For King and Country

by David Monnery

  He moved to cut the German off, a sense of triumph welling up in his throat. Twice Ziegler looked back towards the house, but the two men were only about twenty yards apart when he caught sight of Farnham. ‘Halt,’ the SAS man yelled, noticing the gun in the German’s hand for the first time.

  Ziegler seemed to hesitate, the gun hanging loose in his right hand, and for a moment Farnham thought he was going to surrender. But the German had apparently made a realistic assessment of his life expectancy in Allied captivity, for he suddenly accelerated down the path, firing off a shot as he did so.

  Farnham instinctively ducked, and his foot slipped in the wet grass, sending him sprawling. He scrambled back to his feet and went after Ziegler. In the distance another door slammed.

  On the jetty the German was desperately working at the knotted mooring rope. As Farnham walked calmly towards him he looked up, desperation in his eyes, and wildly opened fire with his revolver. The SAS man braced his legs, raised the Webley into the firing position with both hands and pulled the trigger. Ziegler spun with the impact, and collapsed with a dull thud on to his knees, the gun still in his hand. There was probably no need for a second bullet, but Farnham fired one anyway, a surge of terrible satisfaction blazing in his mind. The body collapsed into a foetal crouch on the edge of the jetty, and then slowly slid off, entering the water below with a dull, plopping sound.

  On the path he could hear running feet.

  ‘Boss,’ a familiar voice yelled.

  Farnham was smiling to himself when the first bullet hit him. Once, twice, he felt the agony of something ripping through his chest, and a cloud of pain seemed to expand inside him, red to purple, purple to black.

  Rafferty and McCaigh opened up with the Stens, raking the bushes where the muzzle flashes had come from. There was no returning fire, and they found the boy lying face down, half his head blown away. He couldn’t have been more than twelve.

  There were footsteps behind them, and a woman walked into view, rain streaming down her face. She said nothing, just bent down and cradled her son’s bloody head in her hands.

  Rafferty picked up the boy’s gun and walked back down the path to where Farnham was lying, his eyes closed, his lips slightly curled in a smile of satisfaction. McCaigh walked up to stand beside him, and in the dim light his face was the one his father had described.

  OTHER TITLES IN THE SAS OPERATION SERIES

  Behind Iraqi Lines

  Mission to Argentina

  Sniper Fire in Belfast

  Desert Raiders

  Samarkand Hijack

  Embassy Siege

  Guerrillas in the Jungle

  Secret War in Arabia

  Colombian Cocaine War

  Invisible Enemy in Kazakhstan

  Heroes of the South Atlantic

  Counter-insurgency in Aden

  Gambian Bluff

  Bosnian Inferno

  Night Fighters in France

  Death on Gibraltar

  Into Vietnam

  Kashmir Rescue

  Guatemala – Journey into Evil

  Headhunters of Borneo

  Kidnap the Emperor!

  War on the Streets

  Bandit Country

  Days of the Dead

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