Rv on ME

By Susie-Suu Ramsey

When the World Association of Natural Clowns (WANC) declares war, slaughters British citizens and kidnaps their children, the SAS is tasked with their rescue. Can they overcome a bizarre enemy whilst acting within the confines of the Army's barmy new Human Resources protocols?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 14, 2018
• ISBN: 9780244124854

Book preview

Rv on ME

CHAPTER 1 - MANDY

Sergeant Andy Mandy drew a gloved hand over his face. When his arm dropped to his side his steel-blue eyes were locked in a thousand-yard stare. He snapped them shut.

She was everything to me. She mesmerised me, captivated me; a happy captivity I never wanted to escape. Beautiful. From the moment I set eyes on her I was helpless. A fish dangling on the hook of her smile. Crazy. Why me? I was the luckiest dog in the pack, that much I knew. Being with her was the best thing that ever happened to me. Better than night-time freefalling. Naked.

I could lie for days in a freezing O.P., safe in the knowledge that she was home, waiting, loving me even when I was a thousand miles away. I imagined her face at the daftest times. Smiled as the rounds came zipping in, just at the thought of her arms around me. Up to my neck in love, and loving it.

No-one could touch her. A one-off, at least until she told me she was expecting our daughter, then I knew there’d be another. Unless she inherited my looks, poor kid.

Our daughter. We laughed when we settled on her name. Millie. Millie Mandy. Well, her mother was Amanda Mandy, her father Andy Mandy. Christ, she’d have to have a daft name just to fit in.

She’d have been ten today. Double figures. I should be shelling out a week’s wages on a clown show. Nah, ten’s too old for that. Freaky fuckers anyway, clowns. A pamper party then. What are ten-year-old girls in to these days? Should know all this stuff. Should be lighting candles on her cake, not laying flowers on her grave.

Maybe the world couldn’t deal with two perfect beauties all at once? Or was it God? What sort of a god takes away everything a man lived for? Takes both of them, together. Bastard! Nah, I don’t go for it. There is no God.

Should be wrapping her presents, not sweating me knackers off here. Fuck it. Tune in. Switch on.

Mandy wiped the sweat from his eyes. He dragged the respirator over his face and eased his helmet over his greying black hair. Slapping the shoulder of the man in front, his demeanour changed from hang-dog to hard man. Switched on. Tuned in. Ready.

Sergeant Luke Kinnard registered the slap. Mandy had been slapping him like that for years. It meant Mandy had cut away from the horrors of his reality and tuned in to the surreal events about to unfold. Kinnard knew that it was only at times like these that Mandy released himself from pain, and felt a semblance of happiness. Kinnard smiled to himself. For the next few minutes he had his old mate back.

Took your time, you old fucker, Kinnard snarled.

Mandy knew the age-old routine. Slag each other big time, like only mates can. Mandy stepped up behind Kinnard, close enough to get him pregnant, weapon in his shoulder, every nerve in his body tingling with anticipation, every sense primed and ready for the order to Go.

Kinnard farted.

Dirty get! yelled Mandy. That stinks.

How’s your respirator seal?

Mandy adjusted his respirator, careful not to let Kinnard see.

CHAPTER 2 - WORKSTREAM ONE

Peter Kay sat tied to a chair. Worry played across his face. His eyes searched the room, taking in the silent, flickering television. The dust rising in shafts of light let in through gaps in the wood-slatted windows. The rubber-lined, pitted walls. He strained to listen. Any sound would be welcome.

There was none. Hello! he called out to no-one in particular. Anybody there? Hello! He shifted position on the hard wooden chair.

Boom. Dust and debris blasted into the room. As he protectively tucked his chin into his chest, he spotted it: a grenade rolling gently across the floorboards, coming to rest at his feet as if guided by remote control. He screwed up his eyes and held his breath.

Flash. Boom. The blast knocked the air from his lungs. Dust stung his face. Smoke swirled around him. His involuntary gasp choked him, his throat burning, his coughing just making things a whole lot worse.

Close on the heels of Kinnard, Mandy darted into the room. Through the dense smoke he spotted a head-target, aimed, fired; double-tap, instinctive. The target shattered. And the next. And the next.

Kinnard yelled. Mandy grinned inside his respirator. His mate, Kinnard, was enjoying dominating the hostage. Move! Move! Go! Go! Go! Kinnard shouted in the blackness.

Mandy checked the room, scanning through smoke with his torch beam. Clear!

Side by side, they cut the ropes and lifted Peter Kay bodily between them, propelling him down the stairs, feet barely touching, at breakneck speed, maximum aggression. Bursting into daylight, they bounced their hostage off the door-frame and dumped him on a patch of damp grass. Smoke billowed from the door behind them.

Thanks mate, yelled Mandy to Peter Kay, you can fuck off now.

You’re all crackers! Peter Kay, blood leaking from his nose, struggled to his feet. Look! I’m bleeding! Supposed to be reality TV!

Kinnard levelled his weapon at him. Eviction?

I’m going, I’m going! You’re all bloody crackers! I’m on Loose Women in half an hour, an’ all. He staggered off, inspecting the dirt on his trousers and the blood dripping onto his shirt. TV cameras tracked him all the way.

Mandy and Kinnard watched them get to a safe distance away, and then lifted off their respirators. Mandy grinned.

Good bloke, that Peter Kay. He raised a hand and mimicked a drinking motion. Fancy a brew?

Kinnard laughed and wiped the sweat from his shaven head. He pushed Mandy, who shoved him back. The pair of them laughed, knowing that anywhere else, anywhere less serious than ops or training, they’d be knocking lumps out of each other, play-fighting like a pair of baby chimps.

Walking away, they passed a poster pasted onto a billboard,

Celebrity Close Quarter Battle House.

Next Week C Troop Rescues Katherine Jenkins.

CHAPTER 3 - REHAB

Mandy giggled and shivered in equal measure. In fact the simultaneous giggling and shivering made him crease up even more. This was going to be funny. Bloody funny.

Nearby lay Kinnard and fellow Troop-member Krypton, both buried under newly-fallen snow. They’d be fucking freezing too, Mandy smirked, and rolling up in anticipation.

Footsteps trudged towards them. Mandy held his breath as the footsteps crunched past, stopped a moment, and then carried on until the wind took the sound of them away.

Stand by, mouthed Mandy in a low whisper, biting his lip as laughter rose in his throat. He buried his face in the snow. Christ he was cold! But his resolve and focus had never been a cause for doubt. As a born and bred Yorkshireman, he’d spent his youth firstly on the tough housing estates of Gipton, then, when his mother fell for a sheep farmer at the Great Yorkshire Show, on the harsh hills of The Dales. So Mandy grew up firstly a fighter and a rebel, then an adventurer and explorer. What better an upbringing for life in the Regiment?

Footsteps gave a lot away, he knew. Speed, energy, certainty. Intention, even. These, as they returned, were clearly the confused steppings of someone who couldn’t work out quite why the fuck he wasn’t where he thought he should be.

Stand by, breathed Mandy as the crunching faded again. When the steps returned, they were determined, defiant.

The soldier they belonged to stood and stared firstly at a compass, then at a map. Then back at the compass. His Arctic white DPMs were a wall of snow, his bergen a white alpine peak. His face, though mostly hidden by a ski mask, gave the tableau the look of a photographic negative as his ebony skin contrasted starkly with the billowing white-out.

He cradled his M16 assault rifle across his chest and turned his back to the stinging wind. His expression communicated his predicament: right co-ordinates, wrong outcome. He turned a slow circle, studying the blurred white landscape.

Mandy’s jaw set hard. Go!

As the soldier returned his attention to his map the ground around him heaved. Plumes of snow spiralled into the already blizzarded sky. Three figures grew from the ground, assault rifles in shoulders aimed unwaveringly at the already reacting soldier.

He stepped and ducked, the map and compass dropping from his hands. As his knees bent, the assault rifle sprang free from the cradle of his arms and into his grip. But he was too late, way too late, and the twist in his gut confirmed it. He dropped his weapon to arm’s length, and then dropped a hip for good measure, glaring at the three black muzzles which split the worsening white-out. They’d got him.

You daft fuckers! he spat. Been looking for ages. Be cold now anyway. He slid his bergen from his shoulders and unpacked four large, flat boxes.

Get ‘em open then Lazy, ordered Mandy, a smirk on his face as he lowered his weapon.

Rumania, commented Kinnard, doing the same.

They eat pizza in Rumania? inquired Krypton. Kinnard lowered Krypton’s barrel with the flat of his hand.

Means he’s hungry, explained Lazy, handing out big slices of deep-pan.

Krypton’s brow furrowed. Thought he was from South London.

Four b’two, muttered Kinnard as he dogged down a slice. A split second later a well-aimed snowball impacted against his right temple. He stopped chewing momentarily, then carried on. Another hit home. He finished off his pizza, and turned full-on to Krypton.

Krypton – a third snowball forming in his gloved hands – grinned. Kinnard gave him a slow shake of the head. Krypton snapped his arm backwards and hurled the snowball, missing the unflinching Kinnard by millimetres and smacking Mandy in the eye socket. Lazy sniggered his approval at Krypton. An Exocet snowball wiped the smile off his face.

Krypton took up a defensive stance, grinning widely, eyes bright, scanning his three mates. Waiting.

Mandy cleared his throat and wiped his hands on his DPMs. Under his breath, he enquired of Kinnard and Lazy, R.V. on Krypton, lads?

Without further prompting, Mandy, Kinnard and Lazy dived headlong onto Krypton, ramming him into the white-carpeted ground, pelting him with snowballs, forcing snow into his mouth, nose, ears, tunic and trousers.

Krypton protested, squirming to evade the assault, but laughing hysterically like a toddler getting a good tickling.

When Mandy called time on the barrage he was thoroughly out of breath. Krypton lay like a snowy ghost. He scraped the snow from his face and spat it from his mouth.

Fuckers! he giggled.

***

Mandy, Kinnard, Lazy and Krypton strolled along a village street, rain pouring incessantly, soaking their DPMs to a dark green sheen. Despite the presence of four fully armed and kitted-out soldiers, residents went about their business without a second glance. The only attention they attracted was from a dog, which gruffed uncertainly at them. When Krypton gruffed back it skulked away.

Krypton still had the look of a teenager about him, his twenty-two years leaving nothing of life’s experiences on his boyish face. The fact that he was a decorated veteran of three war zones sat at odds with his physiology: cute, appealing and positively huggable. Features not lost on the young women of Herefordshire. His puzzled look returned. I don’t get it. How do we know?

Mandy sniffed. Agree your objectives then decide on your tactics.

Krypton brightened a little. I like the green ones.

Judgement, Mandy continued regardless. You make your decision based on the facts you have at the time, and you stick to it. That way, you never make a wrong decision, just one that was right at the time.

Facts? questioned Krypton. Like, you just look it up on Google or summat?

Four b’two, commented Kinnard. Krypton looked to Mandy for clarification.

Says you’re a plank, Mandy explained.

Krypton nodded and grinned, then the frown returned. But what if we judge it wrong?

Critical military thinking, chipped in Lazy. Can’t be wrong.

Mandy nodded. Go on then Lazy, get a wiggle on.

Lazy jogged off. Mandy continued. It’s a simple matter of weighing up the pros and cons. He slipped a fatherly arm around Krypton’s shoulder. Pizza on a hill in the freezing cold, or fish and chips on a wall in the pouring rain.

Krypton’s frown deepened.

Don’t sweat it, son, Mandy soothed. Just get these down you and tell us what you think.

Lazy jogged up carrying four neat bundles wrapped in white paper. The lads levered themselves onto a four-foot dry-stone wall, unwrapped their fish and chips and began to eat.

Almost forgot, Lazy said, handing out little wooden chip forks.

Mandy considered his and smiled wryly. Rare these, back in my day. Might come in handy. He tucked it into his belt kit.

Krypton watched him intently. What did you use back then Mandy, instead of forks? For your chips, I mean. What did you use?

Fingers, Mandy replied through a mouthful of chips.

Hard men, hard times, added Lazy with more than a degree of irony. Mandy grinned.

Did they taste different though, with fingers ‘stead of forks? Krypton was on a one-track road.

Depends where your fingers had been. We didn’t care, just got food down our necks whenever we could. Never knew when our next meal would be. Just huddled together for warmth, and ate.

Huddled together?

For warmth, added Kinnard with a thousand-yard stare.

Can we, Mandy? Krypton’s eagerness shone in his eyes. They huddled together on the wall, heels kicking idly at the stone, and ate. Mandy gave Krypton a reassuring smile and Kinnard offered him a chip. Krypton took it and tucked it into his belt kit. The slight shake of Lazy’s head showed what they were all thinking. Krypton’s rehab had a long way to go.

CHAPTER 4 - PLAN A, PHASE 1

Very smart. Good suit. Shiny shoes, and pointy ones at that. Pointy makes a nice change actually, if a little ironic.

Dusty Brown smoothed down the lapels of his suit and straightened his tie in the rear-view mirror, before stepping out into the sunshine of the shopping-centre car park. Collecting an umbrella from the boot, he adjusted the ox-eye daisy in his buttonhole and set off for the entrance.

The automatic glass doors swished open and he strode through into the cool, shiny emporium.

Shoppers meandered, oblivious to this dapper addition to their ranks. Brown knew his route inside out. No need to check his progress, no visual needed for the turn for the service corridor. To any observer, he was a man who’d walked this path countless times. His appearance of calm routine leant him invaluable invisibility.

Three more shop fronts, turn right at BHS. But Brown didn’t make the turn. Instead, he stopped dead. Ahead of him was a circle of seated children, and in their midst a juggling clown. Brown curled his lip, stepped over the cross-legged children and leaned in close to the clown.

Have some common decency! he hissed.

The clown dropped his balls.

Brown gathered himself, ignoring the puzzled faces of the startled children and ducked into the service corridor.

His route was starkly lit, the walls bare featured, and his footsteps echoed unnaturally loudly. Music from the mall’s PA system drifted along the corridor, no longer competing against the buzz of shoppers, and contrived to build an eerie swirl of anticipation.

Brown felt his gut tighten.

He took a right turn and approached a door marked Security. His gait became a little more jaunty as he ramped up his confidence and approached a moonwalking Security Guard.

So Macho trickled from tiny speakers in the ceiling. The Guard, absorbed by his solo performance, added singing to his repertoire and failed to spot Brown’s approach.

"So macho, he’s gotta be so macho. He’s gotta be big and strong enough to turn me on and on and… Finally he twigged Brown’s presence, blushed deeply and tugged at the hem of his uniform jacket. It’s private down here, mate."

Thrusting out his hand in greeting, Brown smiled warmly. The Guard shook his hand and instantly convulsed. Bolts of white lightning shot along his limbs and his body twitched, crackled and smoked. An involuntary scream wailed from his tightening lips.

Brown released him.

Gimme that, demanded the staggering, smouldering Guard. You could really hurt someone with that! Come on, gimme it, whatever it is. He reached for Brown’s wrist, but Brown dodged him.

Give it to me now! repeated the Guard with rising menace.

A simple misunderstanding, crooned Brown apologetically, and squirted the Guard’s face with hissing liquid from the ox-eye daisy in his lapel.

The Guard’s words never formed, morphing instead into a sobbing scream as his face bubbled and boiled.

With economical ease Brown opened the security door, zapped the Guard with the point of his umbrella and bundled him inside. Orientating himself for a moment, Brown stepped over the whimpering Guard and contemplated the banks of screens lining the room. Studying each in turn he stopped at an image of a man in a suit with a daisy in his lapel. The man turned face-on to the camera and gave an almost imperceptible nod. Brown grinned broadly.

Plan A. Phase One. Complete.

CHAPTER 5 - PLAN A, PHASE 2

Brown tapped a finger lightly on a microphone, flicked a switch, and spoke.

Ladies and Gentlemen, girls and boys, may I have your attention please? I do apologise for this unscheduled interruption to your worthwhile, valuable and uniquely Human activities. However, shopping has been cancelled.

Out in the shopping centre people stared curiously at the face filling the multitude of TV screens which until a moment ago had entertained them with a scantily-clad Sinita. They looked at each other in puzzlement at the apparent early closing of the mall.

The only continuing activity was the clown show, the entertainer oblivious to the confusion building around him. He happily entertained the smiling children in his care, thankful to whoever had supplied them with the cartons of juice which they sucked at contentedly through multi-coloured straws.

Mollie Sharp gazed up at him. She didn’t like clowns much, but this one was okay. He had a kind face, which she could actually see. Clowns with faces like masks scared her: it was like they were hiding something. Even at four years old, she trusted her instincts. She hooked a strand of her blonde curly hair behind her ear and sipped at the odd-tasting juice they had been given by a nice man in a suit with a daisy in it. She wondered when her mummy and daddy would be back from the shops? She felt sleepy and stared with heavy eyes at the juggling clown.

Brown’s mild-mannered broadcast continued. "In fact, shopping will cease indefinitely. I assure you that I abhor needless violence. Necessary violence, however, I find deeply satisfying. In the name of the World Association of Natural Clowns, may your obituaries read, suddenly, tragically and with extreme violence."

Brown clicked off the camera and turned up the music system. Send In The Clowns blasted through the speakers as shoppers shrugged and began to move towards the exits. But the automatic exits stayed closed. Propped-open swing doors slammed shut. Shop signs extinguished.

The crowds milled uncertainly, puzzled, murmuring, and then protesting. An athletic type made a dash for the automatic doors, as if taking them by surprise might trick them into opening. He sprinted full tilt at two centimetres of safety glass, to his credit never flinching until he impacted. The doors shuddered, but the crack heard by transfixed onlookers was not the breaking of a door-seal, but of bone. Blood bloomed on the glass as his nose splattered across his face. The slight bowing of the glass served as a springboard, propelling him spectacularly backwards onto the marble floor. His body squeaked to a halt at the feet of his agog spectators. Silence.

Then came a scream. Instantly, Suited Men sprang from the crowd, zapping, squirting and prodding. Panic leapt through the crowds as realisation settled upon them and the screams of hundreds of panicking shoppers intensified to drown out the bizarre music.

An overweight woman fled for her life, too slow, too late. The point of an umbrella prodded her ample backside and she fell, spread-eagled and twitching, like so many around her. A man ran into River Island and hid behind a smartly-suited mannequin with a daisy in its lapel. The dummy turned, grinned and the man’s face dissolved in a mist of acid.

A group of shoppers backed slowly onto the top of the down-escalator, moving carefully to avoid attention, using the carnage around them as cover. Successfully heading down towards the lower exits they turned their attention to the foot of the moving staircase. Suited Men, umbrellas raised, stepped into view and awaited the slow approach of their descending victims. Turning back up the escalator the group froze as more Suited Men blocked their escape. Panic. Umbrellas closed in from above and below. In desperation a man leapt over the handrail, bounced off the roof of Millie’s Cookies and impaled himself on a chocolate fountain. A macabre dessert of blood-streaked chocolate spewed from his abdomen.

Eventually the screaming subsided. A pair of pointy shoes picked their way over twitching limbs to the foot of the down-escalator, where heaped bodies bump-bump-bumped together at the bottom. The pointy shoes stopped and a hand hit the emergency stop. Brown straightened and surveyed the aftermath. Death lay strewn throughout the mall. Outside HMV a body twitched. In the entrance of Build-A-Bear Workshop another fizzed in accelerated decomposition. Most were still. Brown smiled, and then his face clouded. He headed back to BHS.

The clown entertainer stood stock still. Terror screamed from his eyes in ghastly contrast to his painted-on smile. The children at his feet stared at him vacantly. Not the lifeless stares of the bodies lying all around them, but the quiet submission of the drugged. The juice carton slipped from Mollie Sharp’s little hand as her conscious world evaporated.

Brown marched up to the entertainer, grabbed his own chin and pulled upward, peeling a mask from his face and a wig from his head to reveal a pallid complexion, bulbous red nose, garish red lips and balding head.

Charlie Cairoli! Brown was a real-life clown.

The entertainer cowered. Who are you? he stammered.

Brown reached for him. Allow me. Grabbing the entertainer by the chin, he cut a neat line through his skin with the zap-ring on his right hand. He pulled upward, ripping skin from flesh to reveal a mass of blood, bone and muscle. The entertainer screamed through shredded lips.

My apologies, my mistake, Brown crooned, smooth as a gravy sandwich. I was under the impression you were one of us. He threw out an arm in a grand gesture and throughout the mall Suited Men ripped off their masks.

All clowns.

Brown’s sarcasm was lost on the bleeding man. Help me! Dropping to his knees his hands clawed at the flap of skin which until moments ago had been his face.

Why certainly, Brown soothed, brandishing his umbrella like a rapier and running the man through. With a flick of his wrist Brown he opened the umbrella and his victim exploded. Chunks of flesh spattered walls, shop windows, floor and children in equal measure. An aerosol of blood hung in the air. Brown upturned his clownish features to receive the gently descending red mist. A moment of tension showed at his temples before a popping sound brought the smile back to his freakishly red lips.

"Ah! Au naturel, at last."

Brown looked down. The pointy shoes had split apart and his feet spread out like table-tennis bats with toes.

With a flourish he addressed the still-vacant children. Come on Kiddies, it’s time the world took clowns more seriously.

Plan A. Phase Two. Success.

CHAPTER 6 - BASE

Three taut, jeans-clad arses strolled past a sign,

Stirling Lines Camp

Open Monday to Sunday 24/7

Thank you for choosing SAS

Selection twice a year

Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough

Above the jeans were equally chiselled torsos encased in tight tee-shirts, and above these, the faces of Mandy, Kinnard and Krypton. They continued along a path between the brick-built, two-storey, green-roofed buildings of the SAS base.

Mandy stopped and raised a hand in greeting to a man some way off, who sat on a wall eating fish and chips out of paper wrappings. Boss! called Mandy.

The man waved and gave a thumbs-up, yelling back, Just need the weather now, eh?

Mandy grinned and caught up with the others, just as Lazy overtook him at a run. Dressed in shorts, vest, trainers and a seriously heavy-duty knee brace, Lazy pulled up.

All right, dickheads? he mocked, barely out of breath.

Been running? Krypton asked in all innocence.

Three miles in eight minutes. Ten nurseries and primary schools recced, all yummy mummies duly checked out. Sympathy shags, he ripped off the knee brace, guaranteed.

Buses on strike? Krypton offered hopefully.

Lazy rested a hand on Krypton’s shoulder. Never sit when you can stand. Never stand when you can walk. Never walk when you can run.

Kinnard was preoccupied with a finger up his left nostril, rooting about. He slapped the back of his head with the palm of his hand. Mandy raised an eyebrow at him. Kinnard shook his head.

Why they call you Lazy then, persisted Krypton, when you do all that running about and stuff?

Lazy explained as if speaking to a child. It’s because of my surname, remember?

It’s ironic, chipped in Mandy.

Christ! laughed Krypton, if my name was Ironic, I’d want a daft nickname an’ all!

Pancake, muttered Kinnard, finger still inserted.

They headed for a door marked Kremlin.

The door swung open ahead of them and a short, thick-set man stepped into the sun. Similarly dressed in jeans and tee-shirt, he chuckled to himself as the lads approached.

Something funny, Nobby-No-Knob? Lazy’s demeanour had changed from affable to antagonistic.

Nobby McCormick looked Krypton full in the face. Anyone home? he asked, with a knock on the bewildered Trooper’s forehead.

Krypton’s punch was fast, accurate and hard. McCormick reeled and threw his hands up to his face. Cunt!

Not me, shrugged Krypton, his hands already plunged back into his jeans pockets, his twinkling eyes staring directly into McCormick’s. No-one home, remember?

Mandy gave McCormick the benefit of a huge, satisfied grin. McCormick narrowed his eyes at him, and Mandy knew there would be more to this later. Not that he gave a monkeys.

He watched McCormick walk cockily away, head back, arms swinging nonchalantly by his sides, an arrogant roll to his shoulders. Surprised G Troop haven’t sorted that little bastard out by now.

Krypton watched him go. What they call him Nobby for, again?

Kinnard slid his finger from his nostril. Eeyore.

Mandy steered Krypton through the door. Hung like a donkey, thick as pig-shit, he explained.

Cock like a third leg but never gets laid, elaborated a self-satisfied Lazy.

Krypton smiled. Not like you then, Laze.

No mate. Exactly not like me.

They entered a briefing room with comfy chairs raked towards a presentation area. Mandy narrowed his eyes at the new posters pinned on the walls.

On the first, a grinning trooper in full black assault kit aimed his assault rifle and torch-beam directly at the camera. Underneath, the caption read,

A smile costs nothing.

Next to it was an image of a human head, two neat holes in the forehead, and the caption,

Good customer service - double-tap every time!

A third showed the face of Osama bin Laden, the caption declaring,

Great teams need great leaders. Brass Up the Big Bloke.

Someone had scribbled underneath in black Sharpie,

… and give the Americans the credit.

Mandy allowed himself a smile and sat down next to Kinnard. Lazy pushed Krypton into the opposite row and sat him down. Krypton’s attention was back on Kinnard, who inserted a Khukri carefully into his left nostril.

Hah! laughed Krypton. Big bogey or what!

Seven-six-two ordnance. Gulf Two, Mandy explained. Plays havoc with his emotional wellbeing. Heads up!

Colonel Harry Ford entered the room with an easy authority. He wiped the fish and chip grease off his hands onto the thighs of his DPM trousers, nodding an acknowledgement to Mandy.

Gentlemen, before we begin, a couple of introductions. A slab of a man walked in. Bald, beefy and just a tiny bit fat, he sneered at Mandy. Mandy sneered back. Following him in was a young guy, nervous, like a kid at a new school.

Colonel Ford continued. Some of you will already know Joss Ross, he nodded to the beefy bloke. To boost numbers Joss will be taking over as B Troop’s Officer with immediate effect.

Bollocks. Mandy disguised it as a cough.

Krypton nudged Lazy. What are we again?

B Troop, Lazy was happy to explain.

Beetroot?

No, B Troop.

"I’ll have pickled onions then,