Chapter 2

I apologize ahead of time to the Brits, the Scots, the Masai, Rednecks, Grammarians, and military people in general. I did some research, enough to not screw up the basics too badly. So, forgive the things I got wrong, and try to enjoy the story.

The wedding was getting closer. And we both were getting nervous.

Her mother had decided to come, at the last minute. Amanda was a mess. I probably didn’t help much.

“I’m sure we’ll get along, honey. And if we don’t, it won’t matter. I’ll still love you. But, if she starts trying to change your mind, or belittles either one of us, I have no problem asking her to leave, politely or forcibly, it really won’t matter much to me.”

I think it surprised her.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” she said wanly, trying to smile.

I kissed her fiercely. “Nothing will ever come between us. Ever. I’ll always love you. Always. Every action I take from now on will be tuned towards your happiness. You are the most important thing in the world to me. Understand?”

She hugged me tighter, crying lightly.

“Thanks, honey. I think I needed to hear that.”

“Speaking of things you need to hear, I promised to tell you the story of my tattoo, as well as other things about my life. Now is as good a time as any.”

We were snuggled together on the couch, tea and scones on the coffee table. She wiggled around until she was comfortable.

“All right honey, tell me of your wild and misspent youth.”

“I wish you had met my parents. They were really great. We weren’t rich, but I never lacked for anything, especially love.”

“I was eleven when they passed. It was no one’s fault, they just hit an icy spot and slid into a river. It was cold, dark, snowing heavily, masking their tracks going over the bank. I’d like to think they didn’t suffer.”

I felt her tighten her grip while I continued.

“An only child, if my grandparents hadn’t taken me, I’d have ended up in the system, and who knows how I would have turned out.”

“They lived near, and I was there a lot, listening to my grandfather tell stories of his time in Europe during the Second World War, or how he met grandma an swept her off her feet.”

“Grandma owned a dance studio. I don’t think she made much off it, but it kept her fit and away from grandpa. She loved him but said she needed outside interests to keep her sane. I could waltz before I was seven, tango at eleven. It gave me confidence, and when I hit middle and high school, I was ahead of the curve. The fact that I wasn’t shy and could dance well made me popular with the girls, not so much with the guys.”

“I took a few of my friends to my grandma, and she gave them a few basic lessons. It helped, and soon some were taking regular lessons. One was a cornerback on the football team, and when his balance, speed, and agility increased, he told the coach it was from taking dance class. He came in one night, observed, and soon almost every one on the team was a student, even a few of the coaches. The team got the nickname ‘Dancing Fools Of Central High’, we even performed routines with the cheerleaders during halftime. People laughed, but we won enough games to make the playoffs three years running, and once we won the state title for our size. The school even brought her in as a consultant, to teach the basics in PE class.”

“When I was thirteen one of grandpa’s old war buddies showed up for a visit. He never left. His name was Fergus MacLough, the same last name as ours. They had been stationed near each other, even did a few joint operations. When he found out there was a Yank named MacLough, he looked him up. They became fast friends.”

“They taught me how to shoot, how to behave as a young gentleman, and box. All and all it wasn’t a bad life.”

“When I was sixteen my grandfather passed away. It was the only time I saw Fergus with tears in his eyes. He never moved out of the house after the funeral, and eighteen months later he married my Grandmother. Grandma passed four years after the wedding, and then Fergus passed when I was twenty five.”

“There’s a strong tradition of military service in our family, going all the way back to the Civil War. A MacLough never seemed able to back away from a fight. It was pounded into me by my parents and grandparents, and later by Fergus, a career military man himself. I joined the National Guard when I was eighteen. At first we were called out for floods, snow storms, things along that nature, but when the first Gulf War happened I opted to go active.”

It really wasn’t a war. It didn’t last two months, my part anyway. But it was a really intense two months, for me. You never forget the first time you’re in combat. I’m proud to say I upheld our family tradition.”

“After two years, I went back into the Guard, going home to my factory job with no interruption in seniority.”

“Then came 9-11, and every thing changed. I didn’t have to volunteer, they called us up, and off we went--”

“The Taliban was NOT the Republican Guard. Those guys were serious, and the end justified any means. Women, children dying, it didn’t matter, as long as they got their target.”

“Of course, we didn’t know how serious they were, at first. But we learned real quick.”

I paused for a second, to catch my breath and order my thoughts. Amanda snuggled a little closer.

“It was my second tour, and I ended up very near a Scottish troop. I was like a bear to honey. We mingled occasionally, and when I introduced myself to a couple, using the light brogue my step grandfather had instilled in me, they were shocked.”

I grinned, remembering.

“I would ride the few miles between camps every week or so, or my two best ‘mates’, Charlie Wallace and Angus Jones, would make it a point to pop over. My guys could always tell when I had been around them because of my speech pattern.”

“The day my life changed was the same as all the ones before, miserably hot, dusty, making you wish you were anywhere but where you were.”

“The Scots were encamped at what was one time an old castle from the times of the Crusades. The real estate had changed hands many times over the centuries, and lastly it was an important mosque, commemorating a great victory of defeating the infidels for the last time.”

“Of course, it had changed hands again, and was off limits to the faithful, a fact that had the Taliban incensed.”

“They hadn’t seen action in days, routine patrols with no sign of activity, so they were relaxing, cleaning gear, had a homemade grill going, roasting a lamb they had bought locally. No one had their vests on, it was just too hot and they thought they were secure. I was there because Charlie was a piper, and he’d just gotten his pipes. He was supposed to play that afternoon, and when I showed up with three bottles of Scotch and three cases of beer, they welcomed me like a long lost brother.”

I shut my eyes, picturing it in my head.

“The best bottle of Scotch went to their commander. ‘Compliments of my commander, sir.’ I said, watching his smile spread.”

“Excellent,” he said, grinning. “Give my regards to your Captain. Tell him to be careful, we’ll make a proper Scot of ye yet, laddie.”

The first volley caught us all by surprise. His top NCO went down immediately, dead before he hit the ground. His lieutenant was hit, his arm almost completely torn off. And the major went down right in front of me, shot through the thigh, the bone broken and sticking through. I was hit at the same time, but I had my vest on. Still broke a rib.”

“They still don’t know how so many of them got so close without detection, but they estimated the enemy later at at least sixty. The Scots had forty men. Four died instantly, nine had serious wounds, and maybe half a dozen more slightly. Of course, we didn’t know that at the time. The ones who could started returning fire. There was a real danger we would be over run.”

I paused, remembering the cries of our enemies, the screams of our dying and wounded. I could still smell the dust and the blood.

“I grabbed the Major and dragged him into the command building. He was raging by then.”

“Get me a weapon, laddie. Now!”

“I grabbed a couple of light machine guns and a half a dozen magazines. He covered me while I grabbed the lt., raging at me to get under cover.

I could see the blood gush from his shoulder. He’d bleed out if it wasn’t stopped soon. He was a big guy, but fear and adrenalin gave me what I needed to handle him like a child. Angus had made it by then, and between them they were keeping most of the Taliban under cover. The other men had found what cover they could, returning fire when they actually had something to shoot at.

We doctored the lt, putting a tourniquet on his shoulder and filling him full of pain killers.”

“The Major was railing at the attack, frustrated because they were pinned down. They had gotten a sniper into position and he had already hit three men, killing two.”

“Somebody needs to get that bleedin’ sniper, give the men covering fire so they can retreat! I bet they’re about out of ammo.”

I stopped, feeling her snuggle into me tighter. Stopping to kiss her hair, I sighed. It had been a long time since I’d thought about that afternoon.

“I knew he was right. Things were getting a little tense, you could hear the cries of the wounded and the screams of the dying. Looking at their weapons locker, I saw a couple of their sniper rifles. I grabbed one and ran out the back. The commander and Angus thought I was deserting them. As I was going out the back I noticed Charlies’ pipes and without thinking I picked them up.”

I ran into the mosque, climbing into the minaret on top. There was a PA system there they had used to call the faithful to worship. I knew I needed to provide a distraction, so I switched it on and started playing, strutting back and forth. diverting their attention. It worked, because it took them a little time to process what they were seeing.”

“I know what I had done right before I started playing was stupid, but it seemed the thing to do at the time. Fergus had given me his old tam before I left, for good luck. He’d worn it on the beach at Dunkirk, one of the last pipers to play in a combat situation. He’d been shot twice before he had to stop playing, and had two holes in the tam, bullets that had missed his head.”

I paused, while she watched me, eyes wide at the narrative. “I took off my helmet and put it on. When I started playing it was like everybody stopped, wondering what the hell was going on. I stopped as fire started concentrating on me, yelling into the microphone. ‘Retreat, retreat! Run, you wankers!’

I had forgotten about the sniper, until I was hit, again to the vest, resulting in two more broken ribs, the bullet strong enough to go through my vest and lodge just under my skin. I went down, but the distraction had proven to be enough. Most of the troop had gotten to safety.”

By now the Scots had gotten under cover and mounted a determined defense. Seeing a golden opportunity slip away, the Taliban concentrated a lot of firepower in my direction. I was hurting like hell and unfamiliar with the weapon, so I wasn’t as accurate as I wanted to be. Through the scope, I could see a knot of men who had to be leaders, especially one, yelling instructions.

I wanted to take the leader out, but hit another man close beside him. When his head just seemed to explode they started ducking for cover. I emptied the weapon, hoping to keep them down long enough for me to get away.”

I was idly rubbing my side, remembering the pain.

“It worked, until they came up with an RPG. I saw it through the scope, threw the rifle down, grabbed the pipes, and beat feet down the stairs. I almost made it when the RPG hit, and the whole thing came tumbling down. They told me it took them two hours to dig me out, and they found me huddled over the pipes, protecting them. By then all manner of help had arrived, choppers, my outfit, fighter planes, everything but the kitchen sink. Before I knew it, I was on a plane to Ramstein, to recover.”

They had a British newsman embedded with the troop, and he had the presence of mind to video me pulling the major and lieutenant to safety, and later a clip of me strutting back and forth, playing the pipes as bullets flew all around me. He even filmed them digging me out of the rubble, still clutching the bagpipes. It was big news in the UK, seems the major was the Earl of Ferth, thirty third in line to the throne of England.”

Mandy stirred, looking up at me. “Wait a minute. He’s the Colonel, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah, he got promoted over the action, fighting and directing the troops while gravely wounded.”

“What did you get out of it?”

I laughed. “I got a purple heart, a bronze star, and a royal ass chewing from my captain and the major for doing something so stupid. I also got a certificate of valor, sighed by the Queen and Prime Minister, that also made me an honorary member of the British Army.”

“I was banged up, Charlie had taken a round in the arm, and Angus got a nasty concussion when an RPG hit the wall he was hiding behind. He was stone deaf for two days before hearing started to return. The Major was the worst of us, his leg took three surgeries to repair, and it looked like his war was over.

I was waiting for orders, three broken ribs, a nasty gash on my forearm that took eight stitches, and a spot over my left ear where the bullet grazed me guaranteed I would be off the lines for at least three months.

I never realized who the Major was or how much pull he had, but suddenly I had a full colonel standing in front of me, saying perhaps a little medical leave was in order. I was pretty much ordered to England. The Major put us up in his London townhouse as a thank you, and left for a week, on personal business.

We had the run of the place, a car available should we like to see anything, any desire we had granted. Charlie was the wild one, and we had to pull him out of a couple of pubs before the end of our stay. Fortunately we did nothing to dishonor his house.”

“The Major came back, with a guest. He introduced him as Charles, and he shook all our hands, telling me his Mum was keen to meet us. He seemed like a nice guy. I wasn’t an Angliophile, so I didn’t make the connection. Angus smacked me on the back of my head when he left.”

“That was Bonny Prince Charley, you twit! His ‘Mum’ is the bleedin’ Queen of England! Show a little respect.”

We did get to meet the Queen, and she was indeed keen to see the mad Yank who had pulled her cousin to safety. I have the royal photo around here somewhere, of her presenting me with the certificate.”

I paused, to gather my thoughts. Mandy giggled.

“My snobby little Mum is going to flip when she finds out she has a son in law who has met the Queen. Any more to the story?”

“Well, since you asked--”

“I stayed with the Major for another three weeks. Their doctors examined me, declared me combat ready, and I was waiting orders.

The Major liked to walk in the evenings to build up his leg, so we developed a habit of walking a course, down to the park, around the perimeter, back through the middle of the park, and home. Charlie and I usually went with him. Angus had returned to active duty and was back with his mates.”

“There were four of them, coming out of the bushes, armed with knives, screaming in Arabic. Seems one of the guys we hit, actually the one I hit with the rifle, was kind of an up and comer in the movement, and Daddy and the powers that be decided the world needed an example made.”

We didn’t think, we just acted. I shoved the Major behind me as he ranted about helping, and Charlie and I had a really interesting time for a few minutes. If they’d had the least bit of training, it could have gone very badly for us, but they were just students, trying to make a statement for their cause. Charlie got a nasty gash on his arm, and I got that scar you asked about on my chest. The Major actually took out the last one, bashing his head in with the brass knob on his cane.”

“I killed one, Charlie another, but two survived. They’re still in prison, and will be for life. There were other people in the park, and one filmed the attack on his phone, while others called for help.”

“It didn’t take long for the police to realize this was above their pay grade, and soon some fellows in suits showed up, escorting the Major to a secure location. He insisted we go along, said he refused to travel without his bodyguards, as he called us.”

“They interviewed us all separately, and my light brogue threw them off. When they realized I was a Yank, and a soldier to boot, our people got involved. We were treated at a private hospital, and released, free to go.”

I stopped, smiling a little. Despite the attack, it had been one of the best periods of my life.

The upshot of the affair was a visit from the same colonel who saw me in Ramstein. He interviewed me alone, and then smiled.

“We’re in a bit of a quandary here, son. The Major wants to keep you around. Seems he thinks you’re good luck. He’s going to be promoted soon, and his rank will match mine. As you can see by the attack, he is not safe, even here. He has specifically asked that you stay, as one of his bodyguards. It’s highly unusual, but the President got a call from a concerned family member, and granted her a favor. You’ll spend the rest of your active duty here, with the Major. It’s called “detached service”, and it usually applies to advisors to other armies or political postings. Oh, and you’ve been promoted to Master Sgt. Congratulations.”

“Well, what could I say? We went to Scotland, where the Major lived, and were stationed at the nearby base, though Charlie and I were rarely there. He was serious about bodyguards, so we were sent to bodyguard school, taught the basics, went through the driving course, and when we completed that he sent us to work with the SAS for deeper training.”

“Those guys were tough, the British equivalent of Navy Seals, Green Berets, or Delta, and when they found out I was a Yank they gave me hell. I was in the best physical shape of my life when we were done. We even participated in their graduation drill, just for fun. We had to get from point A to point B without being discovered and captured. We actually finished first, much to their embarrassment, but we had an edge. I was an American, and Charlie was black, even though he was fourth generation Scottish. We stole some civilian clothes and a backpack, and hitchhiked to the check in point, pretending to be students out exploring. Charlie didn’t talk much, and I laid my Southern accent on pretty thick, and it did the trick.”

I smiled, remembering the look on the Captains’ face when we got dropped off at the check in point, and strolled in ten hours before anyone else completed the exercise. We weren’t even dirty.

Manda sighed. “Quite a story. How much longer did you stay?”

“Almost three years. The Colonel got heavily involved in veteran’s affairs, championing the needs of those returning from combat, especially with disabilities. Angus, his tour up, came home and joined us a civilian. He was the obvious bodyguard, and we carried our pipes with us, to play at official events. Nobody noticed the pipe players, but we both had our sidearms under our jackets, with extra magazines and a small backup weapon in our sporrans, because we wore military kilts.”

“It was pretty boring most of the time, appearances at veteran’s hospitals, the occasional ribbon cutting, that sort of thing, until the Ferth VA Center.”

I stopped, remembering, silent for a long time.

Manda stirred, getting us some fresh tea and settling back down. “What happened then?,” she prompted.

“It was the high point of the Colonel’s efforts. A brand new center, with a staff of counselors, therapy rooms, a fully equipped gym, it even had a daycare center. And all services were free. He cut the ribbon while Charlie and I played, then toured the building and attended a reception. The center was built on the banks of a river, and there was a really large deck built out over it. Most of the attendees ended up there, by the buffet tables.”

“We were relaxed yet vigilant, and most of the crowd were veterans and college students, part of the new staff, all vetted, so we didn’t see a problem. The Colonel had his wife, his youngest sister, and her six year old daughter, his favorite niece, along for the ceremony. His sister, following tradition, was married to the Danish version of a Duke, and was home for a visit.”

“Angus noticed them first, three college students with large backpacks. We’re still not sure how they got them in, but the best guess is they were already there, and they retrieved them when it was time. What made them stand out besides the backpacks were their hair color, they were all blonds with dark skin.”

“Backpacks, three, on blonds.” Angus had spoken quietly into his ear piece, and we noticed them instantly.

“I got the one in the middle,” said Charlie, as he dropped his pipes. “Left,” I said, targeting the largest. Angus didn’t answer, just walked towards the one on the right. The kid saw him coming, screamed something in Arabic, and fumbled with his back pack. He was standing at the top of a set of stairs, and Angus tackled him, both tumbling down. We heard the boom as the deck rocked.”

“I didn’t hesitate, pulling my weapon and putting a round between the eyes of my target. He dropped like a rock, but not before his backpack opened and the bomb came into view. Following my training, I turned, pushing the Colonel, his wive, and her sister over the railing, thinking they would be safer in the water. I grabbed the child and held her to me as I jumped.”

“I had barely cleared the railing when it detonated, and I felt a blow to my back. Luckily, the water was only four feet deep, and when I surfaced I saw the family huddled together. I held the child up and walked over, handing her to her mother and fumbling in my sporran. I pulled the back up weapon and gave it to him. “Here, Colonel. I think you might--”

“That was all I got out before I passed out. I went face first into the water, and they told me later my back looked like hamburger. The bomb was filled with small ball bearings. They pulled twenty seven out of me in hospital. That’s what those scars you see on my back and legs come from.”

“Angus died saving people, smothering the bomb with his body. Charlie hardly got a scratch. putting two rounds into his target, and throwing the backpack downriver. It was retrieved later, and the bomb squad was amazed it hadn’t detonated.”

“The bomb on the deck killed three and wounded six, but most had a few seconds of warning and got away. It could have been much worse.”

I sighed, remembering. It had been a long time since I let myself think about it.

“Charlie came to see me four days later as I lay in my bed, and we congratulated each other for doing our job and surviving. He had sneaked a flask of brandy in, and we had a toast.”

“To Angus,” he said.

“To Angus,” I repeated, “may he rest in peace.”

Charlie told me the funeral was going to be tomorrow, and he wished I could be there to help him pipe Angus to his rest.

“What time is the funeral, and where?”

“At one, at the Colonel’s Castle. Angus had no family, and the Colonel wants him buried in the family plot, saying we were as close to family as he ever had.”

Charlie left, and an hour later monitors started going off as I unhooked myself from the machines.

I was looking for my clothes as people rushed in, demanding to know where I was going. “The Highlands,” I replied as I pulled up my kilt, “I have a funeral to attend.”

The doctors tried to talk me into lying back down, but I was having none of it. The had me backed into a corner, an IV stand in my hands, as they stood in front of me with syringes. Nobody was keen to rush me, because I told them the first two would need their own beds.

The Colonel had been called and he strode in. “Soldier! Stand down!”

Force of habit made me snap to attention. When he asked I told him what was going on. He looked me over, noticing the paleness. I probably was about two minutes from passing out, when he turned to the doctors.

“Have an ambulance and a competent nurse standing by. He will leave at seven, which should give him plenty of time. If he is not on my estate by 12:30, it will be very bad for this hospital. Very bad, understand?”

They must have, because I was up at 5:30, fed, helped to don the dress uniform of our unit, the only variant on it a small American flag, on the left shoulder. My service ribbons and hardware was attached to the Jacket.

I sat in a wheel chair until they carried Angus into the graveyard before I stood, my wounds weeping into my jacket, Charlie beside me, and we piped Angus home. We stood ramrod straight and never missed a note, even as tears streamed from both of us.

I dropped heavily into the chair as the last notes died. Instead of being taken back to hospital, I was settled into a guest suite in the South wing, with a doctor on call and a nurse beside me constantly. Many of our old mates came to see Charlie and I, including the ones from Iraq.

We toasted fallen comrades and raised our glasses to the ones who made it home, glad we were among them. I stayed for eight weeks before being declared fit.

“What happened then?”

“I was given a medical discharge along with a small pension, and sent home. Due to my wounds, I couldn’t pass the annual physical, so I was out. The Colonel wanted me to stay, but it was time for me to go. I came home, returned to my job, and married Kim. I’m glad now it didn’t work out, because I wouldn’t have you if it had.”

She had cried a little at my story, soothing me with her hands and lips. “I don’t see how you couldn’t pass a physical, honey. You’re the fittest man I know.”

“Oh, I’m fine, for a little while. But prolonged exertion is out of the question. After two or three hours, I would be useless.”

She snuggled back down, about to tell her tale, when I interrupted. “One more thing, honey. The press were all over the story, and posted pictures of me flying over the railing, the child in my arms. She never got a scratch, by the way. There was quite an uproar for a couple of weeks before the press turned to something else. Two months after it happened, when I was finally healed, the Colonel ordered us into our dress uniforms and took us to London. We took a drive that ended up at Buckingham Palace. In a small room, Charlie received the St. George’s Medal, and was Knighted by the Queen.”

I knew I had her attention then, “What did you get, honey?”

“I got the highest medal the British can give to a foreigner, and I was also Knighted. It’s just an honorarium, the title dies when I do, but when we marry, you’ll be Lady Amanda McLough for the rest of your life.”

She started to speak, but I held up a hand. “One more thing. The Duke was so impressed by my sacrifice in saving his daughter and wife he had me brought to Denmark, and in a public ceremony I was again given a Knighthood, I’m also Sir Ewan McLough of the Danish Court.”

Mandy face had almost disappeared in her grin. “Wait until I tell me Mum.”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t, until the ceremony. Let it be a surprise.”

She promised me she would try very hard, but made no guarantees.

Oh, and the tattoo was the crest of the Scottish regiment I was embedded with, the initials around it were those of fallen comrades.

Mandy sat for a minute, mulling over what I had told her, before sighing.

“I was born and raised in Africa. My father met Mum at a local ball held for visiting dignitaries, and sparks flew. They were together for ten years before they split up. Mom was tired of Africa, and wanted to move back to England, but Dad couldn’t leave because of his business. He was one of the largest importer/exporters in the country, and couldn’t just pack up and move away, unless he sold the business. He actually considered it, got several nice offers, but in the end he couldn’t let go of the company he had built from scratch.”

“I was nine when they split, and elected to stay with my father. Mother fought it, saying she wanted her daughter raised in a civilized country, which didn’t earn her any points with the judge. She was a foreign national and Dad was a well respected local. The laws at the time made it impossible for her to win, so she had to settle for summers.”

Dad was a good man, but had no idea how to handle a child, especially a girl. Oh, he loved me deeply, but his business kept him away for long hours, and I went through a succession of nannies before my grandfather showed up one day, wanting me to spend some time with him, to learn the ways of my people, the Masai.”

“I ended up living in his village for two and a half years, learning the ways of my people. something about the village got to me, and I loved the life I was living. I was on my way to becoming a proper Masai women, my grandfather had already arranged a marriage for me, to a son of the chief of a neighboring village, when Mum came for me. There was almost a riot, but she had hired guards, and they brandished weapons as I was loaded, kicking and screaming, into a Range Rover, and spirited out of the country.”