A Question Of Honour: A Harry Royle Thriller (2 page)

Royle shook his head, still a little unsure of how to react. The commanding officer continued.

"I'm putting you forward for a commission man, you're going to be an officer. What do you say to that sergeant?"

"Yes sir, thank you, sir."

Having been dismissed, Harry got changed and headed to the mess to get a drink and to tell Ginger his news.

"Bloody hell an officer, you?"

Bates shook his head and half laughed, half scoffed, but clapped his hands all the same.

"Well mate, what do you think, really?"

Harry still wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel, he would go forward, but lose his friends in the process. Alan ‘Ginger' Bates shook his head and smiled. The two men had been through basic training together and worked well as a team and were good friends.

"Well it's all a bit out of the blue, but, of course, its good news for you, and you of all people deserve it, you really do mate, but I'm going to miss you mate."

Royle shook his head slowly and sank the beer in his glass, which made him shudder.

"That's it, it would mean changes, and I'm not sure I'm ready or even if I want them."

Ginger stopped him in his tracks with a two-handed gesture.

"Hold it right there. You can't say no, the CO would probably string you up by your balls and you'd be an idiot to anyway. We both know you'll never be captain of the coastguard, but you might be a captain of the Guards."

Ginger winked and quickly ducked out of reach of a good intentioned slap.

Harry sat open mouthed.

"How, I mean?"

"You mate, talk when you've had one too many."

The two laughed and ordered more beer.

The following weeks ran into each other, days of routine and drill, exercise, spit and polish, until travel warrant snugly in a greatcoat pocket, indicated departure on the next morning's train to Sandhurst. Ginger had promised him ‘a right royal send-off' and Harry's friend had been as good as his word. The soldiers serving under Harry had been overjoyed at the news that at last there was to be an officer who was worth listening to and so the night was full of toasts and more free ale than Royle could feasibly drink in one evening. Harry knew that he had to catch an early train and so with some of the drinking night still ahead of the others, reluctantly said his farewells and walked across the camp toward his billet.

A muffled cry made him stop abruptly. Ahead, off to his left there seemed to be a commotion, it was taking place in the shadows between two huts. He moved unsteadily towards the disturbance, and as he came close caught sight of some women moving slowly along the line of the huts. They were walking in the dim shadows. Royle quickly took in the scene. There were what appeared to be men herding the women along. His alcohol numbed wits fought to understand what was going on. He found his voice and instinctively barked an order at the moving bodies.

"Halt."

The scene froze in time and Harry fumbled in his pocket for a pen torch. The small beam shone on nervous faces, and then down, taking in its thin beam, manacles fastening the women's hands and a long chain running through a central ring, held by a man at either end. An authoritative voice rang out in the darkness.

"Stand down Royle, as you were."

Captain Mandell stood between Harry and the others. The captain's own torch shone now in the surprised sergeant's face. Harry tried to focus his eyes on the Captain. A man hated by most of the soldiers serving under him, with good reason, he was known as a petty and cruel officer who took personal pleasure from the pain and humiliation resulting from his own twisted, sadistic behaviour. Mandell had been warned by his superiors on a number of occasions, and yet, had always evaded disciplinary action, and so had a blameless record. He was untouchable. Mandell pushed Royle backward with a flat hand planted firmly on his chest. The captain addressed him in a rasping whisper.

"Look, Royle, this, you know what you see here, this is nothing. Go about your business and leave this to me. Get some sleep and catch your train, there's a good man."

Harry, shook his head in an attempt to order his jumbled thoughts, before speaking.

"Sir, this is irregular. Why are these women on the base, why the secrecy and why the restraints?"

Harry knew he had the man at last. He had been witness to the captain's perverse nature and had even been on the receiving end many times. Very quickly he learned to stay out of the man's way and obey his foolish pompous orders unquestioningly. This was a step too far on Mandell's part and Royle knew that whatever was going on, it wasn't sanctioned by the army. Harry Royle knew that he had the means to break Mandell and end his petty reign of terror and abuse. Royle cleared his throat and continued.

"I'm sorry Captain Mandell, but I'll have to report this."

The words had hardly left Royle's mouth when he was struck from behind. His knees buckled and his unconscious body folded up on the floor, at Mandell's feet. A woman's voice gave a muffled sob and then the sound of a hard slap was followed by silence. Two men bent down and picked up Royle, as the others continued to quietly shuffle toward their original destination.

The next forty-eight hours would become a complete blur for Harry Royle. When he did at last come to, his recollections of that night's events would be sharp only up until he lost consciousness. After that, he would remember nothing, until waking up, as if from a very deep sleep.

Royle came to very slowly. He stretched out his legs and winced, all his muscles seemed to hurt. His head throbbed and his eyes felt sore. At first he assumed it was the classic morning after the night before. He knew he had drunk plenty, but the way his body now felt was extreme. The dream about Mandell was odd too. Royle moved his head and attempted to open his eyes. Sun was streaming in through torn curtains and making the room appear a bright yellow. There was a strong smell of vomit in the air and stale whisky. His upper left arm felt bruised and just as he was about to examine it, all hell broke loose. The door was smashed open and the sound of both boots and shouting voices mingled into a cacophony of noise. Still unable to fully focus, or even rise from where he lay sprawled, he felt strong hands grip both his shoulders and his webbing belt and lift him forcibly to his feet.

"On your feet you sadistic bastard."

A voice bellowed in his ear and this was followed by a sharp blow from a truncheon to his stomach and he felt his cheek explode in pain as a punch smashed into his face. Falling to the floor, he felt boots going in and hitting home. After a few seconds, he lost conscious again. He came to a couple of minutes later, handcuffed to a chair. Three military policemen were standing in front of him and a man in a suit was flashing a pen torch in his eyes. The man prodded him and then turned away from Harry to speak to the MP's.

"Well he's in a bad way, but he'll live, go ahead, but gently does it, or he won't be able to say anything."

One of the policemen came into view and looked at him with disgust and utter contempt.

"Wake up Royle. Time to pay the piper. You've been a naughty boy, haven't you?"

Royle shook his head in disbelief.

Just then more voices came into the room. These voices had calm, serious tones to them, one, in particular, sailed across to where Harry sat and announced its owner's presence.

"As you were men. I'll question the prisoner, before the handover."

The man's face swam into view and Harry was surprised to see a Provost Major looking into his eyes. The Major continued, this time addressing Royle.

"Look, Royle, I have no idea what happened to you, but dear God man, why would you do this?"

Harry Royle shook his head slowly again and tried his hardest to order his thoughts. His mouth opened to reply, but only silence came.

"Inspector he's all yours. I'm at a complete loss to be honest as to whether the man is a drug fiend or an imbecile, either way his crimes are civil. We only have him on the books for two days absent without leave so I'm happy to hand him over to you. Please don't treat him well on our account."

Two civilian police officers came forward and uncuffed him. They roughly dragged Harry from the chair. Putting their arms through his, they frog marched him across the room, to the waiting inspector.

As they reached the inspector, the men wheeled Royle around and it was only at that moment that the disturbing scene on the bed became apparent. He now realised that he had awoken on a low settee at the foot of the bed. On the bed sprawled in death poses, were two naked women. Both had been strangled and beaten with what appeared to be a blood-soaked army belt which was tied to one of the faded brass bedposts. The filthy sheets and bedding were covered in bloodstains and vomit. A whisky bottle stood empty with a single glass on the bedside table, along with a syringe and a small empty brown bottle.

He closed his eyes tightly in disbelief. A hard backhander snapped his eyes open again and a clenched fist in his hair made him look at the scene once more. The rough hands pulled him about face once more. The inspector looked past him and addressed the military police as they left the room.

"I would like to know who called your office, major Clarkson?"

The major replied over his shoulder as he left.

"Yes, Inspector that is something we would all like to know."

A feeling of numbness took control of Harry's body and mind and he became as an observer of the events of the next few hours. He was taken to a police station in London in the back of a van. Two new officers sat in the back of the van with Royle. His hands were cuffed and chained to a metal ring screwed to the bench. The men didn't try to make conversation and this was something Harry was at least grateful for.

At the station, he was led into the yard at the rear, stripped and then hosed down with cold water. As much as the public humiliation stung, it felt good to be washed clean of the blood and encrusted vomit. He could now see the wound site on his upper left arm. There was a dark purple bruise which had been caused by a series of needle puncture wounds. He wasn't given a towel, just thrown a pair of old overalls.

After the soaking, he found himself in a cell. Alone, he at least had time to think about all that must have happened. Nothing seemed to make sense. Harry attempted to recall the last events before waking up. Mandell that hadn't been a dream he realised. Nor the women he had seen in chains.

Leaping to his feet, rage surging through his entire body, he pounded his fists on the locked cell door.

Later that day, he was taken from the cell to an interview room. Inside he was ordered to sit in front of a desk. He was left alone in the room for a time and then the door opened and in walked Colonel York, his commanding officer. The colonel was flanked by two MP's. Harry was paraded in front of his commanding officer, who sat down in the chair at the other side of the table. Royle stood to attention. The older man looked away, avoiding his eyes.

Colonel York read the charge, which ended with the official dishonourable discharge from the regiment in his absence. At the end of this, Harry was asked if he had anything to say. Royle explained all that had happened at the base. He told the colonel about the women and about Captain Mandell's conduct. York nodded and looked down at the notes he had made, notes which after another moment he ripped into small pieces.

"Listen to me Royle, you are a disgrace. It is bad enough all that you have done, but to attempt to drag down with you an officer, and one with an unblemished record is nothing short of the worst kind of cowardice. Forget telling lies about women on the base and such nonsense. No one will ever believe you. You are finished."

The colonel gave Royle a cold look that spoke volumes of his own knowledge of Mandell's crimes.

Harry Royle kept his mouth firmly shut and looked down at the floor. His body grew numb and he felt after a time that he was being held by his arms and dragged back and pushed into his cell. The night passed in a painful sleepless haze.

Reality crashed in the next morning in the form of an older constable in size twelve hobnail boots. The big man entered the cell and before Harry could rise, planted a kick squarely in his ribs. The air escaped Royle's lungs in a sharp gasp, as another kick caught him hard in the stomach, sending him back onto the bed gasping for air. Harry became aware of another two men crowding into the small room and then became only aware of the sharp, intense pain, which was a direct result of the torrent of well-aimed kick and blows. After a moment of frenzied attack, the men stepped back and stood, breathing heavily. The first man pulled up Harry's head by the hair and looked him in the eyes.

"Welcome to hell Royle, sorry we ain't got no ladies for you to abuse, but I hope we'll be alright for you. Now be a good slag and fight back next time you coward."

The man dropped his head and aimed one last sharp, hard blow to Royle's lower back. Harry winced and took a sharp, deep breath. He heard the shuffle of boots and click of the lock and knew he was alone once more.

Alone, with the cold, harsh reality of the morning after, his mind began to clear and he remembered all too well everything that had happened. As he lay fighting for breath, his mind began fighting for a way out. No matter how he moved, his body hurt, he realised that he had really been given a professional beating and then it came to him. He would use the pain, the beating and turn it against them.