40 Days 40 Nights: A Sgt Major Crane Novel Read online

  Crane thought back to his conversation with Padam and knew the reality was very different. Many of the old Gurkhas were destitute, arriving in England with scant possessions and no money. He had read previous articles in the national press which said that Gurkhas who arrived in England needed about £2,000 each to pay for accommodation and basic furniture - about the equivalent of three year’s pension for the old men. A sum of money totally beyond their means as they had already sold their farms and land in Nepal to pay for their visas and flights, or taken out huge loans which they would never be able to repay. A sad ending for soldiers who had a long history with the British Army. Being interested in military history, Crane knew that in World War II over 250,000 soldiers from the Nepalese hills served Britain in her hour of need. Ten Victoria Crosses were awarded to them, as befitting a fighting race, whose motto, to this day, was ‘Better to die than be a coward’. Crane thought he should mention this article to Anderson as well.

  When his mobile rang, he was still thinking about the Gurkhas.

  “Tom? Tom can you hear me?” the panicky voice of Tina’s mother sounded tinny in his ear.

  “Yes, Brenda, what’s the matter? Is it Tina?” Crane stood up and walked towards the door.

  “Yes. We were having coffee in town and she went all dizzy and pale and then broke out into a sweat. She said she had a bad headache and just felt unwell. I called an ambulance and she’s on her way to Frimley Park Hospital.”

  “Is she having contractions?” Crane was walking through the main office.

  “No, they think it’s her blood pressure. I’m on my way to the hospital now in my car.”

  “Right. I’ll get back to you.” Crane snapped shut the phone and ran up the stairs to Captain Edward’s office. He knocked on the open door and put his head through the gap.

  “Sorry, sir. But Tina’s just been rushed to Frimley Park Hospital.” Crane stayed where he was, half in and half out of the office.

  “Oh it’s you, Crane. Come in.”

  Crane hesitated in the doorway. “I was just letting you know I was leaving, sir.”

  “Leaving? Is the baby coming?”

  “No, sir, they think it’s her blood pressure apparently.”

  “Have you talked to DI Anderson yet?”

  “Well I was just about to but then...” Crane’s voice tailed off and he looked at his mobile phone which was still in his hand.

  “Then request denied. You were making a request weren’t you, Sergeant Major?”

  Crane moved further into the office and stood to attention. “Yes, sir, I was making a request.” He drew out every word.

  “That’s what I thought.” Edwards tilted his head so his nose was in the air. “Request denied. Carry on, Sergeant Major.”

  “But, sir, Tina?”

  “Crane, you said yourself the baby isn’t on the way. And as you keep reminding me we have an emergency situation on the garrison, so I’m afraid I can’t spare you.”

  “For f…..” Crane didn’t finish the word as Edward’s disdainful stare cut off the expletive.

  “Sir.” Crane mumbled and left the office, clenching his jaw to stop him saying something he would regret for the rest of his army career. But in his mind he was calling his Officer Commanding every foul word he knew. He wanted to grasp Edward’s neck and squeeze hard, wiping the sneering expression off the Captain’s face for good.

  Once back in his office he grabbed his cigarettes and headed for the car park. He wasn’t going anywhere. He just needed the nicotine crutch whilst he called Brenda.

  After making the call he closed the phone and then his eyes, wondering how the hell he was supposed to survive the next twenty-four days with his sanity intact.

  Night 17

  My brothers, have I told you about the lessons I learned at school? Islamic lessons, of course, in an Islamic School. One of the big lessons I learned there was that looking like a non-Muslim is forbidden. Those who do not look like Muslims are disbelievers or infidels. I was taught not to be fashionable in society. By that I mean wearing Western style clothing. I tell you, it is true that adopting western dress is a way of enslaving Muslims. The first step by the West in their programme of mind control.

  Yes, mind control. We Muslims must fight it with every part of our being. These Western governments will enslave us, controlling Muslim minds, making us do what they want us to do. Brain washing Muslims into adopting Western customs and attitudes.

  So now I ask you, my Muslim brothers here with me in England, are you part of those who prefer that way of life over the way of the Prophet? You should hate the sinful nature of non-Muslim society. Be aware of all the evil on the streets. Evil that can come from Westerners and Muslims alike. Beware of those Muslims who do not wear the Hejaz properly. Beware of those Muslims who smoke. I tell you, you should hate walking down the streets of Aldershot. As you do, you should be mindful of the words of the great Prophet Mohammed who showed us how to live our lives for the glory of Allah.

  We must be vigilant and condemn the ways of non-Muslims. Do not emulate those from any other religions; be they Jews, Christians or Atheists. Do not copy anything! Remember who heaven has been prepared for – us Muslims. So I urge you to forget any friends from outside Muslim society and think only of your religion.

  Remember that Allah has described the disbelievers as the worst of all people. Do you still want to follow them, their ways and their practices? You must not. It is not the right thing to do.

  I denounce the concept of integrating into British society or any Western society that wants to impose its ways on our glorious country. This is NOT the right thing to do. Even as bad as some Muslims have become, being brain washed into living a Westernised way of life - even they are not as bad as infidels or kaffir. For never will a kaffir enter heaven, until a camel can enter the eye of a needle.

  So, my brothers, let us pray. Thanks be to God. God is good. God is great. Allah will show us the way.

  Day 18

  Nearly twenty hours after her admittance to hospital, Tina was responding well to treatment. So great was Crane’s relief, tears blurred his vision and threatened to leak out of the corners of his eyes, but he gulped them back. When he turned to Tina he saw that she hadn’t suppressed her emotions and tears were spilling down her cheeks.

  “Do you understand?” said Tina

  “Understand what?”

  “What the doctor was saying about pre-eclampsia.”

  “Not really,” Crane had to admit, letting go of Tina’s hand and falling into the chair by her bed. He’d had very little sleep. Rushing to the hospital after work and refusing to leave. He knew he’d have to get back to the garrison soon, but decided against risking a peek at his watch.

  “Well, it seems that my blood pressure was too high and apparently I’ve got protein in my wee. But they are giving me Magnesium…” she paused, searching for the right word and failing, “something or other, which is helping my blood pressure come down. So it seems I won’t develop full blown eclampsia after all.”

  “As long as you follow orders.”

  “Exactly, Sergeant Major,” Tina laughed. “As long as I follow orders and stay here in hospital, in bed and rest for a couple of days. Speaking of orders,” her expression turned serious, “shouldn’t you be getting back to the garrison?”

  Crane looked at his watch, as Tina had brought up the subject, not him. It was perilously close to 07:00 hours.

  “I’m afraid so, love. Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

  “Of course, Tom. I’m in hospital aren’t I? And anyway Mum’s coming in later today during visiting hours.”

  “Look, about yesterday…” he began, but as usual couldn’t seem to finish the sentence.

  “Tell you what,” Tina said, “why don’t you see if you can make me a cup of tea before you go?”

  Crane left Tina’s bedside and enquired about tea at the nurse’s desk. They pointed the way to the kitchen and told him to help himself. As h
e was waiting for the kettle to boil and hunting for clean cups, he wondered why he found some conversations with Tina so difficult. He knew he either refused to talk about whatever subject she’d brought up, or turned all defensive, deliberately making an argument out of a discussion. He was sure she wanted to talk to him again about leaving the army, but he just couldn’t face that particular discussion at the moment. He realised he couldn’t let her down too many times before it caused a rift between them. Did she know how guilty he felt? Probably. Then again, possibly not. He had never told her about the hot pin of guilt that poked his brain. The one he tried to ignore as much as possible.

  By now he was back with Tina offering her the cup of tea.

  “I know you want me to leave the army,” he blurted. The blunt words not coming out as he intended, as usual. Thoughts spilling out of his mouth before he’d engaged his brain.

  “What? Where the hell did that come from? Did I miss the beginning of a conversation you’ve just had with yourself?”

  “Probably,” Crane admitted. “I was just thinking in the kitchen.” He looked at his wife, lying in the bed. Her long dark hair tied back, emphasising her pale face.

  “I appreciate you realise it’s something we need to talk about,” she said. “But not yet and certainly not now. Remember, no pressure, no excitement and definitely no stress.”

  “Is that me or you?”

  Crane reached for his jacket, ducking out of the way as Tina took a swipe at him, then bent down and kissed her cheek.

  “I’ll see you tonight after work. Unless something happens to you or the baby. You will get them to phone me at once won’t you?”

  “Of course, Tom, now bugger off to work.”

  “Yes Ma’am,” he saluted. Turning away he tried not to run out of the ward. He had a clean shirt at work and a washing kit, so he shouldn’t look too bad. Perhaps if he sat down most of the day, no one would notice his creased trousers. Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t see Tina wave goodbye.

  Nor did he seem to be aware of the traffic on his way to work, until he arrived at the queue of cars waiting to enter the garrison. He’d been thinking about his conversation with Derek Anderson yesterday when he went to the station, as the Captain had insisted. Together they’d agreed the wording for an explanatory press release, about the increased security requirements, which they hoped would be included in next week’s edition of the Aldershot Mail. But personally Crane wasn’t holding his breath. He didn’t trust Diane Chambers as far as he could throw her.

  Last year he had pushed her a bit too far. Offering access to him in future investigations and an exclusive interview, after the successful capture of a megalomaniac, intent on persuading fathers to kill their sons and to then commit suicide. But Crane hadn’t kept his side of the bargain. Not that he’d had any intention of keeping it in the first place. So now Diane was determined to portray the army in general, and Crane in particular, in the worst possible light. Anderson had promised to have a word with her. Maybe the threat of limited access to the police would do the trick.

  Leaning out of his side window, Crane saw there were only three cars before him waiting to go through the barrier. As he watched the soldiers interviewing a driver, prowling around the vehicle, putting mirrors on long poles underneath it and walking sniffer dogs around the bodywork, he caught a glimpse of a slim young woman with short brown curly hair wearing a checked shirt. Mindful of Captain Edward’s words, he turned the car around, causing even more traffic chaos, on his way to finding another route into the garrison. Avoiding Diane Chambers was preferable even to being late. He could always say that he had been monitoring the stop and search procedures should anyone ask.

  Day 19

  The steps outside the Princess Theatre and the adjoining gardens in Aldershot, had long been used for civic parades and receptions, and today was no different. The fitful sun flitted from behind the clouds every now and then only to run away, as though playing its own version of hide and seek. The crowd were following its game, pulling off cardigans and coats when it shone brightly, only to don them again when it hid behind a cloud. The large banner displayed across the front of the Theatre read ‘Aldershot Welcomes Team GB’. An odd banner to use, as this was a farewell ceremony, Crane thought. But then he’d never really understood the workings of Mayor Braithwaite’s brain.

  Crane was mingling with the crowd, standing out like a sore thumb, dressed completely different to the majority, with his short sleeved white shirt and tie worn under a dark suit. Everyone else was in casual summer clothes. Crane may as well have been in full military uniform, he looked that incongruous.

  Someone had obviously been handing out Union Jack flags, as Crane saw several children waving them in a burst of national pride. As he watched more closely he saw they were also being used as effective weapons, to hit other children over the head with, poke up bottoms and in one instance into an unsuspecting eye. The affected child started to wail. The mother, more intent on drinking her can of larger than looking after her child, simply looked down at the bawling girl, told her to ‘fucking shut up’ and added a slap to make her point. Crane turned away, sickened.

  The sound of microphones being checked brought his attention back to the large steps in front of him. “Testing one two three,” rolled around the gardens from strategically placed loudspeakers and was met with jeers from the crowd.

  “Get on with it then, mate!” someone bawled in Crane’s ear. “We ain’t got all day you know – the pubs open soon!” The jester glowed with pride at the raucous laughter that followed his comments. God help us if this is Aldershot’s finest, Crane thought.

  A commotion on the steps heralded the arrival of Mayor Braithwaite, complete with robes and gold chain. The sun also decided to make an appearance, obviously not wanting to be left out of the proceedings, resulting in large drops of sweat rolling off the Mayor’s pockmarked face onto his robes within minutes. Quickly grabbing a proffered handkerchief from his wife’s hand, he dabbed his face and began to speak.

  “Citizens of Aldershot, thank you for turning out in your hundreds to wave Team GB goodbye and wish them good luck in the forthcoming Olympic Games!” Whilst the Mayor raised his own Union Jack flag and waved it in the air, Crane looked at the fifty or so people gathered around him and suppressed a smile at the Mayor’s powers of estimation.

  “The team will be passing by shortly. In the meantime please show your appreciation for the Aldershot Town Band.”

  Desultory clapping was soon drowned out by the sound of brass instruments played inexpertly, yet more or less in time. A discordant sound that most people ignored, merely raising their voices to carry on their conversations over the music. Crane slipped under the police cordon and showed his ID to the nearest constable before crossing the road to the steps of the theatre. Angling sideways as he climbed, he headed for DI Anderson who was standing on the edge of the steps.

  “Doesn’t this make you proud to be British?” asked Anderson by way of greeting.

  Guessing it was an ironical statement, Crane merely nudged Anderson’s arm and nodded his head towards the Mayor and the figure standing beside him. Diane Chambers, clearly revelling in her role as reporter for the Aldershot Mail, was interviewing the Mayor, thrusting a small recorder under his nose.

  “This should be fun, Derek,” Crane said, listening in on the interview.

  “This is a proud moment for Aldershot,” the Mayor was saying.

  “But do you think the price the good people of Aldershot had to pay was worth it?”

  The Mayor looked perplexed and muttered, “What price?”

  “The disruption. Increased security at the garrison. Harassment by the army. Long traffic jams. Need I go on?”

  “Surely, a small price to help the pride of our nation on their way to victory, Diane.” The Mayor had a nervous smile playing on his lips, clearly not sure why the interview was taking such a bad turn.

  “So you condone the actions of the army and the p
olice?”

  “Condone?”

  Crane laughed out loud as the Mayor, frantically looked around for someone to get him out of the situation, but no one was taking any notice of him.

  “Yes, Mayor Braithwaite. Condone. Or if you prefer, excuse or pardon the heavy handed actions of the army.”

  “I’m… I’m sure they only did what they thought necessary...” Mayor Braithwaite was now craning his neck and spying the coaches containing the athletes he said, “I’m sorry, Diane, you’ll had to excuse me. Team GB are on their way.”

  As the Mayor rushed to his wife’s side, Diane Chambers looked around for another victim. Crane turned his back to her before she could spot him.

  “Coward,” laughed Anderson.

  “Too right,” agreed Crane, remaining where he was, only turning around when Anderson assured him the coast was clear.

  The first bus pulled up and some passengers disembarked. Representatives from Team GB, the IOC and BOA climbed the steps, where they were greeted by the Mayor. They shook hands with assorted local dignitaries, waved to the crowd and got back into the bus. To the sound of the brass band, the buses filed past the waiting crowd, athletes waving from the windows. As the last bus left, the sun got bored and disappeared, leaving the straggling crowd shivering as they dispersed.

  “Thank God that’s over,” said Crane, lighting a cigarette.

  “Aren’t you going to give those up?”

  “I’m supposed to when the baby comes.”