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

by Casey Christie

  “Until I tried to take the Captain’s money, he was so drunk I thought it would be easy but he grabbed me. He caught me red handed – the first person out of hundreds; maybe I was sloppy because I thought he was drunk. Anyway, I am here now, because I got caught trying to steal a SAS Captain’s wallet” said Wang with a wide grin.

  “Well, don’t stop boy, tell me what happened when he caught you? And how you ended up here.”

  “Enough talking, we need to begin training. But I can tell you that John Taylor is a good man. Oh and that I have never seen any man drink as much as him – not even my father – but he never gets drunk or violent, oh and he must have an extra liver. And one other thing, I have seen you before Mark Andrews. In Canary Wharf, the Captain has been very interested in you for a long time.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  After hours of intense tuition and explanation Wang asked his student to sit and he went over everything they had learned and practised about the pistol.

  “Okay, Mark. Let’s recap everything we have done today and then we will be joining Katsu and the Captain for dinner. We’ll do this via question and answer.”

  “I feel like a kid again, okay let’s go” said Andrews.

  “Firstly, are your hands sore.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Secondly what firearm have you been working with today?”

  “A Heckler & Koch USP Parabellum Compact.”

  “What calibre?”

  “9MM?”

  “Incorrect. It is a .40 S&W – the gunfighters use it because it packs a bigger punch than the 9MM but is more accurate and more manageable than the .45 – the magazine also carries more rounds than the .45. How many rounds in the magazine?”

  “Twelve.”

  “Good. Okay that’s the boring stuff over. The basics you need to know. Now I will recap the most important aspects of what you have learnt today.”

  Wang listed the fundamental basic requirements for becoming an effective gunfighter:

  Always shoot with both eyes open. NEVER close one eye to aim. You will need your periphery vision in a firefight.

  Never traditionally aim. In a real world firefight there is never enough time to look down your barrel and aim your iron sights. Shoot instinctively. Thrust both arms out, bringing your face down to where the barrel organically levels out once your arms have been extended, never bring the gun up to your face.

  Always stand face on with bent knees to your enemy -- traditionally called an isosceles triangle gun stance. We do this for two reasons – one: it aids accuracy and two it presents the most resilient part of your bullet proof vest to your enemy. The vests we wear are weakest under the shoulders. So in short do not stand like a gangsta or American movie star when firing your weapon.

  Never pull the trigger, never yank on it. - Squeeze it.

  Breath. Breathe calmly and purposefully.

  Shoot intuitively. This is the most important aspect of the way we fight and kill our enemy. Do not let your brain get involved. Your body, your soul, know exactly where the barrel of your gun needs to be aimed. Katsu teaches meditation to help you with this.

  Don’t limp wrist. Always support the frame of the weapon with a firm yet relaxed supporting hand otherwise you will experience too many failures from fires or jams.

  Aim to kill. Only ever point your firearm at someone if you want them dead. Aim to kill and only ever fire upon an enemy if you wish to make him lifeless. There is no such thing as shooting to wound.

  Train. Train. Train. I’m sure you’ve heard of the saying ‘Train hard. Fight easy.” That’s good but rather, ‘Train often. Fight smart. Train easy. Fight hard.’

  “That’s day one. The basics you must keep with you from this day forward. From tomorrow it gets intense. Now, though, we have a dinner to attend.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Katsu and Reiko’s home, Japan.

  Mark and Wang sit with their gracious hosts around a midsized dining table. Mark scents with great desire the food being prepared in the small kitchen.

  “What’s on the menu?” said Wang with a large smile.

  Tuna Steak. Steamed Rice. Miso Soup. Some salad and pickles - was Reiko’s answer.

  “Sounds delightful, I’m starving” said Wang.

  A jeep can be heard pulling up outside. A car door slams shut and a few moments later Captain John Taylor walks into the house in a hurry and curiously in full military combats.

  “I’m sorry but I cannot stay for din..”

  Without a word Mark Andrews stands up and lands a hard right cross against the face of the SAS Captain. The SAS veteran staggers back but remains on his feet. The punch was hard and true and given the size and strength of the former rugby playing banker, Wang is surprised that Captain Taylor is still on his feet.

  A moment later and another SAS trooper storms through the door, gun drawn. Wang immediately stands his hands in the high ready position but he leaves his guns holstered.

  “Holster that weapon, you fool!” orders the Captain. “Now get out!”

  With only a moment’s hesitation and pause the young trooper holsters his weapon and walks out swearing under his breath.

  “Forgive him. He is young and has been assigned as my bodyguard. I suppose I deserve that, Mark. But there is no time for me to explain myself or my actions. If you would be so kind could you please tell me exactly what it is you saw in your vision and please do it as quickly as possible.”

  Without another angry word Mark sits down and takes a drink of water.

  “I was hoping we could all eat first, in a civilised manner” said Katsu.

  “I am afraid there is no time my old friend. There has been an occurrence that has led to us having to push our operation forward.”

  “Forward, to when?” said Katsu.

  “We need to leave tonight, for Syria.”

  “Is this why you need a bodyguard?”

  “More like a spy – sent from Military Int.”

  “At such short notice I will only be able to supply you with three of my gunfighters. But they are my very best. As the rest are on march across the Great Mountains for the next 72 hours.

  “Thank you, Katsu. Three is more than I could have hoped for with no warning.”

  “Wang, please could you go and seek out Kanta, Keita and Kenzo. Tell them that they are to prepare to leave for an operation. They should be in the temple.”

  Without a sound Wang stood up, nodded towards his sensei and left the house.

  “Now, Mark, please tell me what you have seen?”

  “I will tell you what I have seen but when, if, you return from your mission, I need to know everything. I need to know when you found out about my curse, my ability, how did you find out and the reasons why you have pursued me. Why have you chosen me? I need to know everything. As Katsu and his wife bear witness do you give me your word of honour that you will tell me everything upon your return?”

  “I do. And, if it means anything, I was going to tell you everything tonight. But I must leave…”

  The young soldier who had rushed in earlier brandishing his weapon enters the room once more.

  “Captain, sir. Please, we don’t have time for this, we must leave. Time is of the essence.”

  “You are wrong, young man. We do have time for this. Wait in the car. And remember we are also waiting for the three gunfighters to join us.”

  “I saw an attack at a football match in London. A group of young men used pistols. It was a match between Manchester United and Wigan.”

  “Anything else?” asked Taylor.

  “This was different as this time I was killed. I don’t know what it means but it scared me. I was also aware of what was happening as it was happening. Unlike before when I thought I was actually living out the vision I was aware that it was a vision. And unlike any of my other premonitions I was being interacted with, targeted, pushed.”

  “Hmm, perhaps it was the medicine. We will have to look more deeply into t
his later but I must leave. Is there anything else you can tell me, perhaps about the guns they used?”

  “Now that you bring it up, yes, there was something peculiar about their weapons – they were all white. Almost fake looking.”

  That was the confirmation the SAS Captain was looking for. The piece of information that proved his intelligence was correct.

  “Thank you, Mark. That’s exactly what I needed to know. It confirms our fears. Katsu when your men return, please inform them that a transport will be along to pick them up shortly. I, though, must leave immediately. I am sorry I couldn’t stay for dinner. Goodbye.”

  “Before you leave, John. How many SAS troopers do you have?”

  “Six.”

  “Plus my three gives you nine, against how many enemy?”

  “Thirty.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Three hours earlier. West Ham Cemetery, Stratford, East London.

  Ali and Johnny had placed their HD camera on a headstone and the little red light was flashing, signalling that the camera was in record mode. Johnny stood behind the camera typing on a Tablet computer.

  The two little girls had been tied up and placed against a single headstone, they were both still insentient.

  Ali had since been back to his vehicle, the Red Honda that had been parked outside the cemetery walls, and returned with a large bag, out of which he produced a large serrated sword and two balaclavas.

  Ali put one of the identity concealing balaclavas on and walked over to where his accomplice stood and handed him his mask.

  “Is the camera recording, Johnny?”

  “It is. And I’ve just established a connection. We’re streaming live.”

  “Finally revenge will be mine” said Ali.

  He stepped in front of the camera, sword in hand and began to speak into the lens.

  “We are the men of Eltanin. We are the warriors of God and we are his hammer. Today will be the first of many blows against the west and this supposedly ‘Great Britain’. Today we bring to you a new kind of warfare, a warfare you will not be able to defend against. A warfare you will not be able to stop by imposing arms embargos or sanctions against a free country and state. Allah has given us a new weapon, a weapon we can produce in every corner of the world, a weapon that can bypass security systems. It is the gun of Allah. But first I will tell you my story.”

  Ali thrust the sword into the ground next to where he stood and slowly removed his balaclava.

  “My name is Ali Khalifa and behind me you will see the grave of my sister, Aakifah Khalifa, she was killed when she was just 12 years of age. Killed in my home, in my country of Afghanistan. Killed by your allied British and American Forces. An innocent girl raped and then murdered. My father was naïve and brought the ashes of her remains here to what he thought was our new home so that she could be close to her family. But he is blind and he cannot see what I see - the reality of the war against Islam and the great Allah, and realise the truth and the treachery of this land. Today I will honour her death and I will take revenge, for me, for my father and for Allah. And I invite you to watch as I rape then murder two of your sisters and two of your daughters. So that you will know our pain. ALLAHU AKBAR!”

  Both men began to chant loudly in Arabic that “God is Great” and Ali took the sword from the earth and walked over to where the girls lay. Using the sharp instrument he cut away the clothes of Emily and once she was in only her underwear he thrust the sword back into the ground and loosened his belt, unzipped and then dropped his pants. He was fully erect.

  “Revenge? How much revenge does a paedophile seek in order to rape little girls?” said a voice some distance behind where Johnny was filming his accomplice.

  Ali’s face turned powder white, he looked down, fumbling for his sword. Clumsily he found it and tore it from the ground and began to wield it in the direction of the voice while once more chanting in Arabic about how great his god was.

  Two 9MM rounds from Geordie’s Browning High Power Parabellum Pistol thundered into Ali’s chest, robbing him of momentum, courage, breath and heartbeat. Ali the warrior was dead, instantly. But to be certain, within a split second of the two chest shots being delivered the experienced SAS trooper sent another round searing through Ali’s skull.

  “God is great” said Geordie.

  Johnny meanwhile had ducked down to the ground and had crawled to the bag Ali had retrieved from their vehicle earlier on – the bag that contained the sword and headgear. He reached inside blindly, found what he was looking for when he heard someone speak from above him. He looked up and saw the battle hardened face of Terry who said:

  “Think carefully about your next move, laddie. I probably won’t kill an unarmed man, even one such as yourself.”

  Johnny noticed that the man standing above him had his hands behind his back. He thought about this only momentarily before making his move. He took his chance and withdrew his hand from the bag. In it was a white pistol-shaped object. He pointed it towards Terry but before he could pull the trigger to set loose the single round within the three dimensional gun, eliminator rounds from Terry’s Nine Millimetre pounded into Johnny’s body which quickly became a corpse. Two to the chest and one to the head. Dead.

  “What the hell is that?” said Geordie.

  “It all makes sense now, mate” replied Terry.

  “What does?”

  “The printing business, the new weapon that governments won’t be able to embargo against, a weapon that will pass through security checks…”

  “What the hell are you on about, Terry!”

  “A printed gun, mate. A 3D printed pistol. That’s why they had that printing business and that’s why they just ordered in that new piece of kit – it was a 3D printer.”

  “Shit, mate. Is that camera recording us, has it recorded everything?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “You’re the technical guy – sort it!”

  Terry raised his pistol and shot the camera.

  “Sorted.”

  “Now can you find out where they were streaming to?”

  “Of course I can. Give me a minute.”

  Ten minutes and a keyboard hammering later and Terry put the terrorists’ Tablet on the ground.

  “Syria. The signal was sent through a secure connection to a server and PC in Syria. And judging by the data being sent back and forth I think it’s their base. I think Eltanin is there too. We better move on this because I’m pretty sure they saw us put their buddies to bed.”

  “I’ll get hold of the Captain. You better let the suits and HQ know. We’ll need to clear this mess up and get those girls home.”

  “Let’s move.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mission Briefing for the assault on the crusader castle, the great fortress, Krak des Chevaliers, Syria.

  Forward Operating Base, Jerusalem, Israel.

  Captain John Taylor stood at the front of a small office situated in the underground bunker of an Israeli military installation. Exact location undisclosed.

  In front of the SAS Commander sat fifteen men, six of his SAS troopers, six Israeli Special Forces officers and three of Katsu’s Samurai gunfighters.

  The tension in the room was palpable, the heat intense and each man soaked in his own perspiration, slippery in the humid air. Two battered fans blew the hot air around the room in a limp attempt to provide some relief from the desert’s sweat drench.

  The man assigned as the Captain’s ‘bodyguard’ sat in a corner of the room smoking a cigarette, polluting the air even further and creating a halo of smoke around his figure. He had a pen and notepad as if he were going to take notes, as well as a tape recorder on the tiny desk in front of him, to the obvious displeasure of every special forces operator in the room, including Captain John Taylor.

  It was the young Israeli commander, who sat in the front row of small chairs, who spoke first.

&
nbsp; “If I may Captain.”

  John Taylor nodded his approval. And Jonathan, the Sergeant in command of the five Israeli Spec Ops men, stood up.

  “Welcome to Jerusalem, my friends. My name is Jonathan and my squad has been assigned to assist you in any way. More than that I do not know and I look forward to finding out what this is all about but before we continue, may I ask, Captain, who is this man who brings writing and recording instruments to a special operations mission briefing?”

  Every operator in the room turned and stared at the smoking man seated to the rear of the chamber.

  “He looks like a bloody journo!” said an SAS soldier called Scotty.

  The rest of the room grunted and groaned in agreement. In the world of special forces warriors journalists are seen as the enemy - the dust beneath the fridge, the parasites that feed on the corpses of the dead, dying and mutilated.

  “He’s no journalist. Though he is my fault, the suits back home wanted us watched, he’s supposed to be my bodyguard.”

  Every man in the room laughed. The bodyguard was stick thin, twitchy and nervous and had the look of a man out of his depth. A bureaucrat in camouflage. An accountant unaccounted for.

  “Do you wish that he remains with us, Captain?” said Jonathan.

  “I am under orders that he stays with me at all times. For my protection. But Sergeant this is your house, your rules. If his presence creates a risk that you determine will not allow this briefing to go ahead I can do nothing, and I will not object, if you remove him from this occasion.”