Forget-Me-Nots in September (3 page)

~*~

Jude counted the three days as the longest of her life. Finally, the names of the dead soldiers were released. Bev wasn't amongst them. Relief flooded her and she cried. Then she cried harder as guilt set in for feeling relieved. She read the unit of those killed. Bev's unit. Tears fell harder as she tried to imagine what he was going through. The names of the injured hadn't been released, they never were. She just prayed he wasn't hurt.

It was another three days before two letters arrived, both from Bev. The first one thanked her for the parcel and ended abruptly with the words gotta go. Had he been writing when whatever it was had happened? The second wasn't much longer.

Hi. Things got a little busy here. You probably heard about it on the news. I can't talk about it, so please don't ask. It's chilly tonight. I might need that hat you sent soon. That's the thing with deserts. Stupid hot during the day and freezing cold at night. So not looking forward to winter out here. Anyway I better get on. Few long days ahead. Got a repatriation ceremony to organize. I hate those. Bev.

Jude cried as she read the letter. She'd seen those on the TV, but never attended one. Perhaps she should this time. Having found out what time the plane would arrive at RAF Brize Norton, she picked up the phone, dialing the number of her best friend Milly.

“DI Jenson.”

“Hi, it's Jude.”

“Hello…what's up?” Concern flooded Milly's voice.

“You always did know me too well. Can you come to the repatriation ceremony with me tomorrow?”

“Was one of them yours?”

“No, but from his unit. I just feel I ought to go. The plane lands at twelve.”

“I'll pick you up at ten. I'll clear it with the DCI now. He'll understand.”

“Thanks, Milly.”

~*~

Bev walked slowly with five others, balancing the coffin, as they carried Smudge from the chapel out to the waiting plane, each of them in perfect step with the other. The entire base stood silent, flags at half-mast. Bev kept his eyes fixed ahead, his heart breaking a little further with every step.

Then he stood with his men, saluting as one, as the plane turned and taxied. His eyes blurred as the plane took off, taking his friends on their final journey home. Once they were dismissed, he turned to the others, taking comfort in the fact they were as sad as he was.

“Danni's planning on meeting them,” Steve said. “She said it'd never gotten to her like this before. She said she was terrified, scared, relieved, guilty all in one go. It's never been my unit before.”

“Then you're fortunate,” Bev said.

“Have you lost men before?”

“Last tour. You never get used to it and you never want to either.” He glanced up as a plane came in and landed.

“You reckon that's the new lot?”

“Probably. Go get the others rounded up in the crew room and stick the kettle on. I want a word over a brew.”

“Aye, sir.”

Ten minutes later, cup in hand and perched on the edge of a box, Bev looked over the group of men. “It hasn't been an easy few days,” he began. “For any of us. If you need to talk then I'm here, or if you don't want to talk to me, go and see the chaplain. It's not compulsory, but the offer is there.”

“Won't it go on our records?” Jaffa asked.

“Will that go on your record? That you watched three mates die and another seven get injured at the hands of a bloke we trained and trusted? And that you wanted to complain about how flaming unfair it is that the jerk who did this survived and Smudge, Pixie, and Rex didn't? Or that Pete will never walk again because there wasn't enough left of his legs to attach a prosthesis to?” Bev shook his head, sucking in a deep breath.

The other six injured had been MP's, rather than from his unit. “No, you won't. A chat over coffee isn't going in anyone's record. Yes, this is the army, but we're all human and we all miss them. They were family.” He raised his cup. “Smudge, Pixie, and Rex.”

The others echoed it.

Bev drank quietly, then his gaze fell on a parcel. It was covered in what he'd come to know as Jude's trademark stickers. “When did that come?”

“Earlier. You were busy so we put it here.” Steve tossed it to him.

Bev opened it slowly. This one contained a paddling pool, bucket and spade, an umbrella hat, washing powder, three tins of hot dogs and a bottle of ketchup. He looked up at the faces of the men. “What can I say? She has a weird sense of humor. I'm sorry, if I'd known it'd contain stuff like this, I'd have opened it in private.”

“But, Boss, what did Smudge love best?” Jaffa asked.

Bev just sat there.

“Barbecues on the beach,” Steve responded. “That parcel, rather than being mistimed, is about brilliant and has the most perfect timing and sense of propriety ever, I say. How about we blow up your pool, and have a party. One for the lads. Remember them our way.”

Bev nodded. He pulled out the letter, sliding it into his pocket. Right at the bottom of the box was a small packet of flags for the castles and a packet of chewing gum. And a picture. Totally black, apart from one corner where the light was slowly dawning. Across the top was written,
it's always darkest just before dawn.

He stood, knowing this would be almost as hard as the repatriation, but that his men needed it. One had to do whatever it took to survive.

~*~

Jude stood with Milly outside the base on a hot July day. They'd parked in the village as the huge cargo plane had come overhead and landed. They walked down to the base. She was surprised there were so many people there. Men in uniform stood on guard by the gate. No one spoke; a strange hush pervaded the air.

The main flag was at half-mast. Along the road stood many veterans with flags, members of the British Legion and currently serving, but off duty, men and women from all branches of the armed forces.

Finally, the gates to the base opened. As one all the flags were lowered. Three cars, each containing a coffin covered in the Union Flag, each bearing the hat and ceremonial sword of the soldier, slowly moved through the gates, the undertaker walking in front of them. He'd walk the entire route from here to the hospital in Oxford.

The cars paused as every single flag was lowered so it touched the ground. Flowers were placed on the roofs of the cars.

Tears ran down Jude's face, the lump in her throat growing with each passing second.

Then the slow procession moved on. A ripple of applause began by the gate and spread, gathering momentum.

Only when the cars were out of sight did people begin to move.

Jude turned to Milly to find herself enveloped in a hug. “Thanks…” she managed.

“Any time, girlfriend. Now how about a drink before we head back? There was a café in the village.”

“OK.”

Only minutes later she sat across from Milly at a small table inside the air conditioned cafe.

“Why do you do it?” Milly asked. “Send parcels to people you don't know and are never likely to meet?”

“To show them they're not forgotten.” Jude sipped the drink. “This chap actually replied a couple of times. They don't always.”

“What's he like? Or can't you say?”

Jude mimed zipping her mouth closed. “He seems nice enough.”

“Can't you even tell me his name?”

She shook her head. “Nope. MOD regs. Walls have ears and so on. I don't want to endanger him in any way. He does that enough himself, just by being deployed out there.” She sighed. “So how's work?”

Milly grinned. “Subject changed like a pro. You know how the job goes. There's the long hours and middle of the night phone calls. I'm stuck behind a desk, but I do have loads of men to boss around. What isn't there to like?”

“You still hate it?”

Her friend nodded. “It's hard. Being DI and not DCI is hard enough, but I'm only filling in here. I've no idea how long DI Welsh will be away. So it could be a week, a year…” She shrugged. “Who knows?”

“You forgot the upside of this equation.” Jude smiled. “You're in the same town as me for the first time since school.”

Milly nodded. “Does Kevin still sing ‘Hey Jude' at you every time you go in the shop?”

“Every. Single. Time. It's more than irritating now. It's creepy, especially given the way he looks at me. I know he likes me and all, but I'm not interested and I'm not sure how to get him to take the hint. Maybe I should wear a ring or just hang a big sign around my neck.” She played with the edge of the glass. “It's the sentencing tomorrow for Jayden's case. I don't suppose you can come, can you? After you're here today and all.”

“What time?”

“Twelve. I know DS Holmes will be there because it's his case, but…”

“Of course I'll be there. I'll get a lift off the good sergeant.”

~*~

Bev yawned as he checked social media way too early in the morning. He'd uploaded the pool party pictures and made the one of him in the pool wearing the umbrella hat his profile picture. Elf had come too and there were several of him drinking cola, pretending to paddle, and sunbathing. Plus one of him standing on top of the castle.

He scanned his timeline and his heart caught as he read Jude's status.
Repatriation at BN. Silence at first, then applause which grew in strength. Sad yet respect. RIP the three who died. And prayers for those injured and left behind.
He closed his eyes. She'd gone. Did she go to all of them, or had she made a special trip this time? It seemed fitting. He'd seen them off, and she'd greeted them on his behalf.

The page refreshed and a new status appeared with a photograph of a young man in RAF uniform.
Six months and that's suspended for two years! How is that justice for Jayden?

Bev hesitated for a moment, then hovered his mouse over her name and brought up the message box.
Hey, it's Bev. Are you OK?

There was a pause for a moment. Then he got a reply. He ignored the way his heart skipped a beat as he read the first real time conversation he'd had with her.

I've been better. Hello by the way. How are you?

Doing OK.
He replied.
What's wrong? I saw your status. Who's Jayden?

My twin brother. He was in the RAF. He got me into sending parcels in the first place.
There was a long pause before she continued.
He was killed on leave about a year ago by a driver who was texting at the wheel. The sentencing was today. Bloke got a six month suspended sentence and a driving ban. Jayden survived the front lines, and he died half a mile from home because someone decided to send a text while driving.

Bev's heart broke afresh.
I'm so sorry, Jude. That's nowhere near long enough.
He closed his eyes. Nothing he could say would be good enough to comfort her. Just like nothing he could say or do could heal the hole in his unit right now. He looked back at the screen.

I know I have to forgive him. It's what Jesus wants—forgive our enemies and pray for those who persecute us, but it's a hard task at times.

Bev typed back
. I know. I'm struggling with that one myself right now. We just have to pray that God will give us the strength to obey Him when things are impossible as well as easy.
He glanced at his watch.
I have to go. Sorry, but I'm late for PT.

We can't have that. The troops might revolt. Thanks for saying hi.

You're welcome. It was nice to chat. Bye.
He logged off and ran down to join his unit outside in the growing light.

“And here he is,” Steve intoned. “Better late than never, but owing us twenty sit-ups and fifty press-ups anyway. Did you oversleep?”

Bev raised an eyebrow. “Did I oversleep
what
, Sergeant?”

“Did you oversleep,
Boss
?” Steve didn't miss a beat. “Just drop and do them.”

“I'll have you know I've been up since o-dark-thirty while you were still snoring.” Bev dropped to the ground, doing the punishment he'd have dished out to anyone else who was late.

“I don't snore,” Steve objected.

“Really? I beg to differ. All those who say he does…”

Every single hand shot up before he'd finished his sentence.

Bev laughed as he finished the sit-ups. “I rest my case.” He rolled over, and began doing the press-ups one handed to prove a point, the other hand curled behind his back. Once done, he leapt to his feet. “OK, packs on. Six miles around the track. Last one back makes breakfast.”

“They'll miss you when you leave in a week,” Brigadier Hereford-Jones said as the men ran off.

“It's R and R. I'll be back. I'm sure Steve will keep them busy enough.”

“Got any plans?”

“I'm staying with Gran. Also planning on catching the first few games of the season.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Yeah, for the most part. Save the mail for me. I don't trust this lot with my parcels. Toothpaste keeps going missing.”

The brigadiers face creased into a frown. “What in the world is that?”

Bev followed the pointed cane and groaned. “That is Elf. The unofficial mascot of the unit. Only he isn't meant to be tied to the flag pole.”

“Cute,” Hereford-Jones said. “You'd better find out who did it and deal with them.”

“Oh, I will.” Bev jogged over to the flagpole and retrieved Elf. Then, he jumped into a jeep and headed after the unit. He caught them up as they ran, bunched together. “Is this as far as you got, ladies? Speed up or it'll be eight miles. And who was the joker who attached Elf to the flag pole?”

The men laughed. “He's guarding it.”

“Very funny. The brigadier thought so too.”

“I did.”

Bev drew level with Wallis and stared at him. “Why?”