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Homecoming Blues

Page 3

by Andrew Scorah

Twenty-six minutes later, I arrived in the land of the rich and shameless. At least that is how it appeared to me, gated gabled manor houses, set back from the road with their own pools and tennis courts. Warley Road was shaded on both sides by trees and bushes, shielding the houses and mansions that hid behind them. The only signs of their existence are the gated entrances set back from the road. All the posh gaffs sat on one side of Warley Road; on the opposite side was Tylers Wood. I pulled off the road onto a dirt track leading into the wood and drove until I thought my car was sufficiently hidden from the road. I climbed out of the car and opened the boot, quickly donning the black combat pants and jacket.

  I Attached the boot knife to my right ankle and pocketed the grenades; frags in one, flash-bangs in the other. I tested the action of the MP5 once again, before slapping a banana clip into the magazine housing. Spare clips for the MP5 and the pistol went into my pockets. Now I was ready for hunting Bear. Great Big Russian Bear. I only hoped they had not moved her after what happened at the scrap yard. Taking a deep breath, I focused on the mission at hand, pushing aside all other extraneous thoughts.

  Carefully, I made my way back to the road, the pistol in my hand pointing the way, as I neared the edge of the wood a swathe of light punched through the trees, catching me for a second in its beam. I dropped to the ground and the car drove passed never slowing. I waited listening to the night sounds. Off in the distance an Owl hooted and I could hear the traffic from the nearby Motorway. No other sounds filtered my way.

  I crawled the rest of the way to the edge of the road, and then rose to a crouch and over the road I went. A small lane ran up to a wooden gate, the type, which guard the entrance to farmers' fields. With one hand on the top, I jumped over and quickly scanned the area. In front of me across a graveled area was a large swimming pool. To my left, a long low bungalow.

  At the far end of the pool was a one-story brick building. The property was adjacent to my target, separated by a wall around fifteen feet high and lined with trees. No light came from the bungalow so the occupants were either asleep or not at home. I quickly made my way over to the pool house and its deeper shadows. Last thing I needed was Mr. and Mrs. Bungalow Bill to catch me in their drive if they arrived home from sipping Champagne with Lord Snooty Bollocks.

  A kind of plan was forming in my mind as I moved into the shadows. I was going in blind with no idea of the number of bodies on the plot, no Intel, nothing. In my time in the Para's we learnt the mnemonic, P.R.E.W.A.R, which means, prep for battle, react to enemy fire, enemy location, winning the fight, assaulting the enemy position, reorganisation. In addition, we had the seven p's, which were constantly drilled into us, prior planning and preparation prevents piss poor performance. Well I better be on the ball and not get F.U.B.A.R-ed. God the army loves it's acronyms, I thought as my eyes landed on something very useful propped against the rear wall of the pool house. Someone had left a ladder. Great, no tree climbing, I hoped I stayed lucky the rest of the night.

  Taking the ladder I skulked down to the far end of the wall, and propped the ladder against it, extending until it reached the top of the wall. Securing my pistol in my pocket, as quietly as I could, I climbed to the top of the wall and peered over. I was looking down on a tennis court next to an immaculate lawn, which would have been the envy of any bowls club. The lawn rolled up to a huge patio area next to the ubiquitous Olympic size swimming pool. A gravel path ran round the court and up the side of the lawn to the patio. The house was huge, a red bricked Manor house, its walls covered with ivy, three storeys high with a crow stepped gable roof.

  The only lights coming from the house were behind the drawn curtains of the Patio doors and a window on the third storey. A 4 x 4 was parked to the side of the building and I could see the orange glow of a cigarette flaring in the almost pitch black of the grounds. From the position of the glow, I could tell someone was leaning against the vehicle. I scanned the area again but could see no other signs of life and the night remained quiet. I climbed over the wall and dropped down next to the tennis court, the crunch of the gravel as I landed seemed overly loud to my ears and I waited for any reaction from smoky Joe. When there was none, I made my way over to the far garden wall, which was lined with bushes and trees. Half way along the wall sat a wooden shed about the size of a garage. I quickly ran to it and flattened myself against the building.

  I peered round the front edge and scanned the rear of the Manor. A figure was silhouetted against the Patio doors. Smokey Joe took one last drag before dropping the cigarette on the ground. He began to walk along the rear of the house, checking windows as he passed them. I realised he was going to do a tour of the garden and would probably pass my position. My luck seemed to be holding, it is always tactical to let your enemy come to you than seek them out.

  He was a big bloke and looked like he stood a head taller than I did but it would not be a problem. Ideally, I wished I had time to question him on the number of bodies in the house but he would be a professional, he was trained to keep his secrets. If the situation was reversed, I knew he would do me in a heartbeat.

  I watched him pass the pool and move onto the path, which would lead him to his death. I drew my boot knife and ducked back, waiting, all my senses heightened. I became an automaton, not letting any emotion get in the way of the job in hand. I did not have to wait long, he walked passed my position and I made my move. Stepping out I reached with my left hand, cupping his mouth and pulling back his head, while simultaneously stamping on the back of his right knee.

  When you take a man out this way, it's not like in the movies, no drawing of the knife across the throat. With my right hand, I drove the knife into his throat on the left side and dragged it sideways cutting through his windpipe.

  I dropped him to the ground.

  He made a rattling gurgling kind of sound and his body jerked and kicked as if he had been plugged into the mains.

  This lasted for five or six seconds before he moved no more. I wiped my knife on him before returning it to its sheaf. I grabbed his arms and dragged him into the deeper shadows by the garden wall before pausing to listen for any changes to the night sounds.

  When I was sure, all was well; I hefted the MP5 and moved stealthily towards the Patio area. A movement at the corner of my eye made me freeze.

  The upstairs window, with the light on, had opened and I could see a dark haired girl lean out smoking a cigarette. Even from this distance, I recognised the elfin features of Duggan's daughter. It seemed lady luck was still on my side. Knowing her location would make it easier for me, not having to go room to room searching for her. She finished smoking and retreated into the room but left the window open.

  I reached the house and studied the walls to see if there was any way to scale them. It could be done, but not without alerting those inside. The old-fashioned storming the Castle way it was then.

  Standing by the Patio doors, I pressed my ear to the glass; I could faintly hear a TV and murmured conversation in Russian. I flicked of the safety and took out a flash before testing the door handle.

  It was unlocked.

  Slowly, inch by inch, I pulled the door open.

  I pulled out the pin and threw the grenade as hard as I could; I turned my head away from the doorway, so the flash would not disturb my vision.

  I heard a startled cry from inside then a muffled whump. I was through the curtain in seconds taking in the scene immediately.

  Four men occupied the room. Three, who had been seated at a mahogany table, were now on the floor, hands over their ears. The fourth had been seated on a sofa directly in front of the door and the grenade must have exploded in his lap.

  Flames ate at his shirt and trousers.

  Raising the MP5, I double tapped each man, one in the chest and one in the head.

  The whole operation took ten seconds. I was about to cross over to door leading out of the room when a solid bulk slammed into me from behind, knocking me flying.

&n
bsp; I landed on my back and saw a scar faced man diving towards me. I brought up both my legs and kicked out as he was about to land on me.

  As he flew back, I raised the MP5 and fired two shots into his face killing him instantly.

  He must have come out of another outside door or maybe even sat in the 4 x 4 and was alerted by the sound of the flash.

  The aroma of nitroglycerin, burnt sawdust and graphite as well as the smell of burnt flesh filled the air making me want to gag. Even after fifteen years of firing weapons of different descriptions, I could never get used to the smell of gunplay.

  I stood up and crossed to the door.

  I had killed six men in the space of a couple of minutes and I hoped that was it. I could not see it taking more than six to guard one girl but I would still have to be on my guard.

  I opened the door onto a darkened hallway. It was like the entrance to a castle, spacious with the stairs ascending from the middle of the hallway.

  Within seconds, I reached the third floor and was standing outside a locked door. I cursed myself for not searching the dead Russians for the door key. I gave the door a swift stamp kick and it flew open.

  Jamie Lee Duggan stood by the window, her hands on her jean clad hips and her head to one side.

  "You’re kinda short for a storm-trooper ain't cha?" her mouth curved up in a half smile.

  Despite the situation I laughed.

  "Do I look like Luke fucking Skywalker?"

  She grabbed a battered leather jacket off the bed and pushed passed me out into the hallway. The last time I had seen her she had been a sassy teenager, it appeared nothing had changed attitude wise.

  "C'mon hero, let's get out of here," she called after me as she trotted down the hallway.

  Definitely not your typical damsel in distress, but then she was Duggan's daughter. I caught up with her and together we descended to the ground floor.

  In the hallway, I made her wait to one side of the huge wooden doors of the main entrance to the property. I opened the door just enough to allow me to peer outside.

  All seemed quiet. I pulled the door open, stepped out onto the graveled driveway, and scanned the area. As I was about to call Jamie, two headlights swept through the open gate of the entrance and caught me in their beam.

  The Mercedes they were attached to, skidded to a halt and four bodies piled out. The sound of automatic gunfire filled the night air; bullets peppered the door behind me.

  I heard Jamie Lee cry out.

  Dropping to one knee, I returned fire, shooting out the car lights. The silly buggers dived back into the vehicle. Perfect!

  I pulled out a frag, popped the pin and threw it overhand before diving back inside the house.

  The explosion was deafening and I could hear the clatter of pieces of car raining down on the drive. I stood up and stepped back outside. The flaming ruin of the Mercedes lit up the night.

  I could see the burning bodies inside the car, I smiled grimly happy that no one survived. I was not in the mood for a prolonged gunfight. We had to move fast now; it would not take long for the local plods to rock up.

  Jamie joined me outside, I grabbed her hand and we made a run for Warley Road.

  The sound of dogs barking filled the air and I heard shouts from nearby properties.

  Before running across into the woods, I checked the road. It was clear. We disappeared into the foliage across from the house and silently made our way back to my car.

  I dumped the gear in the boot and changed back to my civvies. Minutes later, we drove away, heading back to London.

  I admired the composure she displayed, apart from crying out when the bullets hit the door she had behaved remarkably. She was one tough woman. We had been driving for ten minutes in silence when I decided to break it.

  "Did they hurt you?"

  She continued looking at the road ahead.

  "No, just a couple of slaps and the odd rape; the usual...” She burst out laughing when she looked at me and saw my face.

  "The look on yer boat . . . no they didn't hurt me," she said, "I take it my dad sent you?"

  "Yeah!"

  "Do I know you? You look familiar. I know you're not one of my dad's regular meat heads."

  "Kinda, the last time I saw you, you were about ten; name’s Jimmy Dalton."

  She smiled,"Ah, of course, your dad owns the Angels Harp."

  "Yeah that's the one."

  I pulled off the road to an all-night cafe.

  "Don't know about you, but I'm Hank Marvin," I said.

  I knew I should be getting her back to Duggan, but my stomach was growling. I had not eaten since breakfast and as the well-known saying goes, an army marches on its stomach.

  Only one other man populated the cafe, a trucker by the look of him. We sat at a table near the back wall. I ordered bacon, egg and chips and a Coke, she just had a black coffee.

  "So, wanna tell me how you ended up snatched?" I said after the tired looking waitress brought our order.

  "I was out shopping when a van pulled up and two big geezers pulled me in slapped on some chloroform or summat," she said, “Next thing I'm waking up in that room back there with no one telling me what the hell is going on," Jamie paused to take a sip of her Coffee. “They kept bringing me food and fags and occasionally I would get to walk round the garden. It was weird; you're the first person to talk to me since they grabbed me."

  "They probably couldn't speak English. They were Russian Mafia foot soldiers."

  She snorted, “You gotta love dear old dad, sometimes I wish..." Jamie looked wistfully into the distance. A look of sadness passed over her face.

  "What do you wish, Jamie?"

  Jamie let out a long sigh, a long held tension leaving her body.

  She looked at me. "I wish I had been born into a family of School teachers or shop keepers, I'm sick of all this gangster shit. Being scared all the time. I may come across hard as nails Jimmy but that's just a front, I'm still a child inside." She surprised me with the outburst and I suddenly felt sorry for her.

  "Sounds like no love lost with your dad?"

  "I hate him and the life he leads. Him and my uncles. Sure the moneys great but I'd rather have a quiet life and not have to look over my shoulder all the time,"

  She looked me in the eye.

  "Don't think he sent you to get me out of any kind of love for me, he hates anyone who gets one over on him, that's the only reason."

  I carried on eating and she shook herself as if to shake off a life less ordinary than the one she wished for.

  "Anyway, how did he get you involved in this? Last I heard you were in the Army?"

  I did think about lying to her but with the fact I was going to leave her an orphan I thought I owed her the truth.

  "Your dads got Tony Malpas babysitting my dad. He did not have to say what would happen if I said no."

  "I remember your dad. He used to give me an' me mates pop and crisps in the summer when we hung around Hackney road."

  She looked deep into her Cup as if she could find the answer to everything at the bottom.

  "You're going after him aren't you?" I looked away, not from shame but I could not face whatever hurt came upon her face. I felt her hand touch mine and looked back at her.

  "I knew the day would come. Just lately he's got out of control. Some thing's missing when I look in his eyes."

  A tear ran down her face, for what was to be or what could have been I had no idea.

  She squeezed my hand.

  "When you do it, make it quick Jimmy, for me yeah." She let go of my hand and a hard look came over her face, "When you do Malpas, make it slow, he . . . hurt me when I was fourteen, He's an animal." She did not have to say anymore. I knew.

 

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