"Meltdown" - читать интересную книгу автора (McNab Andy)

4

SAS training area near Hereford, England They used to call them the 'killing houses', but back in the 1990s, when the press picked up on the term, the Regiment had decided to become politically correct. Now they were known simply by the official name, CQB houses.

At first sight the training area looked like a bizarre cross between a small but deserted town and a war zone. There were houses and blocks of red-brick flats alongside parked aircraft and a variety of vehicles. It all appeared bleak, abandoned and haphazard, but everything had a very specific purpose.

Fergus had wanted Danny to get specialist training and he was getting it. Like a non-swimmer thrown in at the deep end, Danny's only options were to sink or swim, and he was swimming – or at least keeping his head above water. It was tough, but it was meant to be. The Regiment had a saying: Train hard; fight easy. Train easy; fight hard – and die.

Danny's eighteenth birthday had come and gone while they were in Canada, and as far as Fergus was concerned, as his grandson was now part of a professional team, his build-up had to be as hard and tough as any SAS trooper's.

So the instructors were taking little heed of Danny's age and inexperience. They had a job to do and they were doing it. If Danny didn't come up to the mark, it wouldn't be down to them.

Fergus wasn't even around to oversee Danny's progress. He was up in Manchester working on phase two of Operation Meltdown; the phase one newspaper campaign had already taken place, with the predicted mass-media interest.

Meanwhile, Danny was at Hereford with the two other members of the task force. Their cover story was that they were working for Fergus's security consultancy company, and Fergus had insisted that at least one member of the team must have genuine experience of working for such a set-up.

Phil Reddington was ex-Regiment. He was ten years younger than Fergus but their paths had crossed many times. Fergus rated him, and that was a good enough reference for Dudley. He had not been difficult to poach from his employers, a private military company, once Fergus had mentioned the fee for the one-off job. He could always go back when it was over; the best guys were always in demand.

He had been working in Baghdad, guarding VIPs, for the best part of two years, watching the locals rip themselves apart as most of the country continued its downward spiral towards total anarchy, with the coalition forces helpless to do anything but dodge the bullets and pick up the pieces. Sometimes it was innocent bystanders, sometimes insurgents, and sometimes – the worst times for guys like Phil – it was friends. Guys like him.

But Phil didn't trouble himself too much with politics, or deciding on the rights and wrongs of situations; usually he was too busy making sure he stayed alive. And getting on with his job. His attitude to life was 'never explain and never complain'. He kept himself to himself, but Fergus liked that.

Dudley had recommended the fourth member of the team, even though Fergus had the final word on selection. His name was Leroy Simmons, and at just twenty-five he was already highly regarded in the Security Service. Fergus had met him, grilled him and recognized quickly that Dudley's assessment was correct. He was in; the team was complete.

Now Phil, Leroy and Danny were being put through their paces in Hereford.

Phil had little to learn – he could probably have taught most of the instructors a thing or two – but it was important that the three got to know and trust each other, and the best way to achieve this was to train together, working as a team. Fergus also wanted Phil there to keep a watchful eye on Danny and, to a lesser extent, on Leroy, who was being taught weapon-handling drills he'd never learned with MI5.

The ten-day build-up was now virtually over, and Danny was knackered, physically, mentally and even emotionally. There was so much to take in. But he'd not only hugely increased his personal fitness levels; he'd also been fast-tracked through both standard and advanced driving courses, and improved his street craft and trade craft, which Fergus had spent more than a year trying to drum into him.

There had been MOE work, where Danny had learned how to covertly break into locations so that he could carry out close target recces.

And there had been extensive weapons training: if Danny was old enough to carry a weapon, he was old enough to use it. And there was no point in him learning how to handle a weapon unless he was willing and able to pull the trigger – to save his own life, or someone else's. He had to accept that if ever he pointed a weapon at someone, he had to shoot to kill. So 'Show your hands or I will shoot' could never be merely a threat. If he said it, he had to mean it.

He'd become familiar with a comprehensive range of weaponry, ranging from the latest 9mm pistols and 5.56mm assault rifles to the sort of stuff used by street gangs – revolvers and shotguns.

Now Danny was embarking on a final day of tests. He was holding a 9mm Sig semi-automatic pistol. The weapon already had a familiar feel in his hands, and so far he had acquitted himself well on the ranges and in various exercises.

But this task was going to be very different from anything he'd done before. He was about to burst into a room and take on a number of life-size cut-out x-rays with rapid double taps to the head.

Danny had learned new words as well as the skills that went with them. X-rays were the enemy while yankees were those on his own side. He was already familiar with the term 'the third party' from his time with Fergus. The third party was Joe or Josephine Public – anyone who was unaware of what was going on around them on the streets. These code words were used by the SAS to make information sent over the radio net easier to understand.

As far as this exercise was concerned, Danny would know if the rounds had hit the x-rays because each one had a red inflated balloon filled with red chalk dust pinned to the head.

It sounded simple enough, but there was an added complication. Amongst the targets was a real person: Phil Reddington was sitting on a chair somewhere in the room. And on top of that, Danny had no advance knowledge of where the x-rays would be sited. They might be directly in front of Phil or just inches to the side.

Phil's life was literally in Danny's hands.

The Regiment uses such exercises to build confidence and trust, and as Danny waited for the order from his instructor to go, he was desperately hoping that Phil's apparent confidence in him would not be misplaced.

The burly SAS instructor looked at Danny closely. 'Remember, always head shots.'

Danny nodded.

'No good nodding, son. I want to know why.'

'Because the x-rays could be wearing body armour.'

'Correct. Anyone can get hold of it these days. And not only that: if you come up against someone high on drugs, it might take three or four double taps to the body before the stupid bastard realizes he's dead.'

Danny smiled thinly at the even thinner joke. He'd got used to the very particular brand of humour that ran through the place. The guys here were being trained in the art of killing, and the terrible jokes and camaraderie helped them all to keep a sense of sanity as they went about their deadly business.

'A double tap to the head will make sure they drop like liquid,' added the instructor as he poked Danny's head twice with an index finger. He nodded at the closed door. 'Your mate's in there. Make sure he's still your mate when it's all over.' He moved back a little, ready to give the order to begin. 'Stand by! Stand by!'

Danny braced himself and held the pistol in both hands.

'Go!'

Danny sucked in a breath, raised his right foot and kicked open the door; with his pistol in the aim and both eyes open wide so as to assimilate as much information as possible, he ran into the room, taking in the immediate threat as he entered.

There were two x-rays to the left, one two metres away, the other further. He double tapped the closest one, the main threat, and the weapon's report thudded in his ears as the walls bounced back the short, sharp, high-velocity sounds. The balloon exploded and sent red dust into the air as Danny kept moving forward, his eyes already fixed on the head of the next x-ray.

Danny's mind went into slow motion, even though he knew he was operating quickly. The target became blurry: both his eyes were focusing on the pistol's foresight as it lined up on a female x-ray's head. With only the front pad of his finger on the trigger he squeezed off a double tap, short and sharp, and the balloon disintegrated in a cloud of red dust.

His head flicked right. A figure was sitting behind a table. Beyond that was another. He saw a flash of red on the first figure and kept focused on it, turning his body and weapon towards the target, bringing it in line with the head as he raised the weapon into the aim. The target went blurry as he focused once again on the foresight and tightened the pressure on the trigger.

But something was wrong. The red was on the target's chest, not the head. It had to be Phil!

Danny kept moving forward towards the target behind Phil.

'Get down! Down!'

He needed a clear shot. Phil dropped to the floor as commanded, and Danny double tapped the final x-ray about seven metres away from him. His first shots missed, and he kept double tapping and moving towards the target until red dust exploded into the room.

The instructor stopped the exercise. 'Stop! Unload!'

It was over. It had taken no longer than ten seconds. Danny's heart was thumping as the adrenalin pumped through his body. He could feel his fingers trembling slightly on the trigger of the Sig as he squeezed off the action after unloading. His ears were ringing as they struggled to cope with the high-velocity noise he had created.

Phil Reddington got up, looking completely untroubled apart from the red chalk-dust that covered his hair. It was as though he'd sat through nothing more threatening than a thunderstorm. But Phil was old school; he gave little away. His focus was on the next part of his job, which was to debrief Danny.

'Not bad,' he said with a shrug. 'But you took too many rounds to drop that fella behind me, didn't you?'

Danny nodded. 'Yeah. Yeah, sorry.'

Phil indicated the chair. 'Take a seat, son,' he said with a smile. 'It's your turn now.'

*

Danny and Lee, as Leroy preferred to be known, got on well from the outset, which was good news because they were going to be operating as partners for much of the time. And Danny was glad that one member of the team was a lot closer to his own age.

Now they were sitting together in a vehicle on a firing range. Their objective was to carry out an anti-ambush drill, with Danny at the wheel of the Audi A4 and Lee in the passenger seat.

Danny had proved to be an instinctive and fearless driver, without being reckless, which at the speeds he'd been travelling would soon have proved fatal. He'd advanced smoothly from the basics of cockpit drills and getting the most from the vehicle by the use of the gears, through to intensive high-speed work and then offensive and defensive driving, which was carried out on the firing ranges.

The high-speed work took place on the roads between Hereford and Bristol – everything from country lanes to forest tracks, dual carriageways, motorway, and the city of Bristol itself.

Now Danny was ready for his final test.

He was far from what anyone in the Regiment would describe as the finished article, but there was no more time. He'd had a couple of run-ins with Phil Reddington, who was almost as hard a taskmaster as his grandfather – maybe that was one of the reasons why Fergus had wanted him on the team.

Danny sat behind the wheel of the A4 as they prepared to go. Lee's MP5 was in the footwell, covered by a coat, just as it would have been if they were out on the street. The automatic machine gun was an excellent car weapon. Its collapsible butt made concealment easy, but the 9mm high-powered rounds could easily rip through a vehicle windscreen.

Lee looked at Danny. 'You ready then?'

Danny pulled his seat belt across his body, but he didn't click it home. On operations, they didn't wear seat belts because of the time it took to unbuckle them. Even SAS troops under fire have forgotten to unbuckle themselves, losing precious seconds in getting out of a vehicle to take on the enemy.

That was why Danny and Lee had Velcro glued to the buckle and holder. The seat belt had to look as if it were being worn correctly so that they blended in with the third party.

Danny secured the belt and nodded. 'Yep.'

He pressed the send button on the gear stick and spoke into the concealed microphone on the dashboard.

That's Delta One mobile.'

Danny shoved the gear stick into first and got his foot down; soon he was doing seventy mph along the narrow track, cutting through the woods towards the range. The trees on either side became a green blur, and when Danny took it over a rise, the A4 flew into the air, the engine roaring. Lee pushed his feet into the footwell to support himself as they touched down again and the range came into view about half a mile away.

Danny hit the gear stick pressel, taking a sharp bend as the track cut across fields.

'That's Delta One approaching the range.'

Lee's MP5 was still in the footwell; he wouldn't draw down the weapon until it was needed. Everything was played as if it were for real.

The A4 was still doing seventy as it entered the range. Ahead, Danny saw a tall berm – a thick manmade earthworks, five metres high on three sides of the square, so that rounds could be fired to the sides as well as forward.

In front of the vehicle were six wooden targets – men and women in civvies, all of them holding weapons. An explosion directly in front of them lifted a fireball into the air and Danny hit the brake and pressed the send pressel.

'Contact! Contact! Wait out!'

Lee had already raised his MP5; he pulled out the butt before ramming it into his shoulder and pushing down the safety. The A4 skidded towards the enemy; Danny's feet were pushed hard down onto the brake and clutch and he fought to keep the vehicle straight as Lee started firing.

The windscreen shattered and the automatic weapon's empty casings bounced off the roof and down onto Danny. As the A4 screeched to a standstill, Lee was still firing and giving Danny some cover.

'Go, Danny! Go!'

Danny didn't need telling twice. He pushed open the door and launched himself out of the vehicle, the Velcro ripping away and freeing the seat belt. Rolling onto the ground, he pulled out his pistol from the pancake holster on his right hip and began firing from beneath the door.

'Go! Go! Go!'

Instead of rolling out and taking cover, Lee dropped his MP5 and empty mag to the ground, drew down his own pistol and moved forward. He stopped in front of the vehicle, putting down rounds into the x-rays.

'Go!'

It was Danny's cue to move again. He stopped firing and leaped to his feet, running past the front of the A4 until he was a couple of metres ahead. He dropped down onto one knee and took on the x-rays.

'Go!'

Lee had started moving forward as soon as he heard Danny firing. They were taking the fight to the enemy; it was known as 'fire and manoeuvre', meaning that there was always someone firing while the other moved. They were working well together.

Danny reached his next position and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. The top slide was held back because he was out of ammo.

'Stoppage!'

Lee stopped moving and put down fire; Danny pushed the mag-release catch with his thumb and the empty mag fell to the ground. He pulled a full one from his jacket pocket, reloaded and released the top slide catch with his thumb as he ran on. It rammed forward, picking up a round at the top of the mag and loading it.

Stopping just a metre short of the targets, Danny was close enough to put double taps into their heads as Lee ran up to join him; they continued firing until they ran out of ammo.

They unloaded their weapons and glanced at each other. They'd done well. All targets were punctured with their double taps and they had put down fire continuously as they moved forward.

Phil had watched the whole exercise, and for once there was a slight smile on his face.

That evening he called Fergus in Manchester. 'We're done. As ready as we'll ever be.'

'How did Danny get on?'

Fergus waited while Phil considered his reply, and when it came, it was almost exactly what he had expected.

'He can be cocky, and headstrong, and sometimes he thinks he knows it all without being told. But he's done good. And I've got to admit, he's a tough little bastard. How's phase two going?'

Fergus smiled into the telephone. 'Going to plan. See you in Manchester.'