CHAPTER 8

“Ah right,” I replied, remembering she had told me before. “Well, my story is a little convoluted. But under the circumstances, I might as well share. Not that you giving me much choice in the matter.”

I eyed them all accusatorially, but not a one looked down. This was part of the initiation so I accepted it with resignation. “Basically, I was enlisted for National Service in the South African Defence Force (SADF) during the apartheid regime. I excelled at soldiering and after a short stint in the Parachute regiment, they selected me to do the Recce or Reconnaissance Commando course. If you don’t know about them, it’s not surprising. We were a highly specialized Spec-Ops unit. Based on the Grey Scouts and Selous Scouts of the Rhodesian war, but modernised. After completion, I sub-specialized in Small Team Insertion. When I left the SADF in 1994, it was due in part to a regime change and the subsequent questions that arose around what our teams actually did prior to the political shift.”

“I then signed up with the UK equivalent. Yes, Major Stone, I was part of the Regiment for six years. And yes, I had to qualify all over again. Fortunately, I was young enough to succeed and become a blade in the SAS Regiment after Sandhurst. I kept my rank of full Lieutenant but was given a new name because of the questions the previous government was asking. The witch-hunt was completely uncalled for. We just followed orders like everyone else. I was later knocked up to Captain for my exemplary service in the Regiment. My specialization was Pathfinder, tracking, desert warfare, and bushcraft. I later became heavily involved in training and was seconded to our American friends across the pond to assist with their DELTA and SEAL Training. My focus still being desert warfare as a component of their Land Warfare Phase 3 qualification.”

“After two years of this, I made the move permanent and became a part time swabby. I enrolled for BUD/S under their foreign services enrollment option. ‘Why?' you might ask. Well if for nothing else, then to shut up the crowing from the SEAL trainees. I also wanted to see if I could do it. Many of those SEALs felt Hellweek was something every Spec-Ops should experience before they could be respected as an equal. I think I am still cleaning sand from my buttcrack.”

I looked over at Raúl, who had a wry smile on his face. “I knew there was something I liked about you, Colonel,” he stated.

Nodding at him, I continued, “Later I specialized in Counter-Intelligence, Anti-terrorism, and demolitions, including underwater demolitions which comes with the territory as a SEAL. I saw active service at first as a Major and then Lieutenant Colonel. The active duties included intelligence gathering, intelligence networking, and stuff I will not go into detail about. Working with the CIA, well… you get the picture. Most places I’ve been I have forgotten the name of. When I retired five years ago, they gave me the rank of a full bird to help with the retirement package benefits, and they made me sign under the secrets act that I would never divulge anything classified as 'Secret' from my active service.”

“I have to say this though. I retired early because they wanted to pull me from the field and put me behind a desk. It wasn’t for me. You miss the intrigue and being part of something bigger than yourself. Admittedly, when you get deep into your 40’s, everything slows down, but you still miss being part of the active solution.”

I crinkled my brow in amusement, “Although, the way I feel now, I could double-time my way through the Fan Dance in my sleep. A bracing day out in the Becon Beacons.”

This time it was Major Stone who smiled at me knowingly. The Becon Beacon Mountains and, in particular, Pen y Fan, is the highest of the Becon Beacon mountains in Wales, and is a substantial part of the grueling 24km SAS selection test. The memories of pain and endurance had tested me in ways I could never fully explain. Every SAS soldier considers that route a self-defining challenge, one of many, but definitely legendary.

“While I am one of only 118 men to complete both BUD/S and the SAS selection process, I am to date, the only one qualified for three different Special Forces, and now it appears I can add a fourth.”

“Well, damn!” stated Sarah. “Was that so hard? I mean, why all the secrecy and hints at government secrets? I thought you must be like a mad nuclear scientist or Assassin or something.”

I smiled ruefully at her “A lifetime of secrets, Black OPs, working with the CIA, JSOC, MI5 and probably any other acronym you can think of has left me reluctant to share any real details, Sarah. This synopsis is just that. You can make of it what you wish.”

I turned to look at Stone. “Is that enough for you Major?”

“For now, yes,” he replied. “And that is that. Our job here is done. I will keep my eye out for you, Colonel Armpit. By the way, why are you called Armpit?” I rolled my eyes and looked at Sarah. With much glee, she told them and the uproar of laughter brought Charlie back to the fire from his watch post.

“What’s with all the laughing?” he queried, “I’m supposed to be the joker in the pack. What am I missing?”

This time Sarah asked him to say “Oom Piet”. His resultant Texan crucifixion of the Afrikaans language brought out howls of laughter.

Suddenly the team quieted and Major Stone had a blank gaze on his face. He then came back to himself and called his team. “We must get going, Colonel. You can stay here until nightfall until then you are free to roam the island. Try not to get killed if you stay here though. It will count badly towards your next level. When you are ready to leave, just touch the beacon and you will go back to your body. Good luck!”

With that the whole team made for the beacon rock, each touching it in turn and disappearing.

Left sitting with Sarah, I looked at her inquiringly. “Shall we head back? I’m eager to have some words with Grant.”

She agreed, and I let her go first. As she disappeared, I stepped back and surveyed the surrounding area. It was peaceful now, and I was finally alone with my thoughts. I had not lied when I said I wanted to speak to Grant, but I figured some time to myself would be good.

I walked a short distance until I was out of the foliage and could see the shore of the lake that circumvented the island. This line of sight also gave me a clear view of the sky and the sun. It warmed my face with its golden rays, and I had a hard time imagining this was just a simulation. The sun was fairly low on the horizon, so I probably had about two hours before dark. I could see some shapes moving in the water, most likely alligators, but they hadn’t seen me and everything was as it should be. A sense of peace pervaded me. I found a broken tree to sit on and just relaxed.

The past few days and hours had been hectic. Everything I knew and loved was gone. At least everything materially. There would be no-one looking for me either. It made me realize how secluded I had become since leaving the military.

Meeting this group had brought back so many memories. I couldn’t deny that I missed it. In my early days in Africa, I had spent long hours alone in the bush, just existing and learning to become one with it. Sure, it had been the sandy scrublands of the Kalahari desert or the sweeping grasslands of the Highveld, but I found I could feel at peace in any wilderness environment.

Once I found my heart at peace, feeling at one with the environment, secure in the knowledge I would detect any dissonance, I began to truly relax. It was time I faced myself with some pertinent questions. This whole situation was quite an upheaval. Do I just give up my independence and embrace a new cause? I had been embracing causes for the greater good my whole life. Everything used to be about the mission, about the result, no matter what the consequences were. Was it still like that? Did I have any patriotic bones left in my body that weren’t broken or more appropriately shattered into disillusioned dust?

My life in South Africa during apartheid had been turbulent, bloody, and ruthless. Racial hatred had been the worst of the worst in that war. I had known back in the late ’80s that a biological weapon was being designed based on race. At the time, as a young impressionable recruit, I had embraced the war, knowing only terrorists or ‘Commies’ as my enemy. Many of the unit were not racist in the least and not in this war against “blacks” but were instead, seeing this war as a fight against the communists, against Russian and Chinese indoctrination and influence of those times.

As the war in Southern Africa progressed, I saw many forms of evil of the worst kind. Inserted deep behind enemy lines, our small four man team operatives had found both kindness and cruelty, and many eye-opening revelations that weren’t available for the average soldier. Witnessing the enemy torturing each other using force when persuasion wouldn’t work.

Killing collaborators using petrol and a car tire around their necks. The resulting carnage as the person clawed and screamed and eventually died was a powerful tool used by the terrorists to enlist more recruits and force compliance, it even got the famous name of ‘necklacing’ and struck terror into the hearts of the civilian populace.

Many of the 'enemy' were just poor people, overtaken by events. Press-ganged into taking up arms for something that didn’t bother them at all. The political will of the time was not a movement of determined, educated and informed civilians, it was the press of an automatic weapon to a wife, a child or a parent. It was the promise of food during a drought. It was a lie that eventually had to be real because there wasn’t anything else to justify what was being done.

My teams and I witnessed this, and I had sworn to myself that I would never ever believe anything ever told to me by any political party, ever. I swore an oath to myself to always check the facts and find out the details on my own. My later days in the SAS I had seen active duty in Bosnia, the Ivory Coast, Libya, Afghanistan, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, and Syria. Everywhere I went there was untold evil and cruelty, and I found it harder to believe I was part of the cure, part of something greater trying to quell the loss of innocent life.

Especially since those paying in blood were usually the innocent. Admittedly, some part of me definitely embraced the role of liberator, making sure those ruthless men and women paid the ultimate price for taking advantage of innocents they perceived of as weak.

I was the guy who stood up and did the right thing, no matter if it cost my life. Later, while working with the SEALS and Delta Force teams in counter-intelligence operations, I had always sought out evil with determined, controlled force. We had gathered intel on those slave traders, arms dealers and opium smugglers and crushed them wherever we could. Often displaying the same ruthlessness that our enemies represented. I discovered the job was easier by being as evil as our enemies. After some time, I realized that I… that we had become so much like the enemy we sought so ruthlessly.

That epiphany had brought about my early retirement, not really the threat of a desk, stateside, but I wasn’t going to tell anyone that. It was hard to look in the mirror sometimes, convincing myself that the end justified the means. I had had to get away from it all.

Once retired, once I stopped fighting and had a chance to really reflect on my life, and possibly the good I had done. I came to an understanding that I had done everything for my team, and to survive. It had never really been about the grand political landscape. It had always narrowed down to that moment, when life and death were a sliver of thought to either side.

Now the Absinth wanted me to take up arms for them. To train and fall into line as I had done so many times before. I didn’t know if I had it in me. It wasn’t the physical side. They had taken that out of the equation. Could I really face the responsibility of taking life in the name of something I didn’t understand, didn’t believe in?

These thoughts and conflicting emotions they stirred up didn’t bring me any peace or resolution. Sighing, I acknowledged there was little choice for now and so I would continue to follow along until my chains were loosened. Then I would see how things stood. I was and always would be a man of action.