Him in the Dust - Part 2 - Prologue. Prologue - Touchdown

August 21st 2006

I walked into a large room inside Catterick base, having touched down directly on the base runway on a C-17 a couple of days ago. I'd been in here before and remember the room being quite overbearing. I could quite believe this was the room where you got a dressing down, it seemed appropriate. Decorated with military art and various pictures of past victories. It was my CO’s office. I’d been summoned without knowing the reason. So anyway, due to the painkillers I was on, I was all over the place in my head.

Trying to stand up straight and salute my Commanding Officer, I heard him start to talk. What he was saying I could hear but most of it was just not going in my head.

I just heard the words ‘two months leave.’

“Two months?” I said, startled by my Commanding officer, Sgt Peters. “What am I going to do for two months?... Sir!”

“You have a family, right?”

“Yes, but I need to be here. I need to stay near my… friend!”

“Sorry, who is it that is here that you need to see?”

“Lukas Hans, Sir. He’s in the Ministry of Defence Hospital Unit Northallerton.”

“Yes, I know Lukas; he has returned from a tour, yes?”

“That’s right. He was badly injured when we were on patrol.”

“I’m sorry Private; I am not up to speed with the details yet. You were under Sgt Bennet in Afghanistan, right?”

“Yes, Sir, with Lukas Hans, we were… are close.”

“Well, Private, I sympathise with your request, but you have been medically relived for two months. We need to transfer you to Portsmouth, or you can stay at home. You need to report to Queen Alexandra Hospital for your chest assessment.”

As I say, I had been back in the UK a couple of days and found out I didn’t need a skin graft after all. It was relieving, to say the least, as I was told the procedure is not the most comfortable and would have meant some skin would have been removed from my arse, which, let’s face it, no one wants a scarred arse! No one wants scars anywhere. I’m rambling again, I know.

Sgt Peters took over as my CO when I touched down on UK soil, while Sgt Bennet stayed in Afganistan with the rest of my regiment. Ten of them were either injured or dead. I was trying to be delicate with my situation, but I needed to stay here as much as I wanted to see my family again. Bah, who was I kidding? I didn’t even want to see my family. I could have done without the fuss.

After standing for a few seconds in silence trying to concentrate, I started to speak again.

“Sir, I am in no way disobeying orders, but why is it I cannot be treated at Northallerton?”

“Queen Alexandra has a trauma facility and have the best physio centre in the country. Norhallerton does not. I’m sorry Private, but you need to be ready for transport in one week.”

“Permission to speak freely, Sir.”

“Granted, Private.”

“Thank you, Sir. If I got to Portsmouth for my medical appointment, I would like to return to Catterick after seeing my family. Can this be granted?”

“Do you have living quarters, or are you in barracks?”

“I’m in the block, Sir.”

“Permission granted, But Private, I want you to attend that appointment.”

“Yes, Sir, and thank you, Sir.”

I gritted my teeth and stood to attention the best I could and saluted.

This was utter shit. I needed to find a way of seeing Lukas. I dared not disobey orders, and I needed to be on the transport, but I had to find a way to get to that hospital before that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took me some time, but I eventually reached my dorm and slumped onto my bed, exhausted. My chest was healing, but it still could knock the shit out of me as I spent the entire time trying not to flex specific muscles which wanted to flex naturally.

I lay there fucking seething but started thinking with clarity about what I was going to do. I got up and opened my drawer below my bed, pulling out a worn-out old blue rucksack. Digging around in one of its many pockets, I pulled out a roll of cash wrapped in a plastic band and stuffed it in my wallet.

I grabbed my phone and dialled Premier Taxis. It rang twice, and a young guy answered. “Oh, erm, hi. Can I have a taxi please to pick me up from Catterick Garrison?”

“Sure, what’s the name, please, and we will get a car out to you.”

“It’s Sebastian Biden”

“Thank you, Sebastian. Could I also ask your destination?”

“Yes, it’s Ministry of Defence Hospital Unit in Northallerton.”

“No problem, it will be about fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks, bye.”

“Goodbye, Sir.”