Philip couldn't find a comfortable position to lie in without experiencing pain. He'd really pushed his body to its limits getting the money. His sheets were soaked with sweat. Despite the way he felt physically, the sun was shining through, and his cheeky smile would have told anyone looking in that he was going to live. He dragged himself out of bed and unlocked his cupboard. The rucksack was still there, full of cash. He had estimated about four hundred thousand Great British Pounds.

It was lunchtime, so he dragged his sorry body to the shower and gave it a good hose down. He couldn't be bothered to shave. He thought the rules could go fuck themselves today. He got dressed in clean civilian clothes and went for lunch. The spread was good. Tim was one of the Chef's on duty. Philip had saved him from a beating one night from the 'Monk'.

The Monk was one of Philip's best friends. A good lad to have around when the shit hit the fan but an uncontrollable idiot to everyone else - a real psychopath. Philip was sure Tim had been spitting in the Monk's dinner from that day on - it's called the last laugh. The Monk couldn't see the consequences of his actions.

He was called the Monk because he did a year of priesthood before joining the army. His life was a messed-up contrast - 'let's love and forgive' versus 'counting how many he just shot for Her Majesty'. Philip looked at Tim and said, "You put on a good spread today." Tim replied, "Been up all night, boss, been up all night." Philip smiled while taking an extra-sized portion of chicken in cream cheese sauce. Tim asked, "Why are you back before the others?" Philip just lifted his shirt. Tim nearly fainted. "And I took one to the side of my head. The new helmets we have saved my life. There was a big shoot-out. We got four of them." Tim was in total shock. "I'll make you something nice for dinner tonight." Philip smiled, "I love a good surprise, can't wait."

Refuelled, Philip headed out to a car sales garage. He'd seen some camper vans and wanted to check them out. He had a car, but it had been in two serious accidents, and his motorbike was overheating, so it needed a good service. A camper van and the Black Forest seemed like a good idea. He stood looking at several campers. One in particular caught his eye. It was cherry red, with a bed, fitted kitchen, and all the necessary plates, cutlery and sundries. It had a canopy you could pull out from the side – he was in love. The best part was the driver’s big bucket chair could swivel right around. The camper even had a secret hiding place, perfect for all his cash. He was sold on it and didn't even need to worry about the price. The guy was willing to throw in some extras and even take his bike and car as a part exchange. The deal was done.

The next plan was a nice watch. He headed back into the city straight for the big jewellery

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shops. Philip knew what he wanted. The super-hot Assistant came over and immediately started flirting with him. Philip said he wanted something that wouldn't break, looked good, and he didn't care about the price. The Assistant sat him down, swiftly moved to the safe and pulled out a nice-looking wooden box. She opened the box in front of him. Philip's face lit up. He'd never seen such an expensive array of watches. They must have been worth millions. He looked each one over and spotted a silver coloured metal watch with a deep red face. This is the one, he thought. It'll match my new red camper van. “How much?" The Assistant said, "Twenty thousand." "I'll take it, and I also want a nice-looking, much cheaper everyday watch. One that's waterproof." Business was wrapped up and Philip agreed to return with the cash the following day for both the camper van and the watches.

The next day arrived. Philip was extremely excited. He had his watch, camper van, map, rations, a couple of cartons of cigarettes, a full tank of fuel, plus his 'fuck the world I'm off' attitude. He was on his way to the Black Forest for some needed rest and a bit of adventure on the side. The trip was easy. It was signposted all the way and his driver's bucket seat was just the best.

He pulled up at a viewing rest-spot. He hadn't even got out of the camper when a cutelooking hippie girl started hitting on him. He wasn't interested. The idea of thrashing around between the sheets was actually painful in his current state. He just smiled and put the kettle on for the first time. He hadn't sat down long when he spotted what looked like paragliders in the sky. He looked at his map and located where they were. His heart was pounding. He couldn't pack up quick enough. The cute hippie girl waved at him. He smiled, honked his horn, and put his lead foot on the accelerator.

This camper was now a hot rod with the way he was driving it. He knew he was getting closer, when all of a sudden, he saw a sign, 'Terry's Paragliding School'. He hit the brakes and swerved in. A tall man came out of a cabin. Philip shouted in an excited voice, "Are you Terry?" The man laughed, throwing his hands in the air, "Fucking Englishman! Only an Englishman talks like that!" Pointing his finger at Philip. The man was Terry. The two greeted each other, and Terry soon had Philip orientated to the paragliding way of life. He allowed him to park the camper on his site and gave him full access to the facilities. Philip pulled out a big wedge of notes and paid upfront for his basic, advanced and tandem paragliding pilot courses. It was like every Christmas rolled into one. He was so excited. He'd agreed with Terry to start in a week's time, which suited him as he really did need to care for himself.

Philip soon scoped out the local shops with the best organics - why not, he had the money. He went out every day with his map, checking out a hundred-mile radius. He'd made a game of it, pretending there was an enemy, and he had to find all the escape routes.

Then one day, he bumped into Jack. Life was about to take a positive turn and Philip was going to learn a whole bunch of new skills. Jack was a bird watcher. What could a bird watcher named Jack teach Philip? For one, Jack could catch most birds by sneaking up

Philip Jonathan Lloyd

on them. That blew Philip's mind. Jack also taught him what to listen for in the changes of bird songs. What was a change and what was a stop due to survival distraction. He taught him a whole bunch more that wasn't written into any military textbooks. There was one thing that really spiked Philip's curiosity, and that was Jack's satellite dish. It wasn't actually a satellite dish but a bird-listening gadget that looked like a satellite dish. It could pick up the slightest bird sounds when pointed in the right direction. Philip had other ideas for this new toy.

Jack told him that he had a professor friend at Berlin University who specialised in these gadgets. Philip figured immediately that this guy was a top German Military Intelligence Scientist. He was willing to make one for Jack that was far better than the one he had as they were friends. But Jack could not afford the money for the parts. Philip told Jack to order two as he would be willing to pay for them both. It was a 'thank you' for all Jack's knowledge he was willing to share.

The Scientist jumped at the chance to do the work without question. He needed the money as he was getting married. The cash changed hands, and that's how Philip took possession of some of the world's highest spec listening equipment. Philip, in his time off, also found a car body shop that was willing to create some very secret hiding places in the camper. And they did an outstanding job. So good, Philip had to draw a little map to remind himself where they were. Meanwhile, it was the most exciting day one in the history of day ones! Flight school with Terry!

Philip's body still wasn't a hundred percent, but a little scratch wasn't going to get in the way now. Anyhow, day one and two were all theory. Philip loved learning about the environment and how it all worked. His education on the weather was very good, having been brought up in the countryside, surrounded by farmers who knew their stuff. But flight school took it to a whole new level.

Flight school took off. Excuse the expression. Philip grasped the basics like take-offs and landings quickly and practised them until he could do them like a pro. He naturally moved into the advanced training pushing the boundaries ever more each day. He was soon solo, working on getting his hours up. The last course was tandem flights. That came easy. He bought two para gliders from Terry. A high performance and tandem, plus all the other equipment like an emergency parachute, crash helmet, two-way radio, etc.

Both Philip and Terry, and whoever was around at the time, went out to hit the local bars. Chatting up the local talent and just generally having a great time. The paragliding was serious business, but there was also time to party.

Philip needed to call the camp as he knew the boys would be back any day. His Sergeant Major answered the phone, and this is how it went, "Hey boss, it's Philip Hanson." The Sergeant Major just said in a super cold tone, "And where are you Hanson?" That was it. Philip knew with that tone he was screwed and the conversation was about to go sideways. The big question was, how sideways? Philip said, "Black Forest, Sir!" A

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screaming voice came back at him "The Black Forest!" "Yes, Sir." Philip replied. "What are you doing down there, you fucking cunt?" was the reply. Ouch, Philip had to think quickly, "It's a paragliding course." Fuck - Fuck - Fuck, Philip thought, he should have said convalescing. Too late. "You're supposed to be in fucking bed!" His voice was like a sonic boom down the phone. But before he could say, 'You're fucking dead', Philip got in there quickly, shouting back, "I'm not a fucking girl named fucking Wet!" It was not about playing a testosterone-spitting competition. Calming the boss down was an art, and it starts to simmer when you stand up to him. But then, you have to be willing to listen to whatever he says, never take it to heart, let him have the last word, then make him so very right for his point of view and all the words he said, exactly the way he said them. Philip got a bit more earache. He agreed to come back for the big parade day. Besides, he was going to get a few medals and the boys missed him. After parade day, he was going to get three months off. Some for sick days and some overdue leave entitlement for being in the war. It was worth it.

Philip had finished his training with Terry and was concentrating on get his hours up flying. He explained to Terry he had to go back for about a week but would be straight back. On the drive back to camp, Philip realised he hadn't, all this time, called his mother. "Crap, crap, fucking crap!" Philip yelled as the steering wheel of the camper got a good pounding. Last time he forgot to call, to be fair, he hadn't called or written in a year, his mother called the big boss of the camp, who then pulled him in. It wasn't for a chat but global humiliation. It started with, "I got a call from your mummy, she says ET hasn't called home for a long while. Never in the history of this Regiment has the biggest brass had to deal with mummy's anxiety. I'm not a Family fucking Counsellor. Get it fucking handled! Make sure it never happens again and get the fuck out of my office!"

Philip was used to his beatings. One night, Philip, the Monk, and their mate Dev, had gone out for a quiet drink. So they ended up totally shit-faced drunk. Philip was holding on to the bar because if he didn't, he was going to fall over. This German guy, a real nice, friendly guy, patted Philip on the back and said, "Hey Englishman, how are you?" That was the start of a world war because Philip lost his grip and fell over. The Monk and Dev thought the German had punched Philip. Long story short, all three of them were arrested and handed over to the British Military Police, who were trying to be in competition with the Nazi Gestapo.

They were pulled up in front of the big cheese the next morning, and this is what he said, "Dev, you're a fucking idiot. You were so drunk it was an outright disgrace to the Regiment. Monk, you were so fucking drunk, in charge of that little fat fucking body of yours, I should lock you up for life. I fucking hate you Hanson!" his voice dropped and he had a look of surprise on his face, "You were so drunk you should be fucking clinically dead." That was the hardest ordeal Philip ever had to endure, especially as he was still hungover. Somehow, by the luck of the gods they were still alive. They managed to sneak back to their rooms and shut the door for a few days.

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Philip returned back to camp, standing to attention in front of his friendly Sergeant Major – not! Yelling, "The big boss doesn't want to face you right now because he can't decide whether to shoot you or pin a fucking medal on you. So, let's give him a skip. Now tell me what the medical centre told you? Don't answer that!" The Sergeant Major waved the medical report at Philip. He said, "This is how it works from now on, you take this and go straight to the medical centre. Get your exams and come back to me. You don't eat, piss, shit or fucking dare talk to anybody other than the fucking quack! Understand me?!" "Yes sir!" "Now, fuck off!" Philip caught a glance through an open door. It was one of Philip's mates cracking up at him getting reamed out. Philip didn't say a word just in case it was some fucked-up test and the Sergeant Major was watching.

At the Medical Center, the Doc said that he looked like he was in good overall shape but needed to rest and struck him off the duty roster for six weeks. Philip tried to get him to commit to eight, but the Doc wanted to see him again before doing that. He went straight back to the Sergeant Major and handed him the sick note. The Sergeant Major already knew the outcome because he told the Medical Centre to call him when Philip arrived, then call when Philip left and report the Doc's decision. He was keeping a tight rein on this tearaway loose cannon. If he only knew what Philip had really been up to. The consequences of that didn’t bear thinking about.

The Sergeant Major said, "Now here's your next command, and don't fuck with me. I don't want to hear about any drinking, fights, or you jumping out of some girl's fucking bedroom window getting chased down the road by her old man. You fucking got that?" "Yes sir!" Philip said. "You go to your fucking room and stay there till parade day. I will be sending spies out. They will be everywhere, and they will be the person you least suspect. Everywhere! Maybe if you're a good fucking boy, we could talk about a promotion when you get back." "That would be nice sir! Maybe taking more responsibility is what I need." That was so tactical of Philip. He agreed with him, made him right, and reassured him that he was a good boy all in one breath - genius. The Sergeant Major now changed his tune, probably because he felt he had Philip back under his control. The Sergeant Major said in a friendly voice, "Okay, you can go now." As Philip walked away, he spotted his friend and promptly gave him the finger.

Webby, Langers, Vic, and Julien were waiting outside Philip's door for him to get back. Man! They were super excited to see their boss! Like little kids, they all asked questions at once and demanded answers. Philip was feeling relieved that they had survived the end of the war without him. They wanted to go to their bar on the camp. Philip had to bring them up to speed with what the Sergeant Major had said and tell them about the spies and all. The plan was simple: they were going to get a crate of beer and sneak it into Philip's room. Philip agreed. I mean, how could he say no to his band of blood brothers; ones that would lay down their lives for him.

Parade Day arrived. All the boys were lined up with just a few empty spaces where wreaths were laid. Seeing the empty spaces made even the very tough guys well up.

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When the medals were handed out, the Commanding Officer laid a medal on each wreath. Philip knew some of the soldiers represented by the wreaths. He left his tears for a private moment back in his room. However, a tear right then was no lessening of status. He got his service medal and a medal for his bravery. The Commanding Officer stopped to talk to him. “I want to see you moving up the ranks Hanson. I need people like you by my side. There are other things going on we need help with. Can I count on you?” Philip said, “Yes sir, you can count on me, I’d appreciate that.” The CO winked at him and moved on.

After the Parade, the Sergeant Major said Philip could go to the bar but that he was to behave himself and that he would be watching. Philip liked and respected the Sergeant Major, but this was going to be a huge challenge. The bar was crammed and the noise level was off the charts. These boys knew how to knock back the beers. It was a great night. It marked an end of a battle and the start of a new beginning.

The next day was sober-up and clean-up day as it was the last day before freedom and party, party, party. Philip cleaned his room and did his share in barking orders to get the place ready for inspection at 14h00 hours. They all knew the inspection would be done by some pissed-up officer who also didn’t want to be there; easy peasy.

Freedom day came, and the boys split faster than you could say 'fuck off!' The camp was silent once again. Philip had his adventure planned out. Little did he know it was going to be even bigger than he ever imagined.

Philip Jonathan Lloyd