Excerpt
Shadows
A. W. Lambert
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 1
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There were three of them. They had been watching him
for the last twenty minutes and the signs were not good. He could tell from the
body language; the lowered mutterings between them, the constant hooded glances
in his direction. He raised the glass of lemon and lime to his lips and took a
slow drink, his eyes flicking toward the bar, quickly assessing the situation
before dropping back to the newspaper spread in front of him.
The headline followed a familiar theme; Afghanistan,
two killed; a roadside bomb. He read the article from start to finish, but
there was little need so familiar was he with the situation he could have
written it himself. Maybe not, he thought, not
quite. His was a different scenario. Death visited the SAS it was true, but
frequently in the world of covert operations where men stalked forbidden areas;
it was a death covered with a shroud of silence, such headlines suppressed.
His stomach turned a notch as the scene of only a few
weeks before invaded his mind. It shouldn't have happened, of course; the
advance bombing, the Intelligence report - area clear. But then they were
trained, weren't they? Expect the unexpected and deal with it. And they had.
That would be of little comfort to Robbo's family, though. Their only
compensation would be they wouldn't have heard the sudden withering, incoming.
Neither would they have to live forever with the vision of the human form being
sliced in two.
It was the largest of the three that made the first
move. Leaving the other two at the bar he approached the table, standing for
some moments looking down, the derisory expression saying all.
"Army, right?"
He looked up, but said nothing. He knew whatever he
said would be of little use.
"I said you're army, right?"
More silence, but with the belligerence emanating
from the man standing over him he felt the change begin. Green already
beginning its move toward amber.
"Cat got your tongue, has it?" the man
sneered. "Or are you just frightened to admit what you are?" He
looked back over his shoulder, toward the two grinning at the bar. "Don't
need to speak, though, does he, lads? We know what he is, don't we?"
He looked back down, shoulders back, confidence
growing.
"Well if you know what I am there's no need for
me to speak is there?" The words were soft, tightly clipped. Amber
overpowering green now.
"Well, well, it does speak. Bit quiet though.
Maybe that's because it ain't got its gun, ain't got all its mates to help it
out. Or maybe it's because it ain't just facing a bunch of unarmed civilians it
can shoot and nobody gives a toss."
He was hanging in there, his breathing slow and deep,
but amber was now firmly in control, tinges of red hovering in the wings.
"I came in here to have a quiet drink and read the newspaper," he
said softly, his voice only just under control. "Whatever I am is no
concern of yours. I would really be obliged if you would go away and leave me
in peace."
"Peace?" the man snorted. "Your lot
don't know the meaning of the word. You go charging into other countries,
especially those you know can't defend themselves, and carve them up. Arabs
trying to live a peaceful life, never done any of you lot any harm, and you go
in with your guns and knock seven bells out of 'em. Big brave boys, ain't
you?"
His breathing was becoming less controlled now and he
felt the tremors begin. He wished this would stop. It wasn't how things should
be. The ignorant moron standing over him had no idea, couldn't imagine. He
closed the newspaper, folding it neatly, taking his time, fighting for
composure. Finally, standing, he eyeballed the man in front of him.
"You just don't know," he said.
"Don't know," the man spat. "I'll tell
you what I do know. I know when you lot went into Iraq it was illegal. I know
you invaded a country you all knew couldn't defend itself and was an easy
target. And I know you killed thousands of innocent civilians. I know
that."
He stood, his face only inches away from the spitting
tirade confronting him, his whole body now bowstring taut, his insides in
turmoil. Slowly the fear began to creep into him. Not a fear of the man
opposite, but a fear of himself, a fear of knowing what could happen. He said
nothing. There was nothing to say, nothing he could say. He needed to get away, to leave this place, but the man
stood before him, blocking his escape and now red was moving in and fast.
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