Protection: What You Were Born To Do

By Leo Kearley

The Great Depression bites deep across Europe as the veterans of the Wiltshire Regiment are sent to outposts of the British Empire to police army units. Having retired from army life, the now unemployed Joe Travis, intends to teach his nephew to survive on his wits, and yet events will force Bob Travis to realise the cruelty of life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stratton Press
• Release date: Aug 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781648955242

Leo Kearley

Leo Kearley grew up in Christchurch England, where his summers were spent exploring old airfields and World War II installations along the coast. He eventually moved to New Zealand where he pursued a career in Systems Architecture. He now lives in Australia, but travels to Europe with his partner each year, to be with family and friends.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Amesbury Woods, Wiltshire, England

Dashing from the field, Joe took shelter from the chill wind in the thick foliage of the southern woods. He pushed aside branches and peered out to where he’d tethered a rabbit. The animal was in a dip to keep it out of the wind and weather, but there was another reason. Joe chuckled. He’ll find out if he gets that far.

With the rabbit nibbling contentedly on the leaves he’d left behind, Joe crept on through the trees to find the best position to catch any intruder. Finding a comfy spot, he leant back against a tree to relax, as he knew the rabbit would react and give him plenty of warning if anyone came close.

Joe took out his silver cross. It was a symbol of the Traversee family and something that helped him feel close to his cousin in France. Another identical cross hung by his bed. It was his brother’s and it served Joe as a reminder of the promise he’d made to Colin. Eight years on, the pain of Colin’s death remained, and worse, that pain was coupled with twinges of guilt for surviving.

Joe put the cross away, as today wasn’t about grief, or regret, today was about stealth.

***

Skirting the woods on the north side of the field, Bob spotted the rabbit. That’s it. There was no ground cover, just the grass waving in the chill wind. Hard to stay hidden. Thirty yards beyond the rabbit, a thicket of trees had his mind racing. Maybe I can set my own trap? With a wry smile, he crawled into the trees at the edge of the wood and set to work. Using tree sap, he stuck grass tufts onto his cape. Match the colour and texture. Aye, and use mud, so the rabbit don’t smell me. After dressing every inch of his cape, he tore dozens of thin bark strips off the saplings around him. For more than two hours, he sat patiently twisting the inner fibres into a strong cord some twenty feet long. In the last of the twilight, he fashioned a cord to go around his head to hold the cape firmly in place. Inch by inch he made his way across the field towards the copse. A half-hour later, he finally made it to the copse undetected. Relaxing his shoulders, he relieved the ache in his muscles before tying the cord between two trees.

With a smirk, he pulled it tight. His Waterloo.

***

In the gathering gloom, Joe could see the rabbit was content, and there had been no movement to be seen in the field. He’ll be close. Hidden under that cape of his waiting for dark. Joe had told Bob stories about his scouting in the war and how he’d used a cloak to stay hidden. He’d listened intently and practised how to make himself invisible. Branches twitched and leaves rustled nearby. Joe was about to jump out from the trees when he saw a young deer pranced into view. It stood stock still, sniffed the air, and then bounded in the direction of a small copse of trees farther on from the rabbit.

The deer’s appearance was a timely reminder of why he was here. He wanted Bob to avoid the trouble he’d ended up in as a teenager after he and Colin had poached a deer. They found a man groaning in a ditch, and thought him to be a drunk, but it was a gamekeeper who’d been assaulted by sheep stealers. They had nothing to do with the assault but still ended up in Borstal. Aye, I’ll never forget the beatings in that place. Looking back at the rabbit, and then onto the copse, Joe rubbed his chin. If he gets in there... Joe moved silently through the trees to close off the most likely escape route. He chuckled again. He ain’t beating me, not yet.

***

On his way back across the open ground from the copse, Bob believed he could beat any test Joe set for him. He peered under the edge of the cape towards the trees on the south side of the field. He’ll be there ready to pounce. Entering a ground depression, he felt the wind ease, and the lack of buffeting stopped him worrying about the cape being blown off. To ensure the rabbit remained unaware of his presence, he slowed his approach, felt the grass become cold and then sodden. In moments, the dampness seeped through his clothes.

Bloody Joe! He’s done me again.

Undeterred by the wet and cold, Bob was determined to beat the trap and was really close to the rabbit. Another foot, a few more inches and he tensed, certain that Joe would come running out of the trees to catch him. He always did, but this time it seemed he’d done everything right and Joe hadn’t appeared. This time I’m going to beat him. Slipping the strap off his head, his hand snaked out to grasp the rabbit and tether line. In one fluid movement, he ripped the peg out of the ground and with the rabbit under his arm he ran hard.

There was movement to his left as Joe appeared from out of the trees and was in full flight after him.

Ten more strides, that was all he needed to reach the copse.

Ten more strides became five and then he hurdled the cord. He heard a yelp. Got him!

A powerful hand clamped on his ankle, and Bob was pulled down by Joe at the last. Landing in a heap, Bob felt the rabbit squirm out of his arms and watched it run away into the trees. His prize was gone but Joe was giggling away. A trip line, you little bugger! You nearly did me there!

Bob sat up and grinned. Aye, and I wished I’d seen your face as you went sprawling.

Aye, it would have been a sight, but I copped a hold at the last.

Yep, fair and square, said Bob shivering with cold.

Joe gave Bob a hand up. It were right close, but you’re soaked, best we get you home to a hot bath. If your mum sees you like that I’ll get a right telling off.

Bob squeezed the excess water out of his jumper. Aye, she’d give you the rounds of her kitchen for tethering a rabbit next to boggy ground!

Passing Bob his jacket, Joe went over to retrieve Bob’s cape, and on his return, he untied the trip line and grinned. Boggy ground by the rabbit? Well, I must have missed that.

You don’t miss anything, and every time I think I’ve won, you still nab me. It’s been two years since you came home and started to show me stuff. I thought I’d have found a way to beat you by now.

Putting an arm around his nephew, Joe pulled him close. Believe me, you were all but.

***

A shadowy figure crossed the fields and entered the barn at the end of Weston Lane. Through gaps in the wooden planking, he peered at the two cottages opposite. No lights were on. Everyone at Cathy’s place will be in bed, and Joe will be out checking traps. A horse stirred in its stall, and the noise made him move back from the planking.

Sitting on a hay bale, he stared at the rub marks on the central rafter. Albert Travis had hung himself in the barn sixteen years ago to bring an end to his living hell. He felt the same, as each way he turned there was darkness. The hate of his father festered, and his emotions churned as he rolled the hemp rope over and over in his hands. Resolute, he started to climb up the old loft ladder, its wooden uprights were smooth due to use, but were cold to the touch of his hands. It creaked, and again the horse stirred. Standing still, he let the horse settle before moving up anymore and shivered as cold fingers of the winter wind blew through the aged structure.

A door slammed, and light from the nearest cottage lanced through every gap in the barn. This time the horse whinnied loudly, and he slid back down the ladder to disappear into the night.

Chapter 2

Up early the next morning, Joe had opened the barn doors wide and was busily brushing down Lucy’s Girl with a steady two-hand action. The young mare was content to stand still as Joe whistled a gentle tune while brushing her shoulders and front legs. The horse was the only foal of her mother, Lucy, but instead of her birth being a time of celebration, birthing complications set in and Lucy died. The devastation of losing the horse that had meant so much to him was tempered by the need to hand-rear the foal. With tenderness and care, Joe healed from the loss and proudly reared the foal through the winter and by the time the next summer came, he’d trained her to be a well-mannered horse with a wonderful temperament. Two years on from the loss of Lucy, her foal had inherited the same deep red chestnut colouring and was an absolute pleasure to ride.

Joe moved steadily from her front legs down her flanks to her rump and back to the head.

Hey, Girl, you’re looking grand, just like your mum.

In response, she rubbed against him, and Joe stroked her face. Aye, and good morning to you too.

He stood back to admire his handiwork. I wish your mum was here to see how fine you are.

She waggled her head and sidled up close so Joe could use the comb to untangle her mane. With his back to the doors, he heard a familiar voice. How’d you be today, Joe?

I’m grand for a Monday, Byron, and you?

Aye, lad, not so bad for an old ’un.

Byron White was the Amesbury estate manager. Along with his wife Mary, they had been looking after the Manor for years. With Joe on the far side of the horse, Byron stroked Lucy’s Girl. Hiya ‘Girl’, you’re looking right grand too. After patting the horse, he sat down on a hay bale and sighed. I tell you, Joe, it’s going to be hard handing out termination letters to all the staff today.

Aye, that would be tough on anyone, let alone you, said Joe as he turned to look at Byron.

Blimey, Joe! Have you been in a fight?

A fight? Oh, you mean the bruises. No, I was playing with Bob last night and he had a surprise.

What kind of surprise? Beating you with a stick?

Joe laughed out loud. No, he set a trip line for me, and I went flying.

Ah, so the young ’un beat you at last?

Oh no, but it was close. He’s good at hiding and nimble like his dad. I was flat out to catch him and missed his trip line. I got lucky when I latched onto his ankle on my way down. I tell you, I can’t have him thinking he’s beaten me, as he’s still got a load to learn, but he’s good.

Well, I’m glad you’re not hurt bad, as it would make this whole business of handing out letters even worse. I’m sorry to say, it includes all the odds and ends you do at the Manor stables.

Ah, don’t worry, Byron. Everyone here knows what’s what. That’s why they’ve all been planning trips to Bournemouth for some spring sunshine and sandcastle building on the beach.

Come on, Joe. It’s too bloody cold down on the beach at this time of the year.

Aye, true, but it’s been obvious to anyone with a nose on their face. There’s been nothing much for me this last year, but don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I’ve tried loads of jobs elsewhere, but none of them has lasted more than a couple of weeks. If it weren’t for the few extra shillings Lucy Girl earns each week taking ladies for a ride, well, I’d be close to skint. Joe rubbed his chin and grinned. You know, I’ve been thinking about going up to London and becoming one of them life models in their art classes.

Byron shook his head. You! A model? he chuckled. Maybe for a coal truck.

Cor ’ark at you, at least they’d be good looking coal trucks if I was doing the modelling.

Byron giggled and went back to stroking Lucy’s Girl. All joking apart, Joe, I’m worried about you and Cathy having to look after Rebecca when she’s not so well. It’ll be hard without the money you get from here working at the stables on the estate. Speaking of Rebecca, how is she today?

She’s picking up after a rough week, but let’s not kid ourselves, she’s not good. That last stroke took away her speech, and now her fingers are acting up, so she can’t write either.

That’s rough on you all.

Aye, and rougher than you think. I know she wants us to live our lives and not be stuck looking after her, but she needs looking after. We make light of it, but she watches us. Them peepers of hers, they speak volumes, especially when I’m not out doing stuff she knows I like, and when I’ve done something wrong.

Byron laughed. My Mary does that too, but tell me, how’s Cathy handling looking after your mum?

She’s doing all right. There’s no such thing as her being her in-law, Cathy sees mum as hers these days. When Cathy and Colin married, we became one family, and share the looking after between us.

Does she ever hear from her mum?

Corrine sends a card for Christmas and her birthday, but nowt else. Cathy expected as much, as once she and Colin were wed, and Bob was born, Corrine went to live with her friend up north. There was a bit of an argument, but Cathy said it was only right for her and Bob to be with Rebecca. That all happened when me and Colin were in Borstal and ever since it’s been her family and her home.

It’s your home too, Joe.

It is, but I just sleep in the other cottage is all. Both places belong to the estate, and hey, that’s a point, if I’m not working for the estate anymore, will that mean we’ll lose our homes?

No, I heard Edith say that as long as the rent’s paid, they’re your homes for good.

Well, that’s a relief, and now Cathy and Emily are getting more aircraft delivery work, we might get on top of the rent we owe. She earns more part-time than I did full-time, and that’s if I can get anything.

And with all the cutbacks, do you think Cathy’s delivery flying will keep going?

Aye, I was at the airfield workshops the other day, and I heard one of them big wigs saying he wished they had more pilots like her and Emily.

Aye, well, no surprise about that, as they’re both fine looking women.

Don’t you let Cathy hear you say that sort of stuff? She’s a looker all right, but neither her looks nor Emily’s have nowt to do with their piloting.

As maybe, but them air force lot, they’re as thick as thieves and I doubt they’re happy about women taking their jobs. If you ain’t a bloke, you ain’t no good.

Joe sneered. Rubbish. If they can do the job, they should be doing it. Cathy’s got a nose for navigating, and Emily even told me that no matter the weather, she gets ’em home. She also said that they been rated on loads of different aircraft.

Cathy’s a lot like you then, Joe. She can find her way in the dark!

She’s better than me. She can find her way in thick fog, whereas I need the stars, and Emily says she wouldn’t be without Cathy in bad weather. They’re flying all sorts these days, single engines mostly, but there’s a new twin-engine job being made at Bristol, and according to Emily, when they’ve finished building it, there’ll be no end of delivery work for the pair of them. She said something about another company, but I wasn’t taking too much notice at the time. It was de-have a lind, land or something like that.

Well, that’s grand, Joe, as I thought they’d struggle to get anything. Them flyboys are a close-knit lot and precious few women get a go. Good blokes are flying but there are loads of glory seekers too.

Joe chuckled. Aye, like the tally-ho lot who used to come riding at the estate. He shrugged. I’d say Bristol Aircraft want pilots who don’t get lost, and they don’t want flashy buggers who’ll break their planes by running the engines flat out. If the girls keep on doing as they’re doing, they’ll stay in favour.

Aye, well, that’s good to hear she’s having the best of it, and other than Bob helping you to get a pasting on the weekend, what’s he doing these days? Schooling or what?

He finishes up at the village school this week, and with such low numbers in the class, he’ll have to go to a Salisbury school next year. Which means, I’m going to show him every trick I can, and well, with plenty more spare time I’ll be able to take him across Wiltshire, Hampshire, and even Dorset. You know, all around and the like.

That’d be right! laughed Byron. Just when his legs get long enough to keep up, you’ll wear him out running everywhere. It reminds me of what Colin did to you.

Aye, and I reckon we’ll run so far that Cathy will have to fly to catch up.

Tell me, Joe, who’ll be looking after Rebecca while all this is going on?

The question stopped Joe’s easy line of banter.

Aye, you’ve got a fair point. I’m day-dreaming, aren’t I? Looks like I’d be best off staying at home so Cathy can keep on flying, as we can’t keep on asking you and Mary to help. It ain’t fair on either of you.

Joe scuffed out the horsehair from his brush while Byron took down the bridle that was draped on the wall. He turned it over in his hands and looked over at Joe. You know, Rebecca, Corrine and Mary looked after the manor when all the menfolk went off to the boar war. The wives kept this place going, and now I’m the only bloke left to look out for you young-uns, so I’d say it ain’t fair youkeep asking for help.

Byron walked over to stand face to face and smiled. What you need to do is talk honest, Joe. Tell me what you’d like to do with Bob and Cathy. With all the cutbacks, Mary and me we’ll only have part-time jobs, and we’ve a mind to make pickles and jams for the markets. Mary loves doing that sort of thing, but we need a separate kitchen and somewhere to store what we produce. So, how about we do a trade?

Joe raised an eyebrow. What do you mean, a trade?

Let Mary and me use your cottage to do the work. We’ll sleepover when you three are away, look after Rebecca, and I’ll even keep Lucy’s Girl tip top. I’ll exercise her in the fields near the cottages, save having to go to and from the stable grounds each day.

Joe raised an eyebrow. Aye, without the other horses to look after, I was thinking about doing the same myself, but Byron, we couldn’t ask all that of you.

No, you couldn’t, that’s why I’m offering. Mary and I would love to help Rebecca. She’s been our friend, first and last. Your mum’s always been there for us over the years, so it’s the least we can do. Best that you three get on with the flying or hiking, or anything else you want to be doing.

Joe was taken aback for a moment. I don’t know what to say, Byron.

Good, so you can say yes, shut up and get on with brushing your horse.

Aye, said Joe, I will, but there’s one more thing I wanted to ask you about. I found this length of rope laying on the ground this morning. Did you leave it there?

Byron looked at the rope Joe was holding. No, it wasn’t me, I’ve not used a hemp rope like that in yonks. Come to think of it, I’ve not been in this barn for weeks.

Joe shrugged and looped the rope over a nail.

***

With the termination letter on the kitchen table, Joe sat down with Cathy for a cup of tea and a biscuit.

She glanced at the brown envelope and grimaced. Is that what I think it is, Joe?

Aye, Byron gave it to me this morning when he came over to the stables.

Well, even though we knew it was coming, I’m worried, as it’ll be difficult for you. I mean, you’ve always got something on the go, and I don’t know what to suggest.

Joe grinned. Well lass, as I’ll have a bit more time on my hands, I’ve an idea, and it turns out, Byron has made us a bit of an offer, so I’d like us to chat it over.

I’m all ears.

I was saying to Byron about taking Bob hiking over the summer. I mean, he’s growing up so fast, and we need to be helping him learn loads. Well, with that in mind, Byron said that him and Mary want to use my place to make pickles, and they would be up for looking after mum while we’re away.

Joe looked over at Cathy and beamed. What do you think? We’ll have loads of fun.

Cathy nodded. It would be a wonderful thing for him, and for the both of us. Rebecca wants us doing things, and I’ve nothing on next week. I’ll have a word with Emily, make sure we can juggle things.

Joe smiled wide. That’s grand, and this will be a grand summer, lass.

When Bob came home from his last day at school, they had dinner and then Joe whispered, Your mum and me, we have an idea to start hiking Wiltshire, and maybe a bit farther if it all works out.

Yeah! said Bob as he went upstairs and began making all sorts of noises.

Sometime later he arrived downstairs. He had on two pairs of socks and wore a pair of his mum’s walking boots. Multiple shirts were covered by one of Joe’s jackets, and on his head was his dad’s old deerstalker. Cathy grinned. Quite the part there young Bob. Quite the part!

Bob’s face broke out into a lopsided grin. I’ve heard the scout’s motto is to be prepared, and now I’ve got everything here with me I’m prepared for anything!

Cathy laughed. Yes, but I think you’re a little over-prepared.

Joe had started to dubbin his boots in the scullery and looked over at the sight of Bob standing by the stairs. You’ll get a tad warm wearing all that. Layers are good, but maybe not so many of them.

Bob stripped down to his vest and underpants. Aye, Uncle Joe, it was getting right hot.

I can see that, but I want to know about them bruises on your arms. Did you get them when I pulled you down? Before Bob answered, Joe lifted his vest and saw more bruises.

Have you been fighting?

Them Dickson kids from in the village were picking on Elsie Tomkins. I told ’em not to, but they shouted at me to clear off. I said no, and that they should leave her alone. Then it all sort of happened.

All what happened exactly?

I got stuck in. I got kicked and hit a few times is all, but I made sure Elsie was left alone.

By doing what?

I gave Ben Dickson a fair walloping for hitting me and then I stomped on both of Reggie’s feet for him kicking me. They cleared off crying, but I didn’t hurt ’em too much, honest."

Cathy was upset that Bob hadn’t told her first thing, but Joe knelt alongside his nephew.

You did the right thing by the lass, but you could have come off far worse.

I could, but they’re not that much bigger than me, and they’re not as fast on their feet, so I wasn’t too bothered. I had to take a few knocks to make sure I protected Elsie is all.

Joe handed Bob his shirt and shorts. Well, I’ll take your word for all of that, but next time, consider all the consequences before you go jumping in.

Bob’s disconsolate look spoke volumes. He thought he’d done the right thing, and even though Joe’s words were supportive, Cathy didn’t look happy. Joe put his hand on Bob’s shoulder.

Look, lad, these things happen, but rightly, your mum’s worried about you getting hurt bad. Now, all I’m saying, is that you could get hurt worse than you think, and you need to be thinking right.

Looking from Joe to Cathy, Bob sighed. Aye, I’ll think it through proper next time.

Good. Now, being prepared is a grand thing to learn. What layers to wear and when is another. Come on, let’s sort through this lot, and we’ll pack some bags for all of us.

With the fighting forgotten, they planned their first journey, and after, Joe showed Bob where things should go in his bag. Cathy taught him a ditty. Tools and outers, outside. Pants and inners, inside.

Bob rummaged through the pile of clothes and grinned. Where does my bear go, Mum?

Cathy shrugged. I don’t know. What do you think, Joe?

How about you tie him on this strap? He’ll see everything from there.

Bob used a cord to make a little harness and tied his bear on tight. His beaming face was a sight as they spoke about the things they might see. Bob looked at them both. Thanks, Mum. Thanks, Uncle Joe.

Joe put a hand on his shoulder and smiled. Just Joe from now on. No more uncle needed.

Cathy smiled. And now it’s time for bed.

Aye, I know, early to bed and all that. Night Mum, night Joe.

With Bob settled in his bedroom upstairs, Joe looked over at Cathy. Hey, did Emily say what happened to Michael last weekend? I thought he was getting a leave pass and coming back?

She wasn’t even sure if he was coming home. She’s had a lot on her mind these past weeks, and if he did come home, well, I’m sure they’d have lots to talk over. Was there something you wanted him for?

Not particularly, but, well, you know it’s been a bit of a while and all that.

Cathy looked at Joe sipping his tea with a sullen look. You miss him, don’t you?

Aye, lass, I do, but it’s good his posting is coming to an end. Belfast isn’t a good place…

Yep, I know, said Cathy taking their cups to the kitchen. But is it just Michael?

Joe sighed. No, it’s Danny, Harry and Malcolm too, but Michael, well he’s like a brother to me.

I know they mean a lot to you, and if you want to go see Malcolm, I’ll stay with Rebecca.

Aye, thanks, lass, said Joe as he opened the back door. We need some food for the next few days, so I’m off to check my traps. There’s bound to be a hare or two, so I’ll see you in the morning.

Cathy gave a little nod of the head and smiled. Aye, night-night, Joe.

Closing the door, Joe headed for the woods above Amesbury to empty his traps. It wasn’t just a matter of food, he wanted time to deal with the emotions the evening had stirred. Helping Bob pack reminded him of his own teenage years, and how at thirteen he became infatuated with Cathy. At that age, the understanding of his feelings was beyond him, and then came the hammer blow of his father’s suicide.

Still reeling from the loss, his mother then told him that Cathy was pregnant and would be marrying Colin. His emotions were in turmoil. He wanted to be happy for them, but everything hurt so deep. His solace was long days alone hunting in the woods. By the age of fifteen, he was taller than Colin and the harshness of their punishment at Borstal changed him in so many ways. Desperate for army recruits, the authorities never bothered to question Colin or Joe’s age before enlisting them, and on the day they left to go to France, he stood opposite Cathy on the doorstep. She had little Bob on her arm and the sweetest of smiles on her face. That image got him through the war, but tonight her smile added to his feelings of melancholy.

From under the starlit sky of the fields, Joe entered the woods and found he’d snared two hares. A clean swish of his razor-sharp knife ended their struggle, and tying them to a stick, he headed up the hill to look out over Amesbury. It was a tranquil view of woodland and green fields that catapulted him back to Le Vernet in France. He, Colin and Michael had been sent to protect Red Cross personnel from supposed killers at a transit camp, but when they arrived, they found the guards incapacitated by influenza.

The German prisoners were too scared to leave the camp and their food supplies were running out. It was Joe and Colin’s hunting skills that were needed not security. For four months they kept thousands in the camp supplied with fresh meat and secured all other supplies. He missed his brother. Why Colin?

The terrible guilt he felt for surviving flooded back as the memories of the night Colin was laid to rest stirred inside him. The assassins wanted them all dead but then the brothers intervened. He remembered the dust in his mouth and the thorns of the bushes stabbing at his arms and legs as he crept up the hillside that day. Joe clenched his fists. It was his fault Colin died.

When they returned to the transit camp, Joe had sought the same solitude, until Isabelle found him by the river. She talked to him, held him close and loved him. At eighteen, and for the first time in his life, Joe’s emotions flooded out.

Joe rubbed his face and felt the wet of tears on his chin, and in so many ways, he knew he was still that same teenager whose world remained in pieces. Wiping away his tears, Joe headed home to cook the hares, and after the preparation was finished, he took out pen and paper to write his next letter to Isabelle. She would want to know that Michael’s posting was coming to an end. Aye, the lass owes him so much. In their letters, they shared their intimate thoughts with each other. His dedication to family in Amesbury, and her need to help her uncle Marcel in France. Joe chuckled as he remembered Michael inviting Isabelle and Marcel to visit in England. He’d never told Michael about his feeling for Isabelle or their intimacy and his heart had pounded at the thought of having to introduce Cathy to a woman he’d kept secret for all this time.

Michael’s Belfast posting put paid to the visit, but the anxiety that the hasty invitation had caused him remained. He loved Cathy dearly, but he also loved Isabelle and wished Michael would come home.

Chapter 3

Belfast

Pressed flat against a crumbling red brick wall, two British Army sergeants were in the shadows of a back alley. Some fifty yards away a truck entered a laneway and two civilians unloaded boxes into a storeroom. When the truck drove off, the pair locked the door and walked away. Back in the alley, the dull red glow from a cigarette illuminated the smirk on the face of the officer in charge of the two sergeants. His orders were for them to pounce on their victims when they passed by.

These were well-practised assaults, as every so often over the past two years, the trio would enter the back streets of Belfast and earn themselves significant revenue from black marketeers. Army pay only went so far, and since being stationed in Belfast, they’d carved out a way to supplement their income.

The two civilian Irishmen laughed and joked as they walked along the darkened lane kicking an empty tin ahead of them. It bounced noisily on the cobblestones, and as it went past the end of the alley, the three soldiers crouched in unison. It wasn’t in fear of discovery, it was in anticipation of the next pay-off, and if no money was forthcoming, some fun would be a fine substitute. The pair of Irishmen strode past the end of the alley oblivious to any danger, until moments later they were coshed to the ground. Barely conscious, their mouths were gagged, wrists tied, and they were dragged into the basement of an abandoned house.

***

Under the starlit sky, the perimeter walls of the British Army Palace Barracks were tall and imposing. Thick layers of red brick were topped off with a myriad of barbed wire coils. The wire wasn’t just there to keep people out, it was there to keep army detainees confined to barracks. Inside the compound, another red brick building was located by the main gate. Its barred windows and doors gave an imposing presence. Its high vaulted roof covered the central booking room, and inside, the wooden trusses were draped with cobwebs, and the rest of the roofing spars held layers of dust that clung to every surface. The front entrance had a thick wooden door lagged with steel plating. Inside, doors led to the kitchen, staff toilets, and the armoury. This room held racks of batons and rifles, kept in order and ready for riot control.

A fourth steel lined door led to the cells. This was an uninviting section of the building with spaces separated by wrought iron bars. Each cell was intended for two men, but on Friday and Saturday nights, many more were squeezed into those spaces. Belligerent soldiers, with nothing more than a bucket for a toilet, would face long hours of detainment. A barred hole some fifteen feet above the ground was the only ventilation to let out the foetid air, but by morning, the stench would become intolerable. A cold-water hose was used to clean and rinse out the cells and ensure the soldiers were woken from their drunken stupor.

An interview with the duty sergeant would follow. A statement would be taken, and recommendations made to the military courts. This was Military Policing and the drudgery of paperwork for the group of NCOs from the Wiltshire Regiment. After returning from France, Major Michael Plummer and his group of army veterans were redeployed to overseas garrisons. Britain’s ever-diminishing Empire still needed guarding, especially to police trouble spots. All had come through the horrors of war with scars. Some scars were physical, others cut deeper into the men’s souls, but their last duty to Belfast had created a myriad of dilemmas. Loyalty to King and Country had been sorely tested, as the politics of Ireland overshadowed all of their lives. For sure, the riots had stopped, but a deep-seated distrust remained everywhere. Ongoing violence continued under the veil of night-time with the victims found with horrendous injuries the next morning. A warning to others what would come their way if they crossed one sectarian group or another.

Michael stared up at the rafters seeking inspiration for life, but none was in the layers of grime. On his desk, his Webley Mark VI service revolver lay in pieces. Re-assemble, load. Do this or that, or end it?

Six bullets stood like miniature soldiers on his desk, and thoughtfully, he fingered a bullet before inserting it into an empty chamber. He then looked across the room at Company Sergeant Major Harry Jenkins. As the senior NCO, he was responsible for the myriad of cover sheets that went with each arrest report. These would be completed tonight ready for transport back to HQ in the morning.

Michael loaded another two bullets into the chambers then gazed at Senior Sergeant Danny Sefton writing up the final arrest reports from earlier in the day. Danny and Harry were best friends, and yet, they were physical opposites. Harry, dark-haired, a reserved man standing six-foot-four, and had a reputation as a top football player before the war. In a fight, few could match Harry, and rarely would anyone try. As for Danny, he was a head shorter than his friend and had sandy-coloured hair. A mischievous smirk was a permanent fixture on his face. He too was handy on a football field. His shorter size belied a pair of legs that never stopped running as he twisted and turned past tackles to emerge with the ball.

There was another desk in the room, but the seat behind it was empty. Joe wasn’t with them anymore. The four men had served alongside each other for twelve years, and now there was a gap. Michael snapped the revolver’s drum closed and returned the side-arm to his holster. He looked back at Harry and Danny, sighed, and stretched then took his coat off the stand. I’m off for a walk, lads. I need some fresh air.

Putting on his coat and hat, Michael pulled down the peak and thought of his last visit to Salisbury. His wife Emily wasn’t home, but there was an opened letter on the table. It was from his father. He’s written to Emily, but he never writes to me. The kind words and best wishes his father had expressed in the letter to Emily were like a dagger into his heart. It took him some time to settle and he mooched about aimlessly in the house. Finally, he decided to go to the Bulford barracks and use an officer’s crib to sleep.

After laying down to rest, he replayed the torture of the letter over and over again until he could take no more. Taking a hemp rope from the store he wandered the fields, and an hour later, he reached the barn at the end of Weston Lane. What should have come next was the inevitable end, but a light came on in the cottages and his resolve broke. Since then, the turmoil continued to grow, and he wanted out.

With the sound of the Major’s footsteps fading into the distance, Harry looked up. Give him a minute or two head start, Danny, then get after him, will you?

Aye, Harry, I’ll go up the hill. I’ll be able to spot which way he’s gone. After all, we don’t want problems on our last night here.

Too right, lad, and have you finished the report on that punch up in the Harbour Hotel earlier?

Danny passed Harry the folder. Aye, that’s the last one, and I’d say the backlog will keep the RSM going for weeks when they land on his desk.

Aye, old Malcolm will get right tired reading about drunken squaddies.

Danny watched as Harry labelled the last of the folders and placed then all into alphabetically ordered boxes.

You’re a dab hand with this paperwork Harry, so when are you going to use your talents outside the confines of the army?

Soon, Danny. After two years here, I’m done. I was going to speak with the Major, but he’s a bit preoccupied. I was hoping his weekend home would help, but he came back even more pent up.

What do you expect, Harry? I mean, having to come back?

Aye, you’re right, and what about you? Are you going to stay in the army?

I ain’t going nowhere. Maybe leaving the army might work for you, but the last time I was away from his nibs it all went wrong.

You mean Kiel and them Alsatian bastards?

Aye, Harry, that stolen ship was a rum do. I’d say if the Major was there, Simon would still be alive, and I wouldn’t have had my head stoved in. Whenever the Major was around, we came through safe.

Oh, come on Danny, that lot in Germany was totally unexpected, and if the Major had some mystical powers over our existence, then I’d say Colin would still be alive now, wouldn’t he?

Yeah, well, we’ll never know, but I’ll stick around and keep an eye on him. I know it’s been tough on all of us without Joe these past couple of years, and I just hope he don’t do anything daft.

Harry nodded. Aye, and you would have thought he’d have said something. Surely he knows he can talk to us about anything. I mean, we’ve been through the wringer together a fair few times.

Aye, too many times, said Danny buttoning his coat and warming his hands by the fire.

You know, Harry, I can almost hear his cogs turning.

Aye, so stop hanging about by the fire.

All right grumpy, I’m on my way, and I suppose you’ll want me to put your slippers by the fire?

Aye, that would be nice, but for now, be a good lad and sod off.

***

Michael stood at the quayside, his thoughts in a muddle. Despite the chill wind people were crowding along the footpath jostling and pushing. Opening his stride he left the crowd behind and turned into Holywood Road. On his own, he strolled along the Esplanade, and at Shore Road, he stopped to gaze out across the harbour. The lights from White Abbey and Green Island twinkled on the water. It was a calming view, totally out of place with the sectarian anger and violence that had worn away the soul of his men. For all the bluster of the politicians, nothing had been properly settled after the Belfast riots. Catholics wanted home rule and were prepared to fight for it, and the radicals believed their politicians had sold out to the British. They continued to plot the downfall