with the blurred shots.

  “I don’t understand; it’s supposed to compensate for shake.”

  “Yeah, right man. Like buildings are supposed to compensate for seismic activity, right? Give it here. Look this is how you take a shot, set it up right and be composed. These are wedding shots, not some student party.”

  Khalil feared he really would have to splash out on a proper wedding photographer. He knew that Saira’s family wouldn’t let him dodge this one, so he would have to fork out or risk losing even more face. Shakil’s camera, despite the three hundred pound price tag, was not going to deliver. They slumped down on the sofa.

  “I’ll get us some tea, Khalil.”

  “Try and get that right at least, bro, will you?”

  “Come on, man, we did our best.”

  “No, you did your best; forget it. I just haven’t got the time for all this.”

  “It will be OK,” replied Wazir. “Uncle Haq will sort us out if we are really struggling; or we can pay a visit to the family up in the Midlands.”

  “I don’t want to go up there again,” said Khalil. “You don’t get it, do you? We need to stand on our own feet. If it comes to it I will buy what we need. It’s not about the money. It’s about getting the right result.”

  “OK. How are things with Az?” said Wazir, changing the subject. Weeks had gone by since Wazir had last seen him.

  “I think he may have done one again.” Khalil wasn’t that bothered in reality, but he knew Wazir was concerned and wanted to see his reaction.

  “You’re not serious?” replied Wazir.

  “He may have gone back to cousin C’s place. You know, in Waz. Maybe he’s in Karachi right now, I don’t know,” Khalil shrugged. “To be honest I’m past caring. He’s old enough and if he wants to ruin his life that’s his business.”

  “You need to ease up with that attitude, Khalil. You may be getting married, own your business and all the rest, but that doesn’t make you better than anyone else,” asserted Wazir.

  “I haven’t got an attitude; I’ve worked for what I have. You get me?”

  “Calm down, man, you need to watch what you say. Stop being so arrogant; you’re no better than Az. You just don’t know what he’s doing. He’s religious. He’s probably building a school or something. Stop judging him.”

  “Look, if he has ended up anywhere dodgy then someone would know and get word back to his family. He’s got an obvious accent and appearance. I think all that’s happened is that he wants to be on his own, away from all the crap.”

  There was an awkward pause and Wazir broke the silence. “And that bunch of losers you were talking to; what were they called again?”

  “You mean the Justice Party? They could be really useful. They are a small group, but they’re looking for people to canvass for them. They have some cash as well, big industrial backers in the Midlands. I am going to keep in with them. There could be some useful contacts
for the business.”

  “Yeah: but the politics? You don’t buy all that shit. I know you.”

  “No one goes into this because they agree with the views of the politicians. I’m only doing it for the contacts. You need to do something similar yourself, Waz; it’s how you get on in life. Doing something you don’t want to do for a while. Come along some time.”

  “No chance: why would I?”

  “Maybe for knowledge - or for contacts. Even if it just gets me one deal then it’s worth it. It’s not what you know, bro. And anyway they’re not what you think. I haven’t met any stupid attitudes; they’re not like the other local politicians. None of them seem to go along with what the government is doing. What are you up to anyway? How’s the part-time job; and the studies?”

  “Still in the shop, man. It’s paying OK; think I’ll stick with it.”

  “Good for you. But get some qualifications under your belt. Before you know it you’ll be in my position and have to start providing.”

  Khalil was thinking more about his own financial predicament. He was about to say something but at that point Shakil walked in with his mobile phone in hand.

  “Guys, I have some news… about Az.”

  ***

  Az was looking out over a valley in eastern Afghanistan, at the approaching convoy of twenty vehicles. The three remote controlled IEDs, to which their switches were connected, were only going to function when the Pashtun in charge of them decided. Thankfully there were no helicopters or UAVs to be seen, at least from where they were sitting. In any panic and confusion they could slip down the tight passes behind them and disperse amongst the villages.

  It was getting dark, a good time for the RCIEDs to be detonated, before the soldiers’ natural night vision had kicked in - they would get quickly disorientated and confused once attacked. Az sat nervously; it was his first time in a control position after he’d left the training camp in Waziristan. He felt it was right that he was there and he had never felt this ready before about anything - it was what his life had been leading towards for quite a while.

  The others fingered their weapons and sounds came over the UHF radio. They sat there as the shadows got longer and darkness descended upon the valley. Eventually he looked around; several of the men had started crawling back to one of the rear positions. He could see the power sources being packed up as well. Confused he stifled his own complaints. Slowly the commander signalled all of them to retire to the low wall behind them. They were well up in the valley, but still kept their heads down.

  “What’s happening? Why are we pulling back?” He kept the questions to himself as a man in his forties he had spoken to only briefly crawled towards him stating, “Get back to the wall.”

  Az did as he was told. It wasn’t to be his day – there were simply too many soldiers down below and it was too much of a risk. He was dazed. They had been waiting two days for this convoy. The tip off had been correct all along; it looked like it carried weapons, fuel and everything for a re-supply. And now when they still had the chance it was called off.

  “Well, I was warned that there would be a lot of hanging around,” Az said to himself. “And I had better start switching on anyway, these brothers know what they’re doing and I don’t, it’s as simple as that. It’s still better than being sat in the house doing nothing back in London; any day of the week.”

  “Chup sai; prot,” came the words of command: “Stay low, keep quiet!”

  A UAV skimmed overhead silently; Az hadn’t been aware of it at all. ‘A silent killer,’ Az thought. They were expecting a hit, but nothing came. The convoy just carried on towards Kandahar Province. They stayed for a while and then made their way down the tight passes.

  ***

  “Apparently he is with some relatives in Pakistan; he just didn’t bother calling us.” Shakil had a slightly defiant tone in his voice as he spoke to Khalil. “He’ll be going back home for a while. He may stay with some friends, but to be honest I don’t really know that much; he emails home and they email me.”

  “Why do we spend all our time worrying about Az?” Khalil replied. “He’s old enough to look after himself.”

  “Yes I know. But he is my brother and I do like to keep tabs on him a bit.” Shakil was now slightly offended at Khalil’s lack of interest.

  “I haven’t got a problem with that,” said Wazir from a polite distance.

  “I might have known you’d say that,” replied Khalil. “Sometimes I wonder if you aren’t Az’s brother in reality. You seem that close to him.”

  “Look I know you’re all big and grown up and all that, but you can stop dissing me for a start,” shouted Wazir.

  “Sorry, bruv, didn’t realize that I had offended you.”

  Khalil left Shakil’s house and drove back to the flat in Enfield in driving rain. He decided he would do it. He would write the speech for Jeff but that would be the end of it for him. “I’m so sick of all this bullshit - feeling like I can’t express myself because of dickheads of various kinds.”

  Later that evening he read out his first draft to himself after Saira had gone to bed and his mind began to drift as he sat at his study table. Random thoughts came into his head, waking up with a jolt he sipped his glass of whisky again; it was the best stress reliever he had ever had. Within a few minutes his mind was drifting again, lacking the energy to drag himself to bed he let his thoughts wash over him.

  He re-read the draft: “Societies are gradually becoming Balkanized by bigotry and ignorance. The logical conclusion is that at the very least we will…”

  He paused and drank some more whisky - more ideas came to him but he couldn’t bring himself to write them all down.

  Eventually he woke up from his alcoholic haze and looked out the window. The same vehicle was parked fifty metres down the road that he had seen on previous occasions, with two figures motionless in the front seats. He shut down the system and turned the lights off. One of the figures opened the passenger door and walked towards the block of apartments. There came a low tap on the front door and Khalil got up off the chair and went to the corridor, trying not to wake Saira in the process. He opened the door and beckoned the men inside, but they requested instead, having shown him their IDs, that he accompanied them.

  ***

  Joe had gone along to the political meeting more out of curiosity more than anything. He had seen the flyer a few days before and figured it was better than staying in and watching TV. ‘Labour, Liberal, Tory… same old bloody story,’ had been one phrase he’d read in a tabloid newspaper headline – and that had prompted him to go along. The flyer claimed that there would be a wide range of people from different backgrounds and ethnic groups in attendance so at least they couldn’t be accused of appealing to only a narrow spectrum of voters.

  Once the meeting was underway the speaker touched on the fact that political lessons were not being learned especially over foreign policy: “Both Labour and Tory Governments are wrapped up in the US flag when it comes to invading other countries, as if Britain can still afford a role as global policeman. The problem is that there’s no real political choice despite the number of parties but these wars in the Middle East haven’t just damaged relations between Muslims and Christians - they have actually led to more terrorist activity and have cost countless lives while ruining both the UK and the USA financially.”

  The speaker continued: “Let’s face it - it’s the politicians who are guilty of the main crimes. They funded the likes of Saddam Hussein and the Taleban in the first place. All these politicians have done is to hide behind British soldiers…”

  The talk eventually ended and refreshments were served. A young Asian man who had been sat near to Joe came up to him and said: “Perhaps it was the way of all imperialist nations; they fall apart in the end just like the Roman Empire.”

  “Excuse me?” Joe replied.

  Ignoring his last comment the Asian man replied: “I never forget a face. I’ve seen you at one of the
se meetings before. What’s your name again?”

  “It’s Joe; Joe Carney. And yours?”

  “It’s Khalil.” They shook hands.

  Khalil continued: “I don’t know about you Joe but I find it extraordinary to hear other people say these things. I actually find it very refreshing.”

  “Yeah: but unfortunately, most of it’s true,” Joe replied. “But what really gets up my nose is the way the soldiers get it in the neck; they are put into hell on earth to make up for the politicians’ failed policies. It’s the politicians who belong in court, not anyone else.”

  “I think most people would agree with you,” replied Khalil. “It’s really just a circus.”

  After Joe reached home it dawned on him that although he had enjoyed the evening he wouldn’t be able to attend another such event for many months, as he was about to start training ahead of another operational tour. He would like to have continued with these conversations, as they might help make sense of all the political nonsense flying around in the newspapers. But he also had a nagging feeling that he wouldn’t be going to any political meetings again; at least not for a long time. He had too much planned with Alison for when he returned from Afghanistan. The following night he met with Dex and Baz in the local pub.

  “I can’t believe you’re doing it again, mate: so soon after the last time? It’s hardly been a year, hasn’t it?” Baz was clearly upset about the situation and stared at Joe with a sad look on his face.

  “I don’t know,” Joe replied. “It was only a short tour last time. I think I should do another and then I would have done twelve months mobilized service in all. Anyway I’m only starting the training. We won’t be going until early next year.”

  “Well, you must get something out of it, mate,” replied Dex. “If you are happy to go again that is? It’s not some Vietnam syndrome is it, you know – missing the vibe and all that? Or do you just do drugs out there?”

  “Yeah, it’s all the frapuccinos in the NAAFI.”

  Both Dex and Baz looked at Joe quizzically. They clearly didn’t understand, but Joe just grinned. Dex continued: “Well, I’m not going to get political on you but I think it’s terrible the way the media describe our youth as wasters all the time. I mean half of them are being mortgaged up to the eyebrows to pay for their education and the other half have been putting their lives on the line in Iraq and Afghanistan - and where next?”