Chapter 5: She Who Must Be Obeyed

On arrival at the British High Commission Office in Nairobi I was set to writing a report of my assessment on the operation of the mortar platoon. Harry went off to do the same for the logistical component; although I knew he was eager to get down to writing his paper laying out the details of the current, and future, situation in Somalia.

I soon had typed up my report; basically all I said was that the mortar element of the infantry battalion had done a fully professional job, and that the training given to the Kenyan army had obviously been well learned. I made no mention of my involvement in the fighting at Fort Uhuru.

As I sat there, enjoying a welcome cup of tea after finishing the report, my mind wandered back to the interlude I had spent in Mombasa. As I reviewed my memories I realised that instead of picturing Kylie I was picturing Miriam. Incidents that had occurred in Tossa del Mar, during the Spanish Idyll, were replicated in Mombasa; the shagging in the surf, the shower fucks, even walking around the hotel room/basha, with Miriam's/Kylie's legs wrapped about my waist, as we shagged in motion.

Kylie and I had even managed to have it off during a tour of Fort Jesus, in an alcove overlooking the sea, in much the same way as Miriam and I had done at that medieval ruin at Tossa. The more I thought about the similarities between the Spanish Idyll and the Mombasa Interlude it became obvious that I had subconsciously chosen Kylie for that week of sex because she reminded me of Miriam.

I resolved, then and there, that I would make a concentrated and sustained effort to get our marriage back on track, and with that in mind I quickly wrote a letter to Miriam asking that we meet and discuss our marriage as soon as I returned home. It was on the cards that Harry and I would be flying back to the UK in a couple of days' time, after our reports had been perused, and any questions arising dealt with. It was now the 16th December so I was fairly confident I would be home for Christmas.

I put quite a bit of emotional stuff in that letter, mainly because I was feeling rather emotive, but I also wanted t Miriam to fully realise that I was serious in wishing to return to those days of the Spanish Idyll. I made plain to her that it would need both of us working together to overcome our difficulties, and that I was fully committed to making our marriage work.

I had just finished writing the letter when Captain Shepard, the military attaché, came into the room. He saw the sheet of paper, and was just about to pick it up when he saw it was a personal letter.

"I apologise, Sergeant Desmond. I thought that paper was your report." I told him it was a letter home. "Is it important? It takes well over a week for a letter posted here to get to the UK."

I nodded. "Yes, it is very important."

"Give me it and I'll put a Foreign Office stamp on the envelope, and then stick it in the Diplomatic Pouch that is sent to London each night. It will get posted on as soon as it reaches the UK."

I thanked him warmly, and handed him the envelope with the Plaistow address on it. He put it in the briefcase he carried, and then said.

"I've had glowing reports, from my contacts in the Kenyan army, regarding your conduct at Fort Uhuru, Sergeant. Rescuing a man under fire; fighting off an assault on your position –I'm impressed."

I shrugged. "I just did what I've been trained to do." I handed him my report, and he quickly read through it. "You're a modest sort of chap, aren't you? No mention of your heroics, Sergeant, or may I call you Dave? I know that Harry Ledbetter does, and he's a good friend of mine."

I was a bit surprised by his cordiality. Miles Shepard was an officer in the Coldstream Guards - OK, so not as ramrod stiff as the Grenadiers, but still a Guardsman.

"Harry and I go back a long way, and any friend of his is welcome to call me Dave."

"My nick-name is Bo. Only my mother calls me Miles." We shook hands, and then he sat down in the chair across from me. "Actually, Dave, you've done us proud. We have been trying for months to land a steel contract with the Kenyans. They are rebuilding their transport infrastructure and most of their bridges need to be rebuilt – it's a massive contract, worth millions of pounds over the years. Unfortunately the French and Chinese are the front runners for the contract as our bid is about ten per cent higher than theirs."

I didn't see what I had to do with a multi-million steel contract so kept my mouth shut.

"The sergeant you rescued under fire is related to Senator Simon Andrew Aneko, the Minister of Transport, and he wants you to be awarded a medal. It has put British stock sky high with the Kenyans, and if our commercial section can't win that steel contract on the back of your heroics then they deserve to be buggered with the flared end of a rag man's trumpet!"

Sure enough I was invited to attend an investiture, where I would be presented with the Order of The Republic of Kenya, (Military Division) Second Class, for 'bravery in rescuing a wounded man under fire'. This put the Charge d'affaires of the British High Commission, the man who actually ran the office, in a bit of a dilemma. "Her Majesty's Government (HMG) will not want it known that our military have been engaged in hostilities in a Commonwealth country, especially as the training team sent out to mentor the Kenyans returned home nearly a month ago. Nevertheless to decline the honour would be unthinkable."

Captain Shepard intervened. "Actually, Sir, as Major Ledbetter is commanding Team Kilo and he is still in country, could it not be argued that Team Kilo, or elements of that training team, were still in a mentoring, or observing role, when the action took place?"

The Charge d'affaires thought a bit. "Hmm – well, if the wording of the citation was amended, to something like – 'for assistance and support to the Medical Service of the Kenyan Defence Force' – and if Sergeant Desmond attended the investiture in civilian dress, I think HMG would be content."

On the 19th of December, I was inducted into The Order of The Republic of Kenya held in the Presidential Palace. I shook hands with the President of Kenya, and almost had my ribs broken by Senator Simon Andrew Aneko when he hugged me. "Andrew is the only son of my favourite sister. I have high hopes of him entering politics when his military service ends. The Aneko family are deep in your debt, young man." I asked him how Andy was doing and learned he was back in Camp Kenyatta with his battalion.

After the investiture Harry and I were invited to spend a few days at the Government Guest Lodge, a hotel like establishment where visiting foreign dignitaries and trade missions stayed. It was adjacent to Nairobi National Park, and the Lodge guests were able to get up close and personal with the wild life – lions, rhinos, and all that stuff – which was part of the experience in staying at the Lodge. Personally, if I want to see life in the wild and live dangerously I'll go to a Hammer's away game at Millwall, but I knew that it would be churlish of me to refuse.

It's only a few miles from the centre of Nairobi to the Government Lodge, where Harry and I were booked in to very opulent rooms. I felt a bit out of place at dinner that evening; there were more knives forks and spoons set at my place at the table than we had in the whole canteen of cutlery back home. I kept my eye on Harry, and used the same bit of kit as he did when we got down to eating the grub – I used my own eating irons, obviously, and not his.

After dinner we withdrew to the withdrawing room, and drinks were brought round. I asked for a pint of Bombardier, and the waiter looked at me blankly. It appeared that the fame of that fine London beer hadn't yet reached Africa. I finally settled on a pint of the locally produced beer – Tusker Ale – quite a decent brew.

Harry confirmed that we would be leaving Kenya by the 23rd December; our reports had been accepted, and both the British and Kenyan military were pleased. "My paper, dealing with Iranian plots and machinations, has been sent to several 'friendly' Embassies of countries with an interest in the Middle East, and to most of the Commonwealth countries' High Commissioners in Nairobi as well." Harry said, and then took a drink of his whisky. "It's possible that I may be required to expound on some of the points I have made to interested parties. In any event, I think we can safely say that we will be spending Christmas with our loved ones."

"Or our wives!" I replied with the traditional, and probably chauvinistic, reponse.

"What about my posting when I get back to the UK, any idea where it might be?"

"It will probably be 2RGJ, but that will be up to the Records, Personnel, and Postings Department at MoD." Harry drained his glass and waved over the waiter for another. "Why, do you have a particularly posting in mind?"

"Well, 2RGJ is stationed at Catterick, which will be bloody freezing at this time of the year, but I'm mainly concerned about staying put for a year or two."

The waiter came to our table and I nodded for him to bring me another Tusker. "I'm going to try to get back with Miriam, and I don't want to be detached hither and yon while I'm trying to get closer to her. I need a settled posting, with standard working hours – not much chance of that with an infantry battalion, especially one on emergency stand-by like 2RGJ."

Harry pursed his lips and thought for a moment. "Recruitment!" He suddenly exclaimed. "Apply for recruitment duties; it's a two year post, and you might get a London office, but if not you could easily work it among the other staff to manage a long weekend at home every other week. Recruiting Offices have set hours and no duties at the weekends or evenings. It's a substantive corporal position, but it shouldn't take you long to get your corporal stripes back – and in a Recruiting Office you will get to know some of the people up at Records Personnel and Postings at MoD, and it's always useful to have some contacts in that department."