John Gower was summoned by the RSM, and the message conveyed by the duty clerk made it clear that it was of utmost urgency. Just as he approached the office door, a Captain from the ‘Royal Military Police (RMP)’ emerged, his expression a mask of resolute seriousness. It was clear that something was awry.
WO1 Loughty, the tough-as-nails Glaswegian was not cracking jokes today. There was no trace of his usual devil-may-care attitude, no hint of his trademark humour.
“Good afternoon, Staff,” the RSM’s voice resonated, low and solemn. “I find myself balls deep in paperwork at the moment and could use some assistance.”
“Of course, Sir. How can I help?” John replied. “Is this regarding Driver Cooper? Is there any news?”
The RSM’s expression tightened. “Cooper’s ID card was discovered on the tank road, stained with blood. The RMP is operating on the presumption that they’ll locate him in the woods, likely inebriated. My guess is he was at ‘Angie’s Bar.’ Looks like he got into a fight, hence the blood.
“I need you to interview all of Cooper’s mates, everyone from bottom right, his accommodation block, and see if they can shed any light on his movements,” he instructed.
“And Staff,” the RSM added, “on your way, pop into the QM department and tell them about that fucking stink coming from the drains outside HQ. It smells like something died down there.”
John nodded. The stench had hit him on his way in, a sickly-sweet smell that made his stomach turn. “Yes, Sir,” he said, already turning to leave.
On Thursday morning, the Military Police combed the forest with a feverish intensity that bordered on madness. For most of them, this was their virgin voyage into the world of real policing. It appeared as though some ghastly fate had befallen a hapless victim, and this was far more thrilling than the usual drudgery of a MP’s daily duties. The mundane routine of investigating stolen diesel, busting up brawls in the NAAFI bar, and corralling errant squaddies who had gone ‘AWOL’ was now a distant memory, replaced by the all-consuming hunt for the missing soldier. They searched high and low for Cooper, but he was nowhere to be found. What they did discover, however, was deeply disturbing.
Amidst a cluster of thorny bushes, the MPs stumbled upon a handful of shredded garments, their fabric mottled with bloodstains. As they continued their search, a solitary shoe came into view, its surface slick with crimson fluid. The discovery raised two unsettling queries: first, where was the other shoe? And second, where in the world was Driver Cooper?
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