Thank you for coming to scba-society.org The website is being built now scba-society.org was created: August 14 2012 17:03:50. Today Friday 24 May 2013 04:54:51 " I indicated the bend on the MSR. "Yes, good, we know that. This is good, Andy, you're helping us. How many people again?" "Eight of us." "Give me some of their names." This was no problem. They knew there were eight of us. If they had, in theory, five of us--dead or alive-they'd know our names, because everybody was wearing dog tags. And it appeared that I was helping, which was good--for now. Later on it might get totally out of control, and I'd spend the rest of my days answering questions. But at this stage I had no choice. Was I supposed to call their bluff and see if they would carry out their threat? I had to take it as real. I gave the names. They wrote them down. "We know this." I didn't know if that meant that they had everybody, or if it was all bluff. I played on my concern for the people in hospital and acted scared and humble, but inside my head I was racing to think about what I had said and what I was going to say. "Please, look after the people in hospital." "Tell us more about the COP platoon. What does it do?" "We just report." "Does this mean that the British army plans to invade Iraq?" "I don't know. We are never told. All we're told is to go out and do the job. We're not told why. We're just squad dies "How many COP platoons are there?" "There's one for each battalion." "How many battalions here?" "I don't know; I've never really bothered to find out. It's of no consequence to me. I'm just a soldier." I was so glad that we hadn't had vehicles with us. We were unlucky not to have them when we got compromised, obviously, but we were lucky now because vehicles might have linked us to the Regiment. Things were going well at this stage. They seemed happy with what I was telling them. There was a potential problem in that they might come back to the other two and say, "Right, we know what you're doing. You tell us now." However, the chances were slim. The boys had said nothing so far, so why should they suddenly cave in? If I didn't tell them something, they were going to let people die. If I did tell them and they found out it was another load of old bollocks, then I might be committing everybody to going through this system again, and they would die. But I couldn't see that there was anything else I could do. "Thank you very much for helping us, Andy. Things may get better for you now. If we find out you're lying, they won't. But things might get better. And I'm glad that you have had the sense to help us." His words made me feel a complete shit. Had I done the right thing after all, I asked myself? Was this going to go on? Was I going to be used now? Was I going to go on telly and be "the British lad who helped us?" I had visions of Vietnam, of people getting prosecuted and persecuted when they got home. They were marked down as collaborators by people who had no conception of the circumstances in which the so-called "betrayals" took place. But here was Richard Pryor telling me we were now best mates, and it was hard to take. "You've done well, Andy. This is good." I knew I was right to have taken their threat as real. The way they'd been treating us, I wouldn't have put it past them to kill the ones in hospital. They'd had ten years' practice at this sort of thing. "Do you want a cigarette?" "No, I don't smoke. But my friend Dinger does." "Maybe we might be able to give him a cigarette one day." "Now that I've told you, is it possible that we can have some clothes and maybe some warmth? We are very cold." "Yes, this will be no problem, because now we are friends. You can go back to your cell now, Andy, and maybe things will change. Meanwhile, we'll check on this." They put the blindfold and handcuffs back on, and took me back to the cell. Half an hour later, they came back and threw me my clothes and removed the blindfold and handcuffs. © ISPmanager licensed