Alan Judd - A Breed of Heroes

The effect of the find was to invigorate the searchers. Only the CO looked troubled. ‘You see what these people are,’ he said. ‘No concern for their own. Burying it here where people stand to watch football and where children play all day. It could’ve killed dozens. It ought to be on film so that the world can see what bloody lunatics these people are. Charles, where are those pressmen? They’re swarming over you like flies when you don’t want them and nowhere to be found when you do.’

‘They’re on their way, sir. Just coming.’

‘You said that twenty minutes ago. Where are they?’

‘I’ll go and get them, sir.’ Charles strode purposefully back towards the entrance. There was nothing whatever that he could do but the CO liked to see action in response to his demands. He had expected that the press would have arrived by now since the jungle telegraph was so efficient that they often arrived almost simultaneously with the search parties. On occasions like this the CO expected his PRO to be able to summon up squads of press as he himself would summon up a fresh platoon. This, however, was not the time when Charles had to disabuse him of this error, for as he neared the gate he saw an ITV television crew arguing with the guard over the question of admittance. He saw that they were allowed in and behind them another crew from Spain. Several other journalists arrived and so he was soon able to lead a flock across to the two finds. A knowledgeable colour sergeant was recorded giving an enthusiastic description of the state of decay, composition and probable damage that could be caused by the explosive.

After this they dispersed over the ground. The TV teams filmed their interviewers giving accounts and asking questions of which they had already filmed the answers. Another journalist arrived, a woman in her late twenties. She had dark hair straddled over her shoulders, a suede jacket with matching suede boots that just failed to conceal the size of her calves, a bag slung over one shoulder and a king-sized cigarette in one hand. She was quite short and had a wide gash of a mouth which widened with easy confidence as she introduced herself as Moira Conn, one of the Sunday Truth ’s Hindsight team. ‘Some guy called John at your headquarters told me your name and said I’d find you down here. He said he worked with you.’

‘Ah yes, Van Horne, Lance-Corporal Van Horne.’

‘Pretty smooth guy. Are all your soldiers like that?’

‘No.’

‘Pity. I usually find I prefer soldiers to officers, though. They’re somehow more real. I mean, the officers are always a bit inauthentic. They’re trying to be something they’re not but the soldiers just are. They just stand there and they are. You can feel it. Whereas the officers are always chasing some ideal of themselves that doesn’t exist and they end up not being anything at all.’

It was clear that this was not one for the CO. The Sergeants’ Mess, perhaps, but more likely the Junior Ranks club. She had obviously been to an English public school and was trying to lose it by lengthening some of her vowels and flattening them all to a mid-Atlantic monotone. ‘Would you like to see some explosives?’ asked Charles.

‘You found some? That’s great. I didn’t think you would. I’ve never seen explosives before. How’re the locals reacting?’

‘They’re not yet.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s a bit early in the day.’ They climbed on to the bank and walked along it. The digging soldiers eyed her as they passed.

She lit another cigarette and offered one to Charles. ‘Not when in uniform, I s’pose? That’s what gets me about you officers. You’re so bloody hidebound and self-conscious.’

‘I don’t smoke.’

‘Not you in particular but the officer class in general. All stiff upper lip and understatement. They look as if they never shit, some of them.’

‘But some do, from a great height.’

‘You don’t rile easily, do you? I think I’m going to like you. How come you’re in the Army?’ Her mouth widened into a slow, confident smile.

‘I just joined.’

‘But why?’

Charles still felt cheerful because of the greenness of the grass. He looked her in the eye. ‘I wanted to kill people.’

She blew out a lot of smoke. ‘Holy shit, that’s bad. That’s mean. At least you’re honest, though.’

‘Yes.’

‘The name O’Hare mean anything to you?’ She had kept the smile going.

‘No.’ It did, though. O’Hare had been a soldier in the battalion two years previously and was now reputed to be a leading Provisional IRA gunman in the Ardoyne area. The CO had told them about this at a briefing which he had labelled ‘Top Secret’, but he made such promiscuous use of this category that it was not always easy to know what was secret and what was not. However, Charles felt fairly certain that this, for some reason, was. ‘It’s Irish, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘You see, there’s an IRA marksman of that name who used to be in your regiment. At least, we’re pretty certain he did. We know he left the Army and why he left and what he’s done since. Only we’re not positive that that’s his real name and we’re not one hundred per cent sure it was your regiment. Obviously it’s a good story if it was. We just need confirmation, that’s all. Passive confirmation.’

‘First I’ve heard of it.’

‘He’s deeply involved, this guy. He’s into everything they’re doing. We’ve got the story all ready. We just need the confirmation.’

‘Never heard of him.’

‘Can’t you find out?’

‘No one would tell me even if they knew. Ask the IRA.’

‘They don’t name their people on operational duty in the North.’ She stopped walking and turned to face him, lowering her voice. Charles felt she was becoming more attractive. ‘Look, just the name, that’s all. You don’t even have to say it. Just nod if it’s him. I mean, no one will know it’s you because if you can confirm it I can check back through other sources and make it look as though it came from them. In fact, it will have. It’s just that it will have come from you first, that’s all. No one will ever know, I promise you, Charles.’ She was not smiling now, but was looking at him sincerely.

Charles put his hand on his heart. ‘Believe me, if I knew you could tempt me.’

‘Will you keep your ears open for me? Some of your friends must know.’

They neared the dustbin of explosives and Charles persuaded her to put out her cigarette. The knowledgeable colour sergeant repeated his exposition. She tried to touch the weeping gelignite and was prevented. They moved on to where the weapons were exhibited and she lit up again. ‘I don’t know much about weapons. It’s something I ought to learn, though on Hindsight of course we do more in-depth investigation of the people behind the action. Still, weapons are good local colour.’

‘Aren’t they quite important for your investigation?’

‘Quite. Quite. Great word, that. Very British. No — but the really important thing for me is not the technology of urban guerrilla warfare so much as the thought behind the bullets, you know. I’m more interested in why they’re doing what they’re doing than in how. But I ought to know all the same.’

She took herself very seriously. Charles could think of nothing to say but found that nodding was all that was expected of him. They came to where the weapons were displayed on a polythene sheet on the grass. She exhaled two parallel jets of smoke through her nostrils. ‘That’s not much.’

‘Well, it’s a pretty representative sample of the technology of urban guerrilla warfare.’

‘Is that a machine-gun?’

‘No, it’s a rifle.’