The hedge had eyes

The hedge had eyes.

A casual observer

By Peter Rose

The men walked along the narrow lane in single file, they were about ten feet apart all silent and watchful. There were six of them all about the same age, twenty five as a guess, all over six feet tall, athletic in build. They walked with easy practised paces. They all carried rucksacks. They wore a variety of casual country style clothes, at first glance they would have merged into any group of young people out for a stroll. Look closer and although no weapons showed but they were military. The signs were obvious if you knew what you were looking for. I was walking my dog in the opposite direction when I first saw them, they each nodded a greeting as I passed but only the lead walker had given me a serious looking at, checking me out to establish if I was a face he should know and then if I was carrying anything concealed. Satisfied on both counts he nodded and the rest followed his appraisal.

I walked on to the end of the lane wondering about these guys, what were they doing in this peaceful part of Essex, where were they going and who were they looking for. No noisy helicopter, no police sirens, just six men walking with great awareness along a country lane. I was sure they were searching but did not want too much advance notice given to who ever they were looking for. They obviously were not trying to completely conceal their presence or the fact they were working, If the search was truly completely clandestine they would not walk six at a time in an ambush prevention pattern. They would have been in singles or most pairs, some distance apart may be some on bikes some in cars etc., they did not mind being connected together as a group but moved with minimum of noise. This suggests what or who, they were looking for was in the fields and heathland around the lane. The fact they were in civilian clothing and did not show their weapons also indicated that who they were looking for may have eyes in the hedge.

I turned off the lane onto a little used footpath, despite it being April and a wetter than usual one, it was not as muddy as I expected. I let my dog loose, he would not disturb any ground nesting birds but would follow at my heels with only the occasional pause to sniff a close bush, the path showed no trace of anyone walking before me today. I suppose my curiosity at the walking men had sharpened by awareness and observation because I noticed a change in the path after about two hundred yards, I saw at once that some one had crossed it then turned and walked beside the path only about two feet from it, they were going in the same direction as myself. The landscape had opened up and was now mostly low gorse with occasional birch trees in rather sad little groups. The wind increased causing the gorse to rustle and shiver, the footsteps moved on to the actual path between the bushes, I saw imprints of two different shoes, both male and about size ten, good walking shoes, the stride showed these must be around six feet tall and the distortion of the print at the toe suggested they were in a hurry but not running. They had passed this way since the rain last night but I could not work out how long ago. I expect Sherlock Holmes would have been able to tell the nationality, age and general health of these footprint makers but I can not.

I had walked across these open spaces for several years and knew most of the tracks and bridleways. The only construction, if it was worthy of such a name, was a ruined hut about a mile along this path, it had once been some sort of herdsman's shelter but now served as not much more than a focal point for orienteering and a meeting place for groups of ramblers. As I came near the shelter I clipped the lead back on my dog and slowed my walking speed to slow tending on stop. The wind had veered and was now into my face, I could not smell any smoke, cooking or human activity, nor could I hear any sound other than the wind in the gorse. I was very cautious as I came to the hut. It seems to have had a make over since I last saw it. Nothing extravagant, no new timber but the walls were shored up with fallen birch branches and the roof had been repositioned on top of these strengthened walls. The footsteps I was following skirted round the shelter then disappeared. I stopped, then, keeping the dog very close I back tracked along my path. A low branch from one of the dispirited looking trees swept close to the path, I looked around under it and found my unknown print leaver had used the branch to move sideways off the path and then they moved back towards the hut. Clearly they had made some attempt to avoid being followed but I was curious, this was not a professional attempt, I had found the trail again in no time, was this because it as a false trail or just amateur attempts to hide? A serious attempt to disappear would have required going on a further half mile to a stream and then walking back along the stream bed for several hundred yards before climbing a tree and getting back to firm ground a long way from the hut and from the original pathway. May be the walkers were total strangers and did not know of the stream, if they were also short of time they may have just did what they could without losing a second. May be it was a false trail. I circled back well away from the path and out of sight of the hut. I wanted to approach with the wind in my face, I could walk quietly and so could dog, but having the wind blowing from hut to me decreased the chance of being heard. The hut was empty, completely empty not even a scrap of rubbish, not a sweet wrapper of sandwich packet, this alone was odd. From inside I could see that the make over was well done, no nailed on bits but the roof had been tied very securely down with strips of damp bark, wooded rough cut wedges had been knocked in place to hold larger branches in place as roof beams. The whole thing was done to give strong shelter but look natural old and tumble down. The floor was bare earth, trodden down to a hard compressed dry mud with a layer of dust on top, ferns had been cut and strewn about and these were relatively fresh, only about two or three days old. The floor was about ten feet by eight feet, One wall had an opening as a window and a torn bit of sacking still covered much of it, there was a door way but no door. The roof was pitched but only about five feet high at most, at the eves no more that three feet.

A flattened patch of ferns showed some one had laid here during the night, but no other sign of habitation. So where were the guys I had tracked?? If the tracks were false trail why to here?. I crouched down and tried to look at the foot prints from close to ground level, working in my mind to find which way they went, They led off at right angles to the path and one set were much deeper than before. Carrying a third person? The sleeper from the hut? Why was there a sleeper in the hut anyway? Far too many questions and so few answers. I thought of the six men walking the lane but I did not know if they were part of one group, including those I had followed, or if they were seeking those tracks I had found.

Since they were now carrying a heavy weight, the track makers would have less ability to cover the trail, I set off to follow but with greater caution that ever before. They did not follow a path but worked their way between bushes and trees going , as far as I could tell from the position of the sun, north. From time to time they swapped the carrying but kept going as far as I could tell, never stopping to rest, they must be fit and strong. After about half an hour the scrub land began to thin out the gorse less predominant, the birch more so. A bridleway cut across their route at a tangent and I had expected them to go straight across but they turned onto the harder surface. This made tracking more difficult but I knew where this was heading. It would lead to a tiny hamlet about a mile further on, this was where the lane I walked down came from and so it was where the six walkers were going. The hamlet and only about 50 houses, one of them mine, and a pub. A community pub, we had clubbed together and bought the place to keep some social cohesion in the place when it became impossible to make a commercial case for keeping it open. Now I had another question, what the hell was going on in my own back yard?

I reached the end of the heathland and the bridleway joined the road. Locals call it the main road, because it was wide enough for two cars as distinct from the lane which is one car wide at best. The sun was out any wet prints from those I followed would have disappeared from the main road, opposite the bridleway was a tall blackthorn hedge so they did not go straight on, they must have turned into the hamlet or away from it. I turned in and walked down to the pub. My own house is only 4 away from the pub so I left the dog at home changed shoes and trousers so not to show I had been in the mud and went to the pub, the front door was open, which is odd at this time of day, inside I could hear voices that I did not recognise. I went to the back door, in the car park were two black Mercedes with brand new registrations, the bonnets were warm, a slight cooling down noise could be heard, so these had not been here long, they were empty but parked facing the exit. The doors were locked and windows closed. I glanced around to make sure no one was watching me then I tapped each boot lid in turn, no muffled cries, no sound at all. The back door to the pub was also open, as I started towards it a man came out carrying another man who was tied up wrists and feet and he had a black bag pulled over his head down as far as the shoulders and this was then tied off. When he saw me the carrier shouted and started to run towards the cars, he had enormous strength to run carrying a full grown man across his shoulder. I started to try and intercept him then a second man ran from the pub and shouted he would shoot me if I did not stop and lay down. A quick glance showed me he was carrying a semi automatic machine pistol. I dropped to the ground and all hell broke loose I could hear guns being fired from behind me I swear I could hear the bullets whistling over my head the guy who had shouted at me dropped as he went down his gun went off randomly spraying bullets into the sky. The one with the body on his shoulder threw it down and dived for the cars but he was too late. He was hit as he landed and rolled down under one car, he seemed to be struggling to find a weapon when a burst of gun fire was aimed under the car. He did not move after that. I started to get up but a shout for me to stay down and not move did not need repeating. Very slowly and carefully four of the six walkers came into view, each from a different part of the hedge surrounding the car park, I guessed the other two were in reserve, being eyes in the hedge still, these boys did not take unnecessary risks or make assumptions about the opposition. All carried assault rifles. One went to the bound and hooded figure that had not moved since being thrown to the ground, the others checked the two from the pub, when they were certain both were dead the searched pockets found car keys and loaded the two one to each boot. Two of the walkers got into the cars and drove off, the others asked me if I was OK, when I said I was they ordered me to stay down with eyes closed. I stayed down but not with fully closed eyes, so I saw them cut the hood and ropes off the captive. He was in army uniform and blood stained, he looked in really bad way. Just then a white large van pulled into the car park and within seconds all of then had loaded themselves and the captive and had gone. A second van pulled up again I was ordered to stay where I was, about eight men came from the van and went to the pub I saw, from the corner of my eye the other two walkers emerge from the hedge they carried what looked like metal detectors but I knew to be powerful magnets, used to collect up bullet casings etc., they had cleared all traces of the attack and the guys in the pub cleared all signs that any one had been there at all. As I lay still they all climbed back into the van and left.

I sat up and looked round all was still and quiet. I got to my feet and headed home, as I passed my neighbour he looked over his garden gate and asked if I knew who was shooting rabbits at this time of day. I just said I had no idea could not be locals and went in for a strong coffee. I sat and drank this then opened the hidden space under my wardrobe, lifted out a lap top typed in all the encryption codes and sent my report.