The Fight

Ding Ding. Round I

RAF Brize Norton 2012

Cpl James Logan stepped out from the barrack block into the quiet chill of the evening. Pulled up his hoody, cupped his fingerless gloves over his mouth and blew. At five feet eight inches, and a hundred and twenty pounds, he needed to drop a couple, and quickly. The night was colder than anticipated, and a light breeze stung his cheeks.

He set off at a steady jog, having already worked up a sweat in the dormitory but, was no point in risking an injury with the fight being only three days away. The silence was broken by shouts of, ‘Go Logo, Go Logo!’ A group returning from a night out staggered through the main gates, pissed, but happy. He waved back, gave a short salute and then accelerated into the semi-dark of the night. Seven minutes in and Jamie was already a quarter way around the perimeter. He could feel the sweat streaming down his back, his fingers still cold despite the gloves. He stopped suddenly, brought up his hands and dealt a barrage of blows to his imagined opponent. Ducking and weaving, again and again as the blood pumped the chill from his hands. He dropped to the ground, press-ups followed by squats and then resumed his run, heading towards the hangers that ran alongside the airfield.

On the opposite side of the base, across from the parade square, the long curved building of the Officers' mess -hall had been lit up like a Christmas tree, nothing unusual for a Saturday night in mid-April. Inside, the sound of people laughing and singing but, woefully out of tune. Left of the main doors a young man stumbled out, dressed in evening wear and patent leather shoes. The gravel beneath his feet crunched loudly, he leant against the wall for support as he rummaged through his pockets for his fags, "shit," he mumbled, one left. He lit it up, drew deeply and blew, the smoke mingled with the cold night air and then drifted off like a small cloud. He glanced back to the doorway before setting off towards the car park.

Two awkward minutes later and he stood with his forehead pressed against the window of a long-wheeled based Land Rover door, the keys glinted at him in the moonlight.

Pilot Officer Martin Jarvis smiled. ‘It's fine... I’m fine, ‘he whispered, ‘just need some fags from the NAAFI,* that’s all.’ He wasn’t convinced, nevertheless, the little man in his head that would have normally engaged the ‘stop being a dick’ sign, was drowning in a sea of Bacardi and Coke. He belched loudly, pulled open the door and climbed in. Despite the bitter cold, the engine fired up the first time, the sound multiplying inside the confines of the metallic shell. A slight panic stirred in his gut, then faded just as quickly.

‘Where’s the bloody reverse?’ he spat while battling with the gearstick, his coordination however had given up long ago. Also, he was completely unaware of his foot resting heavily on the gas pedal, and when the gear finally crunched home, the engine was already racing. The vehicle bolted forward narrowly missing a stone bollard and careered down the shallow embankment skidding wildly on the wet grass. He threw the steering wheel hard to the right with zero effect. Finally, after clawing for traction the wheels gripped the tarmac. Jarvis jammed his foot hard onto what he thought was the brake and the clutch screamed. The heavy, long-wheel-based vehicle free-wheeled across the smooth black surface before jolting upwards and shuddering to a standstill.

Jarvis knew in an instant he had hit something and hoped to God it was a bollard. The engine idled loudly, the wipers swishing back n forth, his knuckles white as he gripped the wheel. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead, he switched off the engine, swallowed the bile rising in his throat and climbed out.

The moon lit up the night enough for him to realise he’d ended up on the parade square.

‘Shit... shit!’ He checked to see if anyone was around, this was considered off-limits, sacred ground as it were, reserved for parades and of course, the monotonous drill practice. Luckily, everything seemed quiet, although he could still hear the music thumping from the officer’s mess. He made his way to the front to inspect the damage, leaning on the car to steady himself.

The body of Cpl James Logan lay motionless between the front wheels, his head twisted grotesquely over his shoulder, eyes wide staring at his killer. Jarvis stood too quickly, the bile and Bacardi mixture burnt his throat on its way back up and he promptly wretched the contents of his stomach onto the ground behind him.

‘Jarvis, what the hell have you done?’

‘I didn’t see him...’ Jarvis spun around to find flight-lieutenant Dave Abbot, peering over his shoulder. Dave was a long-time friend of the family, and it was Dave who first gave Martin the idea of joining the Air force.

‘Jesus Christ you reek of drink.’

'Dave? Oh thank God, you’ve got to help me...’

‘Stop talking, let me think.’ Dave shouted back.

’He ran in front of me, it wasn’t my fault... honest.’

‘I said stop talking. That’s an order.’

Except for a whispered, ‘yes sir.’ Jarvis decided to stay quiet.

After what seemed like an eternity, Flight Lieutenant Abbot took charge of the situation. ‘Get out of my sight,’ Jarvis took a few drunken steps back and stumbled against the Land Rover.

‘We don’t ever speak of this again,’ growled Abbott, ‘you were never here, have you got that?’ Jarvis was still in shock, he nodded and headed back to the officer’s accommodation, taking a quick look over his shoulder to see Dave climbing into the driver’s seat. He started the engine, gripped the wheel and waited. From the main road, car lights approached the parade square. Dave climbed back out and flagged the driver down.

Jarvis turned away again, his legs began to shake, his breathing became rapid and soon his whole body was in spasm. He fell into a hedge and threw up again, it was then the heaven’s opened. The rain was torrential, and it came without warning. No distant rumble, no flash lighting up the night sky, the cloud had suddenly just given up trying to hold on to its own bulk. He pulled himself out of the shrubbery, wiped the vomit from his mouth and continued on his way.

His pace didn’t quicken, it slowed until he came to a halt and let the rain soak him to the skin. He felt rotten to his core, and no amount of water could, or would ever wash that feeling away.

The following morning Jarvis had zero recollection of what happened after the rain. Fortunately, it was his day off and he planned to keep the door locked and ignore everyone. He lay in his bunk staring at the ceiling, the final image of private Logan looking up seared into every thought. He came to the conclusion that waiting it out was his one and only option. The door rattled as a fist thumped against it, and his heart jumped in his chest.

‘This is it, they know, they know...’ the thought of the MP’s dragging him off to the cells popped into his head, and panic washed over him like a cold sweaty wave.

‘Jarvis, wake up, Martin, are you in there?’ He recognised the voice, he sat on the edge of the bed, pondering his next move.

‘What’s up?’ he called, ‘I’m not really up too seeing anyone right now.’

‘No shit, you were pretty wasted last night, but seriously you need to come and see this.’ He threw on some lounge pants and a tee shirt and headed out into the hallway, where several others had gathered in front of the notice board, he made his way over and read the announcement.

At approximately 00:30 hrs, Corporal James Logan was hit by a vehicle while out training for his upcoming fight. On investigation it appears to have been a tragic accident, unfortunately, Corporal Logan died at the scene. His parents have been informed.

There will be an update regarding funeral arrangements for anyone wishing to attend.

Group Captain Patrick Lawson C.O.

R.A.F. Brize Norton.

Jarvis headed back to his room and locked the door behind him. He took a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels off the desk, sat on his bunk, and cried.

Round II 14yrs later.

Bobby Curtis checked his watch, 2:17 am, the rain hammering against the dorm was relentless, sleep wasn’t going to come easily tonight.

‘Sod this for a laugh,’ he got up, threw on a pair of jogging pants, trainers and a thin water-proof sports top, left his room and headed down the corridor. The emergency lighting glowed, casting a dull yellow hue over the walls. Apart from the rain bouncing off the roof, all was relatively quiet. Before leaving the building, he stopped to read a poster pinned to the notice board.

The Cpl James Logan

Memorial Boxing Tournament

Open qualifiers start: 23r d March

Bobby kissed two fingers and touched the poster.

‘Wish me luck pal, wish me luck,’ he then pushed open the door and set off into the dark. It was a good decision, the rain streamed down his face dripping off his crooked nose. Bobby never felt more alive than when he was training. Fifteen minutes later and he was almost at the far side of the base. The black tarmacadam parade square looked like a small lake, the moon reflected off its water-logged surface. There didn’t appear to be anyone about so he decided to risk the shortcut.

In the breeze, the metal links on the flag clattered against the pole echoing in the rain. Ten paces onto the square and Bobby stopped, the unusually heavy rain was playing tricks with his eyes, he could see the outline of a figure emerging in the dark and then, just as quickly it disappeared.

‘Is someone there?’ he called and edged forward wiping the water from his eyes, the rain it seemed, was actually getting heavier.

‘Hello?’ he called again, as the rain parted and the shape reappeared, shifted to the right then vanished.

‘Who’s there?’ Bobby's voice was agitated, he could feel the hairs on his neck and arms standing up.

‘Look, stop fuckin around, you’re gonna get hurt okay?’

Instinctively he raised his guard., the water splashed again, this time from behind, he spun around and watched open-mouthed as a figure began to take shape. The rain ran off an arm, and what could have been a shoulder. He reached out towards the figure, it darted to the right and landed an almighty blow to his ribcage knocking the wind from his lungs and he crumpled to his knees gasping for air.

After eight years of training, Bobby was a fit, experienced fighter but he had never experienced pain like this. It felt as if the blow had carried on through his body and out the other side. He knelt on the sodden ground, the water continued to splash around him, first in front then to the side then back again. Bobby tried to regain control of his breathing, watching as the familiar pattern skipped this way and that. Then it clicked, it was a boxer dancing around his opponent, he forced himself back to his feet and raised his fists in defence. The outline continued to flit from one side to the next, but there was nothing solid, only a shape, shifting in the rain.

‘What!’ he shouted, ‘what do you want?’ The shape continued its dance but didn't respond. Bobby wasn’t sure but he could have sworn it was shadowboxing, this was getting too weird by far. He started to back away, and as he did, the dancing came to a sudden halt. The figure moved toward him through the torrential downpour, the rain flowing over the entity like a waterfall, slowly revealing the outline of a young man.

‘This isn’t fucking happening,’ he stammered. Again he wiped the rain from his face, hoping the apparition would disappear. It didn’t, he decided to make a run for it but he was too late. The figure lunged, Bobby tried to turn but his legs were glued to the spot. Whatever it was hit him like a tsunami, filling his mouth and lungs, he gagged clutching at his throat gasping for air and then, everything went black.

06:14 am.

Seargent Stewart Lockhart and corporal Carrie Shaw of the military police were almost through their twelve-hour shift and were carrying out the last patrol of the base. Stewart had pointed out earlier that no one would be stupid enough to go out in this God-awful, shitty weather. The term he’d actually used to describe the rain was ‘biblical.’ So they decided to park behind the gym and indulge in a little, getting to know one another. Carrie pushed him back into his seat and removed his hand from inside her shirt.

‘Can you see that?’ she asked, buttoning back up, ‘on the parade square,’ she wiped away the mist from the glass and peered into the dark. Stewart fired up the engine and crawled along the road, the vision was now down to thirty feet, max so he turned the headlights to full-beam.

‘Well, it’s too early for drill practice.’ he said as he pulled up alongside the smooth black tarmac, he squinted through the windscreen.

‘It’s too early for anything.’ replied Carrie. She lowered her window a few inches, not relishing the idea of having to get out. ‘What’s he doing, he’s just standing there?’

Stewart leant across her. ‘That’s Bobby Curtis, what the hell is he doing?’

Carrie pushed him off and removed his hand from the top of her thigh.

‘Behave yourself, and who’s Bobby Curtis?

‘Corporal Curtis, amateur boxer works over at the Ground Equipment Flight.’

Carrie raised an eyebrow, ‘since when do you know about boxing? Stewart turned off the engine and made his way out of the car and pulled the waterproofs from behind the seat.

‘I don’t know Jack shit about boxing, I just know he is one, you coming or not?

The rain was still pounding as they crossed the black asphalt, Bobby; they noticed hadn’t moved. He stood motionless, arms by his sides, hood pulled tight over his head.

‘By the look of him, he’s been here a while, you think he’s alright?’ Carrie asked.

‘Only one way to find out I guess, let’s go ask him.’

Carrie shook her head and followed Stewart’s lead. ‘Talk about stating the bloody obvious.’ she whispered, but loud enough for him to hear.

‘Corporal Curtis, is that you? Bobby didn’t show any signs of responding. ‘Corporal Curtis? It’s Sergeant Lockhart, military police, is everything OK?’

Again, Bobby remained silent. Stewart and Carrie slowed their approach. They could see Bobby’s fists were clenched.

‘Be careful, he looks, a little stressed.’

Stewart flashed a look at her. ‘Stressed? I’ve been on shift for eleven hours straight.’ he marched over, ‘stressed my arse...’ he muttered as he took a hold of his arm.

‘Right, enough’s enough, let’s get you back to barracks now, or we take a ride to the guardroom, what’s it gonna be Corporal?’

Bobby’s gaze slowly shifted until he was looking directly at Stewart.

‘Take your hands off me. I won’t ask again.’ His voice was distant but carried no hint of aggression. Nevertheless, it sent a chill down Stewart’s spine.

‘What did he say?’ asked Carrie, she couldn’t hear over the noise of the rain. Stewart didn’t answer; he wasn’t too sure how to proceed, not until his testosterone and ego got the better of him. He tightened his grip and tried to escort Bobby from the square. Bobby’s right fist came out of nowhere catching Stewart in the stomach and sending him to his knees. Carrie ran to assist Stewart, he gasped for air. Bobby also went to his knees, put his hands out behind and waited for the cuffs. Carrie immediately obliged.

‘What the fuck?’ Stewart shouted struggling back to his feet and glaring at Bobby. ‘I said, what the fuck corporal?’

‘I told you to take your hands off me.’

Bobby’s voice remained calm; his eyes staring into the distance. After checking the cuffs, Stewart grabbed his arm again.

‘Yea, well let’s see you do something about it now shall we?’ And then proceeded to pull him back to his feet. ‘And by the way, you’re under arrest.’ Stewart turned and began frog-marching Bobby to the car, ‘Not so clever now are we?’

Carrie came alongside. ‘Go easy Sarge, we don’t know what is going on.’

Stewart pushed Bobby up against the car. ‘I’ll tell you what is going on, this dick head is being charged with assault on an m p, that’s what is going on.’ He paused long enough to compose himself, 'are you okay with that Corporal?’

This was the first time Stewart had ever ‘pulled rank’ and Carrie didn’t like it one bit.

‘Oh absolutely Sergeant, I’ll ride in the back, you OK with that?’

They reached the guardroom as daylight finally began to break; the rain had now almost stopped. Carrie assisted Bobby out of the car and into the guardroom. Stewart hadn’t said a word on the way back, Carrie assumed he was busy nursing his pride and was happy to let him get on with it. Once inside Stewart went directly to the phone.

‘Keep the cuffs on him; I don’t want a repeat of earlier.’

Carrie stopped before entering the corridor leading to the cells. ‘That’s not procedure sarge, he could injure himself.’ Stewart had already started dialling.

‘Just do it, Corporal, that’s an order.’

Carrie shook her head, she whispered to Bobby, ‘I’m sorry, but you heard him.’

After placing Bobby in a cell, she returned to the main office as Stewart hung up.

‘I want it noted I’m against your decision regarding the cuffs.’

Stewart began writing in the incident book. Carrie didn’t move she needed to hear his acknowledgement. Stewart; despite his best attempt to pretend she wasn’t there, finally gave in.

‘Fine, duly noted... happy?’

Carrie sat in the canteen, the hot tea and biscuits were going down a treat when another m p arrived for the day shift.

‘Morning, what’s up with him?’ he asked, motioning towards the office.

‘Morning Mike, had his ego bruised is all, he needs to get over himself.’

‘The guy in the cells I take it, what’s his story?’

‘No clue, found him on the parade square just after six, looks like he’s been there all night. Corporal over at engineering,’ Carrie chuckled to herself.

‘What’s so funny?’ he asked.

‘Turns out he’s also a boxer, floored the Sarge with one punch.’

‘No shit, are you joking?’

Carrie smiled and stretched out her legs. ‘One punch and he went down quicker than a ten-dollar hooker.’

Mike went to the large corkboard on the wall. ‘Not the best career move. So, who’s doing the interview, any idea?

‘Duty officer I imagine; it’s pretty serious, could end up with a discharge, if he wants to push for it. But then again the poor guy could be having a nervous breakdown for all we know.’

Mike checked the duty roster. ‘Squadron Leader Jarvis, you know him? ‘

Carrie shook her head.’ ‘No, doesn’t ring a bell.’

‘This was his first posting apparently, so he should be familiar with things.’

Carrie went over the conversation she had with Stewart on the issue with the handcuffs, she put her cup down, ‘Actually, I’d better go check on him,’ she got up and headed to the door. In the cell Bobby hadn’t moved, he sat exactly where Carrie had left him. The rain from his clothes had spread into the bunk creating a dark wet shadow.

‘Why is he still so wet? she thought, the water continued to drip from his face, pooling on the tiles around his feet. She opened the cell and went over to him and felt his cheek.

‘Jesus Christ your freezing,’ his body felt like ice, she left the cell briefly and returned with a blanket from the storeroom and placed it around his shoulders.

‘Looks like the duty officer is already on his way, but I think you also need to a doctor.’ Carrie watched him closely, he seemed completely unaware of her presence. ‘Right, well anyways, like I said Squadron Leader

Jarvis will be here any minute, so you better start thinking about… ’ she paused, ‘just give it some thought okay?’

Bobby raised his head, ‘I’ve been thinking about it for a long, long time.’ His voice trailed off and his head lowered again. Carrie wasn’t sure what to make of that, so returned to the canteen. Sergeant Lockhart was in conversation with who she could only assume was Squadron Leader Jarvis. The two men left the office and made their way passed the canteen to the interview room. Stewart popped his head round the door.

‘Corporal Shaw, can you join us please?’

‘So it’s Corporal Shaw now?’ Mike noted.

‘You know how it is, "officer on duty" ‘n’ all that.’ She smartened herself up, put her cap on and headed to the interview room. She knocked, entered the office, walked smartly to the desk and saluted.

‘Corporal Shaw, Sir.’

Jarvis ignored her to begin with, he carried on reading the file before him, ‘So, what’s your take on all of this, Corporal Shaw?’

Carrie was considering her reply; Jarvis looked up waiting for a response. Time hadn’t treated him kindly, his face had become thin and drawn, burst blood vessels on the nose, the tell-tale signs of alcohol abuse.

‘Well?’ he prompted.

‘Sir, well Corporal Curtis was on the parade square when Sergeant Lockhart approached him, he didn’t appear aggressive…’

‘Did you see Corporal Curtis strike, Sergeant Lockhart?’

‘Yes sir, but he’s a boxer so maybe it was reac…’

Jarvis dropped his pen, Carrie now had his full attention, ‘A boxer, you say Curtis is a boxer?’

‘Yes sir, I just meant, it may have been an automatic reaction, that’s all.’

Carrie glanced at Stewart who raised his eyebrows and gave the slightest of shrugs. Jarvis looked petrified, his face had turned white.

‘Right, well let’s get this over with, bring him in Sergeant.’

Jarvis stood; then decided to sit again, they could tell something was bothering him.

‘Actually, you both better go, just in case he kicks off again.‘

Carrie followed Stewart into the corridor. ‘What's up with that?’ she whispered. Stewart peered back through the window as they made their way to the cells.

‘Something’s crawled up his arse, I’ll give you that.’

When they reached the cell Bobby was already at the door, back turned arms out.

‘Don’t bother, the cuffs stay on.’ Stewart said coldly.

Bobby turned to face them, the water continued to run down his face, Stewart however didn’t seem to notice. Carrie went in first.

‘I’ll bring him out; you’re not going to do anything stupid, right Corporal?’ Bobby nodded and let Carrie lead him along the corridor. As they passed the window Bobby glanced inside at Jarvis sitting behind the desk, the faintest of smiles crossed his lips. Stewart stopped in front of the door.

‘Right, you’re already in deep shit, I suggest you don’t dig yourself in any deeper.’

Carrie reached from behind and pushed the door open. Bobby stepped into the room slipping Carries hold throwing his back against the door slamming it shut.

‘Shit, get back in there, quickly,’ Carrie tried the handle but it wouldn’t budge.

‘What’s going on? Stewart called, ‘Carrie, what’s happening?’

Water began seeping out from under the door; Carrie stepped out of the puddle and started banging on the window.

‘Open the door Corporal! Open the door!’

Stewart grabbed hold of the handle, and found it had become frozen, he quickly pulled his hand away removing several layers of skin in the process. Blood oozed from between his fingers, the skin had been torn off in deep jagged strips. He grabbed a scarf from the coat rack and wrapped it around the wound. Mike and another colleague came running from the canteen to see what all the shouting was about. Mike sidestepped the water, the other wasn’t so lucky. He slipped and fell hard, his head slammed onto the tiles, with a resounding crack. The puddle forming from beneath him turned dark red as the blood leaked from his skull.

‘Shit, get him up, get him up!’ Stewart called. ‘Take him back inside and call an ambulance.’

Carrie had stopped banging on the glass,’ Stewart, you better come see this.’

Stewart joined her at the window, clutching his hand, Jarvis was now out of his chair, they could see he was trembling, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk as he tried to remain upright. Bobby however hadn’t moved, he remained motionless as the water continued to run down his face. Carrie and Stewart watched in silence as the water became heavier. It poured from his mouth and nose; the eyes appeared to be crying a river of tears. The water continued to cascade down his torso drawing more and more out from his arms and legs. The water had stopped pooling on the floor, it now hung in the air around him like an upright puddle. It then slowly began to separate itself completely.

‘You have got to be shitting me.’ Stewart’s voice was trembling; he flinched as Carrie grabbed his arm.

‘Are you fucking seeing this?’ she asked.

Inside the office, the water began to take shape, first a hood and then shoulders, working its way down until the figure of a young man emerged. It raised a watery arm and pointed at Jarvis, who now seemed to have composed himself.

‘Please, just get it over with, I can’t take any more.’ stammered Jarvis.

Outside the interview room, Carrie and Stewart could see Jarvis talking but couldn’t make out what was being said. Carrie banged hard on the window again.

‘Run!’ she yelled. ‘Run, now!’ Her palms were flat against the glass, the heat from her skin and breath crystallising like snowflakes. Jarvis looked over at Carrie, the tears were now streaming down his cheeks, he turned back to the watery figure he knew was Corporal James Logan.

‘I’m sorry,’ he mouthed silently, as the figure sprang towards him, unleashing a volley of blows so quick and with such force Jarvis was dead before he hit the floor. The water wraith stood over his fallen opponent and raised its arms in triumph, punching the air with his fists. The water surged through the entity, flowing from head to toe pulsating around the chest, the light refracting in a myriad of colours. Finally, he turned back to the window and looked directly at Stewart and Carrie. He snapped to attention, gave a sharp salute and then slowly began to dissipate into the air leaving nothing but a small damp patch on the floor.

Two weeks later.

The inquiry that followed learned that Squadron Leader Jarvis had died from a massive brain haemorrhage, the cause unknown. Corporal Bobby Curtis couldn’t be implicated in anything as he had been handcuffed the entire time. Not to mention the fact he couldn’t recall anything after walking onto the parade square. He was admitted to the Medical centre for three days suffering from severe pneumonia. He later went on to win in his weight division in the James Logan Memorial Tournament.

As for Stewart and Carrie, they never dated each other again. Stewart was eventually posted to R.A.F. Gutersloh, Germany where he finished his twelve years tour of duty. Carrie left the Air Force two years later, married a drummer and went on to write horror stories and fiction in her spare time. She is still waiting to be published. Neither of them ever mentioned their brief meeting with the ghost of Corporal James Logan to anyone, ever.

The End.

*Naval Army and Air Force Institute