Chapter 11

Matches Bryant:

I drove the minibus, Vee beside me. The vehicle had no problem with seventy miles an hour, and I didn’t take the back roads. South to Penny Bridge, then the A590 to pick up the M6. M61, M60, M62 past Manchester, then the M1 south, turning off at junction 36 to drive across the moors to The Lodge. It’s impossible to avoid the minor roads completely. The route I took probably added forty miles or so to the trip, but likely I was driving at a much higher average speed than Yelka on that motorbike. It took a total of four hours, including a comfort break, and we rolled up to The Lodge just after thirteen hundred and carried our gear inside. I didn’t get further than the reception desk, though, before being told to report to the Major’s office. I left my gear, and Vee, at the desk.

“Sergeant Bryant reporting as ordered, Major.”

“Stand easy, Sergeant. I’ve had a call from Miss Smallbridge, and we have another mission. However, Sergeant Norris requested, and I approved, his assignment. I would be grateful if you would expedite reporting to the range to take over in his absence.”

“Yes, sir. I need some lunch, as does Miss Bellamy, but I can be available in three quarters of an hour or so, I expect.”

“Good enough. Dismissed, Sergeant.”

Sergeant Norris is a very skilled armourer, and the range is impeccably kept. I looked over the log and the schedule – after a hurried lunch, leaving Vee in the kitchen to finish hers – and honestly I had nothing to do other than supervise the shooters. I wondered what Yelka had got into. Some people seem to be trouble magnets. I suppose that also applies to Sally and Jerry, given Yelka’s story.

Later in the afternoon, I had a batch of new recruits, one of whom, like Vee, had no military background. However, she responded to a normal training regime. I knocked off work at six, showered and changed, and was in the dining room for dinner by seven.

It was apparent that Yelka was not going to be back at The Lodge that evening, and I enjoyed a pint of beer before retiring to bed. Alone.

Yelka Smallbridge:

Well, I certainly didn’t expect trouble on a ride from Coniston to Sheffield through the Dales. Could I have ignored that man? My neck was tingling. I just knew there was something wrong, and there was. Then I called The Lodge, and the Major immediately ordered the reaction team up. He had a helicopter get Chalky White and Sheila to me. I suppose it was an opportunity for them to practice fast-roping, but still. Then Chalky injected Scumbag with something that made him babble and he got all the information he could out of him. That truck turned up with the armed reaction team – and a combat outfit and weapons for me. We left Martha with a number to call in the event of any further trouble, and I handed her my card with a smile telling her to keep in touch. She was effusive in her thanks.

I rode Oscar, following the truck, and another operative drove Scumbag’s SUV. We parked half a mile from our objective. We assembled by the truck.

“Listen up, people!” Sergeant Norris’ voice was penetrating. Conversation died. “Benny, you’re the nearest in build to Scumbag. I want you to drive the SUV. Lieutenant,” he turned to look at me. “I want you to go with Benny. We’re going in without much intel, but I’m trusting your skills.”

Now, I’m nominally an officer, and Chalky a Warrant Officer, but neither of us challenged Norris’ leadership. Why would we? I’m green as grass, whatever my skills, and Chalky’s a medic.

Most of the team including their sergeant headed off towards our target. We gave them ten minutes, and set off. The target was a ... mansion is as good a word as any ... surrounded by an eight-foot wall. Substantial iron gates stood open as we approached. Benny just drove straight through and parked in front of the massive building. I thought it was probably Georgian, judging by the architecture and the windows.

“In position.” Sergeant Norris’ voice.

“Ready,” Benny and I responded.

“Initiate.”

The front door was enormous, with a fan-light over it. It opened as Benny approached with me following close behind.

“You’re late...” the man in the door began but Benny tasered him and we pushed past. The entry hall stretched away in front of us, and inside the entrance I estimated it was thirty feet wide, narrowing past a grand staircase. Cable ties immobilised the doorman before he recovered, and a gag seemed a prudent precaution. I glanced at Benny. He pointed to the door on the right, then to himself, and I nodded, pointed to the door on the left and to myself.

The room was unoccupied, a large – very large – lounge furnished luxuriously and with an impressive fireplace as the centre-piece. On the far side another door led to a slightly smaller but equally luxurious room with windows on two sides and a door leading to the back of the house. I returned to the entrance hall, where Benny gave me the A-OK sign. We headed toward the back of the house where we met the rest of the team.

“Kitchen, scullery, stores, stairs to the servant’s quarters,” Sergeant Norris told us.

“Lounge and breakfast room,” I said.

“Dining room and drawing room,” Benny contributed.

The rest of the team, which included Ginger, gathered with us in the hall, or foyer, or whatever.

“Only one man downstairs?” I commented.

“Nah. There were two in the kitchen,” Sheila inserted. “They’re immobilised.”

“I heard what you did in Burnley,” the Sergeant told me. “Think it’ll work here? I won’t make it an order.”

“Sure,” I told him, “but I’m having my Glock ready. I’ll not take a chance of being shot.”

“What did you do?” Sheila asked.

Ginger laughed. “She took off her jacket, and went upstairs wearing just a thin white t-shirt. Her nipples were poking holes in the t-shirt, apparently. The first tango she met was distracted and she was able to disable him. She got the idea from a novel, although the original character didn’t wear a t-shirt.”

“I’m not fond of the idea of going topless,” I admitted.

Sheila looked thoughtful. “It really distracted him?”

“Him and his mate.”

“Hmmm.” Sheila grinned. “I have no problem with going topless. Actually, I’m rather proud of my tits. They may not be enormous, but they’re high and tight. Shall I go first?” She took off her jacket and quickly peeled off the grey t-shirt she was wearing under it, then the grey, functional bra which enclosed said breasts. They were, indeed, high and tight, and far from small; in fact, D-cups. She then removed her boots and started up the stairs. Ginger and I, smiling, had our boots off too, and followed. The men shook themselves and followed suit with the boots.

We padded up the wide staircase. Two doors in front of them proved to be toilets, and the team split to check the building each side, Sheila turning left, and me to the right, each followed by a male team member. Most of the rooms were unoccupied, some with office furniture, others with vending machines or kitchen facilities. At the front of the house, however, Sheila found a room with computer workstations, both of which were occupied by men in suits. The suppressed Glock in her hand and, probably, the naked breasts, shocked the men, who raised their hands to shoulder height and turned away from their desks.

Without taking her eyes off the men, Sheila spoke to Benny behind her. “Wanna call Ginger? This looks like her responsibility.”

“Sure thing, Sheel.”

“Either of you two armed?” Sheila asked. “If so, fetch whatever out very slowly.”

“No, miss. Miss, who are you? Cop?”

“Not a cop, no.”

“What’ve we got here, Sheila?”

“Your job, Ginge.”

“You going to immobilise these guys? I’ll see about vacuuming the drives.”

While my colleagues headed left, I turned right, ending up at a room at the front of the house. Large and opulent with an ostentatious desk, behind which was an expensively dressed, fleshy man.

It took a few seconds for him to register my presence. “What the fuck?” his hand moved towards a desk drawer and I produced my Glock from behind my back. “Who the fuck are you, bitch? And what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Don’t move that hand towards where ever you’ve stashed a weapon. I can’t miss at this distance. Who the fuck I am is none of your business and what the fuck I’m doing is putting an end to your criminal activities.”

Sergeant Jim Norris:

We’re an odd lot in the company. In the words of the old saying, we’re ‘neither fish nor fowl nor good red meat’. We’re a mixture of Regular Army, seconded, Reserves, likewise, and ‘amateurs’ like Yelka and Vee Bellamy. All bring something to the organisation which makes it more than the sum of the parts. I got little opportunity to get into the field, but with the arrival of Matches Bryant I had an excuse to escape for a while. As it happens, Bill Johnson sneaked out, too, despite his assistant, Yelka, already being involved. The other oddity is the matter of rank. Most of the operatives are NCOs like me. Ginger White is an officer partly because of her degree and partly because of her speciality, and it’s a Reserve Commission. Chalky is a Warrant Officer to avoid problems with the Army should they serve together there. Yelka is an officer, nominally at least, though she doesn’t have an official rank in the Army. It’s one of those oddities. Female nurses in the military are officers where male nurses and medics are not. Let’s not go there. Anyway, as an experienced operative, I was NCOIC – non-commissioned officer in charge – of the operation. Happily, Ginger, Yelka and Chalky accepted that.