Chapter 49
FRASER
Fraser had been nineteen when he’d joined the army. He’d been a plumbing apprentice working for his dad at the time, seduced by an advert which promised better pay, free accommodation and good promotion prospects. Fraser’s mum had cried for ten days straight.
‘She’s frightened of losing you, son. She’ll come round.
’ -Fraser’s dad might have been frightened too, but he hadn’t been the type to admit it.
Real men kept their feelings to themselves and besides, he was bursting with pride.
‘Serving Queen and country,’ he would tell his mates down the pub. ‘No greater honour.’
In the weeks between signing up and starting his training, Fraser had occasionally thought about the risk of taking a bullet, or of stepping on a landmine and being blown to smithereens.
But the concept had felt unreal, and he had focused instead on training hard in the gym, as though muscle alone would stop the shrapnel.
He’d been a good soldier. A team player with sound judgement and good instincts.
Calm in a crisis. He’d done a tour in Afghanistan, then a second.
A third in Iraq. A few years on German barracks.
The first time he’d shot someone he’d thought he might throw up, and the green tinge on his comrades’ faces suggested he wasn’t the only one.
But several hours later they had learned that two of their regiment had been killed in the same conflict, and Fraser’s nausea had given way to anger.
It had been this anger which had sustained him throughout the remainder of his service; from that point, Fraser had fought not only for Queen and country, but for his fellow soldiers. His fallen brothers.
A knee injury had put paid to his future in the army, and he’d been unceremoniously spat back out into society.
There had been a certain cachet to being a serving officer, but now he was a civvy again, no one had seemed to care.
There had been no ‘thank you for your service’ in Britain, the way Fraser saw veterans being commended in America.
In fact, outside Remembrance Day, no one in the UK seemed to give a shit about soldiers at all.
No one seemed to give a shit about their country.
I met a lad today didn’t even know the national anthem, Fraser once posted in a Facebook group he’d joined for -ex-military. The responses had come thick and fast.
This country’s going to the dogs.
The snowflake generation wouldn’t last five minutes in the forces.
Did you see that message Coventry City Council just put out? Happy ‘festive season’. Not a mention of Christmas anywhere!
Many of the group’s members had been struggling to find work. Several had PTSD; others had few transferable skills. They had shared their experiences online, taking the collective frustrations of the group personally.
‘A mate of mine went for a security job last week,’ Fraser had told his dad. The lads he chatted with online felt more like mates than anyone he saw down the pub. ‘Lost out to some Albanian. Almost twenty years in the army and he’s having to put in for benefits. How’s that fair?’
‘It’s a shocking state of affairs, son, but I can’t say I’m surprised.
You read about it all the time.’ Fraser’s dad indicated the tabloid newspaper he had bought every day for as long as Fraser could remember.
‘There’s you struggling to find somewhere to rent – and don’t get me wrong, you can stay here as long as you need to – while the government give five-bedroom houses to any Tom, Dick or Mustafa. ’
It had been Fraser’s mum who suggested he join the police. The pay was good, she’d said, and he could transfer his pension. It would give him a sense of identity again.
Fraser had felt at home right away. The uniform had helped, as had the camaraderie he hadn’t realized he’d been missing so much.
There had been the usual political correctness to cope with, but he had soon got to know who he could trust to banter with, and who was liable to go crying to the guv’nor.
He had discovered New Dawn just over eighteen months ago, through an intelligence briefing at work. A right-wing organization gaining ground in the UK, the memo had said. Members state they are on a ‘crusade against wokeism and the left’.
‘Sounds all right to me.’ Fraser had grinned, and there had been a few laughs around the table before the DS had raised a warning eyebrow to nip the joking in the bud.
Later, Fraser had looked up New Dawn. The organization had been in its infancy, but Fraser had felt an immediate kinship with its patriotic values.
He might have left it there, but then the UK had brought in a Labour government, and Fraser had joined New Dawn in protest. There hadn’t been a local chapter, but head office had offered support if Fraser wanted to set one up.
And now here they are. A fully fledged chapter of New Dawn. They haven’t yet made the impact Fraser would like, but that’s all going to change. He tips back his head and smiles, letting the hot shower cascade down his face. The day after tomorrow, everyone will know what New Dawn stands for.