Chapter 11

Angela woke me sometime later, sliding into the bed beside me and assuming her usual position, head on my chest, one leg thrown over me. She nuzzled my neck and whispered that she was very happy. Her father was alive and not a criminal: she'd never believed that he could be. I grunted some sleepy reply and lapsed back into unconsciousness. She wasn't having any of this and proceeded to wake me again by the simple expedient of grabbing my cock and starting to pump it lightly while lightly caressing my face with her lips and tongue. Her eyes gleamed in the dim light and I could see the flash of her teeth as she smiled down at me.

"Martin, I want to make love. There is madness all around us. I want you inside me, to make me feel real again."

I have never been able to refuse a polite request from a beautiful woman. I rolled her onto her back and kissed her gently. My fingers found her opening, wet and ready and I slipped into her in one smooth movement. Whether it was the situation or whether it was simply my love for her, I couldn't say, but I was seized by the need. I slammed myself into her with uncontrolled passion. Her legs went around my back and she bucked her hips to match my frenzied pace. We didn't say a word; the only sound was our rapid breathing. This was a different type of lovemaking. Up until this moment we had been gentle, thoughtful lovers. This was animalistic; fucking is the only word to describe it.

I could feel the wetness dripping out of her and soaking my pubic hair, my balls and my thighs. Her head was thrown back, her eyes half shut and her mouth was contorted into a feral rictus that parodied her normal sweet smile. I felt rage boiling within me. Rage that we had been placed in this nightmare, rage that we had not been allowed to just be lovers, anonymous, happy, untroubled. The rage fed my passion and pounded away like a man possessed. She was gasping now, getting close to orgasm. I pulled away and turned her over, seizing her around the waist, I hauled her buttocks back towards me and rammed myself into her again. Reaching under her, I grasped her breasts and rubbed her nipples between fingers and thumb with one hand and slid the other down to where we joined.

Angela was panting now and uttering a continuous low moaning sound that I could somehow feel deep down in my balls. I rubbed her clitoris with the knuckles of my right hand, pressing firmly. My other hand still alternated between her breasts, squeezing and rolling the erect nipples. She came with a huge shudder and her fists drummed on the bed as the climax gathered and roiled. Her vaginal muscles went into spasm and she clamped down hard on my thrusting, hammering prick.

A measure of sanity returned and I slowed my pace, giving her long slow thrusts as she came down from her high. She was sobbing quietly, murmuring endearments. My rage returned and I set off again, pounding and pumping until my own orgasm shook me to the core and I poured all my anger, love and fear into her. I cried out as I came that I loved her. She slammed back at me, swivelling her hips and buttocks, milking me with her contractions.

Afterwards we lay side by side in the spoon position. I hugged her and stroked her hair, telling her over and over again that she was wonderful, glorious, that I loved her. She turned towards me and planted kisses all over my face.

"I love you, my Martin," she said. "I love you when you are gentle and I love you when you are fierce, like a lion, just now. How did you know that was what I wanted?"

I had to admit that I hadn't known, that I had been following my own driven needs. I tried to explain about the rage and the love but she hushed me with a kiss. "

It will be all right," she said. "You will look after us. Always you keep me safe, yes?"

I didn't reply but uttered up a silent prayer - please, God, let it be so.

We slept then. No dark dreams troubled my rest and I awoke the next morning feeling utterly refreshed and ready for anything. I woke Angela with a light kiss and she smiled up at me, her hair a dark storm spread on the pillow and love in her blue, blue eyes. We could hear the sounds of others up and about in the kitchen so we showered quickly and dressed, to see what the day might bring.

Angela's father was with Steve and Bill in the kitchen. Steve had obviously got over being duped and the three of them were conversing in what I took to be Russian. Bill looked up as we came in and said "Morning, all. Just been chatting to the colonel here, miss. Swapping old soldiers' stories." He had an engaging grin and twinkling eyes. They all looked completely at ease, like old friends. It would be too easy to forget just how lethal these three men could be.

Niall and Liam were out patrolling the perimeter that they had set up around the cottage. It had been agreed that they would stay in the area while the rest of us went to meet Rollo Yeates. Angela and her father went into Cromer, taking Steve with them as a bodyguard, to photocopy the colonel's papers at one of those little printing and stationery shops. I walked the dogs with Bill as my guardian. He told me something of their history with Liam and Niall.

Niall had been their company commander in 2 Para - the 2^nd Battalion, Parachute Regiment. Liam had commanded another company but they saw a lot of him too. The twins were known in the regiment as 'the gruesome twosome.' They were very well respected by both officers and men. Apparently, they had a reputation for bringing their troops back alive.

"Bags of low cunning, those two," said Bill.

After Desert Storm, Bill and Steve had volunteered for the SAS and had undergone the gruelling selection process in the Brecon Beacons. Niall had helped them prepare, training with them and encouraging them to use their initiative whenever the situation allowed.

I had often wondered why neither Liam nor Niall had volunteered for Special Forces and voiced this question aloud. Bill shrugged.

"They would have walked in if they'd bothered," he said. "I asked the Boss meself, once. He said it wasn't for them; that they were regimental officers and preferred it that way, but I don't think that was the reason. There was a rumour that they objected to what the SAS was doing in the Six Counties. They're both 'left-footers' and Irish to boot, so it could be true, but I reckon it was something else."

"What?" I asked.

Bill grinned. "They wouldn't have been allowed to serve together. Those two have always been joined at the hip. The SAS wouldn't have let them both in at the same time. One wouldn't go without the other. Sometimes it's like they're two halves of the same person, if you get my meaning. Finishing each other's sentences, knowing exactly what the other is going to do. In combat it was brilliant. I mean, imagine the advantages you get when one company is supporting another and he knows exactly what his brother will do when the wheels come off! I think it was Napoleon who said 'no plan survives contact with the enemy.' Well, the Boss and his brother could make it up as they went along."

I sort of understood. I've never been a man of action but I thought I could grasp what the chaos of the battlefield could do to pre-prepared plans. Just as life itself can sometimes bowl you a bouncer, only in war, the consequences could be a lot bloodier than mere inconvenience and wasted effort.