Too late—Balkhi’s deep brown eyes met with Wilkes’ blue ones, and they exchanged a nod of acknowledgement before turning back to their respective opposites. Wilkes fought to slow his racing pulse and keep his mind on task.

“All right, is he?” Wolfe queried.

“W—what do you mean?” Wilkes asked, probably a little too quickly. Christ, had he gone and outed himself with a single glance?

“The terp. I said is he all right? Good, like.”

“Oh.” Relief seeped into Wilkes’ brain. Calm down, you moron. “Well, I dunno, really. Only met him a few hours ago. As I said, he seems like a nice guy. And this isn’t his first tour. Don’t know how many he’s been on, but he’s no newbie, so I assume he’s good.”

Narrowing his eyes at Balkhi, Wolfe said, “Yeah, I think I may have seen him before, actually. I’ve not worked with him, but I’ve probably seen him in passing, either here or at Bastion. Mine’s been a good ‘un, I have to say.” He pointed with his chin toward the other Afghan. “Old Juma Zazai there. Professional, quick, keeps his cool. Couldn’t have asked for better, to be honest. Trouble is,” he lowered his voice again, “you’re the last lot coming out here, and you’ve already got your terp, so that poor fucker is essentially out of a job. He hides it pretty well, but it’s obvious he’s worried about what’s going to happen next.”

“His family isn’t supportive?” Wilkes knew the score—the British Army had recruited interpreters from all over the country to help them communicate with locals, and often when they returned to their villages, they were vilified. Even if their families were okay with them helping the Brits, there was usually at least one local radical wanting to string them up for helping the “infidels.”

There were murmurs of agreement, and the two captains returned their attention to each other, making a concerted effort to hide their smirks.

“Right,” Wolfe said quietly, “suppose we’d better actually do that handover, eh?”

Wilkes nodded.

“Okay, well, as I said, it’s been quiet. We’ve mostly been patrolling the village, talking to the people, checking in with the police, the schoolteachers, you know the drill. We heard a couple of murmurs about attacks on the FOB, but nothing came of it, thankfully. Could have been idle gossip, or maybe information deliberately disseminated to keep us on our toes. Either way, we haven’t seen hide nor hair of an insurgent for months. Probably all holed up in the mountains with their Paki friends.”

Letting all the information sink in, Wilkes nodded again. “Well, let’s hope it stays that way for the next six months, eh? Then we can all bugger off home and let them get on with it.”

“Which is what they’ve wanted all along.”

“Any aggro from the locals?”

“Nah, not really. Most of them know what’s good for them, know we’re there to protect them. We’ve had the occasional insult from a youth or two, but they’re all mouth.”

“For now. Won’t be long before they’re joining up with their fathers and brothers and plotting to bomb the shit out of the infidels.”

“Probably. But the main thing is, the important folk are on our side—the tribal elders, the police, the politicians. If they hear any whispers, they’ll let you know.” Wolfe paused, looking around. “Your terp here yet?”

Wilkes glanced around the tent. “Should be here somewhere. Picked him up at Bastion this morning. He’s a nice guy, Balkhi.” Just then, the man in question entered the mess. “Ah, there he is.” He tried not to stare at the Tajik as he came in with what he assumed was Wolfe’s interpreter—given they were the only two not in uniform.