Chapter 1

"Hello Zero, this is Echo Sierra two one Alpha. Check, Bravo, India, Whiskey, four three niner five, a dark Ford Escort, over."

"Zero, blue, discretion, out."

My world came crashing down with Corporal Johnston's vehicle check. I hefted the butt of the light machine gun into my shoulder taking proper control of the weapon with my finger resting on the safety catch, just as I had been drilled, and peered through the IWS image intensifying sight. I acquired the vehicle as it turned into the gateway of the house we were watching. My hand moved towards the cocking handle. Exactly as per the drills.

The green glow of the image was heavily speckled with little bright points as the electronics worked their magic. OK, it was first generation equipment and not as clear as we're used to now but I marvelled at the sight picture even as I followed my wife's car along the driveway to the house. I heard the crunch of gravel as it came to a halt at the door - and watched as a slim, dark haired, woman, dismounted the vehicle, walked to the door, and let herself in.

I'm quite sure most of you haven't got a clue how a husband comes to be watching his wife enter another man's house through a weapon sight, so I suppose I'll have to give you some background.

I'm Drew Wilson; I lived in Belfast, Northern Ireland, during what was 'The Troubles'. I'd been brought up as a protestant but like most families we had catholic aunts, uncles, and cousins, so bigotry was something foreign to us, until it all kicked off. I still don't understand it. Although, like most working class kids at the time, I had turned out to 'defend' my area when the police and army came in looking for paramilitary weapons, (and yes, they did search proddy areas as well as catholic).

Rioting was a bit of sport to brighten up an otherwise ordinary day. Anyway, you didn't get badly hurt unless you got hit by a rubber bullet, or half a brick thrown from just behind you, or broke your petrol bomb at your own feet. Everybody laughed at you if you did that, especially since the best way to deal with it was to piss yerself. Most of the time the injuries were often pretty minor, you only went to hospital to claim compensation.

The worst would be if the police and soldiers had been kept on the streets for too long, and they were getting tired. Then they fired the rubber bullets at short range, and they would hurt like hell or, if they hit your head or just over the heart they could kill. If you fell during one of their charges, you could get a real hammering with the batons and shields and wind up with broken bones. We learned when to run. Sometimes some paramilitary dickhead would open up with a rifle or sub-machine gun (SMG). The sport would end and we'd get offside sharpish.

I left school as soon as I could, and my first job was as a hospital porter, getting back and forth on a Honda 50 moped. As rioting escalated so did the injuries coming in. My idea that it was just sport was soon changed. I covered almost every part of the hospital, including the mortuary. In addition to "normal" patients, I had seen casualties from riots, shootings, and bombings. Now I had to deal with people who didn't make it ... and their relatives.

Seeing the grief of people of all religions coming to see their child or parent, husband or wife, loved one or lover, for the last time, reinforced my conviction that, by and large, people are people. I know there were some who used a death to harden their hatred of 'the other side' but their grief was always the same. Eventually I got so angry about the pain and anguish I felt; I could no longer stand on the sidelines. I had to DO something.

I looked at the alphabet soup of "organisations" "defending" "their" communities and easily came to the conclusion that one paramilitary thug was as bad as the other. The police were the most evenhanded. Despite the propaganda they were standing between both sides and they were hated as much by the UVF and UDA as the IRA and INLA. The problem was that they didn't just accept people with two arms, two legs, two eyes, and two ears. They had educational standards.

I had left school as soon as I was sixteen and that meant I didn't sit any exams. It was possible back then. My application was rejected but the police recruiter suggested I try the Ulster Defence Regiment, which had been formed as part of the army. He said if I did some time with them and studied for Maths and English exams at night school I could apply again later and I'd have a bit of experience as well.

EXAMS! This needed a lot of thought. I went down to the club and sank a few pints of the black stuff.

Long story short, I joined the UDR and started night school. The UDR was part-time so I could do it at night and at weekends. I could fit duties around my hospital shifts and night classes. By this stage I had bought myself a CL175 to get around but I was lucky enough to get the army to give me a car driving licence so I could drive the Land Rovers we used.

Duties meant that I could be on patrol one or two nights every week. We also had to do guard duties and training. On weekends we rotated through patrols, guards, range, or training days. Each company was supposed to have one weekend where there was nothing on but they were often wiped out by courses or community work. Every two or three months we would have a training weekend at one of the field training centres from Friday night to late Sunday afternoon. Think T.A., F.C.A., or National Guard, but doing operations at the same time.

Of course, nobody had to do every duty. Tasks required only a proportion of the company, and there was a different company on each night. I did a lot of patrols and eventually the inevitable happened. The patrol I was part of stopped some of the people I worked with. I knew they were anti security forces, so I talked to the section that dealt with our personal security. They told me that the best thing for me was to move house and quit my job. I should avoid any patterns in my life because if my details got back to the terrorists they might try a Close Quarter Assassination (CQA). I did the first two and moved into a small flat, but I had to finish my night classes if I was going to get my exams.