The Killing Moon

by Michael Robinson

  "Calm down, sunshine," bellowed Sergeant Nott to Rob. "It's the end of the exercise, son."

  Rob then looked at Sergeant Nott and realised that he'd blown it. The last six months had been for nothing. He was shattered, and emotionally drained. And when the anger left him, he just sat and stared into space on the chair in the interrogation room.

  Within an hour, the interrogation phase of selection was over, and Rob knew he had failed without being told.

  Sergeant Nott personally escorted him to the debrief room, where all the other students had gathered. At this stage, no one knew who had passed selection and who had failed. All the recruits were shattered, and in the debrief room was food and drink. Rob managed to make himself a brew, but could not stomach eating anything. Part of him was still wired after the last three weeks, part of him was still in SAS mode.

  Individually, the recruits were removed from the room and ushered to sleeping quarters. Although Rob was drained, he could not sleep, after all the images flashing through his mind. These included the interrogation centres, Annie, the fight in the Admiral, his father Rick, everything was swirling around Rob's mind at a hundred miles an hour. All Rob could say to himself was, 'I could murder a pint of Guinness'.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was less than a week before Christmas and Rob was back home in Hessle. Although Rob had failed selection, he wouldn't get the letter confirming this until Christmas Eve. From there, he thought it was doubtful he'd be able to remain in the army at all. As a rule, people that left the regiment to join Special Forces selection were not welcome back to their parent units, or even if they were, their career progress would be very slow indeed.

  Again, when Rob returned home, he found the usual piles of unopened letters strewn across the doormat. And again, no one had been to his house, including Annie. The thought struck him. 'Jesus, Annie. She must be due to drop anytime soon, I'm gonna have to get in touch with her.'

  Rob dumped what gear he had in the living room and shut the curtains and put the lights on to give the impression someone was in. He shut and locked the door behind him and made his way up to Annie's mother's on Barrow Lane. 'God only knows what welcoming I'll get when they answer the door,' Rob thought to himself. As he made his way through the square, the Christmas lights were well and truly alight, along with the massive Christmas tree which was usually in pride of place in the centre of the square. There was the normal hub of activity as he made his way through the sleet and snow; last-minute shoppers, kids off school throwing snowballs at each other. Rob just ignored this; he wasn't in the festive mood. If anything, depression had started to sink in.

  As he left the square and made his way up towards Annie's mother's house, he dreaded knocking on the door, and almost turned around to go back home. However, he pressed on and on, and when he reached the door, he could see the lights were on. He removed his hands from his pockets as the icy wind blew, and knocked three times on the door.

  After a few moments, the door opened, and the one person Rob did not want to see answered. It was Sue, Annie's mother. Sue's face was a picture when she saw Rob. It was almost as if someone had slapped her with a wet kipper.

  "She's not in, Rob. And don't come back here again," was the stern greeting that she gave her son-in-law. "She's carrying my grandchild, and I don't want you anywhere near it. She doesn't need any more drama."

  "What drama are you referring to, Sue? The only arguments we ever had were because of your meddling."

  "That's because I knew my daughter could do better than you. Look at the state of you, you're a mess, Rob. You've never been there for our Annie, always away on exercise or deployment, and as soon as you got home all you did was go to that bloody pub. Annie was never happy with you."

  Rob thought about an old Bernard Manning joke, but thought best to keep it to himself. Instead, he just turned and said, "Just tell her I called," and with that, Rob made for the gate as the door was slammed shut behind him.

  As he turned into the street, he thought he heard voices. He thought it was Annie's voice asking who was at the door, but either way, he knew Sue would dismiss it, telling Annie it was carol singers.

  Defeated, Rob made his way home. As he walked in the night, he toyed with the idea of going for a pint, but thought against it. The last thing he wanted to do now was meet people. When he got home, he dumped himself on the sofa and turned on the telly and did his best to think, rest and come to terms with his lot. Rob's real war was just about to begin.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Within the space of a month, two significant things had happened. Firstly, Annie gave birth to Rob's child, Noel, weighing a healthy 9lb. At this point, Rob had still not seen his son, and was growing ever more frustrated whenever Annie and her mother would not permit Rob to see him. The other prominent thing that had happened was Rob had been kicked out of the army.

  After his post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) had come to light, the powers that be did not want a loose cannon amongst their ranks, despite all the loyalty Rob had shown to his regiment and to his country. The way the infantry saw it, Rob had failed SAS selection and was not welcome back anyway, and in their eyes, far too many good, efficient men had been lost when joining the ranks of the SAS.

  Rob didn't know what he was more disappointed at, being out of the army, or being unemployed. Both amounted to the same thing, and Rob endured one of the worst Christmases he had ever had, which was saying something considering the way his father Rick had carried on over the years. To combat his dark mood, flashbacks and frustration, Rob drank. In fact, Rob drank a lot.

  Even Harry from the Admiral noticed how much Rob was putting away, and felt almost guilty taking his money off him. The fact was, Harry was pleased Rob was in his bar, where Harry could keep an eye on him. But even Harry had noticed Rob had changed. Not so much as a nasty drunk, but more of a lost soul. The more Rob drank, the more it blocked out the demons in his mind. The frustrations with Annie and the baby. Also, the inevitability that soon the money he had saved would be spent.

  Chapter Seventeen

  THREE MONTHS LATER

  The sun was blinding at about two p.m. the heat scorched the baked sand outside of the small village. You could hear the feint laughter of children playing but nothing could escape the sweltering heat. In the distance, the patrol was approaching four or five children. An adult was with them, but you could not make out his features from two hundred metres away. As the patrol approached, the adult patted one of the older children on the head, then quickly made his way back into the compound.

  A few moments later, a motorbike engine started, but quickly made his way away from the patrol at speed. In fact, all that could be seen was dust rising up from the road. The boy that received the pat on the head made his way slowly towards the patrol whilst the other children watched from afar, not talking, just staring at them in amazement. It didn't take long to figure out what was going on, the boy, fourteen or so, was mumbling, but you could not hear the words accurately, even if it was in Arabic. The only thing that was clear was the term 'Allahu Akbar'.

  The patrol got into fighting formation, which meant two flanks facing the compound. Someone gave the order, "The fucker's coming! Do something!" Someone else shouted, "I'm not fucking slotting him, he's just a kid!" Then, two shots rang out when the boy was fifty metres away. The boy fell to the ground instantly, and at the same time, the other four children ran back into the compound.

  Slowly, but deliberately, the patrol made their way towards the boy's body. The Sergeant in the patrol removed the [GARB] from around the boy's torso, which confirmed what the patrol already knew. There was enough C4 explosive to wipe out all of the patrol and some, had it been detonated. Ignoring the gunshot wound to the head and throat, the sergeant disabled the device as best he could. It was basic and primitive. The sergeant then looked at Rob. "He's dead,"

  Rob looked down at the pathetic body on the floor. The forehead had a hole where the 22 round penetrated the
skull. However, the back of the head was missing, and all that remained was gore and bits of meat. Also, blood wept out of the neck wound.

  Rob knelt down over his victim just as the boy's eyes opened, and the boy screamed, "Allah will avenge me!" In shock, Rob took a step back but could not move. Again, the boy screamed, "Allah will avenge me!" The boy's body reached out to grab Rob.

  At that moment, Rob woke up from his sleep, screaming. It was dark. There was no light on. But again, Rob screamed. After realising it was just a dream, Rob took a few moments to get his bearings together to realise he was back at home as the rain cried against the windows of his bedroom. Rob then laid back on the bed, still in the dark, and began to cry utter pain and sadness, as well as anger and fear. He could not stand the nightmares that he was getting. The truth be told, the nightmares had been getting more prolific and more regular.

  Rob remembered he had a bottle of Jack Daniels along the side of his bed. With his heart beating, he reached down to find the square bottle. As he placed it around his palm, the lid was removed, and as he held the bottle to his lips to swig what was left, the bottle was dry. He'd already drunk it, several hours ago. Rob did not want to stay in bed, it was mid-March, and it was cold, but despite this, Rob got dressed, made his way downstairs, and opened the front door. Just to walk. Maybe get his thoughts together.

  The cold was biting with every step Rob took. However, the snow which came in January was starting to disappear. As he walked through the square, one or two cars drove past. Rob did his best to ignore them. He did not know what time it was, but it was dark, and he did not think it was a weekend. He walked through the pedestrian walkway up towards the Weir. Then slowly made his way up Ferriby Road towards the Humber Bridge. Again, cars passed him. It was a red car again. Was it the same one he'd seen in the square? He didn't know, he had not seen the registration number, but even then, he doubted he'd be able to remember it. Rob's mind was elsewhere anyway.

  As he approached the entrance to the bridge, this time on Boothferry Road, he could feel the wind howl against his ears. He passed the collection booths, and looked at the guy inside the ticket office, but the guy ignored Rob, and went back to his book. As the wind howled past, Rob wanted to chuck himself off the side. He passed the first pillar that towered above the road, and stopped. Again, Rob thought about his nightmare. Was Rob being punished? Was it not God's will to kill that fourteen-year-old boy? Rob had never cared much for religion, but right now, he thought about praying.

  In the howling wind and rain, Rob leaned over the barrier and put his hands together. He prayed to the god he was taught about in school. Over and over again he repeated, "God help me, God help me," and over and over again there was no response. Rob wasn't sure what response he would get, but all he could hear was the wind, and all he could feel was the icy rain burning into his face. Rob stopped praying, and this time started shouting, even though there was no one in earshot. He shouted "God help me, for fuck's sake! Help me!"

  More and more frustrated, and with tears rolling down his eyes, he put his first leg up, over the barrier separating the footpath from the drop. Rob took a deep breath and paused. 'A few more seconds and it'll be over, all I have to do is push myself off,' he cried as he contemplated his own death at his own hands. 'One big push, that's all I need,' Rob thought to himself. All of a sudden, Rob heard a ruffling of feathers, but paid no attention to it. He was just about to launch himself into the darkness when he heard a cry of a guillemot.

  The shriek was directly behind him on the footpath, and it almost frightened Rob, because he thought he was alone. With one leg still on the barrier, he turned his head around to see where the cry had come from. Stood there on the footpath was the bird, just looking at him. It was an ironic moment. Guillemots had been somewhat of a cult bird within Rob's family, when Rob's grandad had died before Rob was born, a guillemot had flown to his relatives inland, miles away from the sea, and tapped on the window all night. It was almost as if they were the Foster's own personal carrier pigeon, but this one, on a cold winter's night, on the Humber Bridge, just stood there and stared at Rob.

  Rob stared back for a few minutes. Then, he lowered his leg off the rail, and again, the guillemot did not move. Instead, it just let out another defying squawk. Rob fell to his knees, and leaned back against the railings. Rob then turned to the guillemot and said, "You must think I'm a right silly bastard," and almost on cue, the guillemot squawked, in fact, whenever Rob asked the guillemot a question, there was a squawk. It was a surreal moment for Rob. It was almost as if the bird was telling him, "You've got other things to worry about, other than killing yourself."

  Just as Rob picked himself up to make his way back home, the guillemot squawked one last time and then made its way off into the night. As he walked the long, cold walk down Ferriby Road towards his house, the odd car passed. Again, Rob thought the car that had passed him was the same one.

  'Fuck me,' Rob thought to himself. 'Am I under surveillance?' Instead of making his way directly home, he back-tracked across himself to make sure he wasn't being followed any more. Exhausted, and wet to the bone, when he finally reached home, he let himself in, did himself a brew and put the fire on. As he turned on the telly, he realised it was Friday. He would never get an appointment to see a doctor before Wednesday. Rob knew at this point he needed to get advice. As he nursed his brew, he thought about the guillemot, and almost chuckled to himself at the conversation with the bird on the Humber Bridge.

  As the sun started to rise, Rob thought he would get a couple more hours' sleep if he could, and then go to the doctor's as soon as he woke up. 'Maybe they can help me before I do something stupid,' Rob thought to himself. Rob made his way upstairs, got into bed, turned over, and then tried to sleep.

  The alarm went off at eleven a.m., and Rob struggled to get himself out of bed. Once he'd showered and had a brew, he rang the doctor's, and speaking to the receptionist, it felt like one of Chelsea Parson's interrogations. But, eventually, he got an appointment, as he thought, for Wednesday. When he put the phone down, he thought to himself he would only have to get through a few days, then hopefully everything would be rosy. Basically, all he had to do was get through a long weekend.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Later that night, Rob was in the Admiral. He did toy with the idea whether to go for another pint whilst all of this was going on, but he thought to himself 'Fuck it, I've got nothing better to do.'

  It was about seven p.m., and the weather was cold and damp, but the full moon made the square look electric. Rob felt quite calm as he drank his Guinness and chatted to the regulars, including Harry. Although he did not discuss anything from the night before, he felt like he had turned a page by trying to get himself some help. About an hour or so later, Callum and his crew walked in, and, on seeing Rob, Callum looked like he'd seen a ghost.

  Rob turned to Harry and said, "I thought he was barred?"

  Harry nodded and said, "Yeah, he has been, but I've got to make a living, brother. He won't start no shit. Especially after the kicking you gave him last time."

  As the evening wore on, Callum approached Rob and held out his hand. "Listen, Rob," said Callum, "I'm sorry about all that shit I said, I was out of order."

  "Okay, mate, let's put it to bed. Get us a pint of Guinness."

  For the next twenty minutes or so, Rob and Callum were chatting like they were old friends. Then, Rob went to relieve himself in the gents. It was at that point Callum turned to his side-kick. "Liam, you still got that spice on you?"

  "Yeah, four bags, why?"

  "Give us two, then keep an eye out."

  Liam then handed Callum two packets of the so-called 'legal high'. Callum then ripped open the two packets and emptied the contents into the half pint of Guiness that Rob had left at the bar. Callum then smiled a wicked smile, and turned to Liam and said, "That's gonna fuck him up for tonight," and then added, "We'll have this, then get off."

  A minute or so later, Rob re
turned, and picked up the conversation that they were having. Within a short time, Callum made his excuses and he and his crony left. Although Rob saw them chuckling as they left, he thought nothing of it, and then ordered another pint.

  After about an hour, Rob started to feel funny. He didn't feel like finishing his beer, and it was almost as if he was hearing voices. Other regulars in the pub began looking at Rob, almost staring, even though there was no eye contact. Rob didn't know what he was thinking, so he put his Guinness down, and made his way to the door. As he walked out, Harry noticed him leave, and almost as if Harry could sense something, a shiver ran down his spine.

  As Rob left the Admiral, he turned to his right, just as the red car he'd seen earlier went past. Rob wasn't thinking straight, he began to run.

  The sky was clearing, and the full moon could easily be seen, along with a peppering of stars. Although the cold did not affect Rob, in his mind, all he could think of was the surveillance he was under. As he ran into the night, he made his way into Boothferry Estate and stopped outside the Sainsbury's Local. Rob knew he couldn't go home, and walked into the store which was quiet. He needed to defend himself. Inside the store, he picked up the right weapon, it was a chef's knife. The shop assistant didn't think twice about taking Rob's money and hardly noticed him leave. Rob thought, 'At least I can defend myself.'

  As he ran into the night, Rob kept looking for whoever was following him. 'It must be something to do with that fourteen-year-old insurgent,' he thought to himself. 'Maybe it was an ISIS sell, they're looking for me to seek their revenge'.