The Black Path Read Online Free

bus around the camp or selling pirated DVDs at the local market might not be as friendly as he seems. Here, the normal rules don’t apply, and when you’re not busy killing time the stark reality is that at some point you’ll either kill or be killed. And with every person you kill, the more removed you become from those you left behind.
    Owen has killed three men, including the sniper who shot at them when they were out on patrol yesterday. The first kill was the worst. It was in Iraq, long after the war was over, when British troops were supposed to keep the peace. The boy couldn’t have been more than fifteen. Owen remembers every detail. His finger was on the trigger, there was a short, sharp crack and then a puff of red spray shot out of the boy’s head. He was dead before he hit the ground.
    At least yesterday’s hit was a grown man. Not that it made a hell of a lot of difference. It was still a life, and the loss of life isn’t something he likes to think about. Thinking is dangerous. It’s better not to think. And better not to talk. Soldiers don’t discuss how many people they’ve killed. Everyone knows that, even the likes of Jackson. Death is ever present. You can feel it, smell it, touch it. But you never talk about it. This is part of the unspoken bond between men who serve together.
    He thinks of Armstrong. He must have seen him a hundred times: eaten in the same cookhouse, sat to check emails in the same internet café, worked out at the same gym. Yet he didn’t even know his first name. He doesn’t know the first names of half the men in his own platoon. This is what the army does to you. This is what war does to you. ‘Tour of duty’ is such a misleading term for what goes on here – especially now, when withdrawal is on the cards and compounds that were once filled with tents or military vehicles lie empty. If the endless hours of boredom and monotony don’t get you, the anxiety will. The camp is becoming a ghost town. At one of the shops yesterday Owen saw a set of drinking glasses emblazoned with the words ‘Been there, done that’ and a mug that read ‘Happiness is Helmand in the rear-view mirror.’ But he’s not out yet – and neither are the four thousand other British military personnel still serving here. There’s still the distinct possibility that they won’t all make it home alive.
    He wonders if Armstrong has a wife, and if she’ll be the one receiving the news today. Maybe she’s spared herself the agony and they’ve already parted. Many of the soldiers Owen knows were married at eighteen and divorced by twenty-five. For them, active service is a million times better than the petty bullshit of training. Basic training is designed to weed out the weaklings, and there isn’t a soldier he knows who isn’t pleased and proud to have left all that behind. But for the wives it’s a different story. If the threat of infidelity and lads’ weekends away didn’t destroy a marriage, the strain of wondering if your husband was coming back in one piece often did.
    His thoughts return to Helen. There’s no point in taking the bus over to the internet café today. With Armstrong dead, communications will be shut down until midnight at least. But tomorrow, yes, tomorrow he’ll send an email to his wife.
    ‘Bitch!’ Collins lifts his head angrily. He catches Owen looking at him and grins. ‘Fucking iPod!’ he says. ‘Battery’s dead. I don’t suppose you’ve got your monkey handy?’
    Owen smiles. A monkey is the name soldiers give to a solar cell worn as part of the uniform and used to convert the sun’s energy into enough power to recharge an iPod or a laptop. The lad may be new but he already knows the lingo. He shakes his head. ‘Sorry, mate.’
    Collins looks at his watch. ‘Ah, well. Time I was off anyway.’ He leaps up, pulls on his uniform and body armour and adjusts his helmet. He tilts his head and raises a hand in a mock salute. ‘See you around,