by Chris Ryan
Focus, Lukas told himself. Trust them to do their job …
He turned back to the soldier. Had he understood Lili’s words? Had he even heard them above the roar of the aircraft? There was no way of knowing, but Lukas had a bad feeling. The man was eyeing the three cadets with a look of obvious incredulity. A look that said: kids, handling an assault rifle? They won’t know how to fire it accurately. And even if they do, they’d never dare …
The soldier kept his handgun raised and took a step towards them.
Lili screamed at him again in Spanish. This time there was no doubt that her words went unheard because it sounded as if the fast air was right above them, even though they couldn’t see anything through the clouds. It was so loud that they didn’t even hear the retort of the soldier’s handgun as he fired and walked. They only knew that he had discharged a round because they saw the recoil of his weapon.
They didn’t even hear the sound of the mine exploding when he stepped on it.
They certainly saw its effects.
As long as he lived, Lukas would never forget the sight. The blast sent chunks of earth fountaining into the air. The shocking, grisly sight of their enemy’s limbs, detached from his body, flying through the air and raining down on the damp ground would stay with the cadets for ever.
‘GET DOWN!’ Lili roared as the shrapnel fell. She pulled Lukas to the ground, where he instinctively covered the back of his head with his arms.
‘What about Max and Abby?’ he yelled, his voice muffled. ‘The air strike! It’s here! It’s going to hit them!’
Nobody replied. There was nothing to say.
‘MOVE,’ Abby shouted. ‘NOW!’
Max blinked and stepped back.
Not a second too soon.
It was as if Abby was unable to hold the rock up any longer. She let the rock fall hard on the body of the transponder. It broke away from the concrete with a spark, and its red light extinguished. The device’s casing fell to the ground, where it shattered.
Abby had gripped Max’s wrist and was pulling him away. It wasn’t necessary. Every fibre of Max’s being wanted to get away from that listening station now that the transponder was destroyed. He ran with her, away from the concrete block, away from the listening station, his lungs and muscles burning as they sprinted as fast as possible, not knowing if they’d destroyed the device in time to stop the strike.
The noise of the aircraft overhead seemed to be inside him, rattling his organs.
Max and Abby stopped. They looked at each other. Then they looked up. The noise of the aircraft was receding. It had passed, and it had not dropped its payload. They had destroyed the transponder in time.
There was a strange, deep silence.
Relief crashed over them. They took a moment to catch their breath, then they looked at each other and embraced.
‘Do you think we’ve stopped the invasion?’ Abby said. Her voice was small. Uncertain. ‘Do you think we’ve done enough?’
As if in response, there was a new sound in the sky. More helicopters, heading from the direction of the RAF base.
Max didn’t let her go. He couldn’t. Their embrace was warm and comforting, here in the dawn drizzle after such a night.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I think we’ve done enough.’
Epilogue
They had done enough. Or so it seemed to Max.
The sun continued to rise and the air filled with the buzzing of helicopters. Max and Abby, exhausted, collapsed on the grass at the perimeter fence and watched them fly over. It was clear that they had two destinations: some were heading to the decoy landing site, some to the real one. There would be no time for the invaders to locate their caches, dig out their anti-aircraft weapons and whatever other instruments of war they had been stashing on the island over time. Their invasion was surely over before it had even begun.
‘Do you think we should check on the others?’ Abby asked in a small voice. She sounded as drained as Max felt.
‘We should stay here,’ Max said. ‘We don’t want anybody mistaking us for the wrong people. We’ve done our bit.’
‘I hope they’re okay.’
‘Yeah,’ Max said. ‘Me too.’
Abby leaned her head against Max’s shoulder. After a second, Max put his arm around her. They stayed like that for a couple of silent minutes, drawing warmth and comfort from each other.
‘I thought you and Lukas were dead,’ Abby said finally. Her voice cracked. ‘I really did.’
‘If it wasn’t for you guys,’ Max replied, ‘we would be. Thank you.’
‘Ah, it’s nothing. What’s a quick life-saving between friends, anyway?’ She shuffled up so they were face to face, their noses almost touching. Max felt her breath hot against his lips, which were parted slightly.
‘Er, I hate to tell you this,’ Max whispered, ‘but I think we’re being watched.’
He felt her tense up. They both turned.
A man was standing ten metres away. He had a ruddy, friendly face, sandy hair, a nose that had once been broken and a mischievous smile playing on his lips.
‘Morning, chaps,’ said Woody, his hair blowing in the breeze. ‘Not interrupting, am I?’
Max felt himself blushing. Abby raised an eyebrow, but showed no sign of embarrassment. ‘Perfect timing,’ she said in a voice that barely hid her irritation with the Watcher.
Woody’s face lit up. ‘Excellent!’ he said. ‘The others will be here in a minute.’
‘Are they okay?’ Max said, standing. He held out a hand to help Abby up, but she brushed it away.
‘What am I?’ she muttered. ‘Incompetent?’
‘Hardly that,’ Woody said. ‘The others are fine. Angel’s found them. Lukas has been in the wars, but they’re all in one piece.’ He walked towards them. ‘Seriously, guys, those flares were quick thinking. The invaders have been surrounded by RAF personnel. They’re being rounded up and taken back to RAF Mount Pleasant.’ He looked back over his shoulder. ‘We should get there too. If you’ve quite finished here,’ he added with a twinkle in his eye.
He removed a radio from a pouch in his wetsuit and made a call. Two minutes later, a helicopter was setting down on the grassland nearby. They boarded and within seconds were airborne. From the air, Max could see more helicopters buzzing like flies around the invasion beach. He looked out across the South Atlantic. It was still stormy and threatening. He shivered at the memory of what they had all gone through, then turned away. He’d seen quite enough of the ocean for the time being.
The helicopter landed at the RAF base. Stepping out of the chopper, the cadets immediately saw the results of their night’s work. Argentine soldiers were being led into an aircraft hangar at gunpoint, their heads down, their body language deflated. More helicopters were flying in and out, delivering prisoners of war and returning to collect more. British army and RAF personnel were shouting instructions across the airfield. Military trucks swarmed everywhere. The whole place seemed to throb anxiously.
There were civilians here too, being delivered to the safety of the base by truck. Max assumed that they were being temporarily evacuated from Port Stanley. As he and Abby followed Woody to what seemed to be a deserted hangar, a voice shouted his name.
‘Max! Max!’
He turned in astonishment and saw a boy running towards him. It took him a moment to realise who it was: Marcus, the kid from the whale-watching trip. By that time, Marcus was standing breathlessly in front of him.
‘Have you heard?’ he gabbled. ‘Have you heard what happened? They came and pulled us out of bed, and there were these soldiers, and …’
His voice trailed off and he suddenly seemed to see Max with new eyes. Max immediately felt self-conscious. He touched his face. He guessed he was pretty messed up. His clothes were damp and filthy.
‘I guess you’re not looking your best,’ Abby said quietly.
Marcus’s mum had run after him. When she reached them, she put one arm protectively around he
r son’s shoulders. She too looked Max up and down, but with an expression Max couldn’t quite work out. Was it disapproval? Was it fear? Whatever it was, she clearly didn’t want her son anywhere near him. She hustled him away to where the other civilians were congregating. Marcus looked back over his shoulder, slightly awed, slightly scared. He didn’t seem sad that his mother was moving him on.
‘Get used to it, buddy,’ Woody said. ‘It can be a lonely business, saving people’s lives.’
‘Yeah, well,’ Max said, ‘if I wanted to be famous, I’d go on Britain’s Got Talent.’
‘Me too,’ Abby said. ‘You reckon you’d get a golden buzzer for hijacking an enemy ship?’
Max didn’t answer. Something else had caught his eye. Across the airstrip, an older woman was being led away by two soldiers. It was Arlene from the guest house. She looked over in their direction. Her expression was flat and unfriendly.
‘Forgot to tell you,’ Abby said. ‘I think Arlene had more on her plate than sausages.’ When Max raised an eyebrow, she added: ‘I think she was informing on us.’
They found the others waiting for them in the hangar, along with Angel. In one corner was a wall-mounted TV. It was on mute, but showed breaking news of military activity in the Falklands. Of course, it didn’t mention the cadets. Max had never seen his friends more exhausted or bedraggled. Lukas was limping. He, Sami and Lili looked nauseous. Max could tell something bad had happened. Lukas especially wore a haunted expression. Max walked up to him and put one hand on his shoulder. ‘You okay?’ he asked.
Lukas nodded silently, then averted his eyes.
‘What is it?’ Max asked.
‘Our friend with the red eyes,’ Lukas said. ‘Put it this way, turns out he was heavier than a skua. He was going to kill us. We tricked him into the minefield, but I didn’t mean for him to …’ He trailed off.
Max was silent. He was aware of all the others watching them silently.
‘It was a bad way to go,’ Lukas said finally. ‘Really bad.’
Lili stepped forward. ‘It was us or him,’ she said. ‘He’d already killed the farmer. He’d have killed the three of us like that.’ She snapped her fingers.
‘Then it’s not just the lives of the Falkland islanders you’ve saved tonight,’ Max said. ‘It’s the lives of your friends too.’
Woody and Angel approached them. ‘In battle,’ Angel said, ‘people die. But sometimes more people would die without the battle. I think that might have been the case tonight, if it weren’t for you five.’
‘Maybe I’m just not cut out for watching people being blown to bits,’ Lukas said bitterly.
‘I’d be worried if you were,’ Angel replied. She put her arms around Lukas and hugged him. To Max’s slight surprise, Lukas didn’t resist. ‘There’s going to be a lot of talk around the world about what happened today,’ she said, glancing up towards the rolling news on the TV. ‘You lot won’t be mentioned in any of it. No thank-yous, no glory. That’s life in the special forces. I hope you’re comfortable with that?’
The cadets looked at each other, their faces deadly serious, and nodded.
‘Good. Then let’s get you out of here.’
‘Are you saying our holiday’s over?’ Abby asked.
‘Yeah,’ Angel said. ‘Holiday’s over. It’s time to go home.’
Chris Ryan
Chris Ryan was born in Newcastle.
In 1984 he joined 22 SAS. After completing the year-long Alpine Guides Course, he was the troop guide for B Squadron Mountain Troop. He completed three tours with the anti-terrorist team, serving as an assaulter, sniper and finally Sniper Team Commander.
Chris was part of the SAS eight-man patrol chosen for the famous Bravo Two Zero mission during the 1991 Gulf War. He was the only member of the unit to escape from Iraq, where three of his colleagues were killed and four captured. This was the longest escape and evasion in the history of the SAS, and for this he was awarded the Military Medal. Chris wrote about his experiences in his book The One That Got Away, which was adapted for screen and became an immediate bestseller.
Since then he has written five other books of non-fiction, over twenty bestselling novels and three series of children’s books. Chris’s novels have gone on to inspire the Sky One series Strike Back.
In addition to his books, Chris has presented a number of very successful TV programmes including Hunting Chris Ryan, How Not to Die and Chris Ryan’s Elite Police.
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First published in Great Britain in 2020 by
HOT KEY BOOKS
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Copyright © Chris Ryan, 2020
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
The right of Chris Ryan to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 9781471407895
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