Last Night Another Soldier Read Online Free PDF Page B

plan to me and I nodded my head in approval.
    ‘You know what?’ Flash gave a big grin. ‘I don’t mind being the oldest Rifleman on the planet and you lads giving me a hard time. It’s ten times better than doing nothing back home, having to beg for money from the social. Getting made redundant has done me a favour.’
    He jutted out his chin as if a heli was coming in to land on it. ‘I like it here.’
    I thought I’d had it bad being binned from the kebab shop in Peckham after only a week. They’d sacked me because I couldn’t work the till properly. That’s why I joined the army. Like Flash, I thought that’s what you did when no one else wanted you. Mind you, it was beginning to sound like maybe I had it better than him.
    ‘I like being here too.’ I smiled back at him. ‘It feels like something special.’
    Flash nodded back at me. Talking with Flash was like having a big brother, something I didn’t have back home. It was just me and Mum.
    ‘You know, Flash, we’re here doing something that no one I know back home will ever do. Know what I mean.’
    We were obviously getting a bit too tree-huggy for Si. ‘Oi, Richard and Judy, yous finished or what? Let’s get on with it, there’s still two more drums to do. It’s nearly scoff time.’

Chapter Eight
    I was standing in the cookhouse queue, starving as usual. No point asking Cookie what was for midday scoff. It was always the same two choices. Have it or leave it. Great sense of humour, old Cookie.
    Mind you, there was one thing we definitely had better than the Americans and that was the food. We got ration packs to eat just like them, but the difference was, we had cooks to cook them up for us when we were in the FOB. Cookie worked wonders with a bag of powered egg and a tin of stewed beef. We also got fresh flown in from time to time. Stuff like spuds, bacon and fresh fruit. On the other hand, we didn’t get fridges like the Yanks did. Most of the time you’d be seriously up for murdering your granny for a can of cold Coke.
    Sergeant MacKenzie was hovering about like a vulture, shouting at each and every one of us to wash our hands before we ate. Brit soldiers must have the cleanest hands of all soldiers across the world. Vomiting and diarrhoea spread fast, and the whole company would go down if it wasn’tcontrolled, so washing your hands was a really big deal.
    Funny really, seeing as the rest of us was in rag order. Sweating so much our clothes stuck to our skin, and caked in dust like we’d gone ten rounds with a giant bottle of brown talcum powder – our hands were spotless though. We were made to wash them every chance we got, and always before eating or after having a dump. We got one shower a day for exactly three minutes. One minute soak, one minute soap, one minute rinse. But it was clean hands that mattered most.
    The system seemed to be working so far. The company hadn’t had an outbreak of the squirts and shits since the lads got out there. Rumour said that the sergeants had a bet on between them about whose platoon was going to get the squirts first, and MacKenzie was definitely not going to be the one to lose that.
    I held out my plate and Cookie slopped a ladle of mince and a splat of spuds on it, one beside the other, followed by a bit of green pond life around the edge of the plate. One of the things I loved about the army was the queuing system because I got to go to the front. Us riflemen got fed first, then NCOs like MacKenzie, and officers got fed last. When it came to food and kit, thelads always came first. At least there was one advantage to being low-life.
    I picked up a knife and fork from the cutlery bin at the end of the counter. Everything was made of plastic – plates, cups, knives and forks – so everything could be chucked away in bin liners after every meal. It was cleaner that way, and would definitely go towards helping MacKenzie win that bet.
    Just like the toilet waste, all used plastic was burnt too.