Page 53 of Crocodile Tears

“Are you sure you’re a soldier?” Hunt raised an amused eyebrow. “Never met one yet who didn’t drink like a fish.”

“Not me, sir. I don’t like how it makes me feel.”

“You mean, out of control?” Hunt raised an eyebrow. “You like to keep both feet on the ground, then, Sergeant. So, do you have any vices?”

“Well…” Josiah hesitated, blushing. “I do really like chocolate, sir.”

Hunt stared at him for a long moment and then gave such a loud guffaw that Hattie woke up with a bark of alarm.

“Sorry – you just look so guilty about something so harmless. But, if you enjoy chocolate, then I have just the thing for you.” Hunt rummaged around inside his pack and drew out a sleek black box, which he opened to reveal a cluster of dark brown swirls.

“What’s this, sir?” Josiah frowned.

“Chocolate, man! Come on – take one.”

“I’ve never seen chocolate like this before.” Josiah hesitated. “I’m more used to the cheapo stuff you can buy in the NAAFI, sir.”

“Then prepare to be amazed. Go on, have one, and tell me what you think.” Hunt waved the box at him.

Josiah took a chocolate and sniffed it suspiciously; it smelled rich and exotic, not at all like he was used to. He placed it cautiously in his mouth, sucked on it for a few seconds… and then looked up at Hunt in surprise.

Hunt laughed. “Like that, hmm? Thought you might.”

“It’s like…” He swirled the chocolate around with his tongue. “Nothing I’ve ever tasted, sir. It’s bloody delicious.”

“I like good chocolate. It’s hard to come by – the trick is to always look for the best stuff and never, ever settle for less.”

“In life or just in chocolate, sir?” Josiah asked cheekily.

Hunt guffawed again. “Both, Sergeant – both.”

Josiah was glad the day was over. He hated the important occasions – Christmas and Peter’s birthday were both tough, but the anniversary of the day he’d died was the worst because there were no good memories associated with it.

He’d created a routine for the day, so he wouldn’t be blindsided by it – first, the car polishing, followed by a trip to the beautiful spot where he’d scattered Peter’s ashes – and Hattie’s, too, after she’d passed away a couple of years ago. In the evening, he cooked Peter’s favourite meal and ate it listening to Peter’s favourite (godawful) music, and then it was all over for another year – which was always a relief.

Yesterday had been the first time he hadn’t rigidly followed those rituals, and yet his memories of Peter seemed more vivid than ever. He didn’t dare try to sleep again. He couldn’t risk returning to that particular dream with its inevitable ending. He closed his eyes and settled back into his memories once more.

The convoy made slow progress across Western Europe. All of the Netherlands, half of Belgium, most of Denmark, and huge swathes of Germany had disappeared in the Rising. Millions of refugees had fled, triggering wars that were still raging. In some places, law and order had completely broken down, and scavengers roamed freely.

The Peacekeepers took a winding route to deliver aid, stopping at various base camps and way stations en route to take on new supplies.

Josiah loved every minute of it. They were genuinely helping people – handing out food and medicine, and taking doctors into deprived areas to deliver medical aid. He also loved the slow, rhythmic pace of life on the road, and the easy companionship of the unit. Most of all, he loved spending time with his commanding officer.

Captain Hunt wasn’t the kind of leader who kept aloof from his company. He patrolled the trucks at every stop they made, always whistling happily to himself, with Hattie a little black shadow at his side. Josiah had never known a dog to adore a man so much; he didn’t blame her.

Hunt made a point of talking to the various refugee camp leadersto find out what had happened since his last visit and to discuss the political situation in the area. He was a calm, reassuring presence and had a way of making even the most jittery members of his company feel safe, despite the fact they weren’t. Josiah knew they’d all take a bullet for Peter Hunt.

Hunt’s great love was the convoy’s ancient trucks. Some bright spark tried to nickname them “truck-ducks”, but it didn’t catch on. The Peacekeepers were a fairly unloved section of the army, and the British government hadn’t exactly supplied them with the most modern equipment. So the trucks frequently broke down, causing Hunt to spend many happy hours up to his elbows in their engines, fixing them. He instinctively knew when they were “off”, and was better than the company’s mechanics at getting them ticking over happily again.

Josiah liked watching him. He sought out his captain when his own duties were done and sat beside him while he worked, with Hattie’s chin resting on his knee, stroking her soft ears gently. He’d never been a great talker before, but with Hunt it was so easy.

They encountered a couple of skirmishes, but nothing too serious until just after they left Essen. Josiah was asleep when the night watch’s klaxon shrieked out. He always slept in his clothes and was on his feet reaching for his gun before he was even fully awake.

He charged outside to find scavengers all over the campsite, climbing over the trucks like ants. There was chaos as the rest of the unit emerged blearily from their tents. He immediately called those nearest into line and imposed order. He saw Hunt in the distance doing the same, and before long they’d formed two flanks, fighting it out in a pitched battle.

Instinct kicked in. This was what he was good at, and he knew it. All around him was a whirl of action, and he was at the centre – running, firing, and reloading without thinking, fuelled by pure adrenaline. He soon ran out of ammunition, but the scavs were mostly only armed with knives and fists, so he followed suit. He liked this kind of fighting better anyway.

He saw a group of scavs swarming over one of the biggest supply trucks. Scrambling up the side of it, he punched a man to the groundthen reached into the cab to pull another one out. He’d just thrown the scav onto the ground when a volley of gunfire forced him to hurtle down behind the truck for cover. As he jumped, he saw that someone was already there. Landing silently, fists raised, he came face to face with Captain Hunt.

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