Bridging the Gulf (Aka Engulfed)

by Malcolm Hollingdrake

  The gradient increased and soon the masts of the British army base climbed vertically, pointers to the bastion that nestled over the hill some four miles ahead. The road levelled and within minutes the barrier signalling the end of the road came into view. Half a mile further on he waved at the relaxed Turkish police and soldiers. They recognised him and called out in Turkish. He smiled and headed home feeling better for the exercise, the air and the chance to think.

  Breathing heavily, he momentarily stood at the gate. A car passed, horn sounding a morning greeting and a friendly arm waved. He lifted the key from under the mat and walked slowly up the stairs to the flat. He showered, the cold water refreshed him and he prepared breakfast.

  The bedroom was suddenly filled with light as Roy pushed open the shutters allowing the slight breath of breeze to stir the stagnant air. Joan buried her face into the pillow.

  "Shit!"

  "Whatever happened to good morning?"

  She lifted her head off the pillow to see the man in her life totally naked holding a tray on which was balanced a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, toast and coffee.

  "Madam has a choice today. She may have what is proffered on the tray or ..."

  He pushed her back onto the bed his good hand slipping between her legs. The Cyprus morning was beautiful but it could always be enhanced.

  "This toast is cold!" Joan chuckled.

  "Never bloody satisfied some guests. Please put your complaint in writing to the management."

  They smiled and held each other.

  ***

  The road out of Famagusta was the main Nicosia road that ran past the airport. New housing had been constructed nearby behind eucalyptus trees that offered shelter from the summer sun's intensity. The way ran almost straight before bending, passing factory buildings and then the farmland of the Mesarya Plain.

  The plain was hot and the road shimmered. The car was slow in comparison to the Subaru but it did its job. It had been hired for their stay from Tongus, a local garage owner Roy had known for years. They often met in London when Tongus visited his many relatives who now resided in England. The Suzuki jeep had certainly seen better times but it was reliable and was a convertible. The road was straight and the convenience of travelling on the left as in England caused no confusion, but hazards there were; grazing sheep, stopping buses and the many Turkish wagons with steering wheels on the ‘wrong’ side would often dice with the lives of others as they struggled to overtake. Roy on more than one occasion had to pull off the road.

  The air was warm in Joan's hair as she sat, feet on the dashboard, the open-topped jeep allowing the breeze to penetrate the openings of her clothing. As they approached Nicosia they headed towards the mountains, Buffavento and Girne, one of the most spectacular bays you could ever wish to see. The road saddled the mountains at their lowest points but even so the climbs were twisting and breath-taking.

  Roy had visited the area many times in 1988. Later, he had often brought his parents there and they had talked of retiring to a small house in the mountains, maybe Karmi, a village that nestled to the west of Girne. Just below the castle was their ideal and if they had relocated, they would have been alive today. The thoughts of his parents strolling around Girne in the hot summer sun upset him. He directed his thoughts to his fifty-seven bridges in England each secretly carrying Semtex and each having its own alarm, set like sleepers in Arthurian legend waiting for the right month, right day, right hour, minute and second; ticking like the life support machine that signalled life from death before the destined time when they would rise and bring destruction, turning the key to unlock his dreams.

  The heavy air horn of the approaching wagon shook him bringing all his attention to the present. He steered the jeep straight with his right hand.

  "Okay Roy?"

  "Mm, just thinking about your early breakfast," he lied.

  She placed her hand on his bare knee and squeezed it. "Where's this surprise?"

  "Soon, soon."

  ***

  The policeman walked Roy away from the noise of the intensive care suite.

  "I'm sorry to hear the news of your mother, sir. A tragedy."

  Roy could only nod. "Where was the accident?"

  "I don't know if you’re aware but there is a great number of road works on the M1 near Doncaster and traffic reduced to single lanes, something to do with strengthening all the bridges to meet a new EEC weight ruling. A right bloody mess if you ask me."

  Roy's look said enough.

  "Sorry, sir. Out of order. It appears that a maintenance vehicle rolled into the lane hitting your parents' car. There was no driver or workmen near the vehicle. We believe youths may have let the brake free. It's a tragedy, sir."

  "What time was this?"

  "We believe the accident occurred at about 4am on the sixteenth. At that time there was very little traffic but one other witness believes he saw youths in the area. The emergency services reached them as soon as possible. When it's convenient we would like to talk to your ..."

  The conversation was interrupted by the nurse. "Mr Hanna your father is failing, please come."

  Roy turned and followed the nurse but he was already too late, the silence from the life support said it all.

  "God no!"

  ***

  The forested mountains of Cyprus have a fragrance of their own; pine and thyme mix to form a heady concoction that fills the nostrils and warms the heart. Roy swung the jeep left following the signs. The blue sea below looked inviting and cold.

  "If you’re a good girl I might let you swim this afternoon."

  "I've no costume young sir."

  "Then swimming is definitely the order of the day!"

  Soon the trees obscured the sea as they climbed higher. Before them in the distance they could see the castle perched on the pinnacle of rock where it had towered for over 900 years, a bastion in troubled times, and Roy's bastion, his haven. Although in this ruined, skeletal form the fortress was still awe-inspiring.

  The thin black line of tarmac ran between the brown clay that rose sharply on either side of the vehicle, cutting out the sun and generating an unnatural cold even though the sky above was blue and clear. The road swept round bends and curves until again the castle faced them. To the left was a flat piece of land that was obviously levelled by man. Roy swung the jeep over, its wheels kicking up brown dust. He stood up holding the windscreen and then helped Joan. She stood on the seat. Roy inhaled deeply and the cool mountain air crashed into his lungs almost making him cough. He removed his Ray Ban sunglasses.

  "Before you ask it's not a football pitch," he said squeezing Joan round the waist. "It's the original tilting ground from the time when knights were bold and ladies were for the taking."

  "It's really beautiful Roy." Her face was masked by a deep admiration for the scale of it all.

  "On the right is a small tower. It's now part of the Turkish Army base and they use the tilting ground as their gunnery range. You can make out the butts at the far end. The soldiers are probably watching you right now," he said in a mock Russian accent.

  She laughed and kissed him gently. "Then we'd better give them something to report!"

  "Wicked woman!" He kissed her.

  Roy pulled her back into the seat, started the engine and selected first gear without breaking off the kiss. The jeep began to move slowly and she grabbed the dashboard. He laughed and accelerated onto the road towards the castle.

  As the jeep pulled into the parking area beside a red Seat, the temperature was noticeably colder than on the plain. He jumped out, walked around the back of the Suzuki and held out his hand. "This way madam for the guided tour. The castle built by the Byzantines was named after a hermit named Hilarion. It was also surrendered to the English Crusading army under Richard the Lionheart in about 1191. It was later strengthened under the Lusignans and, believe it or not, became a summer palace. Cool yes?"

  "You really surprise me. Where do you get all this
bullshit, don't tell me you read it up?"

  As they stood at the side of the road, their backs to the castle and looking over the twisting track that had led past the tilting ground, Roy briefly mentioned his time in the forces. His enthusiasm was clear. "Head's just full of nonsense," he announced almost apologetically. His mind was focused on his bridges, waiting. They passed through the vaulted passageway in the gatehouse before climbing the steep path. The temperature even at two thousand feet brought sweat to them both and the conversation ceased. Roy whistled gently as if concentrating his mind on the footpath. He paused a moment to allow them both to rest.

  He had noticed a difference in his general health from the time he had returned from the Gulf; it was an indescribable lethargy, originally only momentary but these episodes escalated and there were some days that seemed to be cast in inertia. It was only in the last sixteen months that the true reality of the situation had brought fear and a deep resentment.

  "Are you all right, Sir Galahad?"

  "Yes, just had my breath taken away by the view; I never tire of it."

  They carried on until they perched on the highest part. The breeze blew their hair, feeling chill against their damp, sweaty bodies.

  Girne spread below them like white china on green baize, its castle and its harbour, its sports stadium and hotels. The coast, deckle-edged blue, ran as far as the eye could see.

  "Roy, this is the most beautiful place I've ever seen." Joan leaned her head on his shoulder. Her outstretched hand pointed to a smattering of white houses that appeared like torn paper.

  "Karmi," Roy answered without hearing the question.

  To the east the mountain range ran away into the blue haze, broken periodically by shadows. Roy's thoughts ran wild. The injustice of it all, the thought of his parents, the war, the bridges ... the bridges. The knowledge of it all was as safe as the castle on which they sat, trapped in the memory of his palmtop; waiting like they had made him wait, as they carried on doing, but not for much longer. He was now in control.

  The journey down was a delight and six or seven kilometres brought warmth and the comfort of people. Roy parked the jeep near the service station. A brief walk through the narrow streets brought them to the relatively quiet harbour. They stopped at one of the small cafes and ordered beers. At a pinch they could still see the mountain on which the castle sat but the ruins blended with the rock. Roy smiled. "To my castle, my love and the future." He lifted his glass and drank thirstily. The horseshoe shaped harbour was surrounded by traditional, four storey buildings that were originally built as warehouses. Now they were becoming homes, hotels and bars. In the harbour waters lay a variety of vessels, from brightly painted fishing boats to millionaires' yachts but there was still an air of space, as if this part of the Mediterranean was now forgotten.

  "Your castle was a lovely surprise, Roy, and my day has been perfect, thank you."

  He smiled, paid the bill and walked with her around the harbour wall. Water as clear as ice licked one side of the wall in a frenzy, its waves breaking, foaming white whilst the water in the harbour remained still and calm. Roy was the same, on the one hand he was serene and relaxed, enjoying his holiday whilst inside he was constantly mulling over the plan, sweeping every avenue ensuring nothing was left to chance. He had but this one opportunity, and it had to be right.

  The journey back, including their picnic stop, was as perfect as the day itself. They stopped to buy groceries before heading home. Near the Government buildings and the Post Office was a small rusting train, wheel high in long grass, a remnant of the railway that once ran here. "Made in Leeds," announced Roy. "Makes me feel at home."

  "Sad man," Joan nodded her head and tutted.

  Roy parked the jeep in the shade of a palm tree that grew yards from the flat. A lizard scurried in the grass disturbing leaves, causing him to look down; you always seemed to hear them but never saw them, their camouflage was just perfect.

  ***

  The airport at Ercan was fairly quiet as they prepared for their return journey. The calm was about to end for Roy, if only Joan knew that the storm was just around the corner. The 737 to Istanbul arrived on time and soon they would be home. Thoughts of the holiday were tossed in his mind as the aircraft shuddered gently in the turbulent air. He squeezed Joan's hand.

  The change of plane was uneventful, a transfer he had made many times before. Strange how he could never pass through this airport without thinking of ‘Midnight Express’! The flight over Europe was relaxing, a fitting end to the holiday. He had again seen Joan in a different light, he had grown contented in her company.

  The pilot announced that the weather in Manchester was wet. It always is, thought Joan, as she raised her eyebrows. They fastened their seat belts in readiness for landing. Grey clouds swirled menacingly outside the aircraft window and the plane shuddered as it descended into the grey stratus. The noise in the cabin increased as the plane touched down. Joan gripped Roy hard, instinctively.

  Once through customs they made their way to the car park. The Subaru was there, dusty but with all its glass in the right place and not in pieces around it.

  "Glad to be on our way home?" quizzed Roy.

  Joan said little as she stared at the wet motorway interrupted by sweeping windscreen wipers and rain. "I could live there, Roy. I could leave all this tomorrow." She began to cry.

  "Find some music, please," he requested, in the hope of easing away the post-holiday depression. "One day we’ll do just that and maybe sooner than you think."

  The last word was drowned out by music from the stereo.

  Chapter Five

  Drew was in the office earlier than usual and Roy's early start was noted. They talked briefly about the holiday before Drew brought Roy up to date with the happenings in the business machine industry. Roy was pleased to hear some cold calls had been rewarded with firm orders. Emma brought in coffee and asked about Cyprus. Roy retrieved from his bag what was obviously a bottle.

  "A little thank you. Hope you enjoy it. The best from Turkish Cyprus."

  Emma blushed at the unexpected gift, she thanked Roy and grinned before leaving the room.

  "I'm going to be busy today Drew so I’ll be in the office all day. Lunch later?"

  "Sounds good. Glad you’re back."

  Roy went into his office placing his case on the floor near the desk before returning to retrieve his coffee. He sat behind his desk swivelling the leather chair until he was facing the wall on which hung a picture of himself as a younger man. He was sitting against the side of a Warrior armoured vehicle dressed in desert pattern army fatigues. The strange mottled light caused by the scrim net; the camouflaged netting that festooned the vehicle created an unreal image; a tranquil, ethereal marking on everything beneath. His face was smiling and confident, a face that had yet to experience death, mutilation and the evil of which man was so easily capable.

  Roy remembered receiving news of his call to the Gulf, it had excited him more than he expected. He had been preparing for this, it was his job. Some soldiers never have the opportunity to fight in a real war situation. All too often they had a ‘hands tied’ role as peacekeepers and this was frustrating, one-sided and bloody dangerous. His first tour of Ireland brought these facts home to him as clearly as a slap in the face.

  From before the outset of Operation Desert Storm on 17th January 1991 Roy had been with his fusiliers in the Gulf. He had arrived from Hanover one of fifteen thousand troops making up the second wave, others had been there longer and the air force was well and truly established. Originally flying into Dhahran in Saudi Arabia, their primary role at that time was one of protecting Saudi from the possible attack from Iraq. He had spent twenty-four hours at the Black Adder lines, the receiving point for British troops, named after the comedy programme, before moving into the desert and front line positions for training. It soon became clear to all that Saddam had no intention of leaving his new found territory of Kuwait without some kind of push and n
ow the number of troops and weapons amassing at the borders would certainly give him the Father of all Battles.

  Once in position the troops cleaned weapons and practised to be totally prepared for what was to come. However, none would be prepared for the awesome speed that the push would take, the confusion, the atrocious weather, the anxiety over gas attack and amidst all this the very real possibility of fratricide. Troops had been allocated NBC suits and body armour and all vehicles, including Roy's, were decorated with an inverted ‘V’ using fluorescent and reflective tape, a universal sign of friendly force to the hundreds of aircraft and other heavy ground machines that trundled, eager for action, through the desert. By February 23rd Roy's Warrior, fully equipped, was within the leading attack group. They were ready and the following day with pennants and flags flying from the rats' tail aerials, they were moving over the desert, red identification tail lights ablaze; they were hunting. The radio inside the Warrior hummed with the constant noise of war as orders and information passed backwards and forwards. The groups often dealt with Iraqis, who more often than not surrendered quickly after heavy guns attacked their positions. The Iraqi troops, often ill, poorly dressed and badly fed would prove no match.

  Roy’s Warrior, Delta Six, and its partner, Echo Eight, were instructed to deal with an Iraqi Chemical stockpile and even though Roy, as leading commander of the two vehicles, protested that this was not really his job, he, with his explosives' knowledge, found little difficulty in seeing the job through. It seemed strange to him afterwards that he entered the area totally unprepared for any effects of the sinister stockpile of lethal weapons or the effects of the aftermath. The job had to be done swiftly and as efficiently as possible. The removal and burial of the drums was easily achieved. The area was marked on the charts and the co-ordinates taken from the Global Positioning equipment in the Warrior were relayed to HQ.