Civvy Street (39 page)

Then he felt the sleeve of his jacket being tugged. He turned and looked. More by lip reading than through his hearing he saw a soldier standing just above him on the bridge saying, ‘Sir, sir.’ The soldier said something else but Seb couldn’t hear. He shook his head and grabbing the parapet with his other hand he clung to the old stones as he made his way carefully to the bank and clambered up the slight incline till he was on the road. It was then that he recognised the soldier. Perkins. Lee Perkins, the one who’d been married to Jenna, the hairdresser. Seb didn’t know he’d been posted back in – not that he ought to have done as Perkins, to his certain knowledge, hadn’t come back to rejoin B Company... Not that now was the moment to be thinking of such trivial stuff.

‘What is it, Perkins?’ he yelled at the top of his voice.

Perkins bent his head to be close to Seb’s. ‘Sir, you should be roped on. I’ve got one in my vehicle.’

Perkins was right, of course. Seb knew he’d been taking a risk. He nodded. ‘All right. Can you fetch it?’

Perkins jogged off and Seb stamped his feet in a vain effort to restore circulation. The rain was still drizzling down; not heavy but relentless and penetrating. Seb had been in some pretty inhospitable places in the world and had soldiered under some miserable conditions but, he thought, this was taking the piss. He saw a vehicle approaching – Perkins with his Land Rover and the rope, no doubt. The Land Rover puttered to a halt next to him, the tyres sending mini bow waves slooshing through the puddles and the driver’s window wound down.

‘Sir, you all right, sir?’

That wasn’t Perkins’s voice. Seb bent down and peered in. ‘Hello.’ It took him a second to recognise the face, then he twigged. ‘It’s Armstrong, isn’t it? Sergeant Armstrong?’

‘Yes, that’s me, sir. From the LAD.’

Shit, the bloke Jenna Perkins had been shagging when he’d called around with the bad news about her husband. The
ex
-husband who was about to reappear with the rope. ‘What can I do for you, Armstrong?’

‘Actually, I was wondering if you were OK – stuck out here on your own.’

‘I’m fine. Waiting for some support.’

‘That’s OK. As long as you’re all right.’

Another vehicle drew up alongside Armstrong’s Land Rover. This time it was Perkins.

‘Off you go, then, Armstrong, mustn’t keep you.’ But it was too late. Perkins was already out of his Rover and heading round the front of the bonnet, a hefty length of rope coiled over his shoulder.

‘No, mate, you stay,’ Perkins said. He put his hand on the wing mirror to emphasise his words. He turned to Seb. ‘We could use a hand.’ He let the rope slip off his shoulder. ‘To be honest, boss, I don’t think you’ll be able to haul that branch out by yourself; not given the weight of water holding it against the bridge.’

Seb knew Perkins was probably right but, equally, Armstrong probably wasn’t the person he would have chosen to assist them – not given the shared history – but what alternative was there? ‘Good point,’ he said.

Lee bent down and peered into the vehicle. ‘Sarge, could you give us a hand? That’s if you’re not wanted elsewhere.’

‘Sure. I’ll just park up.’

Jeez, thought Seb, this was all he needed. Not that, as far as he was aware, the two guys knew each other but if they realised their connection it could make things very tricky indeed. Still, the potentially tricky relationship between Armstrong and Perkins wasn’t the priority right now. Right now they needed to clear the branch from the river.

Seb studied the river, the bridge and the mass of vegetation that was damming the flow. It was obvious that the branch had the potential to do two things: firstly it was going to make the water back up and cause this section of the Bavant to flood; and secondly the additional weight of water had the potential to damage the bridge, or even destroy it. And even as Seb watched, more flotsam and jetsam came thundering downstream only to get caught in the branch, thus exacerbating the situation. With every minute that passed, clearing this obstacle was getting more and more tricky.

Seb formulated a plan. There was plenty of rope so he would be tied to the Land Rover with one length and Perkins or Armstrong could belay him out to the tree where he would tie a second length to the thickest section, whereupon the Land Rover could drag the branch free of the bridge. Simples.

Or, at least, it seemed so in theory.

He explained his plan to his two subordinates.

‘With all due respect, sir,’ said Armstrong, ‘you’re the biggest and strongest and if anyone should belay someone else it should be you.’

Armstrong’s comment made sense, of course it did, but Seb was uneasy about putting his juniors in a potentially dodgy situation. The river was a maelstrom and he couldn’t ask them to do something he wouldn’t do himself.

‘Don’t be a prat, sir,’ said Armstrong as Seb paused before answering. ‘You know what I’m saying makes sense.’

‘And it isn’t as if you haven’t already had a go,’ added Perkins.

Seb nodded. ‘OK. So which of you is going to take the plunge?’

‘Me,’ said Perkins. ‘I’m the lightest.’

Again Seb nodded. He took the rope off Perkins and extracted his pocket knife from his webbing. Deftly he measured out a couple of metres of rope and cut a length off before he tied it around his own waist and then fixed the other end to the Rover’s tow bar. He repeated the exercise but this time cutting off a good twenty-metre length of rope. He tied one end to the back of the nearest Land Rover and, wrapping the rope around his right arm, across his back, over his left shoulder and round his left arm, he then passed the free end to Perkins to tie around his waist. The last, remaining, length of rope, he also passed to Perkins.

‘When you get to the branch, tie this as firmly as you can and then I’ll haul you back to dry land. Once we’ve got you safe we’ll use the Rover to pull the whole thing out of the water. Well, that’s the plan.’

‘And what about me, guv?’ asked Armstrong.

‘You just get ready to help me out if I need a hand. And drive the Rover when we need it.’ Seb looked at his tiny team. ‘All set?’

Perkins nodded and began to head slowly towards the river bank while Seb paid out the rope. Perkins got to the edge of the water, turned and gave Seb a thumbs up and then stepped into the torrent. In two paces he was up to his knees and Seb could tell the soldier was having to battle to keep his footing. Having been in the river himself, Seb was only too aware of the bone-numbing chill of the water and the force of the current. He didn’t envy Perkins a jot.

Suddenly Perkins disappeared and Seb was yanked off his feet. He landed with a sickening thump on his coccyx, the rope around his waist so tight he could barely breathe, and he was twisted round so his head was facing the river, in completely the wrong position to regain purchase with his feet.

‘Armstrong,’ he shouted in near panic. He tried to get to his knees but the weight of Perkins being dragged by the current was too much for him.

‘Armstrong!’

He felt another pair of hands on the belay rope, taking some of the strain and the weight. Seb managed to get his feet under him and kneel up. He leaned back to get further leverage. The rope was burning the palms of his hands and was wrapped so tight about them he worried his knuckles might get crushed. And as for the pressure around his upper arms where the rope was wound around him... it was excruciating. But that was nothing to what Perkins must be experiencing, being battered and half-drowned in the seething Bavant river.

Seb redoubled his efforts as did Armstrong. Even over the thundering of the nearby water, Seb could hear the sergeant grunting with exertion as he heaved on the rope, his feet scrabbling on the muddy bank to keep his balance. Suddenly they could see a white disc in the water – Perkins’ head, just above the raging river. They could see him gasping for air and then some of the strain came off the rope. He must have regained his footing.

Then he slipped again and disappeared. Seb heaved on the rope to do his level best to drag Perkins out of the water as Armstrong ran to the bank. He watched in horror as Armstrong waded into the maelstrom, then, when he was ankle deep, the sergeant wrapped his arm around the rope and waded out further. Now Seb had the weight of two bodies hanging on the belay line and no way could he try and pull the men out of the water. All he could do was stop them from being carried further downstream – or stop Perkins. If Armstrong lost his grip...

Seb watched, horror-struck, as Armstrong fought his way into the river, following the line, reaching for Perkins with his free hand. Where was the lad? thought Seb, desperation mounting with each passing second. How long had the corporal been under the water? Thirty seconds? A minute? No, it had to be longer. How long did it take to drown? He pushed that thought aside. He was
not
going to contemplate that possibility. He turned his concentration back to watching Armstrong, now bending down in the water, reaching forward... had he found Perkins? Had he got him? Yes!

He watched Armstrong bodily lift Perkins clear of the water. Instantly Seb braced himself and began to haul on the rope as step by agonising step, Armstrong began to drag Perkins towards the bank. Seb did his level best to help with the deadweight of the casualty and, finally, the pair reached the bank and Armstrong pushed Perkins onto the land. With Perkins’ weight off the line, Seb was able to uncoil the rope and run forward to help.

‘Is he breathing?’ he yelled at Armstrong.

Armstrong, his chest heaving from his exertions, shook his head. ‘Dunno, boss.’

‘I’ll start on the CPR – you call an ambulance.’

Seb flipped Perkins over and pushed his chin back to clear his airway before checking for a pulse. He couldn’t feel anything so he switched from the pulse in Perkins’ wrist to the pulse point in his neck. Still nothing. Seb pinched Perkins’ nose and started breathing into his mouth. He gave the corporal several breaths before he began the chest compressions. Push, push, push and in his head he heard the Bee Gees’ ‘Staying Alive’. Push, push, push, push,
staying alive, staying alive...

‘Sir, my phone’s fucked. Think it must have got water in it.’

Seb rocked back on his heels and rummaged in his inside pocket. He chucked it at the sergeant. ‘Try mine.’

He went back to the compressions. Shit, it was hard work and double shit, he should have been counting. Thirty compressions then four breaths was the technique he’d been taught, and he’d no idea how many compressions he’d done. He took a break and did the breathing then back to the pumping. This time he counted and breathed into Perkins’ mouth at the appropriate moment.

‘How’s he doing?’

Seb stared up at Armstrong as he returned to the compressions. ‘Nothing yet.’

‘The ambulance is on its way.’

‘Good.’

‘Want me to give it a go?’

‘Let me finish this thirty off and do the mouth-to mouth.’

A few seconds later he handed over the pumping to Armstrong. His hands were right beside Perkins’ name tape, stitched just above the breast pocket of his combats. There was no way he would miss it.

‘Perkins?’ he said to Seb.

Seb nodded.

‘Jenna’s Perkins?’

Seb nodded again.

‘Blimey.’ He carried on with the compressions before stopping after half a minute or so to administer mouth-to-mouth. He resumed pumping. ‘How long do we go on for, boss?’

‘Until we get a result or paramedics take over.’

‘Do you think we’ll succeed?’

‘We are
not
going to fail. That is
not
an option.’

‘No, boss.’ Armstrong did a few more pumps. ‘Jenna might not have been the best wife to this guy but she was fond of him, I know that. She won’t forgive me if I fuck this up.’

He was about to bend forward to do mouth-to-mouth a second time when Perkins’ chest heaved and water trickled from his mouth followed by a weak cough. Swiftly Armstrong rolled him on his side and more water poured out. Perkins coughed more and dragged in a big shuddering breath.

Armstrong closed his eyes and sighed heavily. ‘Thank God for that.’ He opened his eyes and stared at Seb, his face pale with tiredness and worry.

‘Amen to that,’ replied Seb with feeling. He leaned forward and looked at Perkins. ‘Hey, buddy, how’re you feeling?’

Perkins shook his head.

‘Rough?’

Perkins nodded.

‘You gave us a bit of a fright there.’

Perkins coughed again.

‘You owe Sergeant Armstrong here a drink,’ said Seb. ‘I reckon he saved your life.’

Perkins switched his gaze to Armstrong and made an attempt at a smile. ‘Thanks,’ he mouthed and then gave Armstrong a weak thumbs-up.

Seb got to his feet. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m freezing.’

He went over to the vehicle and switched on the engine, thoughts of winching the branch out of the river long forgotten. He leaned in to the cab and flicked the heater switch up to full, before he returned to the other two soldiers.

‘Give it a minute or two and we can go and sit in the cab – get a bit of warmth till the ambulance gets here.’

Susie and the girls looked at the filthy water as it swirled across the road in front of them. After managing to reach the car and escaping out of the village they had all relaxed, thinking that it would be plain sailing to get to Maddy’s. And so it had been – right up to this moment because, in front of the car, water was bubbling out of the drains at the side of the road and pouring over the tarmac. A stretch of the highway, a good two hundred yards long, was under water and Susie couldn’t tell how deep it was. She clutched the steering wheel and stared at the scene. Did she dare risk trying to get through it? The water streamed into the drainage ditches on either side but still the level seemed to be rising. Even as she watched, the flood inched closer to her bonnet. It could be just a few inches deep or it could be a couple of feet and, if it were the latter, there was no way her little car would be able to make it through. Mike’s exhortation not to take risks rang in her ears.