Spider Shepherd: SAS: #2

by Stephen Leather

  ‘Never been a big fan of jewellery,’ said Shepherd. ‘But yeah, I’ve been married for going on five years. And my boy’s four. You?’

  ‘Nah, had a girlfriend but that went south when I signed up.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s not easy being involved with a soldier. My wife’s forever nagging me to hand in my papers.’

  ‘Serious?’

  ‘Dead serious. She reckons that it’s too dangerous.’

  ‘Bless her,’ said Lex, and the two men laughed.

  ‘She’s got a point, though,’ said Shepherd. ‘It was different when I was based in Hereford and could get home most nights. I could help around the house and be a dad for Liam. I’ve missed two of his last birthdays and it’s looking like we’re going to be here over Christmas.’

  ‘That goes with the job, though,’ said Lex.

  ‘She’s a Hereford girl so she understands that. But when she married me she had no way of knowing how crazy the world was going to get.’

  ‘And will you do it? Hand in your papers?’

  ‘And do what?’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m a soldier, that’s what I do. I can’t go back and work in an office.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve told her to wait and see how this works out. I can see us being here for ever.’

  ‘I’m not sure about this,’ said Lex. ‘It’s a right mess here. The Russians couldn’t control this country and I don’t see that we’ll do a better job. And I don’t know about you but I’m getting a bad feeling about Iraq.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I think the Yanks want to invade. And if they go in Blair will have us in on Uncle Sam’s coat tails.’

  Shepherd smiled ruefully. ‘I hope Sue doesn’t start thinking that way,’ he said.

  ‘I’m serious, Spider. Since 9-11 the Yanks have been on a mission.’

  Shepherd nodded. ‘You might be right.’

  Geordie jogged over, his round face bathed in sweat. ‘Boss wants you in the briefing room,’ he said.

  ‘Problem?’

  ‘He reckons they’ve been gone long enough. And there’s been nothing on comms for a while.’

  ‘Can I come?’ asked Lex.

  ‘Don’t see why not,’ said Shepherd. The three men hurried over to the briefing room where the Major was huddled over a map with Jimbo, Jock and two other SAS troopers. There was no sign of Captain Todd.

  The Major looked up. ‘I’m getting a bad feeling about this,’ he said. ‘I’m asking Jock to put together a Quick Reaction Force, a small group with a big punch if it’s needed.’ He nodded at Jock. ‘Don’t take a heap of men with you though, but you’ll need a Forward Air Controller and a Royal Engineer Search Team, in case of mines or booby traps. And take a couple of Laser Target Markers. I’ll make sure there are fast jets with Paveways in the air and in the area the whole time that you’re on the ground.’

  ‘Okay Boss,‘ Jock said. ‘We might be best with B-52s out of Diego Garcia. You know what the Bagram jet jockeys are like, they hate being too close to the ground because it puts them within range of the muj SAM-7s. If they’re flying low and one of them is launched, they’ve got to go on the tail and race the missile up to 15,000 feet, hoping it’ll run out of fuel before it blows their arseholes out through their nostrils. The B 52s’ll just cruise out of sight, well above the SAM-7’s height ceiling, and if we get an LTM on a target, they can just drop the iron bomb and let the laser detector on the Paveway’s nose and the fins on its tail do the rest.’

  ‘Okay,’ the Boss said. ‘And I want you to take Todd with you. He caused this fuck-up. Make sure that he sees the consequences of his pig-headedness and learns from it’. He looked at his watch. ‘Let’s get moving.’

  The SAS troopers headed out of the briefing room. ‘Spider, can I tag along?’ asked Lex.

  ‘Is that okay with you, Jock?’ asked Shepherd.

  ‘Better than okay,’ growled Jock. ‘In fact he can bring half a dozen or so of his mates. I’ll get a one-tonner sorted.’

  ‘Off you go, mate,’ said Shepherd. ‘We’ll clear it with your boss. As much firepower as you can carry.’

  Lex nodded and ran off.

  ‘Right Spider, we’ve got work to do,’ said Jock, patting him on the back.

  * * *

  With sunset less than three hours away, Jock led a convoy of three SAS Landrovers and a one-tonner full of Paras and Engineers out of the compound to search for the missing men, though only the most optimistic of them expected to find the three Paras alive. They were armed with Gimpies, assault rifles and grenade launchers.

  Shepherd sat next to Jock and Captain Todd sat in the back. The officer didn’t speak during the drive over the rough and shell-cratered road towards the mountains.

  The place where Ahmad Khan had taken the Paras to RV with his Taliban fighters was a dead-end valley with steep-sided hills surrounding it. Jock called the convoy to a halt near the valley entrance, where the road narrowed to little more than a dirt track running alongside the bed of a dried up river. He ordered four of the Paras to set up a perimeter around the vehicles then gathered the SAS and the rest of the Paras around him. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘It’s been the same old story in Afghan warfare since Adam was a lad: whoever controls the high ground controls the battle. So, two groups of four - Jimbo, you take one, Geordie the other - one either side of the valley, picketing the high ground. Spider, you stay with me. Each group, carry an LTM. We’ve no mortars, unfortunately - too heavy for this job - but we’ve got all the air support we need, so if there are muj heavy weapons or concentrations of fighters up there, get an LTM on them and we’ll call in the cavalry. We’ll give you thirty minutes to get into position and then we’ll begin moving up the valley floor at 1520.’

  The two groups formed and moved off, Jimbo and Geordie leading the way, Geordie’s short steps contrasting with Jimbo’s rangy, ground-eating stride, but both men covered the ground equally fast, moving up the sides of the valley as smoothly as if they were on an escalator.

  The rest of the men waited on the valley floor with Jock and Shepherd. Shepherd walked over to the Forward Air Controller. ‘Keep the jets high,’ Shepherd said. ‘Out of sight and sound. We don’t want to spoil the surprise for any muj who might be here, now do we?’

  Todd appeared at his elbow. ‘The REs look jumpy,’ he said.

  Shepherd looked across at the engineers, huddled in a group near the back of the one-tonner. They looked painfully young, white-faced and twitchy with nerves. ‘Not surprising, is it?’ he said. ‘They’re the poor saps who have to find the devices before the Bomb Disposal guys can deal with them. Wherever they’re serving, none of them last more than a couple of tours. Once they realise the risks, they leave the Army PDQ, or at least those of them who are still alive do. Worst job in the army, pretty much.’

  He glanced at his watch and spoke into his throat mic. ‘In position?’ There was a double click in his ear-piece, followed a moment later by another as Jimbo and Geordie acknowledged.

  ‘They’re ready, Jock,’ said Shepherd. Jock nodded and signalled to the others to move out and began to lead the advance along the road, his gaze never still, raking the road ahead and the ground to either side. Todd followed a couple of paces behind Shepherd. They had been moving forward slowly but steadily for some twenty minutes when they cleared a low rise and saw the Landrover some way ahead of them, nose down in a ditch at the side of the road. Two figures were visible, still in their seats, though both sprawled at odd angles. Another lay in the dirt a yard or so away. Shepherd felt a surge of anger and wanted to lash out at once at the officer who had sent them to their deaths, but there was no time for recriminations - they were all in danger until the job was done. He tried to put the cold focus of his anger on the enemy, not the man behind him.

  When he saw the Landrover, Todd let out a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a cry and began to stumble towards it. ‘Freeze!’ Shepherd barked. Todd stopped dead, his gaze still fixed on the Landrover. ‘There may be an IED or a bo
oby-trap,’ Shepherd said. ‘We wait while the REs clear the area.’ He nodded to the engineers and they fanned out into a line and began inching their way forward, some sweeping mine detectors in arcs over the ground ahead of them, while others probed with thin steel prodders.

  ‘They’re not probing for mines are they?’ Todd said, nervously. ‘If they hit a mine with one of those rods, they’ll blow themselves to pieces.’

  ‘They’re looking for command wires,’ said Shepherd. ‘Our AWACs and Nimrods can suppress the wireless initiation of devices but the Taliban usually prefer the old-fashioned methods.’ They watched in silence as the REs continued the search, moving steadily away from them and towards the Landrover. Suddenly there was a “Pop” sound in the distance.

  Shepherd recognised the sound immediately. ‘Mortar!’ he shouted.

  ‘Take cover,’ Todd yelled, throwing himself flat and worming towards the ditch at the side of the road. Up ahead the REs searching for command wires had also flattened themselves to the ground.

  Shepherd smiled despite the seriousness of the situation. ‘No rush,’ he said, strolling over to the ditch and squatting down alongside Todd. ‘Time of flight for a mortar is a good thirty seconds and after that all you can do is hope for the best.’

  The seconds ticked by with agonising slowness. There was no way of predicting where the mortar shell would fall nor, if it landed close by, any way of avoiding its murderous shrapnel. The jagged fragments of steel, white hot from the furnace of the explosion, would blast outwards with devastating force and if it landed on top you it was game over. After half a minute of stomach churning tension, there was a loud “crump!” sound that Shepherd felt in the pit of his stomach as dirt and smoke erupted into the air. The mortar round had exploded about fifty feet away from the engineers. ‘They’re not after us,’ Shepherd said. ‘They’re after the Search Team.’

  A cloud of smoke and dust dispersed slowly on the breeze and the REs got to their feet, unhurt, and resumed their slow, methodical search.

  Shepherd spoke into his throat mic. ‘Pickets, keep your eyes peeled for that mortar crew.’

  Again there was the double-click of acknowledgement from Jimbo and Geordie. Shepherd glanced up towards the ridgelines on either side, and saw a faint movement as the pickets moved further up the valley, hunting for a position from which they could spot the hidden mortar crew.

  At random intervals a handful of mortar rounds dropped into the valley, bracketing the search team as they moved towards the Landrover.

  ‘Any sign of them?’ called Jock.

  ‘They’re well hidden,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Why can’t the pickets spot them?’ Todd asked.

  ‘Because the Taliban are being very cautious,’ Shepherd said. ‘Weapons are ten a penny but good mortar crews are precious. Takes a long time to train a crew so they make sure they’re protected.’

  There was another popping sound off in the distance and half a minute later another mortar round exploded. This time it was much closer to the Search Team and one of the REs, lying prone in the dirt, was picked up and flung sideways by the blast. He lay on the ground screaming in pain and fear as a Paratrooper medic ran to him. The medic crouched over him and pressed a trauma pad onto a wound on his thigh.

  ‘This is a bloody nightmare,’ said Todd.

  ‘He’s probably all right,’ Shepherd said. ‘Geordie always reckons that if they’re making that much noise, they’re going to be okay. It’s the ones who make no sound at all who have serious trauma.’ Shepherd didn’t feel half as calm as he sounded. The mortar strikes were ranging in on the Search Team, and though that round might not have been fatal, the next one might well be.

  A moment later, Geordie’s voice crackled in Shepherd’s earpiece. ‘Spotted them - three muj with a mortar.’

  ‘Bingo,’ Shepherd said. ‘Mark them with the LTD.’

  ‘Laying LTD now.’

  Once Geordie had aimed his laser at the mortar crew the bombers would be able to take it out with pinpoint accuracy.

  ‘LTD laid,’ said Geordie. An instant later, Shepherd heard the Forward Air Controller on the net to the AWACs, calling in an airstrike.

  ‘How will we know when it’s going to happen?‘ asked Todd.

  Shepherd shrugged. ‘We won’t. The first news we’ll get is “Bang!” You ever seen a five hundred pound bomb go off? It’s quite a show. The LTD doesn’t have to be anywhere near the target; as long as it’s in line of sight with it, that’s enough. We’ll not see or hear the jet. The pilot doesn’t even aim, he just drops it blind and the detector in the nose cone homes in along the laser light track emitted from the LTD, and steers itself onto the target with the fins on its tail.’

  ‘Sounds like a video game,’ said Todd.

  ‘It pretty much is,’ said Shepherd. ‘Except you only get the one life.’

  The minutes ticked by in a silence broken only by the now muted cries of the wounded RE when suddenly there was vivid flash from the ridge to the north-east. Red-orange flame and oily black smoke boiled upwards while fragments that might have been rock, metal - or body parts - were flung out, black against the sky. A moment later the sound of the blast rolled over them like a clap of thunder, and the shock wave swept through in a storm of fine dust and debris. As Shepherd dusted himself down he heard Geordie’s laconic voice in his earpiece: ‘Target neutralised’.

  The REs showed less signs of nerves as they resumed their work and five minutes later there was an excited shout as one of them reached down into the dirt and held up a length of a command wire. ‘Got it!’ he shouted. He used a pair of wire cutters to sever the wire before moving towards the Landrover with the rest of the REs. Lex and a group of Paras tracked the wire in the other direction, weapons at the ready. The wire extended to a clump of wind-stunted acacia trees that had provided cover for the bombers, but they had already fled and the Paras returned empty-handed.

  The REs had followed the command wire to a device buried by the wrecked Landrover. It contained enough explosive to blow up the Landrover and anyone near it.

  ‘It’s safe!’ shouted one of the Res.

  Shepherd, Jock and Todd walked over to the Landrover. Jock checked the bodies for life signs one by one, even though there was no doubt that they were all stone dead.

  They had all been shot at close range with a semi-automatic weapon. None of their weapons had been fired. Two of the men were still in their seats. The one who had been sitting behind the driver had a bullet hole above his left ear and a much larger exit wound on the other side of his head. The front-seat passenger had been shot in the back of the head; his blood and brains covered the windscreen. The driver had had time to jump from his seat, but had then been cut down by a burst of fire in the back before he had gone a yard. There was no sign of Ahmad Khan and no blood on the seat he had been occupying, but the floor around it was littered with ejected 5.45 cases.

  The Captain stared at the cases.

  ‘That’s right, they’re from an AK74,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Khan shot them, is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘What do you think, Captain? Seriously?’

  Todd put a hand up to his face, covering his eyes. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘We warned you,’ said Jock. ‘You can’t trust these ragheads.’

  Todd’s face had gone white. He began to shake and then he threw up over the offside front wheel. Jock shook his head in disgust.

  Shepherd waved over at the Paras and they came over and began to load the bodies of their dead comrades into the truck.

  Todd walked away from the Landrover and stood staring at the ground, cradling his carbine.

  ‘Part of me wants to give him a piece of my mind, part of me wants to tell him that we all make mistakes,’ Shepherd said to Jock.

  ‘Yeah, but not all mistakes end up with three dead Paras,’ said Jock. He cursed under his breath. ‘I should’ve stopped them going. I knew it was a mistake. I should have told the Boss t
o stop them.’

  ‘Could have, would have, should have,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘I’m just saying, this is partly my fault.’

  ‘Don’t be a prick, Jock. You told them it was a bad idea and you were overruled by a Captain and a Major.’

  ‘Ours not to reason why, eh?’

  ‘Something like that.’ Shepherd spat at the ground. ‘We do our best, it’s just sometimes our best isn’t good enough.’ He nodded over at the Captain. ‘He knows what he did was wrong and he’ll never make that mistake again. What we need to do is find the murdering bastard and sort him out.’

  Jock nodded. ‘Amen to that.’

  * * *

  The body bags containing the dead Paras were heli-ed out later that day, beginning the long journey home that would end, not with a silent procession through the streets of the Para Support Group’s base at St Asaph, but in near-anonymous funerals attended only by their family and close friends. In common with other Special Forces deaths, the casualties would be acknowledged but the regimental affiliations of the dead men would be concealed to preserve the secrecy of SAS operations.

  Anyone who bothered to study the small print of combat deaths would have been surprised at how many men from the Royal Anglian Regiment had apparently lost their lives in Afghanistan. It had become so noticeable that in recent months the Mercian and Yorkshire Regiments had also been used as cover for the deaths of Special Forces soldiers.

  Todd kept a very low profile over the next few days, but though he was censured, he was allowed to remain with the SAS Squadron, to Jock’s undisguised disgust. ‘If we’d pulled that kind of fuck up, we’d have been RTU’d toot sweet,’ he said in his trademark Glaswegian growl. ‘But as it’s a Rupert, they just put it down to the learning curve and let him carry on.’

  Shepherd nodded. ‘I know, but look, he knows how badly he fucked up and to be honest when we were young and keen most of us caused cock-ups that could have been just as disastrous. I don’t know about you, but I certainly thought I knew it all when I passed Selection.’