A Soldier's Honour Box Set 1 (Sgt Major Crane Crime Thrillers Box Set)

by Wendy Cartmell

  “Yeah, well, thanks anyway.” Anderson saluted Crane with his mug.

  “Derek, it was just a good example of co-operation between the army and the local police. And anyway you got the arrest. I don’t need to worry about targets like you do.”

  “Don’t get me started on targets.” Anderson finished his coffee, placing the empty mug on Crane’s desk. “Well, I’m off home. What about you?”

  Crane rose and walked with Anderson out of the office. “I’ll be off soon,” he said, once more fingering the phone in his pocket.

  “Good. Try not to leave Tina on her own too much.”

  As the two men walked out of the building into the balmy dusk, Crane ignored the lovely view of the playing fields stretching out before him towards Farnborough and turned to Anderson.

  “How do you manage to juggle work and home life?” asked Crane.

  “I don’t,” was the blunt reply as Anderson patted his pockets looking for his car keys.

  “But you’re married. Sorry, I don’t understand.” Crane fished in his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter.

  “I don’t worry about it. My wife copes with it, not me.”

  “Come again?”

  Anderson climbed into his car and spoke to Crane through the open window. “When we got married, I was already a policeman. Jean and I had a long talk and I explained that she wasn’t going to have a normal life being married to a copper and an ambitious one at that. I wasn’t being selfish. She just had to understand what she was getting into. Long hours, disrupted nights, broken promises, missed holidays, birthdays and anniversaries. It’s hard, but that’s the way it is.”

  “Doesn’t she ever complain?”

  “Oh yes, she often grumbles about being more like a single parent than a married woman, but I know it’s nothing serious. Just her letting off a bit of steam. Understandable really.”

  “Did you ever think of getting out of the force?”

  “Yes, but I couldn’t see the point really. I’m a copper through and through. It’s who I am. I could never really do anything else.”

  Anderson started the engine and drove away, leaving Crane smoking his cigarette and thinking.

  By the time he’d finished it Crane had made a decision. About work though, not his turbulent domestic arrangements. Returning to his office, he called an impromptu meeting with Billy, Kim and Staff Sergeant Jones, who Kim managed to catch before he left the barracks.

  “Right,” Crane began after everyone was seated in the open plan office in front of the board detailing the murder of Corporal Simms. Covered with pictures of the soldier, both dead and alive. “I just wanted a quick word about the Afghan officers we have on the garrison.”

  Jones groaned, “For God’s sake, Crane, not again. Is this what you called me in for? Jesus, man, I want to go home.”

  “Hear me out, would you.” Crane paced in front of them. “I just think that with the increased security level on the garrison it gives us an ideal opportunity to keep a closer eye on them.”

  “In what way, sir?” Kim sat perched on the edge of a desk, looking as cool as ever, despite the humidity.

  “Well, as there are so many Royal Military Police around at the moment, I think we could place a few more eyes and ears around them without arousing suspicion.”

  “But what about the Intelligence Operative, sir?” Billy asked between gulps from a can of cold drink. “Isn’t he supposed to be under cover with them?”

  “Supposed is the word, Billy. Have we had any useful reports from Lance Corporal Dudley-Jones?”

  “Well, now that you mention it, boss, no.”

  “Exactly. But go through them again tonight anyway and double check,” Crane ordered. “So what do you think, Staff?” Crane turned his attention back to Jones.

  “How am I supposed to achieve this, Crane?” Jones sighed and rubbed his bald head.

  “Just alter the rosters a bit. You’ve got extra men already because of Team GB and even more now because of the increased security level. So all you have to do is to introduce New Mons Barracks into your patrols. Keep switching the men, so the Afghans don’t get suspicious by seeing the same faces. Kim can work out the details for you tonight if you like. Can’t you, Kim?”

  “Of course, sir, glad to help.” Kim was already jotting down notes.

  “There you go then,” Crane grinned.

  “So what did the Captain think of your new plan?” Jones asked his eyes wide and a smile playing on his lips.

  “Let’s just say that it’s on a need to know basis, I don’t think he needs to know about this. Do you?”

  Day 17

  UNDER SEIGE

  by Diane Chambers

  Aldershot is living under siege conditions after the recent tightening of security at the garrison.

  According to a military spokesman, the measure was necessary because of an increased security threat and the obvious need to protect Team GB. But this is causing real problems for many local residents. Armed soldiers at check points with stop and search authority are producing long traffic delays and giving people a feeling of being intimidated.

  “It’s horrible,” one local commented. “Gun toting soldiers insisting on stopping and searching every vehicle. Raking through our personal possessions. It made me feel like a criminal.” Others who need to use the garrison as a cut through to North Camp are finding the long delays are badly affecting them. One driver commented, “Yesterday it took me nearly an hour to get through the garrison. I had to ring my employer to tell him I was going to be late for work. It’s totally unacceptable.”

  Delivery companies are also having problems, unable to meet the tight time schedules imposed by their companies as they are forced to either wait in long queues or drive miles out of their way.

  Yet the military were unrepentant. When asked what he felt about the situation, Sergeant Major Tom Crane merely commented, “The soldiers are just doing their job.” Well, a job it may be. But innocent residents should not be the ones to pay the price.

  Diane Chambers welcomes any comments from local residents. She can be contacted by email on: chambers@aldershotmail.com

  Captain Edwards threw the paper at Crane. “See what you’ve done now? The whole of Aldershot is furious because you decided to up the security level at the garrison borders.”

  “With respect, sir,” Crane countered.

  “Respect! That’s something you seem to be lacking in at the moment, Crane. I quote,” the Captain peered at the paper. “‘The soldiers were just doing their job.’ Unquote. Couldn’t you come up with something a bit more conciliatory?” Edwards threw the newspaper down as though it was on fire and about to burn his fingers.

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, sir. Diane Chambers used my words out of context. I said more than that, but she’s chosen not to print all of it.”

  The row was taking place in Crane’s office for a change. He was glad that Billy and Kim were on nights and not there to witness it. But he guessed word would soon get round from other members of the SIB who he could see listening intently, whilst trying to look busy.

  “Well that’s nothing new is it? You’ve had run-ins with her before, so you should know what to expect by now.” Captain Edwards paced around Crane’s small office, like a caged lion. First one way and then the other. Over and over again. Crane’s next words made him stop.

  “I got the petty thieves through the stop and search procedures, sir, surely that counts for something.”

  “Of course it does, Crane, but no one knows about it, do they? All they know is that the army are making their lives difficult and Diane Chambers intends to fuel the fire as much as she can.”

  Crane was still standing behind his desk. He had risen from his chair when the Captain entered his office and had not been given permission to sit down.

  “May I remind you, sir, that you authorised the stop and search, as did the brass upstairs.”

  “No you may not!” Edwards shouted
pointing a finger at Crane. “Don’t try and turn this back on me.”

  “Sorry, sir. Shall I just cancel the whole thing then? And bugger the consequences?”

  “Consequences?”

  “Yes, sir. Terrorists trying to smuggle bombs or bomb making equipment into the garrison, hidden in vehicles. Or had you forgotten the increase in the threat level recommended by Intelligence?”

  “No, Crane, I hadn’t forgotten. Look, just try and handle it a bit better. Perhaps you should call Diane Chambers.” Edwards rubbed his long aquiline nose. “No. On second thoughts, stay well clear of her and any other reporter that may want a comment. Speak to DI Anderson instead and see if he can do anything to defuse the press. Dismissed.”

  When Crane didn’t move, Edwards looked around the room as if only just realising he was in Crane’s office and not the other way around. Two spots of colour appeared on his cheeks and he rushed out of the door without even collecting the offending newspaper.

  Smiling, Crane sat down and pulled the newspaper towards him re-reading the article. He then turned over the page where an interesting headline caught his eye.

  Entitled ‘Homeless Gurkhas a Disgrace’ and once more written by Diane Chambers, the article was an inflammatory diatribe against the elderly Gurkhas who had flooded into Aldershot and Farnborough with no money, no jobs and nowhere to live. They were being blamed for all sorts of things: for looking untidy; hanging around street corners, which some residents found threatening; begging; muggings and break-ins. Local charities were quoted as ‘doing their best’ but that was clearly not enough as far as the paper was concerned. The main thrust of the article was that the streets needed to be cleansed of this menace. Diane Chambers, as usual, taking an inflammatory point of view without offering any balanced argument.

  Crane thought back to his conversation with Padam and knew the reality was very different. Many of the old Gurkhas were destitute, arriving in England with scant possessions and no money. He had read previous articles in the national press which said that Gurkhas who arrived in England needed about £2,000 each to pay for accommodation and basic furniture - about the equivalent of three year’s pension for the old men. A sum of money totally beyond their means as they had already sold their farms and land in Nepal to pay for their visas and flights, or taken out huge loans which they would never be able to repay. A sad ending for soldiers who had a long history with the British Army. Being interested in military history, Crane knew that in World War II over 250,000 soldiers from the Nepalese hills served Britain in her hour of need. Ten Victoria Crosses were awarded to them, as befitting a fighting race, whose motto, to this day, was ‘Better to die than be a coward’. Crane thought he should mention this article to Anderson as well.

  When his mobile rang, he was still thinking about the Gurkhas.

  “Tom? Tom can you hear me?” the panicky voice of Tina’s mother sounded tinny in his ear.

  “Yes, Brenda, what’s the matter? Is it Tina?” Crane stood up and walked towards the door.

  “Yes. We were having coffee in town and she went all dizzy and pale and then broke out into a sweat. She said she had a bad headache and just felt unwell. I called an ambulance and she’s on her way to Frimley Park Hospital.”

  “Is she having contractions?” Crane was walking through the main office.

  “No, they think it’s her blood pressure. I’m on my way to the hospital now in my car.”

  “Right. I’ll get back to you.” Crane snapped shut the phone and ran up the stairs to Captain Edward’s office. He knocked on the open door and put his head through the gap.

  “Sorry, sir. But Tina’s just been rushed to Frimley Park Hospital.” Crane stayed where he was, half in and half out of the office.

  “Oh it’s you, Crane. Come in.”

  Crane hesitated in the doorway. “I was just letting you know I was leaving, sir.”

  “Leaving? Is the baby coming?”

  “No, sir, they think it’s her blood pressure apparently.”

  “Have you talked to DI Anderson yet?”

  “Well I was just about to but then...” Crane’s voice tailed off and he looked at his mobile phone which was still in his hand.

  “Then request denied. You were making a request weren’t you, Sergeant Major?”

  Crane moved further into the office and stood to attention. “Yes, sir, I was making a request.” He drew out every word.

  “That’s what I thought.” Edwards tilted his head so his nose was in the air. “Request denied. Carry on, Sergeant Major.”

  “But, sir, Tina?”

  “Crane, you said yourself the baby isn’t on the way. And as you keep reminding me we have an emergency situation on the garrison, so I’m afraid I can’t spare you.”

  “For f…..” Crane didn’t finish the word as Edward’s disdainful stare cut off the expletive.

  “Sir.” Crane mumbled and left the office, clenching his jaw to stop him saying something he would regret for the rest of his army career. But in his mind he was calling his Officer Commanding every foul word he knew. He wanted to grasp Edward’s neck and squeeze hard, wiping the sneering expression off the Captain’s face for good.

  Once back in his office he grabbed his cigarettes and headed for the car park. He wasn’t going anywhere. He just needed the nicotine crutch whilst he called Brenda.

  After making the call he closed the phone and then his eyes, wondering how the hell he was supposed to survive the next twenty-four days with his sanity intact.

  Night 17

  My brothers, have I told you about the lessons I learned at school? Islamic lessons, of course, in an Islamic School. One of the big lessons I learned there was that looking like a non-Muslim is forbidden. Those who do not look like Muslims are disbelievers or infidels. I was taught not to be fashionable in society. By that I mean wearing Western style clothing. I tell you, it is true that adopting western dress is a way of enslaving Muslims. The first step by the West in their programme of mind control.

  Yes, mind control. We Muslims must fight it with every part of our being. These Western governments will enslave us, controlling Muslim minds, making us do what they want us to do. Brain washing Muslims into adopting Western customs and attitudes.

  So now I ask you, my Muslim brothers here with me in England, are you part of those who prefer that way of life over the way of the Prophet? You should hate the sinful nature of non-Muslim society. Be aware of all the evil on the streets. Evil that can come from Westerners and Muslims alike. Beware of those Muslims who do not wear the Hejaz properly. Beware of those Muslims who smoke. I tell you, you should hate walking down the streets of Aldershot. As you do, you should be mindful of the words of the great Prophet Mohammed who showed us how to live our lives for the glory of Allah.

  We must be vigilant and condemn the ways of non-Muslims. Do not emulate those from any other religions; be they Jews, Christians or Atheists. Do not copy anything! Remember who heaven has been prepared for – us Muslims. So I urge you to forget any friends from outside Muslim society and think only of your religion.

  Remember that Allah has described the disbelievers as the worst of all people. Do you still want to follow them, their ways and their practices? You must not. It is not the right thing to do.

  I denounce the concept of integrating into British society or any Western society that wants to impose its ways on our glorious country. This is NOT the right thing to do. Even as bad as some Muslims have become, being brain washed into living a Westernised way of life - even they are not as bad as infidels or kaffir. For never will a kaffir enter heaven, until a camel can enter the eye of a needle.

  So, my brothers, let us pray. Thanks be to God. God is good. God is great. Allah will show us the way.

  Day 18

  Nearly twenty hours after her admittance to hospital, Tina was responding well to treatment. So great was Crane’s relief, tears blurred his vision and threatened to leak out of the corners of his eyes, but he gulped them ba
ck. When he turned to Tina he saw that she hadn’t suppressed her emotions and tears were spilling down her cheeks.

  “Do you understand?” said Tina

  “Understand what?”

  “What the doctor was saying about pre-eclampsia.”

  “Not really,” Crane had to admit, letting go of Tina’s hand and falling into the chair by her bed. He’d had very little sleep. Rushing to the hospital after work and refusing to leave. He knew he’d have to get back to the garrison soon, but decided against risking a peek at his watch.

  “Well, it seems that my blood pressure was too high and apparently I’ve got protein in my wee. But they are giving me Magnesium…” she paused, searching for the right word and failing, “something or other, which is helping my blood pressure come down. So it seems I won’t develop full blown eclampsia after all.”

  “As long as you follow orders.”

  “Exactly, Sergeant Major,” Tina laughed. “As long as I follow orders and stay here in hospital, in bed and rest for a couple of days. Speaking of orders,” her expression turned serious, “shouldn’t you be getting back to the garrison?”

  Crane looked at his watch, as Tina had brought up the subject, not him. It was perilously close to 07:00 hours.

  “I’m afraid so, love. Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

  “Of course, Tom. I’m in hospital aren’t I? And anyway Mum’s coming in later today during visiting hours.”

  “Look, about yesterday…” he began, but as usual couldn’t seem to finish the sentence.

  “Tell you what,” Tina said, “why don’t you see if you can make me a cup of tea before you go?”

  Crane left Tina’s bedside and enquired about tea at the nurse’s desk. They pointed the way to the kitchen and told him to help himself. As he was waiting for the kettle to boil and hunting for clean cups, he wondered why he found some conversations with Tina so difficult. He knew he either refused to talk about whatever subject she’d brought up, or turned all defensive, deliberately making an argument out of a discussion. He was sure she wanted to talk to him again about leaving the army, but he just couldn’t face that particular discussion at the moment. He realised he couldn’t let her down too many times before it caused a rift between them. Did she know how guilty he felt? Probably. Then again, possibly not. He had never told her about the hot pin of guilt that poked his brain. The one he tried to ignore as much as possible.