Chapter 3

The C17 touched down and quickly taxied to the dispersal area. As the rear ramp lowered ambulances reversed up to it to receive the wounded.

Robert’s stretcher was conveyed to a waiting Bell 206L Long Ranger helicopter belonging to Sir Royston, the helicopter was painted in the colours of a med-evac aircraft. After loading its passengers and receiving clearance from the tower it took off for the hundred-mile flight to The Grange.

Staff at the Grange was already waiting to receive Robert who was still under sedation. Sir Royston had phoned ahead giving explicit instructions of what he required on his arrival.

As soon as the helicopter landed Robert was transferred to a gurney and transported to the X-Ray department.

“I’ll need a full set with emphasis on the lower lumber area” he said addressing his senior radiologist. “I’m going up to shower and change.”

He was still in the desert camouflage uniform he had been issued. For a man who always travelled first class around the world, sitting in a canvas bucket seat of a C17 for twelve hours was an experience he would rather forget.

Once out of X-Ray Robert was taken to a private bedroom where he was re-connected to tubes that dispensed fluids from a drip stand and drugs from an automatic injection system. Four large monitors recorded his vital signs from sensors placed on his body and head. A nurse sat by his bed studying the monitors.

After Sir Royston had showered and changed into his usual charcoal pinstriped suit he returned down stairs to his office.

Mrs Walker his private secretary was waiting for him clutching a writing pad.

“OK Ann what do we know about him?”

Ann Walker had been with Sir Royston for over thirty years and was well used to his abrupt manner at times. She took a chair at the front of his desk while he settled into the large leather Executive chair

“Flight Lieutenant Robert Barlow aged 28. Joined the RAF aged 21, holds two degrees in Mechanical Engineering (Aerospace) and Modern History from Bristol University. He’s an only child. No immediate next of kin, mother and farther killed by a terrorist bomb aboard the aircraft they were in, bound for New York June 6th 2002. Both are buried in the village church cemetery at Aventon a small village mid-way between Fordingbridge and Salisbury in Hampshire. They had lived in the village for twenty-four years at Lark Hill Cottage. The father was a retired petrochemical engineer. He took retirement early and played the stock exchange and was very successfully by all accounts. The mother was a senior nursing sister at Odstock Hospital. She retired at age 60, and it appears the New York trip was a retirement present from the father. A Mrs McKee is a very close friend of the family and still maintains the cottage for Robert; in fact she supplied most of these details. He has no girlfriends, in fact he appears to have shunned the company of girls since the death of his parents, concentrating on his flying duties. The closest you could call to a family, is a Jeremy Free, a Barbadian. Robert’s father struck up a friendship with him in London where he worked at the investment company that the father used. It seems they both shared a mutual love for cricket. Mr Free spent a great deal of time, mainly weekends, with the Barlow’s and played on the village cricket team. He and Robert became very close friends; in fact Robert was best man at his wedding and also godfather to Mr Free’s son.”

Ann continued, “I’ve typed up the relevant details for you. I’m still waiting to hear from members of his squadron. I understand they return to the UK at the end of the month.” With that she passed over a sheet of paper to Sir Royston.

“Thank you Ann that will be all.” As she closed the door he settled down to read through it again.

At seven am the next morning Sir Royston entered the room “How’s the patient?” he asked the night nurse who was due to go off duty at seven thirty.

“Very little change sir. He did show signs of discomfort at two this morning and he was mumbling in his sleep. I made a note of what he was saying” consulting a note pad, she carried on, “as near as I could understand he said ‘Mum I’m trying, for God’s sake I’m trying’ ‘then an hour or so later” again she consulted the note pad, ‘Feel the pain, must feel the pain’ he repeated that two or three times sir.”

“Umm strange, well he’s going into theatre at nine; we hope to reduce that pain somewhat. They will be coming to prep him shortly, thank you nurse.”

“He’s been through an awful lot hasn’t he sir.”

“Yes nurse” Sir Royston replied, “I’m constantly amazed at how much suffering and pain a body can endure.”

Robert opened his eyes. His brow furrowed confused by what he saw and his mouth felt like it was filled with ashes. He coughed.

Instantly a woman’s body was leaning over him dressed in a white cotton smock with what appeared to be a nametag pinned to her chest.

“Good morning Flight Lieutenant! How do you feel?” she asked.

Bloody awful thought Robert. “Could I have some water please?”

“Of course,” she said turning away and returned with a beaker with a nozzle on it. She pressed a button at the side of the bed and with a low hum the back part slowly raised allowing him to drink from the beaker.

Handing the empty beaker back, he asked, “Where am I? What day is this?” His mind filled with questions.

“Now don’t excite yourself, you need to rest now try to get some sleep. Unfortunately Sir Royston wanted to be here when you woke up but he had to go to London. He’ll be back this evening and will answer all your question then.”

“Who the heck is Sir Royston?” Robert asked.