BlindFire (2 page)

  The night is the guardian of the Terrorist.  Its  shadows  hide  them, Its  full  moon  guides  them  when  priming  their  version  of  carnage  and  its  gloom  covers  their  retreat to safety. The night his ally, Jack pressed onward toward his target.

  "Right, come on, it’s clear." He whispered.

  Patrick  moved  slowly forward,  steadying  himself   for  the  short  sprint  across  the  car-park  behind  Buller  Barracks. They must have been near some sort of m
ilitary hospital because they’
d hidden in bushes a couple of times while
chattering groups of
Nurses passed by.  He  was  scared, his  legs  felt  heavy  and  there  was  a  strange  numbing  sensation  in  his  left  arm.  He gripped his stomach and breathed deeply
,
forcing oxygen into his lungs.

  "What’s the matter?"  Asked Jack and smiled.  "Butterflies...  Don't
worry that’s just you being scared shiteless
."

  His  face  drained  of  blood  and  limbs  chattering  with  fear  Patrick forced  himself   forward . "Come on let’s get this over with!"

  "Stag me down to the tree line."

  Then  Jack  was  gone,  sprinting towards  a  broken  wooden  fence  which  marked  the  rear  boundary  of the  camp. The  same  fence  which  the  Soldiers  used  to  sneak  out  and  go  down  town
on a Friday night
.  Patrick  was  close  behind  struggling  with  the  heavy  bag  containing  the  explosives.

  "Ok then."  Said Jack kneeling between two cars and breathing heavily. "This is our RV point, whatever happens you wait here..! You wait here, right… You hear me?”  He waited for a nod. “And keep a lookout, I’ll be back soon."   He  was  up  and  over  the  small  fence  in a  second,  taking  the  bag with  him.  Down  a  grassy  slope,  across  a concrete  path  and  still  no  sign  of   trouble.  By  now  he  was  beside  the  target  building  on  his  knees  listening  for  patrols.  There  was nothing  but  an  eerie  silence,   it  was  as  if  the  whole  place  was already  dead.  Nothing  but  Winters  dead  trees,   Autumns  dead  leaves and  soon  thought  Jack,  the  Queens  dead  men.

  Kneeling beside one of the grey accommodation buildings he watched and waited for any signs of trouble, there was none.
After satisfying his nerves
  that  he  was  alone  he  opened  the  bag  and  pulled 
out  the  three  One Gallon
containers  which  had  been  modified  into  bombs, he checked  each  set  of  wiring  in  turn.

  The explosive was called Semtex.  This  new  stuff  had  its  advantages,   it  was  lightweight  so you  could  carry  more  and  it  produced  a  greater  explosion  which meant  more  damage.  The only disadvantage was that it cost a fortune, not only in money but also in favors.  Only two months previous Jack had killed an Arab businessman in
London
by order of
some rag head
Middle Eastern Freedom Fighters. He wasn’t that bothered about topping an Arab but he’d missed the rugby international, they had lost anyway.

  He checked the wiring on all three bombs once again, just to be sure.  Then he  set  the  time  on  the  clock  face  to  Zero  Two  Thirty  hours and carefully  lifted  the  alarm  mute  button.
He placed the first bomb just inside the foyer and the other two evenly spaced along the outer wall.

  "Gotch'ya."  He
quipped as he checked his watch
. Then  sprinted  back up  the  slope  not  even  bothering  to  see  if  anyone  had  noticed  him.

  "Go Pat....  Go… Run!
They’ll go up in five minutes.
"

  Jack  needn't  have  said  a  word, as  soon  as  Patrick  had  seen  him  he  was  away  and  running.  Both  men  were  back  at  the  waiting  car  within  a  minute.

  "Take  me  to  a  telephone,  and  then  we  can  both  go  home."

  "Sure..."  Patrick gasped still trying to get his breath back.

***

"Well that film wasn’t up to much, was it?  Even when there was a picture, there wasn’t much action." The Lance Corporal said
and laughed into his mug of tea as he gulped the last dregs down his throat
.

  "I think I need a new video recorder."

  "T
hat was the worst porno I’ve ever seen and what about those nails.  The dirty bitch must have cut herself to shreds.
Who did you get it off of any way?
"

  Private Jones laughed and turned the television off.  “Driver
Tyler
in the stores, he’s got loads of films…
Ah well, I think we’d better get going now."

  "Another five minutes won’t hurt Jones."

  "Come on Smudge, the Motorola isn’t even switched on. What if they gave us a radio check or something?"

  The Lance Corporal lit another cigarette.  "Nothing ever happens, chill out
mate
and put the kettle on!"

  The Private braced himself. 
"No, I want to go...! Now..!"

 
T
he building
suddenly
shuddered and then shook violently as three massive explosions tore
through
the structure. F
lames
, hungry for oxygen,
leapt fifty feet or more into the air engulfing
the glowing night sky. While a blazing inferno incinerated everything in its path a super heated blast tossed soldiers
and furniture around like
tissue paper in a fire storm.

Walls suddenly cracked and then buckled as entire floors collapsed into rubble, burying any soldiers unlucky enough to remain alive. Debris, Unrecognizable and flaming dropped from the sky like meteors starting smaller fires all around
.
T
he shock wave shattered windows in all the neighboring buildings as
s
creams of the dying echoed
amongst the   moans and cries for help
. A stench of charred
death seeped
throughout the ruin as an eerie silence finally descended.

  Like  a  spirit  with  a  mind  of  its  own  the  black  smoke   drifted  off  on  the  current  of  a  winters  breeze. Revealing more carnage, more misery and death.

***

   "Is that the Police?"  A Muffled Irish voice said into the handset.  "As  a  representative  of  the  Provisional  Irish  Republican  Army  I hereby  except  full  responsibility  for  the  blowing  up  of  Buller Barracks in Aldershot. The code word is Green Dragon."

  He  hung  up  quickly,  no  telling  how  fast  calls  can  be  traced  these days, he  thought. Then he put another coin in the slot and dialed the number for his Irish contact.

“It’s Jack... The job’s done!”

“Wait a minute Jack; for God’s sake don’t put the phone down.”  Pleaded the voice at the other end.

 
  Jack sighed heavily.
“What is it this time? If  it’s  another  job  you  know  what  you  can  do! We’re coming home!”

  “No.”  Interrupted the contact. “....It’s really bad news. It’s your wife mate...! She’s been killed
… You need to come home!
”

  Jack thought and prayed that he had heard it wrong. “What?” He whispered incredulously, hardly believing the words he was hearing.

  “The fecking Brits killed her mate..... She was on
a job! I heard she was shot by some
feking
Para
!"

  Jack  felt  faint  and  suddenly  he  was  on  his  knees,  the  phone  dangling  by  its  cord.  "Job? What Job? She works in a corner shop for Christ sake! Oh God..... No... No."  He sobbed. "Bastards…!"

  He stood and stumbled backwards, collapsing on to a wooden bench.  "You bastards."  He screamed at the top of his voice. ".....You British murdering bastards."  And then tears streaming down his stubbly cheeks and sobbing quieter.  "You killed her, you killed my girl!"

  Jack Mckay was still slumped on that bench three hours later, sobbing and mumbling incoherently, when he came to the attention of a
passing
police patrol car
.

***

2

BlindFire

CHAPTER    2

Ten years later…

  Sunday  November  Tenth  had  started  out  as  quite  a  pleasant  day. The  hazy  winter  sun  had  fought  all  morning  to  hold  the  dark  clouds at  bay
.  By  the  time  Danny  Stone
  had  run  two  miles  the  sun  had lost  i
ts  epic  battle  and  the storm
  had  set  in.  Drenched Germans dove for cover in doorways and bus shelters
as the wind turned umbrellas inside out
.  He  smiled  at  them  as  he passed  by,  they  reminded  him  of  the  water  rats  he  used  to  shoot wit
h  his  brother  as  a  kid  on
the
banks of
  local  canals  around  Sheffield.

  "What the hell am I doing?"   The  Soldier  muttered  to  himself,  as he  wiped  the  sweat  and  rain  from  his  eyes.. He had to train like hell just to keep up with the younger guys these days.

  Staff Sergeant Danny Stone
was feeling his age. He was getting older with every passing year and the young paratroopers
; well they just
seemed to be getting
younger and
fitter.

  It  was  this
  thought  which  prevented him
  from  heading  for  home. Besides he was already as wet as he ever could be. The voice of  the weatherman  echoed  in  his  head  like  some  sarcastic  comedian; 'Light  rain  in  the  North', he  almost  smiled.

  
It was only five days until the
cross-country championships which the Commanding Officer had graciously entered him into. He hadn’t won it in ten years but it was always a good laugh with the rest of the cross country team. It would be good to get back to
England
for a couple of days
and visit some of his old mates in
Colchester
. This secondment to the Royal Engineers was beginning to wear thin. The guys were OK but they weren’t paratroopers.

  He  knew  he  could  run  endlessly  keeping  to  this  pace, 
but
to  make  it worth  while  he  had  to  constantly  push  himself.  Gradually  gaining speed  with  every  step  he  could  feel  his  lungs  begin  to  tighten.  His black  combat  high  boots  pounded  the  ground  harder  and  harder,   he began  to  feel  himself  loosing  control  of  his  breathing,  so  he  slowed down  filling  his  lungs  with  much  needed  oxygen.  Treating  his  body like  a  finely  tuned  instrument  he  placed  his  feet  on  the  ground, aiming  for  a  crack  or  a  puddle  for  no  other  reason  than  to  take  his mind  off  the  ever  increasing  pain
caused by the build up of lactic acid
.

  A  trickle  of  water  flowed  down  his  back,  was  it  rain  or  sweat
?  He  really  didn't  care
,   for  what  he  sought  now  rose  up  above him  like  a  giant  grey snake,  winding  and  twisting  until  it reached  the  top  of  the  ridge.
This place was known as the ‘three sisters’ because the road rose three times before the summit.

   He  arrived  at  the bottom  of  the  slope,  leaning  forward  and  taking shorter   steps   he   accelerated   up   the   incline.  After   the   first   three  hundred  meters  he  began  feeling  the  incessant  tugging  of  his  calf’s, the  strain  in  his  thighs  and   the  wet  material  of  his  lightweights digging  in  to  his  crotch.  Breathing  was  almost  impossible  as  he forced  the  oxygen  in  to  his  lungs.  Looking  up  he 
realised
  there  was only  one  hundred  meters  to  go, gritted  teeth  and  determination forced   him  up  the  last  twenty  meters. Staggering  to  a  fallen tree  he  sat down  and  drank  in  huge  mouthfuls  of  air and swigged greedily from his water bottle.

  After a two minute rest and some stretching exercises, he was off again. The  driving  r
ain  had  all  but stopped
,  but  his  sodden lightweights  and  sweatshirt  clung  to  his  aching  limbs  making  running extremely  uncomfortable.

   Wet  clothes were strewn all over the damp floor, muddy prints that led  to a pair of black combat high boots were barely visible through  the steam  from a roasting shower. A terrible voice mimicking some long since dead singer echoed around the tiny bathroom as if trying to escape the damp heat.

  "Danny
."  Cried a female voice from somewhere on the other side of the flat.

  "Is that you Claudia?"  He
shouted as he turned the shower off, still dancing to an imaginary tune.

  "Yeah...  And if you’ve made a mess
in there
you’d better clean it up."

  "Oh, you mean the mud." He cried, mocking his wife’s apparent anger.  "Wait till it dries and then get the
Hoover
on it." He laughed.

  "Yeah right..!"

  "It’s what you normally do! Isn’t it?"  He muttered to his own grinning reflection in the mirror. Not bothering to dry himself, he slipped in to a blue dressing gown which seemed far too small and only came down to his knees.  After  tying the  knot  he  painfully  made  his  way  to  the kitchen
,
  the  steam  following like an obedient dog. His whole body ached as he sat down at the small kitchen table. Age was at last creeping up on this old Staff Sergeant, twenty two years in the Parachute Regiment had taken its toll on his body. His knees and back had taken a real pounding from all those jumps and forced marches.

  “Not long now..!” He said to
himself as he massaged his
thigh.

  “What?” His wife cried from the bedroom.

  “Just thinking out loud.” He replied. “Three more months and my twenty two years are up… Twenty two years doing this crap and what will I have to show for it? Chronic rheumatoid arthritis and
a mild case of
PTSD..!”

"Oh..!
" Claudia said anticipating his first question.  "
The kids are at Clair’s! They should be home soon
."  She opened the refrigerator and grimaced.  "
There’s nothing in for dinner,
I need to go down to the shops."

  Danny
looked at his watch.  "Aren’t they closed? It’s Sunday!"

  "Oh no..."  She said.  "Can you wait for the kids?  I’ll
just
pop in to camp and go to the NAAFI shop."

  "Maybe."  He replied thinking of the football on TV.

  She  sat  on  his  knee  and  slid  her  long  arms  around  his  neck.

  "Oh god.  Don’t do that, I’m already stiff enough as it is!"

  "Stiff hey."  She purred.  "Maybe we should do something about that..."

   “I’m on about my legs.” He tried to untangle himself from his wife’s long arms. "…I don’t think so."

  When he had first met Claudia
he was a young Paratrooper and she was a foreign exchange student studying art in
London
. H
e had
thought somewhat sadly, that the nymphomania would
ware off, now nine
years later and she was still insatiable.  It  was
sheer
  lust  at  first  sight  and  they  married only  three  months  after that first  meeting
, mostly down to her being pregnant and Danny off to Bosnia for a six month tour
.  The wedd
ing was a small affair in a
London
registry office followed by her tearfully waving him off to the former
Yugoslavia
at Brize Norton.

  He   was   too   tired   from   the   run   for   anything  more  than  a  kiss  so  he  just  sat  there  watching  football  on  TV. It  was  the  stuff  of  dreams - Manchester  United
were a goal behind to Sheffield with
  only  two  minutes  of  stoppage  time  to  go.

  “Come on
Sheffield
!” He cried, only to be drowned out by the cheers of
Manchester
fans as they scored an equalizer. “Bollox..!” He cried louder and turned the television off in disgust.

   There  was  only  two  years  dif
ference  in  age  between  Tommy
  and Sahra,  the  latter  being  the  oldest  at  eight.  They could almost have been  twins  except  Sahra
’s
  hair  flowed  down  her  back  like  black  silk.

  They  were  both  small for their ages
  but  this  didn't stop  them  getting  exactly  what  they  wanted.  Infact it helped them in many ways.

  As  Claudia  walked  out  the  door  he   thought  it  was  about  time  to  get  dressed,  but  a  coffee  would  come  first.  As  he  filled  the  kettle  the
kitchen
door  was  quietly  pushed  open,  unbeknown  to  him  a  pretty  little  girl  had  walked  in  and  was
now standing
  behind  him  with  her  hands  placed  firmly  on  her  hips  and  a  scowl  on  her  impish  little face.

  "What  have  I  told  you  about  walking  around  in  front  of  children half  undressed."  The girl whined waving her index finger at him.

  "Well excuse me."  Said Danny
tur
ning to face his daughter.  "I’
m sorry, but this is my flat after all."

  "It’s mums flat."

  "Mine."

  "Mums."

  "Mine...  Ok... Ok I give up it’s your mums flat."  He cried sweeping her up in to his arms.  "And what has my favorite little monster been doing today then?"

  "Went
  to  the  park  and  Tommy
  fell  over,  he  cut  his  knee."   She took a deep breath.  "Then  swimming,  then  I  played  with  my  doll
and  then  we  went and played at Clair’s
and  then....."

  "I get the picture."  Danny
laughed interrupting his breathless daughter.  She  screamed  loudly  as  he  tossed  her  high  in  to  the  air then  caught  and  placed  her  gently  on  the  ground.  "Suppose I’d better get dressed."

 
"Mums dressing gown doesn’t fit
you anyway." She cried and giggled.

  Puzzled he looked down.  "I thought it was a bit small."

  Then in disgust.  "Dad.
.!
"

  "Go and get your brother, sweetheart."

 
Sahara
skipped past her mother
on the way out.  "The NAAFI is
closed."  She said running her hands through her hair.

  "Great!
  A chance to e
at some decent grub
for once."

   Claudia looked hurt.  "If  you're  complaining  about  my  cooking,  then perhaps  you  should  do  it  in  future."

  He  laughed  and  tried  to  limp  out  of  the  way  of  a  wet  dish cloth which  had  just  been  thrown  at  him.

  By  the  time Danny
  was  changed  everyone  was  waiting  in  the  car.

  "Right kids..!"  He  cried  as  he  climbed  in  and  put  his  seat-belt  on. "Where we going?"

  "Drive-thru
."   They both shrieked almost in stereo
and giggled
.

  The  rain  was  no  more  than  the  odd  spot  on  the  windscreen,  other than  that  the  world  seemed  to  have  stopped.  Even   the traffic lights seemed reluctant to change.

***

"Look over there."

  "Wh
ere..?"  Yawned  the  Irishman  from
  the  back  seat and  still  half  asleep.

  "Over there."  He said and pointed across the street. “That’s him.
.! That’s definitely his car!
”

  "Yeah it’s got t
o be....  What do you think boss
? Is that him?"

  Jack  had  been  dozing  on  the  back  seat  up  until  now.  The master hunter unaware that
after all these years
he had at last found his prey.  Sitting up and gritting his teeth he growled
.  "Staff Sergeant Danny Stone
…
That’s him alright."
He grinned menacingly; at last he would have his revenge.

  Taking  it  in  turns to drive  they  had made  their  way  from  Ireland  through  England,  Belgium  and  Holland to  Germany, all for this one kill. His contact in
Whitehall
had furnishe
d him with an address for Stone
as part of a deal which involved an exchange of information. Jack Mckay had been waiting for this day for ten long years and he was determined to enjoy every last second of it. So what if a couple of the boys back home would have to suffer for his revenge?

  He  looked  at  his  men,  all  painfully  exhausted  and  suffering  under his   strict  leadership  and  lack  of  sleep. "Guys  this  is  it,  then  we  can  all  go  home and put our feet up."