works of fiction

Thetford Chase - a short story, by Steve Cole, November 2016

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‘You’re going to need this.’ One of the men hands me a big stick. He hands out a couple more to the other lads and goes back to the Transit van for another set.

 

There must be eight or nine of us, milling about in the car park at the edge of Thetford Forest. There’s no one here but us, and I’m not surprised. It’s a chilly day and the weak November sun does nothing to warm the air. Most of our guys are messing about with their sticks, taking imaginary sword swipes at each other, getting a feel for the length and weight of it. I think about getting back in the van but I just stand here, holding my stick, stamping my feet to keep warm, and avoiding the others. They seem like bloody nutcases to me and I don’t feel part of the group.  One of the lads stops, his stick poised in mid swipe, as he peers up the road.

‘Here they come!’ he shouts, and the others gather round him. He calls over his shoulder at me, encouraging me to join in. ‘It’s the police. I can see the blue lights through the trees.’

 

As it gets closer, the police car flashes its headlights a couple of times, warning us to get out of the way. It swerves to avoid a big pothole as it pulls into our car park, followed closely by a van full of coppers. They’re peering at us through misted windows. Their van bounces and rocks as it trundles over the rain-filled ruts where overnight lorries have left their mark. Our lads scatter to avoid getting soaked and regroup as the coppers pile out. They’ve got their sticks already.  They gather together, a couple of the bulkier guys at the front, and they just stand there, looking us up and down. We do the same to them. There’s a policewoman at the back of the group. I can only just see her head. She’s got a camera and she’s taking pictures of us.

The passenger door of the police car opens. A senior policeman squeezes out and walks between the two groups.

 

‘OK. Who’s in charge of you lot?’ His eyes scan each of us in turn.

 

‘Over there.’ One of our blokes shouts back, pointing his stick at our van.

I look over to where he is pointing and see a cloud of cigarette smoke billow from the window before it slides shut. The driver’s door opens, and our guy gets out. He grinds his half-smoked cigarette into the mud with a heavy boot and joins the leading policeman.

 

‘Sergeant Edwards,’ he announces and salutes.

 

‘DCI Holdsworth,’ the cop returns the salute.

 

They shake hands and both begin talking at the same time, but I can’t hear the rest of what they’re saying. After a couple of minutes of serious faces, nods and another shake of the hands, our Sergeant steps forward.

 

‘Gather round.’ Miniature clouds puff from his mouth as his words float into the cold afternoon air.  There’s lots of shuffling and awkward stick holding. A young lad from our group is riding his stick like a witch’s broom. He stops larking about when he catches the disapproving look from the Sarge.

 

‘That includes you, Johnston,’ The Sarge shouts at me. I seem to have become detached, lost in my own thoughts, and I join the others. We’re all in the same place now, but still in two groups.

‘Our colleagues in the civilian Police have offered to give us a hand.  This is DCI Holdsworth.’  The Sarge nods in his direction and the cop raises his leather-gloved hand.

‘This is now a combined military and civilian matter.  We’ve already searched the northern outskirts of Thetford. That was where Corporal Leith was last seen before he failed to return to barracks a week ago.  But now the civilian Police have additional information that makes it worth searching this area of forest.’ DCI Holdsworth steps forward and the Sarge takes a step back.  It’s like a formal dance.

 

‘We’re not only looking for your Corporal Leith, which was their prime objective up until now, and frankly a military matter, again, but now we have reason to believe that there may be others involved in his disappearance.’  The police look a bit smug, pursed lips and knowing glances between them. Their leader carries on.

 

‘As part of our POLE activities…’ he pauses for effect ‘…by which I mean, people, objects, locations, and events, we have CCTV footage of a black van in Thetford town centre in the early hours of Saturday morning two weeks ago. It could be linked to Corporal Leith’s disappearance. Two unknown men were seen talking to someone of Corporal Leith’s description before driving off in the general direction of Thetford Forest. The last known sighting of the van was by a dog walker who saw three men having what he described as “a tussle” in this car park the following afternoon.  This is a potential crime scene and we don’t want to destroy any evidence that might lead us to anyone who might have kidnapped him. And there is a possibility that IS may have been involved.’

 

Shit! Why didn’t they tell me this earlier?  I feel sick. Cold beads of sweat slide down my back and I lean on my stick to steady myself.  Leith and me had close combat with those bastards when we were in Afghanistan together. They fought dirty. And so did we. The Sarge looks over to me, nodding his head.

 

‘Corporal Johnston has volunteered to join us on this one.’ I hoist my stick and try to stop shaking as all eyes turn on me. The Sarge raises his voice to draw attention back to him and carries on.

 

 ‘He’s served with Corporal Leith for a long time. They’ve done a couple of frontline tours together, so he probably knows him better than anyone. Johnston thinks that Corporal Leith may be suffering from PTSD and he has a personal interest in helping to find his mate. We’re looking for anything unusual, anything that shouldn’t be there; signs of disturbance, that sort of thing.’ The Sarge waits for and gets nods of understanding before carrying on.

‘And now we’re also looking for anything that might lead us to the two other men that DCI Holdsworth mentioned. If you find anything, stop and give a shout so that it can be investigated further. Don’t go trampling over everything – keep your eyes wide open and your mouth shut unless you find anything. Use your sticks to ease the bracken apart but don’t go bashing it about. This is Crown property and it needs to be protected.’

 

‘And my SOCO lads are on hand if we need them.’ Holdsworth glances at the Sarge, determined to have the last word.

 

‘Follow me. Stay in line.’ The Sarge leads us into the forest. 

All I can hear is the swishing of sticks and startled wildlife rushing for safer cover. The image of the young lad riding his stick like a witch’s broom flips into my mind. That’s just the sort of thing Geoff would do, even now after all the years we’ve been in the Marines. I’m paranoid that I might find his body, or even worse, bits of it. We signed up together, must be, oh, five years ago? We trained together. By God, we needed all the help we could get from each other then. We carried each other through training, quite literally. I dropped him in the mud once, the silly bugger. Not on purpose, but he’s a big lad and when you’re already covered in muck it’s hard to get a grip.

 

And then we had those tours in Afghanistan. Sure, we’ve changed since we first met. That’s what the frontline does for you. God, we’ve seen some sights and done some awful things. I can still see the mad, relentless look on the face of one of the enemy when I thrust my knife into his chest and felt it grind as I twisted it hard against his ribs. I shudder at the memory and look at the others as we pick our way through the bracken.

 

We’re about fifty yards in now, slowly pushing forward through the trees and undergrowth. Our line gets a bit straggly. All I can hear is the swishing of sticks and the occasional curse as the undergrowth fights back.

 

‘Over here!’ We stop moving. Statues in camouflage and hi-viz jackets. ‘I’ve found a shoe. Well, a bit of a shoe.’ One of the SOCOs walks over to inspect. From where I’m standing it looks like half a muddy trainer. 

 

‘Looks like it’s been cut in half by something pretty powerful. Come over here Johnston and take a look. Anything you recognise?’

 

SOCO sees the concern on my face and adds, ‘Don’t worry.  There isn’t half a foot in it.’ I take a closer look. 

 

‘It’s much too small for one of Geoff’s – Corporal Leith’s, that is. He takes at least a size 13, and he wouldn’t have anything flashy like this.’ SOCO takes it from me and drops it into a clear plastic bag.

 

‘OK. Carry on lads.’ We creep forward again. ‘Probably lost on the Thetford run last summer and chopped in half by the grass-cutters they bring up here. We’ll hang onto it anyway. You never know what you’re going to find on a job like this.  Mostly rubbish, but you never know.’ I force a grin for him.

 

‘Slow down a bit, lads.’ I hear the Sarge shout as the searching becomes a bit more frantic after the half-shoe moment. It’s the only thing we found in the last fifteen minutes and we’re getting a bit anxious to find something; anything.

 

We keep creeping forward and now I can see an access path through the trees on the left leading to a clearing. In the far corner, there’s a great big heap of branches. The Sarge has seen it as well.

 

‘Right. Stop right now lads and stay where you are. Johnston, over here with me.’

We are joined by one of the police officers who makes a bugger’s muddle of putting on an overall, leaving muddy boot marks over the crisp white material. 

 

‘And you.’ Holdsworth summons the policewoman with the camera.

 

The sun is even lower in the sky now as we approach the jumbled branches and bracken and we can make out the outline of a van.  It’s parked up tight against the Scots pine at the edge of the clearing.  The camera clicks off a series of shots and we move closer.  The Sarge has his hand on the butt of the handgun sticking out of his belt. Holdsworth looks at him and his face says no. My heart is beating fast and my stomach is churning. The guy in white overalls holds up his hand to stop us from moving forward.

 

‘It might be booby-trapped,’ his voice is measured but tense. ‘Be very careful.  Stay back while I check it out for trip wires.’

 

I hold my breath as he creeps forward, his eyes scanning the ground in front of him. Christ, I hope there aren’t any IEDs here as well. I wince with each step he takes as I anticipate the vivid blast that will send him flying back towards us. He’s within touching distance of the van now and reaches out to tug a branch of camouflage away.  Dead pine needles spring into the air as the branches are released.  He freezes, and I hear the shower of needles settle on his arched back as he bows his head. He reaches forward again and teases away the bottom of another branch that has been rammed into the soft forest floor. An avalanche of twigs and bracken slither down with a dry crackle and expose the windscreen and bonnet of a black van. A small cloud of dust floats in the still air and he slowly rises through it as he stands up to look closer.

 

 ‘Come and have a look.’ His voice is calm – trained to be controlled against emotion and excitement.

 

The Sarge beckons me over and I peer into the van. And there he is. It’s Geoff, sitting in the driver’s seat, hands on the wheel and not moving. A white-gloved hand tugs at the handle and opens the driver’s door. The stench is overpowering and I reel back and retch over my boots.

 

‘It’s OK – he’s alive.’  The Sarge gives me time to get myself together and I go back to the van again.  Geoff is still sitting there, his scratched and bleeding hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that I can see his knuckles, deadly pale, through the grime. Tears squeeze from his tight-shut eyes, mixing with the mud and unshaven stubble. The floor of the van is littered with bottles and the debris of flyblown food. I see my hand reach in to touch his shoulder.

 

‘It’s OK mate – you’re safe. It’s me. I’m here.’

 

Geoff’s face slowly turns towards me. His eyes open and tears flow freely. He opens his mouth to speak but all that comes out is foul-smelling breath and a harsh croak.  His eyes are locked on me, pleading for help and saying more than words could ever do.  I try to hold them back, but my tears flow fast as the Sarge and I help him let go of the steering wheel and ease him out of the van. We lose our grip on his large limp frame and he slithers to the ground, sobbing heavily and trembling. The camera whirrs again and again, taking in the scene. I kneel down in the mud beside Geoff and hold him in my arms, blind to everything else that is going on around me.

 

‘Take your time lads.’ I hear the Sarge’s quiet voice behind me, reassuring and calm. ‘It’s over now. You’re safe.’

 

Geoff’s pleading eyes are still locked on mine as he slowly nods his head to the back of the van. Someone opens the back doors. The camera flashes and whirrs. Holdsworth peers in and holds his breath as a cloud of flies buzz around his head. The stench of two dead bodies, bound and gagged, catches the back of his throat, making it difficult to speak.

 

‘Sergeant Edwards, a quiet word with you, if I may.’

 

The Sarge and Holdsworth walk away and I hold Geoff tighter; much tighter. But I know it won't be long before he's gone.