Sacrifice
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Downing Street. Early August, the same year.
“How dare they,” the hand slamming down on the table in counterpoint to this statement rattled the glasses wildly, one person reaching out to steady the glass in front of him. Nobody answered the statement. For one thing most of them agreed with the sentiment, but in any case there was no real answer.
“What are you doing about it?” Prime Minister Graham Thorn glared down the cabinet table at Danny Evans, the Defence Secretary; and the two men sitting next to him, the Home Secretary and the Minister of Justice. “Well?”
“Technically it’s not a defence issue,” Evans observed. “They have just declared independence, there’s no army either to defend themselves nor to invade us. If we sent the army in, there would be no one to fight. And you know I don’t entirely trust Sheard.”
“Well if it’s not your responsibility whose is it?” Thorn was still angry, and he glared at the two other men.
“I guess it’s mine,” answered Roland Child, the Home Secretary, slowly. “The police, what’s left of them, and that includes Special Branch and all the remaining special operations units, as well as the Safety Patrol all come under my remit, as does MI5. None of them saw this coming.”
“So what are you going to do about it?” Thorn glared around the table at the other five people. This was only the second cabinet meeting he’d called in four months, and this was only the inner cabinet, the men he trusted the most. Or thought he did. Besides himself, the Secretaries of State for Home, Justice and Defence were present, along with the Attorney General, and the Chancellor of the Exchequer. The Foreign Minister, Timothy Crecy, was unable to be present, but had he been able to get to London in time for the meeting he would have been there as well. These were the only people Thorn trusted.
“In the first instance we send in the Safety Patrols, back them up with the army, and arrest the people who did this. Cornwall isn’t exactly big, and it’s surrounded by the sea so they can’t just escape over some border,” Philip Meads, the Attorney General, told the room. “Once we have them under our control, we can clamp down on this so-called independence movement.”
“Do you have any idea how big and awkward Cornwall is, geographically?” asked the Justice Secretary, Bill Stewart, himself from the neighbouring county of Devon. “It’s not as simple as you think. Cornwall is one of the larger counties by area, but way down the list by population...”
“That should make it easier then,” interrupted Meads. “If the population density is relatively low, people should be easy to spot.”
“You’ve obviously never done any sort of military stuff,” observed Evans from the other end of the table. “Cornwall is mostly Bodmin Moor and other relatively non fertile land. Means that most of the countryside isn’t cultivated, so an army could hide in them hills and you’d never know it.”
“You’re a Cornishman are you now?” asked Meads sarcastically. “Last I heard you were a Londoner. You’ll be a Brummie next I suppose.”
Evans face darkened in anger. “I may not be from Cornwall, but I’ve been there often enough on holidays. When were you last there?” He waved his hand dismissively in Meads’ direction. “You’re just an overpriced city lawyer who’s never left London except to go to expensive...”
Meads leapt to his feet. “Oh yes? “He yelled. “At least I am a lawyer. What are you? A bloody fish monger? You worked in a fish shop until you became a politician. What skills and experience does that bring to being a politician?”
“It was a chain of fish mongers and I owned it and worked my bloody arse off to build it up from scratch,” retorted Evans hotly. “And for your information it brings the ability to talk to the man in the street and know what he’s thinking. I may not have your fancy hoity toity degree, but I know what the ordinary person out there’s thinking,” his hand waved at the window and, by implication, the rest of the country. “You just sit in your fuckin’ court room or whatever and help the rich and powerful to screw the rest of us over. You couldn’t even be bothered to look at proper criminal cases. Oh no, you...”
“Enough!” Thundered Thorn. Once again his hand slammed down on the table. This wasn’t the first time Meads and Evans had had arguments across the cabinet table, and once they had even come to blows. “I don’t give a stuff what you two are arguing about. I want to know what you,” here he glared at Evans and Child, “are going to do about it. Nobody declares independence from me and gets away with it.”
“I think there’s about four hundred Patrollers in Cornwall, and another six hundred or so in Devon,” said Child. “I can send those in to arrest the ringleaders,” he frowned for a moment. “I couldn’t seem to get in touch with the group leader in charge down there this morning. I’m guessing he’s already on the ball.”
“I’ll try and get an army unit involved to back him up,” added Evans. “But technically it can only be a back up and support.”
“What do you mean try?” asked Thorn.
“It means I’m not sure where the nearest usable one is, nor how long it would take them to get there,” answered Evans easily.
“The Royal Marines have a heavy presence in Devon,” noted Meads.
Evans glared at him but Meads refused to back down. “Use them if there’s no army bases closer.”
Thorn gave a brisk nod. “Good. That’s settled.” He looked at Child. “You have ten days.”
“Sir, it will take longer than that. Maybe even as much as six weeks if we have to go ferreting them out of the countryside. The Marines may be useful, but only if there’s a couple of thousand of them?” He looked questioningly at Danny Evans.
“There’s a couple of hundred men based in Devon. Less than five hundred I seem to remember. The rest are based in Poole and elsewhere. What’s left of them.”
“The Paras? asked Thorn.
“1st Battalion are in South Wales, 2nd battalion in Essex, 3rd and 4th have recently been disbanded. The territorial battalions have also been disbanded.”
“Hmm,” said Thorn softly, thoughtfully. “Maybe you went a touch too fast there. Ease back a little. Just until the Safety Patrol is fully up to strength.”
Danny Evans just nodded, hiding his irritation at the implication that it had been all his fault, and no-one elses, that the reduction had gone at the pace it had. He had applied to join the army as an eighteen-year-old, but had been told after just a few weeks of basic training that his psychological profile was all wrong. They hadn’t explained further, just shown him to the door. At the time he had been furious, but had eventually got over most of his anger and humiliation. A small part of the desire behind his plan to reduce the army was down to the chance to wreak a little revenge. However he and Thorn and the Chancellor of the Exchequer had also seen the cost of the armed forces and had realised that by removing most of it the ‘Peace Dividend’ would be huge. In retrospect maybe slowing down would make his fights with Sheard a little bit easier, and to be honest he’d long since had his revenge. ‘His’ unit, the Royal Logistics Corps, was already history. He nodded. “Yes Prime Minister.”
Thorn nodded. “Good. You’ll have to find other units of the army if they can’t cope, but I’d prefer it if you used the Safety Patrols. Roland, do you have the numbers of those who are now combat trained?”
Roland Child smiled slightly as he opened his folder. “Yes Prime Minister, we have nearly eight hundred fully trained as a light infantry, and nearly five hundred more as a form of motorised heavy infantry.”
“Have the army handed over the vehicles you wanted?”
“No Prime Minister. But don’t worry, we took the ones we wanted from the disbanded units.”
“Enough?”
Child frowned slightly. “No Prime Minister. Either previous governments consistently overstated the amounts of materiel the army had, or they have conveniently managed to lose a lot.”
Thorn raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“The only other possibility is that the army overstated its needs, and just took the money for other uses.”
“The most likely being?”
Child shrugged and looked at Evans. “Don’t know. Danny?”
“My first thought would have been fraud somewhere. Most likely in the MoD. But now?” Danny shook his head. “I don’t trust Sheard. He’s doing everything I ask him to do, but there’s something just not quite right. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
“So?” asked Thorn, irritation in his voice.
“Well, I reckon he’s hiding it all somewhere. Or if he’s not, then it’s being ‘stolen’ by the people that he lets go, and he knows about it.” Danny shook his head. “It’s the only thing that make sense to me.” He frowned.
“Why? And by ‘it’ do you mean money or equipment?” asked Thorn.
“Um. Either or both. Money and equipment. He’s too laid back about it, I can’t believe he doesn’t know anything about it, and if it wasn’t authorised, he should be spitting bullets. I’m convinced he knows, and he doesn’t seem concerned. So where is it?”
“And if it’s being stolen, where’s it going?” asked Meads, ever the lawyer. “Assuming of course it ever really existed?”
Both Danny Evans and Roland Child shook their heads, bafflement evident on their faces.
“How do you hide a tank or a plane? And stealing one of those just isn’t feasible,” Danny said. “Smaller stuff maybe, but... , “ he trailed off. “Money wouldn’t really be any easier. Harder in fact. He never actually sees money. Not directly, I don’t think.”
“I would have thought stealing a truck would be easy,” Meads said, leaning forwards. “Just paint it to look like a commercial truck.”
Evans shook his head. “Wrong type of vehicle. They would still look like military trucks.”
“Then I think,” started Meads, but Thorn overrode him.
“You two,” ordered Thorn looking at Evans and Child. “Find out. Now. Is that all?”
“No,” said Child. “I think there’s a problem in Northern Ireland.”
“Oh god,” muttered Meads. “What have you two idiots done now?”
“Meads!” growled Thorn. Meads subsided as both Evans and Child glared at him.
“There seems to be a high turnover of Safety Patrollers over there,” Child said slowly, a small frown on his face.
“What do you mean?” asked Thorn.
“Members of the Safety Patrol generally don’t leave, don’t resign. Except those stationed in Northern Ireland. A couple of months ago the patrol base in Armagh was badly shot up and a number of the Patrol were killed, we think by the IRA, the rest just vanished.”
“Vanished? How?”
“No one’s sure. From what the two survivors have said, the assault unit leader in charge got a phone call, and within ten minutes he’d gone charging off with most of the on duty shift. They were not seen or heard of again.”
Thorn frowned. “Where was he going? And why?”
Child shrugged and shook his head. “No one knows. For some reason the day shift were called in early, and when they got there they came under fire, and most of them were killed or injured as well. Altogether nineteen people were either killed or went missing. That’s just that one day. The rest of the day shift were shot at when they turned up at the start of their shift. Replacements were shot at, and a few have been killed. And that’s just Armagh. In Londonderry and Belfast my Safety Patrols seem to be targeted by everyone.”
“Your Safety Patrols?” asked Thorn archly.
Child ignored the implied rebuke and continued with his briefing. “Altogether over one hundred and twenty Patrollers have been killed or injured. Another thirty or so have just gone missing.”
“The IRA you say?” asked the Home Secretary after a moment.
“It’s who we suspect, but we don’t know.”
“What about other criminal elements? The police maybe, or the army?” For just a moment most people thought Bill Stewart was lumping the police and army in with the other criminal elements, but a moment’s thought and they realised he was merely suggesting them as another option. Most of them smiled at the implied link though.
“What other criminal elements are you referring to?” asked Meads.
“The protestant terrorists. UVF are they? UDF?”
“Oh. Yes. The Ulster Volunteer Force. The Ulster Freedom Fighters, and the Ulster Defence Fighters,” nodded Meads
“Force,” said Child. “Ulster Defence Force. Also the UDA, the Ulster Defence Association.”
“For fuck’s sake,” muttered Meads. “How many of them are there? Are they even different?”
“Probably,” nodded Child. “They are just as nasty as the IRA, but a lot less well funded. The IRA and its offshoots are basically Marxist in orientation, nominally Catholic to get the support of the Catholic community but primarily Marxists. The Unionist terrorist organisations are very right wing, and most members are religious fundamentalists.”
“So it’s unlikely to be them attacking us then,” Evans said. “Don’t you think?”
Child thought about it for a few moments, then shook his head. “Not so sure about that. We’ve had very few Safety Patrol volunteers from Ulster, and most of those have asked to be posted somewhere other than Northern Ireland.”
“I have a feeling,” Bill Stewart spoke up, his voice slow as he thought about what he was saying, “that some elements from both sides may have linked up.”
“Not a chance in hell!” exclaimed Meads. Evans, with a bitter twist to his mouth, nodded his agreement with Meads.
Even Childs shook his head in disagreement with Stewart. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before that happens,” he said.
Stewart, easily the most intelligent and well-read man in the room, just looked thoughtful, unworried by the objections.
Thorn looked at his Chancellor of the Exchequer. “Peter?” He asked. “You haven’t contributed to this discussion.”
Peter Wall looked at his Prime Minister and closest friend and shrugged. “I have no experience of military or police matters, and unlike some,” his eyes slid briefly to Philip Meads and then back again, “I don’t pretend I do. I also have no experience of the Northern Ireland situation, nor any real knowledge of its politics. There’s really nothing I can add.”
“How much does it cost to train a single member of the Safety Patrol?”
Wall smiled slightly. “That I think I can answer. Roughly twenty-five thousand pounds for the five week basic trooper course. For one of the more senior posts, or for one of the longer courses, anything up to six times as much.”
“Can we afford to train even more to send them to Northern Ireland?”
“Of course. If you can find the money from elsewhere.”
“Such as?”
Wall shrugged. “Who cares. Education? Health? How about a cut in the dole? Force people to work for their dole money. Give them a few extra quid, but make them work a forty hour week. Better still, force anyone on the dole more than a year to either find a job, go off the dole, or join the Safety Patrol. You’ll get the men and the money that way.”
For a few moments Thorn stared at Wall, thinking deeply. “Okay. Come up with some plans and let me have them by the end of the week. No department is immune, except the Safety Patrol. Slow down the disbandment of the army...” he paused and frowned, turning to Evans and Child.
“How many men do you get in the Safety Patrol who come from the army?”
“A few,” answered Child. “And none above the rank of corporal I don’t think. At least, if we do, they are a very rare breed indeed. Most of the men we do get, we find awkward to integrate.”
“No officers or senior NCOs?” asked Evans in surprise.
Child shook his head. “Nope. We usually only get people from the non-technical arms. So infantrymen, artillerymen, tankers, but not engineers, medics, mechanics and so on.”
“Hmm. And from the police?” asked Meads.
“None. Not a single one. Well, we may have had the odd one or two, but it really is in single figures.”
There was a long silence after this statement. “So where are they all?” Thorn asked eventually. There was another long silence. “Well I think people had better start finding out. Don’t you?” Thorn’s voice had turned nasty as he said this, but it quickly moderated again as he turned to Child.
“How many are armed?”
“Safety Patrollers?”
“Of course Safety Patrollers, who else did you think I meant?”
Child flushed. “All are armed, mostly with clubs, but a few have more than that.”
“I meant with guns,” snapped Thorn.
Child nodded. “I would estimate no more than a thousand or so. Fifteen hundred maybe, but it was agreed up front that if anyone could supply their own firearm, then they would be allowed to use it.”
Thorn frowned, looking down at a small piece of paper on the table in front of him. “Hmm.”
He paused, nodded slightly to himself, the looked up again. “Get Cornwall sorted out. Use Danny and the army if you have to. Use as much of the Safety Patrol as you need. Then and only then, sort Northern Ireland out.”
“Give it to the Republic?” suggested Meads. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t like the idea of some of those so called Loyalists being part of my country. And if nothing else they’ll give the Republic some headaches.”
There were some smiles around the table, even from Evans, but Thorn didn’t share the joke and glared at Meads. “We can sort out Northern Ireland without outside help thank you very much.”
Meads just shrugged, he hadn’t been totally serious in any case. As a needle it had been aimed at Danny Evans but had missed its mark.
“Right.” Thorn looked down at his notes. “Fuel. I see yet again that the price of fuel has just shot up. I came down here from Chequers Monday morning and passed four petrol stations, all of which were shut. Big signs saying no fuel. Why?” He glared around the cabinet table. Since none of the men around the table were responsible for either of the relevant departments: Transport and Energy, they all shook their heads.
Meads spoke up. “Call in Thomas and Raggett. Mike Thomas is in charge of the Department Of Transport, and Phillip Raggett in charge of Energy and the Environment.”
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