No Mercy (Sgt Major Crane story)

by Wendy Cartmell

40 Days 40 Nights

  Someone wants to kill the Olympic athletes

  He’ll stop at nothing to achieve his goal

  An SIB detective determined to catch the terrorists

  A soldier is found dead under the Olympic-sized swimming pool. His neck is broken and his weapon stolen. When Team GB descends on Aldershot Garrison in the run up to the 2012 Olympics, there is a terrorist determined to kill them. Sgt Major Crane, a Branch detective with the Royal Military Police must keep the athletes safe through 40 Days and 40 Nights of accidents, thefts and murders. Can Crane pull it off? Or will the terrorists win?

  A most innovative concept! 40 Days and 40 Nights explodes from the blocks with great pace, intrigue and a plot that leaves the hairs on the back of the neck standing on end - this is no ordinary terror threat, and, worst of all, it could actually happen!

  John Paul Davis bestselling author, TV and radio commentator.

  Keep reading for an excerpt of 40 Days 40 Nights

  Day 1

  They found the body at 04:00 hours. As he drove to the scene Sergeant Major Crane’s hands gripped the steering wheel, his vision sharpened and his breathing rapid. Excitement that he had something to investigate overlaid, as always, with guilt. For his good fortune was at the expense of another man’s life. He parked his car in front of the Aldershot Garrison Sports Centre, a squat grey lump surrounded by green and rushed to the scene. It was 04:45 hours.

  He slowly walked around the remains, wearing protective clothing over his dark suit and white shirt, keeping well clear of the corpse, whilst he waited for the pathologist, Major Martin. As Crane crouched down to get a clearer view of the dead man, voices overhead interrupted his study.

  Rising, he called, “We’re down here, Major. The body’s at the bottom of the steps.” Crane’s words echoed around the large underground cavern that was the underbelly of the huge Olympic sized swimming pool. The Major emerged, ducking his head under large grey pipes as he picked his way to the bottom of the stairs, encumbered by his medical case and the protective overalls he was wearing.

  “I thought I recognised your voice, Crane. Right, what have we got?” The Major placed his case some way from the body and turned to look at it.

  Crane called Sergeant Billy Williams from out of the shadows.

  “Well, sir,” Billy said, “as members of Team GB are on the garrison as part of their preparations for the Olympic Games, routine security patrols are made of the swimming pool every hour during the night. The soldiers keep in touch by radio whilst they are separated. Corporal Simms failed to meet the others at the front door of the complex and didn’t answer urgent calls on his radio. So,” Billy consulted his notes, “Lance Corporal Fielding went to find him. He saw Simmons crumpled at the bottom of the stairs here, that lead underneath the swimming pool. Unable to find a pulse, he swept the area, which he found to be empty and retreated. He then called the Royal Military Police as per procedure.”

  “So, the question is,” Crane took over from Billy, “did the lad fall or was he killed?”

  “For God’s sake, Crane, at the moment I have no idea.” Major Martin rose from his examination. “His neck appears to have been broken. It could be from a fall, possibly accidental, or he could have had some help. Another option is that someone surprised him and broke his neck here at the bottom of the stairs. I won’t know anything until I get him on the table.” The Major snapped off his gloves.

  “Which would be?”

  “Later this morning.”

  “I don’t need to remind you…”

  “No, Sergeant Major, you do not,” the Major’s voice was as taut as the latex he had just peeled from his hands. “I am well aware of the sensitivity of the situation at the moment, as no doubt Captain Edwards will also be happy to make clear to me. Including the Commanding Officer and anyone else who feels they have a right to put in their two pennies worth.” Glancing at his watch, he continued. “It’s nearly 05:30 hours. I’ll do the post mortem at 10:00 hours. You can come if you want.”

  “I will… sir.” Crane eventually finishing with the acknowledgement that Major Martin was an ex-officer. Even though Crane was a Sergeant Major, his position within the Special Investigations Branch of the Military Police, enabled him to cut across the rank system when on an active investigation. Making the Branch as feared as it was respected. But officers, even ex-ones such as Major Martin, who was an accredited Home Office Pathologist whilst in the army, still expected the deference their rank deserved.

  Crane decided to attend the post mortem later that morning, meeting the Major in the morgue at Frimley Park Hospital. Not out of ghoulish curiosity, nor because he enjoyed seeing corpses reduced to a pile of organs and empty cavities, but simply because it was the quickest way to find out how Corporal Simms died. Actually, Crane hated everything about the morgue. The sterility, the smell, the noises. An incongruous operating theatre, where instead of opening up a living human being to heal them, doctors cut open a dead body to find out what had gone wrong. Once he was suitably kitted out and standing beside the metal trolley that held Corporal Simms in its icy embrace, Crane asked Major Martin to start on the neck first.

  “I hope you aren’t trying to tell me how to do my job, Crane?” the Major shouted over the noise of the grinding electric saw he was holding in his hand, which loomed perilously close to Crane’s head instead of the corpse’s.

  “Not at all,” said Crane, only just managing to duck out of the way in time. “It’s the quickest way to get me out of your hair.” A bizarre comment as the Major was practically bald under his protective headgear. “Figuratively speaking, of course,” Crane finished lamely, adding, “sir.”

  “Very well, Crane.” The Major turned off and put down the saw, then manipulated the young Corporal’s neck. “Definitely broken. Feels like the spinal cord is ripped as well.” Turning the head backwards and forwards, and peering at the face, he continued, “No obvious sign of trauma.”

  “Any sign of trauma to the neck itself? Bruising from fingers, or a garrotte of some kind?”

  “No nothing. Here give me a hand to flip him over,” the diminutive Major asked Crane. Crane helped to turn Corporal Simms over onto his front. A young man reduced to an ignominious naked body. Even through latex gloves the grey flesh felt rubbery and unyielding, reminding Crane of the texture of squid he once ate and hated. He waited whilst the Major cut through and then peeled back the defensive skin covering the young soldier’s neck, exposing the bones and spinal cord.

  “There!” the Major exclaimed with some satisfaction. “Broken between C3 and C4 and here are the loose ends of the spinal cord, see?”

  Crane didn’t want to, but glanced at the neck anyway, seeing mangled flesh and bones that meant nothing to him. Straightening up he said, “So now we definitely know what killed him.”

  “Certainly. Broken neck and spinal cord.”

  “But not how it happened.”

  “No evidence to suggest foul play at this stage. I would say it was most likely an accident.”

  “Most likely or definitely?” Crane wanted the distinction clarified.

  “Most likely,” confirmed the Major turning back to get on with the rest of the Post Mortem. “Now get out of my hair, Crane!”

  By 11:00 hours Crane was reporting the findings to Captain Edwards.

  “Excellent news,” was Captain Edward’s verdict as he smiled at Crane.

  “Excellent sir? A soldier s dead!” Crane looked at Edwards, unable to mask the horror that must be etched on his face. Not wanting to believe what he had just heard.

  “Oh for goodness sake, Crane. You know what I mean. Excellent news that it was an accident.” Edwards went on, “I’ll draw up a press release immediately to say that there has been an unfortunate accident, that has resulted in the death of a soldier on the garrison and, of course, confirm that to the family.” Edwards gathered up his papers. A clear indication the meeting was over.

  “But, sir, are you sure
you shouldn’t err on the side of caution and treat it as murder? There could be a potential threat to the athletes here. Someone could have been staking out the swimming pool and been surprised by Corporal Simms.” Crane leaned forwards, his elbows on his knees.

  “Crane, as I see it I am ‘erring on the side of caution’ as you put it. I am not about to spread panic throughout the Olympic community and the local community, by calling an accident a murder. Imagine the implications.” Captain Edwards shuddered. “No. Sorry, Crane, accidental death it is.”

  “But -”

  “No buts, Sergeant Major.” Edwards rose from behind his desk, as was his habit, showing Crane that he was not only superior in rank, but superior in height.

  Crane stood, but didn’t leave the office. “Major Martin said ‘most likely’ not ‘definitely’. I specifically queried that point.”

  “Crane, that’s enough. I really think you are splitting hairs. I’m going with accidental death.” Edwards moved from behind the desk and opened the door. “That will be all.”

  “Sir,” Crane moved towards the open door. Then stopped. “You don’t think?”

  “I don’t think anything, Crane!” Edward’s voice rang out, causing a passing soldier to stop and look round. “And neither should you. Dismissed.”

  As Crane stalked off he tried to rein in his temper by reminding himself his special assignment was only for just over a month. As of today he was responsible for security on the garrison for forty days and forty nights whilst Team GB and then the Paralympians were on the garrison - so he better get on with it.

 

  Night 1

  The cold seeped into his bones, making him shiver. From his position under the trees, Padam Gurung could just make out the sports centre, ethereal in the dim light, as if the hopes and dreams of all the athletes that practiced there, surrounded it. He prayed their hopes and dreams would not be shattered as his had been, for he knew how important hope was. Without hope there was nothing.

  Shifting his small frame slightly to avoid a sharp branch from the tree he was leaning against, Padam wrapped the army great coat given to him by the Gurkha Welfare Society more tightly around him. His friends back in Aldershot town centre couldn’t understand why he spent night after night outside like this, keeping silent watch over the garrison in general and now the sports centre in particular. But Padam loved to be in the open. After spending a lifetime outdoors, firstly in the British Army and then working his small farm in Nepal, he found the dirty, small flat he shared with five other men, claustrophobic.

  Plus, he needed a purpose and what better purpose than being close to his beloved army? Serving it as best he could, even in old age, by standing guard in the cold early hours of the morning. He chose the sports centre tonight as he felt it was most vulnerable to terrorist attack. After all, what could you do to an athletic track? Plant track side bombs that would be found by the regular checks? So a building, particularly one containing an Olympic sized swimming pool, squash courts, gymnasium and badminton courts, needed his protection.

  He couldn’t get inside, of course, to patrol the actual building, nor could he openly patrol the parameter, so he did what Gurkhas do best. Lie patiently, hidden. Watching. Waiting.

  Needing to move, as his old joints were stiffening, he carefully lay face down in the long grass. He wished for a pair binoculars, although he knew they were of little use at night. But even so they would be better than just his rheumy old eyes. Buying a pair was out of the question, though. He had no possessions to speak of and no money to buy anything with. Lured by the promise that ‘England will look after you’, after the Gurkha Re-settlement Agreement in 2009, championed by Johanna Lumley, he had sold everything he owned in Nepal to pay for his visa and flight. His family were now marooned back in Nepal and he was stranded in Aldershot. His hope for a glorious future in the land he had once fought for, shattered by the reality of life in England.

  Glancing up at the sky, he saw the slight lighting that heralded the coming dawn, still about an hour away. He had to be gone at first light. With part of Team GB on the garrison in preparation for the start of the Olympic Games he knew he couldn’t be found, even though his presence was benign. Who would believe him? And anyway how would he be able to explain, with his English limited to basic words such as ‘hello’ ‘goodbye’ and ‘thank you’.

  Lifting his head, as he prepared to crawl back under cover of the trees, he saw a flicker of a shadow out of the corner of his eye. Was it something, or just his old eyes playing tricks? Temporary night blindness, after looking at the lighter dawn sky? From his vantage point he had an uninterrupted view of the front of the building and part of the left hand side. But could see nothing beyond the right corner. Taking great care not to move his body and rustle the long grass, his eyes swept from left to right along the length of the sports centre. Nothing. Slowly peering back along the grey frontage he still saw nothing untoward, until he reached the left side of the building.

  A black smudge. Low against the wall. Padam waited. The smudge waited. The rising dawn called to Padam, urging him to move so he could return to the town centre safely. But Padam knew he must stay where he was. His arthritic knees locked tight and his thigh muscles went into spasm, but Padam still refused to move. Ignoring the cries of pain that were turning into screams. Until his vigilance was at last rewarded. The smudge left the shelter of the wall and ran low and fast towards a clump of trees about 100 yards distant.

  Crawling backwards, stiff legged, into the shelter of the trees, Padam rolled over and began to massage his limbs, slowly coaxing his knees to bend. As he hobbled away in the early light of dawn through the trees towards Queens Avenue, he pondered the thorny question of who he should speak to about what he had seen.

 

  Night 2

  Here I stand among you, the mischief makers. Those who attack Islam. I am mired in your society, the modernity and the western influence that is also perverting my country. I am engulfed by your media - television, radio, newspapers and magazines. It sickens me how they try to subvert people, especially the young, with song, dance, fashion, alcohol, drugs, sex and freedom.

  In your towns I see citizens gorging themselves on un-necessary trinkets. Electronic nick-knacks they insist they cannot live without. Bigger, better televisions, radios, mobile phones and computers. All the while worshiping their God - money. This way of life is abhorrent to me.

  I am disgusted by your young people. Boys who think they are men, who have no respect for themselves, their elders or their leaders. They don’t work, just stand around on street corners openly drinking alcohol. And don’t get me started on your women. I have never seen such sights. Acres of female flesh on show. Women degrading themselves, by allowing men to ogle parts of their body that should only be seen by their husband. Jezebels taunting every man who walks past them in the street. At least on the garrison, I am shielded somewhat from their adulterous provocations.

  But even here I cannot escape their tantalising ways. Look here comes one now. A woman serving in your army. A woman who should be at home looking after her husband, children or parents. See how she marches along head proudly held high. The sight is repulsive to me. She should be modestly veiled when in public. By not doing so, she spits in the eye of Muhammad, the Prophet, who is the epitome of all virtue and honour.

  But in truth some of the men I have met are no better than their blasphemous women. Yesterday I happened to meet one of the padres on the garrison. A Christian leader, looking after the spiritual wellbeing of the men and women who serve here. He wanted to engage us in ideological and theological discussion, but I found I couldn’t speak to him. Watching him, a man of religion, quaff alcohol - I tell you it made me feel ill. So I made my excuses and walked away. I couldn’t stand it that you evil infidels in the West think that you can pick and choose which parts of your religion to adhere to. Separating out the bits you don’t want and discarding them. Thinking that it’s enough to turn up to
church once a week and go through the motions.

  For a Muslim this practice is unthinkable. The Muslim world view does not compartmentalise and dichotomise the various areas of life. It is holistic. Our beliefs are incorporated into every area of our daily lives. Our religion tells us how to dress, bathe, eat and pray. No part of a devout Muslim’s life is separate from his Islamic beliefs.

  And so it has become our cause to expel the crusaders from our homelands and re-establish Sharia law. This cause is not without reason. We are following the command of the Qur’an. Look, this is the place. Let me share with you for a moment the words from our Holy Book:

  Fight those who believe not

  In good nor the Last Day,

  Nor hold that forbidden

  Which hath been forbidden

  By God and His Apostle,

  Nor acknowledge the Religion

  Of Truth. (Qur’an 9:29)

  How can you argue with that? You Westerners don’t acknowledge the religion of truth, the Muslim religion. So, for this reason my men and I take part in the struggle. In the jihad. An external struggle against the forces of evil and non-believers. That’s why I am here in your country. In England.

  For the time being I am forced to wear a mask. No one must know what lies behind it. My real thoughts and feelings. I will play my part. All the while looking for an opportunity to strike, to teach you, the infidels, a lesson you will never forget.

  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/245728

  Keep reading for an excerpt of Violation, the third Sgt Major Crane novel…..

  Violation

  Young women are being raped and murdered

  A young soldier is raped on Aldershot Garrison

  Are the two connected?

  Sgt Major Crane, a Branch detective in the Royal Military Police is unwillingly dragged into an Aldershot Police investigation after a young girl is raped and murdered, because witnesses describe the killer as a young soldier. He is also dealing with his own case, the repeated rape and bullying of a soldier on Aldershot Garrison. Can Crane find the murderer before he strikes again? Will Crane bring the rapist to justice?

  Rape

  Rape is not merely violation with a sexual reference, it is much more; it is an assault by intimate physical violence, it is extreme aggressive bullying and an act of oppression. It is a crime where the victims are often found guilty by their peers and carries a lifelong stigma.

  Anon