Admiral, there’s
simply no way of telling which it’ll be. See, I was a soldier. At least I was
from the moment I’d stood to attention and saluted Teen Amin, though between
you and me I’ve never served so much as a day in any army the UN would
recognise. I’d tried of course, when I was younger. I’d had a go at joining up.
I’d caught a bus to Aldershot, stood around in my pants with a load of other
spotty Herbert’s waiting to be sexually assaulted by whichever Sergeant fancied
wearing a white coat that day and passed with flying colours, only to get sent
packing when they found out about my conviction for aggravated burglary.
Seriously. It seemed a bit like double-standards to me, but I was denied the
chance to burst in and out of Paddy’s house and push him around simply because
I’d taken the initiative and got in a bit of practice before I’d reached the
age. The Foreign Legion weren’t much friendlier. I had always thought they’d
take anyone but they wouldn’t touch me either. I don’t think it helped my cause
when I’d turned up at their recruitment centre in a stolen Renault, but then
how else was I meant to get down to Aubagne with empty pockets?
I wondered if the Admiral was as
pernickety about his troops as the Legion. From the looks of the evil looking
thug with one eye, seven fingers and the PK bi-pod machine-gun slung across his
shoulders it was a possibility.
Of course the best possible outcome from
today’s meeting would be an invitation to throw my lot in with theirs and join
their crusade. I wasn’t sure who or what they were crusading against. Anyone
who didn’t have a gun usually qualified in traditional African warfare, but
these chaps looked a cut above the box-standard bush militia. They were older,
better dressed, better equipped and better disciplined, in that they hadn’t
tried to shoot me into little pieces or burn me alive the moment they’d seen
me, so presumably they had a few proper objectives and everything. Then, when I
was fed, watered and knew where I was in the world, I could nick one of their
jeeps and an A-Z and make for the nearest airport. It wasn’t a perfect plan by
any means but it seemed to tick all the right boxes.
There was however one problem. Playing
the lowly soldier card as I had was a risky strategy because on the one hand I
was saying, “look, you’ve no reason to kill me, I’m not a threat to you” but
this often translated as “look, you’ve no reason NOT to kill me, I’m not a
threat to you”.
My only hope was the Admiral’s ego.
Because if there was one thing African bush Admirals liked better than
mindlessly killing lost westerners it was being saluted by white soldiers
– particularly white soldiers from proper armies. Nothing authenticated
their rank quite like it.
7.
ON HIS MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY’S MOST SPECIAL SECRET SERVICE
After a couple of hours touring the nation’s potholes we pulled up outside a
large, freshly painted former colonial farm. The order was given to dismount so
we all piled out of the back of the truck and stood around in an informal line
jangling our change. I for one couldn’t have been happier that we’d finally
arrived at our destination. The big ebony translator had made a point of
sitting directly opposite me for the whole journey and despite the road doing
its best to get us all ready for space, his eyes hadn’t left mine for a second.
The Admiral breezed by to send the boys
to dinner then ordered me to follow him up to the house. His translator came
too, despite the fact that we didn’t need a translator, walking in my shadow
and burning his eyes into the back of my neck as we passed through a set of
double doors and into a dizzyingly cool hallway. The Admiral glanced my way to
see if I was impressed with the air conditioning and I duly shivered my
appreciation.
An adjutant in crisp white duds rushed up
with a pitcher on a tray and poured the Admiral a glass of iced water.
simply no way of telling which it’ll be. See, I was a soldier. At least I was
from the moment I’d stood to attention and saluted Teen Amin, though between
you and me I’ve never served so much as a day in any army the UN would
recognise. I’d tried of course, when I was younger. I’d had a go at joining up.
I’d caught a bus to Aldershot, stood around in my pants with a load of other
spotty Herbert’s waiting to be sexually assaulted by whichever Sergeant fancied
wearing a white coat that day and passed with flying colours, only to get sent
packing when they found out about my conviction for aggravated burglary.
Seriously. It seemed a bit like double-standards to me, but I was denied the
chance to burst in and out of Paddy’s house and push him around simply because
I’d taken the initiative and got in a bit of practice before I’d reached the
age. The Foreign Legion weren’t much friendlier. I had always thought they’d
take anyone but they wouldn’t touch me either. I don’t think it helped my cause
when I’d turned up at their recruitment centre in a stolen Renault, but then
how else was I meant to get down to Aubagne with empty pockets?
I wondered if the Admiral was as
pernickety about his troops as the Legion. From the looks of the evil looking
thug with one eye, seven fingers and the PK bi-pod machine-gun slung across his
shoulders it was a possibility.
Of course the best possible outcome from
today’s meeting would be an invitation to throw my lot in with theirs and join
their crusade. I wasn’t sure who or what they were crusading against. Anyone
who didn’t have a gun usually qualified in traditional African warfare, but
these chaps looked a cut above the box-standard bush militia. They were older,
better dressed, better equipped and better disciplined, in that they hadn’t
tried to shoot me into little pieces or burn me alive the moment they’d seen
me, so presumably they had a few proper objectives and everything. Then, when I
was fed, watered and knew where I was in the world, I could nick one of their
jeeps and an A-Z and make for the nearest airport. It wasn’t a perfect plan by
any means but it seemed to tick all the right boxes.
There was however one problem. Playing
the lowly soldier card as I had was a risky strategy because on the one hand I
was saying, “look, you’ve no reason to kill me, I’m not a threat to you” but
this often translated as “look, you’ve no reason NOT to kill me, I’m not a
threat to you”.
My only hope was the Admiral’s ego.
Because if there was one thing African bush Admirals liked better than
mindlessly killing lost westerners it was being saluted by white soldiers
– particularly white soldiers from proper armies. Nothing authenticated
their rank quite like it.
7.
ON HIS MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY’S MOST SPECIAL SECRET SERVICE
After a couple of hours touring the nation’s potholes we pulled up outside a
large, freshly painted former colonial farm. The order was given to dismount so
we all piled out of the back of the truck and stood around in an informal line
jangling our change. I for one couldn’t have been happier that we’d finally
arrived at our destination. The big ebony translator had made a point of
sitting directly opposite me for the whole journey and despite the road doing
its best to get us all ready for space, his eyes hadn’t left mine for a second.
The Admiral breezed by to send the boys
to dinner then ordered me to follow him up to the house. His translator came
too, despite the fact that we didn’t need a translator, walking in my shadow
and burning his eyes into the back of my neck as we passed through a set of
double doors and into a dizzyingly cool hallway. The Admiral glanced my way to
see if I was impressed with the air conditioning and I duly shivered my
appreciation.
An adjutant in crisp white duds rushed up
with a pitcher on a tray and poured the Admiral a glass of iced water.
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