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The first thing Holden had noticed when he came around was the antiseptic smell, it had been strong and unpleasant but in its own way reassuring. The stories he’d read about Al Qaeda torture centres didn’t leave him with the impression cleanliness would be a major concern so the strong smell of lemon assaulting his nostrils along with the familiar underlying smell of stale blood had immediately made him think hospital.

The second thing which occured to Holden only after he opened his eyes and tried to sit up. He had a headache from hell and a real and very immediate need to throw up. This is how the Marine Corpsman found him lent over the side of his bed throwing up his breakfast.

Over a bowl and a wet flannel, the corpsman had told Holden he and von Junzt were been extremely lucky to be alive. A marine patrol, probably the one Holden had seen while waiting outside the compound had heard the shooting and had come to investigate, the initial fire fight had been swift and brutal, but the marines had quickly dominated the fight. A Marine Corpsman had patched up their wounds at the scene and then both Holden and von Junzt had been evacuated to the Marine’s Forward Operating base at Camp Baharia.

Holden thought the Corpsman could have spared some of the detail, but the Corpsman had gone on to tell him with some relish that the surgeons at Camp Baharia’s aid station had taken out 18 pieces of shrapnel from Holden’s legs his feet, and his arse or as the Corpsman preferred to call them his Butt-ocks. Only one piece of shrapnel had been considered serious and this was the one which had made such a mess of his foot. The Corpsman told Holden he was going to be walking with a limp for a while, then added with a grin he'd probably want to carry something soft to sit on for a while as well.

Von Junzt on the other hand had sustained far more serious shrapnel wounds and had been losing a lot of blood so rather than waste time they’d simply flown him out by helicopter straight to Ibn Sina, the US run Hospital in the Baghdad Green Zone. If things went OK they'd probably fly him back to Germany so he could be cared for by a hospital back home.

Holden's mood lifted somewhat as his head cleared, the Corpsman had explained it was a common after effect of the anaesthetic. Two hours after waking Paddy walked into the makeshift ward he looked stressed and not a little disheveled. Holden's good mood crashed, Paddy was an experienced ex soldier but his job in Iraq was almost wholly office bound. For Paddy to get himself and an ad-hoc team made up of other office staff up to Fallujah to sort things out meant only one thing everyone in Holden's team was dead or injured.

Paddy smiled "Malingering bastards I just talked to the quacks and they say your good to leave"

Holden smiled, grunting with pain as he swung his feet off the bed."Just wanted to see whether your fat arse was actually glued to the office chair..."

Paddy didn't ask how he was or offer a hand, he simply passed Holden a pair of tan cargo pants and a faded t-shirt."They're the only clean clothes I could find in your room, typical bloody officer, despite all the time and effort I spent making you a proper soldier your personal admin is still shite, you do know how the washing machine works don't you. I had to put my hands in among your dirty grollies and all sorts"

Holden pulled on the clothes, the medics had give him pretty much, as much as he wanted in the way of painkillers, but now he was moving he could feel every cut and bruise on his body. He stood up as he buttoned up the trousers. Looking at Paddy he asked Paddy the one thing he new the big man wouldn't otherwise volunteer."what about the rest of the team?"

Paddy hesitated for a second then shrugged.All dead mate. Pat and Jock when they triggered the ambush as you know, the others got away clean but then got hit by one of the cutoffs as they were heading for the emergency RV. It was well planned whoever put it together, I'll give them that, even if it wasn't brilliantly carried out.

The image of charred corpses hanging from the bridge over the Euphrates flashed before his eyes, but he asked the next question anyway.What about the bodies?

For the first time a look of relief passed over Paddy's face.The marines got all of them, seems the Iraqi's were putting all their effort into finding you and Junzt to spend any time pissing about with the others. The rest of the lads are making arrangements for getting them back now.

It was clear they had been both thinking the same thing, as soldiers and now contractors death and injury were accepted risks, part and parcel of their job. On the other hand, it was one thing to be killed doing the job it was something else to know someone was going to be fucking about with your corpse after you'd been killed. For Paddy as the man in the office who had the most contact with the families and loved ones back home, it would have been especially distressing.

They walked back to the car in silence. Paddy held the door open to the 4x4 so Holden could climb into the back, pushing him down like a policeman with a drunk, so he didn't crack his head against the door jam as he got in.

Holden smiled up at Paddy from the seat relieved to be sitting down again after the exertion. The look on Paddy's face however soon wiped it away."Look Holden, there's something else I need to tell you; we've lost von Junzt.

Holden shrugged.No real surprise mate, the Corpsman, said he was in a bad way

If he'd simply karked it, I wouldn't have his insurance company chewing my arse. The helicopter dropped him off at Ibn Sina, they took him in for triage decided he was a serious bleeder, so they rushed him to the top of the list and wheeled him up to surgery. Thing is somewhere between triage and surgery they lost him. When they came to wheel him into the operating theatre the gurney was empty. If the sod wasn't in sucg a critical condition when he arrived, I'd say he fucked off on his Jack Jones. His insurance company are giving the company hell, they reckon we're responsible for getting him kidnapped.

============

Holden spent two days at the team house before Paddy managed to book him onto a civilian flight direct to schipol in Holland. When he arrived Paula and the kids had been waiting for him at arrivals, they spent a weekend in Amsterdam, which wasn't as relaxing as might be expected considering the number of awkward questions the boys asked, in the end he was happy to take an Easy Jet flight home.

Being home was a strange experience, apart from the obvious lack of danger, life back at home simply seemed less real. The doctors called it transitioning, apparently Holden wasn't very good at it. He noticed he'd become uncomfortable around crowds, unfortunately nearly everywhere he went there were crowds, he'd start to feel uneasy. Holden wasn't entirely stupid he recognised the symptoms of PTSD.

He worked hard trying not to dwell on the events in Fallujah, tried to avoid thinking about the the ambush, the firefight, what had happened to the rest of the team. He spent time at the physio's trying to sort his foot out. More time at the gym simply beasting himself into shape. He spent as much time as he could playing with the boys. To Paula's imense pleasure he completed all the unfinished DIY around the house. None of these things ultimately did much to take his mind off the past. In the end he started to drink, not vast amounts but he and Paula would share a bottle of wine after dinner and most evenings he'd go to bed comfortably numb. He knew Paula worried about the drinking but she made efforts to keep her concerns to herself.

Holden's preferred solution would have been to get back to Iraq, to get back in the saddle. Paddy knew why he was asking but he still refused, Armburst's insurance company had sent Holden off to a Harley street Doctor shortly after he'd got back. Paddy was adamant, until the doctor gave Holden the all clear he wasn't going anywhere. Paddy made sure Armburst kept Holden employed, but mainly doing close protection work in London. Looking after the spoilt rich simply didn't provide the distraction which Holden needed.

It was nearly three months after he'd returned home when he got the phone call. He had been in the Harrods basement. Standing just inside the door of the barber's shop while his client got his his daily grooming when he got the call on his mobile. Holden looked around making sure everything was clear before he reached for the phone vibrating in his pocket.

"Holden"

"Mr Holden, are you bored?"

The voice was familiar, but not instantly recognisable.

"Who is this?"

"You don't know, I am a little bit upset, we shared so much together I thought you would recognise my voice"

"Von Junzt? where the fuck have you been we got a right bollocking from your insurance company when you fucked off from Ibn Sina. How did you get out anyway?"

"Herr Holden, the hows and the whys are hardly important at the moment, I am going somewhere where I may need some protection. Your efforts to keep me alive the last time impressed me, I would like to employ you again. What do you say?"

Listen, I've no problem with this but you need to speak to the office they can make the necessary arrangements

Nein, No I do not want to tell others my business this was the problem in Fallujah to many people knew my business, I wish to hire you directly, I am willing to double, no we shall triple your usual rate. I cannot tell you much about the job, but I can tell you it will not be an unduly onerous one, there is little risk and you will not have to return to Iraq. I will need to know your answer by the end of the week.

Holden tried to answer but in his typical fashion, Von Junzt had already hung up.

Holden closed the phone and placed it back in his pocket as the client walked past waving at Holden to bring the bags, Holden determined to talk to Paula tonight and see what she thought.

It would be several weeks before Holden wondered how Von Junzt had got the number for his personal mobile phone.