The Killing Moon

by Michael Robinson

  Instinctively, Rob then brought his foot up, and connected it with the para's groin.

  'That'll sedate him for a second or two,' thought Rob, but as he tried to charge past him, the para caught Rob's jacket.

  "You're fucking having it for that," cried the para, but again, Rob was too fast, and within a split second, Rob punched the para right in the nose, hearing the crack and the cry as this lad went down. At the same time, all the lights were on the copse, and were drawing ever-closer. Rob just ran, thinking his heart would explode, but every second gained was a second without capture. Rob climbed up the ravine of the valley, putting a good distance between him and the para he assaulted.

  Then he heard voices. "The bastard's got me, lads, he's gone that way."

  Two seconds later, a raised voice shouted "Two section, check the copse, one section, check the valley to see if he's backtracked. Three section, check the ravine to see if he's there."

  Rob had to think fast on his feet. He was absolutely exhausted, therefore he doubted he'd be able to out-run the hunter force. The idea came to him. He would slowly make his way back to his original lie-up point, into the heart of where his pursuers were lurking. Only to find the biggest, and most unfriendly tree he could find, and climb up it until the paras dispersed.

  Rob couldn't believe his plan had worked, when he looked down from the top of the oak tree to see the paras oblivious to his position. He saw the para that he'd hit, sitting down looking deflated as he used his fist to reshape his nose, all at the same time smoking a fag. Others started to gather round him, when it was obvious their prey had flown. Within an hour, the whole troop had dispersed, and Rob was alone again, with nothing but the dark, the howling of the trees, and his thoughts to keep him company.

  Chapter Twelve

  Major White sat in the operations room at Sennybridge Camp, along with other members of the directing staff. Ten days into escape and evasion, all but one of the recruits had been caught by the Parachute Regiment. The interrogation phase for the recruits that had been caught was well underway. Most of the student body had been captured within the first four days. Even Burnsey had made it to nine days, but no one had any idea where Foster was, other than that he was seen in the copse near Gerard's farm. By all accounts, he'd done a good job on the para that had nearly caught him. Sergeant Nott was particularly pleased with himself that Foster had done so well, as he was going to cash in big time with the bets he'd made with the other directing staff at the beginning of selection.

  "Well he certainly knows how to look after himself in the field, Sergeant," said Chalky.

  "Aye, he's a good lad, boss. I reckon if he can make it through interrogation, he will make the grade."

  Chalky looked worried and reiterated his point to Sergeant Nott that the screws would well and truly have to be turned on interrogation for Foster.

  "I understand what you're saying, boss, but by the same token, he's lived off the land for the last ten days, interrogation would be difficult for anyone who's lived wild like that."

  Chalky then replied, "I know, Sergeant, and I understand totally what you're saying, but again, I need to know that his mind can handle an interrogation centre."

  "Yes, boss," Sergeant Nott replied.

  Rob had done well on the escape and evasion side of selection, and two weeks after the start of the exercise, he made his way to the next RV. He had fourteen days growth on his beard, and by all accounts looked like a 1950s tramp as he approached what would be, ultimately, the final RV. Trooper Collins and Sergeant Nott were sitting in the Land Rover as Rob approached.

  "Look at the fucking state of him," commented Collins to Sergeant Nott.

  Sergeant Nott replied, "You've gotta hand it to him, not that many can last this long, especially not at this time of year."

  As Rob approached, Sergeant Nott got out of the vehicle. "Well done, Foster," and he held out his hand to shake.

  "Thank you, staff," replied Foster in a weak but determined voice.

  Sergeant Nott then replied, "Right, that's the end of escape and evasion, jump into the four tonner, and you'll be given your next orders from there."

  Rob looked at Sergeant Nott, knowing full-well he wasn't telling him everything. A few yards down from the Land Rover was the four-ton vehicle, and Rob made his way along the side of the track road and forced himself up the ramp into the back. Within a second, someone had placed a hood over his head and forced him to the ground.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "Hiya, remember me, sass-boy?" It was the unmistakable voice of the para, whose nose Rob had broken. As the engine revved up, Rob felt a sharp pain between his legs as the para then kicked him in the groin. Then, all he felt was light kickings and punches from the other three paras onboard. Rob tried to be sick, but all he could taste was bile, and he could not see anything. At this point, his arms were then cuffed behind his back, and his feet were shackled together. For the next hour or so, all Rob felt was the odd kick or punch as the four-tonner weaved its way around the Welsh countryside, totally disorienting Rob into which direction he was being taken.

  After some time, the four-tonner stopped, then, all of a sudden, the paras started shouting. "Get up, you fucking sack of shit, move forward."

  Rob tried to stand, but could not move, so two guards then picked him up and walked him to the end of the truck. It was at this point he then felt a kick in his backside, launching him into the air as he fell five feet to the ground. There were more expletives being shouted, and again the odd punch and kick, but Rob did not feel afraid, he knew it was only an exercise. The shackles on his legs were then removed, and it felt good to Rob to feel the blood flow through his legs again, but he was quickly man-handled across what seemed to be open ground.

  All the time in the distance were various shouts and screams, but these were not aimed at Rob, therefore Rob knew he was not alone, and it was other students on the interrogation stage that were bearing the brunt of these expletives. The next thing he knew, his cuffs were being removed from behind his back, and again the circulation in his hands almost returned to normal, but it was only for a split-second as the next thing he knew, a rope was being tied around his wrists, and his arms were being forced up into the air on what felt like a pulley. His ill-fitting waistcoat fell open where the buttons had been forcibly removed, and before Rob had time to digest any information, he felt icy water being poured onto his front.

  The shock of the cold was sharp and biting, and Rob could not stop his teeth from chattering as the icy-cold liquid made its way down his body. Just as he had time to recover, there was another icy bucket. This time, it went up his nose, and he struggled to breathe. Then it was as if they'd left him alone. Maybe this is what they wanted him to think, and he stood there, in the dark, with his hands raised above his head.

  For what seemed like an eternity, Rob was left there with nothing but the shouts and commands in the background, again, this was aimed at other recruits. The next thing he knew, there was a sharp pain to his kidneys from a punch, and two guards grabbed him by either arm, and started to make him run. As he was still hooded, it felt unnerving to be running somewhere blindfolded. Then he tripped, and fell on his face onto granite stones.

  The guards then grabbed him by his feet, and started pulling him along, at the same time as more expletives were being shouted. He then managed to pick himself up, with the help of the guards, and he had the feeling he was entering a building or a farmhouse. Soon, he was being pushed against a wall, and his legs were being prised apart.

  "Give me your arm," shouted one of the guards, and he felt his hand against cold damp brickwork as the other guard did the same with his other arm. "Right then boy, keep that position, and don't fucking move," shouted the other guard.

  The first two minutes weren't too bad, but then the lactic acid started to build up in his legs and arms, and he could feel his shoulders start to seize up from the awkward position he was placed in. After five minutes, Rob could take no mo
re, so he removed his hand from the wall to make himself more comfortable. Within a second, he felt a boot to the side of his stomach whilst, at the same time, he heard the shouting, "Put your fucking hand back where it was!" and the guards then grabbed Rob by the arm, placing him back in the stressed position. Again, this felt like agony as he tried to combat the thoughts racing round his own mind.

  Some time later, Rob was moved from the stressed position, the bag still around his head, and still soaking wet. They came out of the farmhouse. In the distance, he could hear a noise, and as the guards drew in closer, the noise became more prominent. It was similar to that of static on an analogue radio. Rob knew what this was. It was white noise. All of a sudden, a creaking of a door, and the white noise was deafening.

  Rob almost thought he couldn't hear himself think as the constant screech in his ears was almost painful to listen to. The two guards on each side of him then kicked his legs out from under him, and he was placed in another stressed position, albeit on his knees. Again, as before, every time Rob tried to make himself comfortable, all he received was a kick to the stomach for his efforts, and, as before, he was replaced right back into the stressed position.

  Rob could not gauge how long he had been in the centre for, but he knew at some point he would be taken and interviewed. So, to comfort himself, Rob said over and over in his mind, 'Name, rank and serial number' and again, 'Name, rank and serial number' as this was the only information he was allowed to give to his interrogators. Rob could not tell if time was passing quickly or slowly, and he could not tell if he had been in the stressed position for an hour or four. He felt his guards pick him up and remove him from the room which had the deafening white noise in it. As he was dragged along the courtyard, all he could hear was tinnitus running around his ears. All of a sudden, the temperature changed, and he felt he was in a corridor from the echo of the boots on the floor. Rob heard another door open and was pushed aggressively into a chair.

  "Guards, take that blind off," boomed a northern voice, and within a second, his hood was removed.

  In front of him was a table, and behind it sat a burly man in his fifties who Rob didn't recognise.

  "Bit warmer in here, son, isn't it? What's your name?"

  "Foster," replied Rob.

  "Where do you come from?"

  "Sorry, sir, I cannot answer that question," said Rob clearly.

  The interrogator looked annoyed. "What, you don't know where you come from?"

  Again, Rob replied, "Sorry, sir, I cannot answer that question."

  Then the interrogator's tact changed. "Well let's not worry about that for now then, sunshine," and he pulled out some papers that were in a suitcase on the floor. "We just need your family to know that you're here, so can you sign here where there are these Xs, and here, where these other Xs are."

  "Sorry, sir, I cannot sign anything,"

  The interrogator then turned nasty. "What's the matter, son, can't you fucking write?"

  "Sorry, sir, I cannot answer that question."

  The interrogator then stamped his hand on the edge of the desk, causing the papers to fall to the floor. "Are you fucking dumb? Sign that fucking form."

  Just as Rob was about to reply, the interrogator shouted again. "I said sign it! What's the matter? Didn't you go to school? Can't you fucking write?"

  The interrogation carried on like this for another two minutes. All of a sudden, the interrogator then shouted, "Guards! Get in here!" The door burst open and two burly men walked in. "Put his fucking blindfold on, that piece of shit, and get him up against the wall."

  The room went dark as the hooded sack was man-handled over Rob's head. As before, he was shoved roughly, pushing his face against the brick wall. The interrogator then shouted in Rob's ear, "You're going back to the compound, man. You need to start telling me who you are and where you're from. If you ever want to see your family again, you need to tell me these details and sign these documents."

  The next thing he heard was the interrogator scream, "Get him out of here, guards! He's scum! Fucking scum!"

  Rob was taken back down the corridor and back into the courtyard, where the wind and rain were beating down. The sound of white noise and the unwelcome stressed position that he'd been placed in before were once again upon him. Rob could not gauge whether it was day or night, whether he was close to the end, or whether it was just beginning.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lieutenant Chelsea Parsons was in her early twenties and was known as a great interrogator, although her colleagues referred to her as the 'Ice Queen'. There were also plenty of rumours about Chelsea, including that she slept her way to her rank as well as other rumours about her sexual preferences and antics. However, Chelsea was a ruthless operator, and knew too well the best way to make gains in her career was to crack as many of the SAS recruits as she could. She had already broken four trainees, three of whom had signed documents and some cried every time they were broken. Every time she saw a recruit cry, a wicked smile, almost a laugh, appeared on her face. It was for this reason she was regarded by her peers as the Ice Queen.

  As she looked through Rob Foster's file, she knew she had a good chance of breaking him by playing on the fact that his marriage was over, as well as the horrors which Foster had witnessed overseas and at the end of his tour. Another incentive was that she had been ordered by Major White to turn the screws on this particular student. Again, an evil smile snaked its way across her face the more she read about Foster.

  Rob had been in the compound now for three days and three long nights. He had lost count of the amount of interrogations he'd had. Was it five? Was it seven? Each of the interrogators wanted the same thing; for him to leak information verbally, or to sign documents. Various tactics were used; sometimes the interrogators were in pairs, other times it was just one individual. The last interrogator was a fifty-year-old woman who told him that her family had been taken hostage, and that she'd already been raped, and could he help her get her family out by giving her information and signing documents. Even Rob was beginning to think that whoever came up with the ideas for interrogations must be some sick bastards. He tried his best to keep his mind focused, and remember it was just an exercise.

  Some time later, the guards removed him from his stressed position and back towards the corridor. 'Here comes another one,' thought Rob to himself.

  This time he was taken to a different room. A room which had a huge mirror on the wall. What Rob did not know at this stage was that behind that mirror stood Sergeant Nott, two interrogators as well as Lieutenant Parsons.

  Sergeant Nott turned to Lieutenant Parsons and said, "This is his last one, if he gets through this, I'm gonna pass him. By all accounts, he's the best I've seen in a long time."

  This was not what Lieutenant Parsons wanted to hear, she was determined to make Captain before the start of the next selection. "He's not in the SAS yet, Sergeant," she said coldly, as she left the room to interrogate Foster.

  Rob's hood was removed and he was left alone in the room, albeit for a few minutes. Then entered Parsons. There was nothing in the room except for the two-way mirror, two chairs and a desk. Parsons had long blonde hair and was wearing a grey power suit, the type of thing a solicitor or a doctor would wear. In her finely manicured hands, she held a file.

  She sat down opposite Rob and introduced herself. "My name is Detective Chief Inspector Karen Day. I'm working on behalf of The Hague and I am investigating war crimes I think you may be involved in. I need you to cooperate with me in this investigation. Do you understand, Rob?"

  "Sorry, ma'am, I cannot answer that question."

  "Please tell me what happened in Garmsir."

  "Sorry, ma'am, I cannot answer that question."

  "Look, Rob. Work with me here. You're no longer a member of the army because we think you killed that fourteen-year-old unlawfully."

  Rob shifted in his seat. It was the body language Chelsea Parsons was looking for.

  A
gain, Parsons pressed on. "Your patrol informed us that you tried to cover it up. The boy was playing with a football. It was a hot day, and you'd been on patrol for seven hours. You saw him, and then killed him, didn't you, Rob? You knew your wife Annie was going to leave you anyway, and you were so full of hate and anger that you just took it out on that poor little boy, didn't you, Rob?"

  Rob could not believe what he was hearing, he knew she was talking shit, but even he thought that was a step too far.

  Again, Parsons pressed on with the interrogation. "Why's Annie leaving you, Rob? Do you know why?"

  Rob just answered, more aggressively, "Sorry, ma'am, I cannot answer that question."

  Again, it was the tone of aggression that she was looking for. She knew she had him in her sights.

  "That baby Annie's carrying's not yours, is it Rob? It's somebody else's."

  Rob was growing increasingly annoyed. Parsons continued. "It's Andy Smith's baby, isn't it Rob? Not yours. That's why you killed him when you got back to Catterick Garrison," At the same time, Parsons got out a photograph and placed it on the table in front of Rob, which clearly showed Andy, with the back of his head blown off. Parsons continued, "You killed him, didn't you Rob? Because you knew Annie didn't love you anymore. You killed him, and that fourteen-year-old boy in Garmsir."

  Rob saw red, and within a second, he grabbed the Lieutenant by the throat, pulling her from the chair and knocking her to the ground. Then with his left hand still clinging onto her throat, he punched her right in the nose and she let out a howling scream. Within a second, the door flew open and Sergeant Nott, along with two other interrogators tried to pull Rob off Chelsea Parsons. Rob was like a wild animal. His eyes had nothing but hate for his interrogator. At the same time, Parsons shouted in defiance, "That's it, Foster, you've blown selection now!" Sergeant Nott tried to calm Rob down, and at the same time ordered two of Parsons' colleagues to remove her from the room.