Uncle Paul´s Cain 06 Page

By Paul Cummings

Family Funeral 14/01/00

Cain fired up the Toyota Land Cruiser Colorado and pulled away from his house. The big V6 started first time, as it had every time for the five years Cain had owned it. Today would be its final voyage with Cain driving. It was being replaced. Down the long drive, out onto the country roads Cain drove. Traffic was light and he soon reached the A4103 Hereford to Worcester road. A couple of miles outside Hereford is the village of White Stone, a small unremarkable village except from the White Stone Service Centre, which is home to the Hereford Toyota Centre.

Hereford Toyota Centre is one of the typical new American style purpose built buildings with lots of glass and big Toyota signs. Its big attraction to Cain, and quite a few of the Regiment, was Jim McNeal, the sales manager. He had been in a sergeant in Mountain Troop of B Squadron until a fall had broken his leg so badly he had been forced to retire. He had always been looking for ways to make money, so instead of staying on in the Regiment as an instructor (the Regiment always looks after its injured and disabled), he retired at thirty five to take over a small used car sales business with his retirement money. The business had failed mainly as McNeal had enjoyed the selling side more than the business side. He then took a job at Hereford Toyota and worked up to sales manager. In the Regiment, either performance cars or four wheel drive off-roaders are the norm, so McNeal used his contacts and sold a lot of Celicas, MR2s, Supras, RAV4s and Land Cruisers. His sales of Corolla, Avensis, Yaris, Picnic and Previa models were not as good, but he had made Hereford Toyota a lot of money out of what was traditionally a much smaller market. This obviously got him noticed.

McNeal was a big man, six three, who had kept himself in good health since his retirement, despite having to walk with a limp. He had left the Regiment just after Cain had taken over Mobility Troop in D Squadron, so they had not really known each other then. They had met for the first time at the Regiment celebration for Cain’s VC. The Regiment does not normally celebrate medals, at best it would be a troop event, but a VC is something different and the way he won it – saving members of his team – ensured that the whole Regiment demanded a celebration. He was a hero both for his act, which was exceptional, even by Regimental standards and the way he behaved afterwards. When told of the award, Cain’s first words had not been about it, but to ask how the men he had rescued were. On such things are legends built. When Cain decided to buy the Colorado, unknown to him, the RSM (Regimental Sergeant Major) had found out and called McNeal, who had sold it to him at cost. Despite the odd piss take for his quiet, gentle demeanour, Cain was a protected species in the Regiment. His polite requests were taken more seriously then the CO’s orders.

As the Colorado pulled up, McNeal was already out the door and walking over to it.

"Morning Ben, how are you?" he asked.

"Good morning Jim. Fine thanks. And yourself?" Cain replied with a smile.

"Great. How’s the Colorado?"

"I’ll be sorry to see it go; it’s always been very reliable and carried me over some rough ground over the years."

"You won’t be disappointed with the Amazon. It’s even better for what you want." They went inside and completed the paper work, even with the generous terms McNeal offered, Cain still had a lot of money to pay. McNeal was surprised when Cain offered his credit card to put the over thirty thousand pound difference on, even more so when it was accepted, but he did not comment. After the formalities, they went outside to look at the new car.

"Here you go: One Ashdown Green Land Cruiser Amazon VX with 4.2 litre 24 valve turbo diesel engine. You’ll find it will be a bit quicker then your old Colorado, even switching from petrol to diesel. You’ll even get a few miles more from a gallon too. I’ve filled it with ninety-five litres of BP’s best, courtesy of Hereford Toyota. I’ll see you when it comes back for the service."

With that, Cain got in, fired it up and drove off. By the time he got to Stirling Lines it was nearly eleven. Not surprisingly, quite a few members of A squadron were hanging around to look at the new arrival and give the official squadron approval. The general consensus was that it would be fine, once the motor pool had customised it properly. The Regiment’s motor pool is not well known, but those that know, admire them for their skill in tuning and preparation of the unit’s cars. As a sideline, they often customise some of the boys’ vehicles. There is more than one Mondeo driving around Hereford with a 350+ horsepower engine. The real skill is not in increasing the performance, but in keeping the whole thing looking and sounding exactly as if it had not been touched. Over the water, the boys often used Mondeos and the like with 300 horsepower engines that looked and sounded like basic V6s. Cain knew better than to argue and so handed his keys to Mick Hill, his squadron sergeant major, with a quiet word that he was holding the SSM personally responsible. Cain knew that would ensure that whatever the boys did to the car, he would approve off. After all, it was easier to hand over the keys now when he did not need the car than to have them disappear later and have to hunt around for them.

A Squadron was not assigned to any particular task at the moment, so the boys were off all over the place training. Several members of Air Troop were at RAF Luffingham getting their annual checks to keep their free-fallers certificate. Boat Troop were in Poole training with the SBS. Others were off getting their Medical or Demolition qualifications. The rest would be organising some sort of training for themselves. The Regiment was very much driven by self-motivation. If someone didn’t do their own fitness work they were RTU’d (returned to unit – the unit they came from before joining the Regiment). If they had no standing orders, they were expected to organise their time effectively. This was a very different set up from the rest of the army were work was found for you if things were quiet.

At eleven thirty, Cain held his weekly staff meeting with the squadron’s commanders. All the troop officers and senior sergeants in Hereford, along with the SSM met up to discuss the squadron business. This was very much a Chinese parliament, with everyone giving their opinions and views. Obviously Andy Parsons and Jack Higgins from Boat Troop were missing along with Nigel Cruise the Air Troop Staff Sergeant, but everyone else was present.

The three troop captains were very different: Toby Lloyd had gone to Millfield School, Exeter University and then the Household Cavalry before passing selection and joining the Regiment. He was six foot four but very slim. He only had six months left on his tour. Brian Perez was everything Lloyd wasn’t: He was short, stocky and very dark, thanks to his Spanish father. He was known to turn very nasty if things went wrong on an assignment. Only in the regiment a year, but already Cain was very happy with him. Bob Macdonald was somewhere between the two; he was six foot one with big shoulders and a heavy build. He was much slower to boil than Perez, but when he eventually lost his cool, he was just as explosive. He was another relative new comer, passing Selection on the course before Perez.

For the non-commissioned officers, Mick Hill was a warrant officer, who had been in the Regiment for sixteen of his thirty-eight years. He was six foot six, heavily built and ran the squadron with an iron rod. Officers may technically be in charge, but like every regiment in the army, the senior NCO was the man who actually ran things. In A Squadron’s case, this was slightly different to usual in that Hill made sure that he carried out Cain’s wishes, although the method he used was all his own. He had turned down a commission twice as that would mean he would only be able to serve two three-year tours with the Regiment. It was generally not considered healthy to remind him that he had once been in the Royal Engineers. With only two years to go until mandatory retirement from a Sabre squadron, he was even harder on people to avoid any suggestion that he was marking time. Staff Sergeant Dai Williams was a local, born and raised in Brecon. Although built like a rugby prop, he was very fit, due to a childhood spent all over the Beacons. He had briefly been a professional rugby player, before the political infighting and nepotism of the Welsh union drained his love for the sport. After five years in the Welsh Guards, he had joined the Regiment at twenty-nine. On occasions he still played rugby for the army. Steve Johnson had been a chain smoking, heavy drinking party animal when he was younger. Since joining the Regiment all that had changed was he was now paid to hurtle around in fast vehicles that he didn’t own, instead of the police chasing him for it. When it came to the job though, he was a very disciplined NCO, known for placing harsh VCs (voluntary contributions to squadron funds) on anyone who stepped out of line when on business.

Each troop reported the activities they were undertaking, those they were allowed to report; only Cain and Hill would know them all. After this, Hill reported future plans for the squadron, which were none that he could discuss then presented a report on squadron funds, which was quite healthy due to the boys of air troop getting over enthusiastic in Cyprus after a recent trip. Cain added that he was very disappointed in the air troop performance, which meant that Hill took a mental note to come down hard on them. Lloyd winced at the look from Hill. Although out ranking a warrant officer, Lloyd knew his troop would be made to suffer. If he tried to step in the way, he’d probably find himself RTU’d for something. Lacking options, Lloyd made a note to make sure that his heavy size elevens came down on air troop before Hill had his chance.

Final item for business was for people to report problems to Cain. Naturally there were none of these; the Regiment was staffed by volunteers, it was well paid, well trained and well equipped. If anyone had a problem them they were expected to solve it, not pass it up the chain of command. Of course there would be complaining, honking as it was known, amongst themselves, but it would not go beyond the troop sergeant. Usually the complaints centred on lack of home comforts on missions.

After the meeting, Cain joined the others for lunch in the mess. Unlike most regiments, the SAS have no separate mess for officers and NCOs. Everyone ate in the mess together. After lunch, he had a meeting with Andrew Lawrence, the CO. He got back to his office just after four and got some tea brewing. He’d just got it poured out when his mobile telephone rang. It was his brother William calling. Ten minutes later, he was in front of the CO. Fifteen minutes after that he was rolling out of the base in the new Land Cruiser after having briefed Mick Hill.

Immediately Cain had noticed the replacement of the standard bull bars with a more solid item, which looked as if it could double as a ram, which was in fact one of its uses. It also acted as a mounting bracket for the winches, which could be mounted front and rear. For the rest, nothing appeared obvious, but that didn’t mean that nothing had been changed. Normally, the trip to the family seat just outside the New Forest in Hampshire took around two and a half hours. Cain was in a hurry and pulled up outside the huge stone façade just over two hours later, despite being relatively gentle with the new engine, including a brief stop off at his house to collect some clothes.

The huge oak door swung open as Cain approached. Michael, the footman, held the door. He bowed his head slightly as Cain entered. The old duke may be 102 year old, but he still ran the household with an iron rod at times. He was a generous employer and for that he insisted on old-fashioned courtesy. For his part, Michael was more than willing to go along. He earned more now than when he was in the army and had a much easier job too. Plus he had a house to live in on the estate.

"Good evening Michael. How is he?" Normally Cain spent a minute with small talk with the staff before he would continue with his business. It was a mark of his concern that he dropped the pleasantries. Rather than be displeased, Michael was impressed with Cain’s concern, a definite improvement over his elder brother’s attitude when he had arrived a little before.

"He is stable for the moment sir, but your grandfather is an old man. The Duke asked if you would attend him in the library before you went up."

"Thank you Michael. And how are you?"

"I’m fine sir, life on the estate suits me." Cain turned and walked towards the library, as he did so, Michael turned to follow him with his eyes, his mouth creased into a big smile. Always so polite was the major. If Cain had been his officer, he may never have left the army. Privately he wished that Cain had been the oldest son rather than James. The old duke would not last forever and it looked like his son was going to precede him. That only left Lord Edward, Cain’s father, who was in his sixties, ahead of James, Cain’s eldest brother.

The library was aptly named. Not a small room with a few books, but a long wood panelled room that contained thousands of books, including one of the best collections on military history in the country. The duke was very proud of his lifetime’s collection. He sat now in his reading chair, a battered old chair that was nearly as old as he was. He lifted his eyes from the book he was reading and stared with iron-grey eyes over the rims of his reading glasses. Many a man had quailed at that look, but Cain stood quietly watching the old man. Slowly he inserted his leather bookmark, closed the book and put it on the table beside him. Finally he struggled upright and opened his arms. Cain embraced him and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Benjamin, so good to see you," said the old man with a smile as he allowed Cain to help him sit down again.

"Good to see you too sir. Pity it is not in better circumstances."

"You’ve your duty to attend too. Keeping this country safe. I’m very proud of you. I wished you’d joined the Guards as I did, but you’ve made your mark you own way. Michael tells me the SAS is best regiment in the army. You’ve certainly done your bit for the country. What is it, ten years now?"

"Fourteen sir."

"Fourteen years," mused the old man, "and already a major. You’ll out rank me soon."

"I’ll never out rank you sir," replied Cain with the loving sincerity he felt.

"Come now, let us attend to my son." The old duke struggled to his feet again. Cain instinctively knew when to help and when to wait, something the old man was very glad for. He was not about to surrender his last bit of physical independence to others just yet. Some of the others, for good reasons and bad, would always be trying to help him. Cain sensed the old man’s need to be able to do some things himself. As an old soldier, he was fiercely independent and proud of his ability to get about. He did allow Cain to steer him to the lift rather than the stairs though.

At the top of the stairs, they walked slowly down the corridor to Cain’s grandfather’s room. At one of the oak-panelled doors, they stopped and Cain knocked. The door was opened by Mary, who had been the Hampshire family nurse for more than ten years. Cain’s eyes flicked to the bed. He knew instantly that the old man in it was dying. He ran to the bed and hugged his grandfather. The Marquess of Winchester lay pale and weak in bed. He was eighty-four years old. He’d lived a long and busy life. He’d joined the foreign office straight from university then spent a lifetime in government service, culminating in being ambassador to Norway and then over twenty years as ambassador to Japan, where his son had met and married a Japanese princess, setting his family onto a new course. Now he was ready to die. He lay back on the pillows again as his grandson went to greet his wife. His darling Ingrid, so tall and proud. He was convinced that she looked more beautiful now than ever. They had been only teenagers when they met at Cambridge. He a young nobleman, the heir to the Marquess of Winchester and ultimately the Duke of Hampshire, she a young Norwegian princess, the daughter of the King. They’d been together three years when they had married, over sixty years ago. His Ingrid was such a Viking warrior; she’d been the steel in their marriage, he was the velvet. Now he’d have to leave her. He was beyond help now. He no longer even blamed the tobacco he’d smoked all his life. Another spasm of pain racked his body, unable to hold it in control, he saw the tears begin to form in his wife’s eyes.

At twenty past twelve that night, George, Marquess of Winchester, passed away. His cancer-ravaged body was a bent stick compared to the six foot one he’d once been. For the first time in memory of all of her children and grand children the Marchioness burst into tears and wept uncontrollably.

Breakfast the next morning was a sombre affair attended by red-eyed and weary members of the family. Although his more imposing father had overshadowed him all his life, the old marquess was deeply loved by his family. He’d been a very good diplomat, in his career and within the family, providing a calming influence that all needed when strong personalities came together. Only Cain did not look exhausted, not because he’d slept, which he hadn’t, being the last one up dealing with his grandmother and then the doctor, but because Cain was used to long periods of stress without sleep, both during his army career and during his martial arts training.

The funeral was held ten days later. Although a low key affair, after the old marquess’s request, it was attended by Prince Akishino, second son of Emperor Akihito of Japan and his family as well as several members of the Norwegian royal family.

Return to Home Page  Return to Cain Home Page