CLAIREX

 CLAIREX

By John Abbott

Briiing... Briiing, Briiing... Briiing, Briiing... Briiing,

“Damn !”  The phone downstairs was ringing. Briiing... Briiing. God knows what the time was.

Briiing... Briiing.

I rolled right and yawned as I dragged myself out of my slumber and rushed my body into action. The phone was ringing again. 

I rapidly descended the stairs in the dark; fortunately, I knew the house well enough. The landline was on the wall.

Briiing... Briiing. I slapped my right hand on the telephone and lifted the receiver. A voice spoke out from the other end.

"Hello. Is James there?"

The voice was soft and female.

" No, sorry. You must have the wrong number. " I responded.” My mouth was very, very dry.

" Are you sure ? It sounds like the right number to me” Her voice was pleasant.

" No, I'm afraid not. " I replied.

" Are you on your own ? " She asked.

" Er ... Yes. " I replied with a quick thought. " What a waste ... eh ? "

" Yeah, I suppose so. "

" What are you doing ? " she questioned. " Uh ? ... I was in bed. "

" Really ? "

" Yes. "

" Do you want to know what colour underwear I'm wearing ? " she asked. I was mildly shocked. I found the question a little perturbing, but I must admit that a tiny tingle of excitement ran through my body.

" Erm ... Yeah ... Whatever. " I replied, unconvincingly.

“ White. I'm wearing white. " she stated, unequivocally.

“ White ... why white ? " I queried.

" Because I'm pure. " she purred back.

I swallowed hard, feeling excited and intrigued, but still somehow subdued. She asked me another question.

" What have you got on ? "

" Nothing ... naked. " I answered.

" Really ? Hmmmmh ... That's nice, " purred the voice. I decided to find out what was going down here.

" So, how come you're ringing me up at this time of night ? " I said, realising almost immediately that it must have, in fact, been early morning.

" I was bored. " she answered. " Sorry... ?

" I was bored. " she repeated. " Bored ? "

" Yeah ... I was bored sitting here. "

" Do you often ring up strange men at odd times of night ? " I queried, again not registering that it was morning. Her soft response sounded honest, although repetitive. " Only when I'm bored. "

My dry throat attempted to splutter out the next sentence. " Strange habush ? " Uh ... " Hobit ... "

She interrupted, " Hobbit even. "

I laughed, " Yeah ... even Hobbit. " I continued, " Isn't it an expensive habit ? " " Hmmm ... " She murmured back.

It felt very eerie talking to someone I didn't know in the dark at this time of the morning. By now, I was really curious, so I asked her a more general question.

" Well ... Tell me something about yourself ? "

" What do you want to know ? " she answered, happily. " What's your name ?”

" Claire. "

" Nice ... My names John." I questioned her again. " How tall are you ? "

" Five-foot-five. "

" What colour hair have you got ? " " Blonde ... Short. "

" How short ? "

" Erm ... Down to my neck. " she said, as I imagined her face.

" Are you attractive, unattractive, or somewhere in-between ? “

" Well ... I think somewhere in-between, but I leave that to other people. "

" I can't quite believe this. "

" You mean you can't believe your luck ? "

" Ummm ... It could be a wind-up of some sort. "

" Well, it isn't. "

I decided to ask a few more questions.

" I know you're not supposed to ask women this question, but how old are you ? " " I'm twenty-nine. " she answered.

" And ... How old are you ? " 

" Guess. "

" You sound young ... "

" Yeah ... Thank you, " I retorted, " Well, guess then ? “ 

" I'd say you were ... Twenty-six. "

" Ha ! ... I wish ! "

She laughed. It sounded really sweet. " I'm thirty-three. "

She hesitated, then asked me a more personal question. " Are you slim ? "

" Yes ... very slim. " I checked my own answer, " I mean, not skinny, but still slim. "

"Are you muscly ? "

I quipped back quickly,

" Yeah ... I've been to the gym-every day this week. " As she quietly purred approvingly, I said,

" Well, I don't suppose you can believe your luck this time can you ? "

" Mmmmmh ... " came back her wonderful murmur.

She asked another question,

" Where do you live ? " I hesitated.

" C'mon ... Where do you live ? It must be nice, because you sound posh. "

" Posh ? ... Nah, not me. I think I'm relatively intelligent though. "

" C'mon ... We could meet ... Now. " She sounded like she wanted it to happen. I felt a mild shock of excitement zip up my spine, but I resisted.

I laughed and said, " No, I don't think so. "

" Wouldn't you like to meet me ? " she asked,

" We could go for a drink or something ? ... What do you think ? " She sounded genuine, but I avoided answering.

A brief pause, and I continued. " Where do you live ? "

" Plaistow. "

" That's close ! ... What street ? " 

" Balaam Street. "

" Christ ... That's just around the corner. "

" Are you sure you don't want to meet ? " she repeated.

I became a little cautious. I knew nothing about her, so I asked yet another question. " Are you married ? "

" Separated ... Almost divorced. "

"What about your husband ? "

" He's not around. He doesn't come around. "

" I'm divorced. " I stated.

" Yeah ... Well, I'm nearly divorced. I decided to wait for the ... er ... Two year bit. "

" Umm. " was my response.

I thought I heard a sound at her end. " Who are you whispering to ? "

" Uh ? "

I lowered my voice. " Who are you whispering to ? "

“ Whispering ? ... You, silly ! " she whispered back. I must have been wrong.

" Can I ring you again ... sometime ? " she asked.

" Yes. " I replied excitedly. " But you'll have to call me at a more reasonable hour. Not at this time of night. "

I made the mistake of mixing up night and morning again. " I'll ring you again then ... When ? ... What time ? "

" Erm ... Tomorrow ... Sometime tomorrow. "

" What time ? Are you in all day ? "

" Erm ... I dunno. Er ... Six O'clock. "

" What ? In the morning ? "

I laughed. " No ... Six O'clock in the evening. "

" Are you sure ? "

" Yeah ... I think so. "

" I'll ring you again tomorrow then. "

I thought on it for a few more seconds and decided that six wasn't actually convenient. " Nah, make it Nine O'clock. "

" What ? "

" Not in the evening. Nine O'clock in the morning. A.M. " 

" Alright ... I'll ring you again at Nine O'clock. "

" Good ... "

" I've got to go ... There's someone at the door. "

" Uh ? I muttered. " Someone at the door ... At this time ? "

" Yeah, I've got to go. It's been really nice talking to you. What's your name again ? "

" John. "

" Yeah ... I'll ring you again John. "

Click ... Burrrrrrrrr ... She hung up and I replaced the receiver. 

My heart was pumping hard and I felt elated, but I wasn't sure why. I slowly slinked back to my bed. I checked my digital clock; one-twenty-one, precisely. I didn't sleep much, I couldn't.

I continuously tossed and turned. Only one thing filled my mind. Claire ... I had a prolonged, delighted feeling.

By the time daylight arrived, I hadn't slept at all since I'd spoken to her. When I climbed out of my bed at around seven-thirty, I was still thinking about her. I hadn't even thought of taking her number ... Why not ?

I waited two days obsessively for her to ring. She didn't. I never thought to ask for her number nor did I have a method to identify this.

However, I was never to receive that call.

Copyright John Abbott

 

His Demise...

 DEATH

By John Abbott

It was dark , no moon , I could barely see my hand . My gloved hand tightened on the grip of my weapon , a small double-edged blade , six and a half inches of cold hard Sheffield steel . I must be conscious of not only trying to make as little noise as possible , but of not trying too hard , that only makes it less natural . I gritted my teeth , assuring myself that I could take him , that the sleek slim darkened metal could kill him , end his life and with it , his hopes , his dreams , his thoughts ....

A final word to myself .... now lad , go !!  My left knee took the strain and moved me cautiously upwards .


There he was , three large steps away , a low wall shielding his lower legs . He was about my height and seemed cold , his breath showing slightly in the night air . I glanced down , leaves in front of me , I made a full scan , left to right , couldn't see fuck !  right !  Here goes . Don't breathe Johnny old son , no intake of air , he might hear it .

I stepped into the abyss , into the darkness , one step , stop .... second step .... here goes .... it slowly occurred to me how could I stop him falling or making a sound ?

Without giving the idea a second thought , I stepped to him .


Left hand couldn't reach over to grab his headgear , so whilst moving forward , my right hand steered a piece of Sheffield into his left kidney , a tenth of a milli-second to withdraw the blade and now his helmet was in reach . Snap the helmet back SHIT !!!! , Bollocks !!! , No strap !!! , as his helmet calmly landed on my left thigh , my fingers tightened upon it , in the same moment , his head turned slightly left . Dear old Sheffield scored the winner , tight , hard , an inch and a half below his right ear lobe and up into his brain . Job done blade withdrawn in a second , I gently cradled his body , lowered it to the ground , claret all over the shop . I sat , cross-legged upon the wall and expelled my breath .


One-nil to England chum , I thought to myself . Not exactly a text book job , what was I doing ?  Should've realised the bloody strap , what a prat , that could have done for me ?  I hadn't heard any noise , too hyped-up, didn't matter now .


I raised myself , turned and stepped back three steps into my place of origin - the darkness .

As I wiped the blade upon the rag on my belt , my last thought was cold  I wondered what they'd tell his bird ?

 

Copyright John Abbott

LAMENT

 LAMENT 

By John Abbott

Louise had only known John for seven months and she would never forget the night they met. Not that it began as anything out of the ordinary, but later it seemed so, because of the joy that it had brought to her. She had gone for a quiet evening out with two girlfriends; a couple of drinks, a meal and some good conversation was what she had expected. That's what she got, and a lot more besides. John and his friends were in the same London restaurant and it all started innocently enough. They bought Louise's group a bottle of wine, and soon enough, the two groups were sharing a table. They were all young and laughed heartily together, enjoying each others company. When the evening began to fade into early morning, John gathered up his courage and asked Louise for her telephone number and whether she would risk going out alone with him. She was delighted and immediately agreed. To her, he appeared intelligent, fit, strong, strikingly handsome, and, most of all, good fun.

 

Within a few weeks, the two of them had become constant companions. John Coleman was a Scot from Edinburgh, he was twenty-one years old and full of confidence. Louise had realised straight away that this wonderful man, who always had something to say, and willingly laughed at every opportunity, was also a caring and sensitive soul. He was a soldier, which had initially surprised Louise, he didn't seem the type in her opinion. Although she wasn't keen on the military in general, she accepted that it should not be allowed to spoil a potentially happy relationship. He was very bright indeed, and was an ambitious Corporal in the Scots Guards. He appeared to love the life and had plenty of good mates within the battalion. She loved his dry, sarcastic sense of humour, and found him so attractive, that, at times, she could hardly believe her luck. They communicated well, expressed both feelings and thoughts to each other, and knew the difference between the two. To Louise, the relationship seemed perfect. The physical side was sensual, and the mental side was intriguing; compatibility seemed assured.

  

   Then in April 1982, a group of Islands in the South Atlantic, known to some as the Falklands and to others as the Malvinas, was invaded by Argentina. What happened thereafter is now history. As events unfolded in the South Atlantic, John's battalion geared itself up for war. John was a confident, sometimes awe-inspiring kind of man and he threw himself into those days with all his heart. He seemed to realise that after all the training and all the hard work, he would now get the chance to literally 'test' himself in the cauldron of war. And when he returned, which at this early stage, he never doubted once, he would return a wiser, stronger man. John loved Louise enormously, and although he had not admitted it at the time, when his battalion left for the South Atlantic aboard HMS Canberra, he knew that he would miss her terribly. Louise had received the letter on the twenty-second of June.

     " Dearest Louise,

It seems I have been mis-cast. This is no role for me, I am no soldier at all. All those war-games were simple enough, but the reality is far too terrible for me to comprehend. I love you so much and have no wish to lose you. I shall never again take your love for granted, as I feel I have done, whilst I indulge my childhood fantasies here on these islands. I yearn desperately to come home. I promise with all of my heart that I will never leave your side in the future. I love you. I want to feel your hair and smell your body, I need your smile to bring me back to the world of the living. I want to feel your lips upon mine, our tongues to embrace forever. I miss you more than I can ever explain. Life seems so shallow here. My friends fall like leaves in an autumn wind. When I return, will you marry me? I will give this life up, I shall no longer live the life of a warrior. I shall not often spend time away from you I will endeavour to care for your every need. I love you, please ... please ... do not forget me. When my last breath escapes me upon the battlefield, it will whisper your name ..."

 

Louise had read this letter countless times before. So often in fact, that she had almost memorised it word for word. It always brought forth a flow of tears, slowly tumbling down her face. The taste of these tears on her thin lips was always of the same bitter, salty kind. She had imagined the scene a thousand times. Officially, she had been told that on the twelfth of June 1982, upon the summit of Mount Tumbledown, at 22:39 hours, G Company had, whilst giving covering fire to the Recce Platoon, came under heavy Argentine mortar and artillery fire, thus killing Corporal John Coleman and wounding two colleagues. Unofficially, she imagined it slightly differently. The love of her life, with his young friends, huddled together against the cold and the damp, clinging grimly to life, coming under a terrible firestorm of mortar and artillery shells amidst the desolate rocks on the summit of Mount Tumbledown. The ending of yet another young, hopeful life. The final words in his letter would echo forever in her soul.

" When my last breath escapes me upon the battlefield, it will whisper your name ..."

 

Copyright John Abbott

The Road Not Taken

 The Road Not Taken
- (Cast your mind back to 1975?)

John Abbott

A simple long-held dream, what could it mean?

To be an ardent military man,

Surely, I could, if anybody can?

 

I was strong, fit and hopelessly optimistic,

Maybe I was just autistic or sadistic?

I could jump, run, leap, climb and fight.

And I sort of knew, I was born bright!

 

I spent my time doing only three or four things,

I met lots of girls, which gave me wings,

I read a lot of books, and met a few crooks,

I played a lot of football, kicking against brick walls,

And I studied hard and read lots of history,

Which offered up both victory & mystery.


I applied and quickly passed all the basic stuff,

And I knew it was tough.

However, maybe I was too clever to follow this Endeavour?

After all, I had wanted it forever!


I had to follow a final medical procedure,

And of course, I was a believer!

However, I was told I had a heart with issues,

Very soon, I was using tissues!


You see, I had a faint murmur, 

Which made my dream a burner,

Doing this is never going to be an earner.

 

Didn’t believe it, still don’t believe it, I’ll never believe it,

it didn’t fit the remit!

With this, I must admit, 

There has to be a God, albeit one with wit! 

 

I wasn’t laughing, I was crying, 

All my planning, my guarantee of staffing, and they weren’t buying!

This military boy at almost eighteen, took a mental beating,

Surely this was cheating?




I suddenly lost hope, didn’t want to mope, but it was outside the scope! 

I only had one plan, it was all that mattered,

As for dreams of military glory,

They were forever shattered! 

Copyright John Abbott

Mojave Beginning ~ (Part Two)

 Mojave Beginning ~ (Part Two)

By John Abbott

Reality kicked in as Charlotte spoke to me in her soft tones.

" Mr Hireson - ten, twenty minutes maybe, OK. Would you like a drink ? "

" Yes, sure. Why not ? " She turned and my eyes caressed her buttocks. I admired her curves and thought what a shame it was that I could not really get involved. Body and looks - eight. Brain and life - probably not as much as I might hope for? I thought that I knew quite a lot about the personnel that I traveled the highways of space with. You could say, I knew all the important information about them, but even my limited experience had taught me to treat that remark with caution. One of my God-given skills was immense patience, which, coupled with intense and careful research on the net, normally gave me most of the relevant information on my fellow travelers.

And as I knew - information is power.

……………

Charlotte passed me my drink with a questioning glance. " Mr Hireson ? "

 

" Yes Miss ... Charlotte, isn't it ? " I said gently as I grasped my frosted fruit juice. I sipped from the glass and looked straight ahead into Charlotte's eyes. Name tag or no name tag, I knew more about Charlotte Fuller than she could ever have realised.

" Yes, what can I do for you Charlotte? " I asked. 

…………… 

" Well Jim ... Julius Caesar can't see a thing - it's cold, whatever it is. Bloody space junk! "

“ Shelt ... I know that you think I'm an old woman, but tell'em to go to Amber anyway. Space junk or not. we don't want it hitting us unprepared do we ? “

" No question Jim, you are an old woman ! But I'll get our customers to take some care - OK !"

" Thanks Shelt ... Standard Condition Amber - OK. "

" You got it Jim. " I said glancing yet again at my watch. I opened the channel to our passengers and put on my official captain's voice.

" Ladies and Gentlemen, we may have a minor fluctuation in our steadiness. Please proceed to Condition Amber now. Please return to your seats immediately . "

My eyes checked the instructions on my Head Up Facial Display. Each section of the lander was able to operate independently at a push - only from orbit to the lunar surface of course. My eyes blinked the relevant responses to Condition Amber :

Activate Emergency Ground Lights. Yes. Activate Independent Operation Pilots. Yes. Activate Emergency Warnings. Yes.

Activate Emergency Sealing Units. Yes. Activate Emergency Stabilisers. Yes.

Activate Radio Beacons. Yes.

Activate Emergency Extinguishers. No. 

No need to have the extinguishers in or around the Moon, any fire would be snuffed out immediately by the near-vacuum of Space. I checked our height and stability. I slowed old Lutter just a tiny bit, that should give us the manoeuvrability for any minor adjustments as we come in to Alex.

" Ladies and Gentlemen, please remember we are on Condition Amber - please ensure that you stay in your seats. "

I checked on my display where the girls were, as expected, Susan was in Section C, Jen in B and Charlotte in A, no problem ... everybody aboard should be happy enough.

 

Except for the delays - no problems. I crossed my fingers and hoped that nobody at Alex had got the jitters. Christ knows, times were hard enough with the trouble in the Belt without any extra security nonsense.

……………

Charlotte smiled as she spoke " Mr Hireson, I don't suppose ..." she paused,

“I hope you don't think it too forward of me, but, would you fancy a drink sometime with me would you ? " Her smile grew wider.

I was mildly surprised ... rather Charlotte than Jenny I thought.

" Ermm ... I don't know. I've not got a lot of time. " My head was working overtime. I told myself, I'm only young and must take every opportunity that comes my way, but I had plenty of problems on my plate already.

 

" I'll give you a call after we land maybe, eh ? " her smile stayed upon her face, but not as broad, I was glad to see that I hadn't disappointed her entirely. 

Then something happened ... 

A massive blast was heard and the shock rattled through A section, my head and neck were immediately forced back into the padded seat. Charlotte was flung like a childs doll at speed up the central aisle as the front end of our section closest to section B was sent spinning over my head, the whole section was rotating end over end backwards. The rapid spinning rotation indicated our separation from the remainder of the OTL which was standard in emergency situations. In a second, darkness enveloped us only for the the emergency lights to crash into our consciousness, and for what seemed endless seconds - there was silence ... total silence. The spell was almost immediately, outrageously broken by the shockingly loud wailing siren. It cut through the hot air that hung inside our section of the lander, splashed itself into our faces and assaulted the eardrums of everyone aboard our section of the Lutter. I felt rivulets of sweat dribbling down my sides. The siren was screaming at us through the stifling air, one or two people who hadn’t heeded the earlier warnings were tumbling in a weightless panic - I'd briefly imagined an OTL full of screaming lunatics, but it wasn't like that at all. A few faint groans, a little whining, but generally pretty calm which was relatively surprising due to our present circumstances. I had no doubts that we were hurtling through space and I assumed that we would all soon be dashed into the desolate, dead lunar landscape.

 

No doubt if this is my death I see approaching, then a few officials on Earth would by now be thinking about my guilt. I feel sure that my death would be seen by them as God’s justice.

 

Almost immediately, our section of the Lutter kicked violently sideways ... you could hear the passengers gasping. One weightless woman (Anne Jackson I believe?), a yard to my right, although unconscious, was spinning wildly, globules of blood and tissue gyrated around a large gash on her her head, it reminded me of some strange psychedelic effect. Again our section kicked violently sideways, much stronger than the earlier one ... It was in opposition to the direction of our tumbling and noticeably slowed the end over end motion. The couple of unstrapped passengers appeared much gratified by this, whilst the nearby woman still twirled amidst her own blood. A third extremely violent kick sideways tipped the section up at an angle, my seat straps strained along with everyone else, the ridiculous sirens stopped their wailing and thankfully the tumbling end over end was now almost imperceptible. I couldn't understand why the sirens were used at all, all they had done was scare the shit out of the passengers and numb their brains for a short period. All these types of landers had separate sections, each pressurised individually and each with limited although necessary piloting capability, I figured that someone had sorted the stabilisers out first to enable us to have a chance of surviving. As the tumbling stopped, my thoughts turned to what sort of catastrophic problem had caused our little calamity. There must have been a blast, exact cause unknown, and what the hell had happened to the rest of the Lutter?

 

A voice then stuttered into life onto A section's intercom and an overly-loud male voice began to speak. “I have stabilised the section.”

Not quite true I thought. We still had motion, but backwards and subtly right, it was at least no longer violent and was a damn sight safer than earlier.

“I would be most grateful if somebody with flight dynamics experience could help me out back here?”

I knew a bit, but kept silent ... a low profile was best in my position.

Not that it mattered, a small man - Parkin, was that his name? - five or six seats back on the port side of our section of Lutter moved tentatively towards the rear using the seats to stop himself from spinning in the weightlessness. He was dressed in combat gray overalls and wasn't instantly recognisable - although I had guessed his name, as I mentally scanned the passenger list that I had retrieved on Sunday, but then I had only noted people that I perceived to be of any importance or that I would have to talk to or deal with directly. He stopped and guided the unconscious Anne Jackson back into her seat - the globules of blood remained free floating to my right.

The section had been fully booked on Sunday - eighteen passengers in total.

 

Obviously I hadn't checked to see if anybody would cancel or not and when I had arrived at Houston early on Monday, A section turned out to be two passengers short, then there was Charlotte of course and presumably the section's steward as well. Hopefully, Charlotte should be OK, Yeah, she should be bruised and shocked but generally OK.

In the shock of our situation, I had almost blotted her entirely out of my mind.

I loosened my seat straps and turned to look down the central aisle for her. I couldn't see her at first, but then someone had got her seated. No doubt I would see her pretty face again after we'd got ourselves down.

The loud male voice boomed out over the intercom,

“Ladies, Gentlemen ... This is Steward Fredericks speaking. We ... that Mr Parkin and I, have made a quick assessment and we figure that the best policy right now is simplicity. We have therefore decided to land upon the Moon as soon as possible and signal for help.“

As I heard it, I knew straight away.

“Hopefully, this delay will take no more than two or three hours. When Mr Parkin and I have more information, we will relay it immediately.”

Lies - unadulterated lies. It must have been obvious to the other passengers as well in particular the regular shuttle-riders. I wondered ... If we had been only twenty to thirty minutes from landing at Alexandria, then we would almost certainly be quite some distance away now, and definitely north of Alex, probably over the highlands somewhere, which wasn't good.

My brain began to grind over the possibilities for myself, not that I didn't trust this pair, but they weren't looking out for the personal safety of John Hireson ... I was!

If we land ... it’ll be bumpy but relatively safe, when the beacons are turned on ... we shouldn't have to wait more than a few hours.

Of course there were major flaws with this little idea ... we don't know where we are for a start, hence the delay before rescue could be a long one ... possibly longer than our on-board supplies of air and water. And this plan assumes that we haven't sustained any damage to our major systems. The beacons should work but we don't know what happened to spark our little disaster initially on our journey into Alex do we ? Personally, I'd have gone with another plan. Spend a little time looking first, set off our beacons now, something is bound to pick up the signal, then get as close to a base as possible before landing. There might even be a base fully within range of our limited fuel ... although I doubted it. Steward Fredericks loud voice again spoke,

" Please strap yourselves in tightly ... we will attempt to land in a few minutes. "

……………

 

I tightened my seat straps as far as I could and stupid as it might have seemed, I crossed my fingers and hoped we'd be ok. I couldn’t believe that my personal safety would now depend on a ‘Fredericks’? Weird?

I spent a fleeting moment allowing my mind to caress Eleanor, which was another story entirely.

Obviously the descent was in itself not at all dangerous, but, the landing ... Now that was another thing entirely.

These old types of landers were similar in design to most classes of modern sub-orbital buses, but because they only operated from orbital transfer stations to bases they weren't very rugged, especially as separated sections ...

Normally, I'd have opted for one of the excellent first-class OTL's, but I didn't want to attract any attention to myself, so I'd taken the cheap commercial one instead, dear old Lutter.

Brilliant strategy ... I thought sarcastically.

(To be Continued)

Copyright John Abbott