Special Circumstances - 8. Being in Hell

I was about to enter the lion’s den. “Good morning. My name is Jamie Lewis Artois, I’ve been told to report here.”

Three public order trainers were seated in the small office. They ignored me and only just before it got awkward, one of them got up and looked at me dismissively.

“Not enough that you get special treatment for some reason. You’re small. How tall are you?”

I looked up at that hulk of a man. “One seventy-nine or five ten in old money.”

I’d known my being here wouldn’t be taken well. Most of these guys were ex-military, and anything not according to the book was bad news. My being here was clearly not by the book.

He looked down at me. “Let’s see what you are made of, runt. The codeword is ‘red’ as usual.”

I followed him out of the office. He led me to an empty sports hall. There were pads on the ground. Next to the section with the pads was a stand with two sticks. He took one and threw the other to me. I was able to catch it. Barely.

“Defend yourself.” He took a fighting stance.

Stick fighting was definitely not part of Officer Safety Training, but I followed suit. The other two guys had entered the hall to observe our bout. My opponent made an opening move, and quickly, we were in a serious fight. I had problems keeping up with my opponent, and he hit me hard on the left leg. I glared at him.

“Defend yourself,” he said again and started another attack sequence.

This guy was definitely better than me. I had to focus and dip into my abilities. Not obvious, but enough to dodge his heavy blows. If I hadn’t, I would’ve been in pain for sure. Once, I saw an opportunity, and I was able to swipe his feet from under him. He landed flat on his back.

This time it was his turn to glare at me. Then, he did a kip-up, jumping up from prone and stood back on his feet. Fuck, I wasn’t able do that! My surprise must’ve been visible in my expression, because he smirked evilly.

He dropped the stick. “Enough of the sticks. Defend yourself without weapon.”

As soon as I’d dropped mine, he charged me. His attacks were no joke. I tried sticking to police training, but I got so cornered I had to use a Krav Maga kick.

“That’s what I’m after,” my opponent said. “More! I want to see what you can do.”

Most police techniques out of the door, we were seriously exchanging blows and kicks when a voice shouted, “RED!”

We returned to the ready stance immediately, both of us panting heavily.

“What’s going on here?” The man who interrupted us was an inspector.

“Officer Safety Training assessment for Constable Artois, sir,” my opponent replied.

The inspector immediately turned to leave the hall and said, “I don’t wanna know.”

That was odd. As odd as the fighting had been. But I didn’t have any time to wonder about anything, as the hardest three days of my life began. On Friday evening, I was so tired I didn’t care about anything anymore.

Calling Mike after training was an effort. I just wanted to sleep, but I had only sent him text messages over the last two days, and I wanted to see his face. Just leaving him behind from one day to another hadn’t been easy on either of us.

“You look horrible,” he said, concerned when I started the video call.

“I feel horrible. I’m sorry, Mike, I’m in no state to drive home. I need to sleep. I’m so tired and sore.”

His concerned expression didn’t change. “Somehow, I expected that. What the fuck are they doing to you? Apart from that it’s Officer Safety Training, you didn’t tell much.”

I was too tired to choose my words carefully. “Honestly, that was no OST, but full blown martial arts training. For twelve hours each day the three trainers were exercising me, building on what I already knew. I didn’t even know stuff like that was taught.”

“Well, officially, the Met doesn’t teach any martial arts. You think Morris-Walker had his fingers in that?”

“Absolutely. I was shown some techniques which are definitely not for the public. I was also told they’d never taught me anything, only assessing my abilities and giving advice.”

Mike sighed. “Anyway, what’s next?”

“Monday starts the firearms training. First, there will be an extended bleep test. I hope I can recover enough to be up for that on Monday.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll pass that easily.”

“Mike, they require a score of 10.5.”

“Still, you’re one of the fittest guys I know.” He smirked. “And if you behave and keep your hands above the duvet at night, you might just make it.”

I chuckled. “Boyfriend, I have no energy for impure thoughts let alone actions.”

“Well, let’s talk tomorrow. Have a good night. I love you, Jamie.”

“Love you, too.”

I had a very quick shower and went straight to bed. That weekend, I spent most of my time sleeping, and by Monday, I felt ready enough to tackle the next course’s fitness test.

Had I thought the martial arts training was hard, the condensed firearms training turned out to be harder. Yes, it was physically challenging, but much more so mentally.

“Again!” the trainer shouted in my ear.

I disassembled the pistol and laid all the parts out on the box stand desk.

“The clock starts … now!”

I reassembled the pistol, inserted a magazine, loaded a bullet into the chamber, and started running towards the moving target while holding the weapon in the prescribed manner. The trainer was running just behind me and shouted, “Move! Move! Move! Faster! Faster! Faster!”

I took aim and fired while running after the moving target which suddenly begun sideways swings in complex patterns. I was sure I’d hit it with nearly all shots.

“Back to the stand!”

He hadn’t even looked at the results, that bastard! I ran back to the box stand with him closely following.

“Again!”

On the second weekend, I was only in a slightly better shape. Mike and I decided it was better for me to stay in Gravesend and rest. By the third week of training, I was getting used to it. Mike came down on Saturday to the barracks to visit me. I showed him to my room which was nice but sparse.

We sat down on the bed as our couch. He settled down to lean against the wall and allowed me to snuggle up on him. That was all I remembered till I woke up. I’d fallen asleep in his arms, and he hadn’t woken me, letting me sleep till the afternoon.

“I’m sorry, Mike.” I felt embarrassed. “You must be uncomfortable.”

He still held me tight. “No worries. It was nice holding you. Felt like having a cat on my lap.”

I yawned and got up to get some water.

“This isn’t normal training, is it? I’m just a Special. Of course, they make our training more relaxed for guys who have a day job, but that’s extreme, even for regulars.”

“Yes, it’s extreme. That’s the result of me getting special treatment.”

I stretched.

“The courses are more intensive because what’s normally done for a whole class, I get one-on-one. I don’t have a single minute during the day to hide in a crowd. Also, my days are planned to exceed the normal eight hours a day by fifty percent so overall duration of all courses could be shortened.”

“It does have a toll on you.”

“Yep. Twelve hours a day for five days is grueling, but it works. I can assemble and disassemble my pistol blindfolded and name every single part. I shoot while running and hit accurately.”

He smiled. “You’re becoming dangerous, boyfriend.”

That somehow stung but I tried not to show it. “A serious amount of the training is about when not to shoot. So much, in fact, I sometimes ask myself why are they teaching me all this to then tell me to never use it.”

“Well, we don’t want trigger happy maniacs in the police. Anyway, if you can do all that after one week what’s the next week about?”

I rolled my eyes. “All of it again, just for the machine pistol.”

“Ah, that explains the HK manual.” He pointed to a booklet lying on the desk.

“Shit, sorry. I’m sure you aren’t supposed to see that.” I shoved the booklet into my backpack, even though the horse was out of the barn, so to speak. “Twelve hours are a lot. Honestly. The trainers have shifts, I don’t.”

“The training department must really like you for disrupting their plans.”

“Hell, yes. The trainers make it deliberately difficult and unfriendly. It’s their way of expressing their disdain towards me for being treated differently than everybody else. On one hand, I can understand them, on the other, none of this was my idea.”

Mike got up and faced me. He stroked my blonde hair and pushed my bangs out of the way to cup my face. “My poor boy. Maybe I can distract you a bit.”

He kissed me, and I leaned into it. I’d missed it so much. The kisses became more sexual, but I stepped out of the embrace.

I smiled at him. “I like your thinking, but I don’t have much stamina.”

“I’ll deal with that. You don’t move.” He gently pushed me down on the bed.

I really wasn’t up for much, and Mike knew. He climbed on top of me and pulled my T-shirt off. He gently kissed me all the way down from my nose to my waist. Next, he carefully unbuttoned my trousers and removed them. His hands and mouth explored my sore body, gently massaging and caressing.

He quickly got up and removed his own clothes, standing beside the bed fully erect. I moved to touch him.

Mike stared down at me. “I said, don’t move.”

He placed my hands by my sides. That was a new feeling. While I was really grateful for not needing to move, I’d never not actively engaged with my sex partner. I did as I was bidden and leaned back concentrating on feeling him working my body. He did with patience and expertise.

Although my arousal was clearly visible in my briefs, he didn’t remove them, dragging it out. I started to pull them down, but he stopped me, grabbing my hands.

“Jamie, I said, don’t move.” His voice was firmer, more authoritative.

Again, he placed my hands by my sides. Touching and kissing me everywhere else except my briefs, he made a point of letting me suffer, teasing me with not so accidental touches. Finally, he freed my erection and pulled the briefs down carefully. Mike took me in his mouth, giving it a very thorough lick.

Then, moving nimbly, he settled on top of me so I slid into him. I yearned to touch him.

“No. Don’t move!” He again pushed my arms to the side.

Being denied was frustrating yet exciting at the same time.

He rode me.

I grabbed the bedsheet.

After a while, he took my hands and placed them on his body, allowing me to caress him. I struggled not to climax much earlier than him. When Mike came, he spewed onto me in waves showing the intensity of his orgasm. Whether it was the tiredness or anything else, I couldn’t say, but my own release was so intense I did something which I usually never did. I moaned.

“Wow,” I said breathlessly.

Mike leaned forward and gave me a kiss. “You’ll repay the favour.”

I smiled at him. “Maybe I’ll get used to being served.”

“Maybe I need to control you more often.”

“I admit it was interesting being denied and you having control. But at the same time, my whole being was telling me it was wrong. That I was unfair to you.”

He gave me another kiss and got up from me. “You’re tired. Let’s have this conversation another time.”

We showered and went to have dinner at a local pub. Sleeping in the small barracks bed was challenging, but we managed just fine. That night, I wanted to hold Mike and never let him go.

When Mike left me on Sunday afternoon, I felt much better about myself and my current situation. He was such a stable support for me. I could just talk and he would just listen. He seemed to know instinctively whether he needed to offer advice and when to just give me a cuddle. I was concerned I’d become so dependent on him for emotional support within only a couple of months.

Such a dependency and deep connection was new for me. Yes, I’d been in love before. I also had been naive. With Mike, there was no naivity, and there were no doubts. He was just there for me, and I wondered what he got out of being with me. Simply put, I was concerned he’d finally realise I was too much trouble. Because, at the moment, I definitely was.

The training continued for another four weeks, and it was taxing. Because I needed to prepare for exams at the end of the course, I asked Mike to not meet up for this weekend. Of course, he was disappointed but he assured me of his understanding.

In the end, I passed the theoretical and practical exams and graduated from the firearms course. On this seventh weekend, I made the huge effort to drive home on Friday evening. Nam and Rebecca were due to meet Mike and me for a celebratory dinner in the restaurant where Mike usually worked.

I arrived a bit later than expected. Traffic had been dense. With a bike, parking was luckily not an issue, as the lot was full when I arrived. I went to the restaurant and shed my biker gear in the now usual place. A melange of delicious odors assaulted me as I made my way through the full restaurant, and I joined the three of them at the table.

“What happened to you, sweetie?” Rebecca asked when I’d sat down. “You have rings under your eyes.”

“Yo, you look like a zombie,” Nam added.

“I very much feel like one. Nam, never ever consider a career in firearms.”

“Looking at you cured me forever.”

I smiled at him. “I love you, too.”

“I know!” He said and turned to Mike. “Sorry!”

“I’ve known about Jamie’s divided loyalties from the beginning, so you can’t shock me.”

Everyone laughed. It was good to be among friends even though I was exhausted.

I yawned. “Sorry. But honestly, firearms isn’t a career path I’d advise on.”

“Why?” Mike asked.

“You’re damned if you fire a gun and you’re damned if you don’t. And if you fuck up, the job’s over. Done and dusted.”

I took a deep sip from the glass of cold coke the waiter had just deposited in front of me.

“It’s good and proper that people are held accountable for their actions,” Rebecca said.

That wasn’t my issue. “Absolutely. The problem is that you can have done everything according to the law and even have courts stating your actions were lawful, the police administration and or the Independent Office for Police Conduct will hold you in investigations for years to come. It’s pure intimidation.”

“Are you saying the investigations into police firearms actions should be abolished? Jamie, I’m appalled.”

“No, Becs, that’s not what I’m saying at all. If a court has declared the use of a firearm lawful, then what is there for the IOPC to investigate?”

“Breach of procedures,” Nam said.

“Fine, but not for years on end. I’m not asking to abolish IOPC inquiries, but for a time limit. This stuff going on for years is psychological torture in my opinion. The stories they told me about firearms officers being held in limbo for eight years or longer is disgusting.”

Mike didn’t want any further discussion. Before anybody could reply, he said, “Well, anyway, you aren’t going to work on ARV. This was the first course of three, and you’ve successfully completed it.” He picked up his glass of wine. “Cheers!”

We all lifted our glasses for his toast. While I was tired, I enjoyed the rest of the evening. The food and the company were very good. It was the first time in weeks I laughed. But by ten I was dead tired and had to make my excuses. We drove home separately, I on my bike and Mike in his car.

Lying in bed, I cuddled Mike.

“Thank you,” I said.

“What for?”

“For knowing me. You remember, I wasn’t looking forward to this dinner. It turned out you were right. I needed this diversion.”

He kissed me on my forehead. “I love you. Once the stoic shell is cracked, a sensitive boy surfaces.”

“I love you, too.” I wanted to say something, but I didn’t remember what. I was already asleep.

On my insistence, we spent the Saturday in bed to watch some films and catch up on missed intimacy. Gosh, how much I’d missed my Mike! I wanted him close and when he wasn’t around, I felt lonely. I had to admit I was afraid. I’d completely fallen for Mike. I wanted to trust him, but deep inside me, I couldn’t. The last time I had fallen for somebody, I was hurt badly.

It wasn’t I distrusted Mike, but I wasn’t able to relinquish control, not able to give myself to him completely. And that made me question whether I was truly giving everything to this relationship. In the back of my mind there was always the backup plan of what I’d need to do if things turned sour. Was I a bad boyfriend?

I needed him. Plain and simple. I just had never known I could need somebody so much I felt incomplete when he wasn’t around. That scared me more than finding out I could win any running race in the world or seeing in the dark.

I felt vulnerable.

The weekend was over far too soon. I’d decided to drive back to the training centre on Sunday afternoon so I could settle in nicely for the next week, the first part of the advanced pursuit course.

We started on Monday with an assessment of my Roadcraft skills. The trainer was a retiree in his fifties who had come back as a teaching contractor. He was okay to be around with for twelve hours in the same car. While he wasn’t talking very much, he didn’t try to make my day miserable which was quite a change.

The Tuesday had me stumble across a real life pursuit on the local channel.

I looked at the trainer. “Best training is doing. Can I?”

He mulled it over. “Yes, let’s do it.”

I radioed local control, announced my presence and capabilities and waiting for authorisation to join. It took the local duty superintended a while, but they couldn’t scramble enough local units, and he came back to me to assist.

The siren was in short wail mode. I didn’t have the time to change it right now. Driving a high speed pursuit and giving commentary at the same time, took all my concentration. And one hand, because I had to keep pressing the send button on the radio. Dumb idea.

“High risk, red ATS crossed. Making 110 in a 40 limit.”

It was dark, just after seven, and it was slightly raining. The trainer next to me was silent. I took it as a good sign.

“Vehicle breaking heavy at second red ATS. He’s turning right into the offside, driving on the wrong side of the dual carriage way. There is nothing oncoming for about 400 meters.”

“Tango Alpha Four-Six, stinger ready entry carriageway.”

I saw the officer in the headlight, the light reflecting off his high visibility jacket. He ran to throw the nailed device which would deflate the fleeing car’s tyres, but he was too late. The car had passed him.

“Missed, missed, missed.”

“Vehicle taking left left left on the roundabout, first exit, direction Ditcot. Continual high risk, making 80 in 30 limit. Heavy traffic in the roundabout.”

I stayed as close to the speeding vehicle as I dared.

“Tango Alpha Four-One, second pursuer.”

I could only throw a glance. Yes, I saw his blue lights in my rear mirror.

“All units, Sierra-Alpha, gold commander grants permission for forced stop.”

Fuck! I hit the brakes hard. “Sudden right, right, right.”

That guy was mad. He made the turn immediately in front of an oncoming car forcing it to break extremely hard and skid. It partly obstructed the entrance to the road the fleeing vehicle had taken, but I was able to follow. Passing the obstacle, I saw the fleeing vehicle had crashed into a parked car. The driver had lost control.

“Crash, crash, crash, Dunslow Avenue,” I radioed while I got out of my car to run after the driver who fled down the road.

Other units arrived and we ran after the driver. He was quick and probably on drugs. I was a good runner, but I had to dip into my special abilities. I got him and arrested him. Walking him back to our cars, I handed him over to a local unit.

I returned to my marked car in which my trainer was still seated and looking over a notepad. I sat down and braced for being taken apart.

I sighed. “And?”

“That we were close by when a pursuit happened, was indeed a piece of luck. Well done.”

I hadn’t expected a praise. “Thank you.”

“I now know what we need to work on in the coming days.”

“Well, first, I now need to write a statement and hand in the footage.”

He smiled. “I get paid overtime, I don’t mind.”

“Well, I do too, but I was looking forward to driving back to Gravesend soon to catch some sleep.” I put on my seatbelt. “No such luck.”

“Don’t chide yourself. Listening to the local channel and going for it was a good call.”

It took some maneuvering to get the car out of the small avenue. I drove to the local station. The evening was long. We were in Canterbury, and as non-force officer, I had no access to any system and needed to be handheld by local officers. In the end, I had to write my statement by hand leaving me with writer’s cramp.

In the end, the trainer was right. Having analysed my behaviour in action, they were able to focus on the areas I needed to improve.

After a week of sirens, I was happy I could drive my motorbike home in silence. On the drive, I had some time to reflect. A lot of what they taught us in the immediate response driving course, made much more sense to me now. I remembered a discussion I once had with Rebecca about how to behave in certain situations. We’d argued a lot about what we’d been taught. My trainers had laid the foundations for this course which paramedics would never need, so there were differences.

Arriving home, I fell into Mike’s arms as he came downstairs to welcome me.

“Sleep?”

I whispered, “Silence.”

We went upstairs to have dinner. It was as great as always.

“It’s so unfair to have a chef as a boyfriend. I’ll never ever be able to eat my stir fries again.”

Mike snickered. “Why’d you need to?”

“That was a compliment, boyfriend. I don’t do them very often. Take it.”

“I shall,” Mike said and changed the subject. “What’s the plan for the weekend? You mentioned you wanted to meet up with Nam?”

“Yeah. They looked away when I installed my dashcam. One of the trainers found my channel and said it was good. He pointed out mistakes in two vids which I need to fix. I also have enough material for two new clips. We’ll see.”

Mike was surprised. “A professional Roadcraft trainer thinks your videos are good?”

“Hey, why are you so surprised?”

“I’m not a pro. So, well done?”

“Maybe. Not that it helps me in any way on this course. But they didn’t take me apart nor asked me to take it all down. A secret seal of approval. I’m fine with it.”

In the end, it didn’t help. The course was brutal and the examination even more so. But I made it.

Because I’d passed the firearms and advanced pursuit and evasion driving training, I was now allowed to attend the Protection Course. To my horror, I found out this was the first course of six and the full training would take about a year.

However, the first course would allow me to serve as Close Protection Officer to low risk principals like Morris-Walker. This turned out a to be a training which I absolutely loved. Even Mike commented on my more positive mood during a video call.

“You’re more energised than you’ve ever been since the start of this ordeal.”

“Well, the trainers are really positive and engaged. Also, the course subject is really interesting. I won’t be able to watch any spy film ever again, because of all the mistakes these so called expert hero agents are making.”

He chuckled. “Like police films, from now on spy thrillers are taboo.”

“Absolutely. But you understand. You can’t watch police dramas anymore either. Same thing.”

Finally, twelve weeks and three days after I’d started my training boot camp, it was over. I’d passed the assessments, and I got confirmation of the formal transfer to the Protection Command, branch Royalty and Specialist Protection. This meant I got a new shoulder number and a new deployment station in the middle of London.

Mike organised a celebration dinner in the restaurant, inviting Nam, Rebecca, Sergeant Ward and some shift colleagues who I got along with, and a couple of Specials I’d worked with. It was a very enjoyable evening, but a bit emotional to say good-bye. Only now did it sink in that I most likely wouldn’t see most of these people again, apart from Social Media.

While I’d told Mike I couldn’t stomach alcohol, he’d never seen what I meant by it. Despite having been together for months now, there hadn’t been many opportunities for drinking, and if there were, I didn’t drink.

On that evening, though, Nam gave me my first pint for the obligatory toasts. After dinner, I got a new one, and as soon as it was empty, I had a third one in my hand. What do they say? First, you hate it, then you get used it, and then you like it. I was hammered, and one more would send me completely wasted.

I didn’t drink much beyond an occasional beer or wine. Honestly, I hated the feeling being drunk gave me, the loss of control of my body, of my walk, of my cautious nature. But somehow, with Mike, it was different. I felt safe. No matter what dumb thing I did or said, he wouldn’t hold it against me and would keep me out of trouble.

Mike at first couldn’t believe a fit guy like me was getting drunk so easily. He found it very funny I was suddenly talkative, but when Rebecca was handing me a fourth pint, Mike had pity on me. He took it away and replaced it with a coke.

Nevertheless, for me, the evening was kind of a blur. Mike got me home. He got me into bed after making me drink a large glass of water. I might’ve said he’d pay in sex for his laughing at me, but I fell asleep before I could make good on that promise.