Post by badgerbitesback on Dec 25, 2009 5:54:53 GMT -5
[Border Constabulary Station, Armagh, NI]
The station was a bustle of bodies all shunting and queuing to see the Ulster Constabulary on duty, he stood to the side of the room, dressed in his CS95 DPM uniform camouflage shirt and trousers pressed and smart like he’d been trained, his olive drab scrim net wrapping his neck in the typical ascot knot finishing off the look nicely whilst the plain green flak jacket hugged tight to his upper body, leaving his old ’58 pattern belt to hold the two ammunition pouches that hung at either side, his L1A1 in the ready position people stared at him some with regard, others disgust.
Sent to keep the sides apart like in the last ‘troubles’ of years before. Peace was attainable at some cost they were told, yet all the progress of the peace process hung on a knife edge as a resurgence in violence against the northern counties flared up, the dwindling army were hard pressed to keep the peace and could only hope that the ‘freedom fighters’ would see sense before this got out of hand again.
Fresh out of bomb disposal training the call to Ireland came for Dacre and his squadron, now here he stood at a police station near the border, his job to protect the civilians and stop the insurgents. Hearts and minds will win this they were all told, nothings changed since the peace process they were told, don’t let them intimidate you, just keep to the job and let the civilians know you are there for them they were told… yet here he stood and they still spat at him down the road.
His face was kissed by a cut on his left cheek where a brick had clipped in a riot three days earlier, where a firebomb licked at their boots and burned the hands of one of their comrades, so far they had had no fatalities and they prayed it would stay like that.
It was hard to know where your enemies lay, there were those who welcomed the troops all the time and thanked them for their help, others looked away form them in the same street and threw abuse at them screaming ‘muderers’… and worse were those who smiled at you one day, and shot at you the next.
He stood and watched the people as they were lined up awaiting the duty constable to see them about their problems, the adults who stood in the queue some mothers with babies in their arms whilst family members loitered around the chairs to the sides of the room, fathers and mothers with young children from toddlers who cried or played to adolescents who stood and looked like the world was their burden alone or chatted to other older children stood around.
“First tour?” a voice came over to him, he glanced round to find a aged gentleman looking at him, his face was deep cut and stretched, the bags under his tired eyes showed how much he’d seen in his long life, he was short and spoke with a soft but assertive voice that eased the tension.
“Erm, Yes… yes it is sir” Dacre replied with a gentle grin
“Don’t sir me son, I was a sergeant in the UDR I worked for a living” the man said jokingly
“I apologise S…” he stopped slightly embarrassed
“Its ok son, I understand. I’m leaving now anyway but here have this” the gent said as he placed a tiny object in his trouser pocket “Its ok its not a bomb if that what you’re thinking, its brought me luck over the years and brought me through the troubles, I don’t have long left in life, so I think it should go to another”
“I can’t sir”
Can’t or won’t son, anyway may you remain safe and protect them all, God be with you son” the old man finished with a smile and walked out of the station.
Dacre reached into his pocket a grasped the object, he pulled it out and looked down at it, it was an old and worn out lapel pin of the UDR with the red hand of Ulster in the middle, he thought about what the man had said and looked around at all the faces in the room. His attention was abruptly snapped as a screech of brakes outside came and a few shouts then before he could move a window shattered showering some of the people with shards of glass that caused small cuts on their faces, adults and children alike, then he realised the package that sailed in with the glass land on the floor, it was a compact package and he realised the fuse that was burning away.
Panic struck the crowd and they all barged towards the door, tripping over each other as they battled to get out of the doorway. The noise erupted as people screamed and other cried. He was frozen as he realised there was nothing he could do about it, the bombs time was running short and he was running out of time… he shook his head and stared at his colleague over the other side.
“Get them out of here!” he gestured to his fellow sapper and he curtly and quickly herded the people out, he looked at the constable “Upstairs, UPSTAIRS!” he shouted and the constable ran up to the offices above to clear them through the fire exit. Dacre spun round on his toes and battered through the door into the back room, he found the squaddies and constables wondering what the commotion was.
“CLEAR OUT!” he shouted and pointed to the emergency exit for good measure, the room emptied quickly. He charged back into the front room to find a child in the corner, her eyes wild with fear, he charged over and grabbed the girl picking her up and pushing her out of the door into the baying arms of her parents then slamming the door shut to the outside. He looked over and saw his mate still there looking at him thinking what to do as the fuse was running short.
“I’ll take it” Dacre said and made towards the bomb, but before he reached it he was hit by something and fell into the corner of the room, he watched in horror as his friend fell down, his stomach like a stone as he covered the bomb with his body, he smiled at Dacre with a hopeful look… Dacre' ears stopped hearing anything but a white noise, his face was slapped with blood and he watched as the bomb shredded his buddy, a lake of blood was pooled where he died, bone, flesh and innards formed a grizzly image that was strangely artistic. Dacre just sat there, the world a blur staring at the destruction, the door and the windows were blown out and the people in the street gained flesh wounds from the shrapnel, he began to notice pain where bits of bomb and furniture had pierced his skin, but he couldn’t decide what was his blood and what was his friends.
The ambulances finally came and the cleanup team scooped up what they could and tried strangely to put the body parts back where they should be before they zipped up the remains in the body bag, he was hauled up by two soldiers and moved out of the station, the crowds had formed in a mix of shock and hatred, those who sympathised with the soldiers… the shock of what had just happened, others of how those murdering soldiers caused this to happen, some sang rebel songs but Dacre could not hear them, he was placed in the back of a Land Rover and quickly driven away from the scene, he watched as troops in full riot gear were moving back tot where he’d just come from…
… The first casualty of an endless civil war?
The station was a bustle of bodies all shunting and queuing to see the Ulster Constabulary on duty, he stood to the side of the room, dressed in his CS95 DPM uniform camouflage shirt and trousers pressed and smart like he’d been trained, his olive drab scrim net wrapping his neck in the typical ascot knot finishing off the look nicely whilst the plain green flak jacket hugged tight to his upper body, leaving his old ’58 pattern belt to hold the two ammunition pouches that hung at either side, his L1A1 in the ready position people stared at him some with regard, others disgust.
Sent to keep the sides apart like in the last ‘troubles’ of years before. Peace was attainable at some cost they were told, yet all the progress of the peace process hung on a knife edge as a resurgence in violence against the northern counties flared up, the dwindling army were hard pressed to keep the peace and could only hope that the ‘freedom fighters’ would see sense before this got out of hand again.
Fresh out of bomb disposal training the call to Ireland came for Dacre and his squadron, now here he stood at a police station near the border, his job to protect the civilians and stop the insurgents. Hearts and minds will win this they were all told, nothings changed since the peace process they were told, don’t let them intimidate you, just keep to the job and let the civilians know you are there for them they were told… yet here he stood and they still spat at him down the road.
His face was kissed by a cut on his left cheek where a brick had clipped in a riot three days earlier, where a firebomb licked at their boots and burned the hands of one of their comrades, so far they had had no fatalities and they prayed it would stay like that.
It was hard to know where your enemies lay, there were those who welcomed the troops all the time and thanked them for their help, others looked away form them in the same street and threw abuse at them screaming ‘muderers’… and worse were those who smiled at you one day, and shot at you the next.
He stood and watched the people as they were lined up awaiting the duty constable to see them about their problems, the adults who stood in the queue some mothers with babies in their arms whilst family members loitered around the chairs to the sides of the room, fathers and mothers with young children from toddlers who cried or played to adolescents who stood and looked like the world was their burden alone or chatted to other older children stood around.
“First tour?” a voice came over to him, he glanced round to find a aged gentleman looking at him, his face was deep cut and stretched, the bags under his tired eyes showed how much he’d seen in his long life, he was short and spoke with a soft but assertive voice that eased the tension.
“Erm, Yes… yes it is sir” Dacre replied with a gentle grin
“Don’t sir me son, I was a sergeant in the UDR I worked for a living” the man said jokingly
“I apologise S…” he stopped slightly embarrassed
“Its ok son, I understand. I’m leaving now anyway but here have this” the gent said as he placed a tiny object in his trouser pocket “Its ok its not a bomb if that what you’re thinking, its brought me luck over the years and brought me through the troubles, I don’t have long left in life, so I think it should go to another”
“I can’t sir”
Can’t or won’t son, anyway may you remain safe and protect them all, God be with you son” the old man finished with a smile and walked out of the station.
Dacre reached into his pocket a grasped the object, he pulled it out and looked down at it, it was an old and worn out lapel pin of the UDR with the red hand of Ulster in the middle, he thought about what the man had said and looked around at all the faces in the room. His attention was abruptly snapped as a screech of brakes outside came and a few shouts then before he could move a window shattered showering some of the people with shards of glass that caused small cuts on their faces, adults and children alike, then he realised the package that sailed in with the glass land on the floor, it was a compact package and he realised the fuse that was burning away.
Panic struck the crowd and they all barged towards the door, tripping over each other as they battled to get out of the doorway. The noise erupted as people screamed and other cried. He was frozen as he realised there was nothing he could do about it, the bombs time was running short and he was running out of time… he shook his head and stared at his colleague over the other side.
“Get them out of here!” he gestured to his fellow sapper and he curtly and quickly herded the people out, he looked at the constable “Upstairs, UPSTAIRS!” he shouted and the constable ran up to the offices above to clear them through the fire exit. Dacre spun round on his toes and battered through the door into the back room, he found the squaddies and constables wondering what the commotion was.
“CLEAR OUT!” he shouted and pointed to the emergency exit for good measure, the room emptied quickly. He charged back into the front room to find a child in the corner, her eyes wild with fear, he charged over and grabbed the girl picking her up and pushing her out of the door into the baying arms of her parents then slamming the door shut to the outside. He looked over and saw his mate still there looking at him thinking what to do as the fuse was running short.
“I’ll take it” Dacre said and made towards the bomb, but before he reached it he was hit by something and fell into the corner of the room, he watched in horror as his friend fell down, his stomach like a stone as he covered the bomb with his body, he smiled at Dacre with a hopeful look… Dacre' ears stopped hearing anything but a white noise, his face was slapped with blood and he watched as the bomb shredded his buddy, a lake of blood was pooled where he died, bone, flesh and innards formed a grizzly image that was strangely artistic. Dacre just sat there, the world a blur staring at the destruction, the door and the windows were blown out and the people in the street gained flesh wounds from the shrapnel, he began to notice pain where bits of bomb and furniture had pierced his skin, but he couldn’t decide what was his blood and what was his friends.
The ambulances finally came and the cleanup team scooped up what they could and tried strangely to put the body parts back where they should be before they zipped up the remains in the body bag, he was hauled up by two soldiers and moved out of the station, the crowds had formed in a mix of shock and hatred, those who sympathised with the soldiers… the shock of what had just happened, others of how those murdering soldiers caused this to happen, some sang rebel songs but Dacre could not hear them, he was placed in the back of a Land Rover and quickly driven away from the scene, he watched as troops in full riot gear were moving back tot where he’d just come from…
… The first casualty of an endless civil war?