So this is it! Soap's first chapter! I had planned to publish two chapters on Saturday but due to one thing or another, I'm going to publish them both today. The second one will be here in about two hours.

I'm not sure if anybody saw but I got a particularly scathing review off somebody for my last Lola chapter. I know not everybody is going to like what I write and I accept and appreciate that people have different tastes. i'm the first to hold my hands up and say that a lot of what I write is complete drivel but it's my drivel and i'm fiercely protective over it. The person in question left an anonymous review which is, in itself, really frustrating because I feel that if somebody wants to dish it out like they're Master and Commander of all that is good about a fanfic, then they should be able to take it right back at them.

If that particular person is reading this, then I just want to point out a couple of things. 1) I'm not forcing you to read this. You are the purveyor of your own actions. If you thought it was "soooooo painful to read" then the best thing to do would be, er, stop? Again, if i didn't like something, I wouldn't read it and then I certainly wouldn't take the time out of my day to berate the author. 2) If you would "rather read a soap/donkey story" then you have issues which are beyond my control. There is a name for what you are into, and that name is Zoophilia. Unfortunately I don't cater for your kind of person. Sorry. 3) I have done my research. I really honestly have. I know a lot about my subject matter. 4) Take a look at the name of this website. Fanfiction. Fans who write/like fiction. I'll home in on the special word there. Fiction. I suggest when you are looking up the word Zoophilia that you also look up the word Fiction. Yes, the headshot thing was a bit farfetched but hey, the whole bloody thing is. You do understand that women aren't allowed in the SAS? That alone renders this whole story unbelievable but hey, if I'm already on that path then I may as well make it as fun as possible. Do you think JK Rowling had people saying, "Erm, your story about a WIZARD boy who overcomes evil whilst attending a WIZARD SCHOOL and playing a WIZARD GAME CALLED QUIDDITCH is really. really unbelievable."? No. Because that's the point of Fiction. It's NOT REAL.

A word of warning. If you leave me a terrible review then I'm going to delete it and then I'm going to verbally destroy you when I post my next chapter. If you have something negative to say, i'd prefer you to just contact me privately. i hope that's not too much to ask?

I love this little story like I'd love my kids (if I had any) and i just want people to enjoy it! Sorry for the hugely long rant but I felt like just giving up when I read those horrible things on Saturday morning and I really want to see this through to the end because I can promise you, hand on my heart, that it's going to be a-MAY-ZING.

xxx

John had slept like a log.

He hated that saying. Logs didn't sleep. He understood what it meant, obviously, he wasn't an idiot, but still, he really hated that saying. Really hated it.

His eyes took a few moments to familiarise themselves with his surroundings. The bed wasn't his. The wardrobe wasn't his. The ceiling in his old room had those silly glow in the dark stars stuck onto it from when he had gone through a space phases and he had been convinced that he was going to become an astronaut but this ceiling was bare. He sat up in the bed that didn't belong to him and moved the sheets, that also didn't belong to him, from his torso and leant back against the cold metal headboard.

Shit.

He had made it.

It was the first morning that he had woken up in his new Hereford base.

The SA-Fucking-S.

He grinned to himself.

Being a part of the SAS had always been the goal. He had joined the army aged sixteen and had served under 3rd Battalion, Parachute Regiment ever since. He had passed through his training in Pegasus Company with ease. He hadn't been too good at most academic subjects. Maths confused him, and English was just a baffling series of rules and nouns and verbs that he had been glad to leave behind when he had. No, academia wasn't his bag. But being in the Military was. He was good. No, actually... He was great. Better than great. He was the best. He had always been looked upon to take point during missions and he had saved more than one or two of the guys in his time. But as much as he loved the Para's and could have climbed through the ranks with ease, he had always been focused on the ultimate goal. The SAS. Because who didn't want to do all the crazy dangerous missions? If he was going to risk his life every time he went out on a mission he may as well be wearing that infamous all black uniform.

It was always speculation amongst the lads that the notorious Captain Price, the man in charge of the SAS, did his own recruitment. Every now and again John and the lads would get a glimpse of the man himself, all ginger beard, crossed arms and a face like thunder, when he would visit the barracks to watch them train. Rumour had it that when you caught the attention of the Captain, he would invite you to go through selection by giving you a card with the words, A FRESHER SOD, upon it. You got that card and you were as good as in. After passing selection of course.

John could remember the day he was given his card vividly. They hadn't even been aware that Price had been in attendance. That morning had been the 20 Mile Endurance March. The hardest training of all. 20 Miles carrying 35lb of equipment and a rifle. Best thing? It had to be done in under 4 and a half hours. During John's training week prior to him getting his maroon beret and becoming a fully fledged member of the Para's, he and his regiment had completed the 20 Miler in the pouring rain. Three lads had broken their legs. In short, the 20 Miler was a killer. On the morning of Price's arrival, John had finished the 20 Miler in three hours flat, completely destroying his PB of 3:49. In the afternoon, his regiment were in the Gym, taking part in his favourite of the activities, Trainasium. An assault course suspended 55ft above the ground. Not one for the faint hearted. John had never been afraid of heights and spent most of his childhood climbing trees in his back garden. His mam had nicknamed him 'Monkey'. It was a name that she still used on the rare occasions when he had leave to go back to Scotland and visit. That particular day, John had flown over the course with an almost terrifying disregard for his own personal safety. He had been sat on a bench on the sidelines watching as the rest of his regiment had completed the course when he had felt a presence behind him. He had known immediately that it was Captain Price. Authority radiated from him. It was almost terrifying.

"You're pretty good lad." he had said, in his much discussed thick cockney accent. "Fearless."

John had feigned nonchalance. "Just doing my job." Inside he was screaming. Price. Captain Price. THE CAPTAIN PRICE was talking to him. Was this his moment? You only got one shot at the SAS, he knew that much. You could go through selection twice, but he didn't know of anybody who had been offered that luxury. He wasn't about to blow it.

"You've been here since you were sixteen?"

"Yes Sir, twelve years now."

"That's a long time, John."

He wasn't shocked at the use of his name. It was Captain Price. He probably knew everything about John by this point including the name of his childhood dog, Scruff. Why was he thinking about his dog? Focus, John. Focus.

"I know."

"Some of the lads you joined with are 2nd Lieutenants now."

It was true. Most of the lads he had joined with had long moved up the ranks, but that had never been John's objective. It wasn't that he hadn't been offered promotions. He had. But he had turned them down. The lads who were above him had forgone their chance to be a part of the SAS in taking their promotions. The best way to get noticed was to be the best at what you do. John was the best Private in the whole of the Para's. Captain Price, and the SAS wanted the best.

"I've got different goals." John told Price, simply. "What they've achieved is good. But what I want to achieve is better."

It was true. His buddies were now just stuck in the endless cycle of training new recruits. They weren't in condition that same way that John was, they were happy sitting behind a desk and shouting at the young lads with stars in their eyes and a maroon beret in their hearts. John was SAS through and through. He turned and looked up at the Captain who gave him a small nod of acknowledgement. He patted John on the shoulder. John's heart was in his mouth. He wanted to see that card, wanted to hold it in his hands and stare down at those words. He felt Price move away from him and an overwhelming sense of disappointment washed over him. Had he said something wrong? His plan to remain a Private had made so much sense when he had dreamt it up all those years ago. Maybe his lack of willingness to get promoted said something else entirely to Price? He sighed and looked up at the sky, the sun beating on his face. He stretched his arms along the bench, his heart skipping a beat when the fingers on his right hand came into contact with something. He looked down to see the plain white business card looking up at him. He picked it up in his fingers and flipped it over.

A FRESHER SOD

His face broke into a grin and he span around to stare at the back of the retreating Captain.

"Selection starts in a month." Price shouted without turning around. "Make sure you keep your conditioning up. If you think that 20 Miler is hell, you're in for a rude awakening."

John had jumped up from the bench.

"Oh, and make sure you bring some fucking soap with you." Price called. "You stink."