Chapter 4 – Sick as a Parrot

As altercations went, it was neither fit for the local TV station news nor worthy of police attention, but it made it into both spheres, much to the chagrin of both the principal combatants.

Well, maybe 'combatants' was too strong a word, but it didn't seem so at the time to the two police officers who had responded to the report of a disturbance at the sports ground behind the Colorado Springs Combined Forces Social Club. As they climbed out of their cruiser and looked across the field, a noisy throng was hiding the action by the sideline of the soccer pitch. Shouts of "Come on, Marine! Show her who's the pro!" and "Stick it to her, fly-girl!" and some slightly less savoury epithets indicated that things must at the very least be heated and personal.

The soccer game itself had come to a standstill, with both teams of ten to twelve-year old players standing somewhat aghast, some fascinated or a little frightened, others thrilled by the spectacle of their adults behaving in a way that they had been encouraged not to. Neither did the officers fail to notice a smaller group of adults standing a little away from the frenzied knot, clearly exchanging dollar bills as they cast frequent looks in the direction of the fight. The money disappeared rapidly from view as the group caught sight of the dark blue uniforms.

"Break it up now, folks!" shouted Officer DeLancy. "Break it up, I said!" but his words had little effect. Sergeant McAllister on the other hand knew how to get their attention. He merely drew his sidearm and fired a single shot straight into the air. Moses could not have parted the Red Sea with greater aplomb, and the crowd hushed instantly, turning and parting in just the way he had intended. Even the two mud-covered figures on the ground ceased their struggles, their arms and legs still locked in position around each other as they looked up in shock.

McAllister came to a stop looking down at them. "Ladies, if that is the correct term." he said calmly. "Let go of each other and get up now." He observed the sudden flush to the cheeks of both women, clearly visible through the dirt smeared amply over both. As reality rushed back in on the pair, they released their hold on each other and struggled upright. The sergeant held up his arm to indicate to the bystanders that they should stay back and allow the pair to rise by themselves, and not a soul amongst them moved. Twenty years of policing had given him that edge of instant presence and command of any crowds he came upon, and still silence reigned.

"Now who started this?" he asked.

To his surprise, both women stood suddenly to attention and stated firmly "I did, sergeant!"

Hiding the smirk that he knew would take away his aura of authority, McAllister observed "So, military, eh? Code of honour and all that?" As they continued to stand still, he added "I doubt that your commanding officer would be at all impressed by this display, especially as half your audience appears to be too young to serve in the forces just yet."

Some of the crowd began to speak as they thought that this was the appropriate time to begin their input into the proceedings, but once again McAllister showed his mastery. He raised his hand and said loudly "Let's have some order, now! I take it from your hairstyles that most of you here are in the military, either serving or retired, right?"

At the chorus of "Yes, Officer!" and "Yes, sergeant!" he turned around.

"And who would be the senior officer or officers present?" he enquired. He looked back and added "At ease, ladies. I'll be getting to you presently. Don't go away now."

Two figures approached from the group that had obviously been betting on the outcome of the wrestling match. They eyed each other silently as they walked and the crowd parted so that they could approach the officer.

"I'm Rear-Admiral Rabb of the Navy Judge Advocate General's office." said one.

"And I'm General Jack O'Neill, retired." added the other.

The look of surprise on McAllister's face disappeared as soon as it had arrived, and he still held the audience in his palm. "If this soccer match is still unfinished, I suggest that you get it started again." he said, waving at the crowd to disperse and do just that. "Gentlemen, ladies, I suggest that you come with us to the patrol car so that we can take down the details and hopefully sort this out without getting The Pentagon involved. They'd hate to be called away from their golf courses on a weekend now, wouldn't they?"

The silent party ambled away, with McAllister motioning silently to his junior partner that it was quite safe to take his hand away from his holstered sidearm. In the background, the referee's whistle sounded and by the time they had reached the car, the chorus of support from the families and friends supporting the two kids' teams was rising again.

By this time, the two fighters had begun to look quite sheepish, and both had quietly said the word "Sorry" to each other as they walked along. Behind them, the newly-promoted Rear-Admiral silently and surreptitiously passed a twenty dollar bill to the General (ret'd.), who with equal stealth pocketed it and briefly nodded his thanks.

"Officer, I'm sure we can settle this between ourselves without wasting your valuable time." Jack O'Neill started to say, but he knew a consummate professional when he met one, and got no further before McAllister responded.

"Oh, but it's no trouble, General O'Neill." he said with a sigh. "Someone called in the disturbance and it's our duty to at least complete the paperwork. I mean, supposing your two subordinates here...." He ignored the sharp looks from the women and continued "Shook hands now but decided to sue the hell out of each other later? Now where would I be without a report, now?" He turned to the muddy pair and took out his notebook with an accustomed flourish. "Names please ladies." he enquired as he looked at the blond one.

"O'Neill, Samantha!" she replied. "Colonel, United States Air Force, retired." McAllister's left eyebrow raised in a manner that seemed familiar to Sam.

On receiving his stare in turn, the brunette stated "Rabb, Sara! Colonel, United States Marine Corps, retired."

McAllister recorded these details and definitely did not manage to keep the smirk entirely off his face for a brief moment. "So....." he said in a considered, drawn-out way. "It's obvious that disciplinary action by your 'senior officers' is unlikely in this case. Not if they value their lives, that is. And especially since both had an active interest in the outcome of your little side-show rather than breaking it up straight away." Hostile glares were immediately directed at the two gamblers. "So it's down to me to make you realise that this is no way to demonstrate to children a need to control themselves in times of stress and high emotion. Are either of you by any chance descended from English soccer hooligans? Now how did this start? I'll hear from you first, Colonel Rabb."

A much-sobered woman replied. "Well, it was our sons. Our Craig was being, well, a little hard in the tackles he was making, but it's a competitive game, right? I will admit though, that he's big for his age and maybe he should have been a little more sporting at times. But the referee didn't see anything wrong with the way he took the ball off Colonel O'Neill's son....."

"Jonathan." interjected Sam.

"Jonathan." Sara repeated. "But the local supporters seemed to go wild at his decision..... Just like that!" she added as a roar and then a raucous, singing chant erupted from the crowd over at the game. The words were unmistakeable:

"We all agree! The referee is a wanker!"

McAllister smiled blissfully as he recalled his youth in Glasgow, where this had been mild stuff for his fellow Rangers supporters, especially when they were playing their hated town rivals, Glasgow Celtic. But that could not deter him from his duties now.

"So how did the fight start?" he asked.

"Well, Colonel O'Neill was standing nearby in the crowd, and after the referee had failed to come down on their side, every time that Craig got the ball, she and an English woman with her....."

"Sarah Jackson." Sam added, almost helpfully.

"Well, they both started another chant that all the local supporters seemed to catch onto pretty quickly. It was personal and my son was quite upset." Another roar and chorus from the crowd, louder than before, could not have been better timed for the purposes of the sergeant's note-taking.

"Who ate all the pies? Who ate all the pies? You fat bastard! You fat bastard! You ate all the pies!" rose into the air, accompanied by mass pointing of fingers at the latest offender on the field, who looked round in shock.

"That's the one." stated Sara. "OK, it wasn't always directed at my son, and they seem to have plenty of other little songs up their sleeves to intimidate their opponents. Well, we exchanged...... words. I informed her that I was a martial arts expert and she said I couldn't karate chop a bowl of Jell-O. Then, I don't recall how, push came to shove and the next thing, we were on the floor. After that, it's all a haze until you turned up." She turned to Sam. "I'm so sorry that it got like this."

Before Sam could reply, the sergeant asked "And does that tally with your version of the events, Colonel O'Neill?"

"Yes, pretty much." Sam replied. "I'm sorry too, Sara. I guess we both got caught up too much in the game."

"Unfortunately, that's not as uncommon as you might think among soccer moms these days." said McAllister. "But that excuses nothing. The language may be something that's on prime time every evening from seven, and sure the kids themselves use it all the time. But just think about whether you want to go down that road yourselves, ladies. It's what your husbands might call 'conduct unbecoming', if they were dealing with others in their units. Now shake hands, and we'll call it a day."

The would-be warriors shook hands and even stepped forward for a brief hug before turning their glare on their respective partners, who had both been trying to take steps backwards away from the scene.

"You drive, DeLancy." McAllister instructed as he opened the passenger door. "I'm still coming off a post-match high."

As the car pulled away, Sam froze her husband to the spot with a withering glare, and Harm felt unable to move either. "If you want to live, Jack, we'll settle for ten times what you bet on us. Split evenly between us, OK Sara?"

"And don't think you're not paying either, Harm." added her new friend. Silent spouses were a sign of their mastery of the situation.

"So, are you staying over in town tonight?" Sam asked as they started to move back towards the game.

"Yeah, we're booked in a place called 'Mountain View Motel' somewhere outside of town. It was all we could find." replied Sara.

"That's a dump." said Sam. "Why not come over after the game, get cleaned up and spend the night with us? It's no palace, but it'll give Craig and Jonathan a chance to get over whatever might remain between them. You can meet our daughter Grace as well. She's into hockey like her dad. She doesn't share our passion for soccer, more's the pity. And since our 'commanding officers' seem to be getting on so well, they can pay for a meal delivery."

"And a new David Beckham shirt for you." added Sara. "And a new Ronaldo one for me."

But they couldn't see the contented grins that two of the happiest men in the world were exchanging as they walked ahead of their wives.

"We all agree! The referee is a ......" drifted in again from the game.

It did, however, make the "And finally....." slot on the local TV evening newscast, but fortunately the amateur video had been shot from such a distance that the participants could not be identified. Matters would change on the Monday morning when the kids were back in school though.

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