Imagine There's No Heaven

Imagine There’s No Heaven

  A Novel by P M Harrison

 

  Thank You For Purchasing This PM Harrison Novel

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  Copyright 2014 by P M Harrison.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Hill Farm house, 44b Wappenham Road, Helmdon, Brackley, Northants, NN13 5QA

  Published by PM Publishing 2014. For further information visit PMHarrison.com

 

 

  Acknowledgements

  As an author I’m constantly amazed by the people around me who help me to keep writing, to keep creating new ideas, and to keep finding inspiration. I’d like to thank Kim Sheard for her help on Imagine There’s No Heaven, for keeping me writing when my motivations were lacking, and for making sure my writing was on point. I’d also like to thank Jean Karlsen, my muse and constant source of inspiration.

  Finally, a huge thank you to all the men and women who fight to keep us all free. You are all heroes and my heart goes out to you all.

  A Fire Through The Night Sky

  “This is Private First Class Johnson. We’re taking heavy fire. Falling back to—” Johnon’s voice was silenced as a blast erupted from beneath the jeep. The vehicle was tossed through the air. Time seemed to slow its galloping pace as the vehicle spun in midair. Daniels’ neck cracked against the window. Blood burst over his shirt. Was it his own blood? He couldn’t even tell.

  With a thundering crash the roof of the jeep impacted on the ground. An orgy of metal tore through the air. Daniel’s body was pounded into crippling agony. He found himself lying on his back on the hard sand. “Are you okay?” He spat out blood. No one answered.

  Daniels tried to move, but his body was dead weight. He could see the shadows sweeping over the sand as the enemy approached. The shadows crawled over him like a vulture. He waited, knowing he was out of options. A sharp weight stabbed into his chest and a foreign voice yelled a command.

  Base would soon know Daniels’ squad had been taken. Johnson’s message had been cut off. That meant one thing to whoever was listening: Either the entire squad had been killed, or they had been captured.

  Being a soldier meant your every move was tracked, analysed and interpreted. Within minutes, news of Daniels’ capture would be spread. And not just through the base. The news would be leaked; on the internet, on the news, spread by journalists sitting at computers, waiting to turn this tragedy into a story for mass consumption. And what would become of Daniels? As with all soldiers, he knew his life now hinged on the verdict of an official sitting at some office desk thousands of miles away. He muttered a prayer beneath his breath as two enemy soldiers grasped him about the torso. A fist hammered his head. All fell to black.

  * * *

  Thousands of miles away, Imogen Cormun’s back was burning as she completed her fiftieth pull-up in the basement of her suburban home. Her trapezius glimmered with sweat. Her black tank top was drenched. Her mind was in full-on military mode. She thought of herself like Jekyll and Hyde, only without the evil and murder. Part of her brain was all military. The other part was all family. Trying to merge or even balance the two was impossible.

  “Just a couple more,” she urged herself, pulling every ounce of energy from her body.

  A news reporter could be heard from the TV in the background. “. . . from what we hear, the attack occurred just a couple of hours ago,” the reporter was saying. “No news yet regarding the welfare of the squad, led by one Lieutenant Daniels.”

  Imogen let go of the pull-up bar and dropped gracefully to her feet, turning to watch the TV.

  “In a press statement, General Swanson called this an unprovoked attack on our soldiers. It is, ‘An inexcusable act of war,’ said Swanson, who was quick to add that the army will ‘Do whatever is necessary to ensure the safety of the troops.’ Precisely what Lieutenant Swanson meant by this, we have yet to discover. And now over to sports, it’s been a big day for. . .”

  Imogen eyed her phone as it rang. She knew who it was.

  “Cormun,” she voiced in cool, metallic tones. Usually she spoke softly, effeminately; that was the voice of Imogen, but the voice of Major Cormun was strong, crisp, precise and always to the point.

  “It’s Swanson,” the deep, resonant voice of the general boomed through the earpiece. “You’ve heard the news?”

  “You’re sending troops in?”

  “Immediately.”

  “And you want me in?” She knew the drill all too well.

  “Damn it, Cormun, you know I don’t want you in. If I had any other—“

  “If you had any other choice you’d send someone else… I guess you’re all out of choices, then. When?”

  “We need you at the base right away.”

  “On my way.”

  She hung up then immediately dialled another number. “It’s Imogen,” she said.

  “Oh god, Imogen, Swanson isn’t calling you in on this one, is he?” It was Roy, her closest and oldest friend. “Does Jerry know?”

  “He will soon. Listen, Roy, I need a ride.”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  It was amazing how quickly and absolutely her life could be turned upside down. Two minutes ago she had been Imogen Cormun, wife and mother of one, a regular woman—well, except for the fact that she was doing pull-ups at twelve thirty at night. Now, she was once again Major Cormun, a soldier deployed to fight for her country. Two minutes. Two utterly life changing minutes. She sighed. This is what you signed up for, Imogen. Pull it together, she ordered herself.

  It was with a heavy heart that Imogen marched up the stairs and entered her bedroom, where Jerry sat on the bed, dressed only in a pair of white briefs. His head was in one hand, a glass of water in the other. His downturned expression made clear that he had already heard the news.

  “Why couldn’t you just say no, damn it, Imogen,” he muttered weakly.

  “You know why,” she said.

  “Because Guy deserves to grow up in a world where people will fight for each other, where freedom is protected—yeah, yeah, I know the rhetoric, Imogen. But they could have sent someone else.”

  “They chose me. It’s my duty to go.”

  “Your duty is to Guy. Your duty is to this family.”

  “And to my country. Lietenant Daniels and his men could be murdered, Jerry. If I can do anything to help them then I must.”

  “You’re not a one woman army, Imogen. You’re a mother, for god’s sake, a mother; a mother of a three year old child.”

  “Jerry, for God’s sake, you’re one of us. You’re a soldier too. You know the deal.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not a mother,” Jerry barked. “Your son needs you.”

  “Jerry, I’ll probably be back in a few weeks.”

  “Don’t you dare, Imogen. Don’t you dare give me that rose-tinted glasses bullshit.” He tossed his hands in the air in defeat. He knew she was going. He knew there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He was fully aware of how utterly irrelevant he was in this picture. And, if he was honest, he knew it wasn’t Imogen’s fault. He knew she had no choice. He just hated it. “When are you going?”

  “Roy is on his way right now.”

  “Now?!” Jerry gasped. He scrunched his hair up in anger, leapt up and paced
up and down the room in desperation. “I’m calling Swanson. I’m telling him you can’t go. I’m telling him they’ve no right to send the mother of a three year old child, that—“

  “Jerry, stop,” Imogen said, wrapping her arms around Jerry. “You know I have to go. You know this is the life I signed up for. There isn’t a choice, Jerry. I’m sorry.” She held him closer. “Listen, baby, I love you so much; so very, very much…” Sshe kissed him on the lips.

  Jerry couldn’t speak. He just nodded his head. Reluctantly, Imogen turned from him. “I love you.”