cowards . . .
determination of our government ... all decent‐minded people . . . personal loss
... never be deflected . . .
He reached for the telephone. He asked the switchboard for Downing Street.
Ì thought you should know, Prime Minister, it's been a bad morning for the Province . . .'
Ferment in Springfield Road barracks. Always the same after a major incident.
Local commanders always saturated their areas after a nasty one. Road blocks, foot patrols, and mobiles. No local commander would have it said that his response was lacking. Saturation in the Falls and
Clonard and Springfield and Beechmount and Ballymurphy. Kick the backside of
a platoon lieutenant or a uniformed R.U.C. sergeant who ventured to ask what they were searching for. Good reaction time was what mattered.
The Ford had been found, and collected from Bombay Street. It had been towed
into the yard at the back of the barracks. It was surrounded by traffic warning signs and a scrawled notice that read DON'T TOUCH ‐ WAITING ON F-PRINTING.
Fusilier Jones stared at the car. Nobby's bullet hole was there to see, side of the
boot entry, not too far from the back passenger seat, but just too far, worst fucking luck. He could see into the back seat through the open window.
`Bugger me . . .'
Fusilier Jones spun away from the car and doubled towards the Ops Room to find
his lieutenant.
`He's sure?' asked Sunray.
The coded radio callsign of the Commanding Officer was Sunray. He
enjoyed it, he encouraged its use. He had been heard to remark that it
38
emphasized the Battalion's active service and operational role. He
would be the Commanding Officer again when they left the Province,
but in Belfast he could be Sunray.
`He's positive,' Ferris said firmly.
`Has to be watertight.' Sunray sat at his desk.
`Can't afford a mistake, on a thing like this.' The 2 i/c was by the
door.
Ìf it's a Roger it's something of a coup.' The Intelligence Officer held
in his folded hands the VDU print‐out concerning Sean Pius McAnally. `He's absolutely positive,' Ferris said again. `He'd have to be.'
`He'd have to swear to it in court.'
'S.O.P. would be to bring in our friends in bottle‐green ... but we just might lift him ourselves.'
`Fusilier Jones will swear that the man I questioned yesterday in the Drive, Turf
Lodge, and gave his name as Sean Pius McAnally, was the same man that he saw
in the back seat of the car that we failed to stop in Divis Street this morning,'
Ferris said. `That's the beginning and the end of Fusilier Jones's statement.'
`Steady, David, you did damn well this morning. Fast professional thinking, damn
well done.' Sunray's accolade.
Ìt's identified from the R.P.G. attack location as the getaway car ... It would be a hell of a thing for the Battalion, sir, if we nailed a
42
43
**Johnny for murder. Could be the high spot of the tour ...' The Intelligence Officer's enthusiasm.
`Not a lot of thanks we get from R.U.C. these days, they'd be on their bended knees for this one.' The 2 i/c's cunning.
Ferris thought of the moment when he had seen the Armalite barrel spitting from
the window of the Ford, the moment of terror, and the moment he thought he
would die. He could feel the scrapes on his knees and elbows. He hadn't seen the
face in the back seat of the car, he had only seen the black barrel of the Armalite.
`Right, Standard Operating Procedure's that we inform R.U.C. of our suspicions
concerning McAnally . . .' Sunray was lighting his pipe.
`Police presence isn't essential for the arrest.'
`We can do it under Section 14. There's no problem.'
The face of the man burgeoned into Ferris's mind. The scrappy ginger hair, the nervy eyes, the slack chin, the mouth in the half‐smile that tried to please.
39
`Your platoon'll do it, David, 0200 hours tomorrow morning. It'll be an excellent
show for your platoon ... and bloody well done.'
Àre we going to have a surveillance detail on the house, sir?' Ferris
determination of our government ... all decent‐minded people . . . personal loss
... never be deflected . . .
He reached for the telephone. He asked the switchboard for Downing Street.
Ì thought you should know, Prime Minister, it's been a bad morning for the Province . . .'
Ferment in Springfield Road barracks. Always the same after a major incident.
Local commanders always saturated their areas after a nasty one. Road blocks, foot patrols, and mobiles. No local commander would have it said that his response was lacking. Saturation in the Falls and
Clonard and Springfield and Beechmount and Ballymurphy. Kick the backside of
a platoon lieutenant or a uniformed R.U.C. sergeant who ventured to ask what they were searching for. Good reaction time was what mattered.
The Ford had been found, and collected from Bombay Street. It had been towed
into the yard at the back of the barracks. It was surrounded by traffic warning signs and a scrawled notice that read DON'T TOUCH ‐ WAITING ON F-PRINTING.
Fusilier Jones stared at the car. Nobby's bullet hole was there to see, side of the
boot entry, not too far from the back passenger seat, but just too far, worst fucking luck. He could see into the back seat through the open window.
`Bugger me . . .'
Fusilier Jones spun away from the car and doubled towards the Ops Room to find
his lieutenant.
`He's sure?' asked Sunray.
The coded radio callsign of the Commanding Officer was Sunray. He
enjoyed it, he encouraged its use. He had been heard to remark that it
38
emphasized the Battalion's active service and operational role. He
would be the Commanding Officer again when they left the Province,
but in Belfast he could be Sunray.
`He's positive,' Ferris said firmly.
`Has to be watertight.' Sunray sat at his desk.
`Can't afford a mistake, on a thing like this.' The 2 i/c was by the
door.
Ìf it's a Roger it's something of a coup.' The Intelligence Officer held
in his folded hands the VDU print‐out concerning Sean Pius McAnally. `He's absolutely positive,' Ferris said again. `He'd have to be.'
`He'd have to swear to it in court.'
'S.O.P. would be to bring in our friends in bottle‐green ... but we just might lift him ourselves.'
`Fusilier Jones will swear that the man I questioned yesterday in the Drive, Turf
Lodge, and gave his name as Sean Pius McAnally, was the same man that he saw
in the back seat of the car that we failed to stop in Divis Street this morning,'
Ferris said. `That's the beginning and the end of Fusilier Jones's statement.'
`Steady, David, you did damn well this morning. Fast professional thinking, damn
well done.' Sunray's accolade.
Ìt's identified from the R.P.G. attack location as the getaway car ... It would be a hell of a thing for the Battalion, sir, if we nailed a
42
43
**Johnny for murder. Could be the high spot of the tour ...' The Intelligence Officer's enthusiasm.
`Not a lot of thanks we get from R.U.C. these days, they'd be on their bended knees for this one.' The 2 i/c's cunning.
Ferris thought of the moment when he had seen the Armalite barrel spitting from
the window of the Ford, the moment of terror, and the moment he thought he
would die. He could feel the scrapes on his knees and elbows. He hadn't seen the
face in the back seat of the car, he had only seen the black barrel of the Armalite.
`Right, Standard Operating Procedure's that we inform R.U.C. of our suspicions
concerning McAnally . . .' Sunray was lighting his pipe.
`Police presence isn't essential for the arrest.'
`We can do it under Section 14. There's no problem.'
The face of the man burgeoned into Ferris's mind. The scrappy ginger hair, the nervy eyes, the slack chin, the mouth in the half‐smile that tried to please.
39
`Your platoon'll do it, David, 0200 hours tomorrow morning. It'll be an excellent
show for your platoon ... and bloody well done.'
Àre we going to have a surveillance detail on the house, sir?' Ferris
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