Ultimate Sanction

by Sarah Luddington

  “Bloody hell,” I muttered.

  “What?” he asked from the foot of the bed.

  “I’ve got a hard-on.” The confession set off another round of giggling. Now it knew what it wanted I could control the bloody thing.

  “You prick.”

  “Not my prick. The damn thing is on its own this time,” I said.

  “Didn’t know you were into bondage, Mac.”

  “I’m not.” The firmness in my voice belied the firmness in my cock.

  “You old perv.”

  “Less of the old, you.”

  “I’ve reached my jeans,” he said.

  “Okay, cut yourself loose first. I don’t have time for you to make your way back.” Which was the truth. My breathing hurt more with each minute that passed. I had the nasty feeling one of my very bruised ribs might have finally given way under the pressure.

  I heard Jacob grunt and curse and fight while I patiently waited and concentrated on my breathing. My erection began to fade thank God, but Jacob’s grunts weren’t helping, and I had the feeling some handcuffs might be in our future somewhere.

  “Yes,” he cried out. “Thank God for that.”

  He didn’t stop to undo his legs, he bum shuffled to me on the carpet and as he appeared, I saw he had friction burns on his shoulder and hip.

  “No fair, I wanted to give you those,” I said.

  He glanced down as if noticing them for the first time. “Next time, baby, and I’d rather have them on my knees and elbows.”

  “Christ, Jacob, don’t say things like that. I don’t need the blood going back to my cock. It’s going to get whiplash with all this back and forth.”

  While I talked, he cut and in seconds my wrists were free, then my feet.

  “Ouch.”

  “Come on, you can straighten now,” he said. With care he lifted me off the ground and pulled my legs straight. There is no comfortable way of recovering from being tied in that kind of stress position. I don’t care if you’re a master of bondage, being tied that tight for any length of time hurts on release.

  Once we were both free, we sat on the floor and just breathed, fingers laced together lying on the floor between us.

  “What the fuck just happened?” Jacob asked.

  “I don’t know. Not even sure we should tell Brant.”

  He looked at me. “Seriously? Don’t you trust her?”

  “Of course I trust her. I’m just not sure how to explain two of her best operatives were held at gunpoint because we were exhausted after too much fucking, then hogtied before having to cut ourselves loose. And by two women no less. Who snuck into our room without us knowing.”

  “Fair point well made.”

  We were silent for a bit.

  “I’m hungry,” I said.

  “I think I’m a bit scared, Mac.”

  Surprised, I looked at him. “Scared of what?”

  “If we can’t trust the people sending us into conflict zones what the fuck is the point of sacrificing our lives?” He searched my face as if looking for answers from the one person he knew he could trust.

  “I don’t have answers for you, Jacob. Our men, Lawson and the others, they shouldn’t have died. That was on Clark and he wanted us added to the body count. They have to be stopped though and it’s going to be up to Brant to stop them, it’s whether we want to be involved or not. That’s the question we need to answer.”

  “Do you want to be involved?”

  I thought back to the moment where the smaller woman pulled that trigger. For whatever reason the gun didn’t fire, and Jacob remained next to me, not a corpse on the floor, blood and brains… I shuddered, the reality of that image hitting me square in the face. A punch so brutal in its realness the bile rose in my throat.

  “I think we have to do whatever is necessary to stop these people. I think whatever vision they have for a new world order isn’t one we are going to want.”

  I’d always been aware of the delicate balance men like me helped to maintain. We worked for a government that didn’t lock up the masses when they were angry about something. Didn’t send armed troops into the streets to break up demonstrations, at least not on the mainland of the UK, and didn’t murder dissenters in their sleep. It gave our government the moral high ground over so many other countries.

  The British Government used that moral high ground to force countries who did hurt their people to back down, change their policies, and strive for better human rights. At least our government tried to do those things. We, the Armed Forces and the Special Forces in particular, were used as a tool to make this happen. The broken bits of the world were our battlegrounds and the people our responsibility to keep safe if we could. I believed in this goal. I believed we could make a difference.

  I wasn’t about to sacrifice the hope I still had in that mission.

  Jacob studied me for a while before asking, “How do you know they want a new world order? Maybe they just want some money and they’ll leave the government alone.”

  “Since when do people who want power, who orchestrate coups, not want people like us dead? Or at least gone,” I said. “They’ll come after us and we are the wafer-thin line between them and the people we swore to work for and protect.”

  He frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “Every dictator, every monarch or baron in history, who wants a change to the order of the world so they can hold power does one thing – they get rid of all those who stand against them. That includes people who can think for themselves, who aren’t easy to manipulate. Who chose their faith or way of life over that of the new power. They’ve all done it: Stalin, Hitler, Mau, Pol Pot, the Romans, even William of bloody Normandy did it.”

  “You’re talking about genocide, aren’t you?”

  “Not just Jews, Muslims, gays, the Roma, travellers of all kinds. Liberals. The literary elite. If they don’t side with the new guys, those that gave Clark and his woman the orders, they get wiped out. Hindus sent back to India. Jews sent to Israel and can you imagine what a true right-wing agenda might do to British born Muslims? It’s hard enough for us, as boots on the ground, not to make them guilty by association when we’ve faced down too many jihadists to count, just imagine the chaos if a government calls open hunting season on them. Under those circumstances how many people in the British Army would you trust not to become the new Storm Troopers?”

  Jacob snorted and closed his eyes, resting his head back. “You think too much. It’ll never happen. Providing they don’t break the law all people in Britain are safe.”

  “What happens if they change the law, Jacob? What happens if these people get real power, like the North Korean regime has? I’m sure the people who fought the British and French during the Korean War, before the Americans took over, didn’t think 60 years on they’d be living as peasants while their leaders have Leer jets and helicopters going around the world kidnapping scientists to create killer bugs.”

  He watched me again, trying to assess my state of mind. “You’re serious.”

  “Damn straight. Brant is right, we have to figure this out and she’s going to need people she trusts to work with her to help. We’re staying with Unit 12.” I closed my fist over his, lacing our fingers together as if to convince him to come with me. “Leave the Regiment, Jacob. Come work with me and we’ll help the team save the world.”

  The laughter, without the hysterical edge, made me smile. “Okay, young Skywalker. We’ll fight the evil Empire even if we don’t know exactly who or what it is or what it wants. I think you’re taking conspiracy theories to a whole new level but what do I know? I’m just a soldier.”

  I lifted his hand to my lips and kissed his knuckles. “You’re not just a soldier.”

  “I think you’re borrowing trouble, Mac. Then again, I think you’ve always borrowed trouble.”

  “Is it going to stop you joining me?”

  “No, never. You know that.”

  I gave him a tired smile and nu
dged his shoulder. “Shower then food?”

  He nodded. “And we’ll need a way to explain to Brant what the fuck happened this morning. Why didn’t you push for a name?”

  Jacob helped me off the ground and between heavy grunts of pain I said, “She had a gun to your head. I didn’t want to antagonise her.”

  “Says the man who made her pull the trigger.”

  “Christ, don’t remind me. I’m going to have nightmares about that click for years.”

  By 07:00hrs we were at a breakfast table with coffee and Brant walked in looking tired but nowhere near as drained as the previous evening.

  “Gentlemen,” she said, sitting down with us. Her hand whipped out and grabbed Jacob’s wrist. “What’s this? Sex game gone wrong?”

  He pulled his arm back. “Long story and no sex games. Not yet anyway.” He winked at me.

  “Never with plasticuffs.” I rubbed my wrists, the flesh still sore.

  “Explain,” Brant ordered.

  I did, without omissions.

  “Naked?” Her eyebrows were raised, and the ghost of a smile hovered over her mouth.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, feeling the heat in my cheeks again.

  She broke and laughed. “I’d have paid to see you two trussed up like Christmas turkeys.”

  “The point is, ma’am,” I said trying to distract her from such visions, “we were compromised. Someone told this woman how to find us. Pointed her at us and I didn’t think that many people knew we were on an unsanctioned op in Russia.”

  “You’re right, of course, Sergeant. I can still call you sergeant, right?” she asked. “You will be joining Unit 12 on a permanent basis?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We are signing up for the long haul.”

  She looked at Jacob. “Lance Corporal?”

  “We’re a package deal, Colonel.”

  “Good. I’ve informed Sinclair and Locke over a secure network of our unseen enemies’ latest movements, they are on standby, but I’d rather not use them unless necessary. They’ve found a little peace and they deserve it.” She sounded almost wistful. I’d seen how close she and Sinclair were when I worked with Luke, while Sam was out of action, and I guessed she missed them. Or perhaps…

  “How’s Lydia?” I asked, making certain I injected the question with compassion.

  Her eyes focused on me. “I managed to see her briefly last evening. I believe the prognosis is good. I’ve informed her step-brother of her condition, but I think it’ll probably be her girlfriend who helps the most.”

  “The mysterious Aria.”

  “Hmm. Not the person I’d have chosen for Lydia but there you go. Aria is nothing if not handy when one needs something dramatic to happen.”

  “Like making sure we get to the bad guys in time to throw a car at a hel?” I asked.

  Brant smiled. “Exactly, Mac. I still think it’s the most creative way I’ve ever seen a helicopter taken down.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. Though I don’t recommend it as a way to stop helicopters from leaving the LZ.”

  “No, not something we’ll be writing into the Landing Zone manual for new recruits.”

  “How long before Lydia can leave with us?” Jacob asked.

  “A week I think before I can fly her back to the UK for more surgery. You don’t have to stay.”

  Jacob and I glanced at each other. “Leave no man behind,” he said.

  Brant smiled and patted his hand. “That’s appreciated. Besides, I think you two need some time to make plans as well. What about your house in the DRC, Mac?”

  I rubbed my hands over my face. “Christ, I’d almost forgotten about that. I’ll have to go back and sort something I guess but I can’t stay in the DRC without a job and to be honest, I should imagine they’ve pulled my visa by now.”

  “I can get the local MI6 team to sort it,” Brant said. “You don’t have to go back at all.”

  “I’ve a dog.”

  She shook her head. “There’s always a dog somewhere with you lot. Do you want the dog in the UK or homed there?”

  I thought about Hound and my shoulders slumped. “He’ll be happier there. I’ll phone my neighbour, offer to give a donation every month.”

  Jacob squeezed my knee under the table. “Hey, he’ll be okay there. We’ll get a rescue dog when we find a place to live in England.”

  “Is that wise if you’re going to be working for me?” Brant asked, tucking into her fried breakfast with healthy disregard for cholesterol.

  I felt even more crestfallen at the thought of not having a dog at all because of work.

  “Having someone, or something, to come home to is important and with our new remuneration package for working with Unit 12 I’m sure we can afford doggie day care,” Jacob stated.

  “You want a new pay deal?” Brant asked, her eyes hardening even more than her arteries.

  They began to haggle about contracts, and I zoned out. Where would we live in England? Close to London? Close to Hereford? Could we really afford it? Even if I sold my house in the DRC it would be hard to find enough of a deposit to buy a house in either location, especially London. The UK was an expensive country to live in and Jacob had no money.

  “A resettlement fee?” she asked with such a level of sharpness to her voice that she brought me back to the present.

  Jacob nodded. “I rent a small flat in Hereford. That’s no use if you need us in London.”

  “I might be able to square away a place in Dagenham, or Barking. But not central London,” she said.

  Jacob grinned. “Done, we can go to Battersea when we get home.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “They’re going to buy us a house in London and we can go to Battersea dog home to find a new Hound,” he said. “We’ll be a proper couple at last.”

  I smiled at him, the hope in his eyes the most joyful thing I’d ever seen. Three years ago, I lost this man to a world of lies and secrets thick enough to choke. Now I could see a future with him. We could work together, live together, build a world together and make each other happy. I could live with that and I could live with the risks of working with Unit 12.

  “A proper couple. I like it, Jacob. We’ll do that, all of it.”

  “Good, but you’re in charge of the money.”

  I laughed. “God, yes, you’ll have an allowance, my love.”

  Brant smiled at us like an indulgent mother duck. “Good. I’m glad that’s all settled. I need a full report from both of you. I’ll sort you both out with some tech while we are here so we can get you up to speed on what we’re doing back in London. It’s not all chasing around the world, blowing things up. You might be my blunt instruments on the ground, but I need you both to see the bigger picture. There is work to be done.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” we said in unison.

  28

  We made it back to London with Lydia and Colonel Brant in a C-130 air transporter kitted out with a medical bay. Sergeant Greenbrook did well on the journey and managed to maintain a cheerful air until we landed. Being on home turf made the last of her barriers crumble and she wept. Brant ordered us off the plane and I watched a small dark woman run over the tarmac and almost fight her way on board. The mysterious Aria I guessed. I had no idea how she managed to be on a military airbase but interfering didn’t seem the safe option.

  The offices of Unit 12, a nondescript building off St John’s Gardens in central London, felt strange after my time in the DRC and learning to be a small cog in a large machine tested my patience more than once. I had taken for granted my freedoms in Africa with a team under my direct command and no ruperts giving me orders.

  Jacob faced a miserable time in Hereford but Brant stuck to her word and pulled his arse out of their firing range. I couldn’t protect him from their wrath or politics but I could be there to hold him through the anger Clark’s lies had left. When our old teammates found out we were sleeping together we had a mixed reception, some good, some foul, some indifferent. I coul
d wish soldiers were perfect and fully accepted our union, but people were people and change took generations if it happened at all. We just had to keep fighting for our rights.

  I did go to my first Gay Pride in full uniform with my lover at my side and we made the papers. The hangover from that day was spectacular.

  “Mac?” Jacob called from the office we shared in Unit 12’s operational base.

  I left Lydia’s office and returned to ours. “What?”

  “Take a look at this.” He pointed to his screen so I came around the back and saw a satellite image.

  I frowned. “Where’s that?”

  He glanced up at me from his office chair and I leaned against his shoulder. “A high pass over North Korea near the Russian border.”

  I grunted, no wonder it looked familiar, it had only been 12 weeks since our return. “What am I looking at?”

  “Troop movements. They are heading towards the coast. Here’s a later one.” He switched screens. “There’s a new boatyard. I think they are mobilising. Could be towards South Korea, could be Japan.”

  “Could be routine, could be new manoeuvres. Knowing the Koreans it could just be their army out for a jaunt. You shown these to the colonel?”

  “Not yet. I’m still nervous about email.”

  I didn’t blame him. If these mysterious bad guys were able to infiltrate the whole of the British Secret Intelligence Service and use its military resources, pen, paper, and face to face conversations were the safest options. Lydia and a few others in Unit 12 were setting up safe places on the internet that GCHQ, Government Communications Headquarters, couldn’t track or find and as it was their job to find hidden places it was proving a challenge.

  “Alright, give them to Lydia and see if she can send them. Brant should be back the day after tomorrow from the face-to-face with those she trusts in the CIA.”

  Jacob growled. “Don’t see why we can’t keep this as a British op.”