by Jo Black
‘How much! Who they fucking in there, A-list porn stars?’
‘Exactly. Either you need to reduce the quality of the supplied entertainment contractors, or you need to require a contribution. I’ve worked up a scheme based on the French Health Service payment model. Unlike our crumbling British affair they charge to visit the doctors, hospitals, etcetera. I feel a notional fee would reduce excessive consumption whilst still maintaining an appreciable benefit to those inclined to indulge in moderation.’
‘Sounds fair. What else?’ Alex asked.
‘The jet.’
‘No way,’ Alex said. ‘That’s an essential tool of business. Besides scheduled airlines don’t fly into the shitholes we work in. And we can’t charter.’
‘I appreciate that. But it seems to me that it spends a rather a lot of time idle, during which time it still incurs expenses. I’ve looked into it, and there is a gap in the market to provide V.I.P transport into the sort of areas we routinely operate. We can get a substantial premium over charter rates with additional upsell on security services. I’ve run the numbers, and based on our utilisation we would potentially run at a small profit without impacting your use.’
‘I don’t have a problem with that,’ Nish said.
‘It’s my fucking jet!’ Alex protested.
‘It’s The Company’s fucking jet. Unless you want to cut me a cheque from your personal account for six-point-five million dollars a year plus excess mileage fees.’
‘What else?’ Alex sulked.
‘I’ve prepared a fully budgeted business plan with capital expenditure program for you to examine at your leisure. I believe with some fiscal prudence we can restore our operation back on a sound financial footing.’
‘That’s good to know, I’m sure the shareholders will be thrilled, when they’re not fucking away all our profits,’ Alex said.
‘So I have your agreement?’
‘Where’s the fun in running your own army when the bean counters are worse than the regulars. What do you think?’ Alex asked Nish.
‘We can always just go and rob some banks and rich people. British regulars got away with that shit for a couple of hundred years before this whole rules of engagement system stepped in.’
‘We’re a Private Military Company not a band of petty villains. If you wish to conduct nefarious criminal activities I suggest you start a new company with a different charter.’
‘You’re a bit of a cunt aren’t you,’ Nish said.
‘Yes I am, and I’m the cunt what stops you fuckwits running out of money. Try and bear that in mind before you charter any more superpower tools of war.’
‘Let’s get a drink,’ Alex said. ‘I assume that’s still paid for by The Company?’
‘We’re introducing a trust box.’
‘For fucks sake...’ Nish said sighing and shaking his head in disbelief. Alex and Nish stormed out. ‘I don’t like him anymore.’
‘Me neither. But the Oxford-educated cunt has a point. We’ve been a bit frisky on the Amex Black.’ Alex stopped Nish and pulled him off to the side of the tent. ‘Find someone for us to rob. Just keep it quiet. You, me, Sooty, couple of others. Ten points cut each. Rest goes to The Company as, I don’t know. A charitable benefactor donation.’
‘Since we’re on the Kremlin’s shit-list, there’s a few oligarchs we could tap up,’ Nish said. ‘Leave it to me.’
23
Alex and Nish walked into the mess tent and grabbed a bottled beer each. Alex scowled at the trust box, which appeared to be full of scraps of paper with I.O.U scrawled on, and random denominations of currency from various African states that probably no longer existed. ‘Simmer down lads. We have some company business before you all get too pissed on the sherbets,’ Nish shouted over the noise. The men eventually quietened down and dragged their chairs round in a circle. ‘Firstly, a quick word from your beloved payroll clerk and Quartermaster. Please stop fucking so many whores.’ There was a huge jeer and whistles. Nish indicated them to quieten down. ‘Gentlemen, please be upstanding for our dear leader. The Dragon.’ The men rose to their seats as Alex made his way to the centre of the tent.
‘Brothers. As you may have noticed we’re in Libya. Again.’ A cheer. ‘I’m sure the gossip bitches amongst you have shared your conspiracy theories as to why, we hold no secrets from each other. So the truth is the Russians have rescinded our status effective fourteen days from today. I don’t have to spell out what that means. We are, once again, nomads set adrift in the desert with no master. We served them well. You served them well. We delivered always, and we delivered well. But in the war of politics that counts for little. War is coming, and those perpetrating that war mean to have it regardless of the truth or consequences, and they won’t let anyone stand in their way. They took my wife. They took Zara because she threatened them, and they offered me a choice. Shut-up and sit down. Be a good little dog, and we’ll give you the scraps from the table. Are we their pet? Is that who we are?’
‘No!’ Came the resounding yell back.
‘I have made my choice. They dared challenge me to take this insult, to take that which I hold most dear and cast it aside with my honour, my reputation, and my pride. To let this insult against me stand. If I let this insult go unpunished then all that we have achieved, the legend that you have forged with me is just a fiction. They must feel my fury, and it must be biblical.’ A huge resounding battle cry cheer thundered round the tent. ‘But we are a family, there are no ranks here. You fight willingly, you fight for profit, and you fight for your own futures, your own reputations. What we do here isn’t political; it isn’t for someone else’s ideals or zealotry. It is war in its purest form; we are honest men in a sea of liars. So. Your prize from the last expedition is secure. Your contracts have all been fulfilled. You will all get paid for the services you have so ably rendered. Where we go from here is personal. There is no sponsor. There may be no prize beyond honour and reputation; there may be great cost. But I cannot ask any of you to take this expedition with me under a false pretence. You do so voluntarily. You contribute what you can if you believe, as I believe, that this company has been wronged, and that those that have wronged us must be made to feel our wrath. Otherwise who are we? This company bears the standard of The Dragon only insofar as that standard is feared by our enemies. If you stay, then stay because you believe that’s worth something. Those of you who do not, no blame. We will part as friends. You can collect what you are owed by The Quartermaster and leave in the morning, and you will go with my friendship, respect, and best wishes for your future.’
Sooty raised his glass to Alex. ‘Death and honour.’ The rest of the troop raised their glasses.
‘Death and honour.’
Alex made his way through the crowd and exited the tent.
‘Right ladies.’ Nish took out a piece of paper and read from it. ‘As per The Company charter, in order to sanction an expedition then consensus agreement must be reached to enable the expedition to proceed. On the basis of the personal nature of this expedition, it is requested that you waive all or part of your prize from the previous expedition to cover the expenses required to persecute this expedition to its natural conclusion. Any contribution will be entirely voluntary, but most gratefully accepted. All those not wishing to join this expedition may make themselves known this evening to The Quartermaster, settle their personal expenses account, and receive full and final payment prior to roll call. All those wishing to join the expedition must present themselves for the vote no later than two hours prior to roll call, and be present and correct for duty at roll call. Any questions?’
‘Yeah. What the fuck is going on?’ a voice from the back asked.
‘Were you asleep?’
‘No, but I’m too pissed to understand a word the boss said.’
‘Right, for the hard of understanding, the Welsh, and the retarded. Here is the abbreviated SitRep. The boss’s squeeze has been kidnapped and held against her will by person
s currently unknown. The boss wishes to persecute an expedition to recover his missus and bring hell and damnation to those responsible. Our principal paymasters, the Russians, have declined the boss’s wishes and told him to fuck right off. As a consequence, The Company has no fucking money left after you bunch of shitters blew it all on expensed hookers in the fuck tent. The boss would gratefully accept any man so choosing to help in the recovery of his missus, and any financial contribution you would like to make to ensure we have more than a fucking potato gun to fire at whoever is responsible. Anyone who doesn’t give a shit is free to fuck right off and go and join some other outfit of cunts. Is that clear?’
“Aye. That makes sense.’
‘Right then. Ballot papers collectable from Sooty. Anyone leaving, pack your shit, anyone staying then do the right thing by the boss and empty your wee piggy banks so we can get his bloody wife back. Now have at the last of the sherbets before The Quartermaster starts charging for them.’ There was a huge cheer and Nish departed, picking up a bottle of vodka on the way out. He braced against the wind and made his way to Alex’s tent. ‘Knock knock. Care for a nightcap?’
Alex nodded. ‘Wind’s picking up. Looks like we’re in for a wild night.’
‘We best get pissed then eh?’ Nish poured their vodkas.
‘This is the hardest part, knowing it’s out of your control.’
Nish smiled and handed Alex his vodka. ‘Democracy is a terrible thing. I’d take a dictatorship every time.’
They sat down on the pair of old chairs. ‘Back in the desert. We’ve sunk some drink in this old tent over the years haven’t we?’
‘We have that.’
‘What do you think?’
Nish shrugged. ‘They’re mercenaries. They go where the money is. When there’s no money, they go somewhere else. They like you for as long as you keep getting them paid. The fuck tent, free beers, Gucci kit, that’s just perks to get them to come to you, and not take some cushy job looking after Arab royals. A few are just here for the adventure, a few just to say they fought in The Dragon’s wake. But most of them? Money grubbing cunts the lot of them.’
‘And us?’ Alex asked. ‘What are we?’
‘When did you last draw a pay check out The Company account, come to think of it, when did you last not make good the shortfall out of your own pocket? What are we? The mugs. Idealists. Crazy adventurers who thought we could have our own better version of The Regiment. I don’t know Alex, what are we...’
‘Seems fitting it ends here, where it started.’
‘It’s not over until the fat lady sings. So what will you do, when they all fuck off?’
Alex shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Whatever I can with whatever I’ve got.’
‘Well, you’ve got a fucking big submarine.’
‘For two weeks. Then the whole Russian Navy will start chasing us around like we’re Sean Connery.’
‘I would like to go to Montana...’
‘Why, are there Mormons there?’ They both had a fit of hysterical laughter. ‘You’re seriously going to marry those Latvian whore twins?’
‘Aye, fuck it. Why not? Can’t go much worse than the last marriage.’
‘It went better than mine.’
Nish nodded. ‘We’ll get her back Alex. Even if it’s just you and me throwing rocks and sticks at some cunts. I’ll be with you to the bitter-fucking end.’
They toasted their glasses. ‘You’re a good friend Harry.’
‘I’m your only fucking friend. You’ve killed every other cunt,’ Harry said with a deep laugh. He looked round over his shoulder for imaginary eavesdroppers. ‘I tell you what though, Merriweather is the next to get merc’d in his sleeping bag. Put that in your fucking business plan you bean-counting cunt. Nasdrovya.’
‘Nasdrovya.’
‘Fucking French Health Service co-pay fuck tent. Good luck with that one eh?’ Nish said and downed his shot.
24
Alex woke late with a splitting headache, instantly regretting the excessive vodka consumption of the previous evening. The early morning breeze flapped at the canvas tent door incessantly. He checked his watch, rubbed the dryness from his eyes and reached over for a field canteen to lubricate his dehydrated state. Finding a pair of aviators, he got up and made his way to the door and glanced through at the eerily quiet camp beyond. He caught sight of Nish walking over and returned to a seat by his desk and collapsed into it. Nish poked his head through the tent door. ‘You up?’
Alex gestured him in. ‘Did I miss it?’
‘We all did.’ Nish sat on the spare seat. Alex frowned. ‘Good news, bad news, fuck it news?’
‘Bad news. How many?’
‘Twelve.’
‘That’s not so bad.’
‘No, twelve stayed. The rest fucked off. Twelve includes you and me. So one-hundred and ten down.’
‘I see...Fuck it news?’
‘They didn’t even stay for the vote. According to The Ninja, Merriweather persuaded them you were unlikely to honour payment so he fucked off with them taking the shipment and bonds with him. Along with anything that was worth more than scrap value.’
‘Merriweather? The architect of the pay for play fuck tent and trust box...? Didn’t think he had it in him.’
‘Stalking horse.’
‘So he took everything. The Landies?’
‘Come and see for yourself.’
‘So what was the good news?’
‘Well, it has solved the excessive cost of the fuck tent, payroll is manageable, and we’ll save a bob or four on transport costs since we can now fit everyone who’s left on the corporate jet.’
‘That’s something. Who stayed?’
‘The usual suspects. The Ninja, Sooty, Flat Eric, Two-Stroke, Mike the Saffa, Gary Glitterballs, Pablo, Hamid Khazi, Mister Patel and Cupcake.’
‘The dirty dozen then. Fuck. Thought that speech would have got at least a few...’
‘Inspiring as it was, that shit only works in Hollywood movies. In the real world people don’t give a fuck, they just want to get paid. Afghanistan is open for business, Iraq next. Everyone’s hiring.’
‘I suppose we got out cheap. I ran the numbers, even with what Merriweather took we were still short unless at least half The Company threw their prize money into the pot.’ Alex got up and walked out of the tent. He surveyed the desolate camp, now stripped bare of anything of value. ‘We got anything left?’
‘They left Ludmila. Took all the whores, left her. Samir stayed, but that goes without saying.’ Nish walked over to join Alex. ‘We should have shanked Merriweather when we had the chance. He hasn’t left Libya yet. Since he didn’t carry out a vote, according to the charter we’d be well within our rights to recover company funds and property.’
Alex shook his head. ‘Let him have it. Like I said, we got out at a discount. You took care of everything?’
‘All passwords and cypher keys changed. I took the precaution of moving the reserves into new numbered accounts. He’s taken the ledgers, client list, suppliers, but we have archives.’
‘You think he’s going to set up shop?’
‘Without Guild membership? Good luck with that.’
‘Well, our Russian charter will be vacant in thirteen days, he might fancy his chances.’
‘He wouldn’t last a week. He’s a fucking numbers jockey not a lord of war.’
‘We’ll he’s royally fucked us. Word is going to spread like wildfire that we’ve lost all our manpower. It’ll be open season as soon as the charter expires.’
‘Let them come,’ Nish replied.
‘You think he’ll go to Gadaffi?’
‘He hasn’t got much choice; he’s not getting out of the country otherwise. He arrived on your ticket remember?’
‘So how do we sell it?’
‘Don’t. Chechnya is done; we don’t need a full company. It’s the twelve you have that built this company’s reputation not the century of me-too’s. The more pre
ssing problem is how we’re going to resolve getting Zara back. I’m not saying it can’t be done, but we’re going to need every bit of your creative tactical planning to turn twelve into one-twenty.’
‘What’s our cash position?’
‘Merriweather cleaned out the petty cash and float plus the current account. The reserve will cover the outstanding invoices that I know of, including your submarine extravaganza, beyond that we’re having a whip round in the mess tent for pocket change to get a minibus taxi back to Tripoli.’
‘That bad? Can we fire-sale the six-oh-four?’
‘We could, but we need to clear the hanger fees, fuel and service before it’ll get released.’
‘I can put that on my black card. Tools?’
‘Just what the boys had stuffed under their pillows to ward off the midnight buggerer. They cleaned out the armoury.’
‘Do you have any good news?’
Nish shrugged. ‘It’s a good opportunity. We always move faster when we’re small. Chance to get back to basics. More special ops and less big logistical campaigns. It’s where we started and how we got profitable. Maybe with the changing of the winds it is time to downsize, be more of a niche player.’
Alex headed into the mess tent where the remaining ten loyal members of The Company were waiting, looking less than cheerful. Alex pulled up a chair and sank into it.
A few minutes of awkward silence passed.
‘Sorry boss. We tried to stop them, but the fuckers tied us up,’ Sooty said with clear embarrassment.
‘It’s not your fault Sooty.’
‘It’s not yours either Alex. Those ungrateful bastards. See how fucking far they get with that bean-counter,’ Gary Glitterballs said sullenly.
‘I don’t know what to tell you. We’ve all been together long enough to know what this turn of events will bring, word will get out and they will come.’
‘We’ll start digging a mass grave for them now then,’ Two-Stroke said. ‘Fuck them Alex. We don’t need deadweight. We’ll get your missus back. You just tell us who’s getting it.’
