SAS Para-Ops: MEGA SET - SAS Para-Ops Books #1, #2, #3, #4, #5 & #6

by Casey Christie

  “As you say, the civil war although devastating for the local population, provides a great opportunity for us as well.”

  “So you will go after him?”

  “We will launch a shadow operation and finally strike at the tangos on their soil!”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “It will be an 18 man element made up of 12 of my SAS troopers and..”

  “Six of my gunfighters?”

  “That’s partly why I wanted to see you. Could..”

  “Could I supply the services of half a dozen of my gunfighters?”

  “Yes, but more importantly, would you? For the usual compensation, of course”

  “I will think about it. Now I am sure you would like to know about Mr Andrews.”

  “Indeed I do. But could we discuss developments over lunch, I am famished!”

  After a light traditional Japanese lunch of Curry Rice the two commanders continued their discussion.

  “That was delicious. Please pass on my thanks to Reiko” said Taylor.

  “It’s your favourite I believe.”

  “Indeed it is. Now, about Mark, did he tell you what he saw during his sleep?”

  “No. I did not ask.”

  “You did not bother to ask him what he saw?”

  “No, Captain. That is your job. You’ll be able to ask him yourself this evening.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He should just have finished with induction now.”

  “The blind firing test?”

  “Yes.”

  “I must ask, Kat. Has anyone ever failed the test, have any of your gunfighters ever been shot by a new inductee?”

  “Yes. Twice. American Special Forces soldiers. The very first group we trained. They shot two of my men in one day.”

  “My goodness. Did your men survive?”

  “Of course they did. All my men wear high grade bullet proof Chinese silk vests under their Komodos. And we use ultra-low velocity rounds during induction. We are gunfighters, Captain, not supermen - we take all the reasonable modern day precautions. And as for the ASF – we now have one of their own previously successful graduates induct their own new trainees.”

  “You never cease to amaze me, gunfighter. You are truly modern Samurai.”

  “Yes and to the great discomfort of the elders.”

  “Do they still attack your people?”

  “Not any more, we have brokered a peace deal, an understanding. But I think it had more to do with their heavy losses incurred during their final assault on the Great Valley two winters ago.”

  “So it’s becoming easier being the rouge samurai then?”

  “Perhaps. But life has been made easier with the recent election of the House of Representatives and an understanding that we will now provide all dignitary personal protection for them.”

  “Now that is news. Congratulations.”

  Captain John Taylor paused to think about the implications this new, lucrative, contract may have on his own relationship with the bushi warriors.

  “Don’t worry, Captain. It will not affect our arrangement but I must now be more selective with the number of warriors that I can provide to foreign powers. You see, finally my grandfather’s samurai, can once again begin to do what we were first sworn to do - protect out nobility, or in modern terms our country’s politicians.”

  “I am happy for you Katsu, we should celebrate this news.”

  “Indeed, and we will. Tomorrow evening we will be holding a celebratory dinner in the village and I would be honoured if you would attend.”

  “I would be honoured to be there.”

  “And tonight please be my guest and dine with my wife and me in our humble home. There you will also be able to ask Mark about what he has seen.”

  “I look forward to it. The dinner that is, not necessarily about hearing what it is the man has foreseen.”

  The SAS commander stood up to leave via the waiting Jeep parked at the foot of the hill.

  “Before you go, John. I thought you would find it heart-warming to know that Mark is being trained by that young Chinese boy that you brought to us three years ago.”

  “Wang! That’s brilliant news. I knew he could do it. And indeed this news has made me very happy – he had a difficult life did Wang. I came across him when he was just 17 on the streets of London and immediately knew he was destined for greater things.”

  “You never did tell me how exactly you ‘came across him’, John.”

  “Well he was trying to pick my pocket, wasn’t he” said Taylor with a large grin on his face.

  The veteran SAS trooper kept that smile all the way to the facility.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Eleven pm. West Ham Cemetery, Stratford, East London.

  Twenty minutes earlier the red Honda had parked outside the main gate on Cemetery Road. The four occupants – the two suspected terrorists and the two young schoolgirls-- had climbed over a low wall and into the hallowed ground.

  Parked around the corner outside St James’s Church was the SAS men’s Land Rover. Geordie and Terry had left the vehicle and silently followed the suspects. They were now perched in a large tree and Terry had eyes on the suspected Tangos, courtesy of some advanced night vision optics.

  “What are they doing?” inquired Geordie.

  “They’re having a picnic, aren’t they, you muppet!”

  “For once in your life, be serious. I’m not happy about us being here in the first place. And I’m not sure how this is going to end up.”

  Terry focused his optics on the four people now sitting under a large tree.

  “They’re getting those wee lasses drunk. Although it looks harmless enough, for the moment, at least.”

  “Okay, just keep eyes on and let me know if anything happens. I am taking some sleep.”

  The two soldiers had slept little more than three hours in the past two days.

  Geordie settled himself between two branches and like most veteran soldiers was able to drift into sleep almost immediately.

  “Roger that, general sir, master and commander, sir!” said Terry and continued to keep watch.

  Fifteen minutes past eleven . West Ham Cemetery, Stratford, East London.

  Ruby and Emily are drunk. A helluva lot more intoxicated than they thought they were. Although they didn’t know just how drunk was drunk as this was only their third time drinking alcohol. They were both thirteen years old and went to the same school and lived in the same neighbourhood. They had known each other their entire lives and were the very best of friends.

  The two girls had met Johnny and Ali three weeks previously. The older men had parked their vehicle near the girls’ bus stop. They were playing trendy music from their vehicle and were smoking cigarettes. They were very cool indeed.

  At first Emily had wanted to avoid the pair of rebels. She thought they looked “dodgy” and had said this to Ruby. But Ruby, a little taller, a little bit prettier and a little more adventurous than her best friend had talked Emily into accepting an invitation to sit and chat with the mysterious men. Ruby even took a drag of Ali’s cigarette. She said it was very cool and tasted delicious. Although this didn’t make sense to Emily as she saw Ruby cough violently after having a drag of the “cool and delicious” smoke.

  That was then, three weeks ago, when they didn’t even know the two older boys but now they really knew them as they had met up with them a further six times before this evening. And Ruby had said that tonight they were going to “smash it” as Ali and Johnny had promised to take them out to the big clubs in the West End of London.

  The two girls were very excited and had planned the weekend like a military operation, or so they thought. They had both asked their parents if they could sleep over at the other’s house. Both sets of parents had agreed, both sets of parents believed their daughter was sleeping over at the other’s house. And both sets of parents had decided that they too were going to use this childless night as an opportunity to have
some fun themselves. Ruby had gone down to the local street market and had bought two grown up dresses, one black and one white. And Ruby had borrowed from her mother, unbeknown to her, two sets of high heels.

  The dresses, shoes and make up were stashed in their school bags. They had come to the cemetery to change out of their uniforms and to have one last drink before their big night out. Ali had explained to them that the best and biggest clubs in London only really got going after midnight and that cool people never arrived early.

  Johnny handed Emily a second glass of orange juice and vodka. She said she didn’t want it, she said she felt ill. Ruby laughed at her and called her a nerd, took the drink from Johnny’s hand and drained the contents in one gulp.

  “Go on, Emily, have one more glass, before we go to into the West End. If you don’t have it you’ll look suspicious and the bouncers will think you are underage” said Johnny.

  “But I am underage and I, I feel really dizzy.”

  Ruby ran to a nearby headstone and began to throw up on it.

  “Disgusting little whore! Now you are going to get vomit all over my cock!” said Ali.

  Ruby was very dizzy now, her head was spinning and she was losing her hearing. The two men in front of her slowly became a blur.

  “I have changed my mind - You can have that one. This one is mine” said Ali while walking over to where Emily sat.

  “Did she drink enough of our special?” asked Ali.

  “No, she’s just drunk. Your one just took the drink with the Flunitrazepam inside it” said Johnny.

  “She’s yours now - I don’t do vomit!”

  Ali casually walked over to where Emily sat and punched her in the head as hard as he possibly could. She was knocked unconscious. Ruby had passed out without the help of a violent blow to the cranium and was now lying in a pool of her own bile about five metres from her best friend.

  Ali began to laugh and produced a small HD video camera from inside his jacket pocket.

  “Prepare them the same way as we did the other two little bitches. But this time remember to cover their faces!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The training caves of the Great Valley, Japan.

  Mark stood at the lip of a large cave, shoulder to shoulder with Wang. Wang was considerably smaller than Mark but he generated a powerful, energetic aura – his body language was relaxed yet confident. Wang stood with his two silver nine millimetres holstered one on either side on his hips. His hands in front of him, one on top of the other, the gunfighter’s low-ready position, always.

  “You will be one of only a few men to have ever witnessed Katsu’s Forty Gunfighters training” said Wang.

  “Don’t all the trainees see this?”

  “No. All our training is done on a one on one basis. But Katsu specifically instructed me to let you watch the Forty train.”

  “I’m honoured.”

  “So you should be. Look down, they are about to begin.”

  The pulse of a loud drum reverberated around the cavernous area beneath them and Mark Andrews lowered his head to see Katsu’s Forty Samurai march into the centre of the Great Cave. The Forty men, all dressed in perfectly fitting jet black Komodos, moved as one, in eight lines of five. A man Andrews assumed to be a type of RSM stood on a small rock in front of the men, giving them orders in an ancient Japanese dialect.

  “Are they holding a type of parade?” asked Mark.

  “No. They are about to begin some dry work. There will be no live firing during this exercise. And no trigger work. They are performing the Katsu Ballet of Death. A Gun-Ballet created by our founder many years ago.”

  As one the 40 bushi drew their pistols from their hip holsters – the movement was smooth and unrushed yet quick and deadly. Mark watched in awe as the warriors thrust their weapons forward then back, left then right, they spun on their heels and faced an unseen enemy to the rear. And then dropped low and arched their backs extending their arms out once more to a frontal attack.

  The two men watched for some time as the Katsu Ballet became more and more complex. Faster yet ever smoother and unforced. Mark noted that each of the Katsu Forty only carried one black pistol, all holstered on the right hip. Unlike Wang who carried two silver pistols, one either side.

  “It is a beautiful yet somehow extremely intimidating string of movements. Does it really work in the real world, in gunfights?”

  “It does, and in theory, it’s perfect.”

  “In theory? Do I detect a note of scepticism?”

  “Although I have been personally tutored by Katsu, I am not one of the Forty as you can see – so my opinion does not hold the same weight as theirs when talking about the physics and dynamics of gun fighting, but I believe this so-called Ballet has one fundamental flaw.”

  Young Wang paused for dramatic effect, wanting to add more weight to his observation. He was obviously waiting and wanting Mark to ask what that flaw was.

  With a grin and appreciation for the young man’s flair for the dramatic Mark asked the question.

  “The flaw is that it is choreographed.”

  “But aren’t all martial arts choreographed?”

  “Yes, but that involves the known distances between two human combatants and each other either via their arms and legs or extended weapons such as knives, sticks and swords.”

  “But surely each of Katsu’s moves is designed to be a premeditated action or a reaction to a possible threat, and are the fields of fire not very much determined by the position of the enemy’s weapon?”

  For the first time Wang looked annoyed.

  “You are the student today, Mr Banker.”

  Wang turned on his heel and summoned his student to follow him.

  Some time later and the two men were clear of the caves and standing in a clearing in the middle of a small oasis among dense forest. The smell of fresh grass infused the air. The twitter of birds filled Mark’s ears.

  Wang moved toward one of about a dozen hefty tree stumps and removed the top from it. Concealed within were a pistol and some practise rounds.

  “We call this the Clearing Area. This is where we do all of our one to one work. Mr Banker, this is where your gun fighting career begins.”

  “You don’t like bankers very much do you? And, for your information I have no plans to make a career out of wielding a weapon.”

  “Then why are you here?” demanded Wang.

  Mark thought about his answer for quite some time before he realised that he wasn’t entirely here by his own decision. But he saved face.

  “Because I find it rather fascinating. And although I may just be a ‘banker’ I do like to learn new things.”

  “Then why kick a gift horse in the balls and say something as offensive as you did. Do you know how many special forces soldiers from all over the world want to train with us? Ha! I make friends with all them operators, the French, the Americans, the Israelis, the SAS men, all of them are friends with Wang and they all tell me they are so happy to train with Katsu, and Wang and the gun fighting Samurai. But you, a stupid London banker is ungrateful. All you banker are the same. I am not train you anymore. I tell Katsu what you say!”

  Mark was shocked - Not only by the young man’s over reaction but also by Wang’s unexpected slip into poor Chinese English or Chinglish, as Mark thought of it. Immediately Mark realised that Wang’s past must have been a colourful one and perhaps a rather sad upbringing. Mark quickly changed tack.

  “I’m sorry master Wang, please do not take offence. I only meant that I do not intend to regularly engage in gunfights but I am extremely grateful to be here -- learning the art of the gun under your guidance.”

  Mark bowed low as per the Chinese, not Japanese, custom of showing regret and submission to the younger man. A highly unusual occurrence but a great gesture.

  Mark only knew of this submissive signal via his many banking business trips to Hong Kong while working for HSBC in Canary Wharf.

  Wang’s mood immediat
ely softened and a bright smile creased his boyish good looks.

  “I appreciate your gesture but it is not good for an older, fatter, man to bow to a younger man. Especially in Chinese custom. Please stand up straight, Mark.”

  “Perhaps, we could start again, Wang?”

  “Okay. I will tell you about myself first, I already know too much about you.”

  The two men sat and Wang began to tell Mark about his troubled upbringing in China and how at a very young age he had travelled with his father, who was also in “finance,” to London.

  “My mother died giving birth to me. That brings great shame to a family” said Wang with a great expression of pain. He continued: “After my mother’s death my father began to drink a lot and I was sent to live with my mother’s sister. She treated me like a dog, or like the thing that killed her sister. I remember hating life until one day my father came to see me when I was nine and he told me that he had stopped drinking and that my grandfather had arranged a good job for my dad in London. Working for a big bank. We were both so excited and within two months we had travelled to England. My father promised me a good life and the best education. We were happy for a while..”

  “But..” said Mark.

  “But when we arrived in London it turned out that the job my grandfather had arranged for my father was a cleaning one. He had to clean the offices and houses of very rich men. Men like you, bankers.”

  Wang fell silent and looked blankly into space as if reliving a particularly painful chapter of his life. After some time he spoke again.

  “My father began to drink again, I don’t blame him, his father wanted us gone, away from China, he wanted the shame of us far away. The bankers treated my dad like a donkey until one day the shame of me was too much and my father left. He left me and I have never seen him again.”

  Wang continued to explain how for a while one of the bankers’ wives felt sorry for him and took him in. They even sent him to school and for three years he lived a relatively happy life. But then the kind wife divorced the banker who was having extra marital affairs and she had no money and could no longer look after him. He found himself on the streets and alone at 15 years of age. He began to steal and eventually found out that he was a very good pick pocket which always ensured he had money and a roof over his head, usually a hostel or an abandoned house. And he said with some pride that no one ever suspected the cute little Chinese kid of stealing their wallets and watches. He always got away with it, he said.