Country

by Michael Hughes

  ‘Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of Mercy, hail our life, our sweetness and our hope. To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve. To thee do we send up our sighs, mourning, and weeping in this valley of tears. Turn then, most gracious advocate, thine eyes of mercy towards us, and after this, our exile, show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Oh clement, oh loving, oh sweet Virgin Mary. Pray for us, oh Holy Mother of God, that we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.’

  When he was done, it was time to get Macken in the car and away out of this. See if he could get the length of Donegal. But before he could get his coat on, he saw Sid’s car outside. Sid himself, Diamond, and Pig. They all stepped out, limping and holding other up. It was a sorry sight.

  Pig was ranting the minute he was through the door.

  ‘What are youse pair doing hiding down here? The SAS wants to break us, and leave the Ships itself in flames, and it looks like they’re well on their way. I hear that big ginger one said he wouldn’t go back to the barracks till every one of us was plugged. I thought Achill was the only man who’d turned his back on me, but it looks like every one of the squad has, this whole country, since you’ve all let the Brits get in round us. Months of work on this job, years, down the fucking toilet. And why? Here’s why. Touts. Touts everywhere. One of youse could be the next, for all I know.’

  Ned stepped in between Pig and the rest, before somebody swung at him.

  ‘Take her handy, there, Pig. Things will happen the way they happen. It’s just the way it is. They have their day, and we have ours. The Brits have crossed the border before, and nobody’s stopped them. Some dirty deal done, that’s plain. We have to accept the word of the higher-ups. We don’t run this war. We can’t change where it’s going.

  ‘But wounded men can’t fight. We need to sit nice and calm, see if we can come up with a plan of action. It’s no good wasting volunteers or munitions on pointless operations. Our people are running about the place all through-other. Nobody knows if they’re coming or going. Sit down here beside me till we think this one through.’

  Pig sank down in the chair. The wind had gone out of his sails. He looked twice his age. He looked like his own da, is what he looked like. The big long face on him.

  ‘Operations? Operations is the last thing I’m thinking about. Not this time. It’s finished, Ned. Admit it. London’s turned its back on us, and Dublin, and now Belfast too. Away we go across the border, and back on the run. Dundalk is where we need to be, and stay there. I’ll send word to the Army Council that I support an unconditional ceasefire and immediate decommissioning. There’s no shame in saying you’re beat when you’re beat. When the other man has you on the floor, you raise the white flag and talk terms, you don’t keep plugging away till he locks you up, or puts you in a box.’

  Well, if you’d seen the scowl on Sid. Talk about looking daggers. The words came flying out of him.

  ‘What sort of putrid shite is crawling out from behind your teeth, Pig Campbell? I wish to God you were OC in some fancy bit of Belfast or Derry, where you could pose about and get slaps on the back down the town, and not sitting here claiming command of these hard fighting men. Do you know what I’m going to tell you now? You don’t deserve the volunteers you have under you. They have the struggle in their blood, diehards to a man. You deserve a crowd of cowards to command.

  ‘All we’ve been through, and you want to throw in the towel? You’re going to tell the country and the world that the last thirty years of bloodshed was all for nothing? Hold your tongue, in case word of this gets out. Such drivel as no man in your position should ever let out of his bake. Are you doting, or what is it? I’ll say it to your face, Pig, and I can’t believe I am saying it, only it’s the God’s honest truth. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. And worst of it is, that it’s taken me till now to see it.

  ‘You seriously think the rest of the movement will hold together when they hear tell you’ve run off to Dundalk? There’ll be chaos, through the whole of the North. They’d all be lifted, half the membership. We’d end up extradited and hung out to dry, no question.’

  Pig was quiet. Nodding the head very small. Not like himself at all.

  ‘It hits me hard to hear that from you, Sid. Them’s very harsh words, and I take them to heart. Fair enough, then. I’ll make no man turn tail against his will. On condition one of youse comes up with a better plan. I’m all ears.’

  Ned it was who spoke. ‘Let’s just wait and see what happens. There might be a wee surprise waiting on all of us. I have a feeling the Brits could end up back in their base the night. We’ll know soon enough. In the meantime, we may lie low. Switch on that TV and see is there anything yet. It’s a quare few years since I seen my ugly mug on the news.’

  56

  Achill saw Pat coming, and he let out a laugh.

  ‘What ails you at all, snivelling and crying tears like a wee girl grabbing at her mammy for to pick her up and carry her? Have you had bad news that I don’t know about? If it was my da was dead, I’d have heard before you. Or is it all too much for you, seeing that shower of cunts get their medicine, shot and lifted and battered by the Brits like they deserve?’

  Pat gave a big sigh out, like as if it was his last breath.

  ‘Jesus, Achill. I hope to God I never feel the force of the blood fury that you’re showing this day. Yes, it’s too much for me. Do you not hear what’s happened? The job was a total disaster. Half the squad are lying wounded. Men who’ve gone years, aye, and decades, without a scratch, now bleeding their guts out. Diamond. Sid. Pig himself. You won’t fight for their pride, but you’ll sit here from your own pride and let others suffer, men who never done a thing on you. And now all are saying there’s an Orange mob on the way up to burn the Ships. Are you made of stone? At least drive out and lure the Brits away. Make them send the men who are battering your comrades to follow on after you instead.

  ‘But if you won’t, then at least let me go out myself and put some heart back into the country. If I’m seen about in your own car, with your own coat and your own hood, the Brits might think it’s you back on the scene and ease off for the night, and then they’d have a chance.’

  The poor bastard. If he knew what he was doing, asking that.

  ‘I have no secrets from you,’ says Achill, ‘or at least not the kind you’re talking about. If you knew the pain I was suffering. It hurts my heart to see that cunt Pig rob a man he’s no better than, in broad daylight in front of everybody, just because of his rank. He took that girl away from me like as if I was a foreign national sniffing round the local talent.

  ‘But I was never going to stay as angry for the rest of my days. On you go. I did say I’d fight again when they were in my own country, and if they’re going to take the Ships, then that’s bad news. If Pig had just had the decency to deal straight with me, then I’d soon fill the ditch with half a dozen dead Brits.

  ‘But you know well I can refuse you nothing. And maybe I can find a shred of glory in that stupid fucking plan. Go on then and do what you said, and draw them away. As soon as you have, mind, get yourself straight back here. Take no chances. Don’t get involved and go sniffing for glory. You’re not a fighting man, and nobody thinks any the less of you for that. And if you make a fool of yourself, it’s my reputation that’ll suffer. Let them do their own dirty work.

  ‘Ah, Pat. If it was up to me, the Brits and the Ra would kill every man of each other this day, and just you and me left to step into the ruins of that base. Then I’d die happy. Fuck the lot of them, every last man on both sides.’

  57

  Pat took Achill’s own hood, that no other man had ever worn, and pulled it down over his face. He put his arms through the body armour, the thin light stuff Achill had paid a fortune for when they were over training in Libya, watching go-go dancers and drinking fake whisky with Gaddafi’s boyos. Pat had heard all the stories. Then the blue anorak over it, that had the red stripe down the side, the one
every man around knew to be Achill’s. He’d wear nothing else. Only his weapon Pat didn’t take, the famous M90, for it was too much for any of them bar Achill himself.

  Then Achill took out the beads that Theresa had give him one time, and knelt, and said a decade of the rosary, like he hadn’t done this ten years or more.

  He prayed that Pat drew the mob away from the Ships, and sent the Brits back into the base like he wanted. And he prayed that Pat would come safe back to him.

  Of them two things, only one came true.

  58

  Pat waited till he heard it for sure, then he drove straight up to the Ships.

  He saw the Orange mob, the off-duty peelers leading them, ready with petrol and rags to burn the place. He saw flames already leaping at the windows.

  The tummy was jumping and the hands were shaking, but no point thinking about it. He let a few rounds go over the heads of the ringleaders, and if you’d seen them lep and scatter like sheep in front of a hungry hound. That calmed him down.

  The word went round fast who it was, for they knew the colours. The sniper himself. He was back. Pat near believed it himself. The whole crowd tripped and tumbled their way down the wee lane, and across the border.

  Pat let out a wee yelp. He had driv them out of his land, and back to the country they called their own. He wasn’t stopping there. No way. On he’d come, to drive them beyond again.

  Pat had the stirring in his breast, roused up by his own heroics. For a second, he got a glimpse of what it must be Achill felt.

  He liked it well. You don’t listen to what a man says. You watch what he does, and you know who he is.

  This was who he was going to be.

  He was shaking, but he was buzzing as well. Straight on down into the town. Hid down behind the big bins at the supermarket. The crowd was gathering again, but none of them saw a hint of him. He was doing like he thought Achill would, lining up a shot at the big gate of the base, waiting for one to come out. He was the sniper the night.

  The gate swung back and he saw a white car. Was that the same he had heard Achill talk about? He poked his head up to check.

  Full in the face he got a two-by-four, and it took him back a foot, lying there flat, the hood tore off him, the head spinning three different ways. He couldn’t make out the man standing over him. Black coat, black gloves, wee woolly hat. The rest of the mob piled on in now, beating at him with sticks and bats, hammers and bottles.

  They were scattered when they saw a peeler coming. Forbes, a fearless young buck. He’d been waiting on this all his life.

  He raised his revolver and Pat tried to stand, bleeding and hobbling.

  ‘Hands in the air!’

  But sure, Pat’s arms were broke. And Forbes knew that well.

  ‘In the air! Or I’ll have to shoot!’

  He was near laughing. Oh fuck yes. He squeezed the trigger, and one tiny lump of lead and steel at a thousand mile an hour whacked into Pat and floored him over again. Just delighted with himself. A taste of your own.

  ‘I’ll take it from here, officer.’

  Forbes turned. Henry, looking like he meant business.

  ‘Secure the area. No onlookers.’

  Forbes didn’t argue the point. He put away his gun, did what he was bid.

  The body armour had saved him, but Pat was in and out of himself, still dizzy and leaking blood. He tried to focus. Who was this now, coming to plague him more?

  Henry loomed over huge, like a bird hovering. The words came flying out of him.

  ‘You fucking idiot. Don’t move. Don’t fucking move. Where are the others? Or were you stupid enough to think you could take on this base solo? Where’s your fine friend O’Brien? Didn’t he come to your rescue? Fucking coward. Are you out here on his orders? Don’t come back without the scalp of that SAS captain? Well, you met your match tonight.’

  Pat managed a wee smile, a last croak up at him.

  ‘Aren’t you the big fella, pointing your gun and threatening a man already half-dead? I could have took on three of you. It was them fucking Prods, and that fucking peeler, who brought me down, and now you walk in to kill me a third time and claim the glory. Well I’ll tell you this. Achill is coming for you the night. You can’t escape him. Count the hours.’

  Henry reached down and unclipped the armour at the bottom, by the belt. Pat wriggled but he could do fuck all. Henry aimed his weapon square at Pat’s guts, three inches away, and pumped lead into him, bang bang bang bang. The man lay dead at his feet like a bag.

  Henry crouched, and spoke nice and soft to the quiet face.

  ‘My fate isn’t yours to dole out, young man. If he comes, I’ll be ready, and may the best man win.’

  59

  Dog saw Pat bite the dust. The big one left him lying there and legged it through the cordon, back to the base.

  Fuck.

  But Dog knew what was next. Evidence tampering, a cover-up. He’d seen the whole thing before. He wasn’t letting the Brits get to that there body. He knew just what they’d do. Hoik it into the car and burn the lot, destroy every shred of evidence, to thwart the inquest. Come up with a yarn about the petrol tank catching. Nobody would question a word of it. They’d done that number on Minty Morrison. Not this time, bucko.

  Dog had a wee dander down that direction. Hung around away from the cordon. And there waiting on him was young Forbes, who’d put the first bullet in Pat.

  ‘Clear off, Campbell. This area has been sealed. Police investigation.’

  ‘Listen, cunty-hole. I seen the whole thing. Your cards are marked now. If you know what’s good for you, get to fuck. Did you ever know Ivor McDonald? I don’t think he had last Christmas with his dear wife and loving parents, so I don’t. A spare plate of turkey and ham that year. I can arrange the same again. I’ve seen off far better men than you.’

  ‘I know well you have. Officers from my station, friends of mine, good Ulstermen doing their duty. And maybe now’s my chance to even up the score. It might brighten up next Christmas for those families if I could send word I’d got one back.’

  ‘Bring it on. Try your luck. I think we both know how that story turns out. You, then your wife, then your da, then your kids. They’ll all go on the list. Let it take ten years, they’d be got every one, some way or other. If I was you, I’d disappear for half an hour. Have a wee patrol round the other end of the town. I hear there are a few suspicious-looking characters hanging about. Leave me to get on with what I need to, and we’ll say no more about it.’

  That saw him off.

  Dog stepped back again to the shadows. There could be a chopper down any time. He knew he was caught if he went near the body, but he was afraid he couldn’t hold his head high in the squad if he left Pat to rot there on the road.

  He stepped to the phone box, gave Budd a wee tinkle.

  ‘Can you meet me at the back of the handball courts? Bad news.’

  Budd was there in ten minutes. Dog filled him in, what they had to do.

  ‘We need to get the body back to Achill, for the SAS are on their way down to burn the evidence. They’ll want to hush this one up, and I’m fucked if I’m going to let them.’

  Dog was ready to move, but Budd held him.

  ‘Whisht. There he is. That same hallion, with the red hair. I’d know him anywhere.’

  ‘What is he at, anyway? Tampering, I was right. He wants to get the forensics cleaned up. The brass neck on him, right in the middle of the town.’

  ‘Either that, or he wants him dumped naked in the road, the way we do it. A warning.’

  ‘Two against one? I say we take him. Are you carrying?’

  ‘Aye. Come on to fuck. We might not make it back, but. I have that feeling.’

  ‘Me as well,’ says Dog. ‘But if you’re right, then this here’s the way I’d rather go. And if we do make it, I’ll try and get word to Achill, and you hold the fort. We can’t let him down, Budd. Pat was the kindest, gentlest man I ever knew.’

 
; 60

  Henry pulled the hood and jumper and jacket off the body. O’Brien’s clothes. He crunched the cloth in his hands, and wondered what stories it could tell. He saw the body armour under. Quality. Lighter and tougher than MOD issue. I’m having that. He unclipped it.

  He scanned the perimeter. No one.

  Wait. There.

  He saw the two of them coming, Brian Campbell and Hughes. He saw what was in their hands. He saw in front of him what it would lead to. Another corpse. His own blood on the road.

  His wife.

  His son.

  He told himself this was the right thing. He’d got what he came for. He didn’t want any complications. He could have taken them, easily, but one death to answer for was quite enough. That’s what he told himself.

  Back in the car, and back to base.

  61

  Henry was braced for the earful in the ops room. He wasn’t disappointed.

  Polly was in the chair. He was purple with the fury.

  ‘What the fuck was that display?’

  ‘He was a clear threat. I’ll account for everything.’

  ‘I don’t mean the kill, you moron. The kill is the only decent thing you’ve done this week. I mean running back here. Were you trying out for Brands Hatch?’

  ‘It was a tactical retreat.’

  ‘It was a funk. You let yourself be scared shitless by two bogtrotters. You could have taken them on, made it a clean hat-trick. You know what happens now? The RUC will refuse to patrol, the green army won’t dare go out. If they see the SAS retreat from those men, what chance do you think we have of locking down the town?’

  ‘You’ve got some nerve, calling me a coward. I thought you had a little more between your ears. You don’t know what the field is like until you’re out there. You make the judgement you make in the moment.’