Chapter 5

Ron ‘Matches’ Bryant:

In case you were wondering, in Britain one of the best-known manufacturers of safety matches is ‘Bryant and May’. As a raw recruit, I acquired the handle quite early. I got through basic and, over three enlistments, ended up as a Sergeant Armourer in the Paras. I might have stayed in, but as the date neared I was approached by an officer – he was obviously an officer, despite his civvie outfit – and asked if I would consider a transfer to a ‘black’ unit. While there is a certain cachet to serving in one of the UK’s premier regiments, I was intrigued. It was clear that the invitation was something of a compliment. In the end, I accepted and found myself reporting in to an impressive country house west of Sheffield. There were several other recruits with me, including four women. One of the latter stood out. All were obviously fit and attractive, but one in particular ... well, she looked as though she should still be in high school. Trim, short blonde hair, very fit, but young, or at least very young looking. It was tempting to think of her as a rookie, green as grass.

The first shock for me was the morning run. Five miles over some quite rough moorland. Okay, I confess that I’d let my cardio fitness go rather. I didn’t finish the run, and staggered back to the Lodge, embarrassed. The girl came in with the leaders barely breathing hard. Second shock was the obvious respect the unarmed combat instructor, Sergeant Johnson, had for the girl, who, it turned out, was the only one of us who could get close to him. Third shock was the way she shot – remember, I’m an armourer, shooting and the care and repair of firearms is my speciality – and watching her strip an AKMS, then reassemble it blindfold after Sergeant Norris mixed the parts up. It should not have been a surprise as she had an obvious slight accent, but she was fluent in Russian, too. Then, that evening, she came to me and said she’d been asked to work with me on my fitness. I might have been put out by that, but the shocks I’d had during the day left me with one option. ‘Yes, please.’

She got me fit enough to run with the others over the course of three weeks, using treadmills. It was clear to me that she was running on the treadmill much faster than I, while supervising me and holding a sensible, encouraging conversation. I soon realised I was smitten. However, other than asking her for a date, I restrained myself from an approach. I reasoned that her background was one I needed to be very careful of, and I was absolutely right once I got the actual story much later. I did manage to repay her training me to an extent when we went climbing on a weekend off. She took to bouldering with enthusiasm, and once she’d committed to that, I used my climbing qualification to teach her the finer points.

She was friendly with all of us, but always a little ... detached, I suppose. I continued the specialised training required by ‘the company’, while Yelka disappeared to take a static-line parachuting course, then, with the other girls, a free-fall course.

When I was asked to accompany her on an anti-harassment patrol of the mall, I jumped at the opportunity. As it turned out, we identified an individual involved in grooming young teens. Happily, we were able to leave dealing with him to the local police. Yelka had words with the girls we’d seen and maybe they’d take her advice.

We also dealt with someone who tried to harass Yelka, but didn’t realise she was capable of looking after herself. Again, dealing with him was left to the police, but Yelka and I were ‘exposed’ so we would not be undertaking any patrols in the immediate future.

We recruits were friendly and cooperative, supportive of each other, as witness our climbing together. Each of us contributed in various ways to the development of the group; other than climbing instruction, I worked with several in my speciality, small arms. Alongside Sergeant Norris we helped some of the recruits to improve their shooting and, in some cases, how to maintain and improve their weapons. In fact, I was able to help several of the company personnel, not just recruits, to improve their marksmanship.

I did venture to ask Yelka to keep me company in a trip to London, but she gracefully declined, saying she needed to see her family, and I left it at that.

It was some months after we’d joined, and completion of the induction course was looming, when Yelka disappeared again. However, I was called to the office and told I was wanted to join her and another ‘black’ group investigating a trafficking ring based, it was thought, in Burnley. Nothing loth, though not expecting a breakthrough on the romantic front, I packed and endured a tedious rail journey with several changes, to the small town. There, I was met by Yelka and a couple of other operatives and taken to a hotel in Padiham, a nearby town. There, I met Major Alex Smith and his wife Zoe, and Goat (Rebecca) and Snoopy (Steve) Bassett. I, was introduced round, including Sergeant Bernie Winters and Corporal Dusty Miller, the other new arrivals. They, however, knew the Major and his wife already.

The briefing was concise and to the point. “We have one teenaged girl who turned up at A and E in Cambridge and is now in a safe place. Her account gave us some avenues to explore which led us here and here we have three addresses, all of which we find are involved in the trade in trafficked youngsters. We have reason to believe that the HQ is the house you bugged, Yelka, but we’re going to raid all three and take care of business. The kids will go to safe houses, we’ll take computer drives, mobile phones and so on. The gang will answer to a Higher Power. If there is one. If there isn’t at least they won’t be bothering anyone in future. HOWEVER,” Alex barked, “we really need anything we can find to trace anyone further up the tree. Hence the collection of electronic storage. Not forgetting anything in the way of encryption. Okay?”

There was a general muttering of affirmatives.

“Okay, then. We’ll be working in teams, one female to each team. Team leaders will be myself, Goat, and Bernie. Zoe and Dusty with me, Snoopy and Matches with Goat, Yelka with Bernie. I’ll be going in to the ‘HQ’, Goat to the furthest house, Bernie to the next road along to the HQ, which we think has the fewest guards. But don’t be afraid to call for reinforcement, people.” He grinned, then. “Supper, folks. And coffee – lots of coffee.”

Sergeant ‘Bernie’ Winters:

There’s no one I trust more than Alex Smith. Dammit, I was best man when he married Zoe, and he is the reason I have a young wife. We’ve watched each other’s backs in a dozen nasty situations, some of them since we left the Army to enter the Reserve. But I couldn’t help wondering why he’d decided to send me into a house backed up by a rookie teenager. To look at her, you’d think she should be gracing the pages of a glamour mag, not togged up in SWAT black, with a Glock at her waist. But like I say, I trust him, even when his orders seem not to make sense. We were dropped off in front of the house which was our target.

“Can you stop anyone leaving through the front door?” I asked Yelka.

She looked at me with a frown. “Sure.”

There was nothing to stop me getting to the back door, which I tried and found to be unlocked – I reckon it’s always worth trying before using force to enter. In the kitchen I made my way forward, hearing voices and other sounds from upstairs. The front door was locked, but that was no obstacle from inside, and I let my partner in that way.

“They’re upstairs,” I told her, stepping back to let her enter. She stripped off the dark balaclava.

“Let me go first?” she said, half asking, half telling, with a shake of her blonde head. The black jacket went next, revealing a white t-shirt stretched over a nice set of boobs.

“Okay...” I thought I knew what was in her head, and I know that I’d think twice about shooting at her if I were surprised. Anyway, she padded upstairs and I followed, suppressed Glock in my hand. One door had light under it, and voices inside. She went to it, turned the handle, and walked in. I saw a blur of movement, a man on the floor in front of her; her foot on his wrist, and her Glock pointing at another man who was standing over a naked girl, holding a whip, and about to use it on her.

Yelena Smallbridge:

When Sergeant Winters – Bernie – let me in to the house, I remembered something from a lurid novel I found on Papa Jerry’s bookshelf. The main character in it, Modesty Blaise, let’s just say I identified with her somewhat. I stripped off the balaclava which hid my hair, and the jacket which covered my top, to reveal a tight white t-shirt underneath. My breasts are not large, but pushed out the t-shirt and my excitement had my nipples showing quite clearly. I padded upstairs, followed by my companion, both of us noiseless in soft shoes. Light showed under one door, and sounds from inside that were somewhat familiar to me. I carefully turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Inside I was confronted with a man holding a piece of shit pistol; he’d responded very quickly to the intrusion, and pushed it towards my face. I responded automatically, knocking the arm aside and crushing his trachea with my other hand. He went down, and I tramped on his wrist to control the gun while drawing my own. In front of me, a second man was standing with a whip over a naked girl, whose body showed evidence of the use of the whip.

“Back away from the girl!” Bernie’s voice sounded next to me. “On the floor, on your face, hands on your head!” Then, more quietly, “Well done, Yelka. See to the girl?”

That I could do. I checked the man I’d dropped, who was clearly in the last stages of asphyxiation. Holstering the Glock, I went to my knees next to her. “English?”

“Не русский.” (No, Russian.) “Speak little ... Angliyskiy.”

“Без проблем.” (No problem) I continued in Russian. “My name is Yelena. I was rescued from men like these four years ago. What is your name?”

“I am called Katerina. My friends called me Katya.”

“Well, Katya, you can call me Yelka if you like. Are there any other girls here?”

“Kira and Polina are locked in next door. Mariya is ... working.”

“Oh, shit!” That slipped out. “Bernie, there’s a girl out ‘working’.”

“Okay. Deal with that in a bit. Any others?”

“Two, locked in next door. How about I go and see to them?”

“What about this one? Katya?”

“Yes, Katya.” I looked down at the girl, still on the floor, but curled up defensively. “Katya, I’m going to look next door and let your friends out. My friend here is called Bernie. He won’t hurt you.”

“For true?”

“For true.”

As I left the room, the girl was uncurling, though her hands were covering her breasts and groin.

Next door, I turned the key – they’d left it in the lock, happily – and opened the door. Two more naked girls were cowering in a corner, huddled together. Their eyes widened as they saw me. “Polina? Kira?” They nodded, “I am Yelena. Do you know where there are clothes? We’ve come to take you somewhere safe.”