Street Soldier

by Andy McNab

Sean grinned. ‘Don’t know her name, do you?’

  Matt had always made it a point never to have the same girl in his bed twice. ‘Just get yerself over here, you prick. Bring your balls, if you can remember where you left them.’

  Two hours later, Sean found he had lost the power to say ‘Hectic.’

  ‘Het – hetci—’

  He hadn’t got truly smashed since he joined up. He was out of practice and didn’t particularly want to get back in.

  But that wasn’t washing with the people he was with right now. His return home – because that’s how everyone saw it – had quickly turned into an excuse for a massive party. Booze was flowing, music was pounding, and a gentle haze of weed hung in the air, though so far Sean had successfully avoided having a spliff pressed into his hands. His arms and ribs ached from having his hand shaken and being pulled into hugs by people he knew, and a fair few he didn’t but who were drunk enough to think they did.

  He had kind of hoped Curly might be there. No such luck. Curly had hit the big one – seven years for armed robbery, which kind of sucked for his pregnant girlfriend.

  ‘Hectic, mate.’ He had finally nailed it. He popped the ring on the can, took a sip. ‘Love it.’

  He and Matt were crammed into a corner of the kitchen, which seemed to be the designated serious conversation zone. No one bothered them there. Matt had asked how the army was working out while he sank a deep glug from his own can. ‘Pissed a lot of folk off,’ he said, ‘you bailing on us.’

  ‘I didn’t bail,’ Sean said immediately.

  ‘That’s not how everyone sees it.’

  ‘Then why the celebration?’ Sean gestured at the bodies around them, dancing, laughing, talking. ‘Someone missed me.’

  ‘Hey, not everyone is not everyone, right?’ Matt said. He leaned over and rested his hand on Sean’s leg. ‘I’ve missed you, mate. Like a brother. After Gaz – that was fucking tragic; did you hear his old man died a few months ago, inside? Broken fucking heart. After Gaz, and Copper – well, he’s still around, but he’s got, let’s say, side projects – after Gaz, and Copper, there was . . . you. But the way you disappeared? That was shit of you. Well shit.’

  ‘I’m back now, aren’t I?’ Sean pointed out.

  ‘I’m serious,’ Matt said. ‘For some folk, you know, this is everything, isn’t it? We’re like family to each other. You leave, you cut ties, that hurts people. Unavoidable.’

  Sean took a breath. He wasn’t pissed enough to forget the reason for coming over. ‘Like my mum?’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  Sean told Matt what had happened. ‘And this guy says they’ve got an “arrangement” with the Guyz. An arrangement? Are we, like, hiring out now?’

  Matt picked up his drink, but he didn’t take his eyes off Sean. ‘Interesting use of the word “we” there, Sean mate. We are the guys who hung around to look after things. You are the guy who pissed off.’

  ‘Except you ain’t looking after things,’ Sean said levelly, ‘if you’re letting pricks with guns from other outfits cruise the estate, beat up the people who live here and take their money. What’s going on?’

  ‘What’s going on, Sean, is that life is more complicated than it was when we was kids. You hang around, you grow up here, you realize it. But you didn’t hang around, you sodded off to be a soldier boy, so all this has kind of passed you by. I can see it’s a leap to catch up, but you’ll have to make it. You get out what you put in. And your mum – shit, she’s a sweet lady, Sean, we all know that, but she don’t exactly put much in, do she? So she gets messed around, and there’s nothing to make it worth our while looking out for her. OK, OK.’ He held up a hand as Sean took a deep breath. ‘This guy was well out of order. We shall have words. But apart from that – well, she don’t look out for herself and you’re not exactly paying your dues.’

  Sean slowly let the breath out again and stared at Matt, who was innocently downing the rest of his can. He had once looked up to Matt like any boy looks up to a hero. Now he was a stranger.

  ‘Fuck, you sound like Copper,’ he muttered.

  Matt lowered his can. ‘Now, he’s one of those who thinks you bailed on us.’

  ‘Guessed that,’ Sean said. ‘But it’s nearly a year and a half since I last saw him. Surely the big tosser’s got over it by now.’

  ‘You can ask him that yourself,’ Matt told him. ‘He’ll be here in about ten minutes.’

  Sean stopped his lager can halfway to his mouth. ‘You serious?’

  Matt nodded. ‘Don’t worry though. He’s mellowed about it now. Sounded well excited when I told him you were here.’

  ‘You told him? Why didn’t you tell me you’d told him?’

  ‘Didn’t know I had to,’ Matt said. ‘Chill, all right? Copper and you go way back.’

  ‘Last time I saw him, I’d just smashed his face in.’

  Matt stared and was actually silent for a second or two. Then he laughed. ‘Funny, he never mentioned that. But he’ll be over it now. It was a long time ago.’

  Sean raised his can the rest of the way, drained it. He wasn’t so sure, but there was nothing he could do. Walking out right now wasn’t an option. He’d never live it down, and he probably wouldn’t make it to the door anyway. Best just to sit it out and wait.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  Copper’s arrival was announced with cheers. He’d always been popular but it had obviously gone up some since they’d last hung out together.

  The crowd parted and the big man himself walked over. The look on his face was all bulldog. No warmth, just an animal snarl.

  ‘Seany.’

  ‘Copper.’

  For a moment they stared each other out. Sean didn’t know whether to get ready to defend himself, or to just cut to the chase and get in with a pre-emptive strike.

  Then, amazingly, Copper’s snarl vanished and a grin appeared. ‘Come here then, you bastard!’

  Sean was helpless as Copper wrapped his massive arms around him and lifted him off the ground. ‘Good to see you too,’ he said, squeezing the words out of squashed lungs.

  Copper dropped Sean back onto his feet and ruffled his hair. ‘That fuck awful haircut says you’re still in the army.’

  Sean nodded. ‘That a problem?’

  ‘Only if you want it to be.’ Copper took a can from Matt’s offering hand.

  Ah, thought Sean. He heard the edge to Copper’s voice. Despite the outward show of everything’s-all-right-now, it wasn’t.

  ‘So, what you been up to?’ Sean asked, deliberately changing the subject.

  ‘Did my time, got released, come back home,’ Copper said. ‘Life’s good, ain’t that right, Matt?’

  Matt reached over, bumped fists with him.

  ‘So, what brings you back now?’ Copper asked.

  ‘Misses us, I reckon,’ Matt said.

  ‘Something like that.’ Sean attempted a smile.

  ‘Not sure I believe that,’ Copper said. ‘Eighteen months is a long time to miss a guy without, you know, doing something the fuck about it.’

  ‘It’s Mum,’ Sean said. ‘She needs someone to keep an eye on her.’ He looked from Copper to Matt, then back to Copper again. He finished his beer.

  ‘You want us to watch out for her, is that it?’ Copper asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ Sean said. ‘Look, I know it’s asking a slot . . . I mean, a lot . . .’ Oh, shit – great time to be pissed. If he’d known he would be tangling with Copper, he’d have stuck to the soft stuff. ‘But she already had some twat beat her up, and he was armed too.’ He took a breath and ran on with the sentence in his head, before he lost the power of speech altogether. ‘I’d just rest easier knowing you had your eye on her. ‘Cos, face it, Copper’ – he saw no harm in a little flattery, and anyway, it was true – ‘they know you’re on her case, no one’s going to mess with her.’

  Copper stared at Sean over his beer can, sinking great gulps until it was finished. Then he crushed i
t and chucked it into a corner of the room. ‘So you think you’re still one of us?’ he asked. ‘Even with all that soldiering shite?’

  ‘I’m still me, Copper,’ Sean said. ‘You know that.’

  Copper was silent, his eyes never leaving Sean. Then he said, ‘Remains to be seen, don’t it?’

  ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Means it’s a long time since you brought anything into the Guyz. And I’ve got a short memory.’

  Their eyes locked together, neither of them giving an inch.

  Matt broke the deadlock. ‘Fr’instance, Sean, from what you were telling me, there’s now a surplus gun on the estate . . . Where did that get to? Seems to me the Guyz could use something like that.’

  Sean slowly turned his head to glower at his old mate. ‘I dealt with it.’

  One thing he was absolutely sure of was that the Guyz did not need a gun. God knew what they would do with it. A year ago he would have handed it over without question. Now he had a professional’s pride when it came to weaponry, and he knew what guns could do in the hands of amateurs. He had wiped it for prints – he presumed his were still on file, and it would be a really bad idea for former car thief Private Harker’s prints to turn up on a hooky gun – and then chucked it into the recycling. Let the council work out where it came from, if they ever found it.

  Copper came up real close to Sean. ‘Army turned you soft?’

  Sean made to push past. Copper didn’t budge.

  ‘Soft, and a chicken too? Well, fuck me, Seany, what’s happened to you?’

  Sean pushed again, and this time Copper let him past.

  Matt called after him. ‘Come on Sean, mate. Copper’s only joshing with you . . . Aren’t you, Copper? Right?’

  Sean caught the look in Copper’s eyes. ‘I don’t need to prove myself, Copper. All I’m asking is a favour!’

  ‘And all I’m asking is a little proof. It isn’t much, Seany, you know that. But keeping an eye on your mum – that’s work. It takes time that we could be using for something more profitable. It costs, Seany. So if you can show you’re still a part of the family – if you keep on paying your dues and don’t just want to sponge off us – then I guarantee your mum will be safe. My word.’

  Sean was out of the flat, down the short flight of stairs and outside before he either had the chance to respond, or punched someone.

  Fuck this! He had to prove himself to fucking Copper?

  After everything he had achieved in the last year, Sean felt no need to prove himself to anyone ever again. He knew who and what he was. And Copper just shat all over that and counted it for nothing.

  What did Copper know, anyway? Nothing, that’s what.

  He shouldn’t have bothered. Should have just taken his mum and got her out of there, put her up in a flat away from the estate, let her start again, like he had.

  His phone rang. He snatched it from his pocket, expecting to see Matt’s number come up. But it wasn’t Matt.

  ‘Mum?’ Sean heard crying down the line. ‘Mum! What’s happened? What’s wrong?’

  The sobbing continued for a while longer until at last words came: ‘Sean, I got worried – you went out and you didn’t come back . . . Suppose Ricky comes back? He will, Sean—’

  ‘He won’t, Mum,’ he said automatically. ‘I’m talking to some guys about it.’

  More sobbing. ‘I miss you, love, and I get so scared when I’m on my own . . . Didn’t used to be like this, not when you were around . . .’

  Sean closed his eyes and groaned. Not you too, Mum!

  That was what it came down to. As a kid he had thought the Guyz were family. They looked out for each other because that was what families did. But no, apparently he had got it wrong. The Guyz looked out for the people it was useful to look out for.

  He had to make himself useful again.

  ‘I’m going to sort it out, OK, Mum? I’m going to sort it out right now. I promise. Just hang tight. Can you do that for me?’

  ‘Yes, love, of course I can.’

  ‘Good,’ said Sean. He jabbed at the off key and the line went dead.

  He knew exactly what he had to do. It had nothing to do with proving himself to Copper. It had everything to do with family. His own, and the gang.

  He walked for twenty minutes to get safely away from the estate. The old rule about not shitting in your own bed still applied. Then he quickly took a left off the high street, dropping down into a small side road. It was lined with parked cars. Staying alert for passers-by, he walked along, testing doors. It had never ceased to amaze him how many people left their cars unlocked. All it took was a moment of forgetfulness – and, yep, just as Sean had expected, an open door. It was a Ford Orion, an old model but in good condition. That meant two things: easy to wire and easy to flog.

  He slipped into the driver’s seat and his fingers felt expertly in the dark for the ridges of the plastic cover beneath the steering wheel. He pulled the panel free and chucked it onto the passenger seat. Next his fingertips worked over the clusters of wiring until he had the bundle that was the battery, ignition and starter wire. He pulled it free and delved into his pocket for his penknife, then stripped an inch of insulation off the battery wires and twisted them together.

  Now the car had power, and if all he wanted to do was listen to the radio, he was sorted.

  Instead he went on to join the ignition wire to the battery wire. The dashboard panel came alight. Last of all he wrapped his fingers in his hanky for insulation and stripped half an inch of insulation off the starter wire. A spark flew when the metal blade touched the live wire and Sean hissed through his teeth as it stung him through the cloth. But now the wire was bare. He touched it to the connected battery wires and the Orion choked into life. He quickly revved the engine, but it was in good condition. It only needed that fleeting touch to get it going. After that, the engine ran itself.

  ‘Still got it,’ he murmured as he eased the vehicle out into the street. ‘Even when I’m pissed.’

  He didn’t speed off. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself: he was taking without consent and way over the limit. At the back of his mind was the knowledge of just how much trouble he would be in if he got caught. With the police, with the army. But he didn’t need treacherous little voices whispering good sense to him, so he told it to shut the fuck up as he made a call with his phone on hands-free.

  ‘Matt? Yeah, it’s Sean. Put Copper on. I’ve got something for him. Call it a down payment for services.’

  Chapter 13

  ‘You really want to watch us strip?’ asked Bright.

  A ripple of laughter ran down the rank. The platoon stood at ease at the end of the firing range, feet apart and hands behind their backs, while Sergeant Adams paced to and fro in front of them.

  ‘Correct. Today isn’t just about sending a few thousand rounds down the range, it’s about me making sure you lot know what you’re doing from the moment you pick up a weapon, right through to when you hand it back in. No one is firing off a round till you’ve all stripped and rebuilt your weapon. And that goes for every single one you use today, from your SA80 to the GPMG and your side arm. Or, if you prefer, we can spend the day doing PT. I really don’t mind.’ He got out his watch. ‘So, platoon. Take up your weapons and . . . begin.’

  At that, the platoon dropped to the ground to sit cross-legged or on their knees, and everyone got on with pulling apart the SA80 in their laps.

  Undo the clips on the stock and remove the firing mechanism. Remove spring, cocking handle and bolt. Click, click, snap, click. Unlatch the handguard over the barrel, remove the gas adjuster . . .

  There was a soothing rhythm to the lightly oiled, precision-engineered pieces of metal sliding together exactly as designed. Not too much force, not too little, and the gun responded in your hands like a trained pet. It didn’t take long for Sean to have his weapon in pieces and laid out on the cloth in front of him. Muzzle, flash eliminator, trigger, trigger
housing . . .

  He was grateful to be focusing on something he could do with ease. It was Tuesday and his weekend was long behind him, though not long enough.

  Sorting his mum out, a scrap with a loan shark, and twoccing a car were all things that hadn’t been on his to-do list. Yet done them he had, and somehow got away with it all. Copper had come through for him too, shifting the car within hours. Minus his commission, he had handed Sean a good roll of notes. Five hundred quid – most of which Sean had then had to hand straight back. Protection money for his own mum.

  No, he kept reminding himself, not protection money, just his dues. Sean had made a contribution to the Guyz so that it would still be worth their while to keep an eye on her. That was OK? Wasn’t it?

  But. He couldn’t keep popping up to town and supplying Copper with a car whenever funds were low. And he had to keep the Guyz settled, somehow. His idea of getting his mum off the estate had evaporated in the cold, sober light of day, the moment he checked his bank balance.

  He had met guys who weren’t paid much more than him but had thirty or forty grand put away. A couple of tours in Afghanistan, with nothing to spend your dosh on, would do that for you. But he had yet to earn a full year’s salary off the army, and while his income was way higher than his expenditure on Single Living Accommodation, his balance would take one look at a London rent and vanish.

  If the soppy cow was going to be looked after full time, he needed a more steady way of paying his dues. And his regular salary was never going to be enough.

  Adams checked the platoon’s work, and announced himself satisfied. They moved onto the range proper and stood on the firing line. Sean clamped the ear defenders to his head, though not yet fully over his ears so that he could hear the sergeant’s orders. In front of him, stretching out from approximately fifty metres to a maximum range of three hundred metres, were a number of Figure 11 targets attached to plywood boards – man-sized images showing a helmeted soldier charging towards you with a bayonet fixed. The end of the range was marked by a huge, steep bank of soil covered in patches of grass and weeds.