Hero

by Richard Mann

  Vinnie! Where is brother Vinnie?

  He looked around himself. He was with Vinnie until he blacked out on the way down. He left his Bergen and walked up a dune. The soft sand shifted underneath his feet as he walked up. He adjusted his Shemagh as he battled his way up the dune. The sun beat down on his head as he climbed about two hundred feet, then stood on the top. He shielded his eyes against the sun and used his eagle eyes to survey the silent landscape.

  More sand dunes. Sand dunes as far as the eye could see.

  What was that? In the hollow of a dune.

  He walked towards the shape in the sand and shouted ‘Vinnie!’ Then he saw a hand come up and started running. He jumped over the top and into the hollow. It was Vinnie.

  ‘How are you mate?’

  ‘Sprained my ankle I think. Where the fuck are we?’ answered Vinnie blinking in the sun.

  ‘Empty Quarter, near the border with Yemen.’ Peter looked around him. ‘Any sign of the others?’

  Vinnie shook his head.

  ‘Let’s get our kit sorted and come up with a plan,’ decided Peter.

  Peter retrieved his Bergen and dumped it in the hollow with Vinnie, which offered a small amount of shade. They stuck the butts of their M16s into the sand and put a canvas sheet over them to make a make-shift shelter. Vinnie dug out his tommy cooker and put some water into a mess tin, and got a brew going. Peter nodded in approval.

  They lay with their backs against the sand with the shelter above their heads and sipped their tea. It is amazing how a simple cup of tea can improve morale—critical on any mission, thought Peter as he dug into his army rations and they shared some biscuits. Then Vinnie dug out the radio, switched it on, selected a channel, and tried to make a transmission. It crackled with static.

  ‘Alpha One Zero this is Desert Fox One. Over.’

  He was met by the crackle of static.

  ‘Channel 14 Vinnie.’

  ‘Yes, its’ set to Channel 14!’ Vinnie shouted in frustration.

  ‘Repeat - Alpha One Zero this is Desert Fox One. Over.’

  Static again.

  ‘It was definitely Channel 14 Vinnie. It’s encrypted so…’

  Then Peter stopped and stared at Vinnie, a look of horror creeping over his face. ‘You don’t think…?’

  ‘They put the wrong encryption codes in?’ Answered Vinnie. Vinnie tried again, but it was no use. They tried other channels, but he was met with more static.

  ‘Who was responsible for setting the encryption codes?’ asked an angry Vinnie, trying to control himself.

  ‘It was Pencilneck,’ replied Peter. They sat there for a while and finished drinking their tea in silence, their minds moving at a million miles per hour, attempting to assimilate their situation, which was very serious.

  Peter retrieved his map of Yemen and his GPS, which was working. He calculated the route they should take to the nearest point of civilization, which happened to be Thamud, a town in north-eastern Yemen. The village where their target was being held was near Thamud. Could be any of four or five settlements. A thousand square miles of territory. But for the moment their mission was aborted, well, it had already gone to rat shit. The mission was now a low priority, they just needed to get out of the desert.

  Alive.

  This was their immediate action plan. Thamud was directly south, about a hundred miles, as the crow flies, through the vast desert. A simple enough plan, but it was harsh terrain. It would be tough going, even for the infamous Bulletproof Pete. Worse, Vinnie had sprained his ankle on the parachute landing.

  Peter looked at Vinnie, he was hobbling on his leg.

  ‘Vinnie, fuck the mission, let’s just get out of this desert.’

  Vinnie nodded and winced again in pain.

  They went through their Bergens and decided which kit to keep and which to throw. Food, water, clothing, survival kit, medical kit, M16 rifles and ammunition they would keep. Everything else, including claymore mines, they would bury, along with the parachutes. This was a Black Op operation, where normally they would even keep their poo inside a plastic bag, in their Bergen, to avoid DNA identification. But their survival was now the most important factor—how to get out of the desert alive, that was their driving need.

  It would require all their training, just to stay alive.

  Peter made the decision to put most of the kit inside his Bergen, while Vinnie would just carry the radio (that didn’t work) in his. If there was a chance they could get it working, they would take it. They slung their M16s over their shoulders and put the Bergens on their backs.

  Peter, having the strength of ten men, could easily manage this. But like any human, he still needed water, and was subject to exposure to the sun like anyone else. Even though his ancient warrior ego seemed to be taking over more and more of his persona these days, he was still human. Peter had the sense to pack some factor 50 sun cream, and they shared this, smearing it onto exposed areas.

  Peter plotted a course, using his GPS and map, then double checked the course to his compass, just in case. Then he pointed south. ‘That way.’

  And they set off.

  Chapter 12

  Ice Cold in Alex

  ‘Ice cold in Alex,’ smiled Peter to his friend, recalling the famous World War Two drama, in which John Mills, after walking across the Sahara Desert, walks into the officer’s bar at the British base in Alexandria and orders an ice cold beer. He remembers the look on John Mills’ face just as the glass touches his lips.

  ‘Ice cold in Alex,’ replied Vinnie imagining sipping an ice cold lager in the Blind Beggar, the cool refreshing liquid going down his throat.

  Peter looked at his watch, it was only 8.00 a.m. local time, but it was hot already. Vinnie panted as they climbed a steep dune—three hundred feet high, hobbling on his sprained ankle through the shifting sand. They reached the top and took a breather. It was a fantastic spectacle, beautiful golden sand dunes as far as they can see. It was quiet and peaceful, just the sounds of the soft breeze blowing the sand on the shifting dunes, little lizards scurrying across the sand.

  Peter felt a deep connection with the desert, it was a very spiritual place, never-ending, like infinity, and he had a sense of timelessness and oneness with it. A little lizard dashed past him, stopped, looked up at him, then buried itself in the sand.

  Peter smiled. He felt a sense of himself and his place in God’s universe—in this harsh, hostile environment, which seemed to cut to the spiritual truth of everything.

  Life and death.

  He felt the presence of God all around him, silent and omnipotent, the potential of all things. Maybe this was a test. Maybe God was testing him.

  ‘It feels lonely out here mate,’ muttered Vinnie, wiping sweat from his eyes.

  ‘In the final analysis, we are all alone Vinnie,’ replied Peter. ‘Each of us must face our destiny. It is inevitable.’ Peter stopped walking. This was Caius, his alter-ego talking, not Peter. Was he going nuts? Maybe it was the heat.

  Peter was thoughtful as they continued down the far side of the dune, its top blocking the sun, so it was cooler there, like a darkened valley. They sat back on their Bergen’s and let themselves slide down the hill to the bottom. Peter laughed, it was fun, this sand dune surfing as he looked at Vinnie, who was wincing a bit in pain.

  It was noon, and they stood on top of another massive dune, the sun now floating above their heads like a halo. The sun was very hot, and they adjusted their Arab headscarves and rubbed on more factor 50 to prevent burning. Peter reckoned they had travelled all of six miles.

  Six miles in four hours. Not good going.

  He had tabbed sixty-five kilometres in three hours on endurance, (an SAS record), so this was poor going by comparison, but then again this was very difficult terrain.

  The heat was unbearable, so they stayed in the
shade of the valley of the dune for an hour. Peter had a look at Vinnie’s ankle; it was swollen and bruised, this was more than a sprained ankle. Peter touched Vinnie’s ankle joint, and he winced again. He took Vinnie’s boot off and examined his foot.

  ‘Bone might be fractured.’ Peter put some cream and some bandages around the ankle and foot, and gave Vinnie some painkillers. They waited until four in the afternoon when it would be cooler, and they got moving again, but Vinnie was getting slower. Peter put the radio into his Bergen to ease Vinnie’s burden, and they carried on.

  ‘Come on Vinnie – we need to cover some ground mate.’ Peter checked his GPS and compass again - they were slightly off. He adjusted his course, with Vinnie lagging behind again.

  ‘Do you want me to carry you?’ Peter joked. Vinnie grunted as they soldiered on. It would be getting dark in a few hours, and they needed to cover some miles.

  They stopped at sunset, and watched the sun go down – a golden haze on the golden sand dunes, Peter liked the peace and quiet of the empty desert as he watched the sunset, trying to make sense of their situation, and how they had got into this mess, in the first place. On the positive side, there were no wild animals or enemy to worry about out here. They ate in silence as it slowly became cooler, and then crept into their sleeping bags. Not even Vinnie’s loud snoring could keep Peter awake.

  He dreamed of an ancient warrior in chain armor, and carrying a huge silver sword of power. A holy sword, which vibrated and emitted a blue light, and which his enemies were terrified of. Then he dreamt of being on a plane in a storm, flying through the air and walking through a golden desert. When he eventually awoke, he half opened his eyes but wasn’t quite sure where he was. Was he in Wales in his nice comfy bed? But then he realized with a shock that he was not in Wales, but in a desert in the middle of nowhere, trying to stay alive, with his best friend, Vinnie.

  He checked their water supply; he had two full NATO Osprey water bottles, and he was halfway through a third. Vinnie had one and a half bottles—four litres, not enough. He reflected on his survival training, which was extensive. In the hot, dry desert with temperatures approaching 50 degrees Celsius at peak, they would need three litres per day, each, as it was the hot season.

  They didn’t have enough water.

  He looked at his watch: 6.00 a.m. They would need to get going soon before it got too hot. Vinnie winced as he stood up and limped behind Peter, who put on his Bergen, then put his arm around Vinnie to help him. Vinnie was his oldest childhood friend, and he would go to the ends of the earth to help him. They were brothers, blood brothers, brothers in arms, and they needed a miracle.

  With Vinnie hobbling they were making very slow progress. Vinnie could feel Peter’s impatience as they made their way up and down sand dunes. In the end, they found the easiest way was to walk along the top of the dunes, as long as they were headed south, towards Thamud.

  Around noon when it was baking hot, they stopped for a drink in the shade of a dune. Vinnie took a gulp, Peter just took a sip, in an attempt to conserve water. He looked at Vinnie’s ankle again. It was swollen and looked infected. He put a new dressing on, then helped Vinnie to his feet, then Vinnie looked at him, his lips cracked and sore, his face burnt by the sun, his eyes misty and confused.

  ‘Leave me, Pete, I can’t walk. Leave me here to die. I’m not worth it. I’m a burden…tell Gill - I love her. Tell her I’m sorry.’

  ‘Vinnie shut up. I’m not leaving you here to die, mate. We carry on.’ With that, Peter switched his Bergen round to his front, and Vinnie climbed on his back piggy-back style. Peter did not complain as he carried Vinnie’s weight under the baking sun.

  As he trudged in the burning heat, the dead weight of Vinnie on his back, he thought he could see something. In the distance, Peter could see an object in the desert—an aircraft, definitely an aircraft. As he got closer, he could see it was a C130—their C130. It was broken in two, but the wings were intact. They looked inside, then looked in the cockpit, the co-pilot was dead, but no sign of Kojak. Where was he? He searched the fuselage for water, but there was none. Did anyone know it had crashed? Was the transponder working? Why were they forced to fly in bad weather?

  Was there another agenda here?

  Do they stay or go?

  Chapter 13

  The Holy Desert

  Peter is tempted to stay in the shade of the C130 fuselage, but they continued to their destination of Thamud for two more days, making progressively slower progress. Vinnie’s condition becomes worse.

  They don’t have enough water. One bottle left between the two of them. Peter tries to push this thought from his mind as they watch another sunset go down.

  He has never been much of a churchgoer but living in a beautiful and isolated Welsh valley, he has a sense of the nature of God, the stillness and the beauty, the perfection of his creation in all its forms. He doesn’t like cities—too much concrete and glass. He respects mother nature and feels closer to God in this lonely desert, but they need a miracle. He bows his head and says a silent prayer in the sunset. Then they sleep.

  When they awake, they drink the last of the water and get going again. But Peter’s throat still feels parched. He hasn’t peed for two days now. As he carries Vinnie, he can feel the heat of the sun, beating down on his head. He feels dizzy and disorientated as he staggers forward, the desert seems hazy; the desert and sky appear to become one.

  Peter’s mind wanders, and he thinks about when he and Vinnie first met. As a teenager, Peter used to spend weekends shooting rabbits in the Welsh hills. Vinnie used to come up from the East End of London to get away from “The Smoke” as he calls it. Vinnie could shoot a rabbit at three hundred yard, he was a natural. They hit it off immediately and became best mates, camping out in the hills, eating baked beans and sausages from a tin can, as well as roast rabbit of course. They talked about joining the army together. It all made sense at the time. For Vinnie, it was either be a gangster, like his father or join up. For Peter, it was either the army or work on a farm, after all, there weren’t many jobs in Wales.

  Peter could always count on Vinnie. Dead reliable, saved his back more than once. And in life, that’s what’s important—finding people you can rely on. Vinnie’s a scruffy bastard, and he’s got no manners - I mean, you wouldn’t take him to have tea with the Queen or anything, but Peter loves him like a brother, and that’s what counts, someone you can trust one hundred percent.

  Peter thinks about his reputation of never being shot in a firefight, and not even getting a scratch, his incredible speed and agility, and being the best soldier in the regiment, which makes him curious. Many of his SAS colleagues and friends thought it was unnatural, supernatural some called it. There is something greater than himself at work here.

  His mind then wanders back to his home in the valley, his sanctuary away from the madness, fishing with his son in the stream that runs through the woods, those ancient enchanted woods. His vision of the old man, the priest—what was he saying as he was pointing at Peter?

  “You are the one.” What the fuck does that mean?

  Peter staggers as the desert shimmers in front of him. Then in front of him, he has a vision of a massive black ship in the sky, monstrous and foreboding. It fills the horizon, making a thunderous grinding noise, as it turns slowly above him. It seems alien—as if it is not from Earth. Then it shimmers and is gone, but it doesn’t seem like an illusion.

  It feels real to him.

  He reaches for his water bottle, to get some water on his dry, cracked lips, but it is empty, and he falls to his knees, weak and confused, Vinnie’s arms around his neck. ‘Leave me…leave me Pete, I’m a burden…’ Vinnie whispers incoherently, then becomes unconscious.

  Then in front of Peter, the desert shimmers again, and he can see something in front of him.

  His heart races, as through a mist, a man in a dark habi
t is pointing at him. He has a brown tanned face, wise, kind eyes and a small beard. He has the look of a priest and wears a hooded cloak, and has an aura of patience and understanding that some priests possess. The wise man opens a large black book, with ornate gold lettering on the cover. The man beckons to Peter as he turns the old, heavy script-like pages—it looks like Greek text, and then the man looks at him.

  Peter hesitates, confused. Who is this man? What is this book? Peter looks at the priest, he has a kind and gentle face. Is this the man he saw in the wood when he fell asleep? His heart slows as he begins to trust him. He lays Vinnie in the desert and joins the man, looking at the ancient black leather-bound book.

  There is a picture in the book of an ancient warrior, a knight with a sword. Peter is transfixed as the wise man shows him the sword in the book . It has a gold handle and pommel, and the silver blade gives off a bluish light. The priest calls: “Caius, Caius you are Caius.” Peter feels confused, ‘My middle name is Cai, he thinks, an old Welsh name meaning Kay, not Caius.’ His father had told him it was after one of King Arthur’s knights, the one closest to him.

  The indestructible one.

  The priest continues: ‘That is your name, your name of power, Caius, remember it. The sword is ancient. It is your birth right. It is one of the seven holy swords of Prince Michael, the Lord of all Angels, the one who is like God. You may call your sword only in time of great need. It will give you power, just call it three times and you will see it in your hand. It is Caledfwlch, an ancient Welsh name. Later it was called Excalibur, in Latin, the sword is called Caliburnus. It has other names. Listen to your heart, you will choose the right one.’

  ‘One more thing: You have the ability to grow as tall as the tallest tree in the forest if so pleased, and the ability to radiate supernatural heat from your hands. Now sleep,” says the priest. Peter lies on the sand and sleeps. He has confused visions of battles, strange flying craft, and beings which are not human, but all around him is an aura of blue light.