by Chris Ryan
His muscles ached. His lungs burned. Through a gap in the swirling mist he could see, up ahead, a red flag stuck in a snow mound. It was twenty, maybe thirty, metres away. As he advanced on the target, all he could hear was his breath and his fast-pumping heart. He could sense Lukas to his right, even though he couldn’t see him.
And then he could. He was five metres away, his head down, his face fierce. They raced up the snowy knoll to the flag. As they approached, they shoulder-barged each other. Neither boy was thrown off-course, however. They fell on the flag at precisely the same time, tumbling to the ground as they did so.
Max lay in the snow, catching his breath. Lukas stood up immediately, brushing himself down and muttering angrily under his breath. To the right of the flag was a post. The fingerprint sensor was attached to it. Lukas pressed his thumb to the screen and nodded in satisfaction. Max stood up too. He felt a little embarrassed by his sudden competitiveness. They were supposed to be racing an unknown time limit, not each other. He pressed his thumb to the sensor. A neon-green light scanned it.
‘So what kept you?’
Max blinked. It wasn’t Lukas who had asked the question. It was someone on the far side of the snowy mound. A female voice with an Irish accent. He and Lukas exchanged a look, then peered over the leeward side of the mound. Abby was sitting there. She looked quite comfortable, sitting cross-legged and eating a chocolate bar. She gave them a friendly little wave.
Max stared at her. He looked over his shoulder, then back at Abby. ‘You left after us,’ he said.
‘You’re a sharp one,’ she said. ‘Max, wasn’t it?’
‘But how did you get here so quickly?’ Lukas said
Abby put one finger to her lips, pretending to think hard. ‘Well, Lukas my friend, I guess that would be by moving faster.’
‘Where’s everyone else?’ Max asked, looking around.
Abby shrugged and took another mouthful of her chocolate bar. ‘I passed a few on the way,’ she said.
Max became aware of movement behind him. Lukas was stalking off, apparently furious that he hadn’t been first. Beyond him, heading up the ridge, were two figures side by side. One of them was obviously injured. The other was helping the casualty up the slope. They were momentarily obscured by the mist. When they came back into view, Max saw that it was Sami helping the injured person towards the flag. Max sprinted towards them.
Sami was sweating hard despite the cold. The injured person was the blond boy from their sleeping quarters. He had one arm over Sami’s shoulder and only seemed to be able to use his right leg. His left was bent backwards at the knee. He looked like he’d broken a bone. His face was white with cold and pain.
‘What happened?’ Max shouted as he took the blond boy’s other arm around his shoulder.
‘I found him. He had tripped on a hidden rock. He fell on his beacon and it broke. I offered to use mine but he wouldn’t let me. I thought it would be better to get him to the top where we can help him together.’
The blond boy was too cold and in too much pain to talk. Max wondered what state he would have been in if Sami had just left him.
They reached the flag with difficulty. Abby and Lukas were waiting for them. Abby looked mildly bemused. Lukas was frowning. The blond boy collapsed. ‘He needs to get down,’ Max shouted. ‘He needs medical care.’
Sami nodded. Abby inclined her head as though listening. Lukas scowled.
‘We should all activate our beacons,’ Max told them. ‘That way they’ll know there’s a real emergency.’
Sami immediately held up his own beacon. Abby and Lukas hesitated. Max pointed at the casualty. ‘He could die,’ he shouted. ‘Is all this so important to you that you’re willing to let that happen?’
Abby and Lukas looked at each other. Then they held up their beacons.
‘If we get sent home because of this …’ Lukas snarled.
‘Just do it!’ Max shouted. ‘Three, two, one …’
The four teenagers activated their beacons together.
When the helicopter arrived, piloted by Angel, it was the most dangerous thing Max had ever seen. The snow was still falling, the mist still swirling. Visibility was poor – barely twenty metres. To fly in those conditions, almost blind, took a skill and strength of nerve few people had. As the chopper touched down on the mountaintop, the downdraught from the rotors blew up a huge cloud of snow that almost completely obscured the helicopter itself. Seconds later, Hector and Woody emerged from the snow cloud and sprinted towards them.
By now, a few other recruits had arrived. They had pressed their thumbs to the fingerprint sensor and were standing around, trying to keep warm and looking anxiously at the blond boy, who was lying shivering in the snow. Hector and Woody strode through them and took one look at the casualty. They nodded at each other, then picked him up with one arm round each shoulder. ‘Get in the helicopter, everybody!’ Hector shouted as they carried the blond boy to the chopper.
The recruits looked at each other. Then they ran through the swirling cloud of snow, which harshly bit the skin on their faces, to the aircraft.
Over the thunder of the rotor blades, Max could just hear Hector’s voice shouting, almost screaming: ‘Whoever activated their beacons, you’re going home. Tonight!’
7
R.E.J.
In the chopper, all was confusion. Hector bellowed at the recruits to sit down and shut up while he and Woody tended to the casualty. The recruits looked on, silent and anxious. Max couldn’t see what the Watchers were doing to the blond boy because Woody, hunched down over him, was in the way. All he knew was that it was serious, urgent and best left to them. As the chopper was buffeted on its way back down the mountain, he found he could concentrate on only one thing: Hector’s words ringing in his head. You’re going home.
The chopper touched back down on the valley floor. Hector and Woody carried the casualty off the aircraft. Martha, the matron, was waiting for them. She had her arms folded and a pitiless look on her face. She pointed at the house and the two Watchers carried their casualty towards it. The others disembarked. Max, Sami, Lukas and Abby were in stunned silence. Lukas stormed away as soon as they were on the ground. It almost felt as if his anger would melt the snow.
It was only when Woody returned and was approached by Abby and Sami that the Watchers learned the truth about what had happened. Max watched them and felt Hector’s hot glare across the parade ground. He saw Woody turn to the older man and talk fast. Hector threw his hands up in the air and strode back into the house. Woody approached Max. ‘Sounds like you have a knack for mountain rescue,’ he said.
‘It was Sami, really,’ Max said.
‘Well, ignore what Hector said. He spoke too soon, and in the heat of the moment. You’re both through. Lukas and Abby too.’ Woody looked across the parade ground to where seven recruits had lined up, caps in hand. ‘Another high dropout rate today,’ he observed.
It was even higher than Woody thought. At dinner that night, only eight recruits remained. They were silent as they queued up at the hotplate. Martha ladled out bowls of a slightly different-coloured stew and they ate it wordlessly at the long table. Even Abby was quiet. Having eaten her own meal, she glanced hungrily at the others’ bowls. But she didn’t ask if anyone was going to eat theirs. After a day in the mountains, they were all hungry.
That night, Max dreamed of rocky ridges, cloud lines and snow. He woke up several times, sweating. It had been a brutal forty-eight hours. His muscles hurt, but so did his mind. As he lay in the darkness, he realised that the Watchers weren’t only testing their physical endurance; they were also testing them mentally. Maybe that was why Hector was being so aggressive with Max. But then why wasn’t he acting like that with the others?
When morning arrived, Max heard the sound of rain on the iron roof of the Nissen hut. It was heavy and persistent. When he stepped outside just before dawn, he saw that the snow had mostly melted and a dank drizzle filled the valley. He wondered i
f the sun ever shone here.
The others were still asleep and there was no sign of the Watchers. Max jogged through the drizzle to the main house and was a little surprised to find the front door open. He stepped inside and quietly closed the door. He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing. But then he found himself walking up to the picture of the young man who looked so very like him. He realised that he’d been intending to look at it again ever since he’d climbed silently out of bed.
It was dark in the corridor where the picture hung. But the young man’s face was clearly visible. The first time Max had seen it, he’d been freaked out. Now he found it calming. Looking at it gave him the strength to face whatever the day ahead might throw at him.
He heard footsteps. They were upstairs, but he could tell they were approaching the staircase. They were brisk and firm. It sounded like Hector. And he knew he didn’t want to be caught here, even though he wasn’t sure whether he was breaking any rules. He tiptoed up the corridor and stepped into a room on his left. There he stood with his back to the wall, holding his breath. The footsteps grew louder. They walked past the room in the direction of the main door. Max heard their owner exiting the house. He exhaled slowly and only then did he look around the room.
It was dark and musty. Heavy curtains covered the windows, but they let a few beams of grey dawn light into the room. It was oak panelled, and there were lots of big, squashy sofas and armchairs dotted around. There was a large fireplace with a substantial store of wood to one side. Above the fireplace was an oil painting. Max couldn’t take his eyes off it. It showed a man in full military dress. He had short brown hair, parted on the right. Thick eyebrows. A strong jaw. He looked calm and in control. He also looked exactly like the man in the photo in the corridor. Which meant he looked exactly like Max.
Max stared up at the painting in the gloomy light. He found he was holding his breath again. The picture had an ornate gilt frame. On the bottom edge was an oval panel. Etched on the panel, in fussy copperplate writing, were the letters ‘R.E.J.’
‘R.E.J.,’ Max whispered to himself. ‘Who are you?’
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing in here?’
Max spun round to see Hector standing in the doorway. He hadn’t heard him come in. Hector looked furious. He glared at Max, then up at the picture, then at Max again. ‘I said, what the hell do you think you’re doing in here?’
‘Exploring,’ Max said calmly. He pointed up at the picture. ‘Who’s that?’
‘What does it matter?’
‘I was just curious.’
‘He’s some old soldier. How would I know who it is? What am I, a museum curator?’
It was very faint, but Max saw it: a twitch on the right-hand side of Hector’s face as he spoke. He knew the older man was lying. Max also knew he had zero chance of getting the truth out of him.
‘Get out of here,’ Hector said. ‘Breakfast.’ He stood to one side of the door and pointed back out into the corridor.
Max avoided Hector’s eye as he left the room. He walked along the corridor, across the hallway and into the room where they took their meals. None of the other cadets had arrived yet, but Martha was there. She was fiercely brandishing her ladle behind the hotplate as usual. She glared at Max as he approached.
‘What happened to him?’ Max asked.
‘To whom?’ Martha asked sourly in her strong Scottish accent.
‘The guy who broke his leg?’
‘He cried. A lot.’
‘Did you fix him?’
‘What do you think this is, laddie? Hogwarts? You think I can wave a magic wand and cure a broken bone? He’s in hospital, of course.’
‘How long will he be there for?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘I helped get him down, didn’t I?’
‘What do you want?’ Martha asked. ‘A twelve-gun salute? You’ve come to the wrong place, laddie, if that’s the case.’
‘I thought you were here to look after the recruits,’ Max said.
‘Aye, but not mollycoddle them. If you want someone to mop your fevered brow, you should throw your hat in right now.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘It wouldn’t be a bad thing anyway.’
Something snapped in Max. He was sick of this attitude, first from Hector and now from Martha. ‘Why?’ he demanded. ‘Why have you brought me here if all you’re going to do is put me down?’
Martha stared at him. For the briefest moment, he thought her face might have softened. But it hardened again as she ladled out a bowlful of grey slop. ‘Eat your porridge, laddie,’ she said quietly. It was clear that the conversation was at an end. Sullenly, he took his breakfast and sat alone at one of the long tables to eat it.
The others arrived one by one: Sami first, then Abby, then Lukas. The two thickset boys from their hut had handed in their caps the previous day. The blond boy was of course no longer with them. There were two other boys who introduced themselves as Jack and Ash. Jack had a shaved head and a tattoo on the back of his left hand. He seemed kind of arrogant to Max. Ash had curly brown hair and a stud in his left ear. Abby introduced two more girls. Their names were Maddy and Els and they didn’t speak.
All the recruits looked exhausted. The previous day’s exertions had clearly taken it out of them. As Max finished his porridge in silence, he looked from one to the other. He wondered what the day held, and how many of them would be sitting here at supper time.
He was about to stand up when Angel walked in. Max hadn’t spoken to her yet. He felt slightly nervous of the tall, silent young woman with the fiery red hair. She seemed neither as aggressive as Hector nor as friendly as Woody. Somehow that made Max respect her all the more. The cool way she had manoeuvred the helicopter on the mountain suggested she was not someone to mess with. Max had the impression that the others felt the same. Even Lukas looked at her with something approaching admiration. She stood at the end of the long table where they were all eating breakfast and looked at each one of them in turn.
‘You did well yesterday,’ she said in a husky voice. ‘All of you. If any of you are thinking of handing in your berets at the end of today, you shouldn’t.’
She looked at them all in turn again. Was it Max’s imagination, or did she stare at him for just a fraction longer than the others?
‘Line up outside in ten minutes,’ she said abruptly. She turned on her heel and strode towards the door. ‘Today’s exercise: weapons.’
8
Semi-Automatic
There was an excited buzz among the recruits. Whether it was the prospect of weapons handling, or the idea of not having to fight through howling blizzards, Max wasn’t sure. But even he had to admit that he felt a little more energised as he filed out of the house with the others. Sami was by his side. ‘I’ve done a bit of weapons handling in CCF,’ Max whispered to his friend. ‘I’ll give you some tips, if you like.’
Sami smiled at him. ‘Maybe,’ he said.
The rain had lifted. Angel, Hector and Woody were waiting for them outside. They led the recruits round to the parade ground and along the valley for about five minutes. They reached a low concrete building, securely padlocked. Beyond it was a shooting range. At one end was a row of sandbags. Fifty metres further on there was a line of eight targets, each in the shape of a human body. Behind the targets, a solid wall of more sandbags. Max assumed this was to stop any stray bullets travelling too far.
Woody unlocked the building. He, Angel and Hector disappeared inside. The recruits waited. There was a hush. Max found himself standing next to Lukas. He was chewing gum, as usual. When he caught Max’s eye, he spat his gum out into a wrapper and threw it on the ground. He was putting a fresh piece in his mouth as the Watchers exited the building. They were carrying weapons. Each of them had a different kind. Woody had the smallest, Angel the next largest and Hector the biggest.
Hector stepped forward. He scanned the recruits standing in front of him. ‘Don’t get too excited,’ he barked
at them. ‘Special Forces Cadets will seldom be sent into operational situations carrying weapons. We’re not raising a pack of gun-hungry teenagers. But the cadets who make it through selection will find themselves in scenarios where the bad guys are armed. You need to show us that you have the potential to learn about the weapons you may encounter. At the end of the day you will each be tested on what you have learned. We are also going to be firing some weapons. This will test certain characteristics that we are looking for: strength, coordination, ability to learn. Maybe you think today will be easier than previous days. Think again. Gun work is all in the head. If your head’s not up to it, you’re going home.’
He turned to Woody and nodded. Woody stepped forward and held up his firearm. ‘This is a handgun, or pistol,’ he announced. ‘A SIG Sauer P226, to be precise. It fires 9mm rounds. It’s a semi-automatic. I’m now going to explain to you what that means.’
Lukas made a huffing sound and rolled his eyes, as if he already knew everything Woody was going to tell them. Max turned his attention back to Woody.
‘Semi-automatic means that once a round is fired, the recoil ejects the empty cartridge case, loads the next round and cocks the weapon. This means the user only needs to cock it once, for the first shot. After that, they are able to fire the remaining rounds in quick succession. All shots today will be discharged in semi-automatic mode. Semi-automatic pistols have advantages and disadvantages. They are easy to conceal and can usually fire twelve or thirteen rounds in quick succession. But they have many working parts, which means they are prone to stoppages. In the movies, you see people accurately firing handguns across large distances. It’s not like that in real life. These weapons are hard to aim. A highly competent weapons handler could aim a shot at twelve to fifteen metres. An inexperienced shooter is unlikely to be on target above three to five metres. Those of you who make it through selection will learn how to load and strip down all these weapons. And how to fire them, of course.’
