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fredbassettTitle : Oh we do like to be beside the seaside!
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Stephen/Ryan, Claudia, Connor, Nick, SF team
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary :
A/N : Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
primeval_denial summer fic exchange for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bigtitch for the prompt: “How was I to know it was a nudist beach?”
“The first person to start singing ‘oh I do like to be beside the seaside’ will be summarily executed,” Ryan declared over the radio link as the convoy of black Range Rovers hurtled down some exceedingly British country lanes.
And by exceedingly British he meant as narrow as a rat’s arsehole, flanked by high hedges, stone walls and often a combination of the two. They’d already met three coaches, four tractors, a donkey cart, a partridge in a fucking pear tree and several convoys of cyclists. Ryan was starting to take cyclists very personally.
“What happens to the second person to start singing it, boss?” Fiver enquired as he took a blind bend at 50mph, swerved to avoid a duck, and made an obscene gesture at a bloke in a Beamer who was doing his best to save his shiny paintwork.
“Don’t push your luck.”
Fiver grinned, dropped a gear and took the next corner on what felt like two wheels, apparently just for the hell of it.
The little shit had thoroughly enjoyed himself for the last four hours, driving from the ARC to Cornwall without even a pee stop. It was just their bad luck that the chopper was out on another shout, ferrying Stringer and a team up to Skye.
“Sit rep, Ranjit?” Ryan asked over the radio link.
“Nothing yet,” the ARC duty technician replied. “The anomaly is coming and going at approximately ten-minute intervals. The minister’s private secretary has eyes on from the top of the cliff. The cove has been cordoned off and so far, there are no tracks in the sand.”
“Could be worse,” Cutter declared cheerfully over the same comms link as Fiver screeched to a halt in a small car park, closely followed by the next vehicle driven by Finn, containing the professor, Stephen and the science team.
The rest of the convoy quickly followed, pulling up in a spray of gravel, watched by the local police who’d been instructed to keep the whole thing low key. Although how the hell five black Range Rovers could be considered low key, Ryan really didn’t know, but PR was Claudia’s job, not his.
“Ryan, I’ve got Sir James for you,” Ranjit said apologetically.
Ryan rolled his eyes. Lester was meant to be on holiday, spending time at his cottage with Lyle, doing something that probably involved mud, explosives, and holes in the ground. They’d all been enjoying a welcome respite from the usual demands for better punctuation in their incident reports and complaints about their expenses.
“Sir?”
“I’ve had the minister on the line, Ryan.”
“Yes, sir.”
“He wants the whole thing handled with sensitivity.”
“Yes, sir. Even if it’s as big as a London bus with two-metre-long teeth and a severe attitude problem, we’ll be sure to take it down with the utmost tact.”
“Thank you, Ryan, might I remind you that I have the monopoly on sarcasm in this organisation?”
Ryan gave himself Brownie points for not heaving a loud sigh, “So, it’s standard operating procedures, sir?”
“Yes. Both hands tied behind your back. You know the drill.”
All too bloody well, Ryan thought grimly. “And if there’s a threat to life?”
“Then you do what you have to – as ever – and Miss Brown and I will endeavour to pick up the diplomatic pieces.”
Ryan grinned. Lester would strenuously deny it but shagging a special forces lieutenant had made him a lot more sympathetic to the problems they faced in the field.
“There’s just one other thing I need to tell you…”
****
“How was I to know it was a nudist beach?” Claudia said, with the badly feigned innocence of someone who had known that for several hours.
“Cultural, innit?” Finn said, lounging against one of the vehicles, caressing his M4 carbine in a distinctly suggestive manner. “Like summat from the Tate. Lots of nuddies there. Really enjoyed that shout.”
Ryan made a mental note to keep the young soldier well away from the Minister for Culture, Media and Sport. He suspected their definitions of cultural wouldn’t be a good match. The woman was famed for her utter lack of a sense of humour. What was less well known was that she owned a large stretch of the Cornish coast, including one of the country’s best known nudist beaches. He was going to have some choice words to say about that in his report.
“Lester wants this kept low key,” Ryan said. “Finn, I want you and Dane on the cliff top with eyes on the anomaly. If anything comes through, I want it out for the count and back home before it’s had time to apply for residency.”
“What if something’s already come through?” Connor asked, fiddling with one of his long-range detectors.
“Then we track it, knock it out and send it home to mummy.”
“So let’s get moving.” In one fluid movement, Stephen pulled his teeshirt over his head, revealing smooth, tanned muscles, a broad back, flat stomach and narrow hips with a tantalising trail of dark hair leading to the waistband of his jeans. Ryan’s lover quickly unlaced his boots, toed them off, then unbuckled his belt and shimmied out of his jeans and underwear to stand naked in the carpark, wearing nothing but an amused smile. “Who’s coming with me?”
As one, everyone’s eyes swivelled to Ryan.
He was very tempted to declare that he hated them all but decided to hang onto his dignity as hanging onto his clothes didn’t look like it was going to be an option.
Three minutes later, he was strolling casually down to the beach hand in hand with Stephen, wearing nothing but his radio earpiece and the watch that doubled as a microphone. More years than he cared to remember in the army had left him with no personal modesty, but he’d made it absolutely clear that anyone posting photos on ARRSE or the noticeboard in the officers’ mess would be hung by their own entrails from the clocktower in Stirling Lines.
Kermit had promptly trousered his phone and tried to look innocent.
Claudia had averted her eyes for the first thirty seconds then had given up and grinned almost as much as the soldiers and the science team.
A discreet sign warned casual passers-by that they were about to enter a nudist beach. The same sign warned of the dangers of swimming while the red flag was flying, exhorted people to take their rubbish home, pick up after their dogs and not play loud music. Ryan thought he could probably abide by that lot. But if a diplodocus wandered through the anomaly, he doubted anyone would have a poo bag big enough. The noticeboard also made it plain that the beach was a strictly adults only area. That cut Kermit and Finn out.
Two high cliffs encircled the beach. By land, the only approach was the one they’d taken down a steep path from the car park to the almost white sand, stretching in a wide curve, broken in places by dark rock outcrops. The sea - blue and inviting – lapped gently at the shoreline.
At a quick guestimate, there were about 150 people on the beach, a mix of all ages, but most looked to be in the 30 – 70 range. The sight of two men walking hand in hand drew nothing more than a few polite smiles and nods.
“What happens if you get a hard-on in a place like this?” Ryan muttered, after making quite certain his microphone watch was switched to mute.
“No fucking idea. Why, have you got one coming on?”
“Academic interest.” Ryan hadn’t seen so many cocks, balls, tits and fannies since the last time Finn had insisted on watching Naked Attraction on the late shift in the rec room. The only thing that surprised him was the number of people who bothered to shave their pubes. He’d thought it was something they only did on the telly, but it looked like he’d been wrong about that.
While Ryan scanned the area for threats of the prehistoric kind, Stephen kept his eyes on the sand, but the only prints they saw belonged to clearly identified dogs. A large Labradoodle bounced up and took a close interest in Ryan’s groin, much to the embarrassment of its elderly owner. Stephen got off more lightly with a very waggy-tailed Cockapoo (and who the hell could deliver that name with a straight face?) that kept doing its best to trip him up. Ryan was convinced the dog’s owner just wanted a better view of Stephen’s arse.
Ryan unmuted the microphone on his watch and, under cover of scratching his ear, demanded a sit rep.
“All shiny and quiet, boss,” Dane responded.
“Anomaly stable,” Connor offered. “Good for at least another couple of hours.”
“Some possible tracks in the vicinity,” Finn said. “But could just as easily be a dog.”
“The minister is hosting a garden party,” Claudia said, the tenson very evident in her voice. “She’s made it perfectly plain that gunshots will not be a welcome addition to the afternoon’s festivities.”
“Tell her we’ll just use hard stares,” Cutter commented, in a tone of supreme disinterest.
“I’ve done just that,” Claudia retorted. “Strangely, it didn’t improve her mood.”
“Could always let off a few flares if we have to, and claim it’s a fireworks display,” Kermit said cheerfully.
“Concentrate, people,” Ryan ordered. “I want eyes kept on the anomaly and someone watching the whole cove. There’s no screaming and running around, so that’s a good start.”
“Are we really going to walk up to those coppers wearing nothing but a smile?” Stephen asked as they approached the police cordon.
“Looks like it,” Ryan said.
The young copper standing by the blue and while tape strong across the deep cleft in the cliff that housed the anomaly stepped forward a pace. “Sorry, we’re dealing with a potential World War II mine. We can’t let you go any further.”
“Captain Tom Ryan, UKSF,” Ryan said, watching in amusement as the police officer’s eyes widened to a passible impression of dinner plates. “I’m in operational command. Check with special liaison DI Cross, if you need to.”
“That won’t be necessary, Captain,” the young man replied. “We’ve been briefed to expect you. We just weren’t expecting…” his eyes flickered over Ryan’s naked body.
“No, neither were we,” Ryan said. “Someone at HQ omitted that minor detail. Who’s the senior officer here?”
“DI Fields, sir. She’s over by the… shiny thing.” He gestured to a slim, athletic-looking woman in her late 20s, wearing a purple teeshirt and black linen trousers, with rainbow dyed hair cut in a gamine bob.
Ryan and Stephen made their way over to the woman, who treated them both to an appraising glance before holding out her hand. “Carrie Fields. I presume you’re with the Home Office?”
“Captain Tom Ryan and Dr Stephen Hart. Has anything come out of the… shiny thing?”
DI Carrie Fields rolled her eyes. “I’m not ten years old, captain. What do you usually call the damn things? I’m presuming that anything capable of getting Her Highness into this much of tizz isn’t just a harmless light show.”
“We call them anomalies, and if anything comes out of them, we need to know about it.”
The anomaly was spinning lazily in the air, as bright as fractured glass, as beautiful as a star at midnight and as dangerous as a fragmentation grenade.
Carrie Fields looked at the sand around the anomaly. “I got slung out of Girl Guides for smuggling a bottle of vodka into summer camp so I’m hardly an expert, but I can’t see any tracks.”
“Neither can I. Stephen, over to you.”
Stephen nodded and started to circle the anomaly, moving methodically inwards, the way Ryan had seen him work hundreds of times before, but on those occasions, he’d been wearing rather more clothes. Ryan wondered if it was unprofessional to perv Stephen’s arse every time he bent over to take a closer look at the sand, but with everything he had on display, finding somewhere else to look was probably wise.
“Do you want me to clear more of the beach?” Fields asked.
“Damned if we do, damned if we don’t,” Ryan said. “I’m under instructions to keep this low key. Not sure if clearing the beach counts as low key.”
“Not sure screaming up in a posse of black Range Rovers counts as low key.”
“Fair point. If we’d known you were using a bomb scare as a cover, I’d have come with my kit … on.”
She grinned. “Your loss is my gain, captain.”
“Let’s compromise. Push the cordon back by 200 metres. That should give you a bigger comfort zone. Can you get the coast guard to stop people snooping from the water?”
While Fields went off to give the orders, Ryan brought his watch up and radioed on a closed channel to the response team. “Listen up, our cover is bomb disposal. Keep eyes on from above, everyone else get down here, and bring my gear and Stephen’s. I think we’ve done our bit for keeping this op low key now.”
“Strange definition of low key, Ryan,” Cutter said cheerfully. “Ditzy’s already had to attend to six dislocated necks, seven cases of postural whiplash and an outbreak of eyes-on-stalks syndrome.”
“Thank you, professor. Next time we need a distraction, I’ll defer to your need for an all over tan.”
“We’re on our way, Ryan,” Claudia said quickly. “I’ll update Lester. He’s liaising with the Minister’s PA.”
Five minutes later, Ryan felt distinctly more businesslike dressed in his usual black combats, with an M4 slung over his shoulder, his Sig Sauer strapped to his right thigh and his combat knife to his left.
Connor had just sent one of his new-improved all terrain probes through the anomaly and he and Cutter were looking at the resulting footage on Connor’s laptop while Blade, Kermit and Ditzy were busy erecting large green canvas screens to stop anyone getting a good view of the anomaly, even if they did manage to get past the coastguards when they arrived.
“Anyone breaks a leg now, we’re sorted,” Kermit announced.
“Not hear that one before, mate,” Blade muttered.
Kermit flipped him the finger.
“So what’re we dealing with?” Ryan asked.
“Not a scooby,” Connor said, far too cheerfully for a man who was staring at a black laptop screen.
“I thought you said that thing was working now?”
“It is.” Connor pulled the joystick on his control box towards him and some pinpricks of light appeared on the screen. “See, stars! And that round thing’s the moon.”
“Thank you for the astronomy lesson. Is it too much to hope that everything through there is asleep?” Claudia asked in a voice that made it entirely obvious she knew that was altogether too much to hope for.
“You’re starting to sound like Lester,” Connor muttered.
“Velociraptors hunt at night,” Kermit called.
“Top of the class, lad,” Cutter said. “Nice to know you weren’t kipping in all my lectures.”
“Bollocks,” Connor muttered.
Kermit looked affronted.
“Not you, mate. Something’s knocked the rover on its side,” Connor said.
“Possible incoming!” Ryan said quickly.
Kermit dropped to one knee; assault rifle trained on the anomaly.
Stephen, who’d just finished his check on the scuffed sand around the anomaly, was reaching for his cargo pants when something the size of an overweight Labrador barrelled out of the anomaly and bowled him over. The creature, snub-nosed and furry, promptly found itself being wrestled to the ground by someone who’d had a lot of experience wrangling animals. Although naked critter wrestling was a new one even for Stephen.
“Wombat!” Abby yelled. “Harmless but they can bite! Net needed, now!”
Blade promptly tossed a net over the struggling pair.
Abruptly, the wombat stopped struggling and started snuggling up to Stephen, snuffling happily.
Ryan couldn’t fault its taste.
“It likes the skin contact!” Abby declared. “Hold it tight, Stephen. Make it feel secure.”
“You know what Ryan said about cameras?” Stephen said, with an armful of hairy, enthusiastically affectionate wombat. “Well, I second it.”
Ryan grinned and promptly whipped out his phone. “Sorry, Hart, this is too good to miss.”
“I hate you,” Stephen retorted, his words muffled by wombat fur, as the creature wriggled happily in his lap.
“Thinks you’re its mum,” Kermit said.
Stephen rolled over and sat up, the wombat cradled in his lap, the net still draped over them. “OK, so how do I get him off me and get some clothes on?”
Ryan shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Abby…?” Stephen turned his best puppy dog eyes look on their animal expert.
“You’re doing just fine. Keep cuddling it.”
“Oi! None of that, you little bugger!” The wombat was making a determined effort to latch onto Stephen’s left nipple. “I am definitely not your mum! Blade, get this bloody net off me and help me up. He seems happy enough cuddling. Let’s get him back through before he decides he likes it here.”
“Looks like he’s already made his mind up,” Cutter said.
“He’s fully grown,” Abby said. “He shouldn’t still be wanting to suckle at that age.”
“Tell that to him!” Stephen said. “He’s got teeth like bloody needles.”
“Is it true they crap squares?” Ditzy asked, stepping up to Stephen’s side to help foil their visitor’s determined effect to start suckling.
“You’re about to find out,” Abby said.
The wombat’s stubby tail lifted slightly, and it dropped some pale, cube-shaped poo onto the sand, narrowly missing Stephen’s thigh.
“This shout gets better by the minute,” Kermit said, failing to keep a straight face.
“Tell Finn to start looking up recipes for wombat,” Stephen muttered.
“You’re the one who likes dung, Hart,” Ryan pointed out.
“Shut it, soldier boy, or you’re on the sofa tonight.”
Abby dropped to one knee at Stephen’s side and scooped up the poo along with a handful of sand and held it out to him.
He frowned, and Ryan got the distinct impression the look of concern on his face wasn’t just as a result of having a handful of wombat poo waved under his nose.
“It isn’t fully grown at all, it’s still a baby,” Stephen said. “Its poo’s too milky for an adult diet.”
“And that’s why it wants to suckle,” Abby said, her eyes on the anomaly as it shimmered in the heat.
“Diprotodon,” Cutter said.
“In English, professor,” Ryan asked. This wasn’t something they’d encountered before, and his knowledge of prehistoric creatures wasn’t that encyclopaedic.
“Giant wombats.”
In Ryan’s experience, the word giant was never one he wanted to hear on a shout. “How big is giant?”
“About that big,” Cutter said, as something the size of a hippopotamus – only a lot furrier – ambled slowly out of the anomaly, blinking in the sunlight.
“Crap,” Kermit said, echoing Ryan’s thoughts.
“Hold fire!” Ryan ordered. “Abby…?”
“Put it down and back up, slowly,” Abby said.
Stephen had already started to do exactly that, but the baby wombat didn’t want to be dislodged. It whimpered loudly, promptly drawing the adult’s attention.
“Come on, little mate,” Stephen urged. “Mum’s got the milk you want, not me.”
“Incoming, again!” Kermit said urgently.
Another small wombat ambled through the anomaly, followed by two more. They all stood there, blinking owlishly, their snub noses snuffling the air.
“Not good,” Connor muttered. “Seriously not good. Don’t want to worry you guys, but the magnetic field’s dropping.”
“Everyone grab a wombat!” Cutter ordered, echoing the words he’d used what seemed like a lifetime ago during the dodo incursion.
Without waiting to be told twice, Ditzy and Blade promptly scooped up a wombat each, while Kermit covered them. Ryan grabbed the third one, then it was like a particularly manic game of rugby trying to get past an extremely hairy prop with several large, squeaking, furry balls.
Blade was the first one to dodge past the giant wombat and dive through the anomaly, followed by Stephen. The adult charged at Ditzy with a surprising turn of speed for such a lumbering creature, but the medic threw himself into a sideways skid straight through the fragmented light in a move that could have earned him a place on the England squad. Ryan dashed after them with his bundle of soft fur.
He felt the familiar magnetic tug on his gear and then he was through into a dark world lit only by the pale glow of an almost full moon and myriad impressively bright stars.
“Drop ‘em and get back through!” he ordered, disentangling himself from the one he was carrying and pushing it back towards its mother, who’d followed them at speed.
Surrounded by its babies, the adult wombat showed no inclination to investigate the light again, much to Ryan’s relief. The anomaly, fading now with startling rapidity, started to flicker as they ran towards it.
Three metres from safety, Stephen, barefoot on rocky ground, went down with a startled yell as a stone turned his ankle. Without hesitating, Blade turned back and hauled Stephen to his feet, dragging one arm around his shoulders. Ryan looped one arm around his lover’s waist and the three of them completed an ungainly dash through the fading rip in time.
Welcome sunlight burst over them as the anomaly flickered and winked out of existence, leaving the wombat family safely in their own time and the anomaly team in theirs.
Blade helped Stephen down on the sand, while Ditzy examined his ankle. The medic pronounced it sprained, not broken, and sagely told Stephen to stick his foot in a rock pool to reduce the swelling.
“No wonder they keep what you lot do a secret,” DI Fields remarked. “Watching that’s the most fun I’ve had with my clothes on in years.”
“At least you got to keep your clothes on,” Stephen remarked, as he pulled on a pair of denim shorts from the rucksack of spare clothes Claudia handed him.
“Be fair, in my job it’s not often I get to watch a gorgeous naked bloke breast-feeding a wombat.”
“I’ll add wombat surrogate mother to my CV.”
Ryan ruffled his hair. “That’s called taking one for the team, Hart.”
“The minister is very grateful,” Claudia said. “I’ve said we’ll keep a presence here for the next few hours just to make sure the anomaly doesn’t come back. There’s just one more thing we need to do before wrapping up…” In response to Cutter’s puzzled look, she added, “The military team get to do what they like best so we can maintain the cover DI Fields kindly set up for us.”
Kermit grinned. “We get to blow shit up?”
“That’s what bomb disposal teams do, isn’t it?”
“They do sometimes just diffuse them,” Ryan pointed out.
“I think an audible demonstration is called for on this occasion.” Mischief sparkled in Claudia’s usually guileless eyes.
“Ditz, over to you. Just don’t bring the whole fucking cliff down,” Ryan said. “That wouldn’t go down well with the minister. Or Lester. I’m fairly sure we’ve already exceeded what he thinks is a reasonable explosives budget for this month.”
“On it, boss.”
“I’m definitely applying for a transfer,” DI Carrie Fields declared. “You lot really do live the fucking dream.”
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Stephen/Ryan, Claudia, Connor, Nick, SF team
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary :
A/N : Written for
primeval_denial summer fic exchange for bigtitch for the prompt: “How was I to know it was a nudist beach?”“The first person to start singing ‘oh I do like to be beside the seaside’ will be summarily executed,” Ryan declared over the radio link as the convoy of black Range Rovers hurtled down some exceedingly British country lanes.
And by exceedingly British he meant as narrow as a rat’s arsehole, flanked by high hedges, stone walls and often a combination of the two. They’d already met three coaches, four tractors, a donkey cart, a partridge in a fucking pear tree and several convoys of cyclists. Ryan was starting to take cyclists very personally.
“What happens to the second person to start singing it, boss?” Fiver enquired as he took a blind bend at 50mph, swerved to avoid a duck, and made an obscene gesture at a bloke in a Beamer who was doing his best to save his shiny paintwork.
“Don’t push your luck.”
Fiver grinned, dropped a gear and took the next corner on what felt like two wheels, apparently just for the hell of it.
The little shit had thoroughly enjoyed himself for the last four hours, driving from the ARC to Cornwall without even a pee stop. It was just their bad luck that the chopper was out on another shout, ferrying Stringer and a team up to Skye.
“Sit rep, Ranjit?” Ryan asked over the radio link.
“Nothing yet,” the ARC duty technician replied. “The anomaly is coming and going at approximately ten-minute intervals. The minister’s private secretary has eyes on from the top of the cliff. The cove has been cordoned off and so far, there are no tracks in the sand.”
“Could be worse,” Cutter declared cheerfully over the same comms link as Fiver screeched to a halt in a small car park, closely followed by the next vehicle driven by Finn, containing the professor, Stephen and the science team.
The rest of the convoy quickly followed, pulling up in a spray of gravel, watched by the local police who’d been instructed to keep the whole thing low key. Although how the hell five black Range Rovers could be considered low key, Ryan really didn’t know, but PR was Claudia’s job, not his.
“Ryan, I’ve got Sir James for you,” Ranjit said apologetically.
Ryan rolled his eyes. Lester was meant to be on holiday, spending time at his cottage with Lyle, doing something that probably involved mud, explosives, and holes in the ground. They’d all been enjoying a welcome respite from the usual demands for better punctuation in their incident reports and complaints about their expenses.
“Sir?”
“I’ve had the minister on the line, Ryan.”
“Yes, sir.”
“He wants the whole thing handled with sensitivity.”
“Yes, sir. Even if it’s as big as a London bus with two-metre-long teeth and a severe attitude problem, we’ll be sure to take it down with the utmost tact.”
“Thank you, Ryan, might I remind you that I have the monopoly on sarcasm in this organisation?”
Ryan gave himself Brownie points for not heaving a loud sigh, “So, it’s standard operating procedures, sir?”
“Yes. Both hands tied behind your back. You know the drill.”
All too bloody well, Ryan thought grimly. “And if there’s a threat to life?”
“Then you do what you have to – as ever – and Miss Brown and I will endeavour to pick up the diplomatic pieces.”
Ryan grinned. Lester would strenuously deny it but shagging a special forces lieutenant had made him a lot more sympathetic to the problems they faced in the field.
“There’s just one other thing I need to tell you…”
****
“How was I to know it was a nudist beach?” Claudia said, with the badly feigned innocence of someone who had known that for several hours.
“Cultural, innit?” Finn said, lounging against one of the vehicles, caressing his M4 carbine in a distinctly suggestive manner. “Like summat from the Tate. Lots of nuddies there. Really enjoyed that shout.”
Ryan made a mental note to keep the young soldier well away from the Minister for Culture, Media and Sport. He suspected their definitions of cultural wouldn’t be a good match. The woman was famed for her utter lack of a sense of humour. What was less well known was that she owned a large stretch of the Cornish coast, including one of the country’s best known nudist beaches. He was going to have some choice words to say about that in his report.
“Lester wants this kept low key,” Ryan said. “Finn, I want you and Dane on the cliff top with eyes on the anomaly. If anything comes through, I want it out for the count and back home before it’s had time to apply for residency.”
“What if something’s already come through?” Connor asked, fiddling with one of his long-range detectors.
“Then we track it, knock it out and send it home to mummy.”
“So let’s get moving.” In one fluid movement, Stephen pulled his teeshirt over his head, revealing smooth, tanned muscles, a broad back, flat stomach and narrow hips with a tantalising trail of dark hair leading to the waistband of his jeans. Ryan’s lover quickly unlaced his boots, toed them off, then unbuckled his belt and shimmied out of his jeans and underwear to stand naked in the carpark, wearing nothing but an amused smile. “Who’s coming with me?”
As one, everyone’s eyes swivelled to Ryan.
He was very tempted to declare that he hated them all but decided to hang onto his dignity as hanging onto his clothes didn’t look like it was going to be an option.
Three minutes later, he was strolling casually down to the beach hand in hand with Stephen, wearing nothing but his radio earpiece and the watch that doubled as a microphone. More years than he cared to remember in the army had left him with no personal modesty, but he’d made it absolutely clear that anyone posting photos on ARRSE or the noticeboard in the officers’ mess would be hung by their own entrails from the clocktower in Stirling Lines.
Kermit had promptly trousered his phone and tried to look innocent.
Claudia had averted her eyes for the first thirty seconds then had given up and grinned almost as much as the soldiers and the science team.
A discreet sign warned casual passers-by that they were about to enter a nudist beach. The same sign warned of the dangers of swimming while the red flag was flying, exhorted people to take their rubbish home, pick up after their dogs and not play loud music. Ryan thought he could probably abide by that lot. But if a diplodocus wandered through the anomaly, he doubted anyone would have a poo bag big enough. The noticeboard also made it plain that the beach was a strictly adults only area. That cut Kermit and Finn out.
Two high cliffs encircled the beach. By land, the only approach was the one they’d taken down a steep path from the car park to the almost white sand, stretching in a wide curve, broken in places by dark rock outcrops. The sea - blue and inviting – lapped gently at the shoreline.
At a quick guestimate, there were about 150 people on the beach, a mix of all ages, but most looked to be in the 30 – 70 range. The sight of two men walking hand in hand drew nothing more than a few polite smiles and nods.
“What happens if you get a hard-on in a place like this?” Ryan muttered, after making quite certain his microphone watch was switched to mute.
“No fucking idea. Why, have you got one coming on?”
“Academic interest.” Ryan hadn’t seen so many cocks, balls, tits and fannies since the last time Finn had insisted on watching Naked Attraction on the late shift in the rec room. The only thing that surprised him was the number of people who bothered to shave their pubes. He’d thought it was something they only did on the telly, but it looked like he’d been wrong about that.
While Ryan scanned the area for threats of the prehistoric kind, Stephen kept his eyes on the sand, but the only prints they saw belonged to clearly identified dogs. A large Labradoodle bounced up and took a close interest in Ryan’s groin, much to the embarrassment of its elderly owner. Stephen got off more lightly with a very waggy-tailed Cockapoo (and who the hell could deliver that name with a straight face?) that kept doing its best to trip him up. Ryan was convinced the dog’s owner just wanted a better view of Stephen’s arse.
Ryan unmuted the microphone on his watch and, under cover of scratching his ear, demanded a sit rep.
“All shiny and quiet, boss,” Dane responded.
“Anomaly stable,” Connor offered. “Good for at least another couple of hours.”
“Some possible tracks in the vicinity,” Finn said. “But could just as easily be a dog.”
“The minister is hosting a garden party,” Claudia said, the tenson very evident in her voice. “She’s made it perfectly plain that gunshots will not be a welcome addition to the afternoon’s festivities.”
“Tell her we’ll just use hard stares,” Cutter commented, in a tone of supreme disinterest.
“I’ve done just that,” Claudia retorted. “Strangely, it didn’t improve her mood.”
“Could always let off a few flares if we have to, and claim it’s a fireworks display,” Kermit said cheerfully.
“Concentrate, people,” Ryan ordered. “I want eyes kept on the anomaly and someone watching the whole cove. There’s no screaming and running around, so that’s a good start.”
“Are we really going to walk up to those coppers wearing nothing but a smile?” Stephen asked as they approached the police cordon.
“Looks like it,” Ryan said.
The young copper standing by the blue and while tape strong across the deep cleft in the cliff that housed the anomaly stepped forward a pace. “Sorry, we’re dealing with a potential World War II mine. We can’t let you go any further.”
“Captain Tom Ryan, UKSF,” Ryan said, watching in amusement as the police officer’s eyes widened to a passible impression of dinner plates. “I’m in operational command. Check with special liaison DI Cross, if you need to.”
“That won’t be necessary, Captain,” the young man replied. “We’ve been briefed to expect you. We just weren’t expecting…” his eyes flickered over Ryan’s naked body.
“No, neither were we,” Ryan said. “Someone at HQ omitted that minor detail. Who’s the senior officer here?”
“DI Fields, sir. She’s over by the… shiny thing.” He gestured to a slim, athletic-looking woman in her late 20s, wearing a purple teeshirt and black linen trousers, with rainbow dyed hair cut in a gamine bob.
Ryan and Stephen made their way over to the woman, who treated them both to an appraising glance before holding out her hand. “Carrie Fields. I presume you’re with the Home Office?”
“Captain Tom Ryan and Dr Stephen Hart. Has anything come out of the… shiny thing?”
DI Carrie Fields rolled her eyes. “I’m not ten years old, captain. What do you usually call the damn things? I’m presuming that anything capable of getting Her Highness into this much of tizz isn’t just a harmless light show.”
“We call them anomalies, and if anything comes out of them, we need to know about it.”
The anomaly was spinning lazily in the air, as bright as fractured glass, as beautiful as a star at midnight and as dangerous as a fragmentation grenade.
Carrie Fields looked at the sand around the anomaly. “I got slung out of Girl Guides for smuggling a bottle of vodka into summer camp so I’m hardly an expert, but I can’t see any tracks.”
“Neither can I. Stephen, over to you.”
Stephen nodded and started to circle the anomaly, moving methodically inwards, the way Ryan had seen him work hundreds of times before, but on those occasions, he’d been wearing rather more clothes. Ryan wondered if it was unprofessional to perv Stephen’s arse every time he bent over to take a closer look at the sand, but with everything he had on display, finding somewhere else to look was probably wise.
“Do you want me to clear more of the beach?” Fields asked.
“Damned if we do, damned if we don’t,” Ryan said. “I’m under instructions to keep this low key. Not sure if clearing the beach counts as low key.”
“Not sure screaming up in a posse of black Range Rovers counts as low key.”
“Fair point. If we’d known you were using a bomb scare as a cover, I’d have come with my kit … on.”
She grinned. “Your loss is my gain, captain.”
“Let’s compromise. Push the cordon back by 200 metres. That should give you a bigger comfort zone. Can you get the coast guard to stop people snooping from the water?”
While Fields went off to give the orders, Ryan brought his watch up and radioed on a closed channel to the response team. “Listen up, our cover is bomb disposal. Keep eyes on from above, everyone else get down here, and bring my gear and Stephen’s. I think we’ve done our bit for keeping this op low key now.”
“Strange definition of low key, Ryan,” Cutter said cheerfully. “Ditzy’s already had to attend to six dislocated necks, seven cases of postural whiplash and an outbreak of eyes-on-stalks syndrome.”
“Thank you, professor. Next time we need a distraction, I’ll defer to your need for an all over tan.”
“We’re on our way, Ryan,” Claudia said quickly. “I’ll update Lester. He’s liaising with the Minister’s PA.”
Five minutes later, Ryan felt distinctly more businesslike dressed in his usual black combats, with an M4 slung over his shoulder, his Sig Sauer strapped to his right thigh and his combat knife to his left.
Connor had just sent one of his new-improved all terrain probes through the anomaly and he and Cutter were looking at the resulting footage on Connor’s laptop while Blade, Kermit and Ditzy were busy erecting large green canvas screens to stop anyone getting a good view of the anomaly, even if they did manage to get past the coastguards when they arrived.
“Anyone breaks a leg now, we’re sorted,” Kermit announced.
“Not hear that one before, mate,” Blade muttered.
Kermit flipped him the finger.
“So what’re we dealing with?” Ryan asked.
“Not a scooby,” Connor said, far too cheerfully for a man who was staring at a black laptop screen.
“I thought you said that thing was working now?”
“It is.” Connor pulled the joystick on his control box towards him and some pinpricks of light appeared on the screen. “See, stars! And that round thing’s the moon.”
“Thank you for the astronomy lesson. Is it too much to hope that everything through there is asleep?” Claudia asked in a voice that made it entirely obvious she knew that was altogether too much to hope for.
“You’re starting to sound like Lester,” Connor muttered.
“Velociraptors hunt at night,” Kermit called.
“Top of the class, lad,” Cutter said. “Nice to know you weren’t kipping in all my lectures.”
“Bollocks,” Connor muttered.
Kermit looked affronted.
“Not you, mate. Something’s knocked the rover on its side,” Connor said.
“Possible incoming!” Ryan said quickly.
Kermit dropped to one knee; assault rifle trained on the anomaly.
Stephen, who’d just finished his check on the scuffed sand around the anomaly, was reaching for his cargo pants when something the size of an overweight Labrador barrelled out of the anomaly and bowled him over. The creature, snub-nosed and furry, promptly found itself being wrestled to the ground by someone who’d had a lot of experience wrangling animals. Although naked critter wrestling was a new one even for Stephen.
“Wombat!” Abby yelled. “Harmless but they can bite! Net needed, now!”
Blade promptly tossed a net over the struggling pair.
Abruptly, the wombat stopped struggling and started snuggling up to Stephen, snuffling happily.
Ryan couldn’t fault its taste.
“It likes the skin contact!” Abby declared. “Hold it tight, Stephen. Make it feel secure.”
“You know what Ryan said about cameras?” Stephen said, with an armful of hairy, enthusiastically affectionate wombat. “Well, I second it.”
Ryan grinned and promptly whipped out his phone. “Sorry, Hart, this is too good to miss.”
“I hate you,” Stephen retorted, his words muffled by wombat fur, as the creature wriggled happily in his lap.
“Thinks you’re its mum,” Kermit said.
Stephen rolled over and sat up, the wombat cradled in his lap, the net still draped over them. “OK, so how do I get him off me and get some clothes on?”
Ryan shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Abby…?” Stephen turned his best puppy dog eyes look on their animal expert.
“You’re doing just fine. Keep cuddling it.”
“Oi! None of that, you little bugger!” The wombat was making a determined effort to latch onto Stephen’s left nipple. “I am definitely not your mum! Blade, get this bloody net off me and help me up. He seems happy enough cuddling. Let’s get him back through before he decides he likes it here.”
“Looks like he’s already made his mind up,” Cutter said.
“He’s fully grown,” Abby said. “He shouldn’t still be wanting to suckle at that age.”
“Tell that to him!” Stephen said. “He’s got teeth like bloody needles.”
“Is it true they crap squares?” Ditzy asked, stepping up to Stephen’s side to help foil their visitor’s determined effect to start suckling.
“You’re about to find out,” Abby said.
The wombat’s stubby tail lifted slightly, and it dropped some pale, cube-shaped poo onto the sand, narrowly missing Stephen’s thigh.
“This shout gets better by the minute,” Kermit said, failing to keep a straight face.
“Tell Finn to start looking up recipes for wombat,” Stephen muttered.
“You’re the one who likes dung, Hart,” Ryan pointed out.
“Shut it, soldier boy, or you’re on the sofa tonight.”
Abby dropped to one knee at Stephen’s side and scooped up the poo along with a handful of sand and held it out to him.
He frowned, and Ryan got the distinct impression the look of concern on his face wasn’t just as a result of having a handful of wombat poo waved under his nose.
“It isn’t fully grown at all, it’s still a baby,” Stephen said. “Its poo’s too milky for an adult diet.”
“And that’s why it wants to suckle,” Abby said, her eyes on the anomaly as it shimmered in the heat.
“Diprotodon,” Cutter said.
“In English, professor,” Ryan asked. This wasn’t something they’d encountered before, and his knowledge of prehistoric creatures wasn’t that encyclopaedic.
“Giant wombats.”
In Ryan’s experience, the word giant was never one he wanted to hear on a shout. “How big is giant?”
“About that big,” Cutter said, as something the size of a hippopotamus – only a lot furrier – ambled slowly out of the anomaly, blinking in the sunlight.
“Crap,” Kermit said, echoing Ryan’s thoughts.
“Hold fire!” Ryan ordered. “Abby…?”
“Put it down and back up, slowly,” Abby said.
Stephen had already started to do exactly that, but the baby wombat didn’t want to be dislodged. It whimpered loudly, promptly drawing the adult’s attention.
“Come on, little mate,” Stephen urged. “Mum’s got the milk you want, not me.”
“Incoming, again!” Kermit said urgently.
Another small wombat ambled through the anomaly, followed by two more. They all stood there, blinking owlishly, their snub noses snuffling the air.
“Not good,” Connor muttered. “Seriously not good. Don’t want to worry you guys, but the magnetic field’s dropping.”
“Everyone grab a wombat!” Cutter ordered, echoing the words he’d used what seemed like a lifetime ago during the dodo incursion.
Without waiting to be told twice, Ditzy and Blade promptly scooped up a wombat each, while Kermit covered them. Ryan grabbed the third one, then it was like a particularly manic game of rugby trying to get past an extremely hairy prop with several large, squeaking, furry balls.
Blade was the first one to dodge past the giant wombat and dive through the anomaly, followed by Stephen. The adult charged at Ditzy with a surprising turn of speed for such a lumbering creature, but the medic threw himself into a sideways skid straight through the fragmented light in a move that could have earned him a place on the England squad. Ryan dashed after them with his bundle of soft fur.
He felt the familiar magnetic tug on his gear and then he was through into a dark world lit only by the pale glow of an almost full moon and myriad impressively bright stars.
“Drop ‘em and get back through!” he ordered, disentangling himself from the one he was carrying and pushing it back towards its mother, who’d followed them at speed.
Surrounded by its babies, the adult wombat showed no inclination to investigate the light again, much to Ryan’s relief. The anomaly, fading now with startling rapidity, started to flicker as they ran towards it.
Three metres from safety, Stephen, barefoot on rocky ground, went down with a startled yell as a stone turned his ankle. Without hesitating, Blade turned back and hauled Stephen to his feet, dragging one arm around his shoulders. Ryan looped one arm around his lover’s waist and the three of them completed an ungainly dash through the fading rip in time.
Welcome sunlight burst over them as the anomaly flickered and winked out of existence, leaving the wombat family safely in their own time and the anomaly team in theirs.
Blade helped Stephen down on the sand, while Ditzy examined his ankle. The medic pronounced it sprained, not broken, and sagely told Stephen to stick his foot in a rock pool to reduce the swelling.
“No wonder they keep what you lot do a secret,” DI Fields remarked. “Watching that’s the most fun I’ve had with my clothes on in years.”
“At least you got to keep your clothes on,” Stephen remarked, as he pulled on a pair of denim shorts from the rucksack of spare clothes Claudia handed him.
“Be fair, in my job it’s not often I get to watch a gorgeous naked bloke breast-feeding a wombat.”
“I’ll add wombat surrogate mother to my CV.”
Ryan ruffled his hair. “That’s called taking one for the team, Hart.”
“The minister is very grateful,” Claudia said. “I’ve said we’ll keep a presence here for the next few hours just to make sure the anomaly doesn’t come back. There’s just one more thing we need to do before wrapping up…” In response to Cutter’s puzzled look, she added, “The military team get to do what they like best so we can maintain the cover DI Fields kindly set up for us.”
Kermit grinned. “We get to blow shit up?”
“That’s what bomb disposal teams do, isn’t it?”
“They do sometimes just diffuse them,” Ryan pointed out.
“I think an audible demonstration is called for on this occasion.” Mischief sparkled in Claudia’s usually guileless eyes.
“Ditz, over to you. Just don’t bring the whole fucking cliff down,” Ryan said. “That wouldn’t go down well with the minister. Or Lester. I’m fairly sure we’ve already exceeded what he thinks is a reasonable explosives budget for this month.”
“On it, boss.”
“I’m definitely applying for a transfer,” DI Carrie Fields declared. “You lot really do live the fucking dream.”