About the Author

Trevor Towers was born in Brighton, England, at the end of

World War II. As the son of a naval officer, he spent much of
his childhood in Malta, where his father was posted. Trevor
cherishes these memories to this day.
The family later returned to England and settled in Portsmouth.
Trevor attended the Royal Hospital School, also known as
Holbrook, near Ipswich. It was a boarding school with a
strong focus on instilling its pupils with the values and skills
necessary for a career in the British Armed Forces.
Trevor subsequently spent many years in the Army; his
experiences from those days have a strong influence in his
writing. He has married twice, and has five sons.
Much of Trevors life has been spent travelling the world or
living overseas. Time spent in Saudi Arabia, Iran, Africa, and
Asia have inspired many of his stories.
In 2004, whilst holidaying in Phuket, Thailand, Trevor and his
wife Petra were caught in the Boxing Day Tsunami. They were
swept away by the full force of the wave that killed so many
but miraculously, they survived. Despite their terrifying
experience, they fell in love with Thailand and its people, and
subsequently settled in Hua-Hin, where they still reside today.

Other books by Trevor John Towers see:

www.trevortowersbooks.webs.com

Dedication
May you rest in peace Dana.
And Linda

Copyright Trevor John Towers (2015)

The right of Trevor John Towers to be identified as author of this
work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and
78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the
publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this
publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims
for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British
Library.

ISBN 9781784552930 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781784552954 (Hardback)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2015)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LB

Printed and bound in Great Britain

Frank was being shouted at again, you would have thought that
every soldier was deaf or something. He did not understand
what this sergeant was shouting about, or actually what he was
saying to him only three inches from his ear, it was just a
thundering booming of a noise, but all the same Frank said
Suh, the nominal answer to an order.
It was the morning muster Parade when the sergeant saw
some stubble on the bottom of his cheek. The forever daily
inspection done first thing in the morning of every day, what a
bore even more so for an eight year served soldier.
Frank had been in the army for eight of the nine year
contract he had with them, and then it was bye, bye as far as he
was concerned. He felt that he had earnt his shilling and done
his job well, with the exception of a couple of bits of trouble,
where he lost his stripes.
It was a bit like coming home, back to the old barracks
where he had done his basic training as an infantry man first
and then a guardsman second and was then posted to Pirbrigtht
Barracks, Surrey, not far from Guildford, now he was there
again he hoped for his basic training on how to become a
bodyguard, driver to VIPs. He had done his time as a
guardsman, and all of the marching about for the tourists, now
he was ready to take it a bit easy, so he applied. Twice he had

been a corporal and twice he had been busted, but the rank
would come back because he was a brilliant soldier.
As a driver bodyguard his duties would be minimal, more
so the fact that he would be taxiing around the top dogs,
Brigadiers upwards. His only concern was that he only had a
year left to serve so would the army train him up for just a
years service. It would be one hell of a job to put on a C.V.
when he needed it though.
He had an interview with his Battalion Commander, who
gave him a very good commendation for the job, that went a
long way and now it was up to him. He had passed all of the
chit chats and was now about to start the hands on type of
training.
While sitting in the NAFFI that evening he found an old
friend from his regiment.
Well Ill be blowed, Peter, how the hell are you doing,
mate? Long time, no see.
Peter was just as surprised, For fucks sake mate, it was a
year ago out in ganners.
Thats right after that contact with the Taliban in that
shitty little hut that they all went into.
Franks mind returned to that day in Afghanistan, they had
plenty of action and indeed lost their share of good men, but
this one action seemed to be strange from the beginning, well
more like a learning curve really.
They were walking down what the Afghanis called a
street, it was a sand track really and they were patrolling as per
the book; five guys down either side of the street and at least
ten yards apart. At the end of the street was a small sandy
coloured shack of a house. An entrance was central to the front
wall and it had a small window either side with a flat straw
roof. The patrol watched as at least six Afghanis men made
their way to and then into the house. The patrol ignored them
and carried on searching the street.