Andy McNab: Agressor

'Maintenance, my darling.' Hazel looked me in the eye. 'If you don't keep checking the roof, then next time there's a storm… Don't you agree, Nick?'

I looked at the family gallery on the sideboard; the usual mishmash, some black and white, some colour, in a variety of silver and wooden frames. Wedding photos with '70s hairstyles; then their two kids, Julie and Steven, at all the different stages: big ears; no teeth; zits… Then the ones of Julie's wedding, and her own children; by the look of it they had about four of them. The air round here was obviously good for raising more than just horses.

My gaze fell on one of a young man in a Light Infantry beret and best Dress Number Twos staring proudly into the camera, the Union Jack behind him. Steven's passing-out parade must have been about 1990, because Charlie and I had still been in the Regiment; I'd thought he'd burst with pride when he told me. I didn't know much about him though, beyond the fact that he'd been seventeen and the spitting image of his dad.

'How's your boy doing? He still in?'

Hazel's eyes dropped to the floor.

I wondered what I'd said, then I noticed: there weren't any other pictures of him.

Charlie leaned across and took Hazel's hand in his. 'He was killed in Kosovo,' he said softly. 'Ninety-four. He'd just got promoted to corporal.'

He put his arm around his wife. I sat back in my chair, not sure what to say to avoid adding to the wreckage.

'Don't worry about it, lad, you weren't to know. We kept it to ourselves pretty much. Didn't want GMTV round, filming us going through the family album.'

Hazel looked up and gave a brave smile. She'd probably got over the worst of it during the last ten years, but it must have been a nightmare.

Silky drifted in, breaking the moment, smelling of soap and shampoo. She'd put on a pair of pale blue cotton trousers and a white vest, and her wet hair was combed back.

There was an awkward silence. Hazel busied herself pouring another glass of juice. 'I bet you feel a lot better for that.'

'The shower or the singing?' Silky smiled as she came and sat beside me. Whatever she was about to say next was drowned out by the blare of a car horn.

Hazel looked relieved. 'Julie.'

Seconds later, a flurry of feet and young voices bomb-burst into the house, shouts and shrieks echoing off the wooden floors. The door flew open and four boys with sticky-up crew cuts and untanned skin ran into the room. The older two, about eight and seven, came up to me and thrust out their hands. 'You're Nick, aren't you?' They had strong accents. Their two little brothers ran back outside.

I bent down and shook. 'And this is Silky.'

'That's a funny name.'

'You pronounce it Silk-a really. Nick calls me Silky because he's not very good with complicated words.'

Silky loved kids. Her older sister kept sending pictures of her twin seven-year-old boys to Silky's PO box in Sydney. Every time we stopped in anywhere for more than a few days she got her mail forwarded and I would have to sit and listen to Karl and Rudolf's latest adventures.

'Where are you from, Silky? You talk funny!'

'Funnier than Nick? I come from Germany. It's a long way away.'

Julie and her husband Alan came in with Charlie, the two younger kids hanging off his leg. We made the right noises as we shook. Alan's hands were big and rough. He was a bushman to his marrow, and wasn't particularly fussed up about the visitors.

Charlie took charge. 'Right! I'd better get that barbecue lit, hadn't I? Who's coming to help me?'

It was obviously the standard call to arms. All the kids jumped up and down with delight and charged outside.

Two hours later, everybody was stuffed full of chicken, steak, prawns and Toohey's. Silky sat with Julie and Hazel on the settee; conversation flowed like they'd known each other all their lives. Alan sorted out a DVD for the kids, who were flaked out on cushions on the floor. He threw it in and, maybe sensing Charlie and I could do with some private time, sat down to watch it with them.

'Why don't you jump any more?'

Charlie was standing with me by the jug of coffee on the sideboard. We weren't ready for it yet; we were both still on cans. 'Wasn't fair to Hazel. Her nerves were bad enough as it was.'

Silky joined us with three empty cups. She nodded at the gallery as she poured. 'Charlie, you were in the army?'

'Yes.'

'You haven't changed, have you? Look at you!'

Charlie smiled at the picture of his son. 'I've put on a few wrinkles since then – and lost a bit of hair.'

I shot a glance at Hazel. She was smiling at Charlie for being so kind. Silky poured their coffees and went back to the other two, completely oblivious.

Charlie held up his can to me in a toast. 'The good old days.' We touched tins and he took a swig. 'What about Silky? Any plans?'

'Nah, I'm just letting her sleep with me till I find somebody better.'

He frowned at my bad joke. 'You're a knobber then. She seems a really good girl. Make the best of it while you can, lad.' He looked at the sofa then back at me. 'So, you want to come and watch the sun go down, or what?'

He couldn't have made it more obvious he had something he wanted to talk about if he'd tried. He lifted two new cans and I followed him out onto the veranda.

He leaned on the rail. A couple of hundred metres away, a group of horses kicked up dust in the paddock.

Charlie sat on a bench and motioned me to a swing seat opposite. Whatever was on his mind, he didn't seem ready to talk about it yet. My eyes followed his to the horse grazing on its own in a corner.

'You know what, Charlie? You were the one that I picked. I never told you that, did I?'

The training major always gave just one piece of advice to the newly badged troopers. 'When you get to your squadron, shut up, look and listen. Then pick one man you think is the ideal SAS soldier. Don't let him know you've picked him, but watch and learn. There will be times on operations when you don't know how to act or react. That's when you ask yourself what your man would do.'

Charlie had started out as the one I picked, but he very quickly became even more important to me than that. In my mind, I awarded him the highest accolade one soldier could ever give another. I could honestly say that I would have followed him anywhere.

He took another swig and rested his can on the rail. 'I know, lad. I used to see you watching me. You learn much?'

'I think I did. In fact I thought about you on the last day of that Waco job. Do I deck the bloke or not? I know I made the right decision.'

'I'm not sure everybody at Waco did.' Charlie turned his head to look at me. 'Remember that young lad from DERA, the gas man? He killed himself a year later.'

I hadn't heard. I'd left the Regiment by then. 'His name was Anthony. He was all right.'

He sat back in his chair. 'Good men, fucked over by the system. It's nothing new.' He picked up his beer with a trembling hand, as if the emotion of the moment was getting the better of him. 'You know, I fell for it when I was a lad. I really did believe all that shite about Queen and country. We were the good guys, they were the bad guys. It took me thirty-seven years playing soldiers to realize what a load of old bollocks it was. Maybe you got there sooner? That why you got out?'

Charlie wouldn't know what I'd done after I left, and he would never ask. He knew that if I wanted him to know, I'd tell him.

'Sort of.'

He looked back at the solitary horse in the corner of the field. 'Did you know I was in the troop when my boy was on foot patrol in Derry?'

I nodded. A couple of guys had had sons in the green army, and all of them had been operating over the water at the same time.