I have never seen anything more orange than an African sunset. On that day, it was more surreal than any other, before or since. It was as if the entire sky seared with the bloodshed it reflected. The sun, however, too ashamed of what it had witnessed, was nowhere to be seen. It left the squalid landscape drenched in an unworldly monochrome.
I had no other reason to hold my head up.
Finally relieved of my duty to guard the fence line, I could surrender the pretence I kept up for my men. The officer ushered the eight of us back into the hospital. He could see I needed a minute to myself, and let me slink off around the corner with a sympathetic nod once the rest of my section was inside.
The humidity was stifling. Together with the dark mud that sucked at my boots, it fought to slow my retreat. The shirt of my disruptive pattern combat uniform clung to my back, almost hosed on. I despaired. There was no escape. My breathing lumbered, and countless stars joined the moisture welling in my eyes.
I reached the back of the Besser block building, gripping the cool concrete to wrench myself around the corner. It was the closest thing this so-called hospital had to privacy: a narrow cement walkway between the rear wall and the rusted metal shed that housed the backup generator. What little warm breeze there was, was non-existent back there. The sweltering air glowed a deep, dirty orange from the merciless sunset above.
Scuffing as far down the makeshift corridor as I could, I leaned back against the wall and scraped myself down to the ground. I stretched my legs out, pressing the soles of my boots against the rusted sheet metal. The shed groaned, then clanged under the pressure.
I laid my rifle across my lap and glared down at it. The thin barrel and handles of the Steyr made it look more like a toy than a weapon. For all the good it did that day, it might as well have been. I remember hating it in that moment. That worthless, fucking thing! It was nothing more than a symbol of my impotence.
I began to shake. It was far too great a responsibility for me to bear. I was only nineteen for fuck's sake.
I don't know how I held it together. But I couldn't any longer. I began to cry. My face flushed with heat and humiliation. Lifting my knees up, I hugged them and buried my face in the sweat-soaked camouflage. I was racked with violent sobs, my shoulders bouncing uncontrollably.
The gasp of a wet sniffle jolted me from my self-pity some time later. It was one of the Médecins Sans Frontières nurses standing at the entrance of the corridor a few metres away. I think her name was Tabitha. She was holding her hand over her mouth, the other supporting her wrist. Tears streamed from her eyes and rippled over her fingers.
Quickly wiping the tears and snot from my face, I spluttered, "What's wrong?"
She shook her head and stifled another sob. Then composing herself, she lowered her hands and whined softly in a heavy French, or maybe Belgian accent, "I hate to see a man cry."
"I'm not a man," I blurted out, the utter humiliation seizing me in undignified sorrow. I bawled into my knees, unable to keep myself from wailing like a banshee.
I felt the moist heat of her presence as she crouched down beside me and draped her left arm across my back. "Shhh," she soothed in my ear, placing her other hand on my knee.
"Men don't do that," I sobbed hysterically. "Men don't let that happen."
I had us at the fence line. Our weapons aimed, fingers on the triggers, but safety switches on, we were on the brink. It was my decision to keep us there. It was my decision to hold our fire.
It was my decision to do nothing.
Tabitha laid her cheek on my shoulder. She knew better than to argue with me at that moment. She just held me close and tried to comfort me. I needed time to come to terms with what had happened, to get it all out.
The frozen terror I forced us all to watch would be forever burned in our memories. I would never forget the chilling evil that stared back at me up the barrel of my own rifle, provoking me. They wanted me to fire.
God knows I wanted to as well. My men were begging me to give the order to shoot. Our blood was boiling. But it was mine to keep my cool.
"You saved our lives, Corporal," she whispered when my outpouring had finally reduced to a pitiful shiver. "You saved all of us."
The officer would have explained to the medical staff that protecting the hospital and the people within it meant abandoning those on the other side of the wire. He would have told them that if we had tried to stop it, if we had fired, we would have been overrun.
Tabitha shuffled on the ground next to me, sitting down out of her crouch. Her baggy, blue-green scrubs looked almost pink in the warm orange gloom. The heat of her body pressed against mine caused fresh droplets of sweat to trickle down along my right side.
Conscious of her proximity, I lifted my rifle off my lap and stood it up against the wall away from her on my left. When I turned back, she gave me a sad smile and took my hand between hers, placing one underneath and the other on top. Her touch was wonderfully warm, and the gentle caress of her thumb across the back of my hand was lovely.
I don't know how long we sat there, silently watching the pendulum swing of Tabitha's thumb on my skin. It seemed like a while. I didn't even notice the weight of her head on my shoulder. The feeling had always been there. I remember nothing in my life feeling more natural. It belonged.
The greasy ash blonde curls of her hair, wrestled into submission by a tight bun, had an almost strawberry sheen in the sunset. A few frizzy strands had escaped, indecisively swaying back and forth, unsure of whether to rescue more of their friends or tickle my cheek. It was almost hypnotic.
It's hard to explain, but I found myself forgetting the horrors of the day. My whole world became the intricate, little details of Tabitha's presence. Nothing else mattered.
I know now that it was a coping mechanism. I had compartmentalised the trauma, and my subconscious was doing whatever it could to slam the lid shut.
My right hand, sandwiched between hers, was almost poaching in our combined sweat. But there was no way I was going to pull it away. Instead, I placed my left on top of hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Tabitha looked up at me, more of her neglected hair falling free as she did. Her eyes were raw, but soft. Somehow they managed to stay blue in the orange haze. The corners wrinkled slightly as she smiled, betraying her age. I figured she was in her late-twenties, maybe early-thirties.
I snorted my own smile in return. Then self-consciously, I dipped my gaze a second. Our hands danced in my lap, our fingers interlocking, then sliding apart. The intimacy of the gesture stained my face with warmth.
It was Tabitha's turn to huff her amusement. The knowing look she gave me when I lifted my eyes intensified my blush. The sweat prickled my forehead, causing her to let out a breathy giggle. Then her smile slipped away and her expression became...
I can't remember who kissed whom. Regardless, we were joined, connected at the mouth and tentatively suckling at each other's lips. Still holding hands, I felt for her in the darkness of my own closed eyes, inching forward when she pulled back, and allowing her to push against me when she pressed forward.
The humidity of the kiss struck me most as I struggled for breath in the smothering closeness. It was so hot and wet, and growing in both. Then her tongue eased into my mouth, slowly, but forcefully. It slid across my top lip and teeth before dipping inside. My own gingerly came out to cradle hers.
She tasted of cigarettes and stale coffee. I would usually find such a sensation repulsive, but on that day, in that moment, I was so incredibly thankful for it. It filled my senses, and masked the smell of blood that hung thick in the air. I was finally free of it.
Lifting my left hand from hers still bundled in my lap; I reached up and cupped the side of her head. She mewled gently into my mouth as I traced the shell of her ear with my thumb. Then slipping my right hand from between hers, I wrapped it around her waist. I revelled in the feeling of her soft contours, and I couldn't help but grip her side, just below her ribs.
Tabitha kept her hands in my lap as we kissed, our heavy breathing reaching a fever-pitch. I hardened beneath her touch, which moulded to accommodate it. She rubbed my length through my pants, as best as the thick camouflage fabric and my underwear allowed. Heat flushed through my body as things escalated.
She broke the kiss to look down at what she was doing. Fumbling at the belt on my webbing, she tilted her head back up and met my gaze. Her ice-blue eyes twinkled, and she snorted another silent giggle before re-joining the kiss.
