by Burden, Diem
“Come in!” came the reply to my respectful tap.
I entered and saluted smartly. “Lance-Corporal Burden reporting for pre-release interview, sir.”
“Ah yes, good. Come in Corporal Burden and close the door, would you? There’s a good chap. Oh, and pull up a pew.”
I did as I was ordered as the major turned to the new computer at his side. I watched as he scowled at it before hitting the keyboard hard, several times.
“Useless ruddy thing.” He smacked the keyboard one last time, much harder. “Waste of space if you ask me. More trouble than they’re ruddy worth.”
He turned towards me, smiling mechanically, as he opened a file on his desk. He briefly scanned the contents in silence before looking over his half-rimmed glasses at me.
“So, you’re leaving us, are you? Don’t suppose there’s any chance I can convince you to stay on, is there?”
“No sir, absolutely none.”
“I see.” He looked down again, disappointed with my firm stance against his beloved army. “Married now, aren’t you?”
I nodded. You should know; I had to get your permission, in writing.
“Good, good. So, what are you planning to do with yourself on the other side then, huh?”
I knew this question was coming and I had prepared for it. “The Prison Service, sir.”
“The ruddy Prison Service? Whatever for?” He removed his glasses and stared at me. He looked as if I had just told him I was going to join the Argentinean Navy. I hadn’t been expecting this response.
“Well, er... secure job, sir? Good pension?”
He smiled a tolerant smile at me. “Yes, I suppose security is important, what with a young family to support and so on.” He put his glasses back. “But, the Prison Service?” He shook his head in disbelief.
I had never really cared much for what he thought, but the fact that he was shocked and disappointed at my choice concerned me. I didn’t know what more to say so I just shrugged. I felt like a child in the headmaster’s office.
“Look, Corporal Burden, let me be frank with you.” He removed his glasses once again and stared at me for a few seconds. “I don’t think for a minute that you will be happy to go to work every morning for the rest of your working days, knowing that you are going to spend ten hours locked up in an overcrowded Victorian building, full of the scum of society who all hate your guts and who would think nothing of sticking a knife in your back the minute your head is turned. And all for a ruddy pension.” As he spoke his voice rose in pitch.
I winced. I hadn’t been committed to it; it was just a thought, something to tell him. However, Major Cummins had just established that I would never be joining the Prison Service because what he had just said was absolutely the bloody truth. It wasn’t for me. My new career would have lasted less than my Sixth Form studies had. I looked at my boss with grudging respect.
“Put like that, sir, maybe I’ll think of something else.”
He stared at me. “Listen, I’ll let you into a secret.” He glanced at the closed door behind me for effect. “The squadron is going back out to Belize for six months next year, just about the time you are due to leave us. You were there the last time, weren’t you, back in ’85?”
I nodded. It was my first taste of abroad at the tender age of nineteen and it was an amazing experience. The thought of going back out there again for six months, seeing the old places and exploring the country anew was very tempting, not to mention Mexico just across the border.
However, I wasn’t married back then and I’d seen what the six-month separation had done to some marriages the last time. The Old Man saw the flicker of interest spark in my eyes before being extinguished under the heavy weight of responsibility. He upped the ante.
“Maybe, no promises here but maybe you could go on tour with a second stripe on your arm?” He glanced down at my single stripe and raised his eyebrows.
I stared at him. Was he serious? I’d been a lance-corporal for over eighteen months and never believed I’d ever see another promotion. I was too non-conformist. However, the money was good, it was one step before sergeant and it was a respected rank. It was very tempting; Belize and promotion. It was also a good way of putting off this impossible choice I had to make.
Major Cummins had been my boss for about nine months at that point and I’d never spoken to him, and I’d doubted he even knew I existed before that day. Of his two hundred or so men I was a nobody; yet there he was offering me a promotion to encourage me to stay in the army! I pushed my luck.
“Only a maybe, sir?”
“I say maybe because I’d need to see a serious change in you, Corporal Burden. I’d be taking a chance as it is. Look, I know you are against most of what the army stands for. You can’t deal with the boredom of a peace-time army, yet none of us hope for war. But, whilst we are waiting for another Argentinean-type event to prove ourselves, we need to keep the men entertained. Stop them from getting bored and so on.”
It was then that I understood what was on offer. With the new stripe I’d be expected to give up who I was. I’d have to become one of the army-barmy fools I so despised, just to keep the men from getting bored. Get them to polish the vehicles down with diesel; there’s a good chap. A yes-man; a person without reason.
“Thank you, sir, but no thank you. I can’t leave my wife behind, not with a baby on its way and all.”
“Ah yes, if I recall, you turned down the Kenya tour for the same reason?”
I hadn’t; it had been for an important course – more qualifications I might need – but he was doing all right. The fact that he knew I hadn’t gone on the tour impressed me considerably.
“That’s right, sir.”
He stared at me for several seconds and I saw resignation on his face. “So, you’re one hundred percent committed to getting out then.” It was a statement, not a question, but I nodded all the same. “Construction work doesn’t interest you?”
I shook my head.
“No, I didn’t think so. Look, Burden, there’s a place in the world for everybody. Mine happens to be in the army for now, and yours isn’t. Whatever you do next, don’t make the same fucked-up decision you made to get here.” He had my full attention and admiration at that point. “You have responsibilities now, and from what you’ve said so far, I can see that you are taking them seriously.”
I nodded in agreement. His astuteness just kept impressing me. “So, what about your pre-release course; what are your thoughts on that? As you know, there are thousands to choose from and you might actually find one to qualify for something that might not only prove useful to you, but something you might actually fit into.”
“I thought maybe I’d do a computer course, sir?” I was serious. A month living in London and studying at an official institute, gaining certificates in all aspects of computing not only sounded like a great month out, but it would also give me the chance to get my hands on one of those things. Pizza had won.
He glanced at the Amstrad and scowled. “Good choice. Those things are the future, although they don’t seem to be much use at the moment.” He looked at me. “I guess they’ll improve, though, and, if you learn how to use one, you could always pop back and show me what I’m doing wrong.”
We both smiled and sat in silence for a few seconds.
“Awful business, that accident.” It had been several weeks since the soldier had died and I’d wiped his brains off my hand.
“Yes, sir, it was, very sad. Great that Corporal Stevens didn’t face any charges, though.”
“Yes, good news indeed. Conducted yourself rather well, I understand?”
I was surprised. Of course he was aware of the accident; his men had spent the whole of the next day writing out statements for the Military Police – but how much did he know of what actually happened?
“Yes, according to Sergeant Smith, you did very well: you kept calm, provided help, put yourself at risk in that car, supported your colleagues througho
ut and even bollocked the cops for being late!” He smiled. “You did the regiment proud, David.”
I blushed, unaccustomed to an officer using my first name, not to mention praise.
He sat back. “Yes, if you ask me, you have all the makings of a cop...”
“A cop?” The smile fell from my face. I was so shocked that I forgot to add the ‘sir’ bit.
“Yes, why not? Security, well paid, good pension. Plus, no two days are the same.” He leant forward. “Think about it, you are out and about, making your own decisions, living off your wits, helping people out. You’ll be away from the upper ranks and you’ll be your own boss for most of the day. I think it’s right up your street, seriously.”
All I could see was another uniform. More men without principles at the top and pointless bullshit below, not to mention having to give first aid now and again. I really didn’t want to be able to recognise the sound of an ambulance approaching.
I shook my head and smiled at him. “Thanks, but there’s absolutely no chance of that happening, sir.”
Part one of THE ROZZERS by DIEM BURDEN
o0o
EPILOGUE
The cause of the accident was attributed to metal fatigue in the neck of the towing eye, causing it to shear in two. Once the trailer separated from the towing vehicle, gravity forced the towing arm to drop down onto its single wheel, causing the front of the trailer to veer out to the right, as if overtaking our truck, directly into the path of the oncoming traffic. The heavy duty towing arm that swung out was fashioned into a point, like an arrowhead made of steel girders.
This deadly point met the Land Rover head on, slamming into the front of the flimsy vehicle as it was passing our truck, effectively slicing it in two. The engine went in one direction; the rest of the vehicle was thrown across the plain.
The driver was killed instantly, whilst the passenger remained strapped into his seat as the vehicle rolled over and over, coming to a stop off the road. He was lucky to get away with ‘just’ a serious head injury. Had their vehicle been a second faster or slower, the trailer would have missed them altogether. I never found out if his eyesight was saved.
The impact of the Land Rover spun the trailer further to its right through 45 degrees, leaving it travelling along and across the road at 90 degrees. Robin had been following the Land Rover. As the Land Rover was knocked off the road in front of him, he slammed into the side of the trailer at about 60 mph. This low-point impact stopped the trailer dead, causing the whole combination to tip over onto his car, squashing it to less than half of its original height. Another few inches and he’d have been killed instantly.
Cat’s career didn’t suffer as a result of the accident. It wasn’t the first time metal fatigue had caused the towing eye to break off on that type of military trailer. He later applied to become a pilot at the Army Air Corps, but failed the course for being ‘too mechanical’. Shortly afterwards he left the army and joined the police service.
Donk rose rapidly through the ranks and remained a committed career man.
Sgt. Smudge Smith eventually achieved the rank of Warrant Officer and retired to a well-paid civilian construction job.
Pizza’s story is unknown.
I have no idea why the first aider was so unpleasant towards us. She was, however, the first to park her car up and come down and help. She also helped the injured soldier greatly and, for these reasons, I will always be grateful to her. I never heard anything more of the casualties in this story, it’s not something the Royal Military Police excel at; updating the common soldier. Sadly, I don’t even know if Robin survived.
I will be eternally grateful to Major Cummins for talking me out of joining the Prison Service. How I even considered it reminds me of just how lost I was back then. First aid, however, still scares the hell out of me.
L/Cpl Burden in 1988
Part one of THE ROZZERS by DIEM BURDEN
o0o
COPS DON’T RUN, part 2 of THE ROZZERS (a free sample)
“Jeremy’s a loser, a complete waster,” said Danny as we responded to a lunchtime call of a street disturbance. “A washed up druggy who usually only comes to our attention nowadays for petty domestic stuff along with his fat, ugly missus. Used to be a handful in his time did our Jeremy,” he added, almost in admiration, “but this’ll be a load of crap, a waste of our time. Just you see.”
I’d know PC Danny Green for exactly two days at this point. I knew he had nothing against Jeremy; it was people in general he disliked. Danny was my tutor; a world-weary cop who was, on account of his length of service, ‘qualified’ to take new recruits out on patrol. As the new boy I was – naturally – in total awe of him. With an expanding waistline he was dry, apparently humourless, completely in-excitable and hated everything and everybody, including - it seemed - being burdened with excitable, incompetent new recruits.
For the last two mornings we’d been patrolling the northern half of the city - the rough council estates - in our little Ford Escort panda car. Yesterday - my first day out on patrol with Cambridgeshire Police - had been dull and routine. Tonnes of paperwork which Danny had to complete whilst I sat and watched, trying to look interested, interspersed with false intruder alarms activated by cleaning staff. This call was different though. This sounded like real police work.
As Danny cut through the chaotic streets of the council estate like a racing pro, I kept glancing at a little switch on the dashboard. This was no ordinary switch, this was the switch that activated our blue-light. It had remained permanently off since day one and I was bitterly disappointed that we hadn’t used it yet. Surely this was such an occasion? No matter how much I willed it, our solitary blue light remained switched off, much to my dismay. I think Danny knew what I was thinking and detested me even more for it. I later discovered Danny’s aversion to any form of excitement and activating a blue light would just draw unnecessary attention down on us. So it stayed off.
Before long we turned into a small cul-de-sac packed with too many houses. It looked like the constructor had thrown all the houses up into the air and built them where they’d landed.
“That looks like the scroat there,” Danny said, indicating a man on the pavement fifty metres ahead of us, attempting to open a tall, wooden garden gate. I had no idea what a scroat was and I had no time to ask as Danny continued his brief. “Yeah, Jeremy’s the tall guy standing by the gate - his gate - and that looks like his stupid wife on the other side of it, if I’m not mistaken.”
I was sitting in the passenger seat with the window down, which also happened to be the closest window to where Jeremy was standing as we approached at an unimpressive pace.
“You mean him?” I asked, pointing. “The one with the axe?”
“An axe? He hasn’t... Oh God he has, hasn’t he? OK, don’t get out.” Danny said all this in exactly the same tone and volume as before, and I never did understand why he thought that I might have actually got out of the car at that precise moment.
Jeremy was now fully aware of the cop car slowly crawling towards him along the quiet street. As if to prove it, he looked menacingly at the axe in his hand before raising it high above his head and slamming it into the top of the wooden gate several times, splintering the wood. He turned his head and stared directly at me, the nearest ‘cop’. I did what any person would have done in my situation; I crouched down in my seat and acted invisible. I was just about to close the window and lock the door when Danny leant across me and called out of the window.
“Come on now, Jeremy. Put the axe down, don’t be stupid,” he said, sounding inconvenienced. I wondered at his choice of words – surely calling an axe-wielding scroat ‘stupid’ wasn’t something we’d be taught at police college?
Confirming my assessment, Jeremy yanked the axe out of the gate, turned and marched directly towards us – towards me. Danny must have anticipated this response as he calmly put the panda into reverse, backing out of the cul-de-sac just fast enough to keep ahead of
Jeremy but not too fast to get noticed. After a short distance Jeremy gave up and returned to his gate. I breathed out again.
I was armed with nothing more than a small, wooden truncheon hanging from my belt, a police weapon invented one hundred and fifty years earlier. Nobody had taught me how to use it, just how to loop it around your belt so that it didn’t fall down the inside of your leg and trip you up when running. I knew we wouldn’t be expected to take on this axe-wielding, six foot tall, ex-druggie scroat with our pathetic pieces of wood for defence.
That’s it, then; time to call in the specialists, take this loony out.
Then Danny did something unexpected. He drove back towards Jeremy the Axe. My eyes were white. What the hell was he thinking? He hadn’t even called for backup and the blue light was still off. He stopped the car in the same place, leaving Jeremy the Axe just a few metres from my half-open window.
“Jeremy, don’t be bloody stupid; put the axe down, will you?” There was that word again. Danny’s voice went up a tad in volume, but still showed no sign of fear or excitement - or even interest, come to think of it.
As I stared at the axe splitting the gate I began to have serious concerns about having chosen the wrong police force. I’d assumed that Cambridge would be full of students and old ladies drinking tea and that absolutely nothing ever happened there. The fact that Jeremy the Axe was happening to me on my second day out on patrol, and the calm, matter-of-fact way Danny was dealing with it made me really worried – was it always like this?
We reversed a bit further this time, on account of Jeremy chasing us a bit further, before he gave up again and returned to his rapidly deteriorating gate. This time Danny did get on the radio, but asking for assistance came hard to him.
“Yeah control, Jeremy has an axe and won’t put it down. I think we’re gonna need a bit of help here.” (Police radio messages, especially urgent calls, always begin with the word ‘yeah.’ I have no idea why.)