Edited By the author to remove and correct some grammar and story-line errors. My thanks to Mriceman1964 for his read-through, comments and storyline tweaks, it was much appreciated.
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In late 1999, when Dylan was 15, and his sister Louise was almost 14, their father was killed in action in Bosnia, a lucky shot by a crazed local with an old Mauser 98 that should have been in a museum. Captain Owain Lewis never heard the shot that killed him, most likely never felt a thing, and now Dylan and Louise were alone.
Because their father was only a captain in the Parachute Regiment, the army was under no obligation to provide for their care other than to contact Social Services and arrange for their ongoing care by the civilian agencies; at that time, only the children of senior offices were schooled and maintained by army welfare, and Captain Lewis hadn't earned enough, by a long way, to buy trust funds or educational funds for his children, so Dylan and Louise were in for a thin time, headed for the care system and separation.
There were as yet no provisions for dependants of soldiers killed on active service, and no insurance benefits: insurance companies tend to avoid covering soldiers and their families -- they're considered a high-risk group.
Fortunately, their mother's cousin and her husband, as their sole listed kin, had been informed by Social Services what had happened, and they immediately took them in, and provided them with a semblance of normal family life; they had no children of their own, but they were kind and generous, and opened their home and their hearts to the two orphaned children.
They had no friends until they came to live with Harry and Jane; army life had made them professional nomads, constantly on the move as their father was posted and re-posted again, to garrisons and duty posts all over England, as well as Cyprus, Gibraltar, Oman, Brunei and a stint with the NZSAS in Wellington, New Zealand.
They both attended the local schools, but preferred each other's company; they'd been the new kids too often to make friends easily, or want to, and had come to rely on each other for friendship, support, and companionship, knowing that the only constant in their lives was each other.
By the time he was 16, Dylan was already growing into his father's son; tall, broad-shouldered, with grey eyes and curly black hair. At 15, Louise favoured her mother, tall, slim, coltish, glossy auburn hair and green-hazel eyes, the image of her mother.
Sometimes Dylan would look at her and sigh sadly; he remembered his mother clearly, and missed her dreadfully; the days after her death had been an endless nightmare of loss and unfulfilled need, and sometimes, to look at Louise, seeing his mother so clearly delineated in her, made his eyes sting, and his breath catch, her loss an ever-present ache rearing right back up at him even after all these years.
Louise barely remembered her mother, she'd been 5, and her memory had quickly faded. She felt the loss of their father far more keenly; he was the only parent she knew, and she had loved him dearly, but had been strangely muted when word came of his death, almost as if she knew it was coming and had already prepared herself for it, with no tears or histrionics, just that weird, calm acceptance.
Lately, though, Dylan had found himself watching her more, taking quick peeks at her when she wasn't looking, studying her features, her posture, the way she moved, or brushed her hair out of her eyes as she read, absorbing every nuance of her. And often, he would flick a glance at her, to look right into her eyes, Louise staring back at him, both of them reddening as they quickly looked away again.
It puzzled him, this sudden need to observe her, and the rush of indefinable emotions he would sometimes feel when he looked at her, and her apparent interest in watching him, doing the same he was doing, was equally puzzling. Dylan loved his siter with a deep and abiding love; she was the one stable and ever-present thing in his whole life, and he guarded her jealously, needing her to be complete himself, but still he felt strange about this sudden need, almost obsession he'd developed, and struck by how she seemed to be feeling it as well.
He'd been persuaded by Harry & Jane to take the first year of 6th Form College, to at least give it a try, but was soon frustrated and bored; as he saw it, he was just re-hashing things he'd already been taught, that he was wasting his time, and eventually decided to leave school after taking his AS-Level examinations, and enlist in his father's old regiment. He was 17 now, and university wasn't where he wanted to be in a year's time.
Louise, however, was not convinced; she was certain something bad was going to happen, soon, the world was ripe for it, and the British Army would get dragged into it. She spent many an evening quietly arguing with her sole companion about his urge to join up, to no avail.
At the end of May 2001, he officially left secondary school, his AS-Level examinations completed. Harry and Jane sat down with him and asked him what he was going to do next, although the question was largely academic; they knew what he intended, but they still felt duty-bound to offer him a career alternative, show him he had options.
"Dyl, you could come and work with me, and maybe do a craft apprenticeship; I can talk to the Training Officer at work," he'd offered, "We always need engineers, you could go to college on day-release and get a recognised engineering qualification, Dylan, what do you think?" Dylan knew it was a generous offer, and well meant, and he appreciated their concern for him, but he wanted to join his father's regiment, the regiment whose ritual and observances were second nature to him after a lifetime immersed in them.
He restated his intention to enlist, so Harry gave in, agreed he would take him to the military careers office in the morning, and sign the enlistment form as his legal guardian.
"I know this is what you want to do son, but remember, this will always be your home, don't forget about us!" Jane got a little teary, but also wished him success. "We'll miss you, Dyl!" she quavered, smiling for him, then turned away to dab her eyes.
Louise was not so accepting.
"You're a bloody idiot! Uncle Harry offered you a golden opportunity, and you passed, just so you can go repair bridges in Venezuela, jump out of planes over Salisbury Plain, or run around shooting blank ammo and playing silly buggers on some god-forsaken glacier!"
Dylan tried, for the millionth time, to get her to see it from his point of view.
"Look, Lou, I'm not cut-out to be an engineer, I can't sit behind a desk or use a milling machine, I get bored trying to use mathematics to solve problems, I tried that route, and it's just not me. The way I see it, my best chance is the army; if I can get into the Parachute Regiment at least I'll be doing something I want, and be useful as well. Dad started out as an enlisted soldier, and he got to Captain, I think I could do that, or better, and get us something solid, something better for both of us!"
