Free The Watch by Joydeep Roy-Bhattacharya Page A

then red, then bright white. The men stare.
    Jackson comes running up. He’s panting. What the fuck is that, guys?
    Garcia smiles uncertainly. Maybe the Pakis let off one of their nukes.
    It’s coming from the south, I point out.
    From Eye-ran? Jackson says. He laughs dryly. Maybe I should go ask Nate.
    Leave him alone, I tell him.
    Just kidding, Doc. Trying to get your goat, like.
    Well, knock it off and go get some rest. You’re all wired up.
    Jackson slopes off.
    Garcia and Lee enter the medical tent, and I direct them to put down the body bag on a table in the corner. When they leave the tent, I walk out with them. The cloud on the horizon has ballooned into a massive black sphere. A plume of smoke connects it to the ground. I dismiss Lee and Garcia and continue to watch the cloud. From the tent comes a whiff of rotting blood.
    The radio telephone operator, Heywood, comes by to tell me that the captain’s been stung by a wasp. I decided to walk over to the command post to check on him, just in case.
    The C.O.’s inside the hut, standing at the window, staring out at the sky. He turns to look at me as I enter. I hold back instinctively,mindful of the rank differential. I notice that his right hand, which he’s holding out at an angle from his body, is swollen.
    I heard you were stung by a wasp, Sir?
    Yes, can you believe it? I go through a vicious firefight without a scratch, and then I get stung by a fucking wasp.
    Do you want me to take a look?
    He waves me away. It’s only a wasp, Doc.
    He turns to look out of the window again. That’s when Whalen walks in.
    I just called KAF about that smoke in the sky, he tells Connolly. It looks like it’s somewhere over the Arghandab River Valley.
    And …?
    They’re investigating. I’m waiting to hear back from them.
    The birds went in that direction, I remark.
    Connolly looks at me irritably. Thanks, Doc.
    I’m sorry, Sir, I reply. That was a stupid thing to say.
    I’m gonna call KAF myself, he says suddenly. He walks over to the desk and sits down with a thud. He stares at me. You better turn in for a while. You look like you’re about to drop.
    So do you, Sir. So do we all. But you’re probably right. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion.
    He listens to me but seems distracted.
    I walk out while he sits at the desk all hunched up.
    Back in my hooch I lie down on my bunk and pick up a book. Habits and Customs of the Native Tribes of Kandahaur Province , by Lieutenant Colonel Sir Rupert Jollye, Her Majesty’s Gordon Highlanders, 1897. I read a page with effort and put it down. I slip on my iPod headphones and scan for something easy to listen to. I click on “Desert Angel,” by Stevie Nicks. She sings me to sleep.
    I couldn’t have been sleeping more than a few minutes when I realize that someone is nestling against me. I turn to my side with a start. It’s Sarah. She lies there smiling serenely. Her body feels soft,pliant. I stroke her breast, touch her nipple. She runs her hand through my hair. I press closer to kiss her when I glimpse a man lying on the other side.
    I wake up with a gasp, then sit up. My heart is pounding wildly. I’m sweating, my breath coming in gasps. I fold my hands around my knees and force myself to breathe slower. I feel old, spent.
    I push back on the bunk and gaze at Sarah’s picture on the wall. She’s tied back her heavy bronze hair and stares at the camera fixedly. We’d just had an argument, something silly; I don’t even remember what it was anymore. I look at her intently, then stretch out on the bunk again. I lie there staring at the ceiling, thinking about how stuffy it is in here, willing myself to fall back to sleep.
    It is stuffy, Frobenius agrees as he leans past me and opens a window. Outside, the sky has cleared up after the rain. Across the street, a man is shaving at an open window. He’s short, squat, his white shirt unbuttoned to his navel. Soapy water runs down his neck; he contorts his face hideously as