Country

by Michael Hughes

  And plenty to forget. There were things he’d seen and heard he would never tell another living soul. Stuff he wouldn’t know how to start to describe. Things he’d done himself, that made his stomach cramp and his head spin when he thought about them. So he didn’t think about them.

  But like any man who got to be the best at what he did, they promoted him off that job, and sat him in a wee office directing others who weren’t half as good. He was a captain now, and captains hardly ever went in the field these days. They couldn’t afford to lose one. That kind of experience didn’t come cheap.

  And his men loved him. Do anything for him. Straight, and fair, and he’d back them to the hilt. Six foot three, a big shock of red hair, a wee splash of freckles on each cheek. When he’d go in undercover, the men used to joke that he was so convincing as Irish, that maybe he was really one of the bad guys, undercover in the SAS.

  He didn’t hate the locals, but. He didn’t hate the Irish at all, not even the IRA. He understood. He was an educated man. He’d read his history. And he wanted to be a small part of that history himself. The stuff he’d always loved was the battles, the bloodier the better. His bedroom used to be strewn with wee soldiers and horses and castles. That was where history was made. Standing up to fight for your country. It was all he’d ever wanted to do.

  Now he’d married, and had a child of his own, he saw things a wee bit different. Looking at anybody now, he couldn’t help seeing the baby they used to be. That helped, and it didn’t. But there you are. He was still learning.

  When it came down to it, he didn’t agree with being in Northern Ireland. In the officers’ mess, he’d argue the bit out, until the brass told him to wise up, for fear of damaging morale. He got the message.

  But he loved being in the thick of it. He never got tired of that. A pig in shite. He was a knight. He was a redcoat. He was up flying a Spitfire. Doing the very same job, as the times demanded. He was the line of civilisation, standing at the edge of what Britain was supposed to be about, holding back the chaos, taking on the enemy. He was old-fashioned, he knew, but he prided himself on that.

  And if the promotion didn’t suit him, then neither did the ceasefire. He was climbing the walls at Bessbrook Mill, itching for action. The old cogs getting rusty. He had no doubt there were evil bastards among the Provos, and all he wanted was a chance to take them out.

  In particular, the famous Border Sniper. That was the scalp he craved above all. It drove him mad that one man could so frighten the brass that they’d changed their whole MO in the area. It should be the other way round. He wanted a chance to prove the point. Some bastards weren’t worth arresting. There was only one language they understood.

  He heard Bernard King was over now, a Para colonel he’d served under, newly in charge down round the border, and he put out feelers to see if he could get his hands dirty again. Bernard was only too happy to oblige.

  There was something brewing in the area. Special Branch and the army had been running the wife of a local player as an agent, Bernard told him. In the months running up to the ceasefire, they’d thwarted just about every operation the local ASU had set up. But the husband had started to get suspicious, so they’d pulled her out. It had all been rather messy. Apparently she’d got a bit too friendly with her handler. And the handler himself had got cold feet, for fear she was working both sides and the player might be on to him now, so he’d put in for a transfer, fled away off to some cushy number in Germany. Out the same day on a Chinook, straight up in the air and then dropped down in a nice comfy bed. He had connections, so they said. The higher-ups wanted him out of harm’s way. The woman wanted nothing more to do with him, once she got wind he was running scared. She was long gone, set up with a new life on the mainland, but they were still trying to untangle the legal issues. The whole thing was a shambles.

  But she’d given some spot-on intel on the local players, and Bernard wanted Henry out and about, keeping an eye. Henry jumped at it. But Bernard had a warning for him. ‘The last chap we had watching this lot came a cropper. It was hushed up, wheels within wheels, but you have to be aware, we’re dealing with savages.

  ‘And the clock’s ticking. We think the local ASU here is planning to break the ceasefire, and the Army Council are leaning their way. Sinn Fein are very torn about it. On the one hand, if they come down heavily they risk splitting the movement, and avoiding that is their absolute top priority. Ahead of peace, probably ahead of a united Ireland, if you ask me. But on the other hand, if they let it go ahead, it looks like they’ve been dicking us around.’

  ‘I thought Sinn Fein pulled the strings.’

  ‘When the wind is southerly. This place is a bloody cat’s cradle, don’t you think? Everyone’s got a string and everyone’s pulling it like crazy, just to see what’s on the end.’

  ‘Dare I ask who’s pulling our string?’

  ‘Well, quite. So here it is. After that unfortunate incident a few weeks ago, the Barry Ross business, we still hoped things could hold, and they have. Loose cannons on both sides, excusable given the circumstances. Under the carpet. Needless to say there’s been a lot of back-channel activity, and both sides say they’re desperate for the thing to work. I believe the local unionist chap has been talking directly with Sinn Fein, very hush-hush, trying to find a way through. But the NIO are worried about what PIRA might be up to, and they’re fed up with guesswork from us. Local knowledge is key. Man to man. Do you see what I’m getting at?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t, quite.’

  ‘Well, look. Right now, our greatest frustration is that we don’t have a direct link here on the ground. The usual chap they were willing to deal with as and when has retired, and the MOD are dragging their heels on a replacement. But the NIO wants to start that up again pronto, so we need a volunteer to make initial contact, suss out someone in the area willing to engage. Not to negotiate, I want to emphasise that. Just to hear what they say they want, and make a few educated guesses as to their thinking. We know they don’t trust the civil servants. They don’t trust the new London people. We think they’ll respond best to green army, someone who talks their language.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Today. Right now. Before the wind changes. You know what the weather’s like in this bloody place. For all I know it might already be too late, but we have to try. The fact is, we have to take this ASU out of the picture, one way or another. It’s a genuine obstacle to peace, both sides know it.

  ‘Look, it might come to nothing. It might be one meeting. But their usual trigger man, a cold bastard, is off the scene, so I’ve been told. Some kind of internal squabble. Yes, the mythical sniper is real, apparently. Which gives us an opening.

  ‘Worst-case scenario, it goes nowhere, and we’re back to bang-bang. Plan B is to catch them in the act, and take them out. We have enough decent intel to make that a goer. But in the meantime, it might be that little bit harder next time for one of them to slot one of us, if he’s spent an hour talking man to man.’

  ‘Aren’t you concerned the same thing might apply to me?’

  Was that the tiniest of smiles?

  ‘No, Henry, I’m not. Should I be?’

  38

  He got himself up in green-army gear. Thick streaks of camo cream on his face, green and brown and black. Kevlar helmet with the visor down. Scrim scarf tight around his gob. His own ma wouldn’t know it was him.

  Waited in the back of the Land Rover, while the boys set up the VCP. Pelting with rain. It sounded like a riot.

  Right now, he was aching for a proper riot. Lead a snatch squad into the thick of it, pick up a couple of the players, give them a good going over in the back of a Saracen. That was the way it used to be done, and it bloody well kept them in order. Everybody was walking on eggshells these days. Waste of time.

  His radio crackled. ‘He’s here, sir.’

  Henry watched out of the hinged flap. Shane Campbell was always very civil to the soldiers, much more so than t
o his own side. More to lose. And always clean as a whistle.

  He could see the squaddie leaning in. Would you mind stepping this way, sir. One of the officers just wants to have a word. No sign of movement. He sensed a bit of tension. Not today, thank you.

  Down to the car himself. Sent the squaddie off out of earshot. ‘Mr Campbell. I know you’re a busy man, so I’ll get straight to the point. There’s a lot of interest on our side in the noises coming from your side. Mixed messages, to say the least. The suggestion has come up that a couple of us get together, to explore if there’s anything worth exploring, to try to keep things on an even keel. Is there someone who’d be willing to come in? It might go nowhere, but it’s better than taking pot-shots, don’t you agree? All above board. We make it look like an arrest, just giving you low-level hassle, the usual thing. Once he’s in, whoever it is, he just talks. We listen. We’ll be here again tomorrow evening, same time, and if we see a familiar face, we’ll proceed from there. I’ll leave it with you.’

  Campbell didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge him. Henry didn’t wait for an answer, just slapped the bonnet smartly, twice. The squaddie on the road stepped back, and the car drove on.

  39

  Back at the base, Henry got pulled aside when he stepped out of his vehicle.

  ‘Phone for you. Compassionate. Urgent, she says.’ He went to receive it.

  ‘Hello, my precious. It’s your mother here. We’re all concerned about Anna. She isn’t at all well. We think you ought to take a little time. You can ask for compassionate.’

  ‘Actually, Mother, I can’t. Things are at a crucial stage.’

  ‘Things are always at a crucial stage. You sound just like your father, you know. You men take yourselves far too seriously. Have a drink, for God’s sake. Learn to relax once in a while.’

  ‘I’m on ops, Mother. I haven’t washed or changed in days. I’ll take time off when I have time off. I can’t just have a nice sit-down when I feel the urge.’

  ‘Goodness. Don’t blame me, Henry. What can I do?’

  ‘If your peace movement has any connections with Sinn Fein, you could ask them to keep their rogue elements in check. How about that? That might help.’

  ‘You know what’s best, I’m sure. My son is a fine man. But think of your own son. His mother is in a pretty bad way.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘That’s just it. She took a plane to Belfast this morning, with the boy. The nanny point-blank refused to come, so she’s on her own with him.’

  ‘Christ. What’s she playing at?’

  ‘Don’t ask me. She said it was very urgent, and she had to tell you in person.’

  ‘Stupid cow.’

  ‘Just see her, Henry. Please.’

  He checked the roster. He was already listed as on emergency leave. They didn’t muck about. While he had the chance, he ought to go.

  There was a transport heading up that way. He tagged along, still in green-army gear. Another kind of blending in. And he liked it. He felt like a soldier again.

  At the married quarters, he waved his pass, checked where they’d put her.

  He saw the whole place through her eyes, for once. The dull, depressing little flats. No wonder she’d stayed in Holland Park.

  ‘Hello?’

  Nothing. No, hang on. Was that a telly?

  There she was, in the living room. Flicking between the channels. Those dreadful Sky people, the new World Service channel, and American cable news.

  He sat beside, waited for her to speak. She didn’t.

  He said nothing. He knew the conversation would have a tripwire in it somewhere, and he was damned if he was going to pull it.

  ‘Darling, is everything all right? I had a call from my mother.’

  ‘Please. I’m watching this.’

  He waited. She watched. He did too, for as long as he could stand it.

  ‘She said you wanted to speak to me urgently. You could have phoned, you know.’

  Nothing.

  ‘Can’t you leave the bloody news alone for five minutes?’

  ‘Certainly not. I’m waiting to hear that they’ve killed you.’

  Sod the kid gloves. He hadn’t time for this.

  ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Anna. That’s not very likely when I’m sat here, is it?’

  He saw her lip wobble, but she caught it in time. Tossed her head, like she was shaking off a fly.

  ‘You’ll tell me I’m a fool, of course. That’s your answer to everything. But I know, you see. I know you’re going to die. There, I’ve said it.’

  She’d tried this one before. Deep breath. Gently does it.

  ‘We’re all going to die, darling.’

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Not the thing to say, clearly.

  ‘Here. In this awful place.’

  ‘I’ve seen worse.’

  She almost smiled. That’s the girl. Back on track.

  ‘Quite. Just look at the world, Henry. There’s so much death. So much killing.’

  He looked. Inane trash. Cartoons for grown-ups.

  ‘So much television, that’s all there is. Cameras poking their noses in where they’ve no business. Seeing things we never have before, but it’s a fraction of what’s gone on in the past, believe me. Ignorance really is bliss sometimes.’

  ‘You have a clever answer for everything.’

  ‘Darling, listen to me. The Cold War is over. The Middle East is relatively stable. Yugoslavia looks like it’s settling down, at last. And a ceasefire is coming here, mark my words. A permanent one. There really is no earthly reason to upset yourself. It’s the safest time to be a British soldier for half a century.’

  ‘You’ve always been the golden boy, haven’t you? But what if no one’s told the terrorists? You really think you’re immune from those brutes, don’t you? Sometimes I almost want it to happen, just to teach you a lesson.’

  ‘What lesson? What are you talking about?’

  ‘One day it’ll be your name on that screen. Your beautiful face, smashed into pulp. I know it will, as surely as if it had already happened. I’m just waiting for the day. And when you die, why should I go on living?’

  ‘Don’t talk rot.’

  ‘The IRA wants to kill you. That is their sole purpose, every single day. They’ve had plenty of practice, and they’re very good at it. That’s not rot, it’s the truth.’

  ‘Darling, they’re on ceasefire. Their top people want peace now, just as much as we do. Probably even more. They’re not brutes, and they’re not idiots either. The main players are usually very serious, thoughtful individuals, believe it or not. They may use idiots and brutes to do their dirty work, but those idiots can’t get anything done on their own. Just like in the army.’

  ‘Well, be that as it may. I refuse to be party to it any longer. You must choose.’

  ‘I’m sorry, now you really have lost me. What must I choose?’

  ‘The army, or this family. Resign your commission after this tour.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous.’

  And that did it. Her voice rose in a wail, like a siren.

  ‘It’s driving me mad, Henry! It’s very close to actually driving me mad!’

  Fire with fire. The only way he knew.

  Up on his feet, raise the volume.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Anna! Don’t you think I know all this? Don’t you think it haunts me every night, lying awake fretting about you? Which I could do without, frankly. I have a duty, you know. These men have wives and children too. How could I face any of them if I wasn’t prepared to take the same risks they take, every single day?’

  ‘Henry, it’s pointless. It’s utterly futile. All those deaths were in vain. We have no right to be here.’

  He sat. Took her quivering hands. Firm now. Look her in the eyes.

  ‘That’s just it, darling. That’s what I’m trying to tell you, if you’ll just give me the chance. Our boys are coming home from Ulster, perhaps very soon indeed. I�
��m certain of it. From a strategic point of view, you’re quite right, all this was in vain. Of course it was. How could we possibly win? This is not our country, and it has the right to its own problems, and its own destiny. The sooner we can get out, the better.

  ‘But you’re not a child, and I won’t treat you like one. Because you’re right, you know. It might happen, darling. The ceasefire might break down any day, we both know that. And it could all start again. And yes, it could be my face splashed on the news. Of course it could. That’s the army. That’s the SAS. I’ve never denied it.

  ‘But hard as this will be to hear, I can live with that outcome. Do you hear me? I can cope with the thought of you living as a soldier’s widow. What I can’t accept is you living as a coward’s wife. You think you’d prefer to have me home, but believe me, you don’t want the person I would be if I took that course. And it would eat away at you too, that I shirked my duty. I know that perfectly well. It would eat away at Max, when he was old enough to understand. It would be known. I can’t deny the man I am, for the sake of some silly anxiety of yours that I’m somehow doomed. None of us is doomed, darling. We make our own fate.

  ‘But we can’t just surrender. Do you realise what that would mean? Everything this country has built up over a thousand years, down in flames. Respect for democracy, the rule of law, facing down those who threaten those values. That’s what it means to be British. If we surrender our principles, then they really have won. Well, I won’t have it. I won’t have my family held hostage to their twisted values at the point of a gun. I won’t have you bring up our son in that world.’

  ‘You said yourself we’re going to pull out.’

  ‘At the right time. That’s up to the politicians. But no one will say I gave up the fight before we brought the bastards to heel. I serve my country, and I tell you I won’t shirk my duty.’

  ‘Sometimes we have conflicting duties.’

  ‘That’s perfectly true. I may not always get it right, but I do my best.’

  ‘Is this your best?’