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SNAFU Part 25

by Angharad

This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.

*****

I don’t suppose anyone is too interested in hearing how I lay there all night tormented by my feelings and my pain. I could have got him back, why did I have to be so stupid? He was apologising, why did I have to act so haughtily?

I am so stupid, I can’t see any further than my next crisis, most of which are of my own making. I started to sob again. Why was it, my only response to anything, was to cry? I was fed up with crying, yet I seemed to be a real cry baby. If I was fed up, why not stop? Because I can’t, so my self esteem slipped down another notch.

I finally managed to get my limp body out of bed and into the shower. The soothing jets of hot water helped to make me feel almost human again. As I dried myself, I realised that I had got up earlier than usual. I’d actually have time to have some breakfast, except I didn’t feel like eating.

Towel draped, I made myself some tea. It also helped to soothe my shattered nerves. I sat down, drinking my tea, when my eye alighted on the medals. Here I was, officially, the bravest person in the universe, crying like a baby! Ah well, they apparently needed cry baby heroes. I was a natural.

My eye caught the picture of John and me, taken by my dad. We were so happy that day. Now look at me. The tears got worse.

I must have sat there, in my self-pitying state for about half an hour, when the door went. I jumped, nearly dropping my cup. Hoping it was John, though how he’d have got into the building eluded me, I scrambled to the bathroom whilst calling out,

“Coming”.

I shrugged on the bathrobe, and rushed to the door, throwing it open, I was disappointed momentarily to see it was Sharon. “Fought I’d betta tell yer, I saw John ‘anging abaht ve place last night.”

“Yeah, I know. He spoke to me.”

“Oh, all wight, I’ll see yer later.”

“Hang on a sec, Shar.” I called to her. She paused and I hugged her, “Thanks for being my best mate.” I said, the waterworks pouring down my face again.

“Vat’s all wight, gel.” She said, I think. “vat’s wot friends is fower, innit?”

George Bernard Shaw is supposed to have described Britain and America as, “Two countries separated by the same language.” In effect, it could perhaps describe Oxford and Essex, two counties with similar forms of cultural differences. At least I was able to understand her most of the time. When doing my basic army training, we had a Geordie (someone from Newcastle on Tyne), who was so broad, I couldn’t understand anything he said, at the first three attempts. I wasn’t the only one, we also had a broad Brummie (inhabitant of Birmingham) and if those two had to converse, it was hilarious. It conjured up in my mind, a comedy sketch where two aliens met each other on a neutral planet and neither had a clue what the other was saying.

‘Big sister’ Sharon stood hugging me for a few minutes, then she had to go. I now had to rush to make it to classes on time. I put the medals in my knicker draw, thinking I’d have to put them in the hospital safe.

I knew I’d have to run the gauntlet of the press in the next few days, anyone from the local paper to the nationals, even something like Woman’s Hour, on BBC Radio 4, may well want to interview me. I would have to try and avoid them all if I could. I needed to see Sheila Brice, and get the army to protect me, if it was possible. I could see headlines now, ‘The Reluctant Heroine’, or in the local rag, ‘Lion Woman of Barbury gets gongs.’ To say I felt sick with apprehension, would be the understatement of the week.

I arranged to see Captain Brice at lunch time, until then, I’d just have to try and concentrate on my classes. My classmates were supportive, but also asked to see the medals.

I suppose I should have expected such behaviour, after all, it was probably as close as most of them would ever get to seeing or touching one. It was quite a surprise to me that I was actually the recipient of such honours. In lots of ways it didn’t really make sense to me. There was also the fact that each had involved the deaths of others, some of whom were admittedly responsible for their own. It left a bitter taste in my mouth, which I had yet to reconcile.

Let’s face it, one can hardly refuse to accept medals at a ceremony being run by people with power over you, unless you have real courage or strong suicidal impulses. Occasionally, I seem possessed by the latter, perhaps I should have declined them. I suppose I could always return them.

By the end of the morning, I was flagging and was thus very tired when I went to see my C.O. She greeted me in a formal way, which meant someone else was there.
“Is this convenient ma’am, or should I come back later?” I asked, hinting that I knew she had company.

“No Nurse Curtis, come along in.” I followed her into her office, to see Colonel Armstrong sitting there. This was the C.O. of the training camp at Barbury, why was he there?

“Sir,” I saluted the colonel, “you’re busy ma’am, I’ll come back later.”

“Indeed you won’t young lady,” said the colonel, “I’ve waited some while to meet you in person, so you don’t get away that easily.”

I wasn’t sure quite how to take this remark. Why should an old fart like him want to meet a nonentity like me? Well, I suppose he wasn’t really old, but he must have been like, forty five, which seems old to me. So what did he want with me? I hoped he hadn’t realised that I’d been through his training camp.

“At ease, Nurse Curtis. Please take a seat.” Instructed Captain Brice, who sat down at her desk. I eased myself onto the upright chair in front of her desk, Amstrong sat in an easy chair to the side, but facing me.

He stood up and offered me his hand to shake, “I am honoured to be in the company of one so brave.”

Flustered, I shook his hand, blushing profusely and feeling very hot. I mumbled a thanks to him. Then on Sheila’s bidding, sat down again. I wished I had simply gone to lunch with my colleagues.

“I’m glad you came to see me Jamie, I half expected it. You find all this adulation a bit overpowering?” I nodded my response. “I thought so.”

She looked at the colonel, some unspoken things passed between them. She hesitated, then looked at me. “There is no easy way to put this Jamie. But we have a favour to ask.” She paused as if to consider her next words very carefully.
I sat sweating and blushing waiting for the second shoe to drop. It did. “While we know how difficult it is for you to accept the limelight, although we both believe you deserve it, we would like you to attend a few things to drum up some support for the army, and for the nursing corps, in particular.”

“Might I ask what sort of things, ma’am?” This was getting worse, how could she do this to me?

“I have a formal request for you to attend a dinner at Number Ten, next week.”
She held up an envelope, with the government crest on it.

My head just swam. My God, I have to meet the Prime Minister, Jeez, do I have to? What do I say to him, I don’t move in such circles, I’d just be a fish out of water. Can I turn it down?

“You will of course go. So make sure your dress uniform is cleaned ready. Wear your medals. You are asked to bring two other colleagues with you, so you’ll need to give that some thought too.”

If my head was swimming before, it had now gone for a deep dive and wasn’t going to resurface to help me before I left that room.
“Who would you like to go with you?”

“I don’t know ma’am, can it be anyone?”
“From your unit, yes, I believe so.”

“Does that include officers?”
“Who did you have in mind?”

“You ma’am.”

I watched her face pass through a dozen different emotions, ranging from ecstasy to terror.

At this point, Colonel Armstrong joined the conversation. “What an excellent idea. Make the other choice one of your fellow students, and that would look okay I think.” He said to me, then to Captain Brice, “Just think Sheila, old girl, you could have the ear of the PM to bend. What better way to plead for resources?”

She nodded her head. “Could be sir, who else would you suggest?” She said this looking at me, so I presumed it was my question.

“Sharon Wilson, ma’am. She was with me at the night club and in Basra.”

“Excellent choice.” Said Armstrong, “she’ll be able to talk about both events to others at the dinner.” Sheila looked at me, and grin flitted across her mouth. I suspect we both thought the same thing, ‘Sharon will be able to talk, but will anyone be able to understand her without a translator?’ I smirked for a brief moment.

“So that’s settled, get your secretary to arrange it then Sheila.”

“Yes sir.”

“Next,” said the colonel, we have two media exposures.” This was what I was dreading. “We need you to appear on television and radio.”

“I’d prefer not to sir.”

“Refusal is not an option. We need this opportunity to sell the army and the nursing corps in particular. So we’ll arrange for you to be schooled a bit before either of these. You have to know how to deal with these media types.”

“I’d still prefer not to sir.”

“Did I not make myself clear young lady. Just because you have a couple of medals doesn’t give you the right to disobey orders.”

“With all due respect sir, I am not aware where it says in standing orders that I have to deal with the media. Face the enemy, clean up vomit and blood, but television? I don’t think so sir.”

“Much more of this subordination Curtis, and you’ll be on a charge. You will go if I say so. Do you understand?”

“No sir, I don’t. I am not prepared to appear on television or radio, though I accept you may have the authority to make me do so against my will. However, as I feel embarrassed enough about receiving these medals, I shall publicly return them to the Ministry, on the programme. I shall also refuse to discuss either event with anyone.”

As I said this I felt my own strength returning. I knew that he could make me go. I knew I could embarrass the whole system, by returning two bits of silver of which I felt undeserving. Or I could give them back to the PM at his bun fight.

The look on Armstrong’s face was of rage. He wanted to rant and rave at me, perhaps even hit me. Here was I, a snotty student nurse conscript, refusing to obey the orders of a full colonel.

Instead of the rage, he began to laugh. “You have balls Curtis.”

“Sorry sir, I don’t. I’m a woman.” At this riposte, Sheila visibly trembled as she fought to stop herself laughing.

“You are the most impertinent disgrace to that uniform, I have ever had the misfortune to meet. However, you are not short of guts, and I like that in a girl. You’ll both attend for dinner tonight in the officer’s mess. Wear something feminine, I don’t want you frightening the horses.”

He rose to leave. “You, young lady had better think how you are going to deal with some very nasty postings if I don’t send you to the glasshouse.” He snapped at me. Then to Sheila. “Captain Brice, I suggest you convince this young protégé of yours, where her best interests lie. I shall see you both tonight, at eight. Don’t be late.” He saluted, and we both stood and returned the gesture.

We stood looking at each other for several seconds, before bursting into peals of laughter.

“Pompous old fart.” Whispered Sheila.

“What do we do ma’am? I can’t get involved with television or radio. Once that happens, someone is sure to recognise me and sell it to the tabloids. Do you really want, headlines of, ‘Nurse heroine is shown to be a bloke,’ or, ‘Nurse Jamie had sex change.’ I can’t go on telly or radio.”

“If they dig about enough, they could find that out anyway.” She replied.

“Maybe, but by showing my face on telly, it would make it much more likely that someone would recognise me.”

“Your picture is on all the front pages,” she said, pulling out a selection from behind her desk.

“Oh my God,” I said, as I saw a picture of my parents and me, standing together at the reception after the presentation. The paper, you’ve got it, ‘The Guardian’. We were all named too. The tabloids went for the actual presentation by the Princess Royal, calling me the most decorated soldier of recent years, which was grossly inaccurate if not a lie.

“You weren’t serious about giving them back were you?”

“Try me.”

“You would give back those medals on television after all we’ve talked about regarding your right to wear them.”

“Nothing you can say will make me believe I deserve these things. So, I think I ought to give them back.”

“Jamie, the decision about the George Medal came from the PM’s office. He was consulted personally.”

“I don’t care. He makes political decisions, I don’t wish to be a pawn in one of his games.”

“You already are girl, whether you like it or not. How is he going to make political capital out of you?”

“It was his idea to introduce the National Service conscription. Making me look something I am not enables him to make the whole thing appear to be something it isn’t. I’m no hero, nor am I deserving of these medals.”

“Okay, send them back. Let the unsung heroes of the Nursing Corps and Basra go unrecognised. Play your spoilt brat games, but do it elsewhere. Please leave my office, but be ready at seven thirty sharp.”

“I’d prefer not to go this evening.”

“So would I, but thanks to you, I have to. Be ready, or I shall personally borrow a large calibre machine gun and shoot you myself.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And Jamie, bring those bits of silver you so despise. I’d like to have a look at them before you send them back.”

I left, feeling very uptight. I was stopped by her secretary. “Just wait a second Jamie, we’ve had a dozen or more requests for interviews by the press. I think we’re going to need to have a press conference.” She went into her boss’s office, my stomach sank.

I felt like making a run for it, but because of my sense of loyalty to Sheila Brice, I stayed. She returned with her secretary, they both looked harassed. “It looks like we have a slight problem Jamie.”

“You have ma’am. Don’t I have a right to be protected by the army? Don’t they have people who deal with these things?”

“Normally it wouldn’t be so much of an issue. Firstly, the fact that they presented you with two medals for conspicuous gallantry at the same time, is unusual. Secondly, being a woman, makes it more unusual. As you will be aware, the media love anything unusual. Sorry girl, but you should have thought of this before you did your Wonder Woman act.”

“Don’t worry, the next time I won’t.” I felt extremely fed up.

“Surely, I don’t have to be there, do I? Can’t you do it without me?”

“Not really Jamie, it’s you they’ve come to see, not me.”

“Tell them I’ve got post traumatic shock disorder.”
“But you haven’t.”

“I will have if this continues.”

“Come on Jamie, we need your help.”

“No ma’am. I will appear if you insist, but I refuse to talk about anything.”

“What do you mean?” she gave me a stern look.

“Exactly what I said. I am not joking when I said about PTSD, when I think about what happened, I have flashbacks. It might be a surprise, but I don’t actually enjoy recalling how I killed four people. Seeing several colleagues die is also very distressing. That old fart Armstrong, may cope easy enough with combat stuff, but I don’t. I’m sure you don’t want me publicly turning into a twitching, weeping wreck on television, do you?”

“Are you blackmailing me, Jamie Curtis?”

“No ma’am. I’m simply predicting what will happen. I am more than happy for you to put me on a charge, for refusing an order.”

“Would this be true, without your little complication?”

“Oh yes. I spent two weeks at home not talking to anyone, not even my parents. All I could think of, was how I’d killed four men. I also kept seeing my colleagues being killed. Have you ever been under fire, ma’am?”

Captain Brice paused for a moment, then a momentary pain seemed to flit across her face. Quietly, she responded, “Yes I have Jamie. Just thinking about it, made me see the death of a close friend. She was hit with shrapnel, it ripped open her chest and she died almost instantly. I was stood next to her at the time. It was horrible.”

“I’m sorry ma’am.”

“No you are right, you shouldn’t have to relive your ordeal for the titillation of the media. I’ll deal with it. Don’t speak to anyone about any of it, but refer them to me.”

“What about this evening, ma’am?”

“I’ll see you at seven thirty, bring the medals.”

Feeling deflated, I replied, “Very good ma’am.”

I returned to my unit just in time to grab a cuppa and chocolate biscuit before the afternoon classes began. I was wasting my time there, at best I was distracted, at worst I was half asleep.

While I was trying to stay awake in class, Sheila Brice was fighting a rearguard action in my defence.

“Captain Brice, we’d have thought the least the army could do is to produce your young heroine for a few pictures.”

“I have tried to explain that Nurse Curtis is not very well. Have you ever been in military action Mr Sexton?” The reporter shook his head. “Well I have, and my experience was nothing compared to Nurse Curtis’s. She has had a severe emotional response, and if you respected what she did, you and the rest of the media would leave her in peace.”

At this there grumbles all round the room. “Come on Captain, you have to see our predicament here. How often do we have a Florence Nightingale with courage like hers?”

“Army doctors and nurses perform acts of heroism all the time. Wherever there are British army personnel in action, there are medical support units not far away.”

“Yes we know all that, but how often is a pretty young thing like Jamie Curtis, the winner of two medals for conspicuous gallantry?”

“So if she was old and ugly, you wouldn’t be interested in her?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No but you implied it. We have given you a full statement of her actions as we understand them. Remember it was under difficult conditions, four of our troops were killed, and some nurses. We believe we identified the group responsible, who seem to have some reason in disrupting the democratic process in Iraq, which we have been supporting.”

“Tell me, Captain Brice, is Nurse Curtis, the one they call, the ‘Lion Woman’ and why the epithet?”

“I don’t know who the so called ‘Lion Woman’ is, if it referred to Nurse Curtis, then I would suggest it refers to her courage. Sort of ‘Lion Heart’, like King Richard.”

“So she can’t turn herself into a lion?”

“Don’t be ridiculous?”

“Isn’t that what she threatened to do at the night club, and eat the man’s liver?”

“I think you may be misinterpreting what happened, according to the official report, she half hypnotised the man and simply suggested things to him, which frightened him. He was apparently very suggestible, which she had noticed and took advantage of this weakness.”

“According to one witness, she threatened to turn into a lion. Is that why she isn’t available? Because she is locked up in a cage like a wild animal?”

“If you actually believe such things, then I would suggest that you are in need of a good psychiatric hospital. I could refer you, if you’d like, Miss uh..?”

“Harriet. Is that the same one that Jamie Curtis is in? I mean PTSD is a mental condition isn’t it?”

“What are you implying?”

“Is Jamie Curtis mentally ill, and is that why she isn’t here?”

“Jamie is not mentally ill, she isn’t here because she isn’t well, and exposure to this sort of circus, would not help her get better.”

“How do they judge the criteria for awarding medals? Does she actually deserve medals of such distinction?”

“I cannot possibly comment on these decisions, the one was made by an army board, the other by the Prime Minister’s office in conjunction with the Chief Constable. If you have an issue with these decisions, I suggest you take it up with their respective originators. If it’s any consolation, Jamie is very embarrassed to be at the centre of such attention. She is a very modest young woman, and these awards have caused her some anxiety.

"As her immediate commanding officer, I know her quite well, so I can say without any doubt, that I believe she is worthy of such recognition for her courage under fire, where she ignored her own safety to protect those whom she considered to be at greater risk.

"It may seem strange to some of you, but she is more frightened by you lot than an armed terrorist. That concludes this interview. Thank you.” With this statement, Sheila Brice, left the room feeling extremely irritated by some of the questions.

“Just who was that snotty woman, Harriet ? Accusing Jamie of being nuts, how dare she!” Thinking of the encounter made Sheila shiver for a moment. “Ooh, someone just stepped on my grave,” she thought to herself.

Yet there was part of her which recognised the irritation of the press. Here was a relatively young and photogenic woman, who had achieved a degree of distinction many wouldn’t, even if they lived to be a hundred. They wanted to see her, photograph her and talk to her. They couldn’t understand in the current, wannabe famous culture, that some, perhaps more discerning individuals, did not want to be celebrities or famous. Especially, if they had potentially embarrassing secrets like Jamie to keep hidden.

“Poor kid, it must be bad enough coping with all you’ve been through without a pack of hacks after you, especially as the army, who pretend to care about its personnel, seems to be happy to feed you to the press. I think it’s more amazing that she isn’t crazy, under all this pressure.” Sheila said to herself as she went back to her office. She was going to knock off early if she could, to go and change for the evening, command performance. She hated mess dinners, even the informal ones like tonight’s was supposed to be.

Jamie had bunked off early from her last class, to catch an hour’s sleep before she had to change for the evening. As she slept she dreamt, and in her dream she saw Harry prowling about, watching her, biding her time. It did nothing to relax her, even knowing that she was stronger than Harry. It was a constant worry, and would only be resolved the next time they met. Jamie intended it to be their last meeting. Then the Lion Queen would come out fighting, with no quarter offered or taken.

But as she slept, Jamie’s mind flagged up to her the recent encounter with ‘Oliver’, the thought form. That wasn’t Harry’s doing, far too clever and far too much power, that had to be a group thing or one very powerful individual. If it was the latter, she had to get to Harry before the two enemies linked up. In which case Harry could be a much stronger opponent, and then life could get really difficult.

In her dream she saw John, walking angrily away from her, towards a shadowy figure whom she knew to be her major opponent. He was in grave danger, she had to warn him, but John wouldn’t or couldn’t hear her. He just kept walking, towards his death. She woke up screaming his name, her pillow wet with tears.

Thinking how she could best warn him, she grabbed her mobile phone and sent him a text message. “Contact me asap, you are in danger, be extra careful. Love, Jamie XXX”.

She tried phoning him as well, but his phone was off. Not much point in leaving a message, he’d be sceptical at best, or think it was a ploy. She needed to talk to him, it was the only way she could make him understand the danger.

What was the danger? She didn’t know. Someone or something was out to get her, for what? She didn’t know that either. She went to shower, and as she did so she tried to work out what the possibilities were.

Usually people are after you if you have done something to them, which was the case with Harry, albeit a mistaken one. They might be after you if they think you have something they want, which may be rightly or wrongly perceived. “But I haven’t got anything, so it can’t be that.” She said to herself.

As she towelled herself dry, she suddenly had a thought. “What if it’s something I will do or have in the future? If past-life stuff can haunt me, with flash backs and other experiences, not to mention déjà vu, tends to suggest that time is anything but linear. So could someone else see the future? Why not, I do occasionally, like just now with John.” It suddenly felt very cold.

I hurried my towelling and got some clothes on. It still felt cold. There was something in, or trying to enter my room. I checked the door, it was locked. So there was nothing physical here. Drawing a layer of light around myself, I began to scan my room in a psychic sense. There was nothing in it yet, but it was trying.

I checked my watch, I had an hour before Sheila was due. I did the ritual of the Lesser Banishing, cleansing my room and projecting fiery pentagrams around it, which helps to stop psychic attacks, or at least keep them out. It began to feel a bit warmer.

When dealing with the paranormal, temperature change is one of the most frequently perceived changes, it can become warmer or colder and quite markedly so. Thankfully, it got warmer or I’d have been shivering by the time Sheila got there.
I opted to wear the blue velvet dress and jacket, my mother had bought me the day she first met the ‘new’ me. With it, as before, I wore the sapphire ring, earrings and necklace which had belonged to my grandmother. I loved this jewellery. Obviously, I felt affection for it because of the link with gran, but I also loved the colour of the stones and the energy they seemed to carry.

Crystals carry energy. If you don’t believe me, how come you are wearing a quartz watch? Heard about the piezoelectric effect? If you squeeze a quartz crystal it generates a spark, which is what lights your gas fire or cooker. Try squeezing two quartz crystals together in a dark room, you can see the spark. Okay, so you know about it. When I did the first time, it made me understand that there could also be subtle energies which the scientists couldn’t yet explain, like ley lines and moving them with quartz crystals.

Back to my jewellery. Those into crystal lore, will tell you that sapphire, especially the blue ones, are stones of healing. Particularly, of the blood, the heart, and of communication. They can be used for astral travel while dreaming and I always felt protected when wearing them. This might just be because of my attunement with my gran, or perhaps something coming from the stones. I don’t know, but I knew I was safe from psychic attack while wearing them.

I finished my makeup, nothing too elaborate for the boy’s club, an officers’ mess is. A squirt of Opium, and I was ready. I sat down to wait the five or six minutes to half seven. Sitting down, I remembered the medals. I rose to get them, opening the drawer I felt under my clothes. They weren’t there.

My stomach jumped and I suddenly felt very hot. I frantically searched the drawer, pulling out my bras and vests. How could they not be there? I distinctly remembered placing them under my knickers! Oops, wrong drawer.

I dragged open the drawer next to the one I had just evacuated. There, much to my relief, were the bits of precious metal and ribbon. I sighed out loud, and felt so relieved I had tears starting to form in my eyes.

This puzzled me. If I didn’t deserve them, and was thinking of returning them anyway, why was I so upset when I thought I’d lost them? Well, the thought of them being stolen, would upset me, as would the theft of most of my stuff. The act of violation of my space, which it would be, would be very distressing.

I was confused about this. They were special to me, they were mine. But I’m not into property in the usual way. True, the jewellery I was wearing was very precious to me, but it came from my grandmother, and its value was much more an emotional thing than its replacement cost. It was irreplaceable.

The same was true of the medals. They had been given to me. They were mine until I chose to dispose of them or died. Somehow, I began to think the latter might happen first, but I didn’t need to tell Col Armstrong that, it was a lever I could still use to blackmail him. Of course he could call my bluff, and I should then have to decide, but for now they were safe and in my bag.

I was busy replacing the bras I had slung on the bed when Sheila arrived. She was wearing the two piece she had bought the same day I got my outfit, talk about synchronicity! Nothing was said, but she gave me a knowing smile.
“How did your press conference go?” I asked as we drove off.

“My press conference, how about your press conference.” She huffed for a moment before continuing. “I suppose it went alright, they were suitably disgusted that you weren’t there, as we expected. One of the journalists, was quite obnoxious, trying to imply you were absent because you were bonkers.”

“I’d have thought the opposite was true.” I smiled back at her.

“Quite.” She agreed.

“Who was this hack questioning my sanity?”

“Harriet something. I don’t believe she gave me a second name or a newspaper or media group.”

I felt a shiver go down my spine. I described whom I knew it to be.

“That’s her, do you know her?”

“We’ve met.”

“Do I take it you don’t like each other?”

“She doesn’t like me. I feel nothing for her.”

“Why doesn’t she like you?”

“It’s a tale which goes back a long way. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

“There’s a bit more isn’t there, Jamie?” she gave me one of her looks.

“When I thought about the questions she asked me, and of you. I felt this cold
shudder, like someone had stepped on my grave.”

“It’s my grave she wants to step on.”

“She wants to kill you.”

“Ever so slightly.” I tried to lighten things up a little.

“Why?”

“It goes back to the Egypt thing. She thinks I was responsible for her death in a past life, and she is trying to get back at me. She isn’t actually incarnate, or we’d have had a lot more trouble from her.”

“You mean she doesn’t have a body?”

“Yes, or no, whichever question I’m answering. She doesn’t have a real body, although she can be seen as if she does.”

“Oh boy. Don’t tell me we’re going to have spirit wars as well as physical ones.”

“I’m not too worried about her. The next time we meet will be the last, for her anyway.”

“You sound pretty sure of yourself, and unusually clinical about being nasty to someone.”

“She isn’t a person, just a nasty thought herself. I have no choice but to banish her back to wherever she came from.”

“I got the impression that there’s something else bothering you.”

“Yeah, there is. Something or somebody else is after me, and they are much more dangerous than Harriet.” I described the events of the publisher’s dinner, or the illusion we experienced.

“Wow, that was scary. Can’t you get some help?”

“From whom, Harry Potter?”

“No need to be facetious young lady, I was only trying to be helpful.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I don’t even know who or what or why they are after me. But they are. If they were to meet up with Harriet, then she could be a bigger danger. I need to find out who they are. I’m also worried that they might be targeting John, to get at me.”

“I thought you two were finished.”

“We are, but the whoevers don’t appear to know it.”

“Oh dear. Not so clever are they? Maybe that shows they have weaknesses. I take it you’ve seen something.”

“I dreamt it, so I could be wrong. John is vulnerable because I still love him. If they hurt him they hurt me. If they make me angry, it makes me more vulnerable too.”

“So if they hurt him, you’ll be angry.”

“No. I shall be cold bloodedly vengeful. Nemesis, is the term I think. I shall destroy them at whatever cost is involved.”

“To you or others?”

“I shall invoke the udját.”

“The what?”

“I shall release Sekhmet.”

“Is that wise?”

“When has wisdom been involved in getting even?”

“Most of the time I would think. Why should others suffer because someone has pissed you off? Have you ever thought, that might be their end game?”

“No I hadn’t.” I was glad she had provoked me into telling my story. She was right. I can hardly destroy the world just because I’m angry with someone. It was a childish thought. Wisdom was needed, but where would I find it? We arrived at the barracks, and my attention had to focus on more immediate things.

We were escorted by the duty NCO to the officer’s mess, where the adjutant, a Major Small was summoned. As guests we were then taken into a reception room.
“Col Armstrong will be here shortly, we then process to the dining room. Can I get you a drink?”

Sheila, who was driving opted for a soft drink, I decided to push the boat out and asked for a Bacardi and Coke. I felt in need of some Dutch courage tonight, with all these plonkers around me. maybe I was being a little harsh, after all, they were so far, very nice plonkers.

I looked around the room. A large fireplace dominated. It had a log fire burning, its warmth was inviting. There were dozens of photos, mainly of groups of officers. It was almost like a school thing, year photos of the senior staff. Here it was the officer class. Me, I was just one of the prols, but in my bag, I had two pieces of silver most of them would die for. A very arrogant and nasty thought went through my mind, “the lucky thing was that I was in possession of these gongs, and I hadn’t died for them.”

I was immediately cross with myself, what was happening to me? I don’t usually feel or think things like this. Something was getting to me, and I was not enjoying the experience. I know the fighting talk about Harriet had psyched me up for action, and our next meeting would be a fight, but the rest. It wasn’t me at all.

I was looking at the photos when my mobile went off. It was John.

“I got your text. What is this, one of your visions?”

“Yes, look I can’t talk now.”

“Where are you?”

“In the officer’s mess at Barbury barracks.”

“Going up market are we?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Is that it then?”

“No, it’s very complex, I need to talk to you about it.”

“Sorry, I really haven’t got time. I’m away again from tomorrow night.”

“Fine, just be extra careful. Watch out for someone calling themselves Oliver, a very slick, good looking character. He’s very dangerous.”

“Met him in a dream, did we?”

“No, face to face. He tried to..”

“Shag you, gay is he?”

“No he tried to kill me, if you must know.”

“Did you inform the police?”

“Look be careful.” I rang off, Sheila was trying desperately to keep my conversation private by distracting Major Small, talking in a much louder voice than usual.

“Sorry about that.” I said with a cheerfulness which belied my mood.

“Here’s the colonel.” Said our babysitter, and with that the aforementioned man burst into the room.

“Sheila,” he said, and embraced her. He then walked over to me, “Nurse Curtis,” he said and shook my hand. I felt quiet relieved that I didn’t get the official hug.

“Has Eric explained what happens here?” We both nodded. He was referring to the fact that we would process into the dining room. Major Small would lead the way, I would go next, then the Colonel would enter last behind Sheila Brice. It was hardly rocket science for someone who had recently marched back and fore in dead straight lines.

Major Small led off, and entered the room. A waiter, held me back for a few seconds, then gave me the signal to proceed. I did behind him. The long room was full of men in dinner dress, which means they were wearing uniforms specially for the event. Old fashioned, even anachronistic, but it is very striking to say the least.

As I stepped into the room, the crowd of men who were already standing, began to clap. I felt myself blush, and looked at the floor. I was led to a seat on the top table.
Next came Sheila Brice, who was also met with rapturous applause. She walked quietly to her place at the end of the table. Finally came Col Armstrong, who was applauded to his seat. They do strange things in the army.

Next he raised his hand, and the noise stopped. The chaplain, coughed and then began the grace. I stood at my place feeling very awkward. I thought I was probably okay with the dining etiquette, knowing what knife and fork to use, but for the rest of it, well.

We all sat, the waiting staff assisting Sheila and me to sit. Wine was poured and the food brought in. There was no choice, but hey, it was good stuff.

We started with minestrone soup, then beef Wellington, then lemon roulade, then cheese and biscuits, then coffee then liqueurs, then toast.

It wasn’t toast, as is charred bread, but as in, “charge your glasses” stuff.
The first toast is always to Her Majesty, then to the regiment, then to….and this was the bit I was dreading, esteemed guests.

The adjutant, proposed the toasts, as he was acting as an unofficial MC. He spoke briefly about Sheila, her command at the school of nursing, and the valuable contribution she made to the army, both on a personal level, and through her trained nurses. The toast was made, then to my horror, I realised we had to sing for our supper, when there followed immediately after the toast, the cry of, “speech” accompanied by a drumming on the tables.

No wonder she didn’t want to come. She knew what we were in for. She could have warned me.

She spoke for about five minutes, mainly about the school and where her nurses had seen action or made some other notable contribution. I was in a funny sort of place hearing without necessarily listening to what was being said. I felt light headed, possibly due to the amount of alcohol, or simply nerves. I heard her say,” and of course Nurse Curtis, who was in Iraq recently, but she will tell you about that herself.”

Applause. The adjutant stands again. “We all feel very privileged to be in the company of one so young and yet so courageous. There are very few recipients of either the Distinguished Conduct Medal or the George Medal. I don’t know if there are any recipients of both, barring the person of whom I speak. Colonel, esteemed guest, fellow officers, please charge your glasses and be upstanding to toast our other esteemed guest, Nurse Curtis.”

I sat blushing to the roots of my hair as they all toasted me. I actually felt so warm, they could have really been toasting me. Then came the cry of, “speech” and the banging on the tables.

“Stand up m’dear,” said the adjutant, “don’t feel nervous, they won’t eat you.”

“I think I’d feel less nervous if I thought they were going to.” I quipped back. The last time I had done any public speaking was when I was still in school, it was in a debate, we lost. It was not, I concluded, my forte.

I stood on legs which were trembling more than when I’d ridden up hill on my bike. “Is it alright to pass these around?” I whispered to the adjutant, showing him the two medals. He looked at Armstrong, who nodded his assent.

I took a large swig of wine, a mistake, because I then coughed, and felt even more stupid. A large breath and off, I held up the medals, “These are some I made earlier.” There was a rumble of laughter as I used a line familiar to almost any Brit. We’ve all seen Blue Peter as kids, and their section on making something, cakes or converting a detergent bottle into a death ray gun.

“I’ll pass them around for you all to see, but I should like them back. I have counted them.” I passed the medals off in opposite directions. The assembled were seemingly enjoying my response to the toast.

“If you’ll excuse me, I won’t describe how I got both of these. Well I will then. I went up on some platform, and some nice lady gave them to me. So if you want one, that’s what you need to do.” More laughter. They obviously hadn’t met someone like me before.

“I got the DCM, for an action in Basra, during an ambush by insurgents. I’m not sure why I got it, because I wasn’t the only one there. But I think they could spell my name or something.” This got another round of laughter.

“The George medal, I presume was given to me for a little excitement that occurred in a night club. I helped the police to disarm a gunman. It seems they were impressed, or the prime minister was. The rest as they say is history. Thank you for a very enjoyable meal.” I nodded to the colonel who acknowledged me and I sat down. The applause was deafening.

The colonel stood up, raised a hand and silence prevailed. “I should like to add something to Nurse Curtis’s anecdote. They give very few of either of these medals away. They are, with the exception of the Victoria Cross, about as high an award as is possible, for gallantry. She makes light of her part in both episodes. I have read the reports of both. In both she took or attempted to take control of a very dangerous situation, without heed to her own safety.

In Basra, she killed four armed insurgents before being captured, saving several lives. In Barbury, she single-handedly, disarmed a gunman and caused another to be shot by police marksmen, saving the lives of dozens if not hundreds of the public.
She is, without doubt, a very courageous person, and considering her youth and her sex, a very remarkable one. It is unusual for anyone to receive a second toast in one evening, I think the last was the Duke of Wellington. But gentlemen, please be upstanding and toast a very remarkable young woman.”

They did, and I wished the floor would open and swallow me. Duke of Wellington, sheesh! How do I get into these scrapes? Number ten, next week. I can’t do this again. Not for anything.

Once this was over, the evening became informal, we were offered drinks galore, but I made my next one a soft one. The only hard stuff from then on, was ice. One of the waiting staff brought back my medals which I carefully put in my bag.

An older man came up to me, “I’m honoured to meet one so brave.” He said and shook my hand. He touched my lion bracelet. “Are you into lions?”

“I like them, yes.”

“And the queen of the lions?”

“I’m sorry.” I said, unsure of what he was on about.

“I thought I caught sight of a pendant with Sekhmet on it. I was obviously wrong.”
Something about this man, resonated with me. I decided to ask a few questions myself. “Do you know something about Sekhmet?”

“Wife of Ptah, a healing or destroying goddess, depending upon opinion or perhaps a bit of both. Eye of Re, or Ra depending upon translations, also called Sakhmet. All went pear shaped when Akhenaten came to power, only to start up again after he died. How am I doing?”

“Very well so far. You have an interest in Egyptology?”

“I suppose so, I have a degree in archaeology and comparative mythology. It was the Egyptian stuff which attracted and interested me. It’s been a long time, but it’s nice to chat about it again.”

“I’d love to find out more from someone with knowledge rather than just read or watch documentaries.”

“Well I’m sure we could manage to get together sometime and chat, yes I’d like that. Have you a phone number?” He blushed as he said it, “My god, I haven’t asked a girl that for years.” We both laughed as I wrote my mobile number down for him.
“Let me know if there’s anything you’d like to talk about, I might be able to swot it up first.”

“Sekhmet and Egyptian magic.”

“You’re really into this stuff aren’t you?”

“It’s a long story, it goes back about five thousand years. Someone is trying to kill me with it. I do have help from my little furry friend, on occasion.” I said patting my pendant.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” he said. “You are the lion woman.”

“Keep it under your hat, please. I need your help. The threat is serious.”

“Okay, I’ll keep it quiet, but I ought to warn you not to mess about with that stuff, it can be very dangerous.”

“I’m not messing and so far it’s the only thing that has kept me alive. How do you think I got the gongs, when other people were being killed. How do you think they found us in Basra?”

“Fuck.., sorry, excuse my French. You really are into this stuff aren’t you?”

“I have been for five thousand years.”

“You’ll have to excuse me if I have difficulty accepting some of that.”

“Believe what you like, tonight you will see something which will help you believe. Please share your knowledge with me, I need all the help I can get.”

“You need my help? Wow, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll give you a ring. Oh by the way my name is Frank Hastings.”

“Thank you Captain Hastings, I’m Jamie, in case you didn’t know.”

We parted as others came up to talk to me, one of them patting my newest ally on the back saying, “You dirty old man, Frank, you’re old enough to be her father.” Another said, “can you get me her number too?”