Last Count of the Berets

1,2,3,4,5,6 - 6 in a line, all 10ft apart. Red berets sitting perfectly atop their heads with the felt
reaching down towards their right ear. Thick backpack weighing them down, with an odd one
with a long ariel protruding through the top of the bag. Each man remembering to keep that 10ft from the man in front.
Sean had only heard that the Brits were walking down William St. a few moments ago
and ran to his sister's house to collect his M1 Garand, an old rifle which had found its way to
Derry following the fall of the Nazis. The accuracy of the rifle was failing as the years dragged
on, even though Sean practised at least once a week. Shooting cans on the farm he had along
the border with Co. Donegal. He would fire, walk the distance, set them up, aim, fire, repeat.
That would be the makings of his Sundays. When he first got the rifle, it must have seen very
little of the war, as it was in excellent condition. It was most likely the property of a
'replacement,' a man thrown into the ranks of the American army after D-Day. Not usually a
hardened individual, nor was he usually much older than eighteen. Twenty-six years later, the
state of the sorrid rifle was such that only Sean knew how to use it.
Nearby neighbours would complain of the racket Sean made while practising, however,
they either grew accustomed to it or became too scared to speak out about it. Sean had climbed
the ranks of the IRA quite a bit. He was no longer the lowly grunt, doing the bidding of a man
who called himself a 'superior' but in reality was little more than a high functioning alcoholic. He was now a man who was in the know, and was well known...by all sides.

Sean frantically rang the doorbell to the door of his sister's house. Quickly growing
unhappy with the speed at which she was answering the door, he began to kick at the frame in
an impatient attempt to gain access to his sibling's home. Sean heard the unmistakable twang
of Mary coming from the other side of the door.
-Hold on will ye, I'm almost there! Have ye no patience about ye at all?
-Open the fucking door Mary, I have to git in!
-I'm coming! I'm coming!
With that Sean administered another kick to the door, the paint on which was now beginning to
fall off and the light woodwork was beginning to show. The door swung open and Mary was
looking at Sean the way a mother looks at a problem child who just won't learn.
-Outta the way, Mary, you're in the fucking way!
-It's my fucking house, I'll be in the way all I want.
She retorted.
Sean pulled the coffee table out of the way, threw back the rug and lifted the floorboards
underneath it.
-WHERE IS IT?!?
-Where is what?
She knew full well what he meant, but was hoping against hope that he was looking for
something else.
-The gun, the fucking M1!
-Oh, that ole thing, well the Brits were here the other day and they were ransacking the place,
so I hid it up in the attic before they found it. Good thing I did, because the floorboards were the
first place they checked. Almost as if they knew exactly where to look.
-Shit, I haven't got much time.
Sean stormed upstairs making the wood on each step creak as it had to support a sudden
heavy load. He quickly pulled down the ladder that led to the attic, ascended and entered the
small crawl space that was the top of Mary's house. He frantically searched around until he felt
the slender, cold wood brush across his hand. He grasped the gun and jumped down from the
ladder with an almighty thump.
Rushing into the bathroom, he opened the window looking out onto a narrow alleyway
that reached out onto William St. He checked the ammo and cocked the gun, set it on the
windowsill and breathed. He gazed at the footpath on the other side of the alley and waited for
the familiar shadow of a Brit to emerge.

Kieran was galloping down the street as though he was being chased, but no man, woman or
child was in sight behind him. He reached his house, scrambling for his keys, which seemed to
be at the bottom of his pocket and suddenly his pocket was twice as big as he could remember.
Scurrying around for that long awaited jingle, he finally clasped his keys and pulled them out
and entered the house.
-Mary, where is he?!?
-He's upstairs in the bathroom, but I doubt you'll be able to persuade him, you know what he's
like.
-I have to, he's not bringing this shit into our house. We already have to hide weapons for him,
we're not being accomplices to murder.
Without further delay, Kieran climbed the stairs, taking two steps at a time and flung open the
door to the bathroom.
-Put it down Sean, you cannot fire that weapon in this house.
-Fuck off Kieran, we're at war and your house is a part of that war.
-Yeah I know, only because you made it so. We agreed to house your guns for you whenever
the Brits got a hold of your name, but that was all we agreed to.
-Well Kieran, this is happening, whether you like it or not.
-What is wrong with you? Do you just like using your sister for your own needs, regardless what
she needs. She's fucking pregnant and you're going to kill a Brit from her bathroom window. It'll
only be a matter of time before they realize where the bullet could have come from and they'll
storm down the door and harass your sister. Is that what you want for your nephew or niece? A
stressed out mother, kicked out of her home? It's alright for you because you can just retreat to
your farm and hop the border whenever you damn well please, but your sister and I have
nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
-Kieran, you know damn well I can't simply hide in that farm. I haven't been home in months.
The Brits are constantly watching it, hoping to find me. So spare me your sob story, I have it
much worse than you do and I'm not a chicken shit little coward like you are.
Kieran thought to himself that all this this would not be in his life had he not married Mary. He
could simply be oblivious to the unruly nature of Sean Hegarty. He wouldn't have to deal with
the arrogant and dangerous behaviour of his loathsome brother-in-law. He could maybe just
read of Sean's exploits in the newspaper, maybe he would have uttered the words 'ah, that's a
shame' as the Derry Journal released the details resulting in his death. Just another death, just
another statistic in the war of Northern Ireland. However, that was not to be his life; Mary had
lured him into this life with her wit and beauty. Two characteristics that he always had trouble
resisting.
Sean looked at the footpath again; the sun could not have been in a better position today,
shinning right down William St. showing the direction of the path that the Brits were taking. As
the first solider crossed the alleyway, Sean counted aloud.
-1
-Sean don't do this.
Kieran pleaded.
Another crossed the alleyway.
-2
-Your sister has already been through enough with the last raid, she doesn't need another.
-3
-A dead solider on the streets is not what this community needs right now.
-4
-Really Sean, don't make me take that gun from you.
Sean glanced out of the side of his eye towards Kieran and then tightened his grip around the
handle and pulled his finger in to rest atop the trigger.
-5
-I can't believe this, I can't look at this.
Kieran turned around to face the tiled wall, he heard the sharp intake of breath from Sean and
waited to hear the 'POP' of the gun.
-6
Silence.
Kieran turned around, Sean had pointed the gun upwards and pulled away from the window.
-What? Why didn't you do it?
Kieran had to ask.
-Maybe you're right, maybe this community doesn't need a dead solider on the street. Well, at
least not today anyway.
Sean replied.
Sean climbed the ladder to the attic again and placed the gun back where he had found it. He
slowly climbed down the stairs, each step giving a slightly different squeak to the one that
preceded it. He looked across the living room to find Mary curled up with a blanket around her,
pulled right up to her face. She looked like she had been crying, her red nose and puffy eyes
had given that away. Sean simply looked at her for another moment, paused and then
continued down the stairs and out the door. Kieran followed soon after and walked across the
room to embrace his wife.
-What happened up there, did he do it?
Mary enquired.
-No, no he didn't.
Kieran answered.
-What made him change his mind?
-I think I did, but I don't know how long that will last.
With a deep sigh, he rose from the sofa, crossed the living room and closed the front door.