The colonial days had nothing on these guys and, in a way death would be a welcome relief to the mental pressures I was currently experiencing.
"It seems appropriate, does it not, Captain Carlisle, that an ex-soldier should die by firing squad?" Quang asked as we mounted some steps to a door. I knew that on the other side of this door was the courtyard where I would die. My mouth was so dry that I couldn't reply, even if I wanted to. The short walk we'd so far undertaken had tired me out, so I knew I was in a dreadful condition.
The guard at the top stared at me impassively as he opened the door. I shuffled through, my mind in a confused state, as I thought of all the people in my life whom I had loved. It was a pitifully short list.
There was a line of eight posts sunk into the ground, with a high, four metre wall a metre or so behind them. Bullet marks seemed to range up and down the wall to a height of ten feet down to ankle level, which said a lot about the quality of their marksmanship. I hoped my guys would aim true.
Of the firing squad, there was no sign, but my escort took me over to a central post where they took the manacles from me. An army sergeant approached and the warders withdrew, Hardy grinned while Laurel was sniggering.
I took a last look at the world in which I'd failed miserably at most things. It was a grey, miserable world, with little left for me to want to go on. A few lights on the walls of the prison came on, just as a couple of spotlights illuminated me for those who were to shoot me. I was dazzled completely, so shut my eyes.
"Hands!" the sergeant said, so I put my hands out. He took them and tied them behind me to the post. He then came round to face me, blocking out the spotlights for a moment.
“When I put the hood on, put this capsule in your mouth, and when you hear the shots, bite down and slump. If you've any piss left, release it at the same time. Then don’t fucking move a muscle, because if you so much as twitch, that’s it, I’ll shoot you myself," he whispered in almost perfect English.
I stared at him, disbelieving both the fact he was whispering and what he said.
Before I could respond, the hood went on, and I felt a small capsule slide towards my lips. I obediently opened my mouth and held it between my teeth.
What was this, a final mockery by giving me poison?
Were they that unsure of their soldiers' ability to kill me?
Hear the shots?
How could I hear the shots if they were shooting me?
I had little time to dwell on it, as I heard some words of command, followed by the sound of many boots marching across the hard courtyard. They came to a halt, and I visualised the soldiers turning towards me.
A single word was shouted, one I knew -
"Load!"
I heard the action on the rifles as each was loaded.
"Aim!"
I imagined at least eight rifles pointing towards me.
The command to fire, when it came, followed instantly by the fusillade of shots, made me start, as my chest was peppered by the sensation of many red-hot pebbles slamming into it. Believing myself to have actually been shot, I almost forgot my instructions, but as it dawned on me that I wasn't dead, I bit down on the capsule and slumped back against the post. My chest really hurt, but not as much as had they been real bullets. I had no time to wonder what they had replaced the bullets with, nor indeed who 'they' were. I had an idea, as that single thread seemed to have born fruit after all. I put it aside as I concentrated on being dead.
I allowed myself to fall back, hanging by my bonds. It was only then that I realised that I had pissed myself involuntarily. I tasted blood in my mouth, which was now dribbling down my chin. Now I knew what was in the capsule. I hoped it wasn't HIV positive.
I heard the squad march off, and then footsteps moving towards me as I took a deep breath. The hood was removed, so I remained completely still as someone felt for a pulse in my neck.
"Is he dead?" asked a voice in Vietnamese - Quang's.
"Yes, this man is dead, as all shots have hit near the heart, look!" said another, unknown voice. I assumed it belonged to a doctor. I wonder what he was indicating, so guessed that the bullets had somehow contained blood pellets, giving the outward appearance of a job well done.
"What a waste, now we shall never know!" Quang said as his footsteps receded. “Perhaps he was innocent, after all….”
I felt my hands released so dutifully I fell to the ground, landing as floppily as possible. Unseen and rough hands rolled me into a bag, which they zipped up and placed unceremonially onto a stretcher. Once in the bag, I resumed breathing slowly and calmly, my mind in a whirl.
I wasn't dead, but why not?
I wasn't complaining, mark you, but I was certainly confused and afraid. I'd almost come to terms with my death, so needed some time to come to terms with the fact that it had been postponed.
After feeling so alone and abandoned for so long, it was a novel and strange experience to try to believe that someone was taking the trouble to care about me and my predicament.
Time to think was the only thing I had a great deal of up to this point. Denied books and newspapers, I had no idea what was happening in the world, but to be honest, I was so wrapped up in my own little world of discomfort, pain and dark foreboding that I didn’t care what was happening in the world. Left to his own thoughts for days on end, those thoughts can either drive a man mad or give him some respite.
I hoped I wasn’t mad.
I had mulled over my relatively short life in great detail, relishing some memories and shrinking in real embarrassment over others. I just wished I had more memories, as my life hadn’t really got going. All I knew was that I hadn’t exactly done myself any favours and certainly could say that I didn’t even know the real me. I just hoped that whoever was helping me now was able to do the job properly.
It wasn't hard to work out why I was the focus of attention, as that many diamonds can cause all manner of things to happen, but the who was a different matter. I recalled my single thread of hope and smiled. Hope is something that keeps us going, but what happened next was anybody's guess. Indeed, how I had managed to get here was quite a tale as well.
Chapter One
Six Months Previously.
"Robert, have you any comment of the way the army treated you?" shouted a reporter when I went to retrieve my milk from the doorstep.
"No comment!" I said, returning inside and slamming my front door.
The newspapers were full of it, making me out to be some sort of anarchistic hero. A month ago, I was a British army Captain, now I was nothing, just another victim of our government's foreign policy and general underhand dealings in the name of profit.
I opened the Daily Telegraph, a typically pro-establishment rag, but one that had little love of Tony Blair, Gordon Brown and the idiots of New Labour. Actually, these idiots were marginally more incompetent than the opposition, by virtue of the fact they had to govern. The Tories and Liberals just had to jump up and down shouting, 'Shame!'
The press were a veritable pain in the arse, but I had to admit, it was because of the press I had walked free from the court martial. I may not be a soldier any more, but at least I wasn't having to serve time in one of the military prisons. Officers had a particularly hard time, or so I was led to believe. I looked at the front page.