"What do you call that, Thorne?" Regimental Sgt Major Briggs shouted down Terry Thorne's ear as he was taking aim at a sight two hundred metres away. He stilled himself, breathed deeply and fired, hitting the target dead centre.

"Bloody great shooting, sir!" He replied tartly.

"Oh you do, do you?" Briggs looked around; the others were listening. They could smell a put down coming a mile off. "Well, I call it fucking average. But then what do I know, Stevie? I've only been a soldier since your Dad was screwing your Mam and hoping that one of his hit the target somewhere. And then there was you..."

There was a titter of nervous laughter from the other young men. Terry stared straight ahead and finished off his allotted attempts. Each one hit the centre.

Standing up, he rested down the rifle and stood eye to eye with the infamous Briggsie. "Name's Terrence. Not Stevie. SIR!"

"That so? Well, now you're called Stevie. Know why? Stevie Wonder. Blind. About as much use with a gun as you are."

Terry pursed his lips and stared straight ahead.

"You don't like your new name, Stevie?"

'Stevie' remained impassive.

"I asked you a question. You don't like your new name?" This time Briggs bellowed loud enough to deafen most men. "You deaf as well?"

"No, sir."

"No sir - what?"

"No sir, I am not deaf. And the name's fine, sir. I always liked Motown." This time the undertone of amusement was directed at the officer. Briggs turned and surveyed the small group of men, some of the finest recruits he had ever dealt with. There was little chance he would admit that to any of them, though.

"What's amusing you tossers? He might be blind, but you lot? You couldn't find your dicks in the dark. I've had enough for today. Bugger off..." With his usual grace Briggs dismissed the troop and they gathered up their equipment sauntering to the exit.

"Wonderboy?" Briggs called Terry back. He waited at attention until the room was empty. "15.00 hours. My office."

"Yes, sir!"

Terry saluted and turned briskly to march out until he had closed the door, before falling into his normal stride and loping over to the canteen for lunch. It was already way past one. Briggs had kept them far longer than necessary, winding up an already tight screw.

It was quite obvious to all the young men in his troop what was going on. They were not exactly raw recruits, having all been chosen as top of their particular fields and original regiments, handpicked for their aptitude and potential. The treatment that they were receiving was just par for the course, the usual mind games that the military deemed was how the real stuff was separated from the rest. Each man there was a crack shot already. Hours on the shooting range were merely a walk in the park to them. This really was all about undermining their confidence in their abilities and then reshaping them in a new image. Terry understood that implicitly even as he chafed under the regime. Briggs singled him out for abuse and humiliation more than anyone else. He smiled to himself. That mean he was the best and they were testing his mettle. Too arrogant and sure of himself and he might be a liability, unable to recognise when he was out of his depth - and any sane soldier had to know the difference between bravery and foolhardiness, audacity and over-confidence. He had to remember that every time they pushed his buttons.

It was only a matter of time. The recruits were nearing the end of their ten months' basic, almost ready to move up to the final selection manoeuvres which would denote their battalion placements. The brass was also looking for potential officer material. He was going to get a rank - or die in the process.

All of them had arrived as officers from their various previous outfits but it meant nothing here. You started at the bottom - rank corporal. There was no possible chance that Terry Thorne was accepting that like some wet-behind-the-ears squaddie. He'd already had one fight (fortunately un-noted) with a group of little regular army bastards in Cheltenham one night. No way was he saluting to any of them.

He queued up and loaded up his tray with today's fare. The food was good. That's how you knew you were the elite. They were given what would be officers' fare elsewhere. But they bloody  earned it. He had been on the go since five that morning, running through the fog on a ten mile cross country while it was still pitch black, three hours' in a classroom and then the shooting range. And today was a comparatively easy session compared to some of the shit thrown at them.

Sliding in next to a few of his peer group, he tucked into his meal, hungry and not much interested in conversation. He was trying to work out what Briggs was up to now.

"What did Briggsie want?" Chris Brooks asked.

"Dunno. Got to see him at three. Probably my body." Terry grinned and shovelled in the casserole.

"Only way you'll get on in this outfit, Oz. Sleep your way to the top," Barnie Shevington threw in.

"I'd rather fuck her," Terry muttered, indicating one of the ladies behind the serving hatch. Big Betty. Enough to put even these testosterone-loaded young men off sex.

"Christ, Thornie, you've just put me off my lunch. Imagine going up there?" Ben Allen snorted.

They all shivered and laughed crudely. "You'd burn your arse on the light bulb if you climbed on her. Stick it anywhere, though, you'd trap some roll of flesh," Terry observed. The conversation continued in that vein, increasingly puerile and hysterical, as they each tried to outdo each other in their mythical attempt to successfully lay the object of derision who was cheerfully doling out food to the men still arriving. Betty was a really nice lady and they were all very fond of her.

It didn't stop them though.

At three precisely, Terry Thorne knocked briskly on RSM James Briggs' office door, heard the sharp "Enter!" and stepped inside, closing the door behind him and saluting.

"Only just made it..." Briggs observed, checking his watch and seeing it was exactly 15.00. "Sit down."

Terry removed his cap, took a seat facing Briggs and sat waiting. God only knew what was coming.

"Got an operation planned. Reconnaissance. Orientation. Endurance. Your troop. You're in charge. Fuck this up, Thorne, and you'll be back to kangaroo land with nothing to fuck in future but sheep. Got it?"

Terry barely controlled the surge of excitement. This was the big time. Command. No way would they be putting him out there on a costly exercise unless they were pretty damn sure he was able to deliver the goods. Get this right and he was away. "Yes, sir. Where we headed?"

"Sweden. North. Should freeze your delicate little Aussie bollocks off. I know how much you hate the cold. Handpicked you for this one, son. I believe it's 30 degrees today in Sydney. But don't worry, mate, you'll be on your way home soon. Better write home and tell yer Mam to throw a few shrimps on that barbie for you..."

"Won't be necessary, sir. I won't be making any mistakes."

"You think not? Pride comes before a fall, Stevie. And I am so looking forward to you falling and wiping that cocky arse-wipe smirk off your ugly mug. One of the few perks of this job of mine..."

Briggs threw a dossier across the table. "Read it. You better know it better than your balls by tomorrow at 9:00 hours. Then we might start talking about a briefing. Until then - this is confidential. Keep it to yourself. Dismissed."

Terry shot to his feet, placed his cap on squarely, saluted and turned sharply on his heel to march out, the folder under his arm and a wide grin on his face. "Yesss!!!" he murmured to himself as he hit the corridor beyond. He had all but done it. It was hard to keep the grin off his face as he swaggered back to the barracks.

Lying back on his bunk, he stared at the ceiling and smoked a cigarette, trying to focus his mind on the action ahead. Everything depended on him keeping it together for a while longer. Nothing could go wrong. He wouldn't allow it. He had to watch for everything - they were sure to plant obstacles in his way. That's what it was all about. How you cope when the job goes arse over kettle. He had to be on his guard every minute...

"Oi, Thornie? Bit early in the day for a wank, isn't it?" Jon Hynes wandered in from the shower. 

Terry glanced over at him. "Shower? Is it that time of the month already?"

The two men grinned. "What did Briggsie want you for?"

"Nothing much. Just the usual wind up. Fancy going into town tonight? I feel like cutting loose. Get a few of the lads together? Or you still all lovey dovey with that bird of yours...?"

"Jules? She can do without me for a night. Sure. Where to?"

"Where the fuck is there around here? What d'ya reckon? Gloucester? Hereford's about as much fun as Perth on a wet Monday night..."

"Yeah, Gloucester - the trains are not bad. Get a late one back...."

"Wasn't planning on coming back till the morning anyway...." Terry laughed suggestively. "If I don't get some soon, I'll fucking explode."

Jon laughed as he sat on his bed drying his genitals. Terry pulled a face. "Do you have to do that facing me?"

"You don't have to look," he carried on unconcerned, "You need to get a local girl. Someone in reserve. Not good for you, Thornie, all that spunk going to waste. Fucks up your concentration."

"Too right, mate. Clean undies tonight, eh, Jonnie? Let's see if we can do some damage, shall we?"

Gloucester might not have had quite the attraction of London or Birmingham or one of the larger cities but they had girls and booze so there was little else that was really required. It wasn't long before the group of five young buff fit men caught the eyes of a group of young women and the two groups watched each other up from across the room in a crowded city centre bar.

"I'm not having the fat one this time," Barney complained. "I always have to jump on the grenade..."

"How else you gonna score? It's not like you're Tom Cruise now, is it?" Baby faced Ben Allen laughed over. 

Barney stuck two fingers up at him. "Fuck off, ya bastard. At least I have pubic hair....you shaving yet?"

"We're gonna get nothing sitting here talking about it," Terry said, standing up and rubbing his hands. "Let me just go and get us fixed up..." He strolled over and gave his easy smile. The girls pouted and preened. Then they heard his accent and the others could hear the giggles from where they were sitting. His friends rolled their eyes and shook their heads as he led the young ladies back to their table and organized drinks.

They were soon settled in, a girl each and Terry having ensured he had the pick, a beautiful coffee coloured lady with a husky sexy voice called Monique They might be a fairly young set but these girls meant business and it was obvious they were out on the town to pull themselves. A few drinks later, the girls took them to a nightclub where they danced and fooled around until the early hours.

Some of the boys had already disappeared off with their partners when Terry whispered a suggestion into Monique's ear. She laughed throatily and whispered something back; his eyes widened in mock-horror as he pulled her by the hand towards the exit.

"Let's get a room..." Terry muttered as they staggered from the club. Monique checked her watch.

"Too late. C'mon....want to be really naughty?" She dragged him down the alley at the side of the club and leaned against the wall. "I took my knickers off in the loo before..." With little ceremony, she raised her short skirt to her waist; she was completely naked, her slender tawny skin an invitation, the curly trim of hair between her legs drawing his eyes and hardening his dick.

"Fuck, Monique...." He looked about him. It was almost two and no one was around. With a shrug, he advanced, unzipped, rolled on a condom and hoisted her against the wall.

"God, you're so strong," she giggled as he bent to kiss her and she grabbed him, eagerly slipping him inside. "What a woppa! You got some Jamaica in you, white boy?"

Terry grunted and shafted himself deep, breathing steadily to control himself. "No, but you got a lot of Oz in you, sweetheart...." Monique laughed her dirty laugh and wrapped herself closer as he began to thrust determinedly into her.

It wasn't the rooting that he'd envisaged - but it did the job. Monique was more than satisfied; they hung about kissing and making out some more afterwards despite the cold of the night. "Sure you don't want to get a room somewhere?" Terry murmured into her ear. He wasn't really too happy about the falling temperature.

"Can't. My brother's coming to pick me up at two. He'll be here any minute..."

"Your brother?"

"Yeah, our Dwayne. He doesn't trust the cabbies. Doesn't trust me either..." she giggled.

"How old are you, Monique?" It  had just dawned on him; he should have asked her that a long time ago.

"Fifteen, but I look older, don't I?"

"Fucking hell! How old's your brother?"

"Twenty eight. He does martial arts. And boxing. So he doesn't drink. He always picks me up at the end of the night..."

Terry groaned. "Jesus Christ....where's he picking you up?" He took her hand and hurried her towards the main entrance.

"Hey, Monique?" Terry heard the deep voice as they rounded the corner. The brother, no doubt. "Who the fuck are you? You took her down there, you fucking cunt...?" In a matter of moments a group of hostile men, apparently accompanying the brother, began to close him down.

Monique looked amused; she giggled and raised her eyes. "Sorry, Terry..." Leaving his side she joined her brother who pushed her behind him and told her to go wait in the car.

"So you like little girls, do you, ya pervert?"

Terry backed away, his hands raised. "Look, mate....I thought she was older...she made like she was old enough...look at her....dressed like that...."

His eyes were scanning the area about. He could take them on. Even if they were useful and it would mean a bit of a beating, he knew he would have them. But if he got into any trouble, that would be it back at camp. They were notoriously hard on men who used their skills on the general public or in any way brought the Regiment into disrepute. How would this look? Sex with a minor and putting three men in hospital? Kiss good bye to your chance, Terry. It would be RTU on the double.

But if he let them work him over? These guys were no slouches. He could be seriously hurt - and that would also put paid to his forthcoming op. And maybe his entire future.

"You saying my little sister looks like a slut?"

As the man made his swing, Terry parried, used his forward motion to throw the other man off balance and then bowled him against the others. Then he ran. Jumped over a wall and belted for an all-night bus that was passing, catching it and jumping aboard, grateful that Gloucester still had the old double-deckers with their open platforms.

Throwing himself back in the seat, he began to laugh. 

"You drunk?" The conductor asked him suspiciously. "If you are, I'm stopping this bus and you can get off..."

"No mate...I'm apples. Just having a laugh..." he grinned back as he paid his fare and settled back shaking his head.

That was fun.

The air hit him like an icy whip as he launched himself out into the blackness. For a second, he felt that rush of fear, the adrenalin-high buzz that nothing else could equal. But only a second or two passed before he regained control and began to relax into the free fall, riding the air currents and laughing at the utter wild freedom of the craziest thing a man can do: jump out of a plane high altitude at night and enjoy the ride. HALO. High Altitude Low Opening Jumping. Essential for highly covert entry - the plane way above detection range and their entry at night almost undetectable, the men too low when their chutes engaged for any surveillance to pick them up. Wildest thing there was. Better than sex.

Around him were other men - but he was not aware of them. This was a moment when teamwork was irrelevant. You got yourself down in one piece - nothing else mattered in those crucial seconds - and then the rest began. All through the silent steady fall, a part of his brain had been counting. There was a narrow window and he had to get this one right. Parachuting was one thing, plenty of time there for adjustment, but this was a completely other animal. One second delay and he would be splattered all over the pine forests like road kill.

It was his specialty. Late opening. He'd given his instructors nightmares on numerous occasions. This time he hit the number, ripped the cord, felt the drag that spun him upwards and then the weightless settling as the chute took over and gently returned him to the ground.

Contact, roll and gather. He had his chute hidden in the trees in seconds, engaged his radio and was ready as each man called in. 'Rendezvous 30. Target as arranged.'

Everyone down. Show time.

Their operation was an adjunct to a major NATO exercise that had been in the planning stage for a very long time. Four days' hence an airport, Kallax-Luleå on the north coast of the Gulf of Bothnia in Sweden, was to be the setting for an unprecedented security alert staged without the knowledge of the airport staff, although with the cooperation of the Government and senior aviation administration. Teams of NATO troops would parachute, rappel or chopper down to secure the airport in an apparently hostile action. It was, of course, to be a test of NATO ability to plan and execute such operations in the face of a spiralling terrorist threat worldwide. It was a one thing to rehearse such sorties but quite another to carry them out in the reality of a civilian setting in an airport with its own high military presence.

Kallax-Luleå was an ideal setting: remote, busy, handling a heavy amount of international passenger and cargo traffic and also the main military base in Sweden- thus an ideal relatively 'soft' target for insurgents. One look at the globe explained the curious siting of this airport which opened up the Northern Shortcut for flights between Europe and NE Asia. It was close to Russia and also a route of choice for N. American flights. Due to its position near the poles where jet streams are weaker, flying time could be up to four hours reduced. The location was perfectly placed for both stopovers and refuelling and also had a strategic potential, was in easy reach of every European capital and within 10 hours' flying time of almost every major cargo airport in the world.

And it was also the type of target a terrorist with a view to launching a serious air strike on Europe might just see as an ideal launching pad.

The team Terry Thorne was leading was an advance party with a more complex agenda even that that of the NATO exercise. Their ultimate goal, the preliminary movement of the assault - the seizure of the communications tower prior to the initial landing of the other troops- was only part of the deal. It was of crucial importance to be in place at the appointed time to shore up the operation by preventing any contact with the outside being relayed by airport personnel and enabling their forces to use the communications technology to assist the other teams on landing. Time was of the essence. But to make full use of these manoeuvres, the stakes had been raised even higher for Tango One Lima force. They had been given their own agenda quite apart from their final goal. This squad of new recruits was under intense scrutiny and the highest pressure possible. Fail and this wasn't just a matter of screwing up their own mission but of causing one of the most important post-war exercises to founder almost before it had begun.

Parachuting into the mountainous Swedish Lap Norrbotten region, an area often referred to as 'Europe's last wilderness area', they had four days to cross the hundred kilometres or so nature reserve and on down to the coast for the appointed attack on Luleå. It was an opportunist use of these men, with no real further tactical purpose other than to deploy a team in a 'denied' area and to have them in place well before an action. This was a typical SAS procedure for intelligence gathering, using long range patrols and advance support of other forces. Any change of plan or aborting of the main operation could then be channelled through these men in place on the spot.

But it also shone a bright light on a group of men who were up for final selection. This was the ultimate test; endurance in sub-zero temperatures in a remote and hostile landscape, orientation at speed and in difficult conditions, a pressure to succeed beyond the remit of their own orders for the sake of the number of 'lives' technically dependent on them and all set against a backdrop of permanent night at this time of the year with the worst weather conditions imaginable.

Piece of piss?

What did these men expect? Copacabana beach?

The rendezvous made, the five man team took bearings and set off through the thick snow, each carrying a pack with minimum essentials. There would be a drop in three days' time which would provide them with the weaponry they required. For now they were very lightly encumbered, packing only knives and a small hand gun each with a few rounds of ammo. Orders stated that they were only to be fired in the most extreme danger but in actuality that meant not at all on this mission which was, of course, a fake.

But you never knew. Orders could change. This might be a clever bluff. Perhaps there was a deeper agenda. On black ops missions like this, they all were aware never to trust what anything seemed. The way the minds of the top brass worked was labyrinthine. Their own heads had been screwed up so much over the past few months that if someone offered him a cup of tea these days, Terry wondered if it was a set up.

He hated the cold. Anything, but that. Even dressed in this fleece-lined, waterproof, state of the art get up, he still fucking hated it. His nose was red and throbbed as the cutting wind battered his face like tiny darts, ice forming on his beard, grown by all who could for warmth, his eyelashes heavy with frosting. The physical task was itself daunting enough; it took all of their formidable fitness and endurance simply to cross this wilderness in the prevailing conditions. Even the necessities of life were a trial. Before they had left, they had undergone various unpleasant treatments, one of which included having their noses cauterized. This involved a Q-tip, soaked in some chemical, swabbed around the inside of their nasal passages to singe the delicate skin. Without that minimal scarring then the dry cold air would cause the nasal veins to dilate and bleed continuously in the sub-zero temperature. Even eyelids could freeze shut merely from exhaled breath. Taking a piss was an ordeal in itself, the warm stream steaming but already freezing into a yellow stain on the snow almost as soon as it settled. Taking a crap was something Terry would rather not recall.

As they made their way south, mostly in silence, each man lost in his own thoughts, Terry thought about sun and warmth. Avalon Beach with Corinne one afternoon years' ago. Bit of surfing then lying on the beach with a picnic lunch and a few cold beers, wiling away the hot afternoon, fooling about and making out later in a shady corner of the nearby park.

They'd dumped their gear in his car and then wandered along over to Pittwater, stopping at Carmel's restaurant for tea and scones. He always wondered why that day stuck in his head. Nothing had really happened. They had just hung out like kids do at the beach. Not the most memorable day of his life. Or the best sex he'd ever had. But whenever his mind drifted and he wanted to recall a time when he felt...felt...? Felt what? He wasn't sure what he'd been feeling that day. But whatever he had been feeling, that day seemed to sum it all up.

And he bloody wished he had a bit of it today.

"Sir?" He was acting officer in charge. His mates were now saluting him.

"Yeah?" He snapped out of his reverie, spun away from the turquoise umbrella shading her face as she had smiled over at him and taken his hand across the table, whirled at the speed of light from warmth, safety, happiness, peace to....

"I'm cold," Jon grinned and banged his arms together.

"Too bad, mate. Want me to get you a hottie bottie, darlin'?" Terry retorted.

"A what?" Jon laughed at the stray Aussie-ism creeping into Thorne's usually more carefully modulated speech.

Terry sighed as if the man was an idiot. "Hot water bottle. Army speak. Get with it, Hynes..."

"Fuck off...that's one of your crazy Oz phrases. You lot sound like my Grannie with all that rellies and hollies shit..."

They carried on jiving each other as they trudged on, making good time but still with a long way to go. "What you know, Terry? This straight up?" Hynes asked quietly. Terry wondered if Jon had got the short straw from the others to soften him up. Everyone knew that the two men were close, the nearest thing Terry had these days to a friend.

Terry shrugged. "Could be. They can't fuck about with NATO exercises though..."

"Yeah, but they can fuck about with us...."

"Too right. Let's take a tea break. Jesus, I could murder a pint..."

"Not cold enough for you then?" Jon asked wryly.

"A warm one....now I know why you Poms like it room temperature..."

"Our beer and our women. Too hot and we don't know what's hit us...." Jon teased. 

"Don't mention women. I can't cope with a stiffie in this cold..." Terry groaned.

Jon snorted. "You can get it up at this temperature? I can't even find mine...."

That night they pitched the light two-man tents that they carried and set to preparing a meal from the energy-rich bars and reconstituted dried food they were toting. They had chosen a hill with some tree cover, a good vantage but with snow this deep a dry spot was pretty hopeless. Digging down they exposed bed rock and cleared the area, using snow banks as insulation for the all weather Armadillos that sprang from their tight packing, and hammering in clamps to anchor them. It was not night by their watches although it was dark but their body clocks were confused by the endless evening and exhaustion and cold, hunger and boredom were enough to make them ready to eat anything and then get their heads down for a few hours.

Men moved around, unrolling the lightweight bags and sleep wrap, sauntering off to relieve themselves in the surrounding trees, sharing a smoke and a talk before turning in. Brooksie and Hynes were arsing about as usual, Brooks pretending to do a strip, opening up his suit to reveal the nifty insulated Sleepskin body hugging garment that lay beneath, lightweight and snug.

"Women all over the world want to find the entry point to Lance-Corporal Brooks' Sleepskin, y'know?" Brooks simpered in his broad Yorkshire accent. "Want me to give you a few pointers about what turns the girlies on? Stick an extra pair of socks down here and they'll be wetting their knickers..."

Hynes cracked up laughing. "Down the front, you wanker...not the back...they'll think you just shat yourself...."

Terry sat at the entrance of his tent and smiled at their antics as he sipped on a tin mug of hot tea and dragged on a cigarette. They were a great team: all highly skilled men, easy to get on with and capable of great feats of endurance. They were also, let's be honest, after his command. Friends they might be, but they all had their careers uppermost in their minds. He had his briefing but each man has been seen separately. Who knew if there was some other mind game going on? Or just how far each was prepared to go to further his own prospects?

It wasn't that he was uneasy at their ability to cooperate as a team. Not a man here would let another down. But if he faltered and made a mistake, there were four other men  smart enough to use it to their advantage. There was a lot at stake here.

Terry cleared his head and then examined what he could control and what he couldn't. It was one thing to keep a healthy cynicism and his eyes open but in the end he had to deal with what he had in front of him. That was the priority. If anything else was about to happen then he could not anticipate any more than remaining on a state of permanent high alert.

But he needed sleep. Without that he would be debilitated in this environment. With the intense focus that was part of his personality even before it had been sharpened by his extensive training and the days spent in isolation tanks and interrogation resistance, Terry flipped away his cigarette, poured the dregs of his tea into the snow, eased back into the tent, closed the flap and rolled himself up for warmth before closing his eyes and dropping off. It was not his watch for three hours.

He woke up exactly three hours later.

They were thirty six hours away from their destination, ahead of time and feeling pretty self-satisfied with themselves when the shit hit the fan. Ben Allen lost his footing on a steep slope and fell. It didn't appear to be a dangerous descent but, as is often the way of things, he landed awkwardly. They all heard the snap as a bone went; Allen screamed and grabbed at his femur.

By the time they reached him he was quiet but pale. Terry took his pulse while Shevington gently eased down his pants and slit the fabric of his all-in one to look at the leg. They were all First Aid trained and had served on the casualty departments of local hospitals for experience. One glance at the leg told them all they needed to know - the bruising was already advancing and the swelling evident. As quickly as they could they strapped his leg and redressed him. In this temperature he would freeze to death of exposure if they left the leg bare for long. Meanwhile, Terry pulled out the medical kit and gave Allen a painkilling injection and an adrenalin shot. Allen said little, grimacing and nodding his thanks.

Walking away, Terry paced back and forth, his hands on his hips, weighing up the situation. They still had a substantial way to go. Allen couldn't walk, that was clear, and the break appeared a bad one. He would have to be carried on some makeshift stretcher which would slow them down significantly, possibly even making their designated arrival time impossible. If they left him here immobile, he would freeze to death. That option was out of the question.

He thought about that. If this was combat what would be the correct command decision? Leave him to fend for himself on a mission like this. They all knew that. The whole was always more important than the individual.

But this was an exercise. There was no question of risking a highly trained man in these circumstances. 

Find him a safe place, call in the coordinates and ask for a team to go in and extract him. How long would that take? He was in a bad way and even if they got to him in a few hours, there was a good chance that his immobility would have consequences. Frostbite was faster acting on a damaged limb especially one that was not able to move. Gangrene was the next stage. Even if they carried him, there was a high chance of these complications.

Allen's career could be at stake if he didn't receive attention soon, possibly even his life. What choices did he have when it came down to it? Precious few. It was a simple matter of whether he could risk a soldier's leg. No, it was simpler than that. They were already fucked. There was little hope of reaching Luleå with him in this condition. On the other hand with 36 hours to go, there was enough warning for an alternative team to be sent in direct to the target. The overall objective was still attainable.

Their part in it all was over.

How would this affect the others? Terry knew they would not be happy to lose their crack at groundbreaking joint manoeuvres but, in the final analysis, if he aborted  then they had no choice but to follow his orders. If he called it wrong they were in the clear.

Only one neck was on the line here and it was his. My career for his safety. A highly trained special forces officer who had cost the taxpayers a fortune to train, even more if you imputed his future lost service into the equation - it was not cost effective to risk him on a training exercise. However close this was to combat, it was not the real thing nor ever could be judged on the same criteria.

He wracked his brains. Was that the logical conclusion? Had he missed anything? Would his senior officers regard it as his failure if he took the cautious line? Would they say - you were instructed to treat this as the actual event. Thus any decision must only be based on what you would have been forced to do in an actual field situation.

What would he have done in battle? Leave Allen to freeze to death?

No bloody way. Not ever. Not because he was a soldier whose training had cost the state millions.

But because he was a man.

I will destroy my career rather than see another man suffer. Is that the truth of it? Am I unable to be ruthless enough when it comes down to it?

Yes. How could I live with myself if he lost a leg and I got promoted?

Maybe I'm not made of the right stuff. But if I'm not, then at least I can sleep at nights. Like the old man said. When it came right down to it, I couldn't hack it in the real world.

"We've got to abort. I'm calling in."

The ante room to Colonel McCawley's office was by now familiar to him; he had been sitting outside waiting to be called in for over forty-five minutes already. Enough time to commit every detail of it to memory.  Inside the room was a panel of senior officers, no doubt discussing his future. He had been told to wait by a supercilious young adjutant and left there to stew.

The events of the previous forty eight hours played over and over again on his mind. He had taken the decision and was ready to face the consequences. At the time he had sensed the resistance from his colleagues but, apart from an initial surprised reaction, they had accepted his order and not voiced an opinion. Allen had been very apologetic but Terry had not lingered talking to the man. As far as he knew, he had been air-lifted to a military hospital and they had not as yet received a status report.

Since arriving back that morning, he had been debriefed, instructed to get some rest and kept apart from the others. Now here he was, waiting for the moment of truth. The inner door opened and RSM Briggs stepped out.

"Thorne? Inside."

He jumped up and marched in, saluting and standing firm, squared his chin and waited. He expected the kiss off. He would accept it like a man.

And then go off somewhere and cry like a baby.

"Because of your decision to abort, we had to fly in an experienced team at short notice - at some cost to us. Your secondary mission was incomplete. What have you to say for yourself?"

He thought about it. This was not the time to be smart. But it was not the time to backtrack either. If he was going down then he would do it in all honesty. "I believed it was the only realistic course of action given the circumstances. However close a simulation it was to the field, it was not the actual situation. Allen's wellbeing was thus ultimately more important in this instance. I was aware a replacement team could be brought in. Carrying an injured man, we were unable to fulfil our objective and I would not leave him behind in those conditions."

"Do you still in retrospect believe you made the right choice?" The colonel asked him.

"I do, sir."

"Even if other officers disagree with you?"

Terry stared blankly ahead. "In action, if I am in sole command, there are no other officers to consult. As the officer in charge, I must take the decision based on my reading of all the significant factors. If I believe my decisions addresses all the eventualities then it is the right one. An order must be given. I take full responsibility for my actions. There was no one else who took part in the final decision to abort."

"Is that an answer?" A voice spoke up. It was the Brigadier-General.

"Yes, sir." He did not elaborate.

There was a moment's silence while the colonel who was presiding shuffled papers and added his signature to something before raising his head and speaking. "You were never part of the NATO exercise. This was a wholly separate operation." He pressed the intercom before him. "Send him in."

Terry Thorne's eyes blinked rapidly as he tried to work out the significance of the words. Never meant to take part in the exercise? Then what the fuck had they been doing there?

The door behind him opened and he heard a man march in, salute and then take his place beside him. Terry looked forward but was already beginning to work it out.

"Allen. Good man."

At the mention of his colleague's name, Terry glanced sideways and frowned, struggling to contain his temper. He'd been set up. They'd trapped him into it to tease out his weakness. Too much humanity, eh? Not brutal enough for them?

"Thorne. Allen was briefed in advance to stage an accident. He was supplied with several substances which once injected would simulate swelling and given a dye to appear like bruising. It was obvious his leg would not be exposed long in that climate so only a cursory examination would be given..."

Thorne said nothing but the men recognised the anger that rolled off him and the suppressed tension in his body; he was finding it hard to keep his temper. "The others...?"

"...Knew nothing. They thought it was kosher. As you did. Please, don't feel too offended at the ruse. Let me explain something. Command requires many subtle qualities that are not always immediately apparent in most simulations. You are a very good soldier. You are a natural leader. But that doesn't show us all we need to know. An experiment like this does...."

"Experiment?" Terry spat out and then clammed up again, gritting his teeth against the injustice that he had let them play him.

"You misunderstand, Terry. You made the correct decision. We didn't think you would. Everyone here, bar RSM Briggs, believed you were too eager for promotion and that you would sacrifice your mother if necessary to secure it. That appeared to be your main downfall - and, of course, your arrogance, which, while not a bad thing in itself, can easily cause a man to be foolhardy and overreach himself. Well done, Thorne. You acquitted yourself well. Allen - a difficult task and one I know you didn't relish. You have both given us reason to be impressed. A successful outcome for all. Dismissed."

That was it. No possible comeback although all the officers on the panel were in no doubt as to what Thorne thought about the whole affair by the look of disgust on his face. But he saluted and turned to march out, striding at speed out of the HQ building with Allen on his tail. Allen caught him up, touched his arm; Thorne threw him brusquely off.

"Wait, Terry...look, mate...I had no choice. What could I do? It was orders!"

"Yeah. Right. Like I'll have no choice when I smash my fist into your face, ya fucking little bleeder..." Terry retorted.

"Hey! It was orders! I didn't want to do it. Terry...I'm your mate, but this is business. I've got my career, you've got yours. I didn't join the Regiment to make friends. In the field, you can trust me...I'd never let you down. But this was different. Internal affairs. What would you have done?"

Terry turned and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. "I put my career on the fucking chopping block for you. I would have taken the rap rather than see my career prosper at another man's expense." He spat the words in to Allen's face.

"But you were right! I thought you'd fucked up. The others did too. But, Terry, they already marked you out as THE MAN. Sure, we resented it. But now we know. You are the one. We gotta accept that. They knew what they were doing..."

Terry dropped him and walked a few paces, thinking. He stopped. Allen was right. What choice had he had? The ultimate mind game. Play them against each other and see what we all learn.

Which is?

We are a team. But we are individuals. We will fight for the cause and each other but we are not really mates. That isn't allowed to men like us. Who knows when the man beside you will be turned? Our world is the world of grey shadows, not the black and white battlefield of a regular soldier. When the snake strikes - it has to be up close. We all have to be ready for that.

Terry shrugged and grinned. "Ya bastard! But I know you're right. I just didn't like the way it happened. Not sure I'm ever going to be quite at ease with the mind games."

"We aren't meant to like them. But ultimately, man, they are what are going to save our lives one day." Ben held out his hand. "Mates, Terry? I don't want resentment between us over this..."

Terry smiled and shook his hand. "Just don't fucking complain next time we ask you to take one for the team, ok? The next dog is yours, mate..."

Coming down from the high octane pressure of a complex sortie was usually followed by leave; the men were expected to get well away from the camp and let their hair down at a safe distance. With the proviso, of course, that they were to keep out of anything serious that might rebound back on the Regiment. Jon cried off the high jinks and took his bird, Jules, for a romantic weekend in Paris. The rest were looking for rather more earthy experiences than that and ended up in the tacky northern holiday resort of Blackpool. It was late February, colder than a witch's tit, but the place was just the sort of action they wanted: sleazy, down-at-heel and easy pickings.

They had spent the afternoon larking around the amusement centre, known appropriately enough for their interests as The Pleasure Beach, on the rides that were open in the winter season. They intrigued other people on the Avalanche, the bob sleigh run, by the fearsome speeds they attained, eventually being thrown off for causing a collision. They had a ball down in the Horror Crypt and then received a warning on the skating ring for their antics.

While they were being summoned off the ice and soundly chastised by a fearsome manageress with purple hair and mass ear piercings, Terry's eye strayed to a young girl who was skating confidently past them. She didn't look much like the rest of the women there, most of whom were decidedly of a type that these men would quickly categorise as 'slapper'. That was probably what drew his eye to linger on her.

This girl was tall and lithe as a reed with a graceful dancer's body, small-breasted and narrow-hipped. Her legs were slim but shapely and looked athletic and strong as she neatly executed turns. Her hair was very dark, velvet black, tied up in a ponytail; he imagined she was quite young, although it was hard to tell. She could be as little as twelve or maybe just young looking for her age. But despite her still gawky body, this girl was going to be a beauty when she grew up and realized what she was. Terry smiled with the pleasure of seeing something so perfect and innocent, a girl on the brink of womanhood.

"You finding this funny, pal?" The manageress shouted at him.

"No, Missus," he retorted with a grin. "Just that purple's my favourite colour, ya know? You doing anything tonight, love?" Even the old battleaxe had to laugh at his cheek; she swatted his arm playfully and told him to go and behave.

Back on the ice, the men played around some more, already bored of the place. Barney and Chris moved on either side of Terry and clothes-hangered him for a laugh. He went down like a lead weight and spun across the ice towards the barrier, taking down a few people who were unfortunate enough to cross his path. Barney and Chris were ordered off the ice for the misdemeanour; he heard the tannoy calling them in as he almost crashed into the wall.

Groaning, he sat there sprawled out when a hand reached out towards him. "Better get up before you cause a major collision!" He looked up and saw that it was the pretty girl. Her eyes were so blue they looked purple. Maybe he did like purple after all.

He declined her hand, well aware that if he leaned his weight on her, he would upend her too, she was so slight. Nimbly he got to his feet, saw her surprise at his agility and leaned against the barrier looking at her. "Thanks anyway, love."

The girl blushed slightly giving him a shy smile before saying 'Bye' and skating quickly away. He watched her join her friends and noticed how the other girls went into a gaggle around her, pointing over at him. It made him smile again. Any age. Five to fifty. Bring them on, he thought smugly to himself.

"Christ, Thornie, don't you have a lower age limit? She must be all of ten. I've heard of tight fits but...." Allen smirked.

"Fuck off! She's a baby. Just a sweet kid. Watch your talk...there are kids around here..."

Terry's eyes flickered over to her again but the girl seemed to have forgotten him already. She was laughing and shouting over at a friend, playful now. The saucy comment sounded all wrong coming from her prim little mouth "Move your bloody arse, Katie, y'wazack!" Terry grinned at her. His Mum used to say that. It was a long time since he'd heard that particular affectionate insult. But mouth on her or not - she was one classy little lady. Too good for this place, anyway.

Shortly afterwards they settled into the arcades, challenging each other at the games and then wandering over to the one-armed bandits. It was here that they hooked up with a party of young women who had set their sights on them the moment they had sauntered in. It was hard to be sure who picked up whom. Eventually the four couples gave up the games and ended up in a bar together.

Or rather they started out in a bar. It was five o'clock when they began drinking and they carried on all that evening, stopping at a fish and chip restaurant for something to eat half way through. These ladies were not what you would call classy chicks. The group was up from Liverpool for a few days, were obviously on the look out to get laid, drank more than the men and were crude, brassy and rough as a bear's arse, as Brooksie so succinctly put it.

Exactly what four horny soldiers were looking for after the past few months. 

After a night on the booze and the town, Terry found himself with a girl called Leanne in her room at a cheap B and B; her roommate Cheryl was apparently missing in action - no one had seen her since she'd disappeared with Shevvy hours before. They were alone now and intended to make the most of it.

Terry's date, Leanne, was not his usual type. But he was pretty open-minded when it came to taking what was on offer; sometimes girls like her were more grateful than the lookers - and put out a hell of a lot more.  And tonight that was the name of the game. Leanne was a big girl, blonde and baby faced, what Terry's mother would have politely called 'bonny', blessed with an enormous pair of tits and a sizeable rump. There was a lot of flesh on show and he was in the mood for exactly that tonight. Leanne was up for anything, ready to indulge freely and he had a pack of three in his pocket.

"....Eh...what you doing? That's my bum!" Leanne whined as he slipped out and edged north.

He leant across her body and kissed her neck, still rubbing her ring with his dick. "Go on, Leanne...It won't hurt. I'll be really careful...give it up...you know you want to...." he whispered into her ear, sucking on her lobe. She groaned and arched back against him; he slid his fingers on either side of her clit and massaged her softly.

"You're too big...what's wrong with my fanny?"

"Need something tighter...Christ...please...you got any lube?"

Leanne stretched and picked a tub of body cream from the bedside table. "It's for my eczema. It should do...just you go slow....God, Terry...you are such a naughty boy..."

He opened the tub, smeared the cream on his cock and over her tight little hole. Taking himself in hand, he played around, stroking her until he felt her relax her muscles and then he pushed. Just a little. The girl gasped and made a low moan, sagging, hanging her head down and panting. He grasped her hip and pulled her higher. "Lift your arse..." he muttered tersely. Rotating his hips slowly and grinding, he eased into her watching the visual of his erect cock swallowed by the muscular ring, squeezing and stimulating him so hard that he was sweating as he fought for control. He looked at himself, the thick taut band of muscle around his belly speared with hair contrasted to her flabby white flesh, soft and pasty. His hand grabbed a handful of her wobbly buttock and then he hilted with a sudden thrust.

Leanne screamed and he stopped, reaching forward to massage her stomach sensually. She was so soft. Like a cushion. He was so hard and rigid, his torso taut like a board and she was giving and rippling and soft. Like a woman. He'd been too long surrounded by men. He wanted to bury himself into ripe soft female flesh, weeping and pungent. His head was somewhere else as he began to jerk steadily into her, almost unaware of her presence, lost in seeking his own pleasure.

"Rub m'clit..." he heard her gasp.

"Can't reach it. Do it yourself," he muttered. Leanne swore at him but did it anyway as he took what he wanted from her. His head swam as he screwed her gently enough but thrusting steadily, holding her hips tight so that she had no choice but to go with him.

"Fuck...fuck...FUCK!!!" His orgasm was so powerful that it almost hurt; as he pulsed into her, her muscles clasped him like a vice and the erotic visual of the act drove his fantasy even wilder. Leanne grunted as she came and he felt the further tensing of her sphincter around him; he moaned.

Pulling tenderly out of her, ripping off the soiled condom and discarding it, he fell back on the pillow. Leanne dropped next to him. "That fucking hurt..." she complained.

"Sorry, love....got carried away... that was beaut...thanks a lot, sweetheart...." he crawled onto her and burrowed into the billowing sweaty warmth of her large breasts, his hand kneading the loose flesh of her belly.

"Move...Terry...you're too heavy...stop leaning on my bladder..." Leanne pushed him off and rolled onto her side. He curled around her but she wriggled away. "Too hot...do you ever get enough...? Give me five...I need to sleep..." She settled down and he flopped back on the pillow, tired himself but somehow wakeful. Even after that sexual marathon, he didn't quite feel he had hit the mark. Something was still missing. Lighting a cigarette, he smoked pensively, the red tip the only light in the dark room, the soft snoring of his bed mate a droning soundtrack to his thoughts.

It was still dark outside, a miserable wet cold morning when Terry woke, his bladder full and a heavy weight on his belly. He moaned and stirred, opening his eyes to find Leanne slumped across him. An image of a great white whale flashed before his eyes. She was not quite such a tasty prospect in the early morning as during their enthusiastic screwing the night before, her makeup smeared, her hair a tangled mess. He pulled a face at the sight of her drooling, her chubby arms thrown over his face to reveal an unappetizing unshaved armpit. Obviously she had appeared more appealing through the gloss of ten pints and a raging hard on the night before.

Pushing her from his body, he staggered from the bed, stepped over the heaps of discarded clothing and looked for the bathroom. There was none. These cheap places just had a shared one at the bottom of the corridor. Naked and in need of a piss, he simply went to the sink and urinated into it, scratching himself and yawning. Come to think of it, looking in the mirror, he didn't look too hot either. His hair was on end, he needed a shave and his bleary blood-shot eyes could barely open. His mouth was bitter, he stank of Leanne and his neck was mottled with love bites.

"Ya dirty bugger!" He heard her voice from the bed as he continued his apparently never-ending stream.

He muttered back, "What you want me to do, piss m'self?" Shaking off, he washed his hands and looked back at her, lying naked and splayed.

"Come back to bed, big guy...I want some more of that cock..."

For a moment he contemplated it. Free cunt. Why not? But then he took a second look. He wasn't that desperate. "Sorry, love, but I've got to dash. Back on duty today..."

Leanne shrugged. "Please yourself. There're many more cocks in this town, boyo...don't make too much noise when you go. See ya 'round, luv..." and with that she rolled over and settled back to sleep.

He dressed and let himself out, shivering as he hit the street, and began the walk to his own hotel. Passing along the promenade he looked out at the windswept wintry sea and his mind drifted again to Corinne and that day on a very different beach at the other side of the world. What the fuck was he doing still picking up girls and tiptoeing out the next morning? It was so empty. You bury yourself in sex, but no matter how wild it gets or how many girls you have, it leaves more than a bitter taste in your mouth. It leaves a palpable sense of loss inside. To share the most intimate thing you have with someone and then walk away seemed to him a sordid and sorry thing. He felt more alone every time he had such an encounter.

He wondered what it would be like to have a woman who really cared. One who was waiting when he got back and in whose arms he could let all the pent up tensions inside subside. That last operation had taken more out of him than he had realized. It hadn't been the physical side - that he could always deal with - but the mental turmoil and the subsequent realisation of his fundamental solitude, even when amongst other men. He could not rely on those around him for consolation. He had no family to confide in.

It suddenly occurred to him that what he needed was a woman of his own. That was why the image of Corinne always haunted him. Not because he loved her. Not because he regretted leaving her. Not because of the baby. But because she was the only woman he ever remembered talking to about what he really felt inside.

Most of them never wanted that from him. That was fine - he rarely wished to give them any part of himself anyway but the obvious one. But Corinne had listened at a time in his life when his family had seemed against him. He had needed an ally and she had been there for him.

He still recalled how good it had made him feel when she had held his hand and told him that he was doing the right thing. He knew she had said that even though she'd wanted him to stay with her and settle down. Even though she had cried when he had told her that she had to abort their baby. Corinne had been prepared to put her own happiness on the line for his. He had never known anyone else who had ever been prepared to do that for him - although he had met plenty who had expected the opposite. A longing to be able to go and curl up with his head on Corinne's lap and tell her all the things that he was keeping inside assailed him. But it was too late. Corinne was married with a family of her own now; he had missed that particular bus. Probably for the best. He hadn't been in love with her - but he had known she had been in love with him. Corinne deserved better than that.

He wondered if he was even capable of love. He hadn't done a very good job with his own mother - what chance did he have of sustaining a partnership with some girl he met in the future?

But a man can still dream, can't he?

Some months later.

"Your mother and I expect you to be there, Penelope. There will be a lot of decent young men and women attending. You can't use the excuse of your studies. I know you finish your last exam this week," Gerald Wallis announced over the breakfast table; his daughter pulled a face at his request.

"It's such a bore. All those decent types - they're such a load of plonkers!" she replied petulantly.

"That's enough, Pen! Don't talk to your father like that! The trouble with you is you seem to prefer mixing with such a low sort. That last boy you brought home was a Brummie, for God's sake!  I just can't understand you. You could have your pick of young men - rich, talented, titled even...if you played your cards right..."

Penelope stood up and hit the table in temper. "I don't want to end up with anyone. I'm almost nineteen. I want to go to university and get a good job and then have a bloody good time. I don't expect to be looking for a husband for years...can't you stop trying to marry me off? What's the matter with you people?"

Dashing out, she ran upstairs in her usual dramatic fashion and threw herself on her bed. She had had enough of their endless social engineering. Every weekend there was some dinner or function full of Daddy's crowd where an endless stream of round shouldered sons of the upper classes were paraded past her as if she was some prime mare in an auction, ripe for childbearing.

They were so damned scared that might lose her virginity to someone who wasn't top drawer. Bit too late for that, though - she'd got rid of that useless piece of skin years ago. Sometimes she could just scream at their upper middle class prejudices. Why couldn't they be like other parents, generally ignoring her and just giving her an expense account and a car like her friends but allowing her to do pretty much as she liked as long as she didn't disturb them? Instead she had Daddy trying to control her every move and treat her like a piece of porcelain - and one that ultimately had to be bartered to the right man, preferably one of his stuffed-shirt set.

She had sometimes gone to the base for formal dinners and other occasions and had taken a good look at the kind of men in her father's command. They weren't just regular army scum like most of the squaddies that you met in Cheltenham on a Friday night at the clubs. The boys in the Regiment were a different class entirely. Smart, formidably tough fellows drawn from every walk of life - now they were what she called men. Tough, taciturn, buff, sexy, controlled. They didn't depend on their Daddy's money or contacts to get them some poncy city job. That kind of guy took the world by the scruff of its neck and forced his way in. That was the kind of man she wanted. Even better if her father couldn't stand him. It was a longstanding fantasy of hers to bring back some bloke with a working class accent, a real 'Chav' as the girls at school would say. Cheltenham Average. Chav. The sort of working class bit of rough that would give Mummy and Daddy a coronary.  Penny often thought she would just love to have it off with one of her father's men. It would be so funny to fuck a chap who would later salute her father in the knowledge that he had stuck it up his daughter.

"Penny, darling? Don't sulk, there's a good girl. Someone's on the phone for you. Miriam, I think. Take it in the hall, Daddy's working in the study..." Annabella Wallis breezed into her daughter's room. She took little notice of her daughter's tantrums. Penelope was just at that age, half a woman and half a petulant little girl. In the end she would see sense. She was, at heart, her father's daughter, intelligent, driven and perfectly capable of seizing the main chance. But if Gerald kept on with this hectoring style of his, Annabella knew what would happen. The silly girl would do something reckless just to show him that she could. She was always warning her husband about that but, although he might have been good with men, he was utterly useless at working out the way a woman's mind worked.

Penny slunk off the bed, sighing and affecting the usual ennui of the teenage girl. But as soon as she picked up the phone, her manner changed immediately. She curled up on the armchair and began to chatter in an animated fashion, giggling and as charming as she could be. Annabella rolled her eyes as she passed her and went into the kitchen to instruct Mrs. Baines about lunch. The sooner that girl went off to University the better. Annabella remembered herself at that age. It had been a different era, of course, but at eighteen, Annabella Fraser had been a debutante in London, working for one of the Ministers as a secretary and enjoying the free and easy atmosphere of the Swinging Sixties. She knew what was wrong with her daughter at the moment; she needed to get rid of some of that sexual curiosity and then settle down with a suitable husband. Someone like her own father - from the right set but still a man who knew how to be a man. Gerald had been the real alpha of their crowd: Cambridge, Sandhurst and then an army commission - an impressive track record as a military man as well as a private income from his father. And he was as good as she'd ever had between the sheets. All in all, a very good catch. She bloody hoped Penny was shrewd enough to wait until the right one turned up.

Penny saw her mother sail past, put the phone down and shut the door before racing back to the receiver. Now she could talk freely. "I've got to go to some bloody stupid birthday party on Saturday with Mum and Dad. Can't we arrange Friday night instead? If I play the good girl and promise to dance with all those stupid chinless wonders that they line up for me, they'll be fine about me going out the night before. Mummy will say I am being mature for one - a compromise. Little does she know...Call the others and arrange it - it will be such a lark!  Mirs, I am so bloody randy - you too? Haven't had a sniff in months. I intend to home in on some poor victim and shag him blind. Can't wait. All I want is one who's very pretty, young, dumb and full of cum. The denser the better - as long as his dick is in reverse proportion to his brains, he'll do me. Just how I like them...."

Friday May 30th. Dawn.

It was five a.m. before he gave up on sleep. Terry couldn't remember the last time he'd spent a wakeful night but he'd hardly had more than a fitful few hours since he had gone to bed last night. Lying there in the barracks, in the room he shared with five other men, he lay listening to the snoring until he couldn't stand a single minute more. Throwing back the covers, he found a pair of running shorts and a vest, sat to put on socks and trainers and then burst out of the building. He just had to get away from this place.

It was a cool, clear morning, the mist rising over the fields as he jogged out of the perimeter gate, acknowledging the guard with a smile and a "G'day, mate," before heading down the lane away from the main highway and out towards the country park that lay nearby. Looking up at the sky, he could see it would be a fine day, one of those beautiful late spring days in England when you suddenly realized, almost as if by surprise, what a lovely place it actually was.

The surrounding countryside, bathed in the early morning light, was silent and peaceful after the restless night he had passed There was no one about, just the occasional hare pricking up its ears and bounding away as he disturbed their tranquil space. As he ran he felt the blood pounding and enjoyed the sense of latent energy and strength in his body as it stretched and eased into the pace. There was something endlessly satisfying in driving himself forward, pushing until he was exhausted and his brain could at last ease back to let go of the gnawing doubts that were bothering him.

Today was the day. After ten months of the most intense and gruelling training and assessment of his life, the decisions had been taken and they would receive their postings. It was unlikely that any of the remaining candidates wouldn't be up for selection; no one at this stage expected RTU status - but it was still possible in the final cut. That was one option that Terry refused even to contemplate. Surely he had done enough by now? After the Sweden exercise they had been on several other manoeuvres, all as difficult as the snow conditions, but perhaps more to his taste.

Six weeks in the jungles of Brunei, which had done for a few of their number. All of them had lost several stones in weight on account of the high humidity coupled with the onerous physical demands of crossing jungle terrain and waging a mock warfare. They had been through a series of specially designed obstacles carrying equipment and weaponry and often suffering from various insect born infections - none of them had escaped some bacterial infection or the debilitating rigours of intestinal problems. But he had done it all before with his previous outfit - in Queensland, Papua New Guinea and Malaysia. Jungle was almost home terrain to him. He preferred it any day to cold.

Following that, they had spent a month in the Namib desert at an international training centre specializing in desert warfare. That had been hard work but possibly some of the most vital experience he had gained. Most of the men believed that they would be deployed either in Ulster or the Middle East; these seemed to be the two most persistent thorns in the side of the British government at the time.

Things had gone as he had wished right through, no major mistakes that he could see. He had performed well in the academic areas, too, never a problem for him if he put his mind to it and hit the books; he had withstood the interrogation and isolation units better than most...so what the fuck was he worried about?

Two things.

One. His ethnicity. The British army might have soldiers from Nepal and India - but the son of an Irish man whom they must know by now was once a member of Sinn Fein? It would either work for or against him. You could make a case for either. Imagine undercover with the Provos? Fuck. That one would go down well with the old man. But if he failed because of his father's fucked up philosophy of life, Terry thought it would kill him. Bet you'd love to shaft me at the final hurdle now, wouldn't ya, you old bastard?

Two. He didn't want simply to be assigned. He wanted a rank. There would be at least one given; he knew that. He wanted to regain his Lieutenant status - even second class would do him for now. It would be hard for him to take if one of others ended up as an officer. Terry raised his speed and headed across a field to plunge into a small copse of trees edging the river. It was stupid and arrogant of him to be so obsessed with command- but there was something in him that simply couldn't accept being anything but the best. It was what he was. Always had been really. He had to have confirmation that he was The Man.

Mostly because he doubted inside whether he actually was.

He ran hard for an hour before he turned back and then jogged more steadily back to Credenhill. After a shower and a shave the canteen was open; he sat alone leaning against the far wall and played with a plate of bacon and eggs before lighting up and smoking while he drank mug after mug of tea. People left him alone; he was giving out that sort of signal.

"Another tea, love?" Betty asked as she wandered about clearing tables. "You look like you lost a pound and found a sixpence today..."

He lifted his head and smiled at her. "Happy as a bastard on Father's Day..."he retorted.

She chuckled, her heavy jowels waggling in amusement. "That's more like it, soldier. Who is she? Got to be a girl. Can't think of anything else that would upset a fine looking lad like you. Kicked you out or won't let you go?"

"I wish," he answered. "Not a girl. Don't have one. No time for all that..."

"...Famous last words, sunshine. The minute you say that, the next thing you know you meet a little lassie and she bowls you over. And then it all starts again..." She wiped the table down and refilled his mug.

"Not this bloke. I never stay still long enough for them to catch me..." he teased.

"Some girls can run faster than you think. Or maybe this one will stop you in your tracks. Ever wondered what might happen if you stopped moving for awhile?"

She gave him a knowing wink, patted his back and waddled away. Terry shrugged and took a drink of the tea. If only she knew how far from the truth she was. Today was about the rest of his career, not improving his love life. With a smirk he realized that he was so far into himself at the moment that he didn't think he could get a hard on if Samantha Fox herself walked in, stripped off and stuck her mouth round his todger.

How the mighty have fallen, eh?

The lists were going up at midday. Eventually the clock crawled round to that time but still he stayed in the TV room where he had gone after breakfast, watching some mindless daytime TV show. He even caught an old episode of Home and Away. The title seemed prophetic.  A lump formed in his throat at the familiar scenes of home and the well-known accents. Suddenly he recognised a girl in the cast - then realized he had fucked her the last time he was home. That made him laugh out loud in mild hysteria for some reason when he recalled it.

At a quarter to one, he strolled over to the boards in the Admin block. It was quiet, most having been there on the dot. Standing before the typed sheets he scanned for his name.

It wasn't there. 

He found the others distributed throughout the three battalions, assigned to particular troops based on their adjudged strengths.

But he wasn't there.

His eyes swam, raking through the lists again and again in case he has missed something. A hand on his back and he turned.

"I'm so fucking sorry, Terry. I don't know what the fuck they're playing at. You're the best amongst us. Everyone knows that..." Jon Hynes began.

He shrugged the hand away, aware that it was kindly meant. But he just couldn't take it. Not now. Not ever.

Striding away, he ignored the voice calling his name. All he wanted to do was get out. Get out and go drink himself into oblivion. He couldn't even begin to imagine how he faced the rest of his life. He couldn't go back to Oz and have to return to his unit and pretend that he didn't care that he wasn't good enough. This was the end of everything. His army career. His hopes and dreams.

And as his father had once told him. What the fuck else was he good for?

"Corporal Thorne?" Someone jerked on his arm; he turned. It was a secretary. He had seen her around.

"What is it?"

"They are waiting for you in the Brigadier's office."

"What?"

"Didn't you get the message?"

He shook his head and let her guide him up the stairs and along to the inner sanctum where the high command had their section. The corridors there were carpeted with paintings on the wall, martial in style, but still a improvement on the functional stark usual décor of the base.

Outside the office of the commanding officer, Brigadier-General Gerald Wallis, she paused. "You ready for this?"

He instinctively brushed down his uniform and tucked his cap into his epaulette. The woman smiled and straightened his collar. "How do I look?" he asked with the shadow of a smile ghosting his strong face.

"Gorgeous. Go get 'em, Lance-Corporal..." the lady gave him a wink. Maybe he could make a living as a gigolo...

Inside, he found the general sitting at his desk sifting through some papers. He saluted and announced himself but was ignored for a few minutes. When he was ready, Wallis put down his pen and joined his hands, surveying Thorne for some time.

"I suppose you've seen the lists?"

"Yes, sir."

"These reports in front of me tell me that you are rated by every officer who has dealt with you these past months as one of the finest soldiers they have ever encountered. It is the almost overwhelming choice of your mentors that you be assigned to Close Combat Battalion. We don't stick your name up on the wall for that sort of distinction."

Terry heard the words but his brain struggled to take them in. Close Combat Battalion? The most elite group of fighting men in the world? Never more than twenty members. Responsible for the most secret work of all. The highest accolade for any soldier. CBC?

"Of course, you'll need a rank. CBC boys are all Officers First Class. That restores you to Lieutenant." The general snapped out tersely. Terry stood impassively, only the rapid eye movement showing the level of shock the news had brought him. "Well, what have you got to say for yourself, Thorne? Cat got your tongue?"

Terry took a breath. "Thank you, sir. I'm honoured..."

"Don't thank me. I was the only dissenting voice. This was not my wish. Personally I don't much like the look of you for a number of reasons. It would be the biggest Provo coup in the entire history of those murdering bastards to get a man in here, wouldn't it? I've read your file. And your father's. He had to leave Ulster in very suspicious circumstances, y'know? Laid low for a while in Lancashire and then hopped a cheap passage to Australia. Makes you wonder though. But no one believes the Micks have got the brains or patience for such a long term objective. Some even think you might be of use because of your background. Good cover. Who'd ever imagine a sheepshearer to make the cut for the Regiment?"

The news about his father took him by surprise; he knew that on the desk before him must be a file with more detail than the snippet that was being fed to him. He wished he could get his hands on the whole story. As for Wallis' prejudices - well, he'd heard worse before. That was the British for you. Men of the general's class didn't even have respect for their own lower orders never mind their attitude to colonials, even ANZACS. But he wasn't letting the old bastard spoil his fun.

"Nevertheless, I appreciate the selection. I intend to make sure I live up to the faith that others have in my abilities..."

"You'd better. That is the least we expect. Let me tell you this. I think you could be suspect and bear watching but, even if you turn out to be bona fide, I still don't like you. You're cocky, arrogant and lowbrow. I'm not convinced by the veneer you've assumed. I know working class boy when I see him. And I prefer officers from the right class. You know where you are with them. However I have deferred to the opinions of the men who have worked with you. But watch it, laddie. Because I'll be watching you..."

"Yes, sir. You do that." Terry looked the man straight in the eyes to let him see quite blatantly what he really thought of his opinions. From the corner of his vision he noticed a photograph of a young woman on the general's desk. A young blonde. Beautiful. Sexy. His daughter?

Wallis gave him a supercilious stare before standing up and holding out his hand curtly. "Congratulations, Lieutenant. My secretary has your orders. Dismissed."

But even the cold sarcasm of his former commanding officer could not curb his high spirits or dampen his mood. Nothing would ever feel quite like this moment. He had done it. With flying colours. Taken on the best and beaten them all.

With a broad smile on his face, he marched out of the room and was greeted by the same secretary. She stood up, shook his hand and gave him a sealed folder. "I knew. I wanted to give you a clue but it's more than my job's worth. They do it every time. They never let up on you. But you did it. Well done. They can't take it away now. Go and ring your Mum and Dad and make them proud!"

Terry's smile wavered at the unintentional reminder of his family. Who in the world cared about what he had done? Not a single soul. It still wasn't enough.

"You're not wearing that, are you? You have got to have the world's worst taste, Thornie!" Jon Hynes sniggered as he walked in the room. Terry was rubbing some gel into his hair.

"Yeah...what's wrong with it?" he said looking at his reflection in the mirror and adjusting the hang of the black and white shirt he was wearing.

"It's bloody awful, that's what's wrong with it. Looks like a TV that needs tuning. Christ, Terry..."

Terry grinned. "Won't stop me pulling. Bet ya."

"Might slow you down. Even up the odds. Let's get a move on then. I feel lucky tonight..."

Jules had given him the push having caught him once too often out with other women in the town. Jon was rampant now, enjoying his new found freedom. The two young men strode out of the barracks over to the car park. They were driving to Cheltenham tonight to celebrate their success. It was a beautiful evening for a drive and there was a new disco opening in the elegant spa town.

With the top down and the cool breeze of a fine evening, Jon shot out of the gate in his red Alfa Romeo Spider, a gift from his Daddy. Terry opened a can of beer and swigged it down as he lay back, his arm on the back of the seat and savoured the night. Everything before him, top of his field, two months' leave, money in his pocket, no responsibilities. "No dogs tonight, eh, Jonny boy? Let's pick us some upper class totty. You with your proper vowels and me with everything else... They'll be panting at the sight of us..."

Later that evening they queued up with the crowds waiting to get in to the nightclub after a few hours spent cruising bars. Terry noticed the looks of girls as they eyed him up as potential meat; he did the same, turning his nose up at most of what was on offer. He could do better than that.

"Those two. Up at the front. What do you think?" Miriam tilted her head. 

"Which ones?" Penny Wallis asked, peering over the man in front of her. 

"That  tall bloke with the curly black hair. Next to the big beefy one with that awful shirt..."

Penny took a look at the two men who were talking quietly together. Good get, Mirs. Prime beef. Just at that moment the other guy turned round casually and ran his hand back through his hair. Penny took a sharp intake of breath. He was just beautiful. Tough, rugged, unashamedly masculine. Serious, imposing, glowering slightly until his face cracked in a grin and she saw another side of him, playful and boyish. Penny Wallis thought she had never seen anything quite as fine as this guy in her entire life.

From then on she was like a cat on a hot tin roof, so afraid that he'd get in, picked someone up and her chance would be gone. As the girls paid and burst through into the corridor, she saw him, hands in his pockets, leaning against a backdrop of some starry fabric. He was looking at his feet, waiting for someone. There would be no better time. Seize the day, Pen. This one's nearly in the bag.

Dragging the Instamatic out of her pocket, she danced forward. "Excuse me?"

Terry looked up. He knew this girl. It only took him moments to work it out, his observational skills for recognition honed to a high degree. Wallis' daughter. The girl on the photograph. He smiled. Fuck you, Wallis. Me? I'll fuck your precious daughter...

"Yeah?" He asked innocently.

"I wonder if you could help me out? I'm researching an article about bad taste. Your shirt is an outstanding example. Mind if I get a snap for my files?"

Penny simpered. Terry stared. 

"Well...?"

He hadn't answered. For some reason, this girl had stopped him in his tracks. He couldn't think of anything to say to her. His tongue seemed tied. His wits had left him. So he just smiled back and struck a pose, a little bashfully. Penny pointed the camera. "Cheese! Or should I say "Cheesy?" She viewed him, leaning back, legs crossed at the ankle, big feet in highly polished shoes, hands in his pockets, cute little boy smile at odds with his muscular stocky physique...she pressed the button.

"Thanks. It will grace my collection. Let me buy you a drink to show you my appreciation..."

Terry found his voice. "That's gotta be the best chat up line I've heard this year, love..."

"Must be your lucky day then." She grinned and held out her hand. "Penelope Wallis. Pleased to meet you."

He shook it. "Terry Thorne. Shall we...?"