Freedom First, Peace Later

by Jeanette Hewitt

  Stu, no stranger to the midnight patrol, had a love-hate relationship with all of the observation towers he had frequented in his army life. An eight hour shift, totally alone up a tower, would drive anyone into a depression, but Stu also welcomed the time alone with his thoughts, when he could write letters home and sometimes use the telephone, if there was more than one line. The soldier coming off duty ran Stu through the ropes. When he was satisfied that Stu had all of the code words and knew the drill in the case of any unwanted visitors in the barracks, he made his way down the tower and Stu watched him disappear into the little wooden building. He stood up and looked around the little room. It was circular in shape, maybe sixteen feet in diameter. It was all glass, bullet proof of course, and on a clear night one could see for miles in every direction. Along half of the room was a series of computer screens. These were set up on an infrared frequency to detect any human movement in the camp from the body heat that was radiated. He saw a red shape moving now on one of the screens and he followed it as it moved across the camp. Grabbing his binoculars, he worked out from the computer where the intruder was supposed to be and ran to the North side window. He flicked on the searchlight and trained the beam along the ground. He relaxed as he saw the camp’s Alsatian dog, Tracker, sniffing along the fence.

  Panic over, he turned his attention back to the room. He noted with interest that there were three telephones lined up against the wall, which meant he could use one for his own personal use when he was up there on his own.

  It was too late to call anybody now; his family would all be asleep, and he was sure that Ellie’s mum wouldn’t appreciate a call after midnight. He settled for writing her another letter instead. Only, as he started to write, he couldn’t think of much else to write, since he had already written to her this morning. Abandoning his pen and paper, he got up and started the search for some food that the last soldier might have left. He found none, but was excited when he discovered a mini fridge that contained some milk. He put the kettle on to boil, and set about making a cup of tea. A thought struck him, and he went back to the row of computers and studied the screens. The programme that was used here was one he was familiar with, and he decided to set the alarm on the infrared programme. This meant that if an intruder came into camp, the alarm would alert Stu, which meant he wouldn’t have to sit and stare at the screens for eight hours. It would work fine, so long as Tracker settled down and didn’t keep running all over the camp. Alarms set and the tea abandoned, Stu made himself comfortable and pulled a rug over his lap. He would be able to have forty winks now. Hell, if the camp was quiet all night, he could at last get a decent night’s sleep.

  The camp, however, wasn’t quiet. The alarm that Stu had set rang shrilly at 0347 hours and he woke at once, bounding out of the chair and over to the screen. For a second he couldn’t locate the source of the disturbance, and as he scanned all of the screens he reached out and turned off the alarm. In the quiet he was able to concentrate, and finally he saw it; he, or they, were outside the camp gates. Stu reached for his binoculars and looked out of the window. In the dim lights of the camp, he could just make out three or four figures milling around alongside a car that was parked at the gates. He knew straight away what this meant and, without pause for thought, he ran back to the computer screens. At the same time, he flicked two switches, the alarm that would wake the whole of the barracks and the full beam, so the camp was lit up. He raced to the open hatch and yelled down as the troops piled out of the doors of the barracks.

  “Proxy Bomb!”

  They all knew what it was when they saw the now abandoned car at the gates, and the camp sprang into action.

  Stu, his job to alert the camp now done, went back to the window. Instead of watching the action outside, he turned to the screen, which was now a hive of activity in infrared. He had been warned about the activities of the I.R.A, and this trick seemed to be a favourite. The idea was to drive a vehicle up to the gates of army camps—with the owner of the stolen vehicle normally still in the driving seat—set a bomb off inside the car moments later, destroying some of the camp and killing their victim. Normally the victim would be one of their enemies, or even one of their own who had turned against the I.R.A.

  Two birds, one stone.

  He could now hear a series of loud noises outside and, as he reached for his binoculars, he realised it was a series of small explosions at the gates. Stu got his binoculars in focus and trained the spotlight on the car. He clenched his fists as he saw that there indeed was someone strapped into the driver’s seat. It was a middle-aged man, and he was yelling at the soldiers who were milling around the car. Panic defined the man’s movements as he struggled against the ties that bound him in the death trap. He heard a shout, and the soldiers scattered seconds before a tiny flame caught at the car’s back end with a loud popping sound. The eyes of the man in the driving seat goggled a split second before the car exploded.

  Stu lowered his binoculars and took a deep breath. It was the first death that he had witnessed in the army, and he found that he was shaking. That had been a man in there; a man who probably had a wife and children, who certainly had a mother who would now wake up to the R.U.C on her doorstep with the news that her son was now dead, burned alive in a bomb-ridden car, outside an army camp. He realised that he should set the computer screens again; he was still on watch for another two hours, and his job didn’t stop just because a bomb had gone off. There could be other attacks, and it was his duty to spot them. He started to walk the perimeter of the room, binoculars trained on all sides of the camp, and, as he walked, a bad feeling started inside him. Things were getting bad here. He didn’t think he was going to like Northern Ireland one little bit.

  * * * *

  Barry woke up and, out of force of habit, turned to look at the clock. It was 4:49 a.m. Oh well, at least he’d gotten four minutes more sleep than the night before.

  “Maybe I’m getting better,” he muttered as he sat up.

  Who’re you kidding? the demon hissed and he ignored the voice in his head. There was no sound from the rest of the house so he dressed quickly and headed downstairs. As he boiled the kettle he flicked the radio on, just in time for the on-the-hour news. He froze, halfway through reaching for a mug, as he listened to the newsreader broadcast the story of the latest attack on the army barracks across town. A thought struck him and he opened the back door and ran down the path to the garden shed. He threw open the door, dropped to his knees at the table and pulled out the boxes that had been stacked there.

  The bombs were gone.

  Barry put his head in his hands and sat slumped on the cold floor for a long while. He heard Bronwyn calling his name but he stayed still. His heart was thumping in his chest, and it seemed a lifetime before he was able to stagger to his feet and return forlornly to the house. Bronwyn was at the kitchen table when he shuffled through the door.

  “Oh, I thought you’d gone out,” she said.

  “I did, I mean, no, I didn’t,” Barry stuttered, his mind still very much on the missing bombs.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he said and turned away from her intense stare.

  She followed him as he left the room and a frown knitted her brow. Barry was acting awfully strange lately. Normally, if he had a problem she would be the first person he would go to. Not this time, it seemed.

  She watched as he shuffled up the stairs and when he reached the top, she called out to him.

  “Barry, are you sure you’re all right?”

  He didn’t answer, just lifted a hand in acknowledgement. Moments later she heard his door close quietly.

  * * * *

  Rosina awoke to her second morning in the Dean house with a feeling of excitement. She had barely slept thinking about Connor coming home and as soon as the sun rose she got out of bed. Mary was in the kitchen, listening to the radio with a grim look on her face.

  “Another attack on the barracks,” she said as Rosina
came into the kitchen. “It’s becoming a regular occurrence.”

  “Was anyone hurt?” asked Rosina.

  “A man was tied in his car when they blew it up outside the gates,” replied Mary and leaned over to switch the radio off.

  Rosina shuddered. Crossmaglen was getting dangerous for everybody it seemed.

  “You’re up early,” commented Mary.

  “I couldn’t sleep, I’m real excited,” said Rosina as she joined Mary at the table. Mary sat back and regarded the girl with a watchful eye. She had grown quite fond of Rosina, and despite her early misgivings, it seemed like the girl was here to stay.

  “If Billy had lived, would you have gone ahead with leaving Ireland?” asked Rosina.

  “Yes,” replied Mary without a second thought. “There was nothing for us here. We would have lived our lives in Crossmaglen like fugitives.”

  “Do you think Connor and I will have to leave?”

  Mary sighed, it was bound to come up sooner or later and she had been expecting the question.

  “That’s up to you. Who knows, people might be more tolerant. Then again, they might not. That’s a decision you and Connor will have to make.”

  Rosina nodded and spoke no more about it. But the seed had been planted and, with the frequent attacks and animosity surrounding her relationship, Rosina knew it was going to be something they would have to consider.

  Mary interrupted her thoughts. “What do you do, girl? I mean, do you work?”

  “Oh. Yes. Well, I’m at college part time, but I work in the council offices in the town. I’m on holiday at the moment but I’m due back on Monday.”

  “What are you doing at college?” Mary asked.

  “Art,” said Rosina and blushed.

  “Are you any good?”

  “I guess so, well, people tell me I am,” replied Rosina.

  Mary laughed and began to clear away her ashtray and mug. The girl was very modest.

  “I’d like to see some stuff you’ve done, if I can,” she said and, since her back was turned, she didn’t see the huge smile of gratification on Rosina’s face.

  * * * *

  Connor was dressed and practicing on his crutches when Mary arrived to collect him. A look of panic flitted across his face when he saw that she was alone.

  “The girl’s at home, love. Don’t worry, she’s not done a runner. Not yet, anyway.”

  “And she won’t, Ma, at least I hope not,” replied Connor.

  “Nah, she’s here to stay,” said Mary and helped him off the bed. As they walked along the corridor, Connor sneaked a sideways look at his mother.

  “You like her, don’t you?” he asked.

  Mary shrugged.

  “Come on, I know you do. I knew you would!” he laughed.

  “She’s okay, I suppose,” Mary said grudgingly. “For a Fenian.”

  Connor stuck both crutches under his left arm and gave Mary an awkward hug with his right.

  “Thanks for looking after her,” he said.

  Mary said nothing but Connor saw the smile that played around her lips.

  She was waiting in the lounge and, when she heard the front door open, she stood up, nervously wringing her hands. Mary discreetly vanished into the kitchen and, as Connor came into the room, he threw aside the crutches and scooped her up into his arms.

  “I’m so glad you’re home,” she said. “How’s your leg?”

  “Okay.” He sat down on the couch, pulling Rosina down with him. “You don’t know how good it is to have you here.”

  “I’m so happy to be here, your mam has been great,” Rosina smiled shyly. “I think she likes me.”

  Connor sat back and took Rosina’s hand. How could his mother not like her? How could anybody fail to be taken in by her charm? She was the sweetest girl he had ever known.

  “It’s going to be fine now,” said Connor, as he pulled her close once again. They were still holding each other when the brick crashed through the front window, landing inches away from their feet. Glass showered them both. Rosina pulled away from Connor and let out a scream. Feet thudded in the hallway as Mary heard the commotion and ran into the room. As soon as she saw what had happened she turned tail and charged out of the front door.

  “Bastards!” they heard her yell. Connor stumbled out of the lounge and joined his mother in the front garden.

  There was nobody in sight so Connor turned and hobbled back to the lounge. Rosina sat in the same position on the couch and his eyes widened as he saw that she was covered in glass from the broken window. As she raised her head to look at him, he felt such anger at the frightened, wide-eyed stare she gave him.

  Then he saw the blood.

  “Christ, you’re hurt!” he shouted and went to her side, the glass crunching under his feet.

  “Just my hands, I think,” she said and turned them palm up. Angry red streaks criss-crossed her hands and Connor held them gently. He felt her shaking; suddenly all of the emotions of the last few days exploded from within him. He stood up and hurled the crutch he held across the room. As it connected with the far wall, he yelled with such fury that Rosina shrank back in fright.

  “Bastards! Fucking, lousy bastards!”

  “Connor!” Mary had come in and she grabbed his arm. “Get some salt water and clean up Rosina’s hands. I’ll get something to cover the window.”

  Chest heaving and fire dancing in his eyes, Connor ran his hands through his hair as he surveyed the mess around him. He looked down at Rosina who still had not moved and he felt near to tears.

  “I’m sorry, Rosie,” he said.

  “I’m okay, really. I just don’t want to get blood on your carpet,” she held her hands close to her chest. He felt such love for her at that moment that he would have happily cut his own hands off and given them to her.

  “Connor, salt and water,” Mary said sternly.

  The early afternoon of Connor’s homecoming was spent repairing Rosina’s hands and the broken window. Mary found a piece of plastic that covered the worst of the shattered glass and got on the telephone to a glazier.

  Connor sat at Rosina’s feet, with his injured leg stretched out in front of him, carefully picking tiny pieces of glass out of her hands. He had just finished cleaning them free of blood when the phone rang.

  “Mam’ll get it,” Connor said without looking up.

  Minutes later, Mary came into the room.

  “That was your friend, Bronwyn. She says she’ll be in the Felix Bar in an hour.”

  “Oh, God. I forgot.” Rosina looked up at Connor. “She wanted to go for that drink. I should call her and cancel.”

  “No,” Connor spoke quietly but firmly. “We arranged it, and we’re going. I’m not going to hide here forever.”

  “How are your hands?” Mary came over and sat down.

  “They’re fine,” said Rosina.

  Connor peered at her palms.

  “I think the bleeding is stopping. I’m going to bandage them, ‘cause some of these cuts are quite deep. If it doesn’t stop, you might need a couple of stitches.”

  Rosina nodded and looked at the piece of plastic on the window, fluttering in the breeze. The bleeding would probably stop, but the persecution wouldn’t. It would go on and on, until one, or both, or all of them were dead. She and Connor would be victimised, and as long as they stayed in Crossmaglen they would live in fear. If they were to be together, it was time to seriously consider moving for good.

  * * * *

  Bronwyn put down the telephone and called upstairs for Danny. He came down and strode into the kitchen.

  “So, where’re we going? Fox and Hound?” he asked eagerly.

  “No, I get enough of that place when I’m at work. No, today we’re going to meet a new friend of mine.”

  Danny pressed her for more information, but Bronwyn would say no more on the subject. She knew that if she told him that they were off to meet Connor, there was no way he would go. Reluctantly, he tagged along behind her
as they walked briskly through the streets of Crossmaglen. When they came to the Divide and Bronwyn continued walking, Danny stopped. She stood a few feet in front of him and turned round.

  “Come on!”

  “Jesus, Bronwyn, what are you doing going over there?” Danny asked in astonishment.

  She tapped her foot impatiently as he walked over to her, nervously looking around.

  “Look, Rosina has had to move out of home and all she could get was a place out here. We’re going to meet her for a drink and show her she still has friends back home.”

  “Just Rosina, right?” he asked cautiously.

  “Just Rosina,” she lied and took his hand. “Now, come on, will you!”

  When they walked into the Felix Bar it was almost empty, and Bronwyn felt Danny relax beside her. She spotted Rosina at once and pulled Danny over.

  “Hey, Rosie, how you—?” Danny broke off as he noticed the lad sitting next to her. His gaze fell upon the boy’s crutches and he felt the blood drain from his face.

  “What happened to your hands?” Bronwyn was talking now and he tried to concentrate on what she was saying.

  “What?” he asked, his voice sounding loud and false in his ears.

  “Rosina’s hands!” Bronwyn said and pulled Danny onto the seat while Rosina explained about the brick incident.

  Danny sat down and glanced up to see Connor staring at him.

  “Have we met before?” asked Connor.

  “No,” said Danny, staring down at the table.

  “Dan, get a round in, yeah?” Bronwyn nudged him and Danny squeezed out past her, glad to not be sitting opposite the lad he had shot only days earlier. After checking out everybody’s glasses, he went up to the bar.

  Connor turned in his seat and watched him go. Bronwyn’s boyfriend seemed awfully familiar, but he couldn’t work out why. As Danny called back to Rosina to ask if she wanted ice in her drink, Connor frowned. He recognised Danny’s voice, too, but, like a dream that faded upon waking, he just couldn’t grasp the memory of it.