The Province(Ghost Soldiers 1)

Copyright 2015 PPCorcoran

Published by PP Corcoran

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DEDICATION

For Dad.

1The sky was overcast with rain clouds as theFirst Minister for Northern Ireland, SamuelWhitaker, turned to say his farewells to thehead of Coleraine Northern Regional Collegeas they exited the newly opened building.

“Principal is in the open, movingtowards the cars,” Richard radioed to his teamof close protection officers from his positionto the rear of the First Minister. The teamknew it was almost time to move.

Richard watched as his team moved likea well-oiled machine and set to work. ThreeLand Rover Discoverys smoothly moved intoposition at the bottom of the hall steps. Threeyoung males emerged from the front passengerseats, each dressed impeccably, andproceeded to open the rear door of eachvehicle. Richard nodded imperceptibly inapproval as he watched his team scan the

small crowd gathered behind the barriersmanned by uniformed police, looking for anypotential threat to their principal. It neverceased to amaze him how young his team was.It occasionally gave him cause to think that hemight be a little too old for this game; but hey,his middle daughter had another year ofuniversity to get through. Perhaps he couldretire next year.

Richard stayed close to SamuelWhitaker, who finished his farewells andaccompanied by his small entourage, made hisway down the steps and into the waitingarmoured vehicles. Richard gave the smallcrowd and the immediate area around the carsa quick once over. Satisfied, he climbed intothe front seat of the First Minister’s vehicle,the middle of the three Land Rovers.

The VIPs and their protectors were nowsafely on board and the vehicles moved off ata fair clip. As per standard operating

procedure, the small convoy had no markedpolice cars and no outriders escorting it, anattempt to reduce unwanted attention, althoughmost locals recognised the characteristics ofan armoured vehicle – the darkened windows,just a little too thick, and the low slung chassiscaused by the weight of the armour on thesuspension.

They travelled through Coleraine towncentre and headed towards Ballymoney, thefirst waypoint on their sixty-eight-mile journeyto Stormont, the seat of the Northern IrelandAssembly. Richard noted they were makinggood time, might even have time for an extrabrew before the next engagement. He failed tonotice the silver Honda Accord that trailed theconvoy a few cars back or the male passengerwho was holding an animated conversation onhis mobile phone.

The First Minister’s convoy approachedthe roundabout on the outskirts of Ballymoney.

The drivers of the three vehicles, almost inunison, switched on their blue lights concealedin the vehicles’ front radiator grills andactivated the sirens. Unfortunately, a tractorpulling a large trailer full of hay bales wasalready on the roundabout. Richard tutted withimpatience. Oh God! These Sunday drivers!The convoy was forced to slow to a nearstandstill. Hardly an unusual event, the localpopulation had become pretty ambivalent tothe sound of emergency sirens over the years.Richard really wasn’t surprised when thetractor driver failed to react appropriately andobliviously drove slowly round theroundabout.

Without warning, a motorcycle flashedpast the rear convoy vehicle and stopped levelwith the rear passenger seat of the FirstMinister’s vehicle. Sat in the front passengerseat, Richard barely had time to see the pillionpassenger, dressed from head to toe in black

leathers, reach over and clunk something onthe roof before the motorcycle sped off. Inthose few moments he registered the danger.Frantically, he pulled at the door handle,screaming “Out! Out! Out!”

With a flash and a deafening roar, theexplosively formed projectile the pillionpassenger had attached to the roof of thevehicle went off.

Superheated streams of copper meltedthrough the armoured roof. Moving at Machsix, or two thousand metres per second, theyentered the rear passenger area of the LandRover. Designed to kill tanks, the Land Roverand its occupants did not stand a chance. TheLand Rover exploded. Richard, SamuelWhitaker, his principal secretary and thedriver were killed instantly.

The blast wave rolled outwards,smashing into all things in its way like atsunami. Cars, trucks and pedestrians were

ravaged by the deadly cloud of shrapnel thatfollowed the blast wave – all that remained ofthe Land Rover and its four occupants. As thedust settled, survivors began to feel the pain,and as the ringing in their ears faded it wasreplaced by the cries of the wounded. Senseswere filled with the sights, the sounds and thesmells of utter devastation.

#

Frank Winters was settling down in hisfavourite chair in the living room of his smallbungalow in the village of Kingstone inHerefordshire, grateful for the moment ofrespite before the loud noise that was thechildren descended on him. Frank shared thehouse with his wife Abbie, five-year-old Peterand Taz, the Tasmanian devil… also known astheir two-year-old daughter Samantha. Frankhad every intention of enjoying the freshlybought, steaming hot fish and chips lathered insalt and vinegar that comprised the family treat

this evening; they were crying out to be joinedby one of the cold beers from the fridge assoon as the kids were in bed. A lazy Saturdayevening in front of the telly with Abbiebeckoned.

He reached over for the TV remote onthe coffee table and knocked a couple of chipsonto the floor. Quick as a flash, a black andbrown blur appeared from nowhere andwolfed the chips. “You, Dog, will get fat!”Frank wagged his finger as he scolded Dog, atwo-year-old German Shepherd. Frankcouldn’t decide on a name for the puppy whenhe’d arrived and ‘Dog’ had stuck. Dog lookedback with mournful brown eyes, cocked hishead and licked his lips in anticipation. Frankcouldn’t help but smile; he rubbed Dog’s earand laughed as Dog collapsed at his feet in thehope of more chips – or fish: either was good.Remote in hand, Frank absentmindedly turnedon the television and reached for a soggy chip.

His hand stopped in mid-air as hiscomplete attention became focused on thesuited figure speaking on the television wherethe weekend football game should be. Behindthe suit, a scene of utter confusion reigned assmoke rose from fires and the emergencyservices rushed about trying to bring order tothe chaos.

“We apologise for the interruption tonormal programming as we continue with ourlive coverage from Northern Ireland. SamuelWhitaker, Northern Ireland’s First Minister isdead, assassinated by dissident Republicanterrorists.”

Frank dimly heard a ringing in thebackground. He located his mobile phone andactivated the screen. A withheld number. Asense of dread filled him as he swiped theaccept button and put the phone to his ear.

“Frank, pack your waterproofs. COBRhave approved deployment to The Province;

we leave tonight.” COBR. An acronym forCabinet Office Briefing Room. A room on thefirst floor of the Ministry of Defence buildingin Whitehall, central London, where a high-level government committee met to coordinatethe UK government’s response to national orinternational crises.

“Understood, boss. I’ll be there in anhour.” God! A deployment to Northern Ireland.Frank hadn’t expected a return visit to thatparticular beauty spot. He stood and turnedtowards the kitchen, to find Abbie standinglike a statue in the doorway, the sound of thechildren arguing over the tomato ketchupcoming from the kitchen behind her.

“I’ve got to go to work. Sorry, pet.” Hebrushed her face with his hand and gentlykissed her on the lips. Abbie nodded slowlywith disappointment and understanding.

She sighed. “Typical… how long for thistime, hun?”

Frank brushed past her and pulled openthe door to the cupboard under the stairs. Itrevealed a set of rucksacks, each of anidentical size and shape but different colour.He lifted out the green and black camouflagedone. Frank kept a colour-coded rucksack foreach of the four deployment zones: whitearctic, desert camouflage, jungle camouflageand the one Frank had chosen, woodlandcamouflage. He closed the cupboard doorplacing the rucksack by the front door beforefinally replying, “I’ve no idea, pet, you knowhow it is,” and heading for the kitchen.

The argument over the tomato ketchupwas still in full swing. To Frank’s practisedeye, it looked like Samantha had the upperhand. She had both hands tightly wrappedaround the sauce bottle and was tugging withall her strength as Peter held on desperately.Frank decided to intervene before sauce endedup covering both children and the kitchen

walls.“Enough, you pair.” Peter immediately

let go and Samantha cried out in victory.“Daddy’s got to go to work for a while,

so you behave yourselves and do as yourmother tells you, ok?”

Samantha came running at him andgriped his leg fiercely. Sauce bottle still inhand. Head buried into him.

“Don’t go, Daddy”Peter, acting the big boy, said, “Yes,

Daddy.” Abbie came in and lifted the sobbingSamantha to her shoulder.

Frank kissed Samantha on the head“Don’t cry, Taz, Daddy will be home soon.Love you.”

“Love you,” came the sobbing reply.

###

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About the Author

Paul Corcoran was born in Johnstone, Renfrewshire, Scotland in 1967. He joined the British Army in 1985 at the grand old age of seventeen and a half. After completing his initial training he joined the British Army's elite parachute force, 5 Airborne Brigade spending four years there until moving on to various intelligence and signals units for the remainder of his twenty plus years’ service. During his career he served in many areas of operations including: Africa, the Balkans, Central America, Northern Ireland, the Middle East and South East Asia. He continues to work in the security field and write part-time.

He has been a fan of science fiction since school days, although, his reading taste has developed to include all things military, past,

future and alternate history. He began writing his own stories in 2013 and published his debut science fiction novel DISCOVERY OF THE SAIPH in 2014, followed by the militarythriller THE PROVINCE.

Other books by PP CorcoranAvailable worldwide at amazon: Military Science FictionThe Saiph Series

Discovery of the Saiph (Saiph #1) AnAmazon UK Number 1 Best Seller!Search for the Saiph (Saiph #2) AnAmazon UK Number 2 Best Seller!Hunt for the Saiph (Saiph #3) 2015Saiph Series Extras

Military ThrillerGhost Soldier Series (Short stories)

The Province (Ghost Soldiers #1)

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