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Beginnings - Becker
The battered pickup truck sped along the wadi throwing up dust in its wake. Its target, an abandoned mud brick shack. In the truck sat seven men, each heavily bearded and heavily armed with AK47s, knives in their belts and pistols in holsters slung from their waists. Tucked in the back of the truck alongside the essentials - tents, blankets, food, fuel and water - was a grenade launcher and a box of RPGs, along with several crates of ammunition. Each man wore a traditional turban, kameez and trousers. They were dusty and worn from long exposure to the burning sun.
As soon as the truck arrived at the shack, the men jumped out, weapons at the ready. Their commander said nothing but indicated that they spread out, search the building and secure the perimeter. Each man immediately set about his assigned task. As soon as the building was confirmed clear, the kit from the truck was unloaded and carried inside.
Within minutes sentries had been set, gear had been stowed and a fire burned inside. Water was boiled for tea and cups were passed round to soothe the throats parched by heat and sand. No-one had spoken a word.
The commander pulled out a radio and contacted his base.
In another hour, two British armoured personnel carriers slowly approached the building. The men inside were on full alert. About 100 yards from the building, the carriers disgorged heavily armed soldiers. They deployed silently surrounding the shack, approaching it cautiously, scanning the area for hostiles.
Suddenly one of the tribesmen stepped from the shadows, weapon levelled at the approaching men.
Everyone tensed, but no hostile action was taken as the men eyed each other warily.
"Charlemagne" called the lead soldier.
"Paladin" replied the tribesman.
The soldier indicated that the Saxon personnel carriers approach, and the soldiers quickly re-deployed, replacing the tribesmen on perimeter guard. The Lieutenant was led inside by the tribesman. He approached the commander of the tribesmen, snapped smartly to attention and saluted.
"Just as well we're inside and out of visual range of hostiles or you may have just got me killed Lieutenant."
"Sorry sir. I'll remember that in future. As ordered we're here to extract you back to Camp Bastion."
"About bloody time. I could do with a shower and a decent cup of coffee. Men, we're pulling out. On the double." He didn't need to tell them what to do, or to leave no trace of their presence. It had to appear that only locals had ever taken shelter in this shack.
As quickly and stealthily as they had arrived the soldiers and tribesmen climbed into the personnel carriers and were gone.
Another hour passed and only the truck and shack remained, stripped and burnt out wrecks from the missiles fired by the drone buzzing overhead.
-0-0-0-
Captain Becker looked at himself in the mirror. This was his second shower since his return and he still hadn't had his coffee. The first shower was to get rid of the desert, then he'd been called into the Colonel's office. After that he visited the camp barber for a much needed shave and hair-cut, then a final shower just to make himself presentable before leaving the Camp, hopefully for good.
He'd just exited the ablutions block heading for the canteen. He had shed his kameez in favour of standard issue desert camouflage – beige t-shirt, cam trousers and boots.
Just as he was about to enter the canteen, a corporal appeared before him and smartly saluted.
"Captain Becker, Colonel Wilson needs to see you see. A matter of urgency he said."
Returning the salute and saying "Thank you Corporal" he thought 'I'm never gonna get that bloody coffee!'
Knocking on the Colonel's door he waited until he heard "Come" opened the door and entered. He stood at attention and executed a salute before standing stock still, staring front and centre, awaiting the Colonel's attention.
"Ahh, Captain Becker. Stand easy. I'll be needing an after action report. Get Lieutenant Martin to write that for you." Becker quirked an eyebrow in surprise. "You've done an excellent job with minimal casualties. Well done. I take it your kit is still all packed. You are scheduled on a transport at 21:00 hrs. Orders have come through for you to return to the UK immediately."
"Sir? Is something wrong?"
"No, quite the opposite. Apparently your talents have not gone unrecognised in certain quarters. You have been requested for a special assignment that requires your urgent departure from this sand box." The Colonel was obviously not pleased to be losing one of his best and most successful recon officers.
"Sir, what about my men? Is it my whole unit or just me?"
"Orders say just you Captain. Captain Battersby will take over command of your unit. He's a good man with plenty of recon experience. Not as much as you, but he'll soon come up to speed."
Becker was annoyed. He'd specially trained the men in his unit. They knew each other like brothers, able to read each other's moods and instructions by little more than a look. All top SAS men, they had been on their own surviving in the desert for the last 4 months tracking down and pin-pointing Taliban positions in the desert and hills, calling in RAF bombers and drones to destroy enemy positions. A covert mission, they had lived as tribal nomads, moving from village to village gathering intell from the locals then, when it was safe, relaying that back to HQ. It felt like an act of betrayal to be leaving his men behind and handing them over to a new untried CO. This deployment had better be bloody important, although Becker knew better than to questions the foibles of the MOD.
"Sir, is there any indication of the nature of the assignment?"
"No, need to know apparently. You'll receive sealed orders when you land. Well, what are you doing standing there? Dismissed and good luck. Oh and best visit the barber before you go otherwise they may not let you on the plane. They might mistake you for Bin Laden!" The Colonel smirked at his unfunny joke, then returned to his paperwork.
Walking into their billet his men knew straight away what was up. They were still bearded and shaggy haired (but well scrubbed) pending their next recon mission. Captain Becker was now as smartly turned out as ever.
"Leaving us Cap?"
"Sorry, been reassigned. I leave for the UK in an hour. Captain Battersby will be your new CO. Martin, the Colonel wants you to write the after action report – lucky you. Don't forget to include the exact position of the cairn." He looked at the faces of his men and the expressions of stoic acceptance. "You know what to do, whoever is in charge. You'll know how to train Captain Battersby. Good luck."
There were words of congratulations and regret, hand-shakes and man hugs before the six bearded men formed a dead straight line, came to attention, properly dressed and executed a smart salute. The Captain came to attention and returned the salute. He then made a sharp about turn and left the tent and his men for good, without a backwards glance. That chapter of his life was now closed, but the guilt would remain.
Captain Becker grabbed his gear, strapped on his Kevlar vest and helmet, and got into the personnel carrier that would take him to Kandahar airport and his flight home.
-0-0-0-
Home! It had been two years since he'd last been home. He'd completed one tour in Iraq and was on his second tour of Afghanistan all in advanced recon units. In that time he'd managed to grow a healthy beard. Losing it was a relief if a little itchy.
His sealed orders were, as expected, waiting for him when he landed. He had two weeks R&R before reporting to his new posting at an address in London. Within that two weeks he had to make all necessary arrangements for his new deployment including securing accommodation within a 20 minute journey of the address given. A sizeable accommodation allowance was included to facilitate this. Not much to do then. At least his few possessions were all in storage at his parents' home.
His parents. It would be good to see them again. A hire car was at his disposal for the next few weeks – very considerate of his new CO whoever it may be. Throwing his kit in the back seat, Becker put the car into gear and headed for his parents' house.
Just under two hours later and Becker pulled to a halt before the Georgian manor house in the Surrey Hills. He felt surprisingly good to be home. Grabbing his kit, he walked slowly to the front door, just savouring the feeling. He leant forward to ring the bell, but the door flew open before he could make contact.
"Darling, your home!" An auburn whirlwind threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "Oh Hils I'm so relieved. I know I'm not supposed to worry but I do. Why didn't you call? How long are you home for? Are you well? You've lost weight. Why didn't you call? Arthur, Arthur, Hils is here. Arthur."
The last comments were being directed to a stiff military gentleman who was marching briskly down the hall. "Harrumph. Welcome home My Boy." Once Becker had managed to extricate himself from his mother's arms, his father held out his hand for a short firm handshake with his son.
"Hello Sir. Hello mother. Can I come in please? I was in the desert a little over 24 hours ago and I still haven't had a decent cup of coffee."
"Oh darling come through to the drawing room. I'll get Morrison to bring some coffee through, and some sandwiches too. Then you can tell us why you're home."
An hour later and it was all sorted. Becker would, of course, use his old room while he sorted out his accommodation in London. Morrison had been tasked with feeding him up as his mother felt he looked too thin. He'd also needed to sort out a new mobile as his was lost somewhere in the desert of Helmand province. He'd managed to convince his mother not to throw a welcome home party, but she'd still insisted on arranging for his sisters and their families to come over for Sunday lunch.
Now his life was sorted out he could sit back and enjoy catching up with family news.
"New shoes mother?"
"Oh Hils, you noticed." She modelled her latest purchase from Christian Louboutin. "You've always had such a wonderful appreciation of my shoes."
"Well they're hard to miss, but I must say that particular pair are quite remarkable."
"Do you think so? I wasn't sure if they weren't just a little too much, but once I tried them on I just had to have them."
Major General Arthur Becker merely harrumphed in the corner and mumbled something about "ridiculous extravagance", but his eyes never left his wife's shapely ankles and a gentle smile could be seen under his moustache.
Suddenly his mother sprang up, a look of horror on her face. "Oh, I quite forgot, I'm supposed to be meeting the girls at the Club for tea. Hils, can you possibly excuse me? I really can't cancel."
"It's alright mother, I'll see you later. I'm not going anywhere."
"Bless you my darling." She grabbed his cheeks in her hands and planting a kiss on his lips. "Oh, I just can't believe your home!" and the tears shone in her eyes.
"Run along Lesley. You mustn't keep the girls waiting for your exciting news. I'll take care of Hilary while you're gone. And no trying to set him up with Felicia Winters. Give the poor boy a chance to relax before you start trying to marry him off."
"Oh Arthur, you're such a spoil sport!" Lesley Becker called over her shoulder as she departed for her engagement.
Silence reigned in the drawing room for a few minutes as father and son became comfortable with each other. Well, as comfortable as was possible. They had never been close. Major General Becker had spent much of Becker's childhood on deployment in various trouble spots and war zones. When he was home he was always emotionally detached from his children, leaving their emotional wellbeing to his wife. He was always called Father or Sir to his face. Unbeknownst to him, he was referred to as The CO between his offspring. Becker had not hugged his father since he was seven years old and was being sent away to boarding school. From then on he was expected to be a man, and hugging did not rank high on then Brigadier Becker's list of manly behaviour.
"Whisky?"
The query took Becker by surprise. He looked at his father, just to confirm that the word had actually come from him.
"Err, yes please Sir."
"Library then." And with that the General raised himself lithely from the sofa and headed briskly towards the library door and his sanctuary. Setting down his now empty coffee cup, Becker followed.
"Take a seat My Boy." The General waved his hand in the direction of the arm chairs. Becker noticed the latest Lindsey Davis crime novel part read on the side table. He smiled at his father's secret penchant for crime fiction.
"I see Marcus Didius is at it again. Any good?"
"Excellent as always. She writes an enthralling and well considered story. Always a rollicking good read!"
Becker settled into the indicated arm chair. The General offered him a cut glass tumbler of single malt, before seating himself in the armchair opposite.
"So tell me, what's the new deployment?"
"How did you know?"
"Well primarily because your tour isn't over for another three months. Also, I've heard whispers that they need you for something important."
"Well you know more than me Sir. All I have is a date and an address in London. I have orders to find appropriate accommodation within a 20 minute radius and that is it."
"I haven't heard much more than that My Boy. I can tell you it's not MOD, it's Home Office." Becker looked surprised.
"They've called me back for a security job?" His annoyance was obvious.
"Could be. But it must be big for them to require someone of your calibre and to pull you out of the field."
"All I know is its Top Secret, Need to know. So even when I do find out I won't be able to tell you Sir. It does look fairly long term though as they want me to find what they call 'permanent' accommodation."
"Well just be careful My Boy. You know what these spooks can be like with their cloak and dagger mullarky."
"Yes father." That was as close a General Becker came to fatherly concern. The two men settled back into silence and whisky.
-0-0-0-
Becker started flat hunting the next day. It actually didn't take too long. The second flat he saw was perfect with two bedrooms, a fully equipped kitchen and a small, isolated balcony in a purpose built and secure complex less than twenty minutes from his new base. Unusually the complex also boasted secure car parking. Normally it would have been well outside his price range, but with the accommodation allowance mentioned in his briefing pack, it was affordable. He told the Estate Agent he'd take it and would move in straight away.
"Well, we have to do the credit and security checks, request references and obviously get all the paper work signed, so it probably will be about a month before you can move in." The Estate Agent wasn't making things easy. Becker handed her his brand new mobile phone, with the number from his briefing pack already entered and ringing.
"Hello? Yes. Walker and Jones on the High Street. Alright, Oh, I see. I See. OK. That won't be a problem. Of course. Thank you. Goodb…." Apparently whoever she was speaking to had hung up.
"Well, I've never had that happen before." She exclaimed breathily, a little shocked and excited by the experience. "The security checks etcetera won't be necessary sir. Here are your keys. The apartment is all yours with immediate effect. Just pop into the office tomorrow to sign the paperwork. Enjoy your new home." And with that she hastily left Becker alone.
Becker was stunned. He had just rented a flat.
Next he made his way to Oxford Street and John Lewis. He ordered a bed, sofa, coffee maker, telephone with answer machine, television and laptop all to be delivered to his flat the next day. He left the store carrying bed linen, towels and a kettle.
Returning to HIS flat he stowed everything away, before again heading out. He had two visits to make on his way back to his parents' house. Sergeant Wilson's parents and Corporal Patel's brother needed to be told that they had not died alone, and needed an explanation as to why their bodies were never returned.
He thought about the ambush in the desert that had cost both men their lives. They had surprised a small band of Taliban insurgents. A fire fight had ensued. The insurgents were all killed, but so was Wilson, a single shot to the head. Patel had taken a bullet to the stomach, the perils of being undercover and not in kevlar. There was nothing they could do as he slowly bled out except to make him comfortable and hold his hand as they listened to his prayers and words of love for his brother in between cries of pain.
Both men were buried under a cairn high in the hills. There was no way to get the bodies out. All they could do was mark the coordinates of the grave site and hope that someday someone would retrieve their fallen comrades.
His duty done, Becker now returned to his parents' house. He went straight to his room and threw himself on the bed. He could have done more. He could have prevented their deaths. He could have got their bodies home. He felt the guilt churn his guts and make him nauseous. He finally managed to doze off, but the men's faces haunted his dreams.
-0-0-0-
The next day, he arrived at his flat bright and early, ready to take delivery of his order. He had bought cleaning supplies on the way to get the flat squared away.
To his surprise he was met on his door step by a smart man in a black suit.
"Captain Becker? Your new front door keys – two sets." Becker took the proffered keys with a look of surprise.
"Gas, electricity, telephone, broadband and satellite television are all fully installed. Electrics and the boiler have all been thoroughly serviced. There are ten new uniforms in your wardrobe. Also the flat has been thoroughly cleaned and swept. Your new front door has the latest security locks, and the alarm system has been installed. Here is the code, but we recommend you change it immediately." And with that the man came to attention, nodded and departed.
So they'd not only tidied up, they'd also carried out a full security sweep. He was being exceptionally well taken care of. This new deployment must be really important for him to merit this level of care. He worried a little at what he was getting in to. Its not as if he'd even had an interview.
He unlocked his new front door with his new keys. He switched off the alarm before resetting the code as instructed.
Just to be on the safe side he carried out his own security sweep – just in case his new employers had left any presents of their own. He also checked out his new uniform. In the wardrobe hung black t-shirts, black combats, black boots, black caps and black jackets, both summer and winter thicknesses. All bore a strange insignia – ARC.
By the end of the day his flat was habitable. His furniture had arrived and the phone and television were plugged in. He had also made arrangements with his parents and a local removal firm for his remaining possessions to be shipped over. He now lay sprawled on the sofa enjoying a fresh cup of coffee and surveying his new … home. He really did need to get a coffee table.
He called his parents and let them know he was spending the night in his new flat.
At the moment, life was good. Perhaps too good.
-0-0-0-
At 8:50 am on Monday morning, Becker's taxi pulled up to the security gate. A heavily armed soldier dressed all in black came forward and peered into the cab.
"Name and ID."
"Captain Becker to see Mr Lester." He handed his ID to the soldier who in turn handed it to a second man inside the gate house. The taxi was ushered through the gate, the soldier walking beside, and made to pull up in a nearby parking space. The occupants were not permitted to leave the vehicle.
Becker looked at this protocol and decided it needed changing. The taxi had not been security checked and neither had the driver. They should never have been allowed into the compound, even under escort. He would ensure that unsecured vehicles could only park up outside the gate. Also a third man was required inside the guard house. At the moment it was single manned by a distracted soldier who was busily giving information over the phone. It was a perfect situation for an attack. But this was central London not Kabul, why would there be an attack? And why was this building so heavily fortified? He'd just have to wait and see.
Another heavily armed soldier approached the taxi and knocked on the window. "If you'd follow me please sir."
Becker exited the cab and heard it drive back out of the compound as he followed the soldier through security doors and into the building. There seemed to be no security scanner at the door and at no point was he patted down or his identity verified. That had to change.
He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it probably wasn't this. A short walk down corridors brought him to offices and labs. This obviously wasn't a military operation. Despite the obvious presence of soldiers the majority of the personnel seemed to be civilians. He couldn't make out if they were admin staff or scientists although he would have expected more white coats if the latter. He'd probably been watching too many American sci-fi shows. He could have sworn he'd spotted a kid in a trilby on a skateboard, but given today's events so far, it could just have been his imagination.
As he walked he scanned the corridor for security threats. The lab doors could probably benefit from at least key pad entry. There were vents running through the ceiling - someone should get in there and check they were secure. Becker wondered what the air conditioning system was like, was it a single integrated system or was it modular with the ability to isolate and control specific areas? He would have to check all of this out. He also needed to know the exact compliment and skill set of the military personnel. This was going to be a steep learning curve.
Coming through double doors he entered a cavernous room, its floor littered with desks, work benches and computers. At the far end of the room sat a bank of large computer screens all displaying maps and data – obviously critical to the main operation of the building, whatever that may be. Behind that was a long ramp that swept round the side of the room and leading to more glass fronted rooms, possibly offices.
Becker was led up the ramp. His eyes continuously swept the area assimilating information whilst looking for threats. As yet he had seen no clues to the exact nature of this organisation except that it was obviously well funded and highly secret.
Giving a sharp knock on the door, the soldier marched in, saluted the man behind the desk and said "Captain Becker, Sir." Before doing an about turn and marching out closing the door behind him.
Becker, dressed in his new all black uniform marched smartly in, came to attention and saluted. The man behind the desk stood and held out his hand.
"Ahh, Captain Becker. A pleasure to meet you. As my new Head of Security there is no need for such formality here. I'm James Lester, Director of the Anomaly Research Centre. Welcome. Let's start by showing you round. As a matter of interest, what do you know about dinosaurs?"