Uncle Paul´s Cain 12 Page

By Paul Cummings

Little Mickey's Godfather 22/03/01

The RSM knocked on the door and entered when he was called. His huge frame nearly filled the doorframe as he walked into the CO’s office. Behind the desk sat Lieutenant Colonel Benjamin Cain, commanding officer of the 22^nd SAS Regiment. Although 33, Cain’s jet-black hair and unlined face made him look younger. Coupled with his sub six-foot height and polite, almost gentle, manners, most people would not have guessed he was even in the SAS, yet alone its commander. Yet Cain had passed Selection twice: Once to the 21^st SAS, the Territorial Army unit and then a second time to get into the 22^nd SAS, the full time regiment. Since he was a boy he had wanted to serve in the SAS. When he had learned that officers only served a maximum of two three years terms in the SAS, he had searched for a way around, short of joining as an enlisted man. He had found one: officers transferring from the TA could stay in the SAS permanently as they had no full time regiment to return to. Cain raised his head and smiled at Mick Hill standing in the doorway.

"Good afternoon Mick," said Cain.

"Good afternoon Sir," replied Mick. "Diane asked me to check you were still coming over tomorrow, Sir." Cain knew Mick was nervous about asking his boss to their barbecue party and he also knew that Diane, Mick’s wife, was very keen that he come. Nobody would mention it, but word would get around that Diane Hill had got the Regiment’s CO to attend a social function. He had been to several of their parties over the years, but that was before he became the CO.

"Mick, I’m looking forward to it. I wouldn’t dream of missing Michael’s party." Michael was Hill’s 5-year-old son. When his godfather had died on a river crossing during jungle training three years before, Diane had asked Cain to become his replacement godfather and Cain took the role seriously. To everyone else he was little Mikey, but Cain had always called him Michael. The little boy would not allow anyone else to call him Michael, but seemed to positively delight in Cain’s use of the adult name. "I’ll be just after four." The party was due to start at five, but Cain always came over an hour early to give Michael his present and play with him.

After Mick had left, Cain decided he had had enough of paperwork for the day and changed out of his uniform into civilian clothes and drove home. After a quick meal, he prepared his gi, picked up his bokken and jo then went down to his garage to get the Toyota Camry out. He drove quickly south to Newport and followed the directions he had been given and found the church hall. He parked his car and walked up to the hall.

At the far end of the hall was a stage. Leaning over the stage was a tall man, who was rummaging in a big sports bag. Cain walked up to him.

"Hi, I’m Ben, I called yesterday about coming over to train." The tall man looked Cain over.

"Yes, it was me you spoke to. Have you done any aikido before?"

"I used to practise a bit of Yoshinkan when I lived in Japan," answered Cain totally honestly.

"Excellent, that’s what we teach here. What were you doing there?" asked the instructor.

"Well, you know how it is: I was officially a student," again totally truthful. Japan made it hard on foreign workers, so most entered Japan on a student visa and then got a part time job. Cain actually had been a student; he grew up and went to school in Japan.

"So, what grade did you get?" This was the question Cain always worried about when he visited a club to train.

"I passed my shodan whilst I was there." Which was true, but Cain neglected to add that he had also passed his second and third dan there and had since been back to get his fourth, fifth and sixth dan.

"Anyway, nice to have you at the club Ben, my name’s Tony. I’ll be teaching tonight. The sessions cost six pounds each." Cain handed the money over and was directed to the changing rooms, which were actually a kitchen off of the main hall. He nodded to the three others who were already changing and changed into his gi. He had picked a fairly anonymous gi, which just had a purple Yoshinkan eagle on the left breast. Once in his gi, he tied his black belt around his waist then pulled on his hakama, the long black divided skirt that was traditional for black belts and meant to make them look more flowing, but was often an excuse to cover bad footwork. After tying his hakama securely, he followed the others back into the hall and helped them lay out the mats, which softened landings and prevented injuries. By the time they had laid out the thirty-five two metre by one metre mats and then used wood to fill the gaps around the edges and force the mats together, six more students had arrived. There were three other black belt students beside Cain himself.

The session was lighter and less detailed than Cain would have liked, but being a perfectionist, he pushed himself hard. Towards the end of the session, they moved on to free style sparing. In this, the attacker or attackers attack with one of a predefined list attacks and the defender executes an aikido move to defeat the attack. For the lower grades, there was one attacker with just face punches from either hand to cope with, but for the black belts this moved up to three attackers and had a choice of four different attacks from either hand. The key to defend in this position is to hold the centre ground and force the attackers around you. Cain watched the first three black belts take their turn at defending. As the pace increased, the defender got further out of position and eventually things got scrappy in corners.

When Cain got his turn to defend, he stepped to the centre of the area and bowed to his attackers. The one of the left was keen and hard working, but not very quick. The middle one was tall and quite strong, but Cain had noticed that he seemed to enjoy putting techniques on people just a little harder than necessary. The third attacker was the best. He moved relaxed and quick. His technique was good. Cain thought he was a very good prospect.

As he expected, the left-hand opponent attacked first. Cain advanced and caught him unexpectedly. He slipped to the left, slid his right arm over the attackers extending arm, then up to the side of the attackers face, whilst his left arm settled in the small of the attacker’s back. A quick turn and push with the right and pull with the left and his opponent crashed to the floor heavily. The tall man attacked Cain’s back, but he spun around, snapped his fist into he attacker’s solar plexus then grasped the extended arm and twisted it back and up to his opponent’s arm pit. The attacker rose onto his toes and began running backwards around Cain in very small steps. He turned the lock into a throw and sent his opponent down to the third attacker’s feet.

The third attacker hurdled the falling body and attacked. Cain slipped to the side, ran his right hand over the punch, grasped just above the wrist, hip turned to face the other way and turned his hand, and so the punching fist, downwards. The lock again became a throw, just as the attacker slapped his hip with his free hand to show the pain he felt from the yonkajo lock. The tall attacker came again and was again sent flying. Then the first was forced heavily to the floor.

After two minutes, the instructor called a halt. The three attackers were all dishevelled and panting. Cain still occupied the centre of the area and was barely breathing heavier than when he started. An older man appeared at the door to the dojo. All eyes swung to him and Tony instructed everyone to bow to the club’s senior instructor John Hughes.

"Gentlemen," began the newcomer, "you have been privileged to train with Sensei Ben Cain." Tony swung his eyes back to Cain. They narrowed for a second then he dropped to his knees and gave a low bow to Cain. Although they had never met, Tony knew the name of Ben Cain. In Yoshinkan circles it was as famous as Tony Yates or Gary Masters or David Ruebens. The difference was that Cain was fifteen to twenty years younger than the other senior instructors.

"Oss." The rest of the class gave standing bows. Tony then jumped up and turned his attention back to John.

"Tony, when you have the class lined up, I would like to speak to them." With that, Tony gave the command and the class lined up and formally completed the end of the session, with Tony insisting that Cain knelt beside him rather than with the rest of the class. John Hughes then addressed the class.

"As you know, Tony has resolutely refused to take his third dan grading, so I asked Sensei Cain to come along and give me an assessment of Tony. So, Ben, would you like to comment?" Cain smiled slightly; he hadn’t been keen on John’s idea, but had agreed to go along with it. He turned to face Tony

"I think that if Tony put his mind to tightening the precision of some of his techniques and didn’t rush them too much, I think he would make an excellent third dan." Tony again turned and gave a deep kneeling bow to Cain. Those that knew him knew that he often performed these over grand forms of supplication.

After the session, Cain was persuaded to join them in the local pub. More that one set of eyebrows were raised when he insisted on nothing stronger than a mineral water whilst most of the others were drinking pints of beer. As was far too common in Cain’s life, he found himself the centre of attention, with everybody wanting to speak to him. Tony went somewhat over the top with a grovelling display that Cain felt perhaps went beyond humility and into provide a side show for his audience. Cain did manage to retain his calm and friendly manners, and eventually left the pub some time just after eleven for the long drive back to his house.

At six, Cain climbed out of bed. He pulled on an old maroon Parachute Regiment tee-shirt he had been given a few years before and one of his pairs of DPM trousers before going into the kitchen. He drank half a pint of water then went downstairs. At the front door, he pulled on his well-used pair of Altberg Peacekeeper boots. Although a military boot, the Altberg’s were handmade in Yorkshire and fitted superbly. They were light and had been constructed using running shoe technology, yet had the ankle support of a full boot, which made them ideal for his early morning runs. He liked and used them so much that they were now on their third set of soles, yet the uppers were still in good condition. Finally, he pulled on a dark green Gore-Tex jacket and went outside. He ignored the belt kit that hung under the jacket, with the SIG pistol grip poking out from the attached holster. They hadn’t made an attempt on his life recently, but only a man with a death wish would take the PIRA lightly. However, Cain did not believe the PIRA knew where he lived and he was not planning on leaving his land today. Plus, of course, he had twelve separate firearms caches hidden around the 10,000 acres of prime Herefordshire hills that he owned. The estate actually spanned both sides of the English-Welsh border and up into the Black Mountains, but Cain always thought of his home as being in Herefordshire.

After a few minutes stretching, Cain took a quick look around at the clear, blue sky then removed his jacket and put it back in the house. Gently he jogged off round down the path, past the tall hedge that shielded his huge, hidden garage and then turned off of the path onto the grass. He ran with a grace that belied his powerful body. At an inch short of six foot and thirteen and a half stone, he was not an enormous man, but his body contained very little fat, a fact that caused him quite a lot of discomfort in the cold. Anyone who knew what they looking at would have known him for a fighter. His biceps were only average in size, but his triceps and forearms were much larger than normal, although unlike people who develop them in a gym, the muscles were not constantly under tension, as a tense muscle can not move as fast as a relaxed one, and Cain could move very, very quickly. An hour later, Cain was still running, breathing easily but with a clear patch of sweat visible on his chest, back and around his armpits.

At the same time as Cain was sweating it out on his early morning run, little Mikey Hill was waking up. He bundled out of bed and dashed through to his parents’ room.

"Mummy, mummy, wake up, wake up! It’s my birthday!" Diane Hill groaned and snuggled further under the duvet, but Mick pulled his huge frame up into a sitting position and held out his arms for Mikey to run into. After a few more groans and Diane pulling the covers up over her head, Mick took the hint and picked up Mikey. He walked out of the room with his newly six-year-old son dangling by his ankle from one huge fist. Once outside the bedroom, Mick righted his son and let him scamper downstairs.

In the sitting room, Mikey found his present: A new mountain bike, just like he had been pestering his parents for. It was bright metallic green with twenty-inch wheels. Mikey thought it was perfect. It even had what he called motorbike tyres in that it had car-type Schrader valves. Mikey wanted to go out immediately to ride it. His father had a hard time persuading him to eat breakfast and then get dressed before going out. By the time father and son had eaten and dressed, Mikey’s older brother Steve and younger brother Chris had joined them. Consequently, Mick had to get his tools out to bolt on the bell Mikey was given to go with his new bike. Finally, after putting on his new helmet, also compliments of his brothers, Mikey was allowed out with his new cycle.

The Hills lived in a quiet residential road in the centre of Hereford populated by 1930s semi-detached houses like their own. The boys cycled up the path with their father running along behind, occasionally giving Chris a little push to speed up his stabiliser-equipped mini-cycle. At the end of the road they crossed the main road and entered into the park. Here the boys could wizz around safely on the many cycle tracks that criss-crossed the park. Inevitably there were a few accidents, and Mick had to deal with the odd bout of tears after some falls, but Mick was amazed that they managed to spend three hours in the park without any serious mishap or the children getting bored.

When Cain got back to his house, George and Gladys Jenkins were there. The husband and wife had worked part time for Cain since he had bought the house in early 1996. Both were in the late fifties. Where Gladys was short and slim, George was a strapping six foot three, in almost any direction you cared to name. George had been in the Regiment in the late sixties and early seventies, up until he was shot in the shoulder in 1973. George made a 95% recovery, but his shoulder was always weak from then on, and very painful on cold wet days, so he was invalided out of the Regiment. By then he had met and married Gladys, a girl from the valleys on the far side of Offa’s Dyke. He was settled in Hereford and did not want to return to his unit. In those days, the Regiment wasn’t that good at retaining their skilled staff, so that George left and passed through a succession of jobs until he had been hired, with his wife, to work for the young Benjamin Cain.

George was the handyman cum gardener, running everything outside the house and Gladys ran everything inside it from cleaning to ensuring that George did any repairs necessary. The seven years they had worked for Cain was more that three times the longest George had worked at any job since leaving the Regiment. Initially he had taken the job as it provided a house not far from Cain’s for them to live in at a time where the volatility of the housing market in the early 1990s coupled with George’s predilection for losing his job had resulted in their own house being repossessed. Since then, George had come to respect his employer, more than any he had ever had, and enjoy his job so that he now intended to finish his working life on the estate. A lot of his attitude change had came about once he had found out that Cain was in the Regiment, something that took him nearly eighteen months for confirmation of. Cain paid them reasonably, but not exceptionally. However, he made up for it by providing both of them with very generous contributions to personal pensions, something that Gladys was very glad of, knowing the kind of man her husband had been before their present jobs.

The down side of the Jenkins’ loyalty to Cain was that they sometimes had a tendency to mother him a little. For example, as soon as he arrived at the house, Gladys insisted he remove his boots, which she then handed to her husband, who disappeared with them out to the room they called the workshop. The boots would reappear in the shoe cupboard once they had been cleaned, received any necessary repairs and finally were highly polished. Cain was then free to go upstairs to shower and change.

Being still only ten o’clock, Cain pulled on a pair of old mechanics overalls. When George saw him come back downstairs, his face lit up. George had been in Mobility Troop most of his career in the Regiment, so he had an interest in cars and engines in general, but especially the old car they were reconditioning together. It was a 1967 Dodge Charger with a massive 7.2 litre V8 engine. It had come from Arizona, so they had not had to deal with any corrosion, but they had had quite a lot of work to do on the engine, brakes and suspension. Most of the serious engine work had been done in the Regiment’s motor pool, but the suspension work was all their own. They had replaced the standard shock absorbers with heavy duty ones as, like most American cars, the Charger had suspension way too soft by default. The four speed manual gearbox had been re-conditioned and then re-installed. The bright red paintwork looked perfect. They were not far away from completing the project, but Cain was not about to rush it, so at mid-day they called a halt to clean up ready for lunch

After lunch, which consisted of a large slice of an excellent game pie that Gladys had brought him with vegetables that he prepared to accompany it, Cain went back downstairs to train for an hour in his gym. After another shower, he dressed and went downstairs to get his tan coloured Church brogues out. They complimented the loose fitting khaki coloured trousers he had chosen to go with a light blue and white striped shirt. When he looked in the mirror he realised he looked somewhat like a Hooray Henry, so, after pulling on his shoulder holster for his SIG pistol, he deliberately picked up his tan nubuck leather jacket, which was trimmed with leather tassels. Finally, he picked up the birthday present he had for little Michael and a bunch of flowers for Diane Hill.

The dark metallic red Toyota Camry quickly covered the ten miles along A465 to Hereford, but it still took another fifteen minutes for Cain to get to Mick Hill’s house, which was in the centre of Hereford. Being early, he was able to park on the street right outside the house. Cain checked the other cars in the street. The Camry would not look out of place in what was quite an affluent road with several BMWs, a Jaguar, a Honda Legend and even a new Mercedes along with the usual assortment of Ford Focuses and the like. Mick opened the door to greet him.

"Thank you for coming, sir." Cain ignored the ‘sir’, he had told Mick before that away from RHQ and when not on operational duty, he was happy to be called Ben, but Mick always preferred the added formality. This may well have been due to Cain’s more relaxed management style, where he tended to make suggestions or requests, which he expected to be acted on, rather than direct orders. Mick was certainly not unique in his reaction to Cain’s style, to such an extent that all the senior NCOs ensured that all of Cain’s requests were carried out to the letter. If there were civilians around, and they were not on operational duty, then Mick was happy to use Cain’s first name, but it was never his preference. This was unusual in the Regiment, where plain-clothes operations were so common, especially over the water – Northern Ireland. There, a misplaced ‘sir’ would get you lifted by the PIRA.

Mick showed the way through the house into the kitchen, where Diane was removing a cake from the oven. She put the cake on the worktop next to her, shook off her oven mitts and gave Cain a big kiss. She had known Cain since he first arrived in Hereford to take up his post as OC of mobility troop of D squadron, where Mick was already a seasoned sergeant. She had long ago dispensed with the formality that Mick and the other men retained with Cain. It was not widely known, but Diane was a very clever woman. She had realised very early on that Cain was more than a three-year appointee and had surreptitiously pushed her husband and Cain closer together so that Mick’s career would benefit from Cain’s rise. As it happened, things had gone better than she could have hoped, as Cain and Mick found that they worked very well together as a team. Cain had drawn Mick into G Squadron when he took over there and then got him promoted to Squadron Sergeant Major when he took over A Squadron. Finally, he had got Mick to the very top of the NCO tree as Regimental Sergeant Major when he became the Regiment’s CO.

"Ben, no officer should ever wear a jacket like that," said Diane with a smile.

"I know," replied Cain with an outrageous wink. He offered to help out in the kitchen, but was soon reminded that he was a guest and his job was to enjoy himself. After hanging up his jacket and giving his gun holster to Mick to put safe, he wandered out into the garden to find his Godson. Michael was playing with his brothers. When he saw Cain he ran up to him and gave him a hug.

"Uncle Benjamin, mummy and daddy bought me a new bike for my birthday." Cain smiled at the way Michael insisted on using his full first name, where almost everyone else shortened it.

"Well, Michael, I think I should have a look at this new bike," replied Cain with mock severity. After Michael had showed him his new bike, and Cain had made the appropriate show of enthusiasm, Cain was able to give Michael with his present. Michael ripped into the wrapping paper as Mick and Diane came out to watch. Once he had the outer wrapping off, he pulled the lid off of the shoebox inside and shouted for joy. He pulled out the boots and quickly showed them to his mother.

"Look mummy, Uncle Benjamin has bought me boots just like daddy’s and his." With that he ran to his father to help him put the boots on. Diane went up to Cain and linked her arm with his, as he stood watching the delight on Michael’s face.

"Ben, you shouldn’t have, they must have been far too expensive. When you asked for Mikey’s shoe size to buy him some boots, I didn’t imagine you’d buy him such an expensive pair." Cain turned to her and smiled.

"Diane, seeing Michael’s smile makes them very, very good value. Besides, he has growing feet; he should have good boots. I notice you never buy him anything but Clark’s shoes. At least Timberland boots should last him, plus they are waterproof." With that Diane smiled and gratefully accepted Cain’s generosity.

"Well, thank you very much." Just then Michael ran up to them again.

"Thank you very much for my present, Uncle Benjamin. Look, they fit." Cain made a show of examining the fit carefully.

"Excellent fit, Michael. Now remember, you have to take care of your boots and they will take care of you." Watching Michael run off to his brothers with his new boots on, Cain wondered if it had been the best fifty pounds that he had ever spent. It was certainly close.

Dead on five, the first of Mikey’s friends began arriving for his party. One of them was Robbie Jones, whose mother Alice was a close friend of Diane’s. She came into the kitchen to help out Diane and glanced out of the window into the garden.

"Diane," she gasped, "you didn’t tell me he was coming!" She pointed over to Cain, who was chatting with Mick. Diane smiled, Alice’s divorce had only been through a month and already she was getting all goo-goo eyed about Ben Cain. The CO of the SAS would certainly be a catch, but she knew Alice’s interest was not in the status, nor even in his stunning hazel eyes, but in the advice they had received a couple of months back from Julie Adams. Julie had advised the girls that if even they got the chance they should jump into bed with him. She was most enthusiastic about his technique. "I haven’t even put my make-up on."

"Don’t worry about that Alice, I hear he prefers women without make-up." Alice looked across to her friend, who rarely wore make-up. "And before you raise you eyebrows at me Alice Jones, Mick prefers me to wear minimal make-up too." As Alice had volunteered to help with the party, Diane sent her off to ask Cain what he would like to drink. As soon as Alice went outside, Diane poured out the water, she knew he would request. She then stood at the kitchen window and watched Alice approach Cain.

"Er, hi, you’re Ben Cain aren’t you?" Cain looked up and for a moment Alice felt trapped in the pull of his hazel eyes. She had been going through her divorce last time she had seen Cain, so hadn’t really felt the effect of his stare. Now she understood just how intoxicating it could be.

"Yes," replied Cain with a smile, "Alice isn’t it?" He recalled her name effortlessly. He knew she had just got divorced from Taff Jones, one of the sergeants in G Squadron. Cain noticed that she was quite pretty and very tall, nearly as tall as he was, but she was off limits as far as he was concerned. Cain was thought of as having a quite a loose set of sexual morals by many people, but he had a very strict rule of never sleeping with anyone who was recently involved with another member of the Regiment. To break that rule was to invite trouble. Amongst badged members of the Regiment, the biggest reason for men being RTU’d was due to problems relating to women. Anything that was likely to draw attention to the Regiment was not good and public brawls over a woman were certainly likely to do that. Since he had become CO, Cain had signed the return to unit orders of two men for just such a fight.

"Diane sent me to find out if you would like a drink."

"That’s very kind. I would love a glass of water," he replied with a smile. Cain knew that Diane would know what he drank, so guessed she was playing games with either him or Alice. It was a warm day, so Cain ignored it and remained sitting in his chair under the parasol. A couple more children arrived for the party before Alice handed him his drink. Mick came out and joined them with a beer. After some small talk, Alice made her excuse and went to help Diane with the growing number of children. Soon there were nearly twenty children playing party games in the garden supervised by Diane, Alice and a couple of the other mothers, whilst Cain and Mick sat having their drinks.

At seven, the children’s parents started arriving, most picked up their children and left, but a few, who were friends of Mick and Diane rather than parents of Mickey’s friends stayed. After a while, other friends of Mick and Diane began to arrive for the second party of the day. Mick and Diane always had the children’s’ parties quite late in the day, so they could blend in with the evening party they always had afterwards. Obviously, there were quite a few member of the Regiment with their wives and girlfriends, but Diane had quite a few friends who were not related to the Regiment. Unfortunately, the two groups of men tended not to share too much in common and so tended not to socialise together very much. Here, Cain showed his social skills by moving between the groups and often linking them together. On anyone who did it less naturally, would have been said to be ‘working the room’, but Cain was always interested in people he met and found something to talk to them about.

Alice watched Cain as he circulated. Being on the Regiment side, she saw the way he talked to non-military people and was impressed by it. She helped Diane bring some more beers outside.

"Diane, I can’t believe it. Do you see way he’s working the party; he’s breaking down the barriers between the army and your other guests." Diane smiled.

"Why do you think I made sure he was coming. Some things are just born into people. Ben is born to socialise. If tomorrow you ask all those who didn’t know him before today who was the most interesting man they met here, I bet they would all say Ben Cain." She didn’t add that she was also sure that they would also know very little about him. His skill was in getting others to talk about themselves or talking about the current hot topics, although he never knew anything about television soap operas, rather than talking about himself. The Hills had been down to his big house outside Rowlstone, but she doubted many others had.

Later, as it started to get dark, Mick switched on the garden lights and lit the big insect repelling candles he had positioned earlier. After that, out came his karaoke machine. The SAS had a reputation for working hard and playing hard. Mick’s idea of fun was to stand up on stage and sing in public. With all of the practice he had, he had become quite a good singer. He opened the entertainment with a version of the Rolling Stones’ Brown Sugar, complete with pouting lips. When he finished there was a burst of cheering and clapping. Mick handed over the mike to four of guys from G Squadron, who started a very poor version of the Righteous Brothers hit You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling.

Mick Hill strode off to get himself a beer. On the way he passed Curtis Hudson, who had completed Selection the previous summer and was now on probation with A Squadron. Hudson was still a little nervous amongst the Regiment’s senior personnel and so took a step backwards as the huge RSM approached. Hill grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously.

"Curtis, how’s it going? Looks like you need another beer. C’mon, lets go raid the fridge." Hill led Hudson to the kitchen and got him a cold beer. "How are you finding life in the Regiment?" Hudson didn’t know what to say. He was talking to the most senior NCO in the Regiment, the man that for all practical purposes was the second in command to the CO.

"Fine Boss." He wasn’t sure how to address Hill, so he settled for Boss, which is what most of the Regiment used to officers. Mick smiled.

"My name’s Mick. Anyway, why’d you join A Squadron? I thought you’d be more a B Squadron man, or may be a D." The four sabre squadrons where very different in personnel. G Squadron tended to have most of the recruits from the Guards, whilst D took most of the Paras. A Squadron were renowned for being extroverts who loved to party. Moustaches and fast cars were much in sight in the squadron. Finally, B squadron tended to have most of the Fijians, Australians and Kiwis that served in the regiment. Being quiet, black and from the Royal Green Jackets, it was more natural that Hudson would have gone for the international flavour of B Squadron or, being an infantry soldier, the more physical D squadron.

"I picked A because the CO was the squadron commander at the time." Hudson was almost embarrassed to explain his reasoning, but he had been impressed with Cain the two times he had met him on Selection and, obviously, knew him from reputation before he joined. Hill just smiled.

"Have you got a couple of days free next week?"

"Sure, the troop’s not assigned at the moment. I’d have to speak to my Troop Sergeant though."

"Have Slack, yourself and one of the other guys report to the colonel first thing on Monday." Hudson was confused and wondered if he had just fallen into a trap, and worse got his troop sergeant in it too. Hill patted him on the back and walked him back outside.

Outside, they saw Cain being pushed up onto the patio cum stage by Diane. Whilst Cain was flicking through the list of songs available, Hill pulled Hudson to one side, where they would have a good view.

"Do you like Elvis?" Hill asked Hudson.

"Sure," replied Hudson, still a little wary. He took a long drink from his beer. Cain turned his back and pulled the collar of his shirt up. He spun around, sliding into a wide stance with loose hips and a quiver on his lips. The music began.

"Warden threw a party in the county jail. The prison band was there and they began to wail." Cain swung his hips around in imitation of the early Elvis Presley. Hudson had certainly not expected this from the CO. His eyes bulged; Colonel Witherington of his old unit, the Royal Green Jackets, would never behave like this. Officers did not behave like this. The odd lieutenant or even captain might, but certainly not a senior officer.

"Spider Murphy played the tenor saxophone. Little Joe was blowin’ on the slide trombone. The drummer boy from Illinois went crash, boom, bang. The whole rhythm section was the Purple Gang."

"Good isn’t he?" said Hill with a nudge. Hudson didn’t know what to think. Certainly Cain could sing, but was the SAS really run by a man like this?

By the end of the song, Hudson was tapping his feet and clapping along with everyone else. He had decided that Cain hadn’t won the Victoria Cross for his singing, so why not learn how to be a good soldier then relax and enjoy himself. It was better than being back in the RGJs and the highlight of his day being a snap inspection of the platoon’s dress. Out of habit, he looked down at Cain’s feet and smiled at the highly polished shoes he wore. Somehow, that was reassuring.

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