Chapter 1

My name is Devid Schell. I am a soldier on R&R, having just completed my tour.  I have been back for about a week now.  Just starting to settle back into the real world. 

I had had enough of being cooped up in my hotel room, trying to adjust.  The first few days were an alcoholic haze as I unwound.  The next few days were nearly the same.  Tonight would be different.  I always went through this ritual every time I returned safely.  Tonight was the night I would go to a quiet small restaurant, which served good wholesome food.  I could sit quietly in a corner, eat and watch the normal people.  I would absorb their normality.

It was already dark when I left the hotel and wandered the mile to the restaurant, through the back streets and alleyways.  I was less likely to draw attention to the dead man's walk I knew I still had, the fact that I would still be scanning for snipers, ambushes or IEDs hidden in discarded litter of civilization.  The walk was good; I enjoyed the fresh air, if you could call the air of the city fresh.  I arrived at the restaurant at 21:00 (9pm) sharp.

I was shown to my table for two, but cleared for one.  The waiter removed the reserved label from the table as I sat.  The owner walked over and greeted me like an old friend.  In a sense I was.  I always used his restaurant when I came back.  We chatted briefly about nothing in particular; he knew what I was and what I was doing, having found out some six years previously.  On that occasion, someone had come in and then cut up rough, and I put their life into perspective for them.  The restaurateur was an old soldier and had recognized my traits and behaviour.

I ordered Beef Wellington, followed this with cheese and biscuits, all washed down with some full bodied red wine.  I took my time, absorbing the atmosphere, watching the players laid out in front of me like actors on the stage.  It was almost midnight when I paid my bill, booked for the same time the following evening, watched while they re-corked my half filled bottle of red and placed it on the shelf for me.  I bid them good night and left.

As I walked, I thought of tomorrow.  Tomorrow was another ritual.  I always went to St Paul’s Cathedral and on the edifice, under my name, I would scratch the campaign and date.