BACK AND FORTH-I

CHAPTER 11

                                                              Chapter Eleven

                                                      READY TO A TAKE A PEEK

      I was never a thief, but as I am about to embark on a mission of the most dishonest variety, I comforted myself that I am taking from the Argentines, not from our own government.

      Paul recalled every moment of his time in Port Stanley. Not least his own surrender to the Argentine officer, and his being ignominiously marched a prisoner of war to the town hall.

       He told me, some time much later, after the conflict had been taken care of, that he and his comrades had been well treated, but he felt the general populous were managed with utter disregard. It's this feeling, upon his return to the islands, that had motivated him to fight and, as he is now in a position do so, to this time be a re-taker of what is the people's property, and to return to them the same. He lost a couple of fine men on the day the war ended. It had sickened him to the core and he'd lost his best friend, Thack Jackery, to almost the last bullet fired in anger. Paul had been avenged, but he is now forever scared.

      I heard a car pull up outside, then another, and another, as if a convoy were descending, troop like, responding to orders from above. In the end, I soon realised that Paul had gathered an elite and close bunch of fellow ex-paratroopers, who had been sworn to secrecy. Though none believed we really did have a time machine, the truth came as a shock to every one of his brothers in arms.

      Once again, I feel I must inform the reader that many of these men elected to stay in the year of the Hastings battle. Most had been bloodied often during the Falklands conflict, and, upon their return, were treated badly by Mrs Thatcher's government. Some thought it not a bad idea to discus storming the British parliament, then to demand their disabled comrades be looked after, for many of their brethren had lost limbs, eyes and, others had hidden scars. You can take loyalty only so far, then, when those whom you have put your life on the line for shit on you, treat you and yours with contempt; well, you can easily understand how they must feel.

       One hundred and fifty three men stood in my new workshop, chatting amongst themselves in small groups that shuffled about as men greeted old friends. I had no tea or coffee, or anything, to offer these brave souls. Paul, as ever, had arranged to have a buddy of his to bring over his catering van. The smell of all these men in a confined space, farting, belching and smelling of beer is more than many normal folk could tolerate, but no-one seemed to mind or notice, except Maria, who kept her distance.

       In the rear of the building stood the time machine, the forcefield generator and much more equipment too numerous to name here, all under a black sheet we were to reveal after we had spoken to these men in small groups. Then to demonstrate our machine. We were going to tell them our plan in the minutest detail. The initial plan is, to gather groups of 20 that will visit the past, to see what is like and what is required to contact and teach the Saxons to not be afraid of the crack of guns and the thump of grenades. Bill, Paul and myself, had worked out how we should proceed with the education of both Paul's comrades in Saxon history, culture, food, language and philosophy, as well as the training of the Saxon Housecarls in the use of modern weapons.

       Many of these ex-service men had taken up teaching, some in Secondary schools, some in engineering colleges, and some, were unable to gain paid employment, despite their skills. These men looked after each-other, just as they did when they were in the service of their country.