“The car was waiting for them at the camp gates. A Rover 400. Possibly green, although it was hard to tell beneath the six inches of dust and bird shit. Which made it perfect for transporting a couple of Regiment men down to London. Bald climbed into the back. Porter folded himself into the front passenger seat. After the briefing with the CO he’d returned home and taken a hot shower and then shaved and changed into his civvies. Now he wore a pair of dark-blue jeans and a grey leather jacket ove...r a wrinkled flannel shirt and t-shirt combo, as well as a scuffed pair of Merrell boots. He felt vaguely more human than a few hours earlier. The driver was a prematurely balding guy in a crumpled suit who introduced himself as Glover. He didn’t say much, and Porter didn’t bother pressing him for details. If Ruck knew the sum total of fuck-all, Glover was likely to know even less. The three men were silent as they headed south out of Hereford and hit the A40 just outside of Gloucester. Every few miles Glover checked the rear-view mirror, no doubt to make sure they weren’t being tailed.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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