Chapter 1

I came back from the Middle East to be demobbed rather later than most. I volunteered, like so many others, immediately after the first atrocity. That one killed my Grandad and Granma, visiting London. I was, anyway, an Air Cadet at University. Of course, airmen were not what was needed, rather, boots on the ground. So I signed up and was put on a ninety-day ‘hostilities only’ training. Yes, I was a ‘ninety day wonder’, a second Lieutenant in an infantry regiment. While I was training – in the first week, in fact – I heard of further atrocities including one which rendered Birmingham uninhabitable. More to the point for me, it killed my parents and older brother. No family left and the family home in one of the exclusion zones. The chemical or biological contamination would prevent access for months, years, perhaps decades.

One reason I was late returning was Ariana. Ariana, an Iranian orphan about seven years old, was found by one of my squaddies during a routine search of a village devastated by the RIFs*. When they passed through any village which had offended them in some way, there was usually little left for us to do except bury the dead.

*RIFs – ‘Radical Islamic Fundamentalists’

Billy, a private, brought the waif to me by the collar of her very tattered and dirty clothing. She was obviously very thin, and shivering, probably with fear. “Sit you down here,” I said, pointing, whilst delving in my pack. Iranians speak Farsi (Persian), which I don’t; I am no linguist. All of us had picked up a few words of Arabic like ‘lay face down with your hands behind your head’, but not much more.

Billy ‘encouraged’ her to sit in front of me. “Ma asmuk?” (Your name?) “ana asmi jurj” (I am called George). I waited.

“Aismi Aryana,” she said, barely audibly. (I am Ariana).

“Juean? Mutaeatishi?” (Hungry? Thirsty?) Thereby just about exhausting my grasp of Arabic. I saw the emotions cross her face before she spoke.

“Niema. Jayie jidana, eatshan jidana.”

I took that as a yes (it was) though I didn’t understand it. I found a bar of chocolate in my pack – probably not the best thing – an apple, a ration bar, and held them out to her. The look on her face then was indescribable. She took the apple after a hesitation, and bit into it.

“Billy, go find me Christine, please?” He nodded, and trotted off.

She ate carefully and finished the fruit before Billy returned with Lance-Corporal Christine Fletcher. Christine, one of two female squaddies in my platoon, had two advantages. First, of course, she was a woman, but secondly, she was the linguist among us, and could at least stumble along in Farsi.

“Thanks, Billy. Are you finished with your sweep?”

“No, Boss. I’ll go back to it? I thought you should see this one immediately.”

“Quite right, Billy. Carry on. Thank you.”

I turned to Chris. “Chris, Billy found this waif – Ariana – in one of the shacks. She’s hungry and thirsty, and needs a bath and clean clothes. We may not manage the last, but would you do your best for the other? Get the story?”

“Yes, Boss.” She turned to the little girl and spoke. As I said, I know no Farsi, so could not understand. Neither could I understand the response, except that Ariana started to cry.

There is something in the psyche of adult humans, at least normal ones, which responds irresistibly to a child’s tears. I scooped her up, not thinking that it might frighten her until the action was complete. However, rather than struggle, she flung her little arms round my neck and held me firmly. I looked over her shoulder at Chris and shrugged.

“I suppose it’s time I took a break, too. Sound the recall, will you?” I started to walk back to the centre of the village and our parked APCs. The platoon converged on our position. “Third squad oversight,” I ordered. “Half an hour, then first squad take over. Tea break.”

None of us were really relaxed, but we all trusted Sergeant Burton’s Third Squad to warn us of problems as we settled down to brew tea or coffee and in some cases to use self-heating rations. I gave Ariana a plate of chicken curry and rice after Chris warned her it was hot, and she tasted it cautiously then ate it as fast as she could, given it was hot. Water accompanied and followed the meal.

The rest of the day, I couldn’t escape the little girl, though she did carry on some sort of conversation with Chris. We found nothing of interest during the rest of the day; the RIFs had obviously stripped the village of anything worthwhile as well as killing all the residents except Ariana. Other things – the condition of many of the corpses, especially women – I’ll pass over. I still cannot comprehend what Ariana lived through – she must have heard the screaming at least. Actually, I cannot comprehend the minds of the men who carried out the atrocity. In the name of God?

Back at the camp, I finally was able to detach myself from Ariana to report to the Captain. Captain Knowles was a good sort, though a Regular, tolerating his command’s amateur soldiers. On hearing my report, though, he was first irritated and then resigned.

“Well, Timmins. On your head be it. The girl will be your responsibility and her support on your mess bill. Go and see the Adjutant and explain. Tell him I’ve authorised you to keep her in camp. Oh, and I suppose I’d better detach Corp’l Fletcher to assist. You’ll need to apply ... you were intending to take her back to Blighty? Thought so. You’ll need to adopt her, I think. Can you support her?”

“Yes, sir. I inherit Grandad’s estate, my parents are dead. I’m not sure what I’ve got, but I should be well able to look after one little orphan.”

He sighed. “Okay, then. I can’t blame you. But it’ll be an uphill job, and her being a W...” He stopped himself from using the old term ‘Wog’, “Middle Eastern ... is going to present difficulties.”

“Yes, sir. By your leave?”

“Go on. Go see the Adjutant and get things started.”

I spent several hours in the Adjutant’s office, though most of it was with a secretary who, however, seemed both knowledgable and competent. I returned to my tent and found Chris there, with Ariana asleep in a camp cot, an empty cot next to it, and mine not far away. Chris smiled at me. “Got things straightened out, Boss?”

I shrugged. “In the process of,” I said. “She all right?”

“She’s bathed, been fed and watered, and I’ve got her a couple of changes of clothing that more or less fit. I couldn’t leave her, and since I thought I probably shouldn’t leave her alone here, I’ve moved a cot in for me too.”

“You’re okay with that?”

She grinned. “I doubt that you’re going to touch me up or anything ... dammit. I think we can avoid any ‘conduct prejudicial to good discipline’, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” I muttered. Chris was – if you could see past the ugly combat dress – a well-put together, attractive woman. Fit, of course, as we all were, and very bright and personable.

“Boss! Really?”

“Just muttering to myself,” I quickly added. “I need a shower and food.”

“Rations on your desk, Boss. While you eat, I’ll get a shower too.”

The RIFs had shot themselves in the foot, and disabled their own country as well as the West. Still, it was a year on from the time I acquired Ariana before the last elements of the Regiment were withdrawn, back to Britain, along with myself, Ariana and Chris Fletcher. Perhaps that needs a little explanation.

“Boss?”

“Yes, Chris?”

“I don’t know what I’ll do back in Blighty,” she said, “it seems that women are somewhat ... disadvantaged, now. My family were all Londoners, so I’ve nowhere to go back to. Besides, I’ve got fond of that little tyke you’ve acquired. Can I stay with you – and her – at least until I can find a place of my own?”

I didn’t take long to think that over. “I’m not sure what I’ll be doing, either. I welcome your company, no obligation either way.”

“No obligation.”

Happily, I, with elements of the Company from north of London, were landed at Harwich to be demobilised at Colchester Barracks, rather than Aldershot as I expected. The process was lengthy and, in my case, extended by arrangements for Ariana. Chris managed to hang on, too, until I was able to travel. The train journey to the Midlands was convoluted and slow, so on arrival in Nottingham we went straight to a hotel for the night before calling on Grandad’s solicitor. The ‘family room’, having a ‘queen’ bed and a trundle bed for a child, presented a quandary. Chris and I looked at each other.