Spider Shepherd: SAS: #1

by Stephen Leather

  Shepherd took up the briefing again. ‘Okay, as I said, the recce boat is deployed by being fired through the submarine’s torpedo tubes. The patrol will follow through the lock-out system in the sub’s conning tower and swim to the boat. The only other issue may be the weather, which is looking dubious.’ He paused at the sound of approaching footsteps on the steel floor. ‘This might be the update on that.’

  A lieutenant, wearing the dolphin badge of an experienced submariner, stepped through the hatch. He was in his early thirties, pale skimmed with a rash of brown freckles across his nose and cheeks. ‘Not good news, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘Pressure’s falling, visibility is poor and the wind’s backing northerly and strengthening, so we look to be in for a bit of a blow. The commander’s recommendation is that the exercise should be postponed until the weather improves.

  Shepherd glanced at the others. ‘What do you reckon?’

  Liam shrugged. ‘It’s the navy’s environment, not ours. If they don’t think it’s fit, we’d be mugs to overrule them.’

  There was a murmur of agreement from the others.

  ‘Fair enough then,’ Shepherd said. ‘I’ll tell the Head Shed, assuming we have comms at the moment? Though you know what the Boss is like, so don’t stand down just yet.’

  Shepherd went to the comms area and outlined the weather problems and the sub commander’s opinion, to the Squadron OC, Michael de Vale, who was supervising the operation. There was a pause on the radio while he digested the news. ‘Nonsense,’ he said eventually, his accent pure cut glass. ‘Who Dares Wins, remember? We don’t suspend operations because there’s a bit of wind and rain. Get on with it, Shepherd. That’s an order.’

  ‘Yes sir,’ Shepherd said, masking his irritation. De Vale came from a family with a strong military background and a lineage stretching back to the Norman Conquest and he was renowned in the Regiment for losing no opportunity to blow his own trumpet and for volunteering his men for any operation, no matter how reckless or ill-conceived.

  Shepherd reported back to the others. ‘No surprises there,’ Geordie said. ‘OK, let’s get to it.’

  Despite their reservations, there was no grumbling or hesitation from anyone. The decision was made and, whatever their private thoughts, they had received a direct order and would carry out the task without further pause. They began to dress themselves in their dry-suits, a difficult enough task in ample space on dry land, never mind in the cramped confines of a submarine torpedo bay. Shepherd was sweating profusely by the time he’d struggled into the suit, with its gaskets clamping tight around his wrists, neck and ankles.

  When all four men were fully suited, they shuffled along to the lock-out chamber and, with the help of two of the sub crew, clambered through the circular hatch into the chamber. They synchronised watches with the lieutenant. ‘We’ll launch the raft at 0950 hours,’ he said. ‘Good luck.’

  Shepherd nodded, then the sub crew closed the hatch and he span the circular wheel to lock it shut. ‘Alone at last,’ he said to the others. No one laughed. They were all in operations mode, all too well aware that any mistake could be fatal.

  They took it in turns to put on their fins and their modified submarine escape hoods, designed to allow them to exhale during the short ascent to the surface. It was essential that they did so; if they held their breath, the air in their lungs would expand as they rose from the depths, causing internal damage to their organs.

  They waited as the time ticked down, every sound echoing from the steel walls of the tiny chamber. ‘Now!’ Shepherd said at last. He spun the wheel to free the hatch above their heads. There was a blast of gas, the hatch swung open and a torrent of seawater cascaded into the chamber. He stifled a gasp at the icy shock of the water, and had to fight to control the involuntary, hyperventilating response to sudden, extreme cold. The airlock filled rapidly and he was swept upwards. He cleared the hatch and exhaling as he went, finned rapidly upwards.

  He broke surface and looked around. A heavy swell was running, the wind whipping drifts of spray from the crests. As he was lifted by the swell, he caught a brief glimpse of three other heads bobbing above the surface near him. About a hundred yards away he could see the glistening outline of the black rubber raft uncurling as it began to inflate. He slipped down into the trough before the next wave and he lost sight of his colleagues. He began finning towards the raft, pausing a couple of times to check his direction, as the stiff, gusting wind and the powerful current of the ebb tide combined to hamper him. Even in the short time in the water, he could feel the effects of the cold, which seemed to double the effort needed to swim to the boat.

  In the far distance, to the east, he could see the outlines of the peaks of the Lofoten Islands, as sharp and jagged as shark’s teeth against the lowering grey clouds. He reached the raft just ahead of the others and clung to the side of it for a moment as the waves pummelled him. He could hear the hiss of gas from the boat’s cylinders as they continued their slow inflation of the raft. One by one they pulled themselves out of the frigid water and swung into the raft. Even the freezing wind felt better than the numbing cold of the ocean.

  His relief proved short-lived because the hissing sound from the cylinders faltered and stopped. He looked at the others and saw his concern mirrored on their faces. The boat was not even half-inflated. Burdened by their weight, it was filling with water. As the others scrambled for anything they could use to bale out the seawater as the boat bucked and rocked in the swell, Shepherd grabbed the mini-flares from the boat and jammed them into his belt, then began trying to restart the cylinders. As he looked up, he froze, seeing a monster wave rising above them. His shouted warning was snatched away by the wind, and the wave smashed down with crushing force, capsizing the boat and hurling them all back into the ocean.

  As Shepherd broke surface, he saw the raft had turned turtle and was now upside down. He swam back to it and hung on to the slippery hull as the others joined him, battling to maintain their grip as each wave threatened to tear them loose. They had only the most minimal kit on them. Everything else - comms, weapons, rations, survival gear, rations - had been in the boat and was now on its way to the bottom of the ocean.

  Shepherd was all too well aware of the seriousness of their situation. Even wearing dry suits to combat the extreme cold of the Arctic water, they would not be able to survive for long before hypothermia began to kick in. He pulled the metal firing tube from the flare pack. His frozen fingers fumbled with the trigger for a moment, then it fired and the mini-flare arced up high above them and burst into vivid red star.

  At intervals of ten minutes, he fired off three more flares. The Norwegian coastguard was on watch for them and the support chopper was patrolling just off the Lofotens, so help should have been with them within half an hour at worst. But as the minutes ticked by and still no help appeared, all of them began to succumb to the near-zero water temperature.

  Shepherd was shivering uncontrollably and felt as weak as a newborn. It took all his strength just to cling to the hull of the raft. When he fumbled for a fresh flare, his movements were clumsy and uncoordinated. He recognised the symptoms of the onset of hypothermia and knew that his blood was retreating from the extremities towards the core of his body. It was the body’s way of trying to survive extreme cold, but if it continued unchecked would lead to unconsciousness and death.

  After what felt like hours, above the howl of the wind and the sound of the waves battering the upturned boat, he heard a faint sound. It grew rapidly louder, swelling into the clatter of rotors and he saw a black speck approaching from the coast. He felt relief surge through him. Every movement slow and laboured, he managed to fire another flare and saw the helicopter change course slightly towards them. It overflew them and even went into a hover, but it then swung away and headed back towards the coast. In desperation he fired another flare but the helicopter kept on its course and soon disappeared from sight. How had they missed them? How had they not seen the flares?
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  He stared helplessly at his three companions. ‘Flares!’ he shouted. ‘Keep firing the flares.’

  They kept firing flares but did so now more in desperation than in genuine hope that they might result in a rescue.

  The time dragged by and Shepherd no longer had any sense of how long they had been in the water. Only a deep-rooted, subconscious survival instinct kept him clinging on. He was not even aware of feeling cold any more, in fact, if anything, in his rare moments of relative lucidity, he almost felt too hot. He was now only semi-conscious. The others were in no better shape and the weather was deteriorating, with vicious gusts of wind and stinging showers of sleet and snow blowing across them. Through the fog of his thoughts, he was dimly aware of a sound that appeared to come from a long way off, but in his confused state it seemed of no more significance than a fly buzzing against a window pane. It grew louder and louder, but he still gazed vacantly in front of him, even as the downdraft from a hovering helicopter lashed the water into foam. A moment later, a dark shape splashed into the sea alongside them.

  The winchman grabbed Jimbo first, manhandling him into the sling and signalling to be hauled up. He returned a couple of minutes later for Geordie, who seemed no more aware of what was happening than Shepherd. The winchman came to get Liam next, but Liam shook his head, pointing towards Shepherd. ‘Take him,’ he said, his speech so slurred that he sounded half-asleep. ‘He’s not going to make it if you don’t. Take him.’

  Shepherd was only half aware of what Liam was saying. The winchman swam towards Shepherd and wrestled him into the sling. He signalled to the winch operator to haul them up. Shepherd was swung in through the hatch and laid on a stretcher on the floor of the helicopter next to the other two men. His pupils were fully dilated and his skin had turned blue. He didn’t appear to be breathing and had no detectable pulse, but the medic refused to give up and began using CPR to try to restart his heart.

  As the medic fought to revive Shepherd, the winchman swung out of the hatch ready to retrieve Liam. He could see the dark shape of the Irishman, still clinging to the hull. But as he descended a huge wave broke over the boat and ripped Liam away. The winchman stared at the waves waiting for Liam to reappear, but there was no sign of him. He spoke to the pilot on his headset and the helicopter began a series of slowly widening circles around the boat, but nothing broke the surface of the sullen ocean swell. Time was running out for the three men they had already rescued so eventually the pilot had to abandon the search and he wheeled the helicopter away to speed back towards the Norwegian coast.

  * * *

  Shepherd heard a voice and opened his eyes a fraction, blinking in the strong light. ‘Welcome back, Dan.’ The voice had a Scandinavian accent. As Shepherd’s eyes came into focus, he saw a white-coated figure looking down at him.

  ‘Where am I?’ croaked Shepherd.

  ‘In Narvik, at the University Hospital, and you’re a very lucky man indeed,’ the doctor said. ‘You nearly died out there. You had no pulse or visible respiration when you were brought in, and the core temperature of your body was barely twenty degrees Celsius. A weaker man wouldn’t have recovered. ‘

  ‘Good to know,’ said Shepherd. He tried to lift his head but fell back.

  ‘Luckily for you, the medic on the rescue helicopter is no stranger to hypothermia cases. Once you reached hospital we gave you a breathing tube with warm air for your lungs, and warm saline through an IV and through a tube directly into your stomach. That helped to raise your temperature from the inside - much faster than heating you from the outside. But it was the medic on the rescue helicopter who really saved your life.’

  ‘What about the others?’ Shepherd struggled to sit up again and failed.

  ‘Please lie still,’ the doctor said. ‘You’re very weak and your body has had a very narrow escape. Give it time to recover.’

  ‘But my friends? What about my friends?’

  The doctor’s smile faded. ‘Two of them are recovering well and you will be able to see them shortly. But I’m afraid the other man drowned before he could be rescued.’

  ‘Who was it?’ Shepherd dreaded the answer, whatever it was, but he had to know.

  The doctor consulted his notes. ‘McKay. Liam McKay.’

  Shepherd groaned and lay back.

  ‘I am sorry,’ said the doctor. ‘If it’s any consolation, drowning in such a cold sea is relatively painless.’

  Shepherd held up a hand to silence the doctor. He didn’t want to be consoled. He was barely aware of the doctor leaving the room. He took slow deep breaths as he came to terms with what he’d been told. Liam was gone. Not killed in combat - a proper soldier’s death - but lost in some stupid training accident. It was a senseless death. And it could so easily have been Shepherd who had died in the icy waters.

  His dark thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door and a fair-haired man walked in. He was wearing a red anorak over pale green overalls. Shepherd scowled at him. ‘This isn’t a good time.’

  ‘I won’t keep you long,’ the man said. He shifted his weight from leg to leg, clearly uneasy. ‘My name is Mats. I was the winchman on the rescue helicopter. I just wanted to make sure that you were all right and tell you how sorry I was that we weren’t able to save your friend.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Shepherd. He struggled to sit up and extend his hand. ‘I owe you my life.’

  Mats solemnly shook hands with him.

  ‘Seriously, if there’s ever anything I can do for you, you only have to ask,’ said Shepherd. Sitting up was painful so he lay back down again.

  Mats smiled. ‘That really isn’t necessary, I was just doing my job, and anyway, if anyone deserves your thanks, it’s our medic, Runar. I’d given you up for dead but he worked on you all the way back to Narvik.’ His smile evaporated. ‘I’m sorry about your colleague. Liam. He was a very brave man.’

  Shepherd nodded. ‘I know you did your best.’

  Mats nodded. ‘I rescued the other two men first, and then I went to your friend, but he insisted I take you first, saying that you wouldn’t make it unless I did. He was obviously hypothermic himself, but I did as he said. If I hadn’t, you probably wouldn’t be here now.’ He grimaced and shook his head at the memory. ‘ He was washed away and when I was lowered, there was no sign of him. We searched but he didn’t resurface.’ He took a deep breath to steady himself before continuing. ‘He gave his life to save yours.’ Shepherd felt a slow tear trickle down his cheek. ‘I’m sorry,’ Mats said, ‘ but I thought you should know how he died.’ He hesitated for a second. ‘There’s one other thing you should know’ He took a step closer to Shepherd’s bed and lowered his voice. ‘My chief told your Commanding Officer that the weather was not fit for the exercise and likely to deteriorate further. He was ignored and the exercise went ahead. My chief remained concerned and sent us out to overfly the boat. Your CO came with us in the helicopter and though he could see you in the water and saw the distress flare you fired, he insisted that you were, as he put it, “in control of the situation” and would be able to right the boat, and he ordered us back to base. We only returned because when the weather deteriorated further, my chief overruled your CO.’ He searched Shepherd’s face for some reaction. ‘I hope I have done the right thing in telling you this. I thought you ought to know.’

  ‘You did the right thing,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m grateful. And my offer to you stands, if you ever need help of any sort, just say the word and I’m there for you.’ Mats nodded, forced a smile, and left Shepherd to his thoughts.

  * * *

  Shepherd, Geordie and Jimbo were discharged from hospital two days later and flown back to England. The cab that dropped Shepherd off in front of his house in Hereford had only just pulled away when a heavily-pregnant Sue opened the front door. Shepherd rushed towards her and hugged her. As he held her close he felt his son kick in her womb and he gasped. Sue laughed. ‘It’s his way of saying hello,’ she said. ‘Either that or he wants to be a
professional footballer.’

  Shepherd laughed and then the implication of what she had said hit home. ‘It’s a boy?’

  ‘He’s a boy,’ said Sue. She kissed him on the lips. ‘We’re having a son.’

  They went inside and Sue took him into the kitchen to make tea. As she busied herself with the teapot she asked him what had happened. Shepherd couldn’t tell her too much – even families weren’t privy to SAS operations – but even if he had been in a position to give her the details he would never tell her just how close he had come to losing his life. He told her about Liam dying in the freezing waters and her eyes misted over. Liam had been around to their house many times and they had been planning to ask him to be Godfather to their child. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said.

  ‘Neither can I,’ said Shepherd. ‘And it was all down to an incompetent officer putting our lives on the line.’

  ‘What will you do?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know yet, but I want some answers about what went on.’

  Lying in bed that night, his hand resting on her bump, feeling their son’s kicks inside the womb, he turned to her. ‘Can we call him Liam?’ he whispered.

  She smiled. ‘Of course we can.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure.’