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Overwatch

By: torchthebitch



This story is written in the vernacular and jargon of a subgroup of native English speakers. Some of the words will be unfamiliar to almost all other English speakers. Hopefully they will be comprehensible by context. I have googled most of them and there are definitions out there.

*

"Hello Zero, this is Echo Sierra two one Alpha. Check, Bravo, India, Whiskey, four three niner five, a dark Ford Escort, over."

"Zero, blue, discretion, out."

My world came crashing down with Corporal Johnston's vehicle check. I hefted the butt of the light machine gun into my shoulder taking proper control of the weapon with my finger resting on the safety catch, just as I had been drilled, and peered through the IWS image intensifying sight. I acquired the vehicle as it turned into the gateway of the house we were watching. My hand moved towards the cocking handle. Exactly as per the drills. 

The green glow of the image was heavily speckled with little bright points as the electronics worked their magic. OK, it was first generation equipment and not as clear as we're used to now but I marvelled at the sight picture even as I followed my wife's car along the driveway to the house. I heard the crunch of gravel as it came to a halt at the door - and watched as a slim, dark haired, woman, dismounted the vehicle, walked to the door, and let herself in. 

I'm quite sure most of you haven't got a clue how a husband comes to be watching his wife enter another man's house through a weapon sight, so I suppose I'll have to give you some background. 

I'm Drew Wilson; I lived in Belfast, Northern Ireland, during what was 'The Troubles'. I'd been brought up as a protestant but like most families we had catholic aunts, uncles, and cousins, so bigotry was something foreign to us, until it all kicked off. I still don't understand it. Although, like most working class kids at the time, I had turned out to 'defend' my area when the police and army came in looking for paramilitary weapons, (and yes, they did search proddy areas as well as catholic). 

Rioting was a bit of sport to brighten up an otherwise ordinary day. Anyway, you didn't get badly hurt unless you got hit by a rubber bullet, or half a brick thrown from just behind you, or broke your petrol bomb at your own feet. Everybody laughed at you if you did that, especially since the best way to deal with it was to piss yerself. Most of the time the injuries were often pretty minor, you only went to hospital to claim compensation. 

The worst would be if the police and soldiers had been kept on the streets for too long, and they were getting tired. Then they fired the rubber bullets at short range, and they would hurt like hell or, if they hit your head or just over the heart they could kill. If you fell during one of their charges, you could get a real hammering with the batons and shields and wind up with broken bones. We learned when to run. Sometimes some paramilitary dickhead would open up with a rifle or sub-machine gun (SMG). The sport would end and we'd get offside sharpish.

I left school as soon as I could, and my first job was as a hospital porter, getting back and forth on a Honda 50 moped. As rioting escalated so did the injuries coming in. My idea that it was just sport was soon changed. I covered almost every part of the hospital, including the mortuary. In addition to "normal" patients, I had seen casualties from riots, shootings, and bombings. Now I had to deal with people who didn't make it...and their relatives. 

Seeing the grief of people of all religions coming to see their child or parent, husband or wife, loved one or lover, for the last time, reinforced my conviction that, by and large, people are people. I know there were some who used a death to harden their hatred of 'the other side' but their grief was always the same. Eventually I got so angry about the pain and anguish I felt; I could no longer stand on the sidelines. I had to DO something. 

I looked at the alphabet soup of "organisations" "defending" "their" communities and easily came to the conclusion that one paramilitary thug was as bad as the other. The police were the most evenhanded. Despite the propaganda they were standing between both sides and they were hated as much by the UVF and UDA as the IRA and INLA. The problem was that they didn't just accept people with two arms, two legs, two eyes, and two ears. They had educational standards. 

I had left school as soon as I was sixteen and that meant I didn't sit any exams. It was possible back then. My application was rejected but the police recruiter suggested I try the Ulster Defence Regiment, which had been formed as part of the army. He said if I did some time with them and studied for Maths and English exams at night school I could apply again later and I'd have a bit of experience as well. 

EXAMS! This needed a lot of thought. I went down to the club and sank a few pints of the black stuff.

Long story short, I joined the UDR and started night school. The UDR was part-time so I could do it at night and at weekends. I could fit duties around my hospital shifts and night classes. By this stage I had bought myself a CL175 to get around but I was lucky enough to get the army to give me a car driving licence so I could drive the Land Rovers we used.

Duties meant that I could be on patrol one or two nights every week. We also had to do guard duties and training. On weekends we rotated through patrols, guards, range, or training days. Each company was supposed to have one weekend where there was nothing on but they were often wiped out by courses or community work. Every two or three months we would have a training weekend at one of the field training centres from Friday night to late Sunday afternoon. Think T.A., F.C.A., or National Guard, but doing operations at the same time. 

Of course, nobody had to do every duty. Tasks required only a proportion of the company, and there was a different company on each night. I did a lot of patrols and eventually the inevitable happened. The patrol I was part of stopped some of the people I worked with. I knew they were anti security forces, so I talked to the section that dealt with our personal security. They told me that the best thing for me was to move house and quit my job. I should avoid any patterns in my life because if my details got back to the terrorists they might try a Close Quarter Assassination (CQA). I did the first two and moved into a small flat, but I had to finish my night classes if I was going to get my exams. 

They told me I should apply for a gun for personal protection. The army wouldn't give me one because there was no confirmed threat to me so I had to apply to the police and buy a handgun. I bought a second-hand, Smith & Wesson .38 revolver, (J frame, 5 shot, 17/8¬" barrel, easy to carry in your pocket, for you gun nuts out there) and was allowed 25 rounds at any one time. I discovered later it was a dead mans gun. He didn't get a chance to draw it before he was shot in the back. That's why I was able to afford it.

I got jobs labouring on building sites and passed my exams. The few nights that I did have off, were spent relaxing in the flat, practising the guitar, tin whistle, and fife, maintaining my bike, and working on an old Ford Anglia van. I had bought it cheap, to use in the winter. Like a lot of my friends I had joined one of the local flute bands when I was a kid. They were called flute bands but most played the fife, that's where I learned tin whistle too. I taught myself guitar because I thought I might get into a band, become a rock star, and get out of N.I. I left the flute band when I joined the UDR. They didn't like you to be in them because some of the less reputable ones were recruiting grounds for the paramilitaries and the army isn't keen on divided loyalties. 

I applied to the police again, but they had moved the goalposts. Now, they wanted 5 'O' levels. I had two. There were so many people wanting to join they could pick and choose. I was approaching twenty-one and starting to understand what my parents had tried to get through my stubborn head. You get nowhere without some sort of qualifications. Hell, I wouldn't even have been able to get beyond Lance Corporal if I hadn't done those two exams.

This needed a lot of thought. This time, instead of the club, I went home and talked to Mum and Dad. They told me to go to my old school and talk to my former headmaster, Mr Prescott. I took the advice.

Money wasn't too much of a problem, as I'd been doing two jobs for nearly two years, and hadn't been able to go out much at night. What, with classes, patrols, and training? Labouring wasn't going anywhere and I could do duties at night to earn money, so, I quit labouring, moved back in with Mum and Dad, started Technical College as a mature student, and planned a future. I also did the army course for promotion to Lance Corporal. 

When college was out I was able to join what were called the "dole patrols". These were 4 man teams (known as a "brick") who would form extra patrols to augment the police and regular troops during the day or to assist with guard and escort duties. (No, we didn't provide sexual services to all the gay redcoats, we would provide armed cover and 'native' guides to other units, equipment moves, recovery of broken down vehicles, and things like that.)

With all the heavy industry in Belfast at the time I decided to do City and Guilds in engineering. It was hanging out in the cafeteria at the Technical College between classes that I met Jean. She was doing RSA classes in office administration. She was about 5ft 6in and a (British) size 10, long glossy dark hair, and deep brown eyes. With all my experience talking to people in the hospital, on the building sites, and in the army, I was, naturally, a very shy and introspective sort. It took all of about 2 seconds for me to ask her out. (Hell, we were at war. I might be blown up next time I got into my van, or get shot answering the door. Strangely we were safer on duty than off). 

Well, she of course thought I was an arrogant wee shite, who was too full of himself. BUT, she didn't shut me down right away. So I sat down at her table and engaged her in conversation. Like I said, I had talked to all sorts of people when I worked at the hospital and I had dated a few of the student nurses, so I could charm the ladies when I really wanted. It wasn't long before I had her laughing and I just knew I had her hooked. I asked again for a date, she said no, and left for her next class. 

Augh well, crashed and burned, but it wasn't the first time. I hung about the cafeteria between classes hoping to bump into her again but it was a full week until I saw her. This time she was with a gaggle of girls from her course. Still there's no time like the present, so I asked her out, again, and this time she was quiet for a moment, bent her head, looked up at me from below her eyelids, and said, "OK." I still don't understand it, but I felt all the clichés. My heart was thumping, I couldn't breathe, I was bathed in sunshine, and the birds were singing. I had never felt anything like it. It was even better than my first time in bed with a girl.........nearly. 

So began our courtship. She was working for the Civil Service and they were paying her tuition. She did one day and one afternoon and evening at Tech and the rest of the time she was in work. That was why I hadn't seen her for a week. We started sharing lunch when she was at college and I would pick her up after work or night class, in the van, if I could get it running, otherwise the bike. 

Unusually for a girl, in those days, she had moved out of home when she got a job. She came from a country village called Aghalee near Lough Neagh. She had got two GCEs in maths and English and good enough grades in her CSEs to get a job in the Civil Service. When she was 18 she moved up to Belfast and shared a small flat over a shop in an area called Bloomfield, with Sandra, whose brother was a policeman. This was on the bus route to Stormont, where she worked, and to the college. She didn't know anyone in town when she moved up, but she soon made friends at work and at college. 

She had a few boyfriends at home, and had gone out with a couple of lads from work or college, but nothing serious. The guys from town thought they would be able to dazzle her 'cos she came from the country, but, as she said, she knew how the cock covered the hen and the bull serviced the cow, so wasn't about to be tricked into anything. She was amazing, so natural and unaffected. She could charm the birds from the trees and every other truism you can think of. I was absolutely mired in everything about her. Oh, and she had a mean right jab and left hook - she had three older brothers - all farmers. 

Overwatch Ch 2

There were very few places to go in Belfast at the time 'cos most of them had been blown up. People didn't really venture into town at night anymore, so the pubs were very much not the sort of place you would take your girl. Entertainment was either the cinema, the local shebeen or, for those with transport, going down to Bangor. At the time, this was a Victorian seaside town of faded glory, but there was an old amusement arcade, a small roller coaster, a few pubs you could take a girl into, a cinema, a theatre, (like I would be seen in something like that), two dancehalls without a drinks licence, and one with. A few of the old hotels put on some local wannabe band, and charged hotel prices for drink. I also had the option of the company bar on our lines. 

Since we couldn't really let our guard down in public, the battalion paid something towards a few dances during the year, and we would raise some money amongst the troops to get a better band and pay for a buffet. The officers and sergeants chipped in as well and we usually held an all-ranks do. There was always some transport arranged so everyone could get as drunk as they wanted and still get home safe. It really was a family organisation. 

Jean and I used all the options except the shebeen. They were all illegal drinking clubs run by the paramilitaries. If we went down to Bangor, I was usually driving, and, since I carried a gun as well, I wouldn't have more than one pint. I had fitted a couple of seats in the back of the van so we could take some mates with us, and usually there were more mates than seats, but hey, I had my get-out-of-jail-free card, and so had most of the blokes. (We always said half our school friends carried guns legally and the other half, illegally.) Anyway, there wasn't all that much traffic about in those days, because cars were still a bit of a luxury and people didn't want to be out late at nights. As long as the driver was sober, and you weren't tearing the arse out of it, the police would use their discretion. They just wanted to see people get home safe. So we had a high old time when we could. 

Okay, by now you have a broad outline of our lifestyle. Basically, it was like serving in the Balkans, Iraq, or Afghanistan, but at the same time, living at home, leading as normal a life as possible. The main difference was that the 'enemy' looked like you, went to the same shops, pubs, and cinemas as you, and sometimes had been at the same school as you. So, courtship was the same as anywhere else.

As a youngster I had done all the usual teenage things. Trying to cop a feel, moving on to going steady and 'heavy petting', the occasional wank, and, eventually, actually having sex. I'm not going to discuss the girls concerned since we all move on and make a life for ourselves, but that doesn't mean I can't relate some of the background. N.I. is, even now, a pretty religious country and morals are still taught. Back then though; the swinging sixties hadn't had much impact on our wee province. On the catholic side, the priest's word still had power, and on the protestant side, the Orange Order and the Black Preceptory were still staunchly religious and required members to adhere to Christian standards. Sadly, the canker of turning a blind eye to the hoodlums in our midst has eroded much of this. We supped with the devil but didn't use a long enough spoon. 

Less moralising, this is supposed to be a love story, of sorts.

At the hospital, student nurses could start training at sixteen to become State Enrolled Nurses. These girls tended to be the bottom rung of the system and did a lot of the general work on the wards, especially the bedpans and things. As a porter, I was in and out of the wards and got to know them, even though they were under the eagle eye of Sister, or, God help us, Matron. Nevertheless we would be able to sneak into one of the storerooms for a quick 'sesh'. The girls were supposed to go back to the Nurses Home but they had to do their shopping sometimes, didn't they? So we could sometimes get together at my parents house during the day if our shifts allowed it, or meet at the nurses' home. 

This was much more difficult as it could loose the girl her training position, so it was pretty restricted in what we could do. As I said, N.I. was morally strict, and communities were pretty tight. People didn't want to let their family down so you didn't push things too far. There were, of course, some who went further than others, but, hey, "there's a war going on around us, we might get blown up tomorrow, please let me?" Most of the time it didn't work, so, what's new?

Jean and I started going out when Tech and duties allowed it. Two people were a bit much for the 175 so I sold it. I made money on the sale 'cos I had bought it as a non-runner and done it up. I got a '69 Triumph Tiger 90, (350cc), that had been off the road for a while. All it needed was a good service and new tyres, chain, cogs, and brake shoes. I reckoned I'd make a few bob on it too, when I sold it. Together Jean and I would go touring all round the province. (Motorcycling was and is very popular in Ulster and we have still have organised road racing, at least until the health and safety people get it banned).

Autumn and winter can be quite bleak, so when the weather was any good we would explore as much of Ireland as we could. It was fairly easy to cross the border into Donegal and if we planned on doing that I had to make sure I didn't have my gun on me otherwise I might be charged with invading Eire or something. We cruised the Coast Road round Antrim and visited the Glens. We visited the Giants Causeway and got round much further than you can nowadays. Coastal erosion has meant some of the really spectacular sections are closed. 

We walked in the Mournes covered in snow and I understood how C. S. Lewis saw them as the Land of Narnia. They were very eerie in the strange, soft, light that filtered through the clouds. It was really something to share these places with Jean. We were seeing most of them for the first time, and we were doing it together. 

Sometimes, of course, we would have the mates in the van and we would tour the Ards peninsula, visiting the little pubs and ice-cream shops, dandering along the beaches, and generally acting like young people who had just discovered freedoms that our parents never had. The ever-present police and army checkpoints didn't bother us overmuch even though the traffic might tailback.

Since Jean had a flat we would often spend the evenings together. Naturally Sandra would be there a lot of the time. She had a few boyfriends, and one in particular, David, turned out to be real scroat. At first he appeared decent enough. Then he went all religious, and yet, at the same time, he was trying to get Sandra to go to bed with him. Somehow it didn't seem quite normal, so Sandra dumped him. Then he started appearing everywhere. Nowadays he would be called a stalker, back then we just called them creepy bastards. Sandra was getting pretty upset over all this and it started to affect Jean too. I took steps to resolve the matter by bumping into him one night outside the flat and explaining to him what happens to people who fuck with my friends. 


Overwatch



A couple of nights later, as I was leaving the flat, I paused at the door as usual and had a cursory look round for anything suspicious. He was peering from the entry between the shops. I didn't think much of it as he had been there a few times before. I wasn't about to let him frighten the girls, or worse, try to get in when I left, so, as I pulled my gloves on, I walked towards the entry. 

He had a baton. Luckily he was no fighter. He raised it over his head so I had an idea what was coming. As he brought it down I sidestepped and, as he followed through, he exposed his back. I crowned him with my helmet. Down he went, like a ton of shit, and lay there. I put my first aid training into use for the first time. He was out cold, so I checked his airway, his breathing, and put him in the recovery position. I was in no hurry when I went back to the girls flat and got them to call an ambulance. Naturally the peelers (police) arrived as well. I explained what happened but they scooped me anyway. They took the baton and my helmet. When I got to the police barracks I explained I was a soldier and I had to call the battalion ops room. 

The police nearly crapped themselves when they realised they had put me into a police car and brought me into the station with a gun in my pocket. Bn. sent an officer down to make sure I didn't incriminate myself. Luckily, one of the platoon commanders in the duty company that night was a solicitor. (In fact it wasn't all that lucky, there was every occupation represented in the U.D.R. and in my company we had a lawyer serving as a private soldier. You could find at least one lawyer in almost every company.) Anyway he talked to me, then, he talked to the police. Once they were satisfied they would be able to get hold of me they released me to military custody without taking a statement. They said they would wait to see what the boul' David would say when he woke.

Naturally, David claimed I had been waiting for him and attacked him from behind. He wanted to press assault charges. I had to give my statement so I got Lt. Whittaker to act for me. After they had taken statements from the girls, checked the time they said I left, and the time the ambulance was called, and the baton with David's fingerprints all over it, they suggested to him that I had a better chance bringing a charge against him and they would consider assault with intent to cause grievous bodily harm, because of the baton. He, of course, bottled it, and dropped all charges. I didn't want any more grief so didn't press anything either. The police told him not to go near the girls and we never saw him again.

I was a hero. The next night I saw the girls, they were all over me. Sandra told her brother and he came down from Strabane, where he was stationed, to meet me. We got on really well together and became best of mates. (He even got me a free helmet to replace mine. The police apparently get free samples to try out; his mate was in traffic branch and had a couple lying around.) I was dragged round to Sandra's parents and was treated like the prodigal son. This was most embarrassing, but in a good way.  

The best bit though was my reception from Jean. Up until then we had just been courting. Suddenly I was something more. I was someone who was prepared to stand up for her and her friends. I thought it was just behaving like a man should. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't then, and am not now, the sort of person who looks for a fight. I just won't walk away from one if it's forced on me. I have taken the odd beating when I should have backed off, but didn't. But, there again, my opponent always knew he had been in a fight too.

Jean decided it was time our relationship moved to the next level. She had finished her RSAs and had moved up to clerical officer. I had finished my certificate and had started on my diploma. Things started to get serious between us. We started to spend more time alone together in her flat rather than going to the Junior Ranks Club or bars. We discussed what we wanted out of life, how many kids, where we wanted to live, and sex and marriage. We found our desires were "simpatico". Although I was a townie I loved the countryside, and although Jean was a "culchie", she liked the convenience of the city life. Living in Belfast, it was only a fifteen-minute drive and you were in the country. We even had a small urban forest park on the banks of the Lagan about ten minutes from us. So we had everything we wanted on our doorstep. 

Now, although I had been to bed with a couple of girls before Jean, it was pretty much, schoolboy fumbling. We had very little information about technique. Apparently they had only invented sex in the previous decade and that was in London. It hadn't reached us in the sticks yet. So, when I started going with Jean, I was still trying to knead breasts as if they were dough, and my fingering would not have got me any prizes at a band competition. In fact, if you had put a sanding block in my hand, I could have rubbed an elephant down to a greyhound in no time. Jean was not going to put up with this mauling. I was made to slow down and learn the gentle arts. 

Now, here was where I surprised myself. One day, in her flat, as I was lying beside her and just stroking, I moved gently along her thigh and ran my hand under her skirt. For the first time she didn't stop me. I gently rubbed her pubis and her legs parted. Suddenly, the brash soldier, who was phased by nothing, was wracked with anxiety. I had reached my goal of the Promised Land and I realised that this was somehow different to all previous girlfriends. 

I was panicky. This goal, somehow, had to be extra special. It was special. She was special. I gently withdrew my hand and hugged her tight. She sighed and it seemed she had mixed feelings about that. So we talked the talk. We decided that this was something we wanted to last. We didn't want to destroy what might be, by rushing. We moved from getting to know one another as boyfriend and girlfriend into romance. Fuck me! I had surrendered! I was in that strange new world where I was actually thinking of spending my life with her! Holy fuck! I was in love! I fell like Nelson! More fucking singing birds! Jean took me to bed. 

This was major. I didn't know if Jean was a virgin, I knew I wasn't all that experienced. I had learnt that there was more to making love than just sticking your dick in and pumping away. Trouble was, I didn't know the tricks. My first time had been anti-climactic. It was little more than using the poor girl's body to wank me off. I know she was pretty unimpressed with my technique and I was left wondering if I had missed something. Don't get me wrong, it was good, it was special, it just seemed to lack something. I had improved my staying power but I still didn't know what to do or how to really share it. To make it what a woman expected. 

Overwatch Ch 3

I wanted our first time together to be extra special. If I was her first, I wanted this to be right, to be something she would never forget, or, more importantly, regret. So, the swaggering, buccaneering, arrogant, cynical, toe-rag went to bed with this special person for the first time, and just talked. I told her how monumental this was to me, how I wanted it to be the foundation of our life together, how I wanted to make sure she would never want anyone else, how...fuck, I never thought I had this in me!

I just couldn't put into words exactly how big an impact this had on me. It was the biggest step I would ever take with any woman. I knew that once Jean and I made love it was irrevocable for me. I wanted her for the rest of my life and I could never tolerate sharing her with anyone else. I stuttered and stumbled as only a man can when he is trying to express emotion. I had never envisioned talking to anyone about this and just didn't have the vocabulary. Jean took charge. She knew empathetically just what I was trying to put into words. She took a frightened boy in her arms and we slept together for the first time. I do mean slept. We didn't make love. Somehow my rambling efforts to explain myself chimed exactly with how she felt about me. I just could not believe how I had found the only woman for me.

The next day was Sunday. I went home and got the van. We went to Oxford Island on Lough Neagh. Together we walked along the lakeside and talked. We spent the day learning more about each-other's hopes and dreams and just knew we were right for each other. On the way home we stopped at Aghalee and visited Jeans parents, John and Margaret. We had Sunday dinner with them and while Jean and her mum were doing the dishes I sat in the living room with her father and squirmed. Eventually he told me to stop fidgeting and come out with whatever was bothering me. I looked at him and he had one eyebrow raised, a definite twinkle in his eye, and an amused look. I paled and swallowed hard even though my mouth was as dry. 

"I'd...er..., I, well...."

He interrupted. "Yes, Yes, I know. You want to marry Jean and you want to ask my permission. Is that about it?" He let me off the hook.

"Er...Yes," was as much as I could get out.

"Does she know?"

"That I'm asking you?"

"That, and the fact that you want to marry her?" 

"Well... she knows that I...er..., that I think she's someone special and that she's someone I could see myself...er...settling down with but I haven't said anything to her and I...er...I hadn't really thought about asking you but it seemed.....er." Suddenly I seemed to get a grip on myself. "No I haven't asked her yet and she doesn't know I'm doing this. I just felt that this was my opportunity to speak to you so I took it."

He simply nodded, sagely. "Hmm. Strike while the iron's hot, eh? Good man, yer da. Not wasting time, eh? Well, I'll have to talk to her mother first, you know. This isn't the sort of thing she'll let me decide on me own, you know." It was a statement, not a question and at that he stood up and went, solemnly, into the kitchen. 

I sat and sweated forever. At least it seemed like that, but actually, he returned immediately, with his wife and Jean both looking expectantly puzzled, or should that be puzzledly expectant? Jean and her mum sat down and John took centre stage. "Margaret, this young man has just asked if he can marry our daughter." Jean squealed. Her mum clapped her hands together in front of her face and her eyes shone as she half-smiled. Jean grabbed me round the neck. 

"Well, young man, looks like the answer's yes," said John. 

Naturally the women took charge and long laid plans were dusted off for updating. John and I were relegated to supporting players and ignored. Or, rather, not so much ignored, as talked at. Anyway, eventually I pointed out that since it seemed to be a done deal, it was only fair that we let my parents know as well.

Mum and Dad were overjoyed. Dad took me to the side and suggested I get my finger out, complete my exams, get a decent paying job, and get the hell out of the army. Not necessarily in that precise order. I saw his point. I was 23; Jean was 22. She was working full time; I was still at college.

I dropped Jean off at her flat and arranged to pick her up after work the next day so that we could make our own plans. Ultimately we decided it would be best to wait until I had finished my diploma. That meant an engagement of about 18 months. I clocked as many duties as I could and we saved like fury. Jean and I were determined to pay as much of the wedding costs ourselves. Jean and Margaret recruited my Mum into the planning and in between times I taught Jean to drive. When she got near her test, she took some professional driving lessons, just to iron out any bad habits I had introduced. She passed first time, so I couldn't have done too badly. 

I got extra duties by getting onto some of the company sports teams. I played football (soccer) and I boxed for the company. I was selected for the battalion football team but was usually a reserve. I didn't get many games but I went on the tours and got paid. I also fought for the battalion when the first choice welter weight broke his hand. I put up a fairly good performance holding the Parachute Regiment fighter to a points decision (he won). 

I also managed to get a couple of courses in the army that gave me some extra pay. I had already done my promotion course so I did my Team Medics course. It's an advanced first aid course to stabilise blast and gunshot casualties but we also covered things like how to deal with casualties under the influence of drink or drugs, heart attacks, asthma, diabetes, epilepsy, and Road Traffic Accidents. We came across more casualties caused by RTAs than anything else. One of the girls instructing had kick-started three real heart attack victims. 

The Mess Stewards course was really handy 'cos it meant I could pick up extra duties serving at the Sergeants or Officers Mess dinners. Lots of guys wouldn't do these since they thought it was demeaning, but, we got paid, we got the same meal as the sergeants or officers got, there was always wine and port left over, our own company personnel usually bought us drink, and we got transport home. It was magic. 

But not as magic as our love life became. Jean and I were spending more time in her flat to save money and we started to learn about each other's body. Jean taught me how and where to touch her and gradually I learned how to vary my touch. It was like playing the fife or guitar. You could vary the notes by varying the fingering, just like on an instrument. I came to understand how to give my woman what she wanted. 

Then one night in a surge of passion she implored, "I want you to kiss my hole," and I did. So together we learned about oral sex. Did I mention I played the tin whistle? To play you can use a technique called 'tonguing'. When I did it to Jean she nearly crushed my skull or broke my neck with her thighs and the wails of her convinced people for miles around that the Banshee had come for them. 

She tried to reciprocate but her style was vigorous, to say the least. As a result we had to take a break for a while, when I developed a rash. Her teeth broke the surface of my glans and a yeast infection set in. The cream solved it within a week. She left of giving me head for a while because she was embarrassed having hurt me. That was nothing compared to the banter I got from my mates. They called it 'athlete's foot of the dick'. I think they meant I was the dick. 

Sandra meanwhile changed departments in the civil service. This meant that she would be moving to Coleraine about 50 miles away. We were going to miss her but it was a promotion. Jean and I decided that I would take on her share of the tenancy and move in after we got married. The wedding was planned for July after my last exams.

Things hotted up on the wedding front and suddenly it seemed like there wasn't enough time left to get everything done. Our mothers, unsurprisingly, managed it, and we had a wonderful day. Sandra was bridesmaid. Our honeymoon was on the Costa Bravo. This was pretty exotic at the time, and our first foray to continental Europe. We returned almost as pale as we left, since we didn't get out much. 

I moved into the flat when we came home and started job hunting. The big companies weren't recruiting much at the time and all I could pick up was some short contracts with smaller engineering concerns. It gave me plenty of experience in different disciplines though, and between contracts, I could always fill in on the dole patrols to help keep us solvent. 

Jean was well thought of in her department and had a lot of contact with various members of the different political parties. The government was trying to get local politics revitalised and was priming the pump by financing lots of initiatives and projects to make the local politicians work together. The parties found they needed staff. The civil service allowed some of their personnel to take sabbaticals to help set up party structures. 

These were supposed to allow the politicians to understand the workings of the civil service and government. Some of the parties thought that these people were government spies and wouldn't accept them. Some saw it as a cheap way to get their own staff trained. Jean was offered a position with one of the multitude of Unionist parties. The job meant extra pay and she could return to the civil service without loss of seniority. 

We talked about it and thought it would broaden her expertise and look good on a C.V. She accepted and went to work for a Councillor Millar who was expected to stand for Parliament at the next election. He was the usual big fish in a small pond. When he discovered Jean could drive he wangled a car out of party funds and had Jean act as his driver as well. This meant that she was with him all the time to keep a record of all his meetings for him. He was the sort who likes to socialise and often couldn't remember much about them.

Jean complained about the hours she was spending with him but the Government was interested in keeping him onside so she was offered a pay rise and guaranteed promotion when she came back to the Civil Service. Jean and I talked about it, or rather I listened to her talk, a skill I learned as a hospital porter, which had paid off in the army and with women. The extra pay and promotion was very attractive, as I wanted to get out of the army and move on with our life. Since I was only picking up temporary contracts it would give us a bit of roughness to get us up and out. I didn't say any of this as I figured it was Jean's decision. I would back her either way. 

She decided to go with it for a while, especially as she got to use the car. She would drop Windy Millar off after his 'work' and had it to pick him up in the mornings. It was Jean who called him Windy. Everybody thought it was something to do with windmills, but actually, after his 'meetings', when he got into the car, he would ease his waistband, doze over, and fart like a trooper. Apparently, when he got tipsy at these meetings, he thought he was God's gift to women, and could be a bit overbearing, so Jean preferred it when he fell asleep in the back. So did I.

Jean would often be late home because of this and I was on duty as many nights as I could, to build up our savings. We became ships that pass in the night, never seeing each other. Even weekends were erratic. Jean may be off work but I would be training or on duty or picking up an extra working the Officers and Sergeants Messes. This naturally mucked up our love life. I was often just too tired to perform when I got home. Jean was very tolerant and understanding but one Saturday afternoon she sat me down and gave me the rounds of the house. 

She was, of course, right. I had got a bit complacent. The company offered me all the extras going because they knew I would say yes. The money was good and easy to pick up. Even my platoon sergeant had said I should pay more attention to my wife. Jean had picked her time well. I hadn't been on duty since the previous Wednesday, so I'd had two good nights sleep. We'd lain late that morning and I had reacquainted myself with her body. 

Breakfast was more of a brunch and we were sitting quietly over a cup of tea when she started. It wasn't a row, but she was very good at summing up where we were, and how far off our dreams we both were. Basically she told me to get my act together or we would drift apart. Being a man, I took it as criticism of me and stormed off. 

I was going to go to the pub but for some reason got on the bike. Having done that, I realised a drinking session was out of the question. Being too proud to admit my mistake I wasn't about to go home and leave the bike off. You can't dramatically storm off, slink back, and storm off a second time. I have my pride, not much else, but I do have that. 




Overwatch



So, I hit the M2 and headed to the north coast. I sat on the sand at Portrush and realised that Jean was right. I decided that I had to get a permanent job, reduce my dependence on the U.D.R. and eventually get out of the army; I'd done more than my share. I also wanted Jean to go back to normal hours so we could start our family. Her timing was cute. That long lie-in had a lot of influence on my thinking. I got some fish and chips and a coke, before getting back on the bike and heading home.

Overwatch Ch 4

My timing, obviously, wasn't as good as Jean's. When I got home, there was a note telling me that she wasn't hanging around, waiting for some petulant brat, and had gone to her mother's. I phoned Jean's parent's house and she answered the phone. I apologised for storming off, and told her what I had done, and the conclusions I had come to. I asked her to come home and she did. We talked, I made all the promises that you do under those circumstances, and we tumbled into bed together. 

Unlike that morning we took our time and made love gently, exploring each other, and relearning the things that had brought us together. Sunday, we got up and went to church together for the first time for a while. We came home, had lunch, and, that afternoon, Jean proposed a Sunday drive down the Ards peninsula. We had a beautiful day together, ice cream in Bangor, we drove down through Groomsport, Donaghadee, Millisle, to Ballywalter, where we had fish and chips and walked on the beach, and then we continued down the peninsula through Portavogie and Cloghy then across to Portaferry, then north, along the loughshore, to Newtownards and home. That night was another of love.

On Monday, Jean left for work and I headed into town to the employment exchange to start looking for permanent work. I picked up a few prospects and arranged some interviews. I headed home to get ready for duty. I was going to get tea ready for Jean and me but she phoned to say she was going to be late and she would see me when I came in from duty. That night however was the start of an upsurge in terrorist activity. Int knew nothing of it, at least our battalion Int didn't. 

There was a series of bomb warnings that spread us thin across our patch and we were on cordons until the bomb disposal teams had cleared all the suspect devices. Only one out of every six was a real bomb. Lots of people were out of their houses in church and community halls, or with relatives, until they were cleared. This had become commonplace, and for lots of people it was almost routine, so they had their own evacuation plans in place.

I didn't get home until seven in the morning. Jean was really anxious by this time. She hadn't really settled all night. She gave me breakfast, I reassured her that I was O.K. and she left for work. I had an interview at ten and another at two. I was absolutely wiped out, but was determined to take charge of my future. Needless to say I didn't star in the interviews. When prospective employers saw the state I was in, I had to explain why I was so tired. I had chosen companies that were likely to be sympathetic to the security forces but they didn't want employees turning up as tired as I was, and making mistakes or causing accidents. This didn't do my morale any good and when Jean got home she was disappointed. 

The trouble was that the upsurge of violence continued, and one of the business' I had an interview with was firebombed. Another was out on a bomb scare when my interview was scheduled, and two others decided to hold back on recruiting because of the uncertainty. I kept on applying for more jobs but with no success. I was getting pretty down. The political parties were trying to get things calmed down so Jean was out late quite a few nights. 

Then we were called-out. This was like reservists being called up for war but we were still allowed to rotate duties so guys could keep going into work. That meant that unemployed men like me were expected to take on a bit more of the patrolling to cover for them. It was usually a short-term thing until they could bring in reinforcements from G.B. and get them briefed up. We could deploy teams within an hour and buy time. Once the spearhead was deployed we would return to normal duties. 

We were the most cost effective reserve ever. The army only paid us when we were on duty and when the emergency was over we went back to normal life, but it messed with sleep patterns and family life. Jean and I saw each other occasionally but not regularly. We started to argue and blame each other. Really no one was doing anything wrong; we were just tired and stressed. Both of us were targets, me, because I was a soldier, Jean, because she was working with a politician. So both of us were watching for attacks on ourselves and worrying about the other. 

Unusually, this call-out lasted a month. The terrorist upsurge was widespread, and even with Regular Army reinforcements we remained called-out. I was almost a full-time soldier. I was putting in 16-hour patrols and rotating onto 24-hour guard duties so I could get some sleep. Eventually the situation stabilised and we reverted to normal duties. I knew I was just a number being used. I needed to get a normal life.

Declan, my former tutor at the Tech, sent me a letter. He asked me to call in to his office, as he had an enquiry that he thought would suit me. I phoned him. He told me one of his mates in Northern Ireland Railways had told him they would be looking for engineering staff in the next few months. I got on the bike and went to see him. The railways were planning a major update of the rail system and there were opportunities in civil, electrical, and rolling stock engineering. He knew I had a good grasp of all the principles and that I tinkered with bikes and cars. So he recommended me to N.I.R. 

I was called for interview the following Tuesday. I figured I had carried more than my share during the call-out, so, this time, I made sure I wasn't on duty the night before. Jean gave me a peck on the cheek and wished me good luck as she left for work. I tidied the breakfast things, got ready for the interview and left the flat.

I went through a pretty severe grilling. In particular they wanted to know which division I thought I was best suited to. Trouble was, I didn't really know enough to answer that. So I said so. Strangely, they seemed pleased with that answer. They asked if I would be prepared to go back to college on a part-time basis. I asked who would pay the fees. They said that would be covered by N.I.R. if they got the right person. I wasn't all that long out of Tech. so I still had the mind-set required for study. 

I realised the combination of study and work experience would be a great opportunity. I said what I was thinking. It turned out that they were considering a long-term plan for the railways. This called for someone to train up as a planner and co-ordinator for the rail infrastructure. I must have said the right things, because I was offered a position there and then. I would start in two months time and I would be studying for a degree in engineering management, at the new Polytechnic, when the term started in late September. ME! A DEGREE! 

I went home that night like a dog with two dicks. I couldn't wait to tell Jean the news. I would keep the U.D.R. on for the next four months, until I started the Poly, and then Jean and I could move on with our lives. I started to make dinner for us, only to receive a phone call from her telling me she wouldn't be home till late. I tried to tell her I had good news but she seemed distracted. I felt singularly discumchuffed about that. We had been trying to get to the position where I could leave the army and we could plan a future. I'd finally got something with a real future and scope for promotion and she couldn't give a fuck. I got drunk and went to bed. 

I didn't waken when Jean came in, and I didn't waken when she went out to work the next morning. When I did wake, with an enormous hangover, I had a large glass of water and went for my run. I came back to the house feeling much better. This has always been my way of dealing with a hangover. Get out and get the blood pumping and get the oxygen round the system. I got a shower and had a good Ulster fry for breakfast. 

Although I was ready for anything, I was still pretty miffed at the way Jean had cut me dead on the phone. I had nothing on until I had to report for duty that night, so I tidied the house, washed some clothes and did a bit of ironing. Yeah, I know it sounds as if I'm under the thumb but it's just another of those things the army taught me. Look after your kit and your living space. Also, it gave Jean and me time together on those increasingly rare occasions when we were both at home together. I didn't really pursue that thought. 

I was on early patrols that night. On duty nights the platoons would take it in rotation to bring a team in early, to patrol the base as everyone else reported for duty. The idea was to watch for any watchers and deter attacks. We didn't do it all the time, and we don't know if we prevented any watchers gathering int, but the base was never attacked during that time frame. Then we got a re-brief and joined the company patrol plan. The early patrol was supposed to be relieved first but if you got caught up in a bomb clearance or a cordon.... tough. 

You guessed it, that night my team got caught to provide part of a cordon round a suspect vehicle. Life fucking sucks at times. The bomb disposal teams were all deployed and our suspect was the lowest priority. The A.T.O. (Ammunitions Technical Officer i.e. bomb disposal) finally got to us a 3.00 in the morning and took all of ten minutes to declare it a hoax. I was on the dole patrols next morning so I kipped in the back of the guardroom. The guard woke me for breakfast and I was on patrol again by 7.00a.m. Fortunately it was an uneventful day 'cos I was fucking chin strapped. 

Before we were stood down the Sergeant Major was looking for volunteers for a weekend deployment, out of area, in a couple of weeks time. These came up from time to time requiring different levels of commitment. Sometimes it would be a company surge op, or it might be a multiple, (two or three teams) just to thicken another company or to cover a small op. 

They got us out of Belfast and into the uhlu for rural patrolling. They were usually good fun because it was a different area, different type of op, always a bit of a challenge, and always a chance that some of the PIRA ASUs (active service units) might mount an op against us. (Rural PIRA were more prepared to exchange fire, rather than shoot and scoot, like Belfast PIRA. They were very good at laying their ambush, and often would use one or two machine guns, so it was a real good test of our skills.) 

Loads of guys wouldn't do them because they weren't confident about rural ops, but to me, they were a chance to practise other skills. This one was being offered to the dole patrols because they wanted two teams deployed early on Friday to cover the company approach. Same sort of task as our early patrols. The rest of the company would deploy on Friday night and we would be relieved on Sunday afternoon. I enjoyed the challenge of these out of area tasks, so I jumped at it. So did the rest of the guys.

I got home and Jean wasn't there. I was so knackered that I fell asleep on the sofa. I woke up the next morning with a blanket over me, and no sign of Jean. Well, it was 10.00 in the morning. She'd gone to work. I was stiff as fuck, so I did a few warm-up exercises before my run. 

Freshly showered an hour later, I sat down to breakfast, although it was nearer lunchtime than breakfast-time. This would be the first clear weekend I'd had for about six weeks. I intended to make the most of it with Jean. I blitzed the flat from top to bottom, vacuuming, dusting, polishing, the lot. I emptied the linen basket, washed all the clothes, got them out to air, and then I started preparing the evening meal.

Jean phoned about 3.30. She told me to switch on the emersion heater, as she would be home at 4.00 for a shower. I thought we were going to get an early start to the weekend, and started to tell her my news.

"I've no time," she said, "I've to get ready for a dinner with Windy. The reception starts at 7.00." That was me told. 

She came in like a hurricane at a quarter past four, barely acknowledging me, and rushed to the shower. I brought her coffee and a ham sandwich, while she dried her hair. As she was applying her make-up I sat on the bed. 

"Long time no-see," I started. 

"Well it's not my fault."

"I was only...."

"Yes, you're always 'only', aren't you?" she sneered.

"Look, I'm off this weekend...."

"Oh! I'm so privileged. So I have to drop everything because you have the weekend off?"

"I didn't say anything of the sort."

"Just as bloody well." 

"I got the job and I'm going to the Poly to do a degree."

"About time you got off your backside."

"Hang on; I've always pulled my fuckin' weight! When I was at college I worked and brought in just as much as you and I haven't taken the dole. Any time I could, I took on the engineering jobs, and worked part time as well. If I couldn't get a contract I took every extra duty I could."

"Look at the mess of this room you might at least tidy up when you're at home rather than leave it to me at the weekends, and the bathroom is a mess as well. You're keeping me back and now I suppose I'm going to have to tidy the place before I go out. I'm going to be late."

I sat there doing a good impression of a goldfish.

"Oh, close your mouth. You look like a moron sitting there."

I flipped. "Just what the fuck do you fuckin' mean by that? This place was like a new fuckin' pin till you came in." I pointed to the pile of clothes on the floor. "That's the pile of shite you've just taken off and left at your fuckin' arse...."

"Well you won't be fucking much this weekend with that attitude, Mister."

That rocked me. Jean hardly ever swears, I'm the one with little linguistic control. 

"Look...."

"Look nothing. I've to pick Michael up, and you're making me late."

She left like she arrived. I was stunned. She never called Windy by his first name before... at least, not after the first month she worked for him. That all seemed to have come out of the blue.

Overwatch Ch 5 

I started to tidy up again. "Fuckit!" I flung the clothes back onto the floor. I bounced back onto the bed and cracked my skull off the bed frame. Somehow I always manage to injure myself when I get in a temper. Not that it was much of an injury, but when you're feeling a deep sense of righteous indignation you tend to magnify minor sleights, don't you?

I didn't understand what was going on. I had really missed being with the love of my life. I had finally got a future and suddenly she had just comprehensively pissed on my chips. As I lay and brooded, the past few weeks caught up with me again, and I dozed off, then drifted into a very deep sleep.

I woke at again about nine that same evening. I did not feel particularly rested. There was something lurking in the back of my mind, flitting through the shadows, like a night patrol using all available cover. Somehow, I knew I didn't want to disturb that thought, so I started to tidy up again. By the time I was finished I wondered about going for another run, or going down to the J.R.C. to see the lads. I figured it was too late for a run. It would just get the blood pumping and I wouldn't be able to sleep. Going down to the bar, I'd probably end up at some party somewhere, and roll home tomorrow morning, stinking of stale drink, and probably vomit. I didn't think that would help, either. So I made myself some tea, ate the ham sandwich that Jean had ignored, and watched the T.V., feeling sorry for myself. Friday night T.V. is shite. I went to bed.

I woke at 8.00 the next morning. Jean was beside me in bed, out for the count. I decided to apply the old adage and let sleeping dogs lie. Or in this case a sleeping bitch. I got my running gear, changed in the bathroom and went for a run. I hadn't really been all that consistent lately so I made it a distance run. Ten miles, target time, one hour. I managed one hour ten. I cooled down and finished with press-ups sit-ups and stretches. I went in quietly and slipped into the shower, then into the bedroom and got some fresh clothes. Jean was still sleeping so I let her be, and prepped breakfast...for one.

She still hadn't surfaced by the time I had finished so I did the dishes and headed out to the yard behind the shops. I kept the bike and the van there to make it difficult for terrorists to attach booby traps. Nevertheless, I checked underneath the van before I started work on it. I also checked round the bike too. I did a routine service on the van, then the bike. Then I washed them. Then I made some coffee. Then I checked on Jean. She was gone. Bitch hadn't even left a note. If that's how she wanted to play it, that was fine by me. 

I went down to the J.R.C. to watch the match. There'd be some of the mates there and a bit of crack. It was a half hour walk there. Our J.R.C. was a lot more relaxed than the NAAFI so the redcoats liked to use it. Since there was a cup match on there were quite a few troops from the attached regiments in, and the place was pretty lively. The redcoats got to know pretty quick that they were welcome as long as they behaved. Our J.R.C. was somewhere to bring our wives and girlfriends, (but not at the same time!), so nobody stepped out of line. We also permitted senior NCOs and officers in for things like this. Hey, the profits went to us.

The match had finished and I was on my third pint and fourth game of pool when Jean arrived. 

"I thought I might find you here."

I knew from her tone that it was time to get her out; otherwise I would be barred for a while. Jean seemed to have other ideas and started towards a group of English SNCOs. I asked Dave, my pool partner, to give me a hand getting her out quietly. I took her by the arm and asked her to come with me but she twisted away. One of the English guys thought he was quite the gallant and told me to leave the lady alone. Dave told him Jean was my wife, and reminded him he was a guest in our mess. 

"I'm a sergeant," he said. The bar went silent. His mate took him by the arm and reminded his friend that it was a Junior Ranks Club and if there was any bother it was him who would go down. Technically he needed an invitation from one of us and permission from his Regimental Sergeant Major and ours to be there. Good sense prevailed and he apologised. I nodded to Dave who smoothed things over. Jean realised she wasn't going to get a result, so I was able to get her out. As we left I heard Dave sharing a joke with the Brits and the bar returning to business as normal. 

We got into her car and headed home in silence. Jean was, of course, driving, as I was over the drink drive limit. We parked up in Jean's parking space, went into the flat, and she ripped into me. To cut it short I was accused of ignoring her because I went out without wakening her. I explained I went for a run, came back, she was still asleep and went out the back and was working on the van and bike. When I came in, she was up and away and hadn't left me a note. She told me I should have left her a note. I told her all she had to do was look out the bedroom or kitchen window and she'd have seen me. Then I realised she had opened the bedroom curtains before she left and must have seen me. So I threw that in her face, and ripped right back, telling her she was manufacturing an argument. The rest of the night was all video and no audio. 

Sunday morning, we lay late. I tried to mend fences, but Jean seemed pre-occupied. I put my arm round her and tried to curl into her. She pushed my arm off, got out of bed and headed to the bathroom. It looked like this day was going to be a repeat of the previous night. I got up to make breakfast. Jean came up behind me in the kitchen and put her arms round my waist. She hugged close and said, "I'm sorry for all that. I'm just tired and stressed. I missed you so much." 




Overwatch



"Me too. I love you, you know?"

"I know. Let's start today all over again."

I turned, took her hand, and started back to the bedroom. Jean threw her head back and laughed. The sound lifted me. I just loved her laugh. "No!" she said, "Let's start with a nice breakfast and you can tell me about your new job." I gave her my disappointed schoolboy look and trudged, theatrically, back to the cooker. 

Over breakfast, I told her about the offer and the degree. She seemed to be interested and asked all the right questions at all the right points in the conversation, but I just felt there was something distracting her. I asked what she had been doing. All I got was generalisation and inconsequential. We realised it must have been a fortnight since we actually spent any real time together. Neither of us was sure when we had last made love. I thought it was maybe six weeks or more. We had been ships passing in the night and barely seeing each other. We were so busy, one day just ran into the next without us realising we had barely spoken. This definitely had to change. We spent the rest of the day visiting our families. We had dinner with John and Margaret in Aghalee and then rushed home for an early night.

The next couple of weeks were pretty routine. I did mostly daytime patrols on the 'ops maint' as we became known. (It was abbreviated from 'operations maintenance patrols'; we were there to maintain the patrol pattern.) My platoon didn't see that much of me at night so I became the 'Irish Vampire' - only came out in daylight. The good thing was that I was at home every night when Jean came home. She was pretty whacked when she came in, often quite late, but I knew the politicians were pretty active trying to move things forward. When she did get home I would have something for her to eat and we would just chill out in front of the T.V. She was tired and not that keen on socialising, but a couple of times we did go over to the J.R.C. I was able to check what was happening with the platoon and Jean and I could relax in a different environment. Even so, she still seemed distant and we only made love once that fortnight. 

The Sunday before deployment was an early start range day. We had to fire our weapons test, and a familiarisation shoot on the L.M.G., (the good old BREN, reworked for 7.62mm), since we were going rural. After the range, the ops maint teams were called in for a briefing for the rural op. We found out we were working in 3 U.D.R.'s patch, County Down. We would deploy out of one of their company bases and go mobile (vehicle bourne) until our company was on location, and able to put out patrols. The company would be briefed later in the week. The two team commanders were to go to 3 U.D.R. for a brief and familiarisation. Jonty suggested that both teams went down. Not only did we get the brief but we got a heli recce as well.

That week was a repeat of the previous fortnight. Jean made all the right noises but still seemed a little distant. I knew I had the Thursday off so we made a dinner date at the Four Winds for Wednesday night. It seemed a bit strange making a date with my wife but I was determined we were going to take control of our life together. Naturally things didn't go as planned and Jean was two hours late. We still had time to get to the restaurant for our reservation but there wasn't time for pre-dinner drinks so the meal didn't start off as relaxed as it should have been. Nevertheless, we made a serious effort to enjoy ourselves and had a couple of drinks after dinner before getting a taxi home.

We fell into bed together and made up for lost time. 

We had breakfast together on Thursday and I tried to get her to phone in sick. She said she had to get in, otherwise Windy would report her and she might find it difficult to progress when she went back to the Civil Service. This was the first I had heard that the Parties had any influence on the future of any seconded staff. In fact, Jean had assured me that she would be in line for promotions when she returned. It was promised to her because of the extra hours she was putting in. Anyway she was home on time that evening and we went out for a drink and returned to make love and get an early night.

I reported early on Friday morning. We were being heli'd in to K company's location with our personal kit. Our two teams would use their vehicles and VCP equipment for the duration of our deployment. Our company would deploy with our own stores arriving around 20.00hrs. The plan was that we would carry out patrols with a native guide to familiarise ourselves with the patch and then cover our own company's approach. We got an outstanding Int brief and deployed. 

It was actually really enjoyable patrolling around Co. Down, a new landscape and different people to talk to at the VCPs (vehicle check points). You got the usual range of attitudes, from supportive to downright hostile, but we took pride in maintaining high standards. This unsettled the rebels who tried to antagonise us into over-reaction. We treated them politely but firmly and gave them no excuse to put in any complaints. The guys from 3 were pretty impressed by our professionalism. They had been told we were all wild Sammys who would put a rifle butt through a car window rather than wait for it to be wound down. 

We were called back to base for a re-brief. Apparently a special task had arisen and 3 had got agreement from our Bn to use us on a soft target protection op. Soft targets were anyone who might be attacked while engaged in their normal life. Shopping, doing the dishes, walking the dog, playing away. We were all supposed to keep Int informed of anything that might set a pattern that made us vulnerable to attack including affairs. The same applied to police, soldiers, politicians, civil servants, even churchmen and key civilians. Apparently our potential target was in the habit of relieving the tension of political life with a young lady in his love nest in the Mountains of Mourne. 

Usually this would only result in increased patrolling in the area but after the recent upsurge and the associated political activity there was a definite CQA (Close Quarter Assassination) threat to politicians. This meant we were going on over watch. This was great. We rarely got tasks like this. We all knew the threat was pretty low because we were going in. If it had been a guaranteed attack the S.A.S. would have been tasked. Putting U.D.R. in meant it was a bit of window dressing to reassure the politicians, but...you never know, we might get a chance to take on the enemy in a firefight for a change.

Broadly we would draw specialist equipment, and rations, get our heads down for a few hours, feed, and deploy by heli to a drop-off and the final approach would be by L.P.C. (leather personnel carrier a.k.a. boots i.e. on foot). One good thing was that we drew bergens, (rucksacks), to use instead of our large packs. They meant we could keep everything together. The location guard would cover our original task. 

We got to our F.R.V. (final rendezvous) and observed our final positions waiting for dusk. Jonty's team would be close to the road, Big Derek, my team commander, would take us up the hill to provide top cover with the gun. As dusk fell we moved into position. Big Derek and I would take the first stag. The Cincinnati Kid, (Tom Davidson, nicknamed, for obvious reasons, after Steve McQueen's character in the film), and Nobby Clarke would get their heads down and relieve us in two hours. 

Overwatch Ch 6

Jonty's crew were in a copse overlooking the road. They could use their night vision scope to check traffic on the road. Not that there was much of it. The target arrived about 21.30hrs in a Jaguar. Both teams were on a special radio frequency for this op, so when Jonty let the ops room know, we could hear the transmission. Derek was on the gun at the time and I was keeping our log so I dutifully recorded the event. Derek and I swapped tasks, (to keep ourselves alert and awake), so I was on the gun when Jonty called in my wife's car registration number.

Derek had been in the Royal Ulster Rifles at the Imjin. His battalion had been pushed forward to cover the withdrawal of a Belgian Bn who were out flanked when the Chinese over-ran the Glosters. He had also been in Borneo, Malaya, Aden, and Cyprus. "Just what do you think you are doing?" he murmured. He had noticed my hand reaching for the cocking handle. I put my hand back on the pistol grip, but continued to stare at the door. "Is there something you need to tell me?" 

"I, er, I...." 

"OK. Just breathe, quietly."

We continued to observe for some minutes. I refused to believe what I had just seen. There was no way that was Jean.

After a lifetime the Kid and Nobby relieved us. Derek and I moved back to the basha, to get our heads down. Derek spoke only when we got there, "Was that yer wife?" He spoke in a murmur. Whispering carried in the dark because of the high frequency 's' sounds. A murmur was deeper and since we were packed close in the basha we could speak low and it wouldn't carry all that far.

"How'd you know?"

"Tell me about it."

"The guy we're covering is the one she works for. That's her car, and I saw her open the door with a key."

"You sure it's her?" 

"Who the fuck else could it be?"

"Anyone."

"D'ya think so?"

"Yeah. Listen. Do you think she'd do that to you?"

"No, I, eh, I don't think so."

"Look, Drew, I've seen a lot over the years. Jean never struck me as the sort of girl who'd screw around. In fact I'd put money on her."

"How much?"

"You don't mean that, son."

"I'm not so sure any more, Derek. She's been hard to live with the past lot of weeks. She comes home at odd hours, nothing's regular. She never wants to know me, and when I got the offer from the railways, she wasn't interested."

"What's she doing in work?"

"Dunno. We barely see each other to talk now."

"Look, Drew, you don't know anything for sure. You and her are great together. Don't, ferfucksake, go off at the half bent. Find out for sure, before you make a cunt of yerself. Get yer head down fer a couple of hours; we're back on watch soon. We'll talk in daylight. Cincinatti and Nobby have got dirty knees 'n'all. They'll tell you the score."

"Do they need to know?" I asked.

"D'ya think they don't already know something is wrong?"

Derek was right. We were a really tight team. We had to be. We could always tell each other's moods. The other three were all oul' hands. Jonty's team was the same. Ex soldiers who hadn't been given any skills when they came out of the army and had to work hard at whatever they could get. They joined the U.D.R., more for the comradeship that was missing from civvie life, than anything else. Between them they'd been through all the vicious little wars that went with the withdrawal from Empire. They'd all seen some real shit, and the stories in the Land Rover when we were on patrol really were unbelievable. The strange thing was, although they hadn't been in the same Regiments, they could confirm some of the stories, 'because their units were in the same area, or took over from each other, or whatever. 

I really respected these old guys and they taught me an awful lot about life. Despite my relative youth I realised I was listening to living history. Damn few people were as privileged as me to have talked to men like them, and too few bothered to listen. They were men you could turn to for help, no matter what. I was really lucky to know them. Sadly, they've faded away now, but I'll never forget them, or how lucky I am to have met them. 

In spite of my worries, I fell asleep real easy. I put it down to the fresh air, exercise, and the fact that I had learned to eat, drink, piss, shit, or sleep, any time you got the chance. You never knew when you'd get another opportunity. Derek woke me with a mug of tea. "How'd you make tea without giving our position away?" I asked.

"I was an instructor on the jungle warfare course. Any arsehole can be uncomfortable." 

I was impressed. I was even more impressed when he showed me the Thermos flask. We had a quick smoke before we moved up to the O.P. Derek showed me how to conceal the fire end and let the smoke dissipate through the foliage. We weren't too worried that anybody would smell it. There was no-one moving about at this time of night. We took a leak, then we moved forward and relieved Tom and Nobby. 

Tom briefed us on the previous two hours. "Dead quiet, five cars along the road, all discretion, lights out in the house 23.00. It's in the log." (Oh! 'Discretion'. When we check a vehicle it means there's nothing suspicious about it. So we are supposed to use our discretion in how we deal with it. If we feel suspicious for some reason then we question and search. If it seems to fit the normal pattern of life we can let it go without any further action. Sometimes in the wee small hours we would stop and talk to the occupants just to make the night go quicker.) Derek told them where the flask was, I went on the gun.

I peered through the scope as if it would penetrate the walls of the house. I could see both cars parked exactly where I'd seen them earlier. I started to think about what was going on in there. Was it really Jean? Were they sleeping together or in separate rooms? Were they fucking? This was going to be a long couple of days and every time I looked down there it was going to be rubbed in my face. I was so tempted to slip the safety off, and empty the mag into what I figured was the bedroom window. 

Trouble was, that was going to do the terrorists job for them, and fuck my life forever. Even worse it would give away our position and endanger my mates. It would lead to an R.M.P. investigation and Derek would probably fall because of me. I wasn't even sure it was Jean, but then, who else could it be? She'd been treating me like shit for weeks, making sure we didn't have any time together. Yeah, it was her working late so we were hardly in the house at the same time. Always tired. Hell, look how she treated me in the J.R.C. that time. Derek hit me in the ribs. He gave me the field signal for 'watch', two fingers pointed at his eyes, then one finger pointed outwards. I realised my mind had been wandering.

Our job was not only watching for an attack on our subject, but also watching and listening for any approach on our position. I was in danger of getting some of the best men I would ever meet, killed. I had to sort myself out. Derek and I changed positions. He took the gun and I took over the log and radio. I could listen in to everything that was going on, on the net. I could hear our company on V.C.P.s and patrols. It focussed my mind for a while, trying to follow all the patrols on the map, just in case they moved into our area and needed fire support. The other duty was to act as a rebro in case someone lost comms to other teams. In other words, we would relay radio messages from one c/s (call sign) to another. It meant you had to pay attention to the radio, the map, the log and the surrounding area so I didn't have time to think about my personal circumstances. Then, suddenly, Tom and Nobby relieved us. Derek briefed them and we moved back to the basha. We had another smoke then got our heads down. I went out like a light again. 

Overwatch Ch 7 

We woke about 03.20, absolutely freezing. Your core temperature drops naturally about two or three in the morning in the morning, because of your body's natural rhythm, then rises again just before you wake. This was going to be a hard stag. Derek produced another flask. More tea, a fag, and a piss, then we dressed forward. This time I took the radio and log first. 

Like I said earlier, in the city, not much moved at night. Here, in the arsehole of nowhere, there was fuck-all cubed. Most of the patrols, that had held my attention earlier, had withdrawn from the ground, so there were very few messages to log. All that was left was the nocturnal animals. Their snuffling and quiet rustling was all there was to distract our attention. 

The game became one of trying to gauge their position by their noise and lying so quietly that they would approach us. Sometimes a mouse would sniff its way forward but rarely anything bigger. We would try to see if there were any owls flitting noiselessly overhead, but the trees sheltering us, also restricted our vision. We attuned to the environment and small noises would seem to thunder through the night. We watched, as nothing happened, trying to find anything to activate our minds, just to prevent us from falling asleep. 

The oddest thing was if you focussed in on an object. The closer you watched it, the more you convinced yourself there was someone sneaking up on you. You had to look away and then look back. Then you could see a bush or rock had scared the crap out of you. We swapped tasks and I had the gun again. Now if I thought someone was creeping up on our position I could use the night vision scope to relieve my anxiety. However, I was able to use it to ratchet up my concern about my marriage. The sight was an image intensifier, so it used the available light and amplified it. I could see nothing through the closed curtains. I wondered if a thermal imager would have let me see some of what was going on. 

I still didn't want to believe what I had seen. There was nothing I had done that would make Jean betray me. I mean, I had been in exactly the same position as her. I barely saw her, but I wasn't running off to screw the nearest woman. So what was so different that she would think about fucking Windy bloody Miller? Nothing. She despised him. At least that's what she told me. O.K. so he had provided her with a car, but it was a 'company' car. When she went back to the Civil Service she'd have to give it ba...Derek nudged me. "I'm going to waken the others for stand-to, get your gear on". 

I started to pack up everything bar the gun. We had arranged it so that Cincinnati and Nobby used their kit to put up the basha. Now they would pack it all away for dawn stand-to. If we had been on a long term op we would have dug in and stayed quiet and still, but since this was a temporary position we used the drills for short term locations. We had our kit on, bergans beside us, and everyone took a fire position. Gradually the grey tones of darkness gave way to colour as the sun came up. 

We waited. Near the road Jonty's team would be doing the same. If the terrorists had spotted our position, dawn or dusk were the optimum times to attack. So we had every pair of eyes and ears alert. We could react as the situation required. If the enemy attacked the other team, we could give fire support to let them extract, or we could counter attack, or we could all join up to concentrate our firepower. We had lots of options that had been included in the original briefing. When it came right down to it, they were only normal infantry tactics. We had practiced them in training. Everything was packed so we didn't leave anything behind. 

Purples, and blues, gave way to lighter softer greens and straw tones peppered with the dark green and yellow of the gorse or the mauves and white of heath and heather. Wraiths of mists sighed over the hillsides, the sheep started to graze, and we heard a fox bark somewhere to our left. The sky lightened and the birds commenced their dawn chorus. Fucking singing birds. What the fuck had they to be so fucking cheerful about? All they fucking did was remind me of the special times with Jean. The time I first asked her out, the time we admitted our love for each other. Here I was in the middle of the Mournes, a place I first discovered with her, when it looked like Narnia. Yeah. Rub it in big style. Catch yourself on. Pay attention. Watch your arcs. 

Smoke rose from the few, small, hill farms, where some people still tried to preserve a way of life that was slowly dying. From the soft scent that reached us, some of them were even burning peat. Although, that may have been from a rental, where townies or tourists were playing at being The Quiet Man. Our client, however, wasn't stirring.




Overwatch



Derek called stand-down. We wiped down our weapons and rubbed a little oil over them. Not too much or they would smoke if we opened fire, and give our position away. I was tasked to get breakfast. We had been issued with compo rations. They could be eaten cold if necessary. A lot of guys hated them but they were pretty good if you had any imagination, and carried a few extras. They came with a little folded metal stove that used solid fuel tablets. The problem was, they burned with a very distinctive smell. Most of us carried small gas stoves. I got two of them and boiled water for tea. It was my chance to star. 

Before we deployed, I had gone down to the cookhouse. I had learned that the guys in the background were people to keep in with. Often they were old sweats, who knew the score, and if you treated them with a bit of respect they would help you out. I had been sent to collect the rations and had asked the chef if he had any tips as this was my first O.P. He had provided a few extras that I figured would get me some Brownie points. I brought breakfast forward to the boys.

"Fuck me! Egg banjos!" said Nobby.

"Not just egg, egg and bacon!" the Kid extolled.

Derek looked at me. "Someone might just make a decent soldier." The praise from these men went a long way towards distracting me from my predicament. 

Derek took out a flask and poured a little sweetener into the mugs.

"Gunfire?" asked Tom (Cincinnati).

"Gunfire," assented Derek. 

"What's gunfire?" I took a mouthful. I spluttered.

"Tea with rum. It's best if you can get Navy issue grog but this'll have to do." Nobby laughed at me.

"Geez, that's excellent." I said after a more cautious drink.

"Yeah, it's kinda nice looking out over this with a good cup of tea and a good breakfast", agreed the Kid and he crashed the ash.

As we sparked up, cupping the glow, I looked around, and even with the limited view we had, I knew what he meant. The smoke mingled with the mist. Very few people would see our country like this. Even shift workers rarely had the time or vantage point to appreciate what we had. Maybe a few wildfowlers might experience it, but most of the populace would sleep through this. I felt rather privileged to live in such a beautiful country and I promised myself we would see a lot more of it like this. It was the inclusion of Jean in my thoughts that brought me in hard.

"Listen, youngster, don't brood on it." Cincinnati had recognised my mood change. 

"You know nothing for sure, kid," said Nobby.

"Do you guys read minds or something?" I demanded.

"Na, we're just long in the tooth. We've done it all or seen it all before. Go get yer head down fer a while. We'll talk about it later," said the Kid.

Derek and I moved back. We couldn't move about to keep warm and we wouldn't put up the bashas until nightfall, so we crawled into our sleeping bags, wrapped in our ponchos. I had packed the cooking gear before moving forward, keeping everything together in case we had to bug out. If so, we would lose the minimum of equipment.

"D'ya want to talk?" Derek offered.

"I don't know. What should I think, Derek?"

"You shouldn't think anything. Doing things because of what you think is the road to nowhere. You need to know what's going on, and work from facts." 

"But what's she doing there?"

"Can you prove to me that it is her"?

"That's her car and I saw her going in."

"Look, Drew, you know the yellow card rules. When you squeeze the trigger, you're the guy that stands in the box and explains why you opened fire. Nobody can tell you to shoot someone. It's an illegal order. You have to know that your target is armed and is going to shoot. Anything else and you go down for murder. Now tell me exactly what you saw".

"I saw her drive up in her car, get out, walk to the door, open it and go in".

"Stop there. How do you know it was her driving? You saw a car answering the description of the one she drives..."

"Jonty did a vehicle check. It was her registration number; make and colour are the same as well"

"It could be a ringer vehicle. Fuck! It could be a ringer vehicle. She could be the shooter!"

"Jean wouldn't..."

"No, you eejit, she could be PIRA using a ringer vehicle!" Derek got out of his green slug and hurried forward to the O.P. I followed. (PIRA was the Provisional IRA, a.k.a. the Provos)

"Hullo Zero, this is Echo Sierra four one Alpha, long message, over".

"Zero, send, over"

"ES41A, reference Bravo India Whiskey four three niner five, a blue Ford Escort, this vehicle is parked outside the targets location. Roger so far? Over."

"Zero, roger so far, over."

"ES41A, can you get in touch with the target and confirm that he expected this caller, over."

"Zero, roger. Why? Over".

"ES41A, there was no int on his visitor. This may be a PIRA substitute, over."

"Zero, roger, checking. Out to you. Hello, ES21A, acknowledge last from ES41A, over."

"ES21A, acknowledged. We have not heard any gunshots but there is no activity at this time, over."

"Zero, roger, wait, out."

Overwatch Ch 8

We waited. We had absolutely no reason but every one of us was tensed for action. Only Derek had thought it through. We had no way of knowing who Miller expected. What better than to use a car associated with him, to mount an op against him. I understood what Derek had been trying to explain to me. Even if it turned out to be the car Jean used, it didn't mean it was Jean driving it. I had been looking through the IWS. When I thought of it, I couldn't be sure it was Jean. All I could really say was that it was a woman about the same build as her. Hell, it could even be a small bloke in a wig and skirt. Suddenly, I didn't mind the birdsong as much. 

"Hello, ES21A and ES41A this is Zero, target has confirmed all correct, over." 

"ES21A, roger, out."

"ES41A, roger, out."

"Zero, from the boss, good thinking, out."

Derek wasn't a happy bunny. "Yeah, good thinking 'cos everything is O.K. but we should have known earlier. I should have thought of it earlier 'n'all."

"Aye, but you're the one that did think of it, and you did something about, too," said Nobby. 

Derek and I moved back to the rear area. "I get what you mean boss," I conceded. "All I saw was a green picture of her back. It might not be her after all."

"Exactly, doctor. Now get some kip, it's gonna be a long couple of days. You're gonna need to stay alert."

I got into my slug and lay there. I couldn't sleep. Although I felt a bit more relaxed about things there was a doubt chafing away at the back of my mind. I wanted to believe that it wasn't Jean, but I was sure it was a woman by the way she moved. 

Jean was massaging my foot. As I watched I realised it wasn't mine. The leg was like a fat pink grub. She lifted the ankle and brought the foot to her lips. I sat up yelling "NOOOOOO!", and I felt a hand clamp over my mouth. 

"Shut the fuck up, you clampett!"

I looked up and saw Derek looking pretty pissed off. "Sorry," I mumbled through his palm. Then, more clearly, "I must have been dreaming," as he took his hand away. 

"Tea."

"Ta."

"No, dickhead. You make it."

"Oh. Sorry."

As I got the brew on I realised that Derek had woken me by shaking my foot. We were told not to shake anyone by the shoulder as some guys, especially the ones who had seen a lot of fighting, would start swinging as they woke. Nowadays it's recognised as a symptom of stress disorder. My reaction was pretty similar. I realised I must have been dreaming about Jean being with somebody else. That's why I woke up screaming. Derek went moved up to check on Nobby and the Kid. I made the tea and brought it forward. It was a beautiful spring day. The sun was bright and cheering, and our position was nicely camouflaged by the trees and gorse. It wasn't exactly warm but it was comfortable. We had struck lucky. The Mourne country could be drear and dreekit a lot of the time. Today the mountains were in their glory. I passed round the tea. 

"Routine traffic. Tractors, mostly. They went out in the Jag, heading towards Kilkeel or Rostrevor direction."

Since it was daylight we went onto four hour stags. That way we got a decent bit of kip. Nobby and Cincinnati got their heads down first. Derek and me got to get cramp and damp first. You can't move too much in case you disturb the foliage and attract attention, but we would move back individually to take a fag break so we could stretch out. The big problem for me was that it gave me time to think. Although I was still holding on to the idea that it wasn't Jean down there, I still couldn't shake the suspicion that it was. I took the night sight off the weapon and placed it in its pouch on my belt. By day we would use the iron sights but we did have binoculars. I closely observed the Ford. I couldn't see Jean's rug on the rear parcel shelf, where she normally kept it, but it definitely was her car. The rear hubcap was missing and the GB sticker on the bootlid was torn. She always had the car in case Miller needed picked up. I was tearing myself apart, going from believing she was guilty, to hoping I was wrong. Derek tried to keep my mind off it, getting me to observe and record any activity, even the farmers going about their normal business. He also got me to work out new range cards using the map to work out more accurate ranges, anything to occupy me. I knew what he was doing and busied myself with whatever he thought of. We were able to talk a little as we were well away from the road. If I had been on Jonty's crew I would have had a much harder time. I told Derek how things had been between Jean and me, and how I had been trying to get a normal job.

"Drew, you need to sort out where you are with Jean and start livin' your own life. I mean the life you want. Listenin' to you, you know that yerself. O.K. you might be enjoyin' this. I never regretted my time. I did things and saw things I wouldn't have any other way. I'd recommend it to any young lad who doesn't know what he wants to do. But you have exams and prospects doin' somethin' that has a big future for you and her. There's railways and engineering all over the world so you could emigrate if you want. Don't make your mind up until you get home and talk to her. Don't tip your hand though. Make sure you know exactly where you stand before you commit yourself. The other thing I'd say to you is this. If you ever decide to get divorced..."

"I'm not gonna jump the gun Derek."

"I know. You've cooled down a bit. But this is dead straight, make sure you have some money behind you that you can fall back on. You've had a warning shot here even if everything works out. I've seen loads of guys taken to the cleaners in a divorce. There was one bitch who even got his mother and fathers bank details so she could check if he'd been hiding money with them. Well, her lawyers anyway. Just watch your back."

"I hear what you're saying, Derek. I'll hold fire till I know what's what."

Overwatch Ch 9

The rest of the weekend went slowly. Stag on, stag off. I always seemed to be on rest when they went in or out. I never got a chance to see if I recognised Jean or not. The guys knew her and they said it wasn't her but I couldn't shake the idea that they were only saying it to put me at ease. In fact at one shift change, when I was bringing up the tea I heard Derek ask Nobby and Tom if they thought it was Jean. They told him they couldn't be sure. She was just too far away, and wasn't facing us for long enough for a positive I.D. I pretended I hadn't heard. 

They left mid afternoon on Sunday. The rest of our company was relieved at 16.00hrs. We would have to wait till dark before we could withdraw. Then we would have to tab to the pick-up point. We were lifted by a three team multiple. One of the Land Rovers had only a driver so there was enough room for us and all our kit. We were taken back to K Coy's location and given a hot meal. They looked after us really well. Steak, chips, onions and mushrooms, followed by trifle and ice-cream. Our own Bn. wouldn't have done as much. The chef said they did this type of op often enough and the army owed us. That made a change. We were usually fucked off at the high port without anything. We cleaned and returned all the kit we had signed out. The storeman said he would have cleaned it in the morning but we took a bit of pride in doing the job right.

We were debriefed and handed in our patrol report. The company commander turned in and thanked us. Then he told us we could get our heads down in the Q.R.F. room. We would be heli'd out at 06.00 in the morning. In the meantime the company bar was open and the first drink was on him.

I was busting to get home to find out where I stood, but I took it on the chin. We were able to lock our gear in the Q.R.F. room and went to the bar. We got a table for both our teams but the 3 U.D.R. boys wouldn't let us buy, and every time we finished a round, another was set up for us. They were great company and I didn't notice that there was always someone from our crew with me all the time. I didn't realise either that they were making sure I didn't have time to brood. The crack, as they say, was ninety. Jokes and war stories were flying. Every so often something would come on the music system that would have everyone singing. It was just one of those nights that lives forever.

Now as any man knows, the wee ones hold nothing. After my second pint I had to break the seal. Then I was in and out to the bog after every pint. It was during one of these trips that I saw the two corporals, Big Derek and Jonty, standing in the shadows behind the silver cabinet. They were talking low, and when they saw me they seemed to change the subject because I heard Jonty clearly talking about the company commander turning in so late on a Sunday to thank us. Derek agreed it was a compliment. I went to the loo and rejoined the party. Derek approached me and took me outside. 

"Cpl Johnston was asking me about the Ford. The guys recognised it and thought the woman looked like Jean."

"Was it her." 

"They're not sure Drew. They didn't get a clear view of her. I'm sorry we can't settle it one way or another."

"Everyone knows anyway."

"Nobody's gonna talk about it. These lads know when to keep their mouths shut. You've stood by them. They'll stand by you. You know that."

"I know, Derek. There's few like them."

"Fuckit. We had a good op. Let's get a few wets down our throats." We rejoined the assembled masses and made a night of it.

Breakfast was at 05.00. These boys really knew how to look after themselves. Still half cut, we had a big Ulster fry with loads of tea. Then we headed for the helipad. An R.A.F. Wessex lifted us and in 15 minutes we landed on our own base. Naturally there was no storeman or armourer on location for us to return weapons and kit. Cpl Johnston went to the ops room to hand in a report of our activities for our own C.O. While he was there he got the watchkeeper to phone them. We filled the time with 'concurrent activity'. We cleaned and oiled our weapons, and cleaned and sorted our kit. We made sure we had accounted for everything we had drawn from stores and carried out a full ammo check. We usually did this in base location because there was an armed guard. That way we were protected while our weapons were disassembled. 

Once everything was cleaned and accounted for, we changed out of uniform and were ready to bale out as soon as we had returned everything. The storeman arrived and put the kettle on. We had more tea as he carried out his stores check. Once he had reported everything correct to the ops room we were able to de-kit. We drank tea and shot the shit waiting for the armourer. 

Eventually he weighed-in. He had to do a complete check before taking in our bunduqs. Once he was satisfied everything was correct he reported to the watchkeeper, then took in the muskets. Sometimes I think we spent more time checking stuff and reporting to somebody than we did patrolling. Those of us who had them drew our personal protection weapons. They had been left in the armoury for safe-keeping when we were on duty. We never carried anything other than army issue weapons on patrol.

Finally everything was squared away and we signed off and headed home. I checked the time and saw it was twenty to eight. I figured Jean would have left for work so I was in no hurry home. The traffic was rush hour so I was approaching the flat just as the shops were opening. I had given way to the traffic at the roadworks outside the Post Office when I saw three of the workmen go to their van. As they turned round I saw two of them holding S.M.G.s and one with a sawn-off shotgun. They were pulling down ski masks and heading towards the security men delivering cash to the Post Office. 

I didn't particularly want to intervene but I realised that the S.M.G.s were home-made. These guys were protestant paramilitary. That meant they were more likely to be scared-off than I.R.A. terrorists. Provos were unlikely to venture into east Belfast to carry out a robbery anyway. They were more likely to use the safe houses in their own areas. 

I de-bussed, drew my pistol, (funny that, Drew drew), and moved to the side of the van, putting the engine block between them and me. Since they hadn't opened fire, and because of all the civilians in the vicinity, I had to issue a challenge. 

"ARMY! STOP OR I FI...."

Overwatch Ch 10

That's the trouble with doing it by the book. As I issued the challenge they all turned my way, one of them with his finger on the trigger spewing bullets all around the scenery. I squeezed off one round just as I felt a punch on the jaw and the lights went out.

When I woke up, I was, as you can guess, in a lovely clean bed with fuck all on but a sheet and a load of bandages. I could see nothing and I felt like I had just got out of the ring after the fight with the Para. My jaw and teeth hurt like merry hell. I can stand anything only pain, especially toothache, and I had the biggest toothache you could imagine.

"Hny uhn errr? Wha hnuh fn hnd?"

"Nurse! He's awake! Now just lie quietly darling everything is going to be fine. Oh God I love you so much, Drew. Thank God you've come round. The doctors were certain the bullet didn't hit anything vital but it knocked you out from the force of it."  

The nurse arrived and the doctor followed shortly afterwards. Once they established that I was conscious they gave me pain relief. Believe me; I was doing my damnedest to convince them I had no head injury. That's one thing I knew from my team medics course...no morphine for head injuries, and I really wanted morphine! The doctor explained that I had been hit by a bullet that had ricocheted off the engine of my van. It had entered just below my jaw and travelled up and out through my cheek taking part of my lower jaw and most of my teeth on the left-hand side of my face with it. My cheekbone had been fractured too. My eyes were bandaged because of that. Now I was awake they could check it out but they were confident my sight was unaffected.

All in all I was pretty lucky. The bullet was low velocity, from a home made S.M.G. which meant it wasn't as powerful as a commercial one. It was a ricochet, which reduced the impact some more but because it was out of shape and tumbling it made the wound bigger. Hey, I'll take a large, messy, non-fatal wound over a small, neat, fatal one any day. I had only lost a small part of my tongue so I should be able to eat, speak, and taste fairly normally. My jaw would be reconstructed using bone from my thigh and I would get a new set of decay proof molars screwed into it. I would get plastic surgery for my cheek and they figured I wouldn't be too badly scarred. 

It may seem odd but at that moment my biggest concern was the hospital I was in. It was the same one I had worked in and it had a lot of staff who had republican leanings. I was worried that the IRA would be able to get in and top me while I was sleeping or drugged. Added to that were my concerns about my marriage and just to put the icing on the cake was how the railway company would look at it. Would they hold my job open and would I still have a place on the degree course?