Special Forces Cadets 1

by Chris Ryan

  Woody stepped back. Angel took a step forward. She held up her weapon. ‘MP5 submachine gun,’ she announced. Even Lukas was paying attention now. ‘Submachine guns offer the user the portability of a handgun with the firepower of a machine gun. They are generally designed to use the same ammunition as a pistol, but in larger quantities and at a higher rate of fire. We’re talking twenty- to thirty-round magazines. The range of a submachine gun is much higher than that of a pistol. A skilled user can get a shot on target at about sixty metres. The rounds themselves will travel for a good hundred and twenty metres. Like the handgun, this weapon can be set to semi-automatic. However, it also has a fully automatic function. On this setting, the weapon will continue to fire bursts of rounds so long as the trigger is pressed and there is enough ammunition in the magazine. For this reason, submachine guns are often used by gangs firing randomly in drive-by shootings. It’s called spray and pray.’

  For a fraction of a second, Angel glanced at Lukas. Lukas looked at the ground. Then the moment passed. Hector stood forward with his firearm, the largest of the three. He looked very comfortable with it slung across his chest. Max could tell he was well used to carrying such a weapon. It suited him.

  ‘M16 automatic assault rifle,’ he stated. ‘Magazine fed. Longer barrel. Higher calibre rounds such as 7.62 and 5.56. You see a bad guy with one of these? Run. An untrained operator will likely hit a target with an assult rifle at three hundred metres. A trained operator at six hundred metres. And they’re deadly far beyond that. These are intended as weapons of war, but terrorists and militants all over the world are in possession of them. Assault rifles like this can penetrate glass and steel, so you can guess what they do to humans. If any of you are still under the impression that firearms like this are fun toys, say now and I’ll tell you about the men and women I’ve known who have been killed by them.’ He looked at each of them in turn, his characteristic scowl etched deep on his face. The recruits looked back at him in silence.

  ‘Right!’ Woody said eagerly. ‘Let’s get to the range, shall we?’

  Max could tell that the group was now more nervous than excited. They lined up by the sandbags while the Watchers disappeared back into the building. When they reappeared, Woody was still carrying the handgun. Angel and Hector were carrying boxes. Max assumed these contained ammunition. Hector looked along the line of recruits. He selected Abby. ‘You, come with us. The rest of you, wait here.’

  Abby stepped forward, eyes darting from side to side as she tried to judge the reaction of the other recruits. Hector was already striding down the range towards the targets. Woody gave Abby an encouraging smile. ‘Come on,’ he said.

  ‘Let’s show these guys how it’s done,’ Angel added.

  Abby followed them hesitantly down the range. The remaining recruits watched silently. Abby and the others stopped at the far end of the range, ten metres from the nearest target. The Watchers stood around her. They seemed to be showing her how to load and unload the handgun. How to hold it. How to aim it.

  And finally, how to fire it.

  Her arm was outstretched. The weapon was in her right hand, and steadied by her left. She released three rounds, then made the weapon safe, then handed it back to Woody. Max had to squint to see how accurate her shots were. Two were just outside the outline of a body printed on the target. One was just above the heart. Was that good? He didn’t know. Abby didn’t seem pleased. She trudged back to the others, head bowed. She looked at Ash. ‘They want you,’ she said, before sitting on a sandbag a little way from the others.

  Ash fared slightly better than Abby, Jack slightly worse. Neither Maddy nor Els were on target. Lukas went next. He was astonishingly good. He held the firearm one-handed and released three rounds in quick succession. The bullet holes were closely clustered around the target’s heart. He handed back the gun and returned to the others. If he was pleased with his performance, he didn’t show it. ‘You,’ he said to Sami as he took a seat on a sandbag and stared resolutely back down the range.

  Sami gave Max a ‘wish me luck’ look. Max felt for his new friend. He looked so diffident walking down the range. Unlike Lukas, he listened patiently to the Watchers, nodding in all the right places. When his time came to fire at the targets, he looked unsure as he raised the gun in his right hand and supported it with his left. He fired three shots, then lowered his gun and handed it back to Woody.

  There was one bullet hole, directly in the centre of the target’s chest. At first Max thought that the other two rounds had missed the target entirely. But the Watchers were looking at each other in astonishment. Max realised that all three of Sami’s rounds had hit exactly the same spot. Sami handed over his weapon and walked back up the range. Max expected to see a small smile of achievement on his face. But there was none. If anything, his friend looked distraught. He was on the verge of tears.

  ‘What’s up, buddy?’

  But Sami just shook his head and said, ‘You’re next.’

  Max was confused, but the Watchers were looking in his direction. He didn’t want to keep them waiting so he jogged down the range to meet them. He was the last recruit to fire the handgun. He knew he couldn’t beat Sami or Lukas. He would just have to do his best.

  He listened carefully as Woody explained in more detail about safety catches and loading mechanisms. ‘Keep your finger outside the trigger guard,’ he said. ‘When the time comes to fire, don’t yank at the trigger. Squeeze it, hold it, then gently release. Breathe regularly. Don’t hold your breath too much or you’ll start to shake.’ He handed Max the pistol. ‘Good luck,’ he said.

  ‘He’ll need it,’ Hector growled.

  ‘Hey, big guy,’ Angel said. ‘Go easy on the kid.’

  But Hector’s words were like a worm in Max’s brain. As he stepped up to the firing point and cocked the weapon like he’d been shown, he realised his hand was shaking. He tried to steady it by taking some slow, shallow breaths as he raised his weapon and aimed at the target.

  He took a shot. He saw that it had landed wide of the body target, and felt sick. He could almost feel Hector’s hot glare on him, and sense his smugness. Somehow it just made him more determined. He steadied his breath again. Took a second shot.

  Better. Nothing as close to the chest as Lukas or Sami had managed, but only a few centimetres to the left. ‘Sweet,’ he heard Angel say. There was of course no word of encouragement from Hector.

  He lined himself up for the third shot. Calmed himself. Fired.

  It was a perfect shot. As accurate as Sami’s, straight through the centre of the target’s chest. Knowing that Hector would be watching his every move, he moved his finger to the outside of his trigger guard. Then he handed the weapon back to Woody. He was aware of Hector glowering at him, and he was tired of it. He knew better than to challenge him, however. Instead, he turned to Woody. ‘Thanks for the lesson,’ he said mildly, and walked back up the range to the others.

  The handgun lesson had taken over an hour. The submachine gun lesson took longer. There was more to learn, and the safety procedures were more involved. Again they approached the targets individually, this time standing fifty metres away. It became gradually apparent that the recruits’ aptitude, or lack of it, with the pistol had been no fluke. When it came to firing the MP5, Abby and Ash were passable. Maddy, Els and Jack struggled. Lukas looked like he’d been handling one of these weapons all his life. Sami’s skill was offset by the tears that threatened to roll down his cheeks at the sound of gunfire. Max himself showed little initial brilliance, but learned quickly. Hector seemed to find this galling, but kept his comments to himself.

  After lunch, they tackled the assault rifle. Even Lukas found this beast of a weapon difficult to handle. The kickback bruised Max’s shoulder and the retort of the single shots numbed his ears. He only landed one shot on target. Sami, however, was as accurate as ever. His three shots landed right on top of each other. The Watchers were clearly astonished at how good he was. Sami was just as c
learly in no mood to accept their admiration. Now his tears flowed freely, and he avoided the others as he walked back up the range. Max didn’t know why he was upset, but he couldn’t help wondering how he would react if he was ever in a real combat situation.

  It was mid-afternoon by the time the weapons-handling exercise was over. The Watchers locked the firearms in the store and led the recruits back up to the parade ground. The sun was trying to shine. There was even a bit of warmth on Max’s back as they lined up at Hector’s instruction.

  ‘Does anybody want to throw in their hat?’ he asked.

  Max looked along the line. Lukas was jutting his chin out defiantly. Abby looked uncertain, but stayed put. It was Sami, standing next to Max, who appeared tempted. It was clear to everyone that he was the best weapons handler and the sharpest shooter. But he seemed on the brink of stepping forward. Max put one hand on his shoulder. Sami gave him a grateful look and kept his place.

  When it became clear that nobody was putting themselves forward, Hector nodded. ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘the people going home tonight are …’

  He caught Max’s eye. Max felt sure his name was about to be called. He felt his stomach turn.

  ‘… Maddy and Els. Get your kit, girls. The chopper will be ready in half an hour.’

  Woody looked sympathetically at them. Angel frowned. Max sensed that she didn’t like the idea of the two girls being sent home. The girls hung their heads and started to walk back to the Nissen huts. Woody and Hector followed, then the remaining recruits: Sami, Lukas, Abby, Jack and Ash. All except Max, who hung back to talk to Angel. He was still slightly in awe of her, a little nervous maybe. But he felt that, out of any of the Watchers, she was the most likely to give him a straight answer.

  ‘Lukas and Sami have used weapons like that before, right?’

  ‘You know the rules,’ Angel said curtly.

  ‘I just thought you could tell me –’

  ‘You thought wrong.’

  Angel started to follow the others. Max kept up with her.

  ‘You looked at Lukas when you talked about drive-by shootings. Is that what he’s into? Gang stuff? I’ve seen his tattoos.’

  Angel looked straight ahead and didn’t reply.

  ‘What about Sami? How come he’s such a crack shot with an assault rifle? Why does it make him cry?’

  ‘Seriously, Max, you ask me another question like that and you’re on the next chopper out of here.’

  She upped her pace. Max stopped. ‘Hey, Angel,’ he called after her, ‘who’s R.E.J.?’

  Angel stopped abruptly. Max saw her shoulders rise as she inhaled deeply. She turned and looked Max directly in the eye.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said. She held his gaze for a full five seconds. Then she turned her back on him and continued on her way.

  As Max watched her go, he wondered if the Special Forces Cadets training would include learning to tell if somebody was lying. Not that he needed special training in this instance, because Angel was obviously not telling the truth.

  9

  Paracord

  It was the final day of selection and there were six recruits left: Max, Lukas, Sami, Abby, Jack and Ash. Woody had made it clear that only five people would pass selection. At the end of today, one of them was going home.

  They were all nervous. Max could tell. Even Sami and Abby, normally so chatty, were subdued and silent as they sat at breakfast. Martha watched over them sternly. Max had muscle pain from yesterday’s shooting, but there was no way he would mention that to the severe matron. He knew what was good for him.

  They filed quietly out of the house and on to the parade ground, where the Watchers were waiting for them. The sky was blue. Though some snow remained on the mountain slopes to either side, conditions had markedly improved. A white minibus was parked up on the parade ground. Six rucksacks were lined up in front of it. Next to each rucksack was an M16 assault rifle, identical to the one they had fired the previous day. The rucksacks looked heavy.

  They were heavy. Before speaking, Hector lifted one. He was a strong guy, but he clearly didn’t find the rucksack easy to lift. He dropped it. It landed solidly on the ground with a thump.

  ‘You each have a twenty-five-kilogram pack,’ he announced. ‘They’re filled with gear that a soldier might be expected to carry with them in the field – medical packs, rations, ammunition boxes, dry clothes, paracord.’

  Sami put up his hand. Hector looked frustrated. ‘You’re not at school, Sami. What is it?’

  ‘Please, what is paracord?’

  ‘Light nylon rope, used for suspension lines in parachutes. Very useful in the field. When I tell you, you will strap your pack to your back. You’re free to take it off at any time, but if you do, you’ve failed selection.’ He gave each of them a harsh look. ‘You will also all carry a rifle. These are unloaded, so no funny business.’ Hector’s gaze fell momentarily on Lukas as he said this. ‘The march is fifteen kilometres. Its route takes you along the valley floor, past the range, through an area of dense forest.’ He looked over his shoulder at the minibus. ‘Angel and I will skirt around the forest to get to the finish line quickly, but you are not allowed to. Remember, this is not a navigation exercise. Your way will be marked by flags. All that matters is speed and endurance. You will leave at ten-minute intervals. The slowest recruit will leave us tonight. The remainder will be badged as Special Forces Cadets. Are there any questions?’

  Hector didn’t look like he really wanted to field questions from anybody. There were none.

  ‘Angel and I will set off now for the finish line. Woody will give you your marching orders.’

  Hector turned his back on them and climbed behind the wheel of the minibus. Angel hesitated. ‘Good luck, everyone,’ she said, before getting into the passenger seat.

  They waited ten minutes. The minibus was out of sight when Woody turned to them all. He seemed to be trying to decide who should be the first to leave. Eventually his eyes landed on Sami. ‘You first, mate,’ he said. ‘Let’s get you sorted.’

  He led Sami to one of the packs and helped him put it on. He slung the weapon across Sami’s chest. Sami looked like he might collapse under the weight.

  ‘You okay, buddy?’ Woody asked.

  Sami nodded unconvincingly.

  ‘Then go.’ Woody gave him an encouraging slap on the shoulder. Sami glanced at the others, gave Max a quick smile, then ran.

  It took five minutes for Sami to disappear from view. Meanwhile, Woody selected Ash and told him to prepare himself. By the time ten minutes were up, Ash was loaded down and ready to go. He followed Sami at a decent pace.

  Abby went next. She was obviously stronger than she looked. The weight of the rucksack didn’t seem to bother her as much as it had the others. When Woody announced that Jack would be next, Lukas hissed slightly between his teeth. It was clear that he didn’t want to be left alone with Max. Max saw Jack wince a little as he put on the rucksack. When Woody asked him if he was okay, he brushed the Watcher away with a curt, ‘I’m fine.’ They could all see, however, that he was limping a little as he followed Abby, who had disappeared after a few minutes.

  Woody turned to them. Max was crouching, watching Jack go. Lukas had his back turned to them. ‘You two,’ Woody said, ‘I want a word.’

  Lukas turned slowly. Max stood up. There was something in Woody’s voice. Until now, he had been chirpy and encouraging. Now he sounded deadly serious. ‘You think this is a game?’ he said.

  Silence.

  ‘I said, do you think this is a game?’

  ‘No,’ they said in unison.

  ‘What do you think is the most important quality in a Special Forces Cadet?’ he asked. ‘Fitness? Endurance? Sharp shooting?’

  Lukas shrugged.

  Max said, ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Then I’ll tell you. It’s the ability to look out for your mates. We’re not messing around here. The five recruits who make it thro
ugh today will be put into situations of unimaginable danger. If they’re unable to work as a team, their operations will probably fail and they’ll likely die.’

  Silence.

  Woody looked from one to the other. ‘Do you think you can work as a team? Well, do you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Max said. ‘I think so.’

  Lukas nodded. But he failed to look either of them in the eye. Woody surveyed them both. He didn’t look as if he believed them. ‘Lukas,’ he said, ‘you’re next. Let’s get you prepped.’

  Lukas didn’t want any help putting on the rucksack, or slinging the weapon across his chest. He loaded up and faced in the direction of the course without speaking to or even looking at Woody or Max. When Woody gave him the go-ahead, he sprinted. And of course he didn’t look back.

  ‘Lukas is going to make it, isn’t he?’ Max said. ‘He’s going to be a cadet.’

  ‘Hector likes him,’ Woody said. ‘And the people above Hector, they like him too.’

  ‘Why doesn’t Hector like me?’

  ‘He does,’ Woody said. He made an obvious effort to become his former chirpy self. ‘Course he does. Come on, let’s get you ready.’

  The rucksack was even heavier than it looked. In a way, Max was glad of the M16’s weight. He felt more balanced with it slung across his front. But the combined weight felt like it was pulling him down to earth. Woody stood in front of him. ‘Pace yourself, Max,’ he said. It was the first time he’d given any advice. ‘Don’t use too much energy too soon. Now go. Knock it out of the park.’

  Max ran. There was no sign of Lukas. With Woody’s advice ringing in his ears, he suppressed his urge to sprint. Keep a steady pace, he told himself. Think tortoise and hare.

  Within minutes, he was sweating. His camouflage gear was soon damp. It was impossible to sprint. He jogged steadily, trying to regulate his breathing. Three paces as he inhaled. Three paces as he exhaled. His left ankle twinged from where he had hurt it on the snowy mountainside, but it seemed to be holding out. He tried to ignore the weight that could so easily drag him to the ground.