Chapter 3

Yelka:

The weekend flew by. I had to describe what I’d been doing to everyone. I did some sailing with Lena and the other girls. Listened to Sofia playing. Played with Junior and Diane. Visited Mason’s Farm to see Irene, Jacob and Anna, and, of course Bill and Betty. Slept with Lena. Slept better than I had been. Ate Mama Sally’s cooking and helped her in the kitchen. But I couldn’t help feeling, what? Since then, I’ve come to the conclusion it was sadness. But after supper on Sunday, I appropriated Papa Jerry’s lap. I glanced apologetically at Lena, but she smiled and shook her head slightly. Sofia was playing the piano quietly, Lena and the other girls doing a jigsaw puzzle.

“I feel strange, Papa.” I wriggled a little closer, and he kissed the top of my head.

“Of course you do, Sweetheart. You’re growing up, already adult, and you’ve chosen your course for your life. Sally and I are incredibly proud of you. You will always have a place here, but,” he paused, then went on, “everyone has to leave home at some point. Remember you’re our daughter, and we love you. We want you to be a whole person, and what you’re doing is a part of that. Like learning to walk when you’re little. Going to school. Finding a career.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, daughter.”

As I snuggled, Mama Sally came in and knelt, leaning next to his leg, as I’d seen her so often. He caressed her head.

“Yelka,” Papa Jerry continued, “you are a beautiful, intelligent and talented young woman. Men will pursue you.”

I shook my head. “I could have spent the weekend with one of the other recruits, but I wanted to be here.”

“And that’s fine, Sweetheart. There’s two things I want to say. First, you are special. Despite what happened to you, you are a worthwhile person. Second, be ready to give the right man a chance, but don’t throw yourself away on someone. Make sure he’s worth it.”

“Oh, Papa. If I find someone, be sure I’ll bring him here for approval.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. You do that.”

Over too soon, yet I was not reluctant to get back on Oscar and set off south-east. Everyone was outside the front door to wave me off. I had to pause to mop my eyes before shutting my helmet.

The journey occupied my mind well enough, and I rode up to the Lodge mid-afternoon after about six hours, tucked Oscar away in the shelter, and went in, signed in, and went to my space to strip and put the gear away. My companions were later; they’d found entertainment in nearby Sheffield and didn’t return until it was time for dinner.

“How was your weekend?” Carla led off the discussion (it could have been called an interrogation).

“Refreshing,” I said, “but confusing. It didn’t feel like home any more.”

“That’s life,” Sheila inserted. “my family didn’t really approve of me joining the Army. Too many whities.” She grinned to reduce the impact of her word. “My family aren’t really that bad, but they’re afraid I’ll fall in with some westerner. I think that would only be a good thing.” She hummed a few notes. “Do you know ‘Melting Pot’? No? A popular song from the late sixties. Caused an uproar at the time. Look for it on YouTube.”

“I’ll check it out after dinner,” I told her. But then it was time to eat.

I was called into the Major’s office in the morning, so I missed range time.

“Miss Smallbridge,” he smiled, “The other girls are all parachute qualified. I have a place waiting for you at Catterick so you learn to jump out of aeroplanes. I’m sure you’ll love every moment.”

“When, Major?”

“Ride that motorbike of yours up there today. Report in by five pm. You’ll be there about two weeks*, I expect. I’m sorry to deprive Doctor Whitman of his useful aide, but needs must. Free-fall training is still up in the air,” he smiled. “We may have to use a civilian school.”

“Very good, sir. By your leave?”

“Yes, recruit. Pick up your paperwork at the desk. And ... good luck, Yelka. Dismissed.”

*The usual course duration is, apparently four weeks. However, I’ve heard that Reservists only do two. Puzzling.

Anyway, I packed combat gear – sterile except for my name badge – a couple of changes of undies and personal comfort items, dressed up, and left on Oscar. I took Mortimer Road, the most direct route to the M1 motorway. Though direct, it is a very twisty road with steep sections, quite demanding on a motorcycle, but interesting. It drops down through Bolsterstone and Deepcar to pick up the motorway at Junction 36. Riding Oscar on the motorway is also interesting, in the Chinese curse sense. He can manage seventy miles an hour, but the vibration is pretty bad. On the other hand, driving in the nearside lane with the trucks is also hazardous. However, I managed to live through the experience.

The motorway curves around Leeds and eventually merges with the A1M Great North Road, just as intimidating as the M1, but in due course I turned off onto the Catterick Road, found the Garrison, and reported in. I was assigned a billet, given a photo-badge bearing only ‘Miss Smallbridge’, and given a site map with directions to the other ranks mess. So far, so good.

I emptied my pack and decided I wanted a snack. In a noisy, cafeteria-style place, I procured tea and a slab of fruit cake. I was only half-way through, when a voice got my attention.

“Hello! May I join you?”

I saw a stocky, cropped-blonde-haired woman in a similar outfit to mine, but with more badges. The name tag read ‘Rhodes’.

“Sure! Help yourself.”

The woman put down a mug of something and a plate bearing a toastie. “Hi, I’m Clare.” She held out a hand. I took it and squeezed slightly.

“Hello, Clare. I’m Yelena.”

She sat, not too close, but a comfortable distance for conversation, sipped her drink. “You look young?”

I nodded. “Eighteen,” I said.

She raised her eyebrows. “What unit?”

I sighed. “Sorry. I’m not allowed to talk about that.” Her eyebrows went up even further, so to divert the trend of her questions, I said, “Do you know where to run in the morning?”

“You’re a runner?” I nodded, and she went on, “distance?”

“I usually run at least five miles in the morning.”

“I’m new here myself, but I have a pretty good idea where to go. You up for a running mate?”

“Absolutely. Much better than on my own.”

Out of bed with the dawn, with Clare, running. It’s much better with a companion, and both of us are fit enough to chat whilst running; at least, once our bodies shift to metabolising Free Fatty Acids. Back to our billet for a shower, then breakfast.

Starting with ground school. How the parachute works, how to control it. Control it? Better concentrate, girl. How to pack it so it comes out the right way when needed.

Then landing. You’re descending quite fast. I hadn’t really thought about that. So falling to absorb the force, gradually increasing the height you’re jumping from. A sort of trapeze so we learned to cope with sideways as well as vertical motion.

Nothing on Sunday, but Clare was going to church. Church? Not something I was used to. If I thought about it at all, I had negative thoughts about a deity which allowed me to be abused the way I was. On the other hand, I couldn’t complain about where I ended up, not at all. So why not?

I didn’t go with Clare for the communion. I suppose I was baptised when I was a baby, but certainly I was never confirmed. Afterwards, we chatted with the Padre; he made a point of greeting us.

“Oh, I just came along with Clare,” I said. “We’re just here for a couple of weeks to learn how to jump out of aeroplanes.”

He nodded, “Well, you’re both very welcome. I will pray for you.”

That was comforting, in a way, I guess.

We continued to run together each morning and in the evenings joined the rest of the class in the mess for a drink. I was aware that one of the guys seemed to be ... encroaching on my personal space, to be polite. ‘No’ didn’t seem to be in his vocabulary. Clare seemed to cope well enough with the others.

That first jump ... I never realised I was afraid of heights. And I was first in the queue for some reason. But I was not going to chicken out. So I closed my eyes and jumped. Falling forever, it seemed, but that blessed jerk as the chute opened, and I found the lines. I forced myself to relax and aim for the middle of the drop zone. However, the men in the stick were heavier than me. Even Clare was dropping faster, so I was the last down. Perhaps that’s why I was first out? The others were scattered all over the DZ and I landed just outside the designated area. Disappointing. But no injuries.

That evening we all celebrated. For me, that meant a whole pint of beer and a burger. I had to remove that one guy’s hand from my shoulder, arm and thigh several times. “Keep that up, and I’ll break it off. I’m not interested.” Clare and I left about ten in the evening. We’d be up at five, running, though Clare had had several glasses of wine. We headed for our billet, but I was grabbed from behind. Clare, I found out later, was held by a couple of the guy’s mates. Probably they thought she was the greater threat. But I exploded into action. Asshole found himself flying over my shoulder; I kept hold of the arm around my neck. There was an audible crack as the humerus broke. He hit the ground hard and didn’t move, so I refrained from kicking his head and instead knelt to check for a pulse. It was there and strong, so I stood and looked at the other tableau.

“I suggest you drag your pal to sick bay. Oh, and tell him to pick on someone his own size in future, and learn the meaning of the word ‘no’. Coming, Clare?”

She was released, and we left them to it. We got back to the billet before it hit me. I was shaking and crying and Clare was cuddling me and whispering calming noises in my ear.

“I warned him. I warned him,” I repeated. “Why didn’t he listen?”

“Let’s hope he learned his lesson.” Then she giggled. “I guess I know something about why you’re not a reservist.” Giggle. “You look like a quiet, pretty, teenage girl. You don’t look like an unarmed combat expert! I bet you’re a crack shot, too, aren’t you?”

“I’m ... quite good,” I said.

“Yelena...”

“Call me Yelka,” I said. “That’s the usual abbreviation where I come from.”

“Oh!” Long pause. “You’re Russian?”

“I am a British citizen.”

“My God! Yelka ... were you trafficked?”

“Clare, please don’t go there. I am here. I am a British citizen, here legitimately. It happens that I have had some specialised training. What we’re doing here is extending that training.”

“And that idiot...”

“Pushed his luck until it ran out. I hope this doesn’t rebound on me or my unit.”

Surprisingly, I got to sleep quite quickly. Admittedly, waking up was harder than usual, but Clare and I managed to fit our five miles in before breakfast.

“Good morning,” the Jump Instructor greeted us. “We’re down one this morning. Someone cannot hold their drink. But the rest of you will jump.” He looked us over. “Miss Smallbridge. It seems that you’re lighter than everyone else. I want you to add some weight so you’re not the last down. Okay?”

“Yes, Sergeant!” Adding weight was not difficult, though inevitably a little uncomfortable. I tried to equal Clare’s weight, or a little more.

To cut the story short, we made our three daylight and one night drop to earn our badges. As they were pinned on, though, the Sergeant Instructor told me, “Smallbridge, you and Rhodes report to the Captain when you fall out.”

“Yes, Sergeant!”

“Dismissed!”

Clare and I made our way to the Captain’s office, knocked and entered. Came to attention. Clare announced for both of us, “Private Rhodes and Miss Smallbridge reporting as ordered, sir.”

“At ease.” He looked down at some paperwork on his desk. He sighed. “After the first jump, it seems that one of the students in your group was unable to hold his drink and ... tripped over his own feet. However, the MO,” (Medical Officer) “Was not convinced by the story. I wonder if either of you would care to cast any light on the subject?” Pause. “Off the record?”

Clare and I looked at each other. Clare shrugged and raised an eyebrow. I spoke. “I’m not sure I should challenge his story,” I said. “However, I would mention that he didn’t seem to understand the word ‘no’. Perhaps he’s wiser now?”

There was a significant silence between us. “Well, unless I have a formal complaint...”

“By your leave, sir?”

“Oh ... Dismissed.”

We packed up and exchanged email addresses, Then I togged up, checked Oscar over, and set off for the Lodge. On arrival a couple of hours later, I was told to report to the Major pronto.

“Recruit Smallbridge reporting as ordered, sir!”

“Relax, recruit. Stand easy.”

I did as I was told and, when he waved at a chair, sat.

“I understand there may have been an incident at Catterick?”

“Yes, Major. I defended myself from another student who wouldn’t take no for an answer. In the process I broke his arm and, I understand, gave him a concussion. I didn’t make a formal complaint, though.”

“And you didn’t admit to anything, either?”

“No, sir.”

“The Captain there is a friend of mine. We were commissioned together and he knows something of what we do here. That’s how we get places on the jump course. You did well, incidentally. My friend was at pains to emphasise that you were no trouble personally, and understood why you might have been unwilling to lay a formal complaint. However, he did say he was concerned about the harassment of female students and asked me to tell future female students from here to please report such issues. Bear in mind that some of their students lack your ability to defend themselves effectively.”