Read Online Danger Close by Charlie Flowers - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Charlie Flowers
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strange language again. In we went.
They put me up against a wall and took my photograph and then me and three guys struggled manfully with a fingerprint kit and a handheld retina-scanning device. The software crashed halfway through my left eye and they gave up. I was handed an orange jumpsuit with a stencilled number on the back and it was made clear by sign language that I should put it on over my clothes. I did. It was too sizes too large so that didn’t prove a problem. I was then marched down a corridor with cinderblock bunkers on either side, another set of doors were unlocked and opened, and they pushed me through. To a scene of utter chaos. The doors slammed behind me and I took a look at my new lodgings.
I had never imagined anything like this.
I walked into a combination of a circus and a day at Walthamstow dog track. It was a vast hangar, full of cages and corridors, with men hanging out of every door. The noise was indescribable. The smell reminded me of prison back home- disinfectant, unwashed men, bad cooking. I veered right, and meandered along the opened holding pen doors. An old insurgent instinct told me that if I wandered long enough among the prisoners, I would hear something. And within two minutes I was proved correct. I heard English, and an accent you just couldn’t mistake. Brummie. I looked to my right.
A man with a fist-length beard was having a stand-off with two other men. He was shouting at them but they weren’t deterred in their efforts to get something from him. ‘Geroff it, this is moi jacket and oi’m ‘avin’ it!’
I walked over and stood by him. He caught my eye.
‘New here?’
‘Yep. Name’s Rizwan. Salaam Aleykuum.’
He laughed as he cottoned on to the English. ‘Waleykum Salaam, akhi. Name’s Mo. So you’re a Brit Salafi too? You see, that’s the kind of stuff that landed me in ‘ere.’
We both cracked up. The nearest Taleb made another grab for the denim jacket that Mo was arguing about. I socked the Taleb in the jaw and he stumbled back into two guys sitting down. And then the biggest fight broke out around us. We went in swinging back to back. A massive roar went up and every cellblock piled in. Suddenly a klaxon sounded and in walked another US Major and two ANA top brass. We all stopped punching each other for a bit. I stood and got my Taliban opposite number to his feet and we brushed each other down and turned to see what the staff had to say. Mo sidled up next to me and murmured ‘Ere we go. Looks like Ze Chermans are annoyed.’
This major, on closer inspection of his tabs, turned out to be US Air Force. He looked really pissed off. All three brass were wearing safety goggles. I poked Mo and nodded at them.
‘Oh yeah, the goggles. Some of our long-termers in here like to throw their shit at them.’
‘Yuck.’
‘Yeah.’
The major drew himself to his full height and started addressing us in English. One of the ANA officers next to him started translating. Obviously me and Mo could get the original draft and it was hilarious and surreal.
The major was declaiming, ‘Attention enemy combatants. Yes that means you guys. We have just undertaken an inventory of this site’s materiel affects and we have found the following items to be missing.’
He paused then resumed reading.
‘6,000 bed boards. 111 pillow cases. 52 twenty-man tables, 10 single tables, 34 chairs, 76 benches, 1,212 bed bolsters, 1,219 knives, 478 spoons, 582 forks, 69 lamps, 1,000 feet of electric wire, three sets of discotheque lights, 1,200 feet of rope. 49 blankets. Ten sewing machines. Three Humvee batteries. And 3,400 industrial-size cans of Heinz beans!’
He stopped and glared at us over the clipboard.
‘Don’t think I don’t know you guys are up to something! And don’t be crying to Amnesty International when I shut your little playhouse down!’
He turned and stalked out. The ANA officer finished translating and a ripple of giggles went round the vast
They put me up against a wall and took my photograph and then me and three guys struggled manfully with a fingerprint kit and a handheld retina-scanning device. The software crashed halfway through my left eye and they gave up. I was handed an orange jumpsuit with a stencilled number on the back and it was made clear by sign language that I should put it on over my clothes. I did. It was too sizes too large so that didn’t prove a problem. I was then marched down a corridor with cinderblock bunkers on either side, another set of doors were unlocked and opened, and they pushed me through. To a scene of utter chaos. The doors slammed behind me and I took a look at my new lodgings.
I had never imagined anything like this.
I walked into a combination of a circus and a day at Walthamstow dog track. It was a vast hangar, full of cages and corridors, with men hanging out of every door. The noise was indescribable. The smell reminded me of prison back home- disinfectant, unwashed men, bad cooking. I veered right, and meandered along the opened holding pen doors. An old insurgent instinct told me that if I wandered long enough among the prisoners, I would hear something. And within two minutes I was proved correct. I heard English, and an accent you just couldn’t mistake. Brummie. I looked to my right.
A man with a fist-length beard was having a stand-off with two other men. He was shouting at them but they weren’t deterred in their efforts to get something from him. ‘Geroff it, this is moi jacket and oi’m ‘avin’ it!’
I walked over and stood by him. He caught my eye.
‘New here?’
‘Yep. Name’s Rizwan. Salaam Aleykuum.’
He laughed as he cottoned on to the English. ‘Waleykum Salaam, akhi. Name’s Mo. So you’re a Brit Salafi too? You see, that’s the kind of stuff that landed me in ‘ere.’
We both cracked up. The nearest Taleb made another grab for the denim jacket that Mo was arguing about. I socked the Taleb in the jaw and he stumbled back into two guys sitting down. And then the biggest fight broke out around us. We went in swinging back to back. A massive roar went up and every cellblock piled in. Suddenly a klaxon sounded and in walked another US Major and two ANA top brass. We all stopped punching each other for a bit. I stood and got my Taliban opposite number to his feet and we brushed each other down and turned to see what the staff had to say. Mo sidled up next to me and murmured ‘Ere we go. Looks like Ze Chermans are annoyed.’
This major, on closer inspection of his tabs, turned out to be US Air Force. He looked really pissed off. All three brass were wearing safety goggles. I poked Mo and nodded at them.
‘Oh yeah, the goggles. Some of our long-termers in here like to throw their shit at them.’
‘Yuck.’
‘Yeah.’
The major drew himself to his full height and started addressing us in English. One of the ANA officers next to him started translating. Obviously me and Mo could get the original draft and it was hilarious and surreal.
The major was declaiming, ‘Attention enemy combatants. Yes that means you guys. We have just undertaken an inventory of this site’s materiel affects and we have found the following items to be missing.’
He paused then resumed reading.
‘6,000 bed boards. 111 pillow cases. 52 twenty-man tables, 10 single tables, 34 chairs, 76 benches, 1,212 bed bolsters, 1,219 knives, 478 spoons, 582 forks, 69 lamps, 1,000 feet of electric wire, three sets of discotheque lights, 1,200 feet of rope. 49 blankets. Ten sewing machines. Three Humvee batteries. And 3,400 industrial-size cans of Heinz beans!’
He stopped and glared at us over the clipboard.
‘Don’t think I don’t know you guys are up to something! And don’t be crying to Amnesty International when I shut your little playhouse down!’
He turned and stalked out. The ANA officer finished translating and a ripple of giggles went round the vast
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