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Chapter 24

A Soldier's Loyalty

1300 – Hereford, UK Brecon Beacons, Wales

Three soldiers trudged up the steeply graded hill. If they had navigated properly they would be heading to the midway check point once they reached the summit. In the lead was Herman Ramsey, followed by Adam Jones, then finally Tim Fornsby. Jones had to work….extremely hard…to raise one foot in front of the other. He was angry that Ramsey was ahead of him. The weight of his Bergen pressed heavy on his back. Who ever thought this was a fucking good idea ? He snarled to himself.

"Come on Fornsby! You can do this!" Ramsey hollered back to the rear. Fornsby was at a disadvantage. He was short legged and the other men were able to march at faster paces. The required load he had to carry added to the strain of ascending the hill, which at this point felt like the entire mountain range.

Jones laughed through gasps of air. "Pack up now Fornsby! You're going home mate. Returning to unit today!"

"Shut the fuck up Jones!" Ramsey said as he achieved the summit of the foothill and bent over to rest and fill his lungs with much needed air. Jones shot him an obscene hand gesture. "Arsehole." Ramsey said as Jones met up with him. They both looked down at the check point where the Directing Staff were waiting. Jones used his sleeve to wipe snot and sweat from his face, then reached for his canteen. He was not terribly inclined to wait for Fornsby. He needed a rest, that was all. As he raised the canteen to his mouth he paused. Something seemed odd about the check point. He could see the Staff but there were additional vehicles parked down there.

"Come on Fornsby! There ya go!" Ramsey said, grabbing the struggling team mate by the arm and pulling him to the top. Jones blandly watched. He sniffed and took a sip of water. He could see that several men had already passed through and were off onto the final phase of the exercise. "What are ya waitin for Jones? Reckoned you would have been back to the barracks by now." Ramsey taunted as the wind whipped through their hair, chilling their sweat dampened skin.

"Nobody likes a smartarse." Jones said securing his canteen away.

"Must be tough living with yourself then." Fornsby said adjusting the straps on his Bergen.

"Fuck you." Jones said looking at his watch. These two were not going to clock in before him. He began to make the descent. The weight of his Bergen thrust him forwards and he had to be careful not to skid on the rocky path. As he approached the check point the Directing Staff Sergeant regarded him with absent emotion. Jones quickly pulled out his map to review his measurements with Staff and receive further coordinates to finish out the exercise. The sergeant looked passed him towards the other two who were approaching. His eyes however, shot back to Jones as he said.

"You are done Jones."

Adam Jones was stunned as the sergeant walked away from him. He blinked furiously as the ire rose inside of him. "I beg your pardon, sir!?" He was ignored. Jones grabbed the straps of his Bergen and stripped the heavy load from his back. "What the fuck is this?" The only response was the sergeant's back. Jones spun around when he heard.

"Lance Corporal Adam Jones."

His eyes were venomous until he saw the scarlet arm badges.

"You are under arrest for offences against the military code of the British Armed Forces."

"What?!" Jones shouted, stepping back only to come up against another MP directly behind him. He was forcibly turned around and handcuffed from behind. He looked at the Staff Sergeant, then Ramsey and Fornsby. His mind was swimming and he wanted to bolt but the two MPs grabbed his arms on each side, forcing him to the armored prisoner transport. Jones attempted to dig his boots into the ground. The MPs carried on. Jones looked up as the steel door was opened. He was unceremoniously hoisted inside. He had no choice, but remembered somewhere in the back of his mind to keep his mouth shut. He sat down on the cold metal bench. The last thing he saw before the door slammed shut was his Bergen lying on the ground.

Xxxxx

1345 – Hereford, UK SAS Garrison

Elvis had finished reading the email from Dave Warner when the knock struck his door. Adam Jones had been taken into custody and currently on his way to Colchester for detainment.

"Yes?!" He shouted. As the door opened his eyes moved from the laptop screen to the entrant. He was not surprised that Arnie Pettigrew decided to pay him a visit.

"Could I have a word Elvis?"

"Wha's on your mind?" The problem for Pettigrew is that Elvis Harte had perfected the art of a poker face. His own mother would not be able to read him at the moment.

"Did you get the call?" Pettigrew asked as he entered and quickly shut the door.

"Which one is 'at?"

Pettigrew thought twice about his approach. "From Godfrey." He finally said.

"About Adam Jones?" Elvis asked folding the screen down on the laptop.

"Yes Elvis. Shit Harte! The lad's been taken by the MPs!"

Elvis regarded him with a measure of disdain and said. "Any idea why?"

Pettigrew stalled his response as he flung a chair around and sat. "Well how the hell would I know?"

Elvis stared at him and methodically aligned the laptop to the edge of the desk. Everything was neatly placed in order. Including his thoughts. "You expect me to know?" He asked moistening his lips with his tongue and comfortably sitting back. Pettigrew was not certain what Elvis knew. The shadows in his memory of seeing Harte's back walking down the hall began to unnerve him.

"I do not expect any such thing. I am merely trying to ascertain what happened?"

"Godfrey would be a solid resource there." Elvis said.

"Yes, but…..I do not know what your call from him entailed. He simply informed me that Jones was being taken into custody. No further details." Pettigrew said, assessing Elvis' reaction.

Harte shrugged. "Yeah, 'at was the extent of the call." He said.

"You are not the least bit bothered that one of our recruits was taken under arrest?"

"Concerned? Affirmative. I am deeply concerned Arnie. But bothered that Adam Jones was the one? Nah. Not one bit." Elvis said clasping his hands together and resting them against his middle as he slouched back further, completely relaxed. Pettigrew squinted at him.

"So if it had been Fornsby say, you would be bothered?"

Elvis smirked. "Now 'at would be a shocker Arnie."

"You never cared for Jones." Pettigrew blurted out.

Elvis sat up. "Look. I had my reservations about him and you are perfectly aware of 'at. Wha' has transpired 'ere over the past weeks belongs to Adam Jones. I was off for a few. Anythin 'appen durin 'at time?"

Pettigrew fidgeted. "Not that I am aware of."

"Sneak out to a pub and raise some shit?" Elvis asked aligning the laptop edge once again.

"I have no knowledge of any sort of thing."

"Ah, well, we do know he tried to sneak a lighter load in his Bergen and got caught."

Pettigrew blanched. "You must realize the top brass will descend on this Garrison and exact a full investigation." He said pompously.

"Seriously Arnie? Why would 'at be?"

"Come on Harte! How often do recruits get plucked away from Endurance?"

Elvis' brow lifted. "First time to my recollection. So it must 'ave been quite serious then eh?"

Now Pettigrew's neck began to blotch. "You know his uncle will want answers."

"Then he should go to Colchester to find the answers." Elvis said now feeling he finally had his fill of this conversation.

"Where is your loyalty Elvis?" Pettigrew said. The words were a massive mistake along with the tone in which they were delivered. He knew it as soon as he saw Elvis' face.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?!" Elvis asked ominously. "My loyalty is to the 22 Special Air Service Regiment! I 'ave a duty to Queen and Country! Do not ever question my loyalty !"

Pettigrew was not the combatant Harte was and he swallowed hard, attempting to stare down the imminent threat. He caved and blinked. In all honesty he could not look Elvis Harte in the eye.

"All I am saying is that we need to look out for one of our own."

Elvis laughed. "Meanin?"

"Adam Jones."

"He is not one of us." Elvis said bluntly. Now Pettigrew laughed.

"Of course he is still under Selection and has not….."

"Was. He was under Selection. He will never be SAS. He will never be a Blade!" Elvis said as confidently as cow's milk is white.

"You are not even going to give him a chance to explain?"

"I am not a Judge Advocate. I am an SAS Commander. A captain who takes my responsibility over my soldiers seriously."

Pettigrew could feel the perspiration begin to dampen his shirt. "If he has a summary hearing he may get a few months detention and then…"

"What the fuck are ya goin on about? It ain't happenin. 'Ave ya even read the Directing Staff reports on Jones? He is not a team player. He has no regard for working as a unit. Can't 'ave 'at and I guarantee we will not 'ave it!" Elvis said.

"For someone who is notorious for improvising on missions Harte, you have fucking bollocks to be raining shit down on Jones."

Elvis laughed. "Do you honestly think Adam Jones would put his team mate's lives ahead of his own?"

"He advanced to Lance Corporal Elvis."

"Did he now?"

"You bloody well know he did!"

"Yeah….yeah…He was wearin the badge. Reckon his uncle sewed it on for him."

"You are a prick! Do you know that?"

Elvis exhaled a wheezy laugh. "Ya know, you're scaring me Arnie." Then his anger peaked. "You are a disgrace pal. These men come 'ere with every intention of joining an elite military regiment. They want it. They work fucking hard for it." He said punctuating each word. "The more ya keep openin yer gob it's fuckin clear 'at doesn't mean a toss to ya!"

"Shut up Elvis!" Pettigrew said, thrusting himself to his feet.

"Do ya think Jones would 'ave my back? Would you 'ave my back?" Elvis shouted, standing as well with his chin held high. Pettigrew chewed on his lips as his eyes shot daggers at Elvis. "Have ya sat behind a fuckin desk for so long ya forgot what it's like out there? Huh pal? To go on a mission behind enemy lines with four men? Four fuckin men Arnie! In order for most if not all to come out alive, ya gotta work together! End of story!"

Pettigrew was stood there completely deflated. Elvis' words hit him like a barrage of bullets form an M16. He knew Colonel Wescott Jones would demand answers. He began to regret the association he had forged with the man. Clearly no one was going to break down Elvis Harte.

Xxxxx

1445 – Hereford, UK SAS Medical Support Training Center

Georgie could not stand it. The wondering and the waiting were killing her. What the hell was going on? She was certain the appearance of the MPs had something to do with Elvis' assignment and he had told her to keep her head down. Peters did not seem to be the wiser. No one in the Training Center seemed to be aware of what was potentially unfolding on base. She rung her hands and decided to give in and send a text to Elvis. She had to. She had to make some connection with him. Even if he did not answer her straight away he would know she was thinking about him.

Elvis….just checking….I love you. She attached heart emojis. She looked out a window and wanted to drift along with the text message to him.