Wolfe pursed his lips. “Quiet, actually. I wondered if the insurgents might get cocky again now they know we’re pulling out. But on the other hand, perhaps they’re on best behaviour until we’re actually gone. Can’t see them wanting to give us any reason to linger.”

Taking a sip of the sub-par tea, Wilkes replied, “Well, let’s hope the latter is true. A quiet six months to top up my tan would be nice. Looks like you’ve done a good job with yours.”

“Yep,” Wolfe shot back, admiring his outstretched arm, “been in my bikini every day, turning over every half hour to make sure my colour is even. I’ve even been swimming in the river, to cool myself down.”

Wilkes swallowed his tea quickly before he spluttered it everywhere. You wouldn’t wash your dog in the local rivers, never mind go swimming in them. “Sounds like heaven. I can’t wait to get started.”

Smirking at each other, they sipped at their drinks for a few moments. A few other soldiers filed in, both from the platoon that was leaving, and the one that was replacing them. It seemed they were doing their own hasty handovers, making the most of the situation that poor planning had put them in.

“Don’t get too comfortable, lads!” Wolfe shouted. “Get a drink down ya, go and take care of your business, then get ready to go. We’re just having a quick debrief.”

Wilkes and the rest of the platoon dismounted the Mastiff vehicles and entered the Forward Operating Base that would be their home for most of the next six months. He had mixed feelings—the sense of trepidation he always got when he left the relative safety of Camp Bastion, immense relief to be out of Hunter’s clutches, and also happiness to be with a group of people he liked, doing a job he loved. Sometimes it was easy to lose sight of that fact—he did enjoy what he did for a living. It had its ups and downs, but so did every job. He’d yet to meet a single person who didn’t have a single complaint about their job or career.

Passing through the gates, he greeted the sentries, exchanging a few extra words with a rifleman he’d met on an exercise in the UK, then headed into the compound. It wasn’t huge, but the HESCO-block surrounded, barbed wire-topped camp was now home.

Immediately, he spotted the officer he was to replace —another young captain undoubtedly delighted to be heading home at the end of his tour—and strode over. Captain Tom Wolfe spotted him and grinned, turning to face his replacement with his hand outstretched.

“Wilkes? Good to see you, albeit very briefly.”

Wilkes grasped Wolfe’s hand. “You too. Got time to give me an update on the situation before you head off? I can’t believe this screw up—we’re a bloody week late coming out here. So much for a crossover period.”

Looking out through the camp’s gate toward the waiting vehicles, Wolfe said, “Absolutely. We’ve a lot to discuss and not much time.”

Smiling, Wilkes replied, “Great.”

Without another word, the two men headed for the mess tent, grabbed a cup of tea each and settled down at one of the tables. Wilkes dumped his bag down by his feet.

“So, how’s it been?” he asked.

It was mainly Hunter that kept him firmly in the closet. If the news reached that old bigot’s ears—and it undoubtedly would, as gossip spread like wildfire in the military—well, Wilkes didn’t really want to think about what would happen. Nothing good, anyway.

He shook his head, trying to uproot the unpleasant thoughts before they took hold. It was silly, in any case. Yes, Balkhi was kind of cute, but he was an Afghan, and a Muslim, for Christ’s sake. Both were known for being even more bigoted than his damn boss. If Wilkes came out, things wouldn’t exactly be easy—but a Muslim? Things could turn out very badly for him back home, to put it lightly. That was reason enough for any gay Muslims that existed to keep quiet about their sexuality.

It was all completely irrelevant, anyway. Balkhi was not gay. And even if he was, there was no way Wilkes was going there—it was just too risky for all those concerned. Careers, friendships, relationships and lives would be at stake.

Put it out of your mind. What the hell is wrong with you? The first sniff of a bloke you’re attracted to and you’re thinking about the consequences? Ridiculous. Forget about it and get on with your bloody job, you idiot.