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Writer's pictureCLIVE WARD
Apr 27, 20215 min read

Never Disrespect a Veteran

Updated: Jul 2, 2021



I sat on the train with my head tilted against the window so I could see through the reflection of the lit carriage. The only other person in the carriage sitting in the seat adjacent to mine, was this old guy. He must have been in his early seventies. He wore a veteran’s badge on his blazer. I smiled and nodded. ‘You were in the Guards then? I recognise the badge.’ ‘Twenty-two years in the Guards, 1961 to 83. What about you, have you ever served in the forces?’ ‘Yes, I did. I’m out now, I left two years ago. I did ten years, loved it.’ ‘How come you got out, then?’ ‘It’s a long story. Twenty-two years… I bet you’ve seen a thing or two.’ That was it. It was pull up a sandbag for the next hour. He told me his name, Bobby Hardy. He reminded me of Derek, and boy he had some stories to tell. It sounded like he’d been through some shit. The next thing I knew we were pulling into Leicester station. I’d fallen asleep, it was now twenty past eleven and the old fellow was still rabbitin’ on. Just then, as if from nowhere, three youths entered the carriage. One sat next to Bobby, the other two opposite. They’d obviously been out on the piss, the noisy b**tards. I wasn’t happy they’d disturbed my sleep. It wasn’t long before they started on Bobby.


‘F**king hell lads can you smell piss?” said the guy sitting next to Bobby. ‘It’ must be that coffin dodger sitting next to you, Andy.’ One of his friends replied. ‘F**k me, it is you! You, dirty old b**tard. When was the last time you had a bath? You stink.’ The old man just sat there taking the abuse, staring out of the carriage window. I was already weighing up my options, should I intervene now, I thought. I decided to bide my time. They carried on giving the old boy more abuse, then the one they called Andy, a six foot nothing, streak of piss, took Bobby’s hat and put it on his head. ‘Can I have my hat back, please?’ Bobby asked. ‘What hat… you mean this hat? This is my hat.’ ‘You better give it back or...’ ‘Or what old man, what you going to do, old man?’ The one called Andy asked, as his friends sat giggling at his antics. ‘Give him his f**king hat back and get off the train.’ I said, finally losing my temper. They all looked over at me, surprised by my outburst. Most people would turn a blind eye to their antics, but I couldn’t. ‘You what?’ ‘You heard. Give him his f**king hat back and get off the train.’ ‘Who the f**k, are you? You get off the train.’ ‘Last chance.’ Andy stood up and headed for the toilet, leaving me a passing comment. ‘I suggest you keep out of it you f**king knob. You better not be around when I get back.’ I let him leave the carriage. Then I stood up and headed in the opposite direction, his two friends smiled at me thinking I was heeding their mate’s advice.


I left the carriage, walked down the platform, and jumped back on the train opposite the toilet Andy was in. As this piece of sh**e came out of the loo, I grabbed him, put one hand around his throat and forced him up against the toilet wall. I started to squeeze his neck he began to kick out. I buried my knee as hard as I could between his legs. I think his boll**ks were now in his throat because he started to talk in a higher pitch. I took out my mobile phone with my other hand and took a picture of him. ‘What are you doing, why are you taking a picture of me?’ ‘It’s just a little hobby. I like to take pictures of my victims before and after.’ He looked worried. ‘After what?’ ‘After I’ve f**ked them up and finished with them. The pictures are just my little trophies. Well f**king smile then.’ For the next thirty seconds I made this guy pay, he’d disrespected a veteran, someone who put their life on the line for their country. You could say I was doing my bit to educate him in respect. Meanwhile, back in the carriage the old man was still being victimised by Andy’s friends. I walked back into the carriage, gave Bobby his hat back and took my seat. The two yobs looked puzzled, they looked round to see where their buddy was. ‘Where’s Andy, what have you done with Andy?’ Like a scene from a horror film, their brave mate’s bloodied, f**ked up face appeared in the window. He then proceeded to slide down the carriages outside wall and collapsed in a heap on the platform. Maybe I’d gone too far, my intention was to just give him a slap, but I couldn’t stop beating him. As the train started to pull away, his mates couldn’t leave the carriage quick enough.


‘Thanks son,’ Bobby said. ‘That’s ok pal, he deserved it. They should have had some respect. I’ve probably done them a favour they’ll think twice next time.’ For the rest of the journey, I returned to staring blankly out of the window, all I could see were streetlights. We were about to pull in at Derby station, I looked over at Bobby, my new friend. ‘You’re awake then? You’ve been asleep since we left London,’ he said. ‘What about what just happened. The three lads that came on at Leicester station?’ I asked. ‘Son, we didn’t stop at Leicester station.’ The old man answered, looking puzzled. I looked at my phone for the picture I took of Andy’s battered face, there was nothing there. Come to think of it, why the f**k would I take a picture of my victim? I’d dreamt the whole thing. Shit, I thought, the PTSD was getting worse. After serving his country twice in Afghanistan, Mickey returned home to fight a new battle, his psychological injuries. Failing to adapt to civilian life, he created a whole new battle ground of his own. Mickey’s life was about to explode. ‘THE GOAT KILLER’ by Clive Ward. www.clivewardauthor.com


Available on Amazon CAN, kindle price CDN$6.07 or free on Kindle Unlimited. Paperback CDN$14.20 https://www.amazon.ca/Goat-Killer-Clive-Ward-ebook/dp/B01H3VK8UA/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1476727486&sr=8-1&keywords=the+goat+killer








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