by Geoff Wolak
In the morning, after breakfast, I had a team of six doctors facing me as I lay on the bed, the man in charge describing the wounds and possible side-effects, secondary effects and infection, all done as if I was unconscious – not sat listening.
He finally said to his group, ‘Any questions?’
‘I have one,’ I cut in with. ‘How do you prevent the internal scar-muscle from being a problem in later life if it hardens, to the detriment of nearby blood vessels? Sir.’
He glanced at his notes. ‘And you are ..?’
‘A Gunner in the RAF Regiment, sir, but I’m also a medic.’
‘A bit advanced ... for a basic medic.’
‘I read around the subject, sir.’
‘Well, to answer your question, it’s guess work as to the long term effect, but localised injections of muscle relaxant is a treatment for localised pain or loss of feeling. Any ... pain or loss of feeling?’
‘No, sir, and I test it every day.’
‘Then you’ll probably be lucky - in your body’s recovery, but not in running marathons. Stick to soldiering, it appears to be less dangerous.’
I cocked an eyebrow at him before he led his team out.
Bongo and Slack turned up that evening; they had rung the Glass House and been informed of my move. They brought porn mags and grapes, and some half-eaten chocolates.
‘Who the fuck ate my chocolates?’ I complained.
‘Bongo did, in the car,’ Slack said with a laugh.
‘I was hungry,’ Bongo complained.
‘You had an evening meal?’ I pressed.
‘Yeah. But I was still hungry.’
I sighed. ‘So what’s been happening?’
‘Gone quiet, but they know you’ll be back soon. And I’m away soon, so it’ll be just you and Bongo for a while.’
‘I got my transfer papers in,’ Bongo said. ‘Don’t like the place now, not after being woken and hit.’
‘I often wanted to wake you and hit you,’ I told him, Slack laughing.
‘Not my fault I snore.’
‘Well, yeah, it is kind of,’ I told him.
‘What’ll you do?’ Slack asked me.
‘Don’t know. I’ll go back, then ... fuck knows. They did say I could transfer somewhere, so I’ll transfer somewhere and see. They should release me from here in a few days.’
‘Might start a fight on day one,’ Slack cautioned. ‘Get some practise in first, make sure them wounds is healed.’
I sullenly nodded, Bongo stealing my chocolates till I threatened to punch him.
Five days later and the stitches came out, two nice scars to show any girls I met, and I had been pushing myself on the treadmill when the physio was not around. I felt that I was back to full fitness almost, and I started to run on the treadmill in the mornings.
With a final bank of tests I was signed off for a week’s light duties back at base, and I changed into uniform after borrowing an iron; I did not want to leave the RAF an excuse to complain about me. The medic drivers dropped me off at the guardroom the next morning at 10am, Hesky greeting me. He walked with me as I lugged my kit down to the room, and to a familiar bed.
Kit locked away, I headed to the admin section. They were mildly stunned to see me as I handed in the notes from the doctor. The notes said I was on light duties, so they suggested that I report to my old flight. I walked in to loud cheers and jeers, and I wanted to hit a few people then and there.
I found Sergeant Harris, who was surprised to see me. ‘You’re back.’ He waited.
‘Back, cleared of all charges, due some compensation and a big sloppy kiss of the CO. I’m on light duties this week, so ... what you got for me?’
He held up a hand. ‘I don’t want to set you any tasks till the officers say so. They said you’d be transferred out.’
‘And I probably will go.’
‘So ... go see Pilot Officer James, and then tell me what he said.’
I nodded, turned and headed out, feeling like a fish out of water. This place used to be home, and now it all felt like an alien world to me.
Back in Admin I asked after the officer, and they pointed me towards his office, and I was sure I had not spoken to this man before; he had arrived a month before I was shipped out.
I knocked and waited, told to ‘come in’. I entered and saluted, the officer at his desk, files open. ‘Gunner Milton, sir, back from hospital.’
‘Back from prison,’ he clarified. ‘Don’t get comfy here, you’ll be transferred just as soon as we can sort it. In the meantime you’re confined to the base and to report in at the start of the day and at 5pm.’
‘The hell I will. Sir.’
‘You ... what?’ he hissed.
‘You have no authority to confine me to base, sir.’
‘I have the authority on my shoulders!’ he barked.
‘No you don’t, you have no basis in military law at all!’ I was getting louder.
He stood. ‘You’re under close arrest, Milton.’ He stepped past me and out the door. ‘Sergeant, this man is under arrest and confined to the Guard Room, escort him there.’
I was stunned, and ready to kill the man, but I knew I was in the right and so walked out after snarling at the young officer.
Outside the building, the Admin sergeant said, ‘He can’t place you under arrest.’
‘I know, and it’s his career he’s fucking with. So let him hang himself.’
We walked to the Guardroom, Hesky surprised to see me.
The Admin Sergeant said, ‘Corporal, Pilot Officer James ... has ordered Wilco to be confined to the guardroom, maybe till the MP’s get here.’
‘What the fuck happened?’ Hesky puzzled.
‘That prick of an officer told me I was confined to the base -’
‘He can’t do that,’ the sergeant cut in. ‘Need the CO, a good cause, and a proper hearing, but military law don’t allow confinement like that in the UK, but does stop men drinking off base abroad or in a war. We ain’t in a fucking war.’
‘You want me to call someone?’ Hesky asked.
‘Yes, but not till after 5pm,’ I told him.
‘Smart lad,’ the sergeant said with a smile as he sloped off.
‘Why after 5pm?’ Hesky puzzled.
‘Military law says that a man held must have food, medical, suicide watch. So ... the longer we leave it the more trouble he’s in.’
‘I’ll pretend I never heard any of that.’
‘Fine. Now be a love and lock me in a cell, as you were ordered to do.’
‘Jesus...’
I sat in the unlocked cell - the keys not used in years and no one knew where they were, and I had slept here once whilst on guard duty, snow on the ground outside at the time. I lay back, thinking through procedural military law, and it was black and white.
At 2pm Hesky brought me a sandwich, and I could at least claim that I had not been fed. The hours dragged on, and Hesky handed me the newspapers. He went off duty with a promise to call Colonel Bennet at 5pm.
Corporal Dire was on, and laughed when I explained my current incarceration. He stopped laughing when I explained he would be charged with unlawful imprisonment and carrying out an illegal order. He called a mate in Catterick Garrison Battalion, and that mate shocked Corporal Dire, who now sat looking worried.
I was not worried because I figured Dire would end this, and I assured Dire I would put in a good word for him so long as he called the Garrison MP Duty Officer right now for advice.
He found the number, called, and explained the situation. Off the phone, he said, ‘They’re sending someone, said you can’t be held like this. But it ain’t my fault.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I assured him, and I sat in my allotted cell.
An MP Captain arrived at 5.45pm with two sergeants, pistols on hips. I saluted.
‘You’re Gunner Milton?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Colonel Bennet called us this morning, just in case, then we got the expected call fr
om here. Wait here.’ He faced Corporal Dire. ‘If you had not called us I would have ripped your fucking head off your shoulders.’
‘Right, sir,’ Dire timidly got out.
‘Sir,’ I began. ‘The NCO was unsure about the law, but concerned enough to call you without my prompting.’
The captain faced Dire but thumbed at me. ‘He just saved your arse.’
With the MPs gone, I sat down, a cuppa made, Dire worried. Ten minutes later they were back, and I was called outside. I as approached the two Land Rovers, Pilot Officer James stepped down. I smiled but forced it away, which he saw.
A car pulled up, the station commander pulling out with another senior officer. ‘Captain?’ the station commander loudly nudged.
The MP Captain turned, and saluted. ‘Sir, the young officer here is under arrest. But he will get the kid of legal advice that was denied to Milton there.’
‘Milton? Ah,’ the station commander realised.
The MP Captain faced James. ‘Which fucking law book says you can confine an enlisted man to base indefinitely? He has rights, and he could be living off base, a sick mum to look after. Did you even enquire if he had commitments off base? A doctor’s appointment, stitches to remove?’
‘Well ... no.’
‘No, sir!’ the captain shouted at James. ‘Military law no longer allows you to confine an enlisted man to base unless overseas or in a time of war, and then only till a hearing is held. Being confined to base is a sentence carried out after a judgement has been made.
‘And what fucking law book gave you the right to have him locked in a cell in the guard room? Did you check his medical condition? No. Did you make sure that he had meals today? No. Did you have a suicide watch set-up, his mental health assessed for risk? No, Fuckwit, you did not.
‘Did you offer him legal counsel, as is the law prior to incarceration? No, Fuckwit, you did not. You’re an officer, and yet you broke every damn law you could think of today, a fucking shambles!’
The station commander sighed, and angered look for James. ‘Why did you not call the MPs if there was an issue with Milton?’
‘Was planning on letting him cool his heels first -’
‘Cool his heels?’ the captain shouted. ‘You locked him in a cell with no food nor medical consideration for an indefinite period, no legal counsel offered! Pilot Officer James, you are herby under arrest for the unlawful imprisonment of an enlisted man in your care!’
A look at the MP Sergeants, and they cuffed the officer and shoved him back in the Land Rover.
‘Is that really necessary?’ the station commander growled.
‘Are you questioning the standard procedures written down for us police officers, sir? Written down by the Joint Chiefs and ratified by Parliament?’
The station commander glared back for a moment, controlling his anger. ‘No, Captain.’
‘Good, because senior officer or not, I’ll arrest you for obstruction, or shoot you, or both!’ James was bundled away. The captain finally faced me. ‘You’re free to go about your business, Milton, and Colonel Bennet will be here tomorrow to shout and scream a great deal.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ I saluted the station commander, stating, ‘Senior officer present,’ and walked to the canteen. I was starved.
I grabbed food and sat with Bongo.
‘Hey, you’re back,’ Bongo began. ‘What’s all the fuss outside?’
‘Officer had me locked in the guardroom, he just got himself arrested.’
‘Fucking hell, you’ll be popular.’
‘Fuck ‘em all, I’ll go out fighting.’
‘You back in the room?’
‘Yeah, so no snoring, eh.’
An hour later we walked down to the room, but I did not bother to unpack. Somehow I figured I would not be here long.
Flight Lieutenant Marsh turned up later, as I sat reading.
I stood. ‘Sir.’
He sighed. ‘First day back, and all this shit. I was out, otherwise I might have prevent it. What happened?’
‘I presented myself to Pilot Officer James, who said that as far as he was concerned I was still a convict and so confined to the base indefinitely. I tried to tell him what military law allows, so he stated that I was under arrest, locked in a cell in the guardroom.’
‘What an idiot. That’s his career down the toilet. We can’t very easily confine a man to base unless he’s a repeat offender at drunken violence, and most live off base anyhow. As for arresting you ... he has no authority, that’s for the police. So it’s a fucking mess.’
‘Just as soon as you have somewhere for me to transfer to, sir.’
‘I discussed it with London, and they’re not keen for you to be in a squadron.’
‘So ... where would I go, sir?’
‘At the moment ... nowhere. The current CO is set to leave in a few weeks, under a dark cloud, and this latest episode will make waves as well. In the morning, report to Sergeant Harris, tell him I sent you and to find you something to do. But what about your injuries?’
‘I’m fine, sir, supposed to be on light duties this week only.’
He nodded. ‘Shock it was, seeing you on the TV. I dropped my drink. But good run, well done, pity you never got to the end you were doing well.’
‘If I choose to buy myself out, sir, how long will it take?’
‘Normally, a few weeks at least, but ... we could give you accrued leave and just send you off – if that’s how you feel?’
‘Not sure how I feel, sir. I was mildly optimistic till I got back here, and now this.’
He glanced at Bongo. ‘An officer has been arrested and charged, so ... the other officers will paint you as a trouble maker.’
‘My legal counsel is here tomorrow, Colonel Bennet.’
‘More fun and games. I’m here tomorrow if there are any more issues.’
‘Goodnight, sir,’ I offered as he left.
It felt strange sleeping in my old bed, mattress borrowed from slack – he was doing an overnight with his girl, because I had not had time to sign a mattress out, sleeping bag on top of that mattress.
In the morning I went for a run, just a few laps, and had breakfast at the usual time, saying hello to a few curious faces. I entered the briefing at the usual time, and made myself a tea as the men assembled, a few comments of “the convict is back” heard, Sloan’s mates looking like they were planning on killing me. I tried not to react.
Sergeant Harris appeared harassed when he noticed me. He took a moment. ‘As you can all see, Wilco is back. He came back yesterday, but an officer made a mistake and tried to give him a hard time, and that officer was arrested, his career ruined.’ They were all focused on me. ‘Wilco, you ain’t popular with the officers right now.’
I stood. ‘I studied military law in prison, and today my legal counsel will be here, a colonel, and I’m going to fuck-up the careers of anyone who even looks at me the wrong way. I was wrongly convicted and not given legal counsel, and the charge has been overturned, the CO had been reprimanded, and I’m due compensation – before I transfer out of here.’
‘Well, so much for a quiet life, eh.’ He read out orders, which tanks were broken and in need of some work, and I joined Hesky.
At 11am Colonel Bennet arrived with a team, and had all officers and sergeants and above rudely assembled outside. He then tore into them at length about their lack of knowledge of military law, and gave them a lecture as if they were children. He cited my wrongful conviction and berated the CO in front of everyone, something that not even I would have done.
With the crowd dismissed he sat with the station commander for a while, and then sent for me. Stood with his team behind him, outside the station commander’s office, he began, ‘You’re being given indefinite leave, so ... grab your kit and get a train out of here, don’t look back. You’ll get a letter at home in a week or so, your next posting, which you can challenge if you wish.’
I nodded sullenly, a glance at the base
.
‘See this as a fresh start, Wilco, not the end.’
I saluted, walking off with my shoulders down, and I re-packed what little kit I had taken out. I lugged my kit to the armoury, Bongo upset to see me go so soon, and he got his car. We drove out, no looking back, and to the train station, and I was still in uniform; we were not allowed to travel in uniform.
I thanked Bongo, not sure if I would ever see him again, bought a ticket from my own cash, and caught a train south towards Birmingham, to change for Gloucester. On the train I changed my clothes, and then simply sat staring out the window as the rain ran diagonally down the window, and the time dragged, dark green fields glanced at.
‘Excuse me,’ came a voice. I turned my head to see a thin-faced man in his thirties. ‘Sorry to interrupt you, but ... were you the runner shot in the marathon?’
I gave him a peeved look and nodded.
‘It is him!’
Men from the seats opposite slid over, all runners on their way to a meet. They bought me a cup of tea and some crisps from the buffet, and they treated me like a superstar, all very interested in how I trained, and all of a sudden I felt much better. I was photographed a dozen times, and when other passengers found out they also wanted a photo, a very odd skew on things.
I arrived home at 6pm, a long old train journey, my parents surprised to see me. ‘I have some leave time,’ I told them, and grabbed my old room, soon sat with a cup of tea and my mum as she watched Eastenders, dad pottering in his shed, and it felt as if the last two years had been a dream, that it had not really happened.
The next morning I wandered around the town remembering my youth, girls met and dated, I even bumped into a lad from school, a quick chat. He had not seen the marathon, and did not ask, and I did not say anything.
That evening I ventured in to what could be described as the best pub in town, and bumped into another school friend. We sat and had drinks, girls smiled at, and he told me he had a large house, his dad in prison, spare rooms. The place was rent free if I would paint several rooms and do the garden whilst he was away on a ship.
I considered the offer, and considered sitting with my mum watching Eastenders, and so took him up on the offer. I explained to my parents that I had to help an old friend, house and garden, and my dad offered to have a go at the garden.
