4
We continued along the dual carriageway towards the city. I glanced from time to time at the parrot-coloured apartment blocks while the duty driver over-concentrated on the road to avoid having to catch the eye of the monster in the back.
The map he’d handed me wasn’t much more than a commercial traveller’s guide to the main drags and towns, but at least I could see the Vasiani region, about thirty Ks north-east of the city. It looked like our current route would take us to the right, around the bottom of Tbilisi, then up towards the camp.
‘You haven’t got a better one, have you? I like to know where I’m going.’
He kept his eyes on the road. ‘’Fraid not, sir. The duty wagon only ever gets to go to and from the airport, and once we’re on this road, there’s not a helluva lot of choice.’
He took a right onto a single-carriage road. We were no longer in parrot country. A mile or two later we reached the mountains, and wove our way towards a sky filled with doom-laden clouds, massing for another downpour.
As we made our way down the other side, I saw the glare of brake lights. There were a couple of vehicles ahead of us, both slowing. Our driver changed down through the gears until we were creeping along at walking pace.
A hundred or so metres ahead, grey nylon sandbags had been piled into sangars each side of the road, and large concrete blocks had been positioned between them to channel the traffic.
I heard Charlie shifting in his seat behind me, and knew he’d seen it too. The same thoughts must have been racing through his head: were they going to ask for passports or ID? And even if they weren’t, had they read their papers or watched the news?
He leaned forward to give the driver another bollocking. ‘What’s the VCP for? Do we have to stop?’
‘Yessir. There’s checkpoints on all the approach roads to the city.’
On the far side of the VCP, a rusty old coach leaned precariously under the uneven load of crap strapped to its roof, and a line of cars waited impatiently behind it while soldiers with body armour and AKs checked out its passengers.
Charlie passed me the laptop bag. ‘Sort this thing out. I can’t get it to work.’
‘Yes, sir.’ I took it and got my head down. I made a bit of a meal of opening it up and f*cking about with the power button until the screen started to flicker.
We were now the third vehicle in line. A Georgian soldier was heading towards us on the driver’s side, his weapon slung over his shoulder. A group of his mates were gathered on my side of the road, in the shadow of the sangar.
‘Can I have your IDs, sirs? They’ll want them alongside my work ticket.’
‘Unbelievable,’ Charlie fumed. ‘We’re here to help these people, and all they do is mess us around. Do we look like bloody militants?’
The squaddie got to the vehicle in front of us. He leaned down to speak to the driver, who was ready with some kind of ID. They had a bit of a chat and the squaddie pointed to the sky and shrugged, probably moaning about the weather. He took a step back, waved the driver through, and sauntered towards us.
I leaned even further forward, completely absorbed by the problem with the laptop.
‘Sir, I need—’
‘F*ck this.’ Charlie was out of the wagon, his back straight as a ramrod, his shoulders squared.
‘You!’ He jutted his jaw at the Georgian. ‘Stand up straight, man!’
Some orders are understood by every soldier in any language. The squaddie snapped to attention.
‘Why are you holding us up? You think we have all day?’ Charlie was gripping him big-time now. Looking him up and down, inspecting him. This boy was back on the parade ground.
‘Please, sir, he can’t understand you.’ The driver was half out of his cab. ‘Please, let me . . .’ He tried to placate the angry officer, at the same time as exchanging a knowing look with his fellow squaddie.
Charlie flicked the open map-pocket flap on the Georgian’s combat trousers. ‘What’s this, man? Get your act together! Buttons are there for a purpose; they’re not just decoration! Sort yourself out, soldier!’
I held my breath as Charlie got back into the vehicle. I thought he might have overdone it with his Starship Trooper impression.
The squaddie hesitated for a moment, dark thoughts furrowing his Slavic brow. Then he reached down and fumbled with his trousers. The other guys on stag kept well out of it.
‘Right, let’s get this wagon moving.’
The driver reached for the folder on the dash. I gave the laptop screen my total attention.
He wound down his window and passed the paperwork through as Charlie prodded my shoulder and treated me to the same kind of bollocking.
I nodded obediently and tapped the keys some more, then looked up to the skies for salvation. The Georgian hurriedly flicked open the folder and checked its contents.
Charlie was incandescent. ‘Come on! Get a move on!’
No way did this boy want to be treated to another helping of what Mr Angry had to offer. He scribbled a signature on the work ticket, then handed the driver his millboard for him to do the same. Almost in the same motion, he waved us through.
We negotiated the concrete chicane and came alongside the bus. The driver looked a little concerned about my performance with the laptop, and I could hardly blame him, especially now that I packed it up and passed it back to Charlie.
‘I think everything is fine, sir.’ I glanced at the driver and rolled my eyes. Officers, eh?
The driver hit the net. ‘Hello. Duty Vehicle through checkpoint Alpha. Over.’
‘Roger, duty vehicle. Checkpoint Alpha. Out.’
Charlie sat there glowering. I could almost feel the heat of his anger on the back of my neck, and I knew the boy on my left could too.
I tried a little gentle fishing. ‘What a drag for you . . . How many of these things do you have to get through?’
‘Just the one, sir.’ I could hear the relief in his voice. The last thing he wanted was for Charlie to get revved up for an encore.
We emerged into a huge valley, with a network of rivers and streams, and at least ten Ks of undulating ground separating the mountains on either side. It was big, tree-covered country out here, Switzerland without the cows.
Even though we had escaped the confines of Tbilisi it was still going to be difficult lifting this thing. The traffic wasn’t anything like as busy as it had been in the city, but there was a constant stream of military trucks, full of bored Georgian squaddies rolling their heads from side to side, and packed-out buses with sacks of spuds and bags and all sorts strapped on top, bouncing between towns and slowing down only to squeeze past each other on the narrow stretch of crumbling tarmac.
We passed yet another of them, heading towards the city, and drove into a depression a couple of hundred metres long. We were in dead ground. It was as good a place as any.
I held up a hand. ‘I need a piss.’
The driver slowed immediately, and pulled up on the grass verge.
I got out and walked round the front of the wagon, so I could position myself on the driver’s side, before moving towards the rear and going through the motions. Charlie also got out and stretched his legs. He wandered past the radiator grille and seemed to spot something. He pointed underneath the bonnet, then looked up at the driver. ‘What is this? Driver, get out!’
The squaddie jumped dutifully out and joined Charlie at the front of the vehicle. I turned and followed, two steps behind.
Charlie was still bumping his gums. ‘Who’s responsible for this wagon? Look at the state of it.’
The driver looked, but he couldn’t see anything wrong. ‘But, sir, I can’t—’
I closed my hands around his mouth and jaw and jumped on his back. I pulled his head into my chest, wrapped my legs around his waist and toppled backwards.