Walking down Regina Street, which was the main area the off duty UN soldiers used, he noticed a couple of guys from B Squadron, going through the doors of the Queen Anna Maria Bar. The place was a favourite haunt for a lot of the troops, the entertainment was legendary. A former lady of the night, whose Greek name was impossible to pronounce, was often to be found there, scrounging drinks off the young soldiers. She was a deaf and dumb mute, which earned her the title of D&D, the meaning of which was self-explanatory.
Richard decided to have a swift one in the pub, before calling the taxi office, for his lift to Ayia Napa. He was not surprised to find D&D propping up the bar, gesturing to a young lad, from A Squadron. He hadn’t been in the Regiment long, but had already got himself a reputation for being a bit of a joker. D&D was, as usual, touting for drinks, which the young soldier was happy to supply. It was a favourite prank of the soldiers to pretend to put money in the jukebox, which stood in the corner. They would then pretend to dance along to it, inviting D&D to join them.
Over time she had become wise to the joke and would feel the jukebox to see if it was vibrating, before she made herself look stupid. A couple of weeks earlier, a couple of guys, from the Provost Troop, had been drinking in the bar and had gone back to her flat, for a party. As the night went on, it turned into a full blown orgy. Once all parties were satisfied, D&D collapsed on the bed and fell asleep. One of the Regimental Police took a Maglite torch, which was next to the dressing table, and placed where, a short time before, their cocks had been. Giggling away to each other, they let themselves out and headed back to camp. The story had gone round the Regiment in a matter of hours, causing great hilarity. Richard polished off his beer, and called the taxi office.
The journey from Nicosia to Ayia Napa took just over an hour. They passed the camp in Dhekelia, where the rest of the Regiment were stationed, in the eastern SBA. If not on duty, most of their time was taken up with adventure training and water sports, as the camp was located next to a beach.
Taking the coast road eastwards, Nikos steered the vehicle into the outskirts of Ayia Napa. He dropped off Richard at Nissi beach, which would be his starting point. He arranged with Nikos his pickup time, which was to be two days later, at around 8pm, in the square in Ayia Napa. Nikos nodded his agreement and confirmed he would be there.
Richard made straight for a beach bar and began on brandy sours, his drink of choice on the island. The drink consisted of two parts local brandy, one part Cypriot lemon squash, a couple of dashes of bitters, topped up with lemonade or soda and served in a tall glass, with ice. Local bars sometimes substituted Angostura bitters with the local stuff, which carried the wonderful name ‘Cock Drops’.
It wasn’t long before he was joined by Paul Robson, from Recce Troop, now also attached to B Squadron He had with him a number of other members of his Squadron, who were on time off. They grabbed a table and bought a round of drinks. The B Squadron blokes were only down for the day and were heading back that evening. They made the most of their down time as they could and the drinks were flowing. As they sat chatting and looking at the ‘talent’ strewn along the beach, one of B Squadron, who was called Mark, noticed two young ladies looking over at them, from an adjacent table. He smiled at them, the smile was returned and they then proceeded to whisper to one another. They were obviously interested in Mark he stood 6 feet 3 inches, in his flip flops and had the body of a male model. Knowing his luck was in, he rose and wandered over to the pair of girls. In the blink of an eye, he returned, with the girls in his wake. Introducing them as Agnita and Freya, he invited them to take a seat. They sat down, amidst the half pissed squaddies and began to make small talk. It transpired they were University students, who had just graduated and were now taking a year out, to explore the world. Everyone took turns in introducing themselves and the girls seemed genuinely impressed, when they heard the lads were British soldiers. As they chatted, one of the B Squadron blokes, called ‘Dusty’, was transfixed with Freya. He came from a rough area of Bradford and had a strong, nasal accent. Having ginger hair, he didn’t take well to the sun. In comparison to the bronzed counterparts around him, he was still as white as the day he got off the plane. He leaned over towards Freya and began to sniff her neck. She was slightly startled by this and wondered what was going on. Continuing to sniff, Dusty looked up at her and asked,
‘What’s that perfume you’ve got on?’
There was a hesitant pause, while Freya thought for a moment, translating his cultural Yorkshire accent, to ensure she had heard him correctly.
‘Chanel number 5,’ she answered, innocently, happy that someone found her scent appealing.
‘Smells bloody lovely, that,’ came Dusty’s blunt retort.
There was another pause, as the friends looked at each other, wondering where this was going. No one could believe he was hitting on this girl, with her outstanding, Nordic good looks and beautiful body. Dusty was around five feet eight, and weighed around ten stone, naked. He simply wasn’t the sort that girls lusted after. The brief silence was broken by Freya.
‘What have you got on?’ she asked, politely.
Again Dusty looked her up and down, before replying,
‘A fuckin’ hard on, but I don’t think you can fuckin’ smell it.’