I’ll Cover Your Back, It’s All In A Day’s Work.

agent-1239354__180

A hard day or two stuck in a ditch, watching, waiting. Ice cold rain trickles from my wax jacket into a now sudden overall; filling my boots. You can’t walk off for a piss or knock a door to use the facilities. The heavy weapon makes my arm shake. Watching with tired concentration, occasionally broken by a parading cat. Putting the red spot on a passing fox, like a firefly; for something to do. Dropping  the light in front of a cat on the grass, where the tremble of my hand assists with a tiny red dance. Minutes pass then the cat moves on, he doesn’t  know what boredom is. I am back to watching down the barrel of a gun. A sandwich bag serves as my waste receptacle; it always has made me retch.

 

However many stakeouts and undercover jobs you take part in, each one holds it’s own horrors. The cramp and boredom, the urge for the pan, the cat that blows your cover, by playing with a light from the scope; as a kitten would do with a mouse. An occasional fit of coughing can expose you to danger, or simply a ditch filling with rain. In the summer the thirst and smell, the sun that makes your blacks feel like an electric blanket soaked in sweat.

 

This night was freezing, my partner pressed over my shoulder and lay across my back to try and transfer body – heat. Hail and snow filled the ditch, our teeth chattered and hands shook. Not a movement or a flicker had been seen for two days. We knew the subject was in there… but nothing. The van kitted up was two streets over, they tried to keep us awake with lewd jokes and taunts of snacks, crisp bags rustling.

 

At Five am we are eventually replaced. Relief came crawling on their bellies from the bushes behind us. Heat and pain shot through our muscles after being unused for days. Every sinew stretched or tightened beyond belief;  it was excruciating. Balaclava’s down, safety on, we slither out of sight, only sorry for the stench and state of the hole we vacate.

 

A hot shower and clean uniforms, and food at headquarters soon  refreshed and refuelled us. He had my back, my life, literally in his hands and his in mine; the way it was, it should be. The tiredness began to take over us, showing the pallor of our skin. We sat at our lockers without a word, I retrieved the hip flask from its secreted place; nodded and passed a slug of scotch between us. Wearily we left, both hoping the pager didn’t sound for at least twelve hours. But all the time knowing if it did we’d be there in a flash; no question.

 

On my arrival, the house was busy, kids nudging, shoving, muscling in on plates of toast and cereal. The noise of the chatter assaulted my ears as they all spoke or sang at once, clattering cutlery, clanging, arguing about shoes and bags. She lifted her head and scowled as if I’d been on a jolly. “Hi, did you get them?” Standing in her wrap, and silly bear feet slippers, the pair the kids gave her for mothers day. I can’t speak, so I shake my head. She snorts  and under her breath…”Another waste of time” she mumbles and bangs down the knife; I take myself without a word up to bed. The bed we once slept in together  and planned our lives; long before.

 

Four in the afternoon I wake, the house is silent, my first thought is the job. The team, did they pull it off? Had it been a waste of resources? Dressed and out, I spend the next four hours dissecting the case, celebrating the capture. Like a fraternity we came together, with a rugby club attitude, we worked and played to the exclusion of all others. We covered each others lives every day, we covered each other’s backs, like brothers or family, we pulled together a team, a solid unit.

 

Raucously wild we were, we cleared the bar, a nightmare some said; seen as elite and privileged. So together we built a wall and stood strong. For years, we held fast, until one by one we fell, burned out, broken or just exhausted. The heat of the chase, the adrenaline of the hunt, the pride of the capture; now gone. Disbanded, scattered, here we were trying to resume a life, one long forgotten, left behind. We had to find our normal, but where it was, not many of us knew.

 

We were expected to be civilians; but for most of us, security guards, prison officers, or driving instructors, were the only jobs out there. Lowly paid positions, with no use for our years of accumulated skills. On television and in exciting books, we’d be private investigators or mercenaries; we’d command a wage and be respected. Once again we’d  use our close protection skills, our years of weapons training, advanced driving, and our covert undercover skills would still be of use- as we would be. In the real world, the jobs aren’t there; the excitement is gone and you are yet another jobless person, a has-been .

 

It is obvious now why we didn’t do so well, once we were surplus to requirement. Families had found their way without us around, kids were women and men with dreams, adventures of their own. Wives subdued, tired, unable to give up the ground they had earned through hard work, love, and consistency. Grown men, strong men, they crumbled, marriages broke, men unable to function were lost. Divorce, suicide, mental breakdown and depression, all the above; claimed fifty-five percent of the team. But once protectors, Police Men, rescuers of many; with lives full of adventures; egos as big as skyscrapers. We try to find new ways, new lives, it was hard but had to be done. Friendships tangled with jobs and families, adventures, adrenaline; and now only the emptiness. No one left to cover my back.

 


Author Notes

16 Comments for “I’ll Cover Your Back, It’s All In A Day’s Work.”

Mary Cooney-Glazer

says:

A gritty picture of what the people who protect us endure. Your descriptions are strong and devoid of glamour. Well delineated contrast between his work and the wholesome normalcy of the kids. You wrote a sad relationship between husband and wife, then gave an excellent background about why she felt so isolated. The story progressed very well. Skilled writing and a thought-provoking read. Mary

Carol Moore

says:

This is sad and so true of fighting men used by our countries to save us all. They come home and are expected to be normal and can’t be after all they have been through. Great Job my friend 🙂

says:

Wow. A powerful and emotional read. This speaks the truth about many of those who have served for our country in the army, police force, etc. It’s so sad, especially how those who battle it out in army return home physically or mentally injured, or even worse, dead. Very well done piece, Ellen.

Michaela.

Tim Hillebrant

says:

HI Ellen,

This piece reminded me, at first, of an SAS serviceman, or maybe a US Navy SeAL, until I got further down, and thought maybe a special services officer in a local constabulary.
Whatever- you captured the tension, the grit, and the realism of their lives very well. There’s a reason all those groups are their own little social clubs. Only they know and understand what they’ve gone through. Only they have lived that life, inside, and out, of the service they performed.
You write like you know that life well.

Tim

says:

Hi Tim,
It is based on a full time firearms unit DSU (divisional support unit) , When they could be called anywhere at any time. Full time firearms do not exist any more and rightly so.

says:

Wow. This is a gritty social statement, Ellen. You really say what needs to be said. Well done.

I noted some punctuation foibles. I took the most ‘offending’ paragraph and made a pass at it; some you may discard out of personal style choice.

On television and in exciting books(,) we’d be private investigators or mercenaries{,}(;) we’d command a wage and be respected. Once again(,) we’d use our close protection skills, our years of weapons training, advanced –driving, {our}(and) covert undercover skills would still be of use{;}(–) as we would be. In the real world(,) the jobs aren’t there{,}(;) the excitement is gone and you are another jobless person{,}(–) a has(-)been .

says:

Thanks Doug, you just put back all the semi colons I had in originally. Some people prefer them not used Anisa for one. I feel they work, so as you will see I returned them. Hyphens again some say DONT! but in two places I agree and put them back. Rules and guidelines make hyphens and semicolons difficult to place, one of languages foibles and sometimes preference. I appreciate your critique and hope you like it better now.

says:

A very adept description of what happens to so many skilled protectors once they are not needed anymore or leave the profession. Once, they were respected and acclaimed. Now, their skills are useless in the every day rigors of a modern world. No protection needed or expected.

This piece makes me think of soldiers who have been to war, served their country, and were forced to live on adrenaline, secrecy, killing, and more. The deeds they endured, no one in the “normal” world understands or reveres when those skills are not needed. I guess what they go through is called PTSD. Some, don’t make it through the change in environment and mentality. Suicide and depression become a huge factor.

I am trying to write a piece that includes some of these descriptions you bring forth. It was a great help to read this. It helps me understand more the character I want to understand and commemorate.

Great job with this, Ellen!
Write On!
Becky

Suggestion:
-Every sinew stretched or tightened beyond belief. Heat and pain shot through our muscles after being unused for days; it was excruciating.

Consider moving around the sentences:
Heat and pain shot through our muscles after being unused for days, every sinew stretched or tightened beyond belief; it was excruciating.

says:

Hi Rebecca,
Thank you I am thrilled you enjoyed this and found it helpful. I swapped the two phrases and it feels stronger now. Thanks for spotting the improvement; just by twisting it, who’d have guessed it would make such an impact.

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *