The Dunce at the Back of the Class [Soldier on]

Soldier On

(The Dunce At The Back Of The Class book two)

CHAPTER ONE

The day the battalion was re-formed after leave was the day William realised how short the battalions were of personnel.  They were placed in B Company as a complete platoon, which made the company about fifty strong, including the officers and NCOs.  The battalion as a whole was depleted, and with the high level of drop-out during training at the depot it was not surprising.  Two of three-one-five depot platoon went to 1 Para Battalion, which left sixteen for 3 Para.  The battalion was being re-formed, and the infantry side was smaller than the rest of Sixteen Para Brigade Logistics.

William had been in the battalion for about a month before they went on manoeuvres in Germany.  They had been briefed that they would be parachuting into Paderborn training area, but the start of the exercise was a nightmare that William would never forget as long as he lived.

The battalion would be embarking from RAF Benson and they would be parachuting in battalion formation.  Colonel Chiswell, the Commanding Officer of the battalion, was in the same aircraft as William, and William will be forever grateful for that blessing.

By the time they reached the aerodrome there were fifteen aircrafts already lined up, waiting for the personnel to arrive.  William’s aircraft was a Hastings, a rather old design of aircraft that looked like the American Dakota but had four engines.  The truck, with all of their equipment, was parked next to it.  The stick numbers had already been allocated to William and his friends so they knew where they were sitting before they entered the aircraft.  The containers with their equipment inside were passed down from the back of the truck.  Afterwards, they took their places at the side of the aircraft facing the steps leading up to the door.

The whole battalion waited for a long time before the truck came with the chutes and reserve chutes.  Each soldier took one of each before they walked back to their containers to fit chutes.  The chutes had adjusting straps to cater to the different sizes of each paratrooper.  Once all the adjustments had been made and checked by the paratrooper, then, as usual before a jump, sergeant major walked round with a sergeant or corporal and made a note of the number of the chute and the reserve next to the name of each soldier on his list.

Wearing parachutes is not particularly comfortable, and even in winter the paratroopers would quickly become warm.  On this day, they became very hot as they waited, and when it became clear that they had even longer to wait before the aircrew had done their final checks, the men were told to remove the chutes until it was time to board the aircraft.  They sat down on the tarmac, until finally they were told to put their chutes on once more.

The Commanding Officer made the usual announcement: “The green light constitutes an order to jump.  Failing to do so will result in a Court Martial.”

The battalion went back to their aircraft, picking up their containers, and sat in their designated seats.  There was another long wait as the dispatchers walked down the centre of the aircraft to check the chute and the workings on the outside of reserve, checking the D ring on the end of the strop and opening the flap on the reserve to check that the little red ties were still intact.  Not long after that, the aircraft engines burst into life and even inside the aircraft there was the slight smell of aviation fuel and exhaust fumes, but none of them thought there was any problem with that.

The aircraft went to the end of the runway and powered up.  There were popping noises from the engines, but again none of the soldiers had any idea that there might be anything wrong.

The brakes were released and the aircraft started to move down the runway, gathering speed.  They felt the aircraft leave the ground and even above the sound of the engines they heard the noise of the wheels being retracted, and William was on his way to his first battalion parachute descent.

It was all going well, they thought, but not long after leaving RAF Benson they were to change their minds.

They had been flying for about twenty minutes when an engine stopped on the port side.  This, in itself, was not much more than a minor inconvenience, and the soldiers all knew it.  All of them had parachuted out of an aircraft with only three props working; it was part of their drills and William had done it while doing his training jumps in Abingdon.  Right now they had just gone out over the coast, and William could see the coastline below and the other aircraft on either side of their Hastings.

All of a sudden there was a pop, and the inner engine on the starboard side stopped.  This, clearly, might be more of a problem, but for a while nothing happened and the pilot gained a little height over the English Channel.  However, William could see that they were turning, because the south coast was coming into view once more.

The pilot came over the loudspeaker.  “We are returning to RAF Benson due to an engine and fuel problem.  The inner starboard engine has been stopped to conserve fuel.”

They had been in the air half an hour when this happened.  William was none too pleased with what he was hearing, and looking at the rest of the aircraft no one else was, either, but just as they passed over the English coast again, the aircraft gave a little lurch and the outer starboard engine stopped.

That left one engine.

So now, a single engine on the port side was now doing all the work, and it sounded as though it was screaming for help.  No one in the aircraft said a word.

William looked about the aircraft at the others.  Apart from the Colonel and three NCOs, all the rest were his mates who had come through basic training with him at the depot.  Each one of them was looking about the aircraft and the expression on every face was the same.  It was not fear, not exactly, but it was something very much like it.  William was sure that this was not going well, and he knew that some of his friends had those same feelings.  The talking had stopped, and it was a lot quieter inside the aircraft with only one engine working.

William and Decker looked out of the window directly behind them.  The aircraft was low, looking to be much lower than safe parachuting height, and they watched the coastline slipping away.

“You live down there near the coast, Spike.  Can you see your house?”

As soon as Decker asked the question, the whole attitude of the soldiers on the aircraft seemed to change.  William looked at Decker as though he was mad, because even at this height the houses were no more than tiny square spots.

“Yes, it’s the house in the corner of that field on its own,” William replied.  “If you look closely through the kitchen window you’ll see my mother is there, eating a sandwich.”

Decker gave a little laugh, and decided he would not be beaten by William’s sarcasm.

“Does she like cheese and tomato sandwiches, because I’m sure I can see something red on her lip.”

With a sly grin, William answered, “That’s beetroot, you fool.  Can’t you tell the difference?”

They started laughing, and all the others joined in.

At that moment, the pilot managed to fire up the inner starboard engine, and the two working engines settled down to a steady drone that was painful on the ears.  The tense atmosphere returned, without panic but in the full realisation that they were not out of trouble yet.

The pilot announced over the speaker: “You will hear a noise and heavy thump in a moment when we lower the landing gear.  We are ten minutes from RAF Benson.  Be prepared for a rough landing.”

In the aircraft there were nets between each paratrooper, specifically to provide some protection in the event of a crash landing, the paratroopers sitting along the sides of the aircraft with a net for each person.  They had practised this during training, and without any order being given everyone on that aircraft had his net in position and around him.  The dispatchers were also seated, each one of them, for some reason that seemed inexplicable, glancing at his wristwatch as though late for some important appointment.

Five minutes passed as the aircraft continued to descend reasonably smoothly, and then the unthinkable happened – the port engine, William’s side of the aircraft, stopped.  He stared out the window at it in horror, and he could see the houses not far below them.  They were coming in to land, but it was going to be rough on one engine.

The wheels touched the tarmac and the aircraft lurched, and then, just as the pilot was applying the brake and doing whatever they do with the engines – the one remaining engine, at least – to help slow the aircraft, that last engine stopped.  The runway was lined with fire trucks as they coasted along it and, finally, came to a halt right at the end.

There was silence.  No one move, not even the pilots.

The dispatcher and load master said something into his head mike, and then he stood up to open the doors, and as the fresh air rushed in they realised that there has been at least a few involuntary bowel movements during the last minutes of the flight.

The colonel stood up first and faced them.  “Well done, men.  Paratroopers never panic.”

Those words stayed with William for a long time after they returned from Germany.  He would often wonder if that was what made them the individuals they were.  There would be many occasions when not panicking would help him and others in the future.  He also asked himself why he had not panicked, because they all knew what the consequences would have been if that last engine had failed just a few minutes earlier than it did.  The Hastings would have glided for a short distance, but would they have been too low to find anywhere they could land without a total disaster?

No one in the aircraft needed to be told that the problems had been huge from the pilot’s point of view. In fact, there had been a massive leak in the main fuel line, and the tanks were completely empty by the time they landed.

By the time mobile steps were towed out onto the runway the Commanding Officer of RAF Benson was out on the tarmac and the Colonel was already shouting at him.  Within two minutes, the RAF officer disappeared like the invisible man.  The dispatchers told the lads they would be disembarking as soon as the steps were in place.  Two trucks and a bus arrived before they walked down the steps from the aircraft, with their chutes still on and with all their equipment.

It was at the same time, the RAF Officer appeared again, and announced, loudly enough for everyone to hear him, “Another Hastings is being towed out of the hanger, and there is another window for a flight in three hours.”

The Colonel appeared to be on the point of an apoplexy.  He shouted at the top of his voice, “The men in my battalion will never fly in a Hastings again, so you had better find a safe, serviceable aircraft to take us to our German destination.”

“The only other aircraft is an Argosy, Colonel.  The problem with that would be that the pilots are not trained to drop paratroopers.  However, the aircraft will be going to Germany.”

“We will take it.  Please arrange a meal for my men once we have landed, and for transport to take us to the DZ where the rest of the battalion will be waiting.”

“Are you sure the rest of the battalion will still be on the DZ, Colonel?”

“You nincompoop!” the Colonel shouted back, seeming to turn even redder with rage.  “Of course they will be there.  The battalion will go nowhere without its Colonel!”

After that little exchange of words, the RAF officer disappeared into his car and was hurtling across the airbase towards his headquarters.

The paratroopers heard and saw the exchange between the two officers, and none of them had ever seen their Colonel look so angry.

Decker turned to William and said, “I think the colonel is upset, Spike.”

“I think it was when the RAF clown realised that the party wouldn’t start until the Colonel arrived at the table.”

“He was frightened of the CO, obviously.  What made you think he was a clown, Spike?”

“Well, he made me laugh when jumped in his car at the speed of a bullet, just after he realised the Colonel was about to kill him for his mistake.”

There was a loud laugh from behind them.  Neither had realised that the Colonel has walked back to the platoon while they were talking.

“Yes, I think you two read the situation correctly.”

He told them all to remove their chutes and put them on the truck.  They also had to remove their equipment from the containers before they put those on the other truck, and then they were taken to a canteen to a meal.  It was several hours later that they were on the DZ.

* * * * *

This was the first time William had been out of the UK.  He found the battalion did a good deal of walking between locations, and the little German he knew did not help him at all.  Fortunately, most of the younger Germans they met had a good grasp of English.

As an ordinary paratrooper not long out of training, William spent most of his time on this exercise in a two-man trench with John.

“It doesn’t feel like a foreign country, Spike.  What do you think?”  Before William had a chance to answer, John added, “It looks like any part of England, and very much like Coventry where I lived.”

William looked at their surroundings.  There was a green grass meadow in front of them with a small farm on the other side.  There were cows grazing, and a small red tractor in an open gateway, with a farmer loading hay onto it.  The farmhouse was small with a long slanting roof almost touching the ground on one side.  It was made of stone, like the flints used for building in many parts of the UK, and it was no bigger than a bungalow.

“Yes, I think your right, but the houses are slightly different.”

“Have you ever had a bratwurst, Spike?”

“What the hell is a bratwurst?”

“It’s a German sausage.  I think you can eat them raw.”

“No I haven’t, and I don’t like sausages.  I used to, until I joined the army, but the canteen has put me off them.  I have often wondered if we’ve been eating them raw.”

“What’s wrong with army sausages?  I thought they were nice.”

“The problem I have found with army sausages is that there is no taste, probably because there is very little meat in them.  To say that you think they are nice tells me that you are a townie.”

“If you mean I don’t live in the country, you’re right.”

“Then you have no idea what food and drink is like in the country.  My father used to come home from the dairy after milking the cows with a two-pint can of milk.  There was two inches of cream on the top ready to put on my cornflakes in the morning.”

“It’s nothing like that in the middle of Coventry.  We have the real stuff delivered to the door in bottles by the milkman.”

“Have you seen the lieutenant walking about, John?” and William looked around them.

“What do you want the lieutenant for, Spike.”

“I just want to let him know that I am in a two-man trench with a raving lunatic.”

The battalion returned from Germany and William was sent on a radio operators’ course, which he really enjoyed, and passed.  The only problem was that when he returned to the platoon he was made platoon radio operator, and that meant he had to carry a radio on his back during manoeuvres.

3 Para, William’s battalion, had many personnel who were leaving the army at the same time.  There had also been some of the rifle company personnel moved into support or HQ Company, which had left all the rifle companies short.  It was for that reason over the next six months that most of the new recruits were posted to 3 Para.  C Company had been in no better state than William’s company, but now it was noticeable on battalion parades how it had grown.  Three-one-five Platoon was still intact, because when they arrived in 3 Para they had made up the whole of Two Platoon.

William, together with his closest friends, had been in 3 Para for about a year before they were sent on manoeuvres in Libya, although this was some time before the “Mad Colonel” ruled that country.  They were supposed to parachute in El Afar, but because of a sand storm the drop was cancelled.  The battalion landed at El Adem air base and they were taken to the outskirts of the desert by truck.  They ended up near the temporary runway at El Afar, where the RAF were also conducting training exercises.  On their fifth day, an Argosy aircraft crashed, cartwheeling across the desert and killing everyone on board.

As mentioned earlier, William had done a radio course in that year and was now the platoon HQ operator and carried the radio on his back.  He found that the A41 radio was not light, particularly as he still had to carry the rest of his personal equipment.  From the day he put the radio on his back he cursed it, little knowing that a little later in his army career it would save his life.

William never rated Libya as a nice place.  Every day was burning hot, often with a hot breeze that picked up the fine dust and blew it in his face, but hotter still without the breeze.  It went from one extreme to another, because during the night it was freezing, putting a frost on the ground.  He hoped desperately that they would train at other more pleasant places than this.  He had prickly heat up both arms with the fine dust embedded in the pores of his skin, and he was thoroughly miserable almost the whole time he spent in Libya.

There were hills in front of their position, and the colonel decided that it was time to advance.  The temperature was around a hundred and twenty degrees Fahrenheit in the shade, if there had been any shade, and yet William’s fearless leader had decided they should all go walkabout.

William threw all his gear into his pack and attached it to the radio harness.  He could see just by looking at it that it was going to be almost impossibly heavy to carry, remembering his container when he had carried it onto the aircraft and how the weight seemed to bear down on him when he had to lift it.

They were told to have a good meal that morning, and again William thought about the jokers that seemed to be in control of the battalion.  The twenty-four hour ration packs they had been issued were emergency dry rations, because some idiot at an ordnance depot somewhere in the UK had allocated the wrong ones.  The trouble with these rations was that they needed a lot of water to cook them, and that was something the battalion had been short of since they had arrived in Libya.

The pack included a packet of six hard tack biscuits that tasted awful.  William had experimented with them on the Germany exercise, and it had taken the whole exercise to find any way that made them taste even remotely reasonable.  He had five packets with him that he kept for emergency rations.

In Germany, the battalion had gone two days without re-supply.  They were told that, as part of the exercise, the supply aircraft had been “shot down” to simulate a realistic situation.  William and the others suspected that it was more likely to be that someone had forgotten to order the supplies or that something, as usual, had gone wrong.

William kept hold of the biscuits from other shorter exercises because they were not too heavy to carry and there were always some left over because most of the others refused to eat them unless they were really hungry.  He also had two tins of processed cheese, or “cheese processed” as it said on the tin, that many of the others did not like and dubbed it “cheese possessed”.  As it happened, William really did like the cheese, which had a strong, smoky flavour.  There were also tubes similar to toothpaste tubes, one type containing margarine and another type containing strawberry jam.  William had three of each with him from the last exercise in the UK.  For some reason, there were never the other types of jam left over: raspberry and greengage.

There was also vegetable soup in the ration packs, but it was far from being a favourite.  In William’s entire army career, he never found any way to cook it without the little bits of vegetable remaining like little bits of grit.  Similarly, there was powdered scrambled egg which, when cooked precisely according to the instructions, resembled a lump of rubber that perhaps could be moulded together with the lumps from other ration packs and used as a pillow, or alternatively squeezed into a ball for a game of makeshift tennis or cricket.  Certainly, eating it did not really seem to be an option for anyone with a normal human digestive system.

There were two sachets of tea, one of coffee and one of Bovril, and powdered milk.  William always disregarded the tea after the first time he tried it, as he would rather drink dirty water than waste his time trying that again.  The tea was a fine dust in a sealed packet.  He was under the impression that the world was experimenting on the British Forces with instant tea.  If they had bothered to ask the men on the ground they would have told them it was a waste of time.  It would be at least another three years before the ration packs would improve to the point where they received real tea bags.

In the end, William settled for a lump of rubberised egg and a coffee, because the egg had no taste that William could discern but at least it was solid and filling.  It had to be either that or the powdered mashed potatoes.  Those were yet another great army mystery, with no instructions and inevitably ending up either dry and powdery or almost completely liquid.  William could never understand why these, at least, did not give some clue as to how much of the powder should be mixed with a specific quantity of water, but as he was certain he had used exactly the same amounts on different occasions and ended up with different results, perhaps it did not matter anyway.

It was after they had had breakfast that the news came over the radio they were about to move out.

The lieutenant had split the platoon up into sections, with the men standing ready for the word to march off.  As they were standing there waiting for the command, Patrol or D Company marched past at the speed of greyhounds.  William looked at them and shook his head in despair.  He was unable to see how moving at high speed in heat like this could help them, or, in fact, moving at speed when there was neither any rush to arrive at their destination or any pressing need to leave where they were.  D Company were the super-fit soldiers of the battalion, and also “secret squirrel” squad.  William had the impression that they all thought they were the battalion’s answer to the SAS.

William and his squad waited for their orders to move.  He was standing next to platoon officer, the fearless Lieutenant Dudzinski, and he always found that officer’s very existence in the British Army to be amusing.  Here was the Parachute Regiment, undoubtedly one of Britain’s finest regiments, training for possible war against the Russians (among others), and William was being led by an officer of Russian descent.  There had to be a joke there somewhere, but William could never figure it out.

“I hope to hell the CO is not expecting us to go at that speed, Sir.”

“No,” the lieutenant replied as he watched the company of men disappeared over the hill.  “Of course not, Ballard.”

“Well, you don’t sound very sure, Sir,” William replied as he handed him the phone that was attached to the radio.  “It’s for you from he-that-must-be-obeyed.”

Decker walked over and asked, “Where are we going, Spike?”

“We’re going to the seaside, Decker”

“How far is it?”

“Apparently it’s about ten miles; plus, I think the tide’s out.”

“I thought there was no tide on the Mediterranean Sea?  What do you think the beach is like?”

“There is no tide, so I think we’re on the other coast.  The sea will be warm, with a gentle sea breeze to cool our sweaty bodies.”

“Did you see Patrol Company go past?  What was all that about, Spike?”  Ron had walked up, and the reason they were asking William all these silly questions was because he was on the radio and privy to what the lieutenant knew.

“Apparently, they are the fox and we are the hounds.”

“Do we have to go at the same speed as they were going to catch them?”

“Nah, we just toddle off at normal pace and pick them up off the ground after the first three miles.  They’re just a bunch of show-offs.”

“Is this walking about the desert going to happen every day, Spike?”

“I don’t know, but I will check it out during the day, and we can talk about it over a glass of ice cold water at the next oasis.”

His fearless leader handed William the phone back and looked at his map, saying, “Move the men forward, section leaders.  Ballard, stay close to me.”

They had been walking at a steady pace for ten minutes when the Lieutenant stopped the platoon.  He turned to face William, who asked, “What’s up, Sir?”

He stated, “There is no other coast to Libya.”

“For God’s sake, Sir, get a grip, or the men will think you’re a real officer,” and William laughed.

“I will forget you made that remark, Ballard,” he replied, but William could see that he was smiling.  He had been their officer for about a year, and in fact he was a very good officer and the men respected him.  Some of the young lieutenants were no more informed and had less experience and training than many of the troops they were leading.  There was a lot of ass-kicking by the captains and majors, and some lieutenants never lasted more than a couple of months.  The officers in the Special Forces were expected to be of a higher standard than those in other units.

They had been marching for a couple of hours when they heard the drone of an aircraft.  A C130 Hercules flew over low and went out of sight, and then they saw what looked like a white parachute some distance away.

They marched on for about an hour until William heard a lot of screaming and shouting over the radio.  He thought it best to put on the earphones that had been resting around his neck.  He handed the phone to the lieutenant, saying, “I think you had better listen to this, Sir.”

Lieutenant Dudzinski walked for some distance with the phone to his ear while William walked beside him.  The expressions on the lieutenant’s face made William smile even more than the conversation on the radio.  Finally, the lieutenant handed him back the phone and asked, “What do you make of that, Ballard?”

“I think Bravo November is going to get his ass kicked by the colonel.”

“Who the hell is Bravo November?”

“The major in charge of Patrol Company.  BN is an abbreviation ‘bicycle nose’ because he wears black-rimmed glasses, Sir.”

“You shouldn’t talk about senior officers like that, Ballard.”  Again the lieutenant was smiling.

“Sir, why do you think after the company radio operator gets a message in Morse Code from the D company there is always Bravo November right at the end?”  In fact, there was no way that Morse could be done on an A41 radio, but William had been trained on another that did and he had also learned to listen to Morse when he was with Christopher, because Christopher’s brother was a HAM radio operator and had taught them a little.

The boss answered, “I wondered what that meant.”

William could not help laughing at his stunned expression and the conversation on the radio.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Four Zero is being told his character by our illustrious leader, and I might add that he looks nothing like a tit.”  Four Zero was the major in charge of D Company.

“Two one, okay, out,” William answered over the radio.  “Sir, we have been told to halt and await further orders by other means.”

A runner came from HQ as the Colonels helicopter came into land.  The runner spoke to the lieutenant, who then shouted, “Rest the sections.  There is a briefing I have to attend.”

He walked off and William sat down, glad to get the weight off his back.  Ron, Decker and Spud came over and sat with him.  “What’s up, Spike?”

“Old bicycle nose has got lost, and the rations have been dropped fifteen miles away in the wrong place.”

“Does this mean there will be no food tonight, Spike?  What else was said?”

“It seems that way, and except for old bicycle nose getting a verbal over the air, I know as much as you know, Spud.”

“Oh that’s great.  No food again.  Why did I join this dysfunctional army?”

They were all laughing, because Spud loved his food.  He also had a knack of moaning about everything the rest of the platoon disliked, and it saved them the breath.  “I only have packets of hard tack biscuits left.”

“Me too, Decker,” William answered.  “It looks like jam butties for dinner.”

They could see the lieutenant walking back as the colonel’s helicopter flew overhead in the direction of the rations.  “A-up, Spike.  The gaffer’s coming back, to give us some words of wisdom.”

They all smiled as Spud said, “I can’t eat words of wisdom, Decker, you fool.”

They were about to stand when the lieutenant said, “Stay where you are.  I expect Ballard has told you that the rations have been dropped in the wrong place.  The CO has just flown off to see what transport he can get, but it looks like there will be no new rations until the morning.  Has anyone anything to say?”

Spud stated, “I want to buy myself out, Sir.  Would a cheque be ok, as I have no cash on me?”

The others burst out laughing, and the lieutenant said, “Aston, do grow up.  You’re in the big boys’ army now, and you will have to wait until we get back to barracks.  Make yourselves comfortable lads.  We are here for the night.  I have to go to the major’s briefing, but I’ll be back shortly.  Corporal O’Neil, you are in charge.”

The other problem with the battalion being light on personnel was that they never had a platoon sergeant.  There was a platoon corporal and section lance corporals, but that was it, and the Battalion strength was only growing by about six to ten personnel every month, because there was a limited supply of trained recruits coming in and there were two other battalions to replenish as well.

The rations could not be moved until the following morning, and the sun had gone down.  When the lieutenant returned he told William that he had to turn the radio off.  The batteries were dry cell and the new ones were in with the rations.

William was sitting next to the Lieutenant while waiting for the sun to go down when it would get cooler.  “Can I ask you a question, Sir?”

“Yes of course, Ballard.”

“Dudzinski, what country does that originate from?”

“I think the name is Russian, but I’m not sure.”

Nothing more was spoken as the sun slipped down behind the horizon.  William decided that was the best time to eat and opened his pack.  Taking out the one tin of cheese with the rest of his saved goodies, he laid them out on his sleeping bag.  Then he found his military-issue do-everything pocket knife and opened the tin.  Actually, the knife did just about everything except for the proper function of a knife: to cut effectively.  The blade was so blunt that it would struggle to cut butter.  William had long ago decided that this was a deliberate army policy decision, so that there would be no risk of the soldiers cutting their fingers.  How thoughtful of the military decision makers.

He opened a pack of the hard tack biscuits and smeared margarine on them all before placing a slice of cheese on each.  To finish off, he put a blob of strawberry jam on top and spread it with the blunt knife.

The lieutenant was looking at him while he was doing it, as although it was dark it was not totally dark.  He was just about to put this morsel of food in his mouth when he asked, “Are you not eating, Sir?”

“Well, I would have done,” the lieutenant replied, “But the rations have not arrived.  Where the hell did you learn to do that, and what does it taste like?”

“It was in a woman’s magazine I was reading on a train while returning to Aldershot.  Before you ask, Sir, no, I never bought it.  The magazine was already on the seat of the train when I got in.  It tastes very nice because the jam takes the bitterness out of the strong cheese the army gives us in these ration packs.”

William looked at the boss for a moment, and added, “I have a packet of mashed potato, scrambled egg, or you can have luxury biscuits like me.”

“I will settle for the biscuits, Ballard, if you don’t mind.”

“Good choice, Sir.”  William then threw him two packs of the biscuits, a tin of cheese and a tube of jam, and said, “Help yourself, and you owe me big time for helping you survive this cruel twist of fate that the colonel and bicycle nose has placed us in."

“In that magazine, it also showed me how to make the perfect scrambled egg.  A knob of butter melted in a saucepan, four eggs in a bowl mixed up well.  Once the butter has melted pour in the egg mix and simmer, and keep stirring the mixture while not letting the scrambled egg get dry.  The scrambled egg we get in these emergency packs is nothing like the taste of those in the magazine.”

William faced the lieutenant again, and asked, “Should I really be telling you all of this, Sir.”

“Why would you ask a question like that, Ballard?”

“Well, I don’t want to wake up one morning on this exercise and find out my fearless leader was a Russian sleeper.  Then, when back in the UK, that the recipe for the perfect scrambled egg is splashed all over the front page of Pravda.”

The lieutenant gave a little laugh before replying, “Don’t be silly, Ballard.  The Russians are not interested in scrambled egg.”

William smiled. and squinted at the lieutenant before he said, “So, you’ve already checked, Sir.  Wicked.”

The lieutenant laughed.

Patrol Company returned during the night and walked past their position, only now they were a little more subdued.  None of the officers were with them, and Spud had to have his say.

“The intelligence officer will be over later, lads.  He has new maps for you with hieroglyphics.  It’s so you can match the pictures with the surrounding countryside.”

The lieutenant smiled, and then said, “Shut up, Aston.  There was no call for that.”  But even in the darkness William could see him laughing quietly.

The rations arrived in the morning, as predicted, and after eating another mess tin full of rubber William was ready to bounce to the next destination.  They set out once more, but this time the fox was following the hounds, and right at the back.  They walked for about five hours before they came across some dilapidated buildings with a well.  Orders came over the radio to stop there and take up position.

William was in the centre of the platoon in the command area, and to intents and purposes they were supposed to be taking this exercise as if it were the real event.  The RAF Regiment from El Adam was acting as the enemy.  The rest of the company were spread out over a large area, and also away from other companies.  Williams platoon were walking ‘point’, and were further forward than the rest of the battalion.

The lieutenant said, “Get your head down, Ballad.  Give me the radio and I will do the first four hours.”  He and William took it in turn to listen in to the radio during the night, so that William could get some sleep.  William got in his sleeping bag and put his earplugs in.

When he awoke the following morning, William was in time to see the lieutenant step into the covered shell-scrape with walls.  As he took out his earplugs, he heard his fearless leader say, “That was one hell of an attack last night.  Where on earth did they get all the helicopters from?  Those thunder-flashes were echoing all over the position.  How many blanks have you got left, Ballard?”

William looked at him as if he were mad.  “Err… um… thunder-flashes?  Helicopters?  Blanks?  What attack last night?”

“Do you mean to say you slept through that, Ballad?  Now I will have to have you charged with dereliction of duty and sleeping while on duty.”

“Tell me something, Sir: what is on your back and where were you when the attack started?”

“The radio, of course, and I was outside checking the posts.”  Realisation hit him that he had not bothered to wake William up to tell him of any attack.

“Then, with respect, how can you charge me for sleeping while on duty when you had told me to sleep, and you were also in charge of the radio?  There is one other thing must ask you, Sir.  Do you like the thought of being part of a court martial on your record?  Because of the charge, I would have no choice but to request one.”

The lieutenant knew that he was in the wrong and that William could not be blamed for not being woken up.  “You dare tell this to anyone and I will have your balls, Ballard.”

“Perish the thought, Sir.  My lips are sealed.  Just forget about it and put it down to experience.  Oh, by the way, one other small point, Sir.”

“What’s that, Ballard?”

“I slept like a baby through your time off, as well.”

With a look of what William thought was ‘I will kill you later,’ the lieutenant replied, “Unless there is an emergency or the OC wishes to talk to me, let me sleep.”

William slipped out of the shell-scrape, pulling the radio with him, and sat with his back to the wall.  He changed the battery and did the morning radio check, and then he pulled out the ration pack.  By this time, Decker, Ron and Howard were a few feet away from him doing the same.  As the water was boiling for the coffee, William cleaned his rifle.  Although he had not used it, cleaning his weapon in the morning was habit, because a dirty weapon can kill the person using it, or a jam at a critical moment could get them killed.

“I could do with some sleep,” Decker stated.

Then they all started talking about the attack by the make-believe enemy that started in the early hours of the morning.  William was asked what he had been doing.

A quick thought, and he replied, “I was running around behind our fearless leader with the radio on my back.  I watched him take command of protecting the well from falling into enemy hands while directing the platoon to victory.”

Then a voice came from inside the shell-scrape: “Shut up, Ballard.  Your story of fearless bravery is giving me nightmares.”

They were all smiling, as Ron asked, “What’s up with the boss, Spike?”

“He has a headache.”

“I heard that.”  They all laughed, but silently so that the officer would not hear them.

It was quickly forgotten, as there were more important things to talk about.  There used to be a program on the television in the sixties called Dactari.  It was about Africa and wild animal vets and hunters of animals for zoos around the world.  There was a lion on the show that had crossed eyes, called Clarence.

Well, the battalion had a driver with almost the same eyes, and he had been nicknamed Clarence.  Also, there is a tree in Libya that looks dead but is actually alive.  When it rains in the part of the desert where the tree grows, its leaves sprout, open, and die the same day.  There are at least thirty signs around one of most famous surviving specimens of this tree, in almost every language you could think of, all saying the same: “This is the only living tree for five hundred miles in any direction.”  It was not a big tree, perhaps fifteen feet high and about the same in width.  Sure enough, Clarence reversed the Land Rover into it and tilted it forty-five degrees.

There was hell to pay, but luckily, because of the soft sand where it is situated, the roots were not damaged.  The Libyans wanted it standing straight once more, and the whole of HQ Company had to carefully dig all the roots out and put it back into its correct position.  It had to be done during the night and it took them all night.

The following morning, the platoon was standing in their sections once more, waiting for their fearless leader to lead them off on another hike.

“Where are we going, Spike?” Decker asked.

“I think we’re still looking for the sea, Decker.”

“What do you think the beach is like?”

“We’re on it, Decker.  It’s a bit like Blackpool beach, except the tide goes out further.”

Spud butted in, “I wish you two would stop your stupid talk.  The more you talk about the sea, the hotter I get.”

“We’ll make good time today, Spud.  Bicycle nose is leading us,” William told him.

“Well, I hope he is reading the maps with the little pictures on, or we will end up in Johannesburg.  I’m getting out of this army when we get back to the UK.”

Decker and William just laughed.

It was just then that the strangest thing happened, because this small dark cloud appeared above them.  To be truthful, William had seen it earlier getting closer.  Then, even more remarkably, raindrops fell for a minute or two.  William’s fearless leader looked at Spud and said, “Now shut up, Aston.  You’ve had a cold morning shower, and you’re beginning to give me the shits.”

It was during this day’s marching that William got cas-evacked (casualty evacuated).  The Mycota powder he had been using on his athletes foot was not working and his feet had become a mass of red veins.  The battalion doctor looked at them, and his decision was immediate and a chopper was called for.  When it arrived, there were two more guys from D Company with the same problem, which at least made William feel a little better.  It was not long after that the battalion ended the manoeuvres and they all returned to the UK.  William could then get his prickly heat seen to, as well as the athlete’s foot that had then become even more painful.

* * * * *

It was not all manoeuvres.  They had a lot of time off, and did weapon training, map reading, and general field craft.  They were learning new things every day, and much of it was simply continuing the training they had done at the depot.

A few months after the exercise in Libya, B Company, that was William’s Company, went onto the ranges to do live firing.  It was during that activity he made another big mistake.

They all had a go at firing the 84mm anti-tank gun, actually a recoilless rifle called the Carl Gustav and nicknamed the ‘Charlie G’ by the soldiers.

The target was not at a real tank but a small wooden replica placed one hundred yards away on a stick.  Of course, the actual anti-tank rounds the weapon fired were far too expensive to allow ordinary soldiers to waste them on target practice.  Instead, some bright spark had devised a mechanism that looked and felt like the anti-tank shell and was loaded in the same way, but the mechanism itself did not fire from the weapon and instead contained a single round of ordinary rifle ammunition.  Tracer rounds were used, which by a remarkable coincidence, or clever design, followed a trajectory towards the simulated target exactly as a full anti-tank round would have done, and had the added advantage that they left a smoking trail behind them to enable the soldier to see how well he was doing.

William fired ten round, and William achieved ten strikes and felt justifiably proud of himself.  Unfortunately for him, this meant that he was immediately assigned to carry the weapon for his platoon.  It was heavy, although not quite as heavy as the radio, but it was more awkward to carry.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Soldier-Dunce-Back-Class-Book-ebook/dp/B00M4RPUY8/ref=pd_sim_b_1?ie=UTF8&refRID=0CNTA1C1X3RR3Q22SF7 

Time

 

It amazed me today when I found out how lucky the older generation are compared to those that have only just left their teens. I am 66 and would not want to change any part of my life even to make me younger.

I was sitting around a table under the gazebo when a twenty year old boy said, “Ian, I watched a program last night of how far the world of technology has moved forward in the last five years.”

I was stunned into silence while I thought about a reply, and when I asked, “Only the last five years?”

I was again stunned into silence when he answered, “Well that is far enough. How far do, you, want to go back?” It was then I realised that five years ago when he left school was most probably the start of his life.

It was then my turn to place him in stunned silence when I said. “I travelled on the Flying Scotsman steam train from London to the Scottish highlands when it broke the record for the fastest steam train. I remember the green caboose with the gold lettering of the LNER, the long green boiler with the black front. I remembered the first time that I see it pull into York station. I stood near it on the station  platform with the three drive wheels at the rear tall above my head.

I remember when there was no such thing as a tractor driver, and the ploughing was done by a man and his shire horse. I remember looking at ten to twenty men in a field cutting the corn with long handle scythes.

Others walking behind to gather it up and tie it into a sheath standing three against each other, before the horse and cart arrived to take the cut corn back to the farm.  I remember the first horse drawn corn cutter, and the thrashing machine, powered by a steam tractor.

I remember walking home from school and seeing the road men working tarring the road. They were throwing chippings on top with a shovel, followed by a great steam roller

I remember the first tractor that was running on PVO paraffin and petrol. And the first diesel tractor that was blowing out smoke darker than the chimney smoke of the steam trains.

I remember seeing aircraft flying over our house so low that you could see the propellers spinning, and some landing with one or two stopped. I was lucky enough to live near the aerodrome where the first jet engine aircraft in England was being tested. I was one of the first to see the Meteor flying over head. I was one of the first people in England to be treated with penicillin gauze for extensive first degree burns. My grandfather had been blind for ten years, and he was one of the first ten people in the country to have his cataracts operated on.”

The young man was silent listening to my every word until I said, “My life and new technology started when I was five years old in 1953."

Now I will ask the readers a question, where did your life start?

Be well Ian

Loch Leven Castle & Mary Queen of all Scots

I looked at the loch as I waited for the ferry to return from bringing back other visitors from this castle with so much history. The loch was huge even today with our modern lookout on life. In 1567 I can only imagine that it looked even bigger when the waters were two metres higher. The loch had been lowered two metres giving more land to the farmers near the surrounding banks, but its size was still immense.

I was sitting in the ferry that I believe would be not a lot bigger than the rowing boat that had taken Mary Queen of all Scots to her prison. In that boat would have been Sir William Douglas sitting in the stern looking towards his place of travel the castle and home. Just in front of him would be chests containing a few of the belongings of the person looking back at him. She was a beautiful red head of twenty five years old, with most probably the look of resignation on her face. Defeat in her eyes with a hint of despair and betrayal in her mind who could know? Behind her would be the two oarsmen pulling together as they guided the rowing boat to the queen’s prison.

I could only imagine that her journey into captivity over those previous four days had been lonely. Those lords and knights that had sworn to protect the queen plotted with the aid of John Knox to oust her from her throne. These supposedly noblemen should have been nurturing this young queen,  but they under the instructions of the John Knox philosophy hated the thought of being governed by a woman.  The very lords and noblemen had broken their oath just a short time before at Carberry Hill. Sir William who was only twenty seven years old had sold his oath to the devil for £1.289-12d, to become Queen Mary’s gaoler. 

While I was in Scotland a few weeks ago researching history for my latest story I went to Loch Leven Castle. I knew the history of the castle a long time before I visited the island it sits on. I was there for a reason and that was to walk in the footsteps of Mary Queen of Scots, who was the true queen of England. For those that need a reminder of history, Queen Elizabeth the first of England was the illegitimate daughter of Henry the Eighth. It was not her right to be queen, and had reason to fear Mary as the rightful heir to the throne.

I walked through the only gate and entrance into the courtyard that is steeped with so much history it sent a tingle up my spine. I thought that this old entrance would have been the only way Mary could enter to be taken to her prison. On the 17^th of June1567 Queen Mary walked through this same gate as a prisoner. She had been lied to by her parliament of lords who broke their solemn oath. [Well, nothing new there, our Members of Parliament are still doing it to us in the UK, 450 years later.]

To my right was the Square Tower House that housed Sir William Douglas and his family. A tall five story building built of large blocks of gray stone. I walked further into the courtyard that was now covered in a blanket of mowed grass. I looked to my right and could see the remains of the great hall. The walls were now just one metre tall at its highest point. At the rear sitting on the outer wall was the remaining gable end left to show where the apex of the roof had once been. There was a lonely vacant window space in the apex that once looked out onto the loch.

In my imagination I could hear the loud talking and the laughter as would have been heard on the 2^nd of May1568. That was the night of the party and banquet for Sir William, when his sons betrayed him for their Queen. While he was making merry feasting and drinking wines and ale, Mary Queen of Scots was escaping. I could only smile at the simplicity of the most dangerous escape from a well guarded castle.

Opposite from where I was standing was the Round Glassin Tower. It was Queen Mary of Scots prison for those eleven months of captivity. I looked at the two chimneys that remained reaching for the sky, and imagined the conical roof that had protected the queen from the elements. I walked in a direct line towards the opening in the wall at the foot of the tower knowing this would be the same path Sir William would take her. I was walking in the Queen of Scotland’s footsteps, and once again I felt the chill slip up my spine.

At the tower I walked inside and saw the tiny steps that lead to the upper floors and the queen’s chamber. Walking up those few remaining steps I realised I would be walking shoulder to shoulder with the walls. The width of the tower was no more than twelve feet from wall to wall, and if square this would still not be big enough to house the Queen of Scotland. The Lords were making their chauvinist point of treating Mary less than human, because they like John Knox needed to show their disrespect not only of the Queen, but of all women.

As I looked up there was only the sky to see, the holes for the fireplaces could be still seen. The floors had rotted away many years ago. There was still her window where Mary sat for so long looking at freedom. On looking out there was now no water for a boat to come close, the loch had receded a few metres and trees blocked the view.

All that was left of the castle now is the ghost of what it once was. The passing of time and the elements were turning this once stately home into a crumbling memory. The whole castle had died as if in shame, when their thick walls could not hold the Queen of all Scots a prisoner. It was the punishment God gave Sir William Douglas for breaking his oath with the other lords.  The twelve hundred and eighty-nine gold coins for being her gaoler were the wages of his sin.

GUARDIAN ANGELS

I have always been a believer in guardian angels, and I sincerely believe that I have seen mine on at least two occasions. I believe the things that take place in our lives which take us away from near death situations are not luck. Once yes I will admit once could be luck, but many times I find it hard to believe. Several times I have moved away from my chosen course by others, even if most cases it was not a deliberate act. I have many times said that fate has placed me back on my chosen route towards my destiny, but now after a lot of soul searching I find that I might be wrong.

There have been occasions when I have been near or close to death, but walked away knowing that but for the grace of god I should have been dead. They are not the only times the guardian angels help us because they never leave our side. I was told once that a guardian angel cannot help us unless you tell them what you want out of life. So in 2006 I wrote a letter to mine and asked her if he/she would help me get my stories published. You are wondering how I wrote the letter or even how did I post it? I wrote it on ordinary paper and folded it twice and placed it under a timber joint in my shed which is locked 24/7. In 2008 when my first story was published I went out to the locked shed and looked for the letter. Did you expect it to be there, well I did, but the letter had disappeared.

 

Let’s go back 62 years ago when I was four and a half years old. Due to a traumatic experience I suffered a nervous breakdown which kept me away from school for over two years. Although I had an older brother I mostly played on my own, because he was at school five days a week. I had an imaginary friend, [or was he/she?]. He was called Djick, it was a strange name even for those days. He played hide and seek with me, walked about the large garden with me, fed the rabbits with me, and helped me play with my toys. There is a theory that when children are under stress or their well being is not fully loaded they have the ability to tap into the spirit world because their minds are still innocent. Whether Djick was a figment of my imagination, a spirit, or my guardian angel I have no idea. I am however glad that he was there to play with me to keep me company during the loneliest time in my life.

 

Now we will go forward a few years and I was twelve years old. While helping with the hay making on a farm, I fell thirty feet out of the barn. I landed flat on my back onto a concrete base, and apart from being winded I had no scars or broken bones. Why?

 

While in the Parachute regiment, I was in an Hastings aircraft that landed with three propellers stopped, and on touchdown the last one died. The cause was a massive fuel leak with the pilot flying the last few miles on fumes. Was that luck?

 

 

 

During the troubles in Northern Ireland I was nail bombed with the rest of the section. The radio on my back saved my life when it stopped over five, six inch nails striking my back. Was I fortunate?

My wife Lorna was going through a bad time with her heart problems, and I was trying to stay working as well as be with her. I have a fear of hospitals and I had just spent every evening for two weeks visiting her in hospital. I was getting stressed out with the constant battle of conquering my fear when visiting and work. She was out once more but the caring and worrying about her health still got me down at times.

 

I found myself walking along the straight road that travels out of Amberly towards Storington. There were no birds singing and the sky had grey/brown clouds had that pink haze you see after a rain storm. I looked down to my right where a child of about ten in aged clothes was holding my hand. She had old fashioned medium length blond hair with curls at the bottom. Her dress was a white pinafore dress with fancy lace in various places. She looked up and smiled at me but said nothing as she gripped my hand tight. I remembered the face and felt comfortable with her walking at my side. We must have walked the whole length of the straight without talking, while all the time her footsteps were matching mine. It was at the end of the straight we stopped and I looked down at her once more, and asked, “Who are you, and why are you here?”

Once again she looked up into my face while smiling and said, “You know who I am, Ian. We all need someone to show us the way.” Then before my eyes she smiled once more and disappeared. My eyes opened and I sat up in bed because the dream was so real, but it was the face of the child. It was a face I remembered from a long time ago, but I couldn’t place where from.

 

On November the thirteenth I was driving my car early in the morning. My mind and coordination was not functioning as it should have been. I was driving at no more than twenty miles per hour while passing the Gardeners Inn public house near my home. The junction of the lane I was on and the main Horsham road was only one hundred yards in front. My left hand was on the gear stick with my right hand as usual lightly holding the steering wheel.

A savvier pain crossed my forehead and behind my eyes as I passed the parked cars on my left. The left hand side of my body went limp as I found out later I was in the middle of a mini stroke. I know that I never turned that steering wheel to the left, but the car I was driving hit the last parked car before the junction. If I had carried on driving another seventy five yards I would have been at that main junction. At that time in the morning with the amount of traffic that was work related, I do believe that I would have been in an almost certain fatal accident. Yes; I truly believe in guardian angels.

 

Be well Ian

 

 

Marina [Battle warrior to the Gods] The first chapter.

CHAPTER ONE

It was very evil and very powerful, and it was either already on the surface of Midgard or it was close and ready to strike.

Warrior had stood outside the tigers’ cave for four days without moving, and he could sense it.  The balance between good and evil had been upset.  He had felt this type of evil before, from the god Dark Storm, but this was so much stronger and the undertones held menace that he had never encountered.

Could he be mistaken?

Had one of the evil gods escaped the confines of the Underworld and was now walking the surface?  No.  He pushed that thought aside.  This evil was so powerful and intense that it had to be alien to Midgard.  He had felt its presence the moment it arrived, and yet his senses were telling him that it was trying to remain secret.

There was more unrest, and Warrior was sure that this evil, whatever it was, had caused it.  It had disturbed the Underworld, and that could never be good.

It was close, Warrior was sure.  It was definitely on his side of Midgard, and it was near the mountains or even on them with him.

Warrior thought back to the Sorcerer who was evil to the core, and he wondered whether perhaps it was something the Sorcerer had managed to leave, something that could do evil even when the Sorcerer had gone.  He dismissed that idea as impossible almost as soon as it entered his head.  The Sorcerer had not been as powerful as they had first thought.  Yet, anything was possible.  He would keep the thought alive.  He might return to it later.

This evil felt far too strong to be just one mortal, and it was far stronger than the evil demons that had been summoned to the surface.  The power behind it troubled Warrior.  If it was not mortal, then it must be alien to this world, and there was now no doubt in Warrior’s mind of its power and its intensity.  This must be something new, something unknown in Earth’s territories.

Warrior thought about the entrance to the Stepping Stones to the god, but he dismissed that idea too.  Marina had told him that the Sorcerer had pulled down half the cave to close the entrance for all time.  Since the time of the Sorcerer, the gateway to the realms had been changed.  There was not a single Key now but several, and they were spread out over the Outer World.  Each realm had part of the Key, and even if you had five parts without the sixth there was no entrance to the realms.  Warrior was one of the few exceptions to the rule because, like his mentors, the Creators, he used the mists of time to travel.

The Creators appeared in front of him, and he bowed in respect.

“You are troubled, Warrior, and we too have felt the unbalance.  Yes, we have felt its power, but you cannot fight it.  This is Power Extreme, and far too powerful for your kind of wars.”

“My Lords, the evil is not moving about as I would have expected.  It remains in one place, as though it were waiting for someone or something.  Neither can I pinpoint a location where it is resting.  Stranger still, my Lords, my senses tell me that this is an evil god, but I know the evils gods on this world and I can identify their essence.  This is not one of them.  It is alien, and I am unsure.”

“Yes, Warrior we hear what you are saying, but for an evil god to arrive from another world is unthinkable.  It is also, we think, impossible.  We agree with you that if this is a god then he is more evil and powerful than Dark Storm.  It is emitting evil at an enormous rate, as if it is becoming stronger by the moment.”

Warrior shook his head.  “In any other case, my Lord, I would tell the gods of this danger, but what can I tell them?  I don’t want to start panic in the realms, but at the same time I think they should be informed.  Unless I can actually see what Midgard and the gods are up against, there is nothing I can say to them.  They know that my senses do not lie; and now is not the time for stupid rhetoric.  Should I wait until it becomes plainer?  Or should I tell the gods to tighten security, knowing that I will be ridiculed for not giving them enough information?”

“We, the Creators, think that after the trouble with the Sorcerer, the gods will be happy to receive all the information they can get, however vague.  Before the Sorcerer, no mortal ever came so close to them with the intention of doing them harm.  It might be wise to inform them of impending danger, and tell them that as soon as you know more you will inform them of your findings.  Until you discover what you are up against, you can do no more.  Perhaps this power will take a different course and the balance will be restored.  Perhaps we may not need to fear its evil.”

The creators left, and Warrior was alone once more, although he knew that the Valkyrie was close.  “I have to talk with the gods, Valkyrie,” Warrior announced, and then he faded.

* * * * *

Warrior appeared outside the Well of Urd, and Lord Odin called to him as soon as he had fully materialised.  “Warrior, enter.  Is this a courtesy call, or have you reason for this visit?”

“Yes, my Lord.  I have been standing outside the cave these past few days, and I have sensed an intense evil.  I cannot say what generates it, and neither do I know exactly where it is.  It has not moved from the mountains where I first sensed it, but it is real.  The only time I have ever felt evil coming close to this was Dark Storm.  The evil and danger that I sense is only a little less than, dare I say, the Warlock.”

Lord Forsetti rose from his seat.  He shouted, “If it is everything you say, then why have you not gone in search of it?”

“My Lord, I have just told you that it is on the mountains.  My senses pick up a single intensity, but no more.  Where would I search, and how would I recognise it if I found it?”

“Then what is the point of telling us this news, Warrior, if you have no idea what it is?”  Lord Thor sat back in his seat.

“My Lord, forewarned is forearmed.  I feel this may be like an evil god, and one with power far superior to the gods we know.”

Lord Forsetti jumped up again, shouting, “That idea is preposterous.  Adjust your thinking, Warrior, and then apologise to the gods for suggesting that one of them has changed to the dark side.”

“I will not apologise for something I have not done.  I said that it was like an evil god, and the powers it possesses are immense.  And yet, my Lord, I know that it is not any of Midgard’s evil gods from the Underworld.”

Lord Thor asked incredulously, “Are you trying to tell the gods that this evil is a god from another world?  Ridiculous.”

As Thor sat down, Warrior could see that he was not laughing, but at the same time he was trying to belittle Warrior’s warning.

“My Lord Thor, I am sure that you and I had this same conversation before.  I will tell you now that when I passed this idea in front of the Creators they did not make light of it.  I believe that something was said like your remark when I spoke of the Warlock, who was a danger to the whole of Midgard.

“I also believe that the Sorcerer collected most of his power from a cloud that arrived from beyond this world.  The Sorcerer was, if I remember correctly, only a footstep away from the realms and a real threat to the gods.  I have no idea what evil is sitting on the mountain, but I honestly believe that it is not of this world.

“I was hoping that Asgard would send messengers to the other realms warning them of this uncertain impending danger.  However, I see that I might have to send my Valkyrie to do their work.  I take the defence and security of the gods and the world below seriously, because if the gods in their entirety are not pulling their oars together, then the ship will sink.”

Lord Thor was about to stand again, but the thundering voice of Odin called, “Sit down, Lord Thor.”

Lord Heimdall stood up.  “I understand what you are saying, Warrior, and as we are speaking the lookouts are being briefed.  I have also sent heralds out to the other realms.  Warrior, may I suggest that if this evil is from another world, then perhaps after such a long journey it is disoriented and confused.  That might be the reason it has not yet moved.”

“Thank you, my Lord, and your suggestion has not fallen on deaf ears. That may well turn out to be the reality of the situation.  I think that I must seek further advice, because as we speak this entity or whatever it is still has not moved.”  Warrior then looked at Lord Odin.  “With your permission, my Lord?”

“Yes, Warrior, go with the gods’ blessings.”

Warrior faded into the mists of time and re-appeared on a mountain.  For once, he had managed to transport to precisely where he intended to go, and he was outside the cave he sought.

“Enter, Warrior.  We have been expecting you.”

With no hesitation, he walked inside and sat down where the old woman indicated.

“The evil is on the surface and resting, but it will only be for a short while.  It is re-forming into the being it once was.  Yes, Warrior, it is a being, and powerful.  If not for an unseen accident he would be the god of his own world by right of conquest.  The Creators know of this being, but they will not have expected it to be here.  It is not written in the pages of time.  In fact, it will not be found in any of the pages available to us, but you know of a place where the scribe knows all the secrets.  On this subject we can tell only of shadows, and of the present and future we have no knowledge.”

At this point, Warrior realised that the audience with the two Sisters of Knowledge was over, and it had left him more confused than he was before he arrived.  He left the cave and faded, reappearing in a desert by a small complex of tents.  With one step he was inside, walking towards the dim light.

“Welcome, Warrior.  Sit down and we will talk.”

“Thank you, Oracle.  I believe you know my quest.”

The girl looked down at a star plan on her desk.  “Some many thousand years ago, there was a world not unlike your own.  It was heading for a fall, because the good gods had lost control.  There was a bad god, but not just bad like Loki that you know so well.  This god was evil and fiendish.  His intelligence went far beyond the other gods, and he was far more dangerous than Dark Storm before the good gods arrived.  The thinking was by the Creators that the good gods had let them down and were to be punished.  It was because of the far-reaching damage on the surface of this world.

“However, before the Creators had a chance to vent their anger, something most unusual happened.  The largest of the world’s moons left its orbit and fell.  In minutes, it impacted on the surface, and in the blink of an eye the world disintegrated.  All that was left was dust and debris and a few pieces of rock no bigger than meteorites, a few lifeless balls of rock drifting through space.

The Creators were satisfied, despite the carnage.  Justice had been served, and they stepped back.  It was over, they thought, but not one of them realised that there was still evil, the real evil, hiding in the midst of the destruction.  With so much evil on that world, its power was masked, and no one thought to check more carefully.  The evil god was still alive and was clinging to one of the larger fragments of rock, hoping that sooner or later it would come within the magnetic pull of another world.  Indeed, that cloud of meteors passes close to the Earth every year, and this year he was lucky.  Now this evil god is on your world.  His name is Lord Sabre, and his powers are immense.”

“What trouble will he cause on Earth?”

“He will not be content with mischief and trivialities.  His plan is to start where he left off on the world called Maya.”

The girl saw Warrior’s expression change, and she added, “Yes, Warrior.  You know the name, and yes you are right: they are one and the same.  The Creators realised there might be life remaining on the larger fragments that remained of the world.  They were too late to recognise the evil, but there was a very large section that not only remained in one piece but also retained its atmosphere, for a while at least.  By chance, there were mortals on it who had held onto their faith and obedience to a god who had avoided evil.  The Creators rescued them, erased their memory of the old world, and found a new home for them.  You have spoken to this old god on many occasions, and she will always help Warrior.”

Warrior understood.  He knew this ‘old god’ well, and he knew that he would need to find her once more.  “How can I destroy the evil god, Oracle?”

“You cannot, Warrior.  It is not within your capabilities to destroy him.  There is only one person that can destroy him, and her creator will inform her of her task.  Even so, she cannot do it alone.  She will need your help and the assistance of others, if she is to have any hope of success, and it will take time.  Fortunately, for Lord Sabre to gain entry to the realms will be far more difficult for him than when he tried it with his own world.  Be under no illusion, Warrior.  This will not be a quick fight.  Lord Sabre is better prepared than Palandrake ever was.  This is a real god, and he will have the full force of the evil gods helping him once he offers to split the spoils.

“As we talk, Warrior, he is gaining entry into the Outer World and he has already stepped out of the Spire of Time.  He is still in disarray, collecting his thoughts, but he grows stronger all the time.  He is summoning the Underworld, and they hear him and many will heed his call.  Oberon will command thousands of bad Elves from throughout the realms, and he will not hesitate to join this new, powerful evil.  Lord Sabre will need to control all six Keys to gain entry to the realms, or at least the majority of them.  Three Keys, or less, is not an option for him.

“Our trump card is Marina, and it is she who will make the play.  You must listen to what she says.  Without you, this battle will be lost, and without Marina, it is pointless starting.”

The girl fell silent, and Warrior realised that his audience with the Oracle was over.  He stood up.  “May your Creators always be with you, Oracle.”

“May the Creators be with you, Warrior.”

Moments later, Warrior was back in the mists of time, and then making another appearance at the Council of Gods.  Once given the floor, he told the gods all he had been told about this new evil, and, as he had expected, there were expressions of dismay and even of fear.

“Warrior,” Lord Thor spoke.  “You must go to the Battle Warrior to the Gods, Marina, and give her instructions on this task she must already know is hers.”

“My Lord, I cannot tell Marina anything.  You must have heard what I said?  Marina will decide, and she will lead, and she will need help.  If she needs an army, then she shall have an army, but that decision is for her and for her alone.  I cannot defeat this evil god, whatever resources are put at my disposal.  I have neither the knowledge nor the weapons.”

“Then why is she not already here and telling us her plans?”

“I have no idea, my Lord Thor, but I would imagine that she will not be outlining her plans to anyone.  I doubt that she will even tell me everything, although I must be part of whatever she needs to do.”

Lord Forsetti stood up.  “There you are wrong, Warrior.  If this Council of Gods demand that she informs us, then she will do so or be punished.”

“My, Lord Forsetti, if you wish to punish her it will be so, but I would like to remind you of the last big silence and its consequences.  Also, if this god is as powerful as we believe, then most likely he will be aware of everything that is said here, so if Marina were to speak out loud to the gods of her plans, she might just as well walk out of these Council chambers and never return.  At this moment we have no idea what this evil god can do and what he cannot do, so it makes sense to assume the worst and to take every precaution.”

Lord Thor was about to jump up and disagree, but he thought better of it.  “Point taken, Warrior.  I agree with you entirely, but do you have any idea when we might expect her?”

“The Creators know all that you know, my Lords, so I would think that she is being briefed as we speak.”

* * * * *

Marina was indeed just being briefed by her Creator.

“Marina if you are unsure and need help, I am but the blink of an eye away.  There is no shame in asking me for help as you are learning your trade.  Mistakes are expected, but you will not make the same mistake twice.  You must remember, Marina, that you can wield more power than all the gods in the Universe put together.  How you choose to wield it is what you are learning.  Already you know all that I know, and as I learn so too do you.  You are an extension of me, and I will never leave you wanting.”

“Thank you, my Lord.  I will try to live up to the trust you have in me.”

“My blessings are with you and Brandon.”

The Creator faded, and Marina appeared in the Outer World by the Twin Falls.  Brandon, Drusilla and Topaz were with her, and she examined the ground as if looking for tracks.

“There has been no movement here for a long time, so I conclude that if Lord Sabre has help from the Underworld already then it has not passed through these gates.  We will carry on to the Drinking Cup of the Gods and stay there for the evening.  It will be a good place to wait for Warrior.”

* * * * *

As Warrior was talking to the gods on other matters, one of the Valkyrie appeared.

“My Lord, the Battle Warrior to the Gods, Marina, has been seen at the Twin Falls at the End of the World.”

“I would have thought Marina would have come to see the gods first,” said Lord Heimdall.

“I am sure that once she has something to tell you, my Lords, she will be here.  She has not changed her ways.  She takes care of business first, and then explains her actions.  She will know that I have been briefing the gods, because her Creator would have told her, my Lord.”

Warrior took his leave from the gods and appeared by the Twin Falls at the End of the World.  He knew that Marina would go to the Drinking Cup of the Gods for the evening.  On seeing her, he dismounted and walked over.

“Warrior, I have given you Avalon, Star and Cloud, as your personal Valkron.  This Lord Sabre will have a small army with him tomorrow, because I know that Oberon is on the move.  His army is even bigger this time and will not be taking any chances.  I know from the other realms that he has a mixed race of bad Elves.  His army will be upward of five thousand.  All the evil gods are going out of their way to help Lord Sabre, so you too must command a substantial army of Elves and Fairies.  I have assembled them ready to be here on my command.  If we need to talk of plans, Warrior, I can place a shroud of secrecy around us so that no one hears, not even our own Creators, although they will be able to read the plan because we are part of them.  Hopefully this god does not have the ability to read minds, but we must be aware of that possibility.  My senses tell me there are many things he can do that we would have thought impossible.”

“We will go and see the Elves in Elfdom castle at first light to pick up part of your army.  Then, as we did in the last war in the Outer World, we will enlist the fairies from the Forest of Secrets.  It will be nice to see Sand Piper and his wife again.”

Warrior thought about Marina’s words but said nothing.  He accepted that she knew what she intended to do, and that she should have full control of where and when the action should take place.  Warrior was simply a warrior and fought battles with the sword, but Marina was a Battle Warrior and used her powers directly at the evil.  Warrior knew that she would have to be at her best to defeat this god.

* * * * *

Nights were short in the Outer World, and it was not long before they were both riding towards Elfdom castle.  Once at the gate it was the same fiasco.

“Hello, who are you?  State your business.”

“I am Marina, and I would like to speak with your Queen, Queen Amelia.”

“How do I know that you’re telling the truth?”

“Stick your head over the top and take a look.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.  I have a job of high importance.”

“Would you please just go and tell the Queen that I am waiting outside the gate.”

“There you go again, telling me what to do.”

“Grenfeld, just go and do as I ask.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I am Marina, and of course I know your name.”

“Well, ok.  I never realised you were that Marina.  Open the gate!” he shouted.  “Marina to see the Queen.”

Marina was going to ask him how many Marinas he knew, but she knew that you could argue with Grenfeld forever and not make any progress.  He had a strange type of logic and a very bad memory.

The Queen came out of the main doors, and shouted, “What’s all this noise?”  She looked over, and then added, “Hello, Warrior, Marina.  Do we have more trouble in the Outer World?”  She then looked up to the watchtower.  “You actually let someone through the gate on your own, Grenfeld.”

“Who did?  Call the guard and have those two Elves on the gate punished.  How dare they let people in without permission?”

The Queen was still looking at the watchtower and shook her head.  “I am not sure whether he is getting better or worse, but at times I might as well be in the watchtower myself.”

Marina informed the Queen of all that was happening, but she left out many of the main details.  If there was any chance, however remote, that Lord Sabre had the power to hear what they said, there was no point in telling him what they knew.  In any case, it was a matter of ‘need to know’, and, as well as there being little point in worrying the Queen more than necessary, much of the information she simply did not need to know.

It was not long before Warrior and Marina left, with an army of two thousand Elves behind them commanded by Villias.  Warrior looked at Marina and saw the knowing smile on her face.  She had her three companions close by her side.  Warrior was to her left, just a horse’s length behind.  It felt strange to him to be letting someone else make the decisions and give the commands, but he knew it had to be this way.  This was Marina’s battle, and Warrior was there only to aid her when the need arose.

* * * * *

Marina’s army travelled far before the Forest of Secrets could be seen in the distance.  At almost the same time as they caught their first glimpses of the Forest, they saw movement ahead of them, a small army riding towards them.  Soon, it became clear that there were about five hundred Elves, and Oberon was leading them.  Oberon stopped as soon as he recognized Marina.  He waited.

“So, you are here once again, Marina, but you won’t win this time.  I have a new leader, and this one does not know the meaning of the word ‘losing’.”

Another being appeared beside Oberon.  He, too, rode a horse.  He was dressed in black, and he had short hair and short, pointed ears like the Elves.  His eyes were dark, and where there should be white was red.  He carried no weapon, but Marina knew who he was and did not expect to see one.  He was looking at Marina as he said, “So, the gods in their desperation have sent a woman to defeat me while they cower in their realms.  I will soon be in those realms, because you and your little army will not stop me.  I will soon have the means to enter the realms, and then I will be chief god of this world.”

Marina made no reply, but she gazed at Lord Sabre with a knowing smile on her face.

“You do not scare me, woman.  I will push you aside with my powers, because I am the ultimate power in the universe.  Even the Creators fear me.  They once tried to destroy me, but they failed as anyone who tries again will fail.  I am a survivor; I am destined to live forever.

“I understand why you are not speaking.  My awesome power is intimidating you, and although you can already feel it, I shall give you a more practical demonstration.  I will send ten of your Elves back to the castle.  Would you like to see that?”

Marina spoke for the first time.  “Try that trick with my Elves, and I will send all five hundred of your Elves back to the Underworld, and you won’t be able to use them for ten days afterwards.”

As she spoke, Lord Sabre smiled and replied, “You will lose a lot of Elves proving that theory,” and as he spoke the bad Elves were drawing their swords.  “I think it is well worth the sacrifice.”  He pointed at ten of the elves behind Marina and they disappeared, along with their horses.  He laughed out loud.  “Shall we start the battle now?”

Oberon laughed at that question, along with Lord Sabre.

Marina asked softly, “Who is going to fight for you?” and she clicked her fingers.  At once, all Oberon’s Elves disappeared, and when she clicked her fingers again, her own ten Elves reappeared.  Oberon and Lord Sabre turned and saw their Elves disappear, and it clearly startled them.

“Now,” said Marina, “I suggest you both toddle off back from the hole you crawled out of and get out of my way.  One more thing before you go, Oberon.  I think you will look nice dressed in an opal.”

“You cannot destroy me, witch.  I am King of the Fairies and leader of the Elves.”

“You are quite correct, Oberon.  I cannot destroy you, but I can imprison you in an opal.  That, as you well know if you think about it, is well within my powers.  Perhaps, I could give the opal to one of your Elf friends to look after, and I am sure you have so many who would be only too pleased.”  Then, saying no more, Marina gazed at them both with the knowing smile on her face.

Lord Sabre was fuming.  He shouted, “You will not use that party trick on me again, Witch.  I will not be denied what is rightfully mine by conquest.  Oberon, make your army appear once more.”

“I cannot, my Lord.  The witch has sent them back to the Underworld, and they will be there for ten days.”  Lord Sabre turned his horse and rode off, followed a few seconds later by Oberon.

Then as if nothing had happened, Marina continued forward at the head of her army.

A little later, as they approached the edge of the Forest of Secrets, Marina beckoned to Warrior to move his horse forward beside her.

“I am going over to see Sand Piper.  Take charge of the army, Warrior.”

Without another word, Marina she rode her horse towards the Forest of Secrets, and Warrior saw Sand Piper come out to meet her.

“Sand Piper, is your priest available?  I wish to converse with the gods.”

“Yes, Marina....”  He was about to say more, but Marina put her finger to her lips.  She watched as he called an old fairy across.  “Marina wishes to go to the temple to converse with the gods, Wind Bender.”  As he spoke, Marina dismounted.

The priest just nodded and walked away with Marina following.  He led her to a building with a strangely tiled roof, looking much like an old Chinese design.  Wind Bender opened the door and let her in, closed it behind her and stood guard outside.  At the end of the building there was a memorial plaque on which were inscribed the names of all the Elves that had fallen in past battles.  Before it, on a table, was a golden bust of a goddess.  Marina walked up to the table and picked up the bust.  She turned it on its side to look underneath, and a wave of her hand made the bottom of the little statue slide open.  The interior was hollow, and empty except for a single gold coin.  Marina took the coin and sealed the base of the statue once more, placed it down on the table and then made her way out of the building.

Outside, still clutching the coin, Marina walked to her horse.

“I have changed my mind about talking to the gods.  I see that you have your army ready, Sand Piper, so we might as well be on our way.”

Marina mounted her horse, and she rode out of the Forest of Secrets at the head of the small army of Fairies.  They joined up with rest of the army and headed south towards the Spire of Time.

To all those that are not familiar with the Outer World, it is a duplicate of the world below but it is flat, and you can, indeed, fall of the end of it.  Whatever features are in the world below, like mountains and seas, there is a corresponding feature in the Outer World.  The only thing that never corresponded to anything on the Middle World was the Spire of Time, and that was because it was the start of the Stepping Stones to the Gods.  Time and distance had no meaning, with each being and person making their own.  This would also be a good time to note that the Fairies and Elves in this story are the same size as human adults.

It was a long time before Marina brought the army to a halt.  “We will rest here for the night, and I will draw up plans of where we are going next, and how.”

On hearing this, Hild went off to the gods to report.

“Warrior, I will be back in a short moment.”  Marina faded into the mists of time, where she was met by her Creator.

“My Lord, I bring you this for safekeeping.”  She held out her hand with the gold coin in the palm.  As she did so, the coin disappeared.

“You have done well, Marina.  Does Warrior know of this coin?”

“No, my Lord.  What they don’t know they cannot talk about, and I realise my Lord that the Keys will have to be fought for.  Neither will I be telling the gods of what I have achieved.  I don’t want the gods thinking that just because I have one coin it means that it is all over.  I only managed to get that one through trickery.”

“You are correct, Marina, as there would be no point of giving out too much information.  Even if you get all but one, there will still be a big battle at the end.  Lord Sabre will not give up without a fight.”

“I think, my Lord, that Lord Sabre has no idea where the Keys are.  If he did, the Keys would not be there now.  He has ridden past them with five hundred bad Elves led by Oberon, and if he had known where they were hidden he would not be bothering me with silly games of magic.  One good thing did come out of our meeting, though.  He might have been powerful on Maya, but here in Midgard’s Outer World his power is lacking.”

“Yes, Marina, I sense the very same, but still there is a power within him that must not to be taken lightly.  We, the Creators, have studied him, and know that he has no way of hearing what you say from a distance when you have your protective barrier around you.”

* * * * *

The gods had heard the Valkyrie’s account of what had taken place, and she was standing waiting for further orders.

Lord Forsetti rose from his seat and shouted angrily, “Marina was within a few paces of this evil god.  Why didn’t she destroy him?  Why does she persist in these games?  Neither do I understand why Warrior sat there and let her do it without saying something.”

The Goddess Jord stood up.  “I think, my Lord, that if had been possible for her to do what you say, she would have done it.”

Lord Thor was on his feet as soon as the goddess sat down.  “As they are resting for the night, I think it might be a good idea if we call Marina here and ask her to explain what she is doing.  Why did she say she was going to talk to the gods if she had no intention of doing so?  If she is so uncertain of her plans that she says she has to converse with the gods, then why is she in charge of the army?  I think that as of tomorrow morning Warrior should be in charge of the army.  At least he is a warrior that we can trust to do the task he is set by us.”

“I think my Lord Thor is correct, and we should get Marina here to inform her of our plans for Warrior to take over the army.”  Lord Forsetti looked around, and asked, “Is anyone against this idea?”

The Goddess Jord stood up, and said, “Yes, I am against the idea, and I think that you, Lord Forsetti, and you, Lord Thor, are out of order.”  The Goddess Frig stood up and whispered in her ear, and they both sat down together.

Lord Odin looked at the Valkyrie and told her, “Ask Marina to come here at her convenience sometime this evening.”  The Valkyrie faded.

When in the Outer World, she relayed Odin’s message to the Valkron, and Brandon told Marina.

Marina had her knowing smile on her face, and replied, “Inform the gods that I will see them shortly, as first I need to prepare the Army.  Marina clicked her fingers, and another three thousand Fairies and Elves appeared.  She told them all to be quiet and to listen to her.

“Thank you for joining this army.  We are now powerful enough to defeat this Lord Sabre.  As you know, he is a powerful god who carries evil magic with him.  It is for that reason I am now going to give each one of you a special pentagon star.  This is a talisman, and it is more powerful than any of his magic.  You will not be able to lose it because it will be impressed on your foreheads.  This will ward off any evil spell or magic that Lord Sabre throws at you.” Marina then lifted her hands, and on each of their foreheads appeared the star, measuring one centimetre in size from each point of the star to the one opposite.

Marina turned, and said, “I have to go and brief the gods, Warrior.  Would you look after the army until my return.”

He watched her fade into the mists of time.

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