that it was his Rallying ambitions that changed his mind, as he needed to compete regularly throughout the year and a 6 month stint in Afghanistan would put a huge dent in his programme.
Sergeant Roger Hanes knew what the Colonel was meaning, having delivered to him a lengthy request from the camp’s Major. Roger liked the Major, he was one of life’s good guys. Always willing to lend an ear, always had an idea or a bit of encouragement to help someone along. He was also known for his hunches. The Major would get these infamous feelings when he knew something bad was about to occur, or he had to make a move no-one else would consider. His request was one such move that seemed incredulous, as he was asking for an assignment change to closely monitor a subject. He knew the Colonel would need to consider all of the consequences of changing an assignment from simple watching to a more active interaction was always dangerous, as the remit within the camp was to merely monitor and report. This request took this overall remit to its limit, and a little bit further, so he simply stood to attention, nodded and left the room quietly.
He had enough administration work to get on with, and would await the outcome of the request with some interest. His intercom unit buzzed on his desk. “Sir?”
“I realise that this is one of the Major’s hunches, but for now I’m going with a No on this request.” Colonel Kelsall replied. “I’ll tell him directly.”
No!
Eric trudged along his usual route towards School. His head was down as it was Monday morning, again. It wasn’t that he didn’t like school, quite the opposite. He loved seeing his friends, had some great teachers who made it more enjoyable, and it was PE all afternoon, so an afternoon of football. Yet still he was down. After Friday evening’s success at finding the mysterious death of the teenager near to where he’d been on holiday, he’d trawled various websites, searching and searching until he could think of no other way to phrase the question in his head. He had found nothing new. Was it just a fluke? He questioned his own thoughts. Although he’d found nothing, it didn’t necessarily mean that there hadn’t been anything similar anywhere else, he’d just not been able to find the right question to use on the internet.
His eyes followed the pavement, a metre or so ahead, as he worked through his logic, thinking of new search criteria to choose. So far he’d asked for weather reports in and around where they’d been on holiday. He narrowed the searches to the dates when he’d been there with his mum, but to no avail. Should I try a wider search around Europe? He thought to himself, Or even try opening it up to the World? His logical side thought this was a good idea, and his heart also felt it was the right thing to do. He knew he’d find something, somewhere, probably many things, but would they be relevant to the specific storms he’d witnessed.
His eyes scanned the pavement for answers, hoping the words would dig themselves out of the cracks between the rectangular concrete flags. He stopped suddenly as a pair of shoes had appeared in his line of sight. They were sat quietly on the pavement, a short distance ahead, their toes pointing towards him. Eric manoeuvred to the left to go around them, but they moved to their right, blocking his path once more. Thinking that they’d both decided to move the same way, he turned right, and found they’d moved across again. Perplexed he looked up at their owner, and the colour drained from his face.
“Eric Peterson, I am trying to walk carefully along this road and you’re repeatedly blocking my way.” The deep voice was in stark contrast to the still youthful face, which sat on top of the mountain that was the School Bully, John Armer.
“Good morning John, I’m sorry for getting in your way.” Eric apologised even though he knew he’d done no wrong. “May I get past?”
“I think you need to ask a little nicer than that, don’t you?” The huge teenager who filled most of the public footpath’s width asked.
“Once again,” Eric continued, knowing that playing this little game in the correct way would give him a reasonable chance of success, but it didn’t guarantee it. “I apologise whole heartedly John Armer, and may I suggest that I move out of your way and let you pass.” He bowed his head to help his plea, showing a basic animalistic homage to the Alpha male..
“Mmmmm, let me think.” The bully held his podgy hand up to his chin and looked skywards while he acted out his part of the game.
Eric wondered if it was a strain for John Armer to actually think of anything other than being a bully and eating to excess and increase his ever expanding waistline, and this made him smile inside.
This was the key stage of the game; The Bully’s decision to hold or release.
He knew John didn’t want to head in the opposite direction, as they both were going to School; it was just a case of being an annoyance to someone, to help kick-start the days bullying. As he waited patiently for an answer, Eric noticed John’s henchmen weren’t around. He had two accomplices to help him, both of whom where smaller, faster and even more intellectually challenged. They would be sent, like a pair of hunting dogs to track down and bring back an offender to receive his or her punishment at the hands of their Master.
“I’ve have come to a decision.” John said with an air of a King giving a Royal proclamation. “And it’s No.”
“No?” Eric questioned, not understanding the answer fully. “Do you mean No, I can’t go past, or No I can’t move to one side to let you pass?” Eric asked, knowing the complexity of the question would throw the bully.
“Erm, well…” John’s eyes darted back and forth as he ran the question through his mind. “It’s just No.” And he crossed his arms in front of him to add to the defiance.
“Oh.” Eric was now wondering what that “No” meant.
“Yo Dude, Hi John.” Tom said as he grabbed a handful of Eric’s shirt sleeve and whipped him around the huge obstacle of John Armer, and onwards towards school. “See ya later in PE John; I might try to tackle you if it’s Rugby.” Tom laughed as he called back, dragging Eric swiftly away to safety.
“Erm, yeah Tom, later then.” John wondered what had happened as it had all been so quick. He stood rooted to the spot for a minute before giving up trying to work it all out and headed into school.
“Cheers mate.” Eric thanked his friend. “I think it was going to be one of those bad ones today.” He continued, referring to the times when diplomacy hadn’t worked too well, and he’d had to suffer some punishment.
“No worries, Mate.” Tom said in an Australian accent. “It was just a lot simpler to drag you away, anyway.” He shrugged his shoulders, before continuing. “Where were his pack dogs?”
“I thought that as well. They come from the Houghton side, so I think they’ve not met up with him, yet.”
“Ah well. If he did have a gripe with you, then you’ll find out sometime today.” Tom added nonchalantly with a slight smile.
Eric’s heart sank a little, as he knew that escaping the clutches of the School Bully was only a reprieve from the inevitable capture in the spider’s web.
Crucible.
The morning had gone quite well. Lessons passed by relatively quickly, and the mid-morning break had been uneventful as well, thankfully. Eric’s subjects were different from Tom’s, so he took his time at the end of each one, hanging around for a minute to slowly pack his bag, or to ask the Teacher a question; anything to delay him exiting the room. His tactics worked and was always pleased to see Tom waiting, nonchalantly propping a wall up, one knee bent with the foot planted against it, nodding and greeting all those who passed, if they knew him or not.
Eric noticed that Tom made it look as if he’d been there for quite a while, but could see that he was working hard to contain his heavy breathing, having raced across the School from his lessons to be Eric’s Wing-Man, if trouble should appear in the shape of John Armer or his two pack dogs.
Eric was sensible enough to realise that even together, he and Tom wouldn’t be a match against John Armer, but it might be enough to
make him not pick a fight against the two friends. He also knew that Tom’s sharp wit would more than likely get them out of trouble.
Monday morning was always very important to the boys. Tom’s parents owned a Caravan that was situated in the Eden valley in Cumbria, and he spent most weekends up there from Easter until Bonfire night. The telephone reception in the area wasn’t good, so the friends never had chance to catch up with each other until these few minutes. As they walked out of the school and across the play areas, Eric fill Tom in quickly on what he’d found out from the previous Friday evening’s internet search for dangerous thunder storms.
“Hi Tom.” A young red-haired lady smiled at him, her eyes fluttering for a few seconds before glancing quickly at Eric. “Hi Eric.”
The boys stopped.
“Hi Julie.” Eric replied and could see clearly that he wasn’t her main focal point. He patted Tom on the shoulder. “I’ll be on the Bench.” And left them to chat, grinning and shaking his head as he walked the few yards to a tired concrete blob, shaped into a long seat.
He sat on what was colloquially known by all the students as “the Bench.” This plain looking, concrete structure had served as a focal point for many discussions over who had the best to trump cards, to