Soldier of Fortune

Honoured to be included in the Legends day, and sincere thanks to all those organising it. This story started out quite some time ago as a flash story but I couldn't seem to find an ending that I was happy with. When the invitation came along I browsed my unfinished scribblings and came upon this one and decided to resurrect it, only to find that it took on a life of its own. The result is a story somewhat longer than I'd planned, so settle down and make yourselves comfortable. Sorry no detailed descriptions of the sex, as I simply don't get any great pleasure from writing such things (Not to say that I don't enjoy doing it). Remember 'anon' that the 'hero' really isn't me and the whole story is a figment of my imagination, though I have been to and sometimes lived in every place mentioned, including somewhere that equates well to the unnamed African Country. None of the characters are based on anyone I've ever known, except for one that is, the events never really happened and if any of them maybe did then they have been grossly exaggerated. To make the story work, it jumps back and forward somewhat between scenes and places, so prepare yourselves please.

Enjoy, and I hope you don't find the story as long-winded as the introduction, and apologies for any inaccuracies. (Especially about guns. I only know about shotguns!)

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Yes Tom, you wanted me," I announced my arrival at the Managing Director's office having been buzzed by him to come through.

"Yes, thanks for coming Mike," he replied with a smile, standing up from his desk. "I'd like you to meet George here, whose company is interested in our new gear box."

"Pleased to meet you," I responded, putting my hand out to greet him as he started to rise from his seat to face me.

Then stopped dead, in my tracks as they say!

"Mike!" George, George Campion that is, grunted in surprise.

"Mr Campion," I replied formally, equally taken by surprise, and letting my hand drop back down again.

"You two know one another?" grinned Tom, apparently missing the animosity that existed between us, or perhaps we were simply too shocked to openly display it. "Where do you know one another from?"

"Mike here used to work for me a few years back," Campion, or George as I'd always known him beat me to it, telling the truth but leaving out our other and somewhat more contentious connection.

"That will make things easier," carried on Tom, a brilliant engineer but never really a good people person, and still unaware of how uncomfortable the other two men in his office suddenly were. "Perhaps you could show George around our production facility?"

"Perhaps I could," I mumbled, turning my back on Campion and making for the door, leaving it to him whether or not he followed me.

He did.

I guess he had to, and I strode quickly down the corridor hoping he'd be stretched to keep up with me, and intent on not stopping till we were out of the office and on the edge of the car park and on our own.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I growled angrily, turning to face him, not at all concerned that he was bigger than me, and at that, apparently in all respects, which was maybe the root cause of the tension between us.

"I swear Mike I had no idea that you worked here," he sighed, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. "We haven't heard from you for several years. Weren't even sure you were still alive."

"I nearly wasn't thanks to you," I snapped at him, wondering why I hadn't simply decked the guy already like I should have done all those years ago, back in the days when I had all my fingers.

"Sorry," he sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "What more can I say?"

I stared at him, fighting back the urge to allow myself just that one punch. The one punch that I'd need to put him down and not get up for some time.

He knew it as well, and stood there nervously but making no move to protect himself. If he'd known how much more easily I could hurt him than the last time we'd met then he may well not have done so. If he'd known of the things that I'd been a party to in the intervening years, then he may well have even took to his heels and gone looking for the horizon.

"It's history Mike," he broke the silence with, nearly choking on his words. "A lot of water under the bridge since then."

"A lot of blood to," I mumbled to myself, having to grit my teeth together, but feeling my inner rage settle down till I could feel myself breathing calmly again. "Pity none of it was yours."

"How is the bitch?"

"Ok," Campion replied shortly, ignoring the insult that I'd thrown at his wife, and not seeming keen to talk any more about her. Maybe not all was well in the Campion household, and that sure as hell didn't disappoint me.

"And your ... That is, the baby?"

"She's fine as well Mike," he replied, suddenly brightening up and risking a smile. "Ginny is four years old now and a happy and beautiful little girl."

"So who does she take after?"

The big question!

The one that the elephant in the room would have asked if there had been one.

"She takes after Jenny," Campion answered confidently.

"Not me?"

"Not really."

"Or you?"

"Not so you'd notice," he replied quietly.

"Right! We'd better go and inspect the factory," I grunted, turning my back on the bastard and striding away, again not giving a damn whether he followed me or not.

----------------------------

I went to one of the better universities and left with a good degree in engineering, but unsure at the time which career path to actually follow. I think I was as surprised as anyone to be attracted by the pitch of the army recruiting team who visited our university in my final year, even more so to find myself signed on for a short service commission with the Royal Engineers.

Straight in as an officer I was, and committed to three years in the service of the Queen, with the possibility of making it permanent, or not, at the end of it.

It turned out to be three of the best years of my life, despite, or perhaps because there were no real serious conflicts during that time, the feeling of camaraderie being like nothing I'd ever experienced previously.

I made acting Captain, but decided at the end of my three years, despite efforts to get me to stay, that I didn't truly see the Army as my vocation. Truth be told, I simply had problems with imagining myself actually killing anyone if hostilities broke out, as they surely would at some stage, and I found myself in the position that I would have to. This despite the fact, that my skill, especially with a handgun had surprised me.

If only I'd known at the time how easy it would actually prove to be to use the gun in real life circumstances, then maybe I might not have left so readily.

------------------------

Once I'd left the army, and got over the hangover of all hangovers that my fellow junior officers felt obliged to bestow upon me as a leaving present, I discovered that my three years hadn't been wasted. My time rebuilding tanks out in the field with my squad, along with my engineering qualification, translated well into working for one of the companies that made them. Not actually tanks maybe, but a range of armoured vehicles that were going to become more essential as conflicts broke out in the Middle East and elsewhere.

I was never made out to be a pure engineer type, more of a 'sort out the glitches and make it work' type of guy, and that, plus my army time made me ideal as a front man when dealing with our clients, be it the British or from some other country, often in some God damn awful places.

Life was fine and was soon to get better when I caught the eye of Jenny, the boss's PA, and more so when we discovered it was mutual. Three dates, and neither of us being virgins, but no questions asked, we found ourselves a very comfortable match in my very comfortable bed. Six more months and a lot of bed-time, and I popped the question and she gave the appropriate answer, and we ended up as Mr and Mrs Mike Jones.

My seemingly happy and relatively care free life continued as we settled into our new house, albeit with an enormous mortgage, and two years later I was informed that I was about to become a daddy.

Oh Bliss!

It wasn't something we'd planned, but as Jenny's lump just began to show, so did my joy and the whole world seemed perfect.

Then suddenly it wasn't!

"There's something you need to know Mike," Jenny surprised me with one evening.

"What's up honey?" I asked admiring her soft blonde hair as I stroked it.

"It's about the baby," Jenny mumbled.

"What's wrong with it?" I demanded, sudden panic rising as I worried about what she was about to tell me.

"Nothing," she snapped back, confusing me.

"So our baby's OK. What's the problem?"

"That's the problem," Jenny sighed. "It might not be our baby."

"Nonsense," I laughed out loud, wondering what she could be thinking of. "Of course it's our baby."

"What I mean honey," my wife whispered, a tear falling down her cheek. "It might not be your baby."

I stopped laughing!

For that matter I stopped breathing.

"Sorry Mike but I just couldn't keep it to myself any longer."

"Who's the father?" I demanded, holding back my own tears.

"It could be you Mike," she avoided the obvious real question.

"Or?" I got out, nearly choking on the word.

"George," she sobbed and sounded the death knell on our marriage, George being of course none other than George Campion, her boss and mine as well at the time.

"When did this start?" I asked, close to sobbing myself, but it was the wrong question to ask, being more a matter of them simply never stopping. Not stopping when we first dated, and only cooling it somewhat after we got married. My wife had been fucking our boss since her nineteenth birthday, when Campion had taken her out to celebrate and ended up seducing her.

No bloody wonder she decided it would be better if we didn't tell one another about our previous sexual history!

That was the night that my life changed, and indeed that I changed, and maybe some might conclude, not for the better.

Better maybe if I'd gone and beaten the bugger up and got over it, and then I may not have done other things later that I'm not so proud of. Perhaps the fact that he was also ex army, but the Royal Marines rather than an engineer, and a combined forces heavyweight champion, could of course have effected my decision. That, and what I found when I stormed into his office the following afternoon. Instead I took the easy option and dumped the wife and told his wife what was going on between our spouces.

Both divorces were surprisingly quick, theirs messy despite there being no children. Ours was much less so, even the question of paternity not being an issue when Jenny and Campion promptly moved in together, once his wife had thrown him out, and he accepted responsibility for the baby. It only later occurred to me quite what an interest he took in other members of staff's children, and having none of his own, maybe it worked out well for him.

Maybe not, and maybe it was just my imagination. Not my problem anymore. At least I got the house, albeit with virtually no collateral due to the mortgage. Hard to believe now that I turned my back so easily on what could possibly have been my child. I guess I simply never considered that possibility.

----------------------------

I drank, or at least I started to, my memory of the hangover I suffered from after leaving the Army keeping me from going overboard while I went on a job search.

The Army?

Why not?

The 'why not' turned out to be that they weren't terribly interested in a returning officer running from a broken marriage.

I was pissed off, but in fairness the signals I must have been giving off at that time hardly made me suitable.

Don't laugh, but I next looked into joining the French Foreign Legion, but it didn't take long to realise that it would have been a disaster, so I was back to square one. No job, no plans and a house that I couldn't afford and hated anyway.

I took stock of my situation realising that though still a young man, my whole career had been military or military equipment, and so I listed all my contacts that came to mind with a view to decide who, if any of them could be of assistance. Most of them ended up with a line through them as I was hardly going to become a civil servant, and the governments of places like Nigeria had little need of someone like me.

There was one name that I hesitated to even put down on my list, but once I had, then I kept coming back to it. The Mike of old would have struck it out and taken the eraser to it, but the new Mike didn't.

Could I?

Could I really?

"Hi Karl," I started the telephone call and introduced myself, surprised how quickly he invited me to go and see him.

"What's gone wrong with your life that you'd even consider this?" Karl asked, not beating about the bush.

I told him and he simply nodded, not seemingly as concerned as the British Army had been.

"You made Captain?" he asked and I confirmed that I had.

"Any active service?" was the next question and I had to admit that I hadn't.

"Qualified engineer though?" I thought that one went down well.

"Marksman level with a rifle and top gun with a handgun. It's rare to find an officer that can even shoot straight," he laughed at his own little joke.

His next question however bought me up short for a moment.

"You've never shot anyone. If it came to the crunch, could you?"

"Yes," I answered, trying to keep the waver out of my voice, the image of Campion in my sights helping me no end.

"Well maybe you'll find out whether you really can," Karl glared at me. "Because if you can't, then you'll likely not be around to collect your bonus."

-----------------------------

That is how I ended up as a mercenary. A soldier of fortune. A gun for hire, or perhaps in my case a gun, a set of spanners and a theodolite.

My house rented out on a long lease, I found myself on a jet bound for the Middle East, to become part of a hotchpotch of nationalities serving in a unit to protect a middle east Leader. I'll refer to him as the King, because he was; at least sort of, though some may have thought his record of civil rights against his people left a lot to be desired. The west couldn't be seen to be publicly supporting him, but he was a bastion against the rise of the Islamic forces that threatened even worse things, which is where us mercenaries came in.

My job, with my small squad was to control and maintain our equipment, didn't seem to be too dangerous, and remained so for quite some time.

When it happened it was without warning and for me a personal test to see if I froze or not. A test also to see if I could uphold that promise that I'd made to Karl back in the UK.

The armoured vehicle passed our workshop apparently without even noticing us, much as we didn't pay much attention ourselves. Not that is till its engine roared and it swung straight for the gate to the inner courtyard where the King's quarters were, smashing through the first barrier and straight into the anti tank obstacles where it crunched to a halt and a dozen or so heavily armed combat troops spilled out. Firing short accurate bursts at the guards that were taken by surprise, they diverted to the left to take them on and kill as many as they could and as quickly as they could, a couple of grenades dissuading any others from leaving the safety of their barrack.

They then reformed and started back towards the King's quarters, cutting down the two ceremonial guards, whose swords were no match for their automatic weapons.

All I had was my side arm, and the same went for the three mechanics, who bless their cotton socks were brave or stupid enough to follow my lead. If we'd confronted them head on then we would have been cut down within seconds, but by luck or fate, because it certainly wasn't due to military cunning, we engaged them from the side as they rushed back across the enclosure, with only the limited cover of the car we'd been working on.

Without thinking, I dropped to my knee, calmly clicked off the safety, aimed and fired steadily, not wasting more than one bullet for each of the buggers before sweeping to engage the next one. Fortunately, though apparently not quite so successfully my three men followed my lead, and between us, within moments, we had put six of them down and at least a couple of the others looking for escape. Too late though because by then, other soldiers had recovered from the surprise and poured a hail of bullets their way.

Silence!

So silent that it was shocking.

The appalling cacophony of death died out as quickly as it had started, and others, like me looked around at the carnage, astonished that any of us had survived it unscathed.

Then the shock did set in.

Different people deal with the aftermath of battle in different ways, some seeking their own solitude and others just wanting to whoop it up. I was the former and it wasn't very pleasant, biting the head off the unit leader when he clapped me on the back and heartily congratulated me. Not a wise thing to do normally, he being and ex SAS man who probably had three ways of killing me just by smiling.

He did smile as it happened but not that way, simply telling me to report to him when I'd got my wound dressed.

What?

Reaching up to my cheek, which was beginning to sting by then, my hand came away covered in blood.

"Just a flesh wound," he dismissed my problem. "You'll end up looking like a pirate when it heals. The women will love it."

He understood.

He'd seen it all before of course.

-------------------------------------

"Quite a show you put on there Mike," he greeted me an hour later when I stood erect before him, the Major, in his office, my wound patched up but still stinging.

"I had three good men with me sir," I responded.

"They did well Mike," he grinned. "But it appears you personally put five of them down with that little bloody handgun."

"Bugger it, I missed one of them," I shot back and the pair of us burst out laughing. It wasn't really very funny, but at last the stress that I hadn't seem able to unload, flowed away, as the two of us laughed heartily at what was a very poor joke.

"Seriously Mike," he broke the merriment up with, "Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that?"

"British Army," I shrugged. "Just seemed to come naturally."

"What's the world coming to," he sighed. "A bloody engineer with a sense of humour who can shoot straight. What next?"

I knew better than to offer an answer and simply grinned back at him. A compliment, even a twisted one, from a senior fellow soldier with his record was not something to be taken lightly.

"The King has confirmed a bounty for the four of you," he then announced, surprising me. "Your three men will be able to buy a new car each."

"I could do with a new car sir," I bounced back, feeling the meeting becoming more informal.

"The men will have to think Ford, but you can think Jaguar Mike," he chuckled, and just as I thought I was about to be dismissed, he suddenly got serious again.

"Ever been to Africa Mike?" He demanded out of the blue.

"A three week secondment in Kenya and a holiday in Morocco," I replied, not terribly impressive really.

"Central Africa," he went on, almost growling. "They need an engineering officer out there and it would be double the money."

"Why would that be?" I asked, having a pretty good idea of the answer.

"Simple Arithmetic my boy," he grinned, relaxing again. "Twice the risk, twice the money and a bonus if our client wins the day that will make your mouth water."

"Twice the risk?"

"Probably more like three times," the Major admitted. "Our man is trying to overthrow some murderous despot who doesn't want to go."