Special Forces Cadets 1 Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  SPECIAL FORCES CADETS

  Chapter 1: Striding Edge

  Chapter 2: Dülfersitz

  Chapter 3: Valley House

  Chapter 4: The Watchers

  Chapter 5: The Rules

  Chapter 6: White-Out

  Chapter 7: R.E.J.

  Chapter 8: Semi-Automatic

  Chapter 9: Paracord

  Chapter 10: Green Thunder

  Chapter 11: Overruled

  Chapter 12: Covert Comms

  Chapter 13: Advance to Target

  Chapter 14: Block Green

  Chapter 15: The Past

  Chapter 16: T7

  Chapter 17: Lightning Fast

  Chapter 18: State Your Name

  Chapter 19: Kill Switch

  Chapter 20: Train Hard, Fight Easy

  Chris Ryan

  Copyright

  SPECIAL FORCES CADETS

  Siege

  Look out for

  Missing

  Justice

  Ruthless

  Hijack

  Assassin

  1

  Striding Edge

  It was the weather that changed Max Johnson’s life.

  Max knew it would be bad, because he knew about clouds. He spent hours staring at them. He knew their names. Cirrus. Altocumulus. Cumulonimbus. And he knew what they predicted. That cold January morning he had seen the high-stacked layers of nimbostratus moving in from the west. ‘We shouldn’t climb today,’ he said to Cory, their team leader. ‘A storm’s coming.’

  But Cory – a hard-bitten climber with a leathery, lined face and a steely grey beard so bushy that you couldn’t see his lips – had other things on his mind. He had come down with food poisoning the previous night and was in no state to lead them up the mountain. A gap-year student called Mickey was to take his place. ‘Mickey knows what he’s doing, lad. He says it’s fine.’ And Cory quickly took himself back to his sick bed.

  Max didn’t agree. All his life he had studied his surroundings: the moss on one side of a tree trunk that indicated which direction was north and which was south. The faint track on a wet path that told him what type of animal had recently passed. The distinctive pattern in the stars of Ursa Major that taught him how to navigate at night. It was hardwired in him to observe. It was part of his DNA.

  And his DNA told him that nimbostratus meant a storm was brewing. He voiced his concerns to Mickey, a lanky young man with scruffy hair and a slightly dopey demeanour.

  ‘Nah, I’ve checked my app,’ Mickey reassured him, holding up his phone. ‘We’ll be up and down in no time. Come on – you don’t get a chance like this every day.’

  That was true. The cost of this trip to the Lake District was £500. Max was an orphan, and lived in a residential care home in Newcastle. His parents had died when he was a baby. He couldn’t even remember them. A social worker had once told him that their house had gone up in flames and the firefighters had to make a choice: Max or his parents. That was all he knew. While the staff in the care home did their best for him, they could never be the family he craved. And there was nobody else. No grandparents, uncles, aunts or cousins to fill in the story of his life or send him presents for Christmas, like the lonely one that had just passed. No family friends to tell him what his mum and dad had looked like, or what sort of people they were. Not even any belongings or photographs. They’d all been destroyed in the fire.

  And he had no money, of course. He could never have afforded a trip like this. When Mrs Barclay, the Combined Cadet Force teacher, had told him that his school would pay, Max had gratefully accepted. In fact, he was the most able CCF student at St Andrew’s School. He relished what the other kids moaned about – the fitness sessions, the drills, the field trip that had taken them climbing in the Peak District. The tougher the CCF teachers made things, the more Max enjoyed it. That, and living in a care home, made him a bit of a freak at school. Most people went out of their way to avoid him. He spent break times alone and he was never invited to parties. But it didn’t bother Max. He was fit, strong and agile and he had a plan: to join the army. It was all he had ever wanted to do. In his dreams, the army would be the family and friends he’d never known. And while a week’s climbing in the Lake District was not exactly the German Alpine Guides course that Max knew members of the SAS were sent on, it was still his idea of heaven.

  If only he didn’t have to put up with the others on the trip – four boys, three girls – who insisted on calling him ‘orphan boy’ after he’d let slip his circumstances early on the first day. The nasty comments had started immediately. But Max was used to it, and well practised at ignoring insults.

  ‘Hey, orphan boy, nobody wants to sleep next to you in the dorm,’ Angus McKay had said that night.

  ‘Hey, orphan boy,’ Suze Roberts had smirked as they sat down to dinner, ‘bet this is the most food you’ve seen in a month.’

  ‘Hey, orphan boy, too scared to climb the mountain? It’s just a few clouds.’ That was Jordan Smith, a lanky kid with a shaved head who seemed to have woken up that morning determined to wind Max up. Jordan was the ringleader. The others all looked up to him.

  ‘Hey, Jordan,’ Mickey had said nervously, ‘that’s not cool.’

  Jordan and the others sensed blood. Mickey wasn’t much older than the kids he was looking after. Max sighed. He had seen it happen at school whenever a supply teacher took over a class. Inexperienced and desperate to be friendly with the kids, they never stood a chance.

  Jordan rolled his eyes.

  ‘Like you’d know what was cool, Mickey Mouse,’ Suze said under her breath. The others sniggered. Mickey pretended to laugh along with the joke but couldn’t hide his embarrassment. He reminded Max of some of the adults he’d known in the care home. Whenever one of the kids stood up to them, they retreated, snail-like, into their shell.

  Now Mickey was pretending not to notice the attitude of Jordan and the others. It made Max more apprehensive about the day. On an expedition, you needed a leader – and Mickey clearly didn’t have the respect of the group. He ushered them into the minibus that would take them from the outdoor pursuits centre to the base of Helvellyn. It was the third highest peak in England, and famous for its difficulty.

  ‘Guys, we’ll be ascending via Striding Edge,’ Mickey announced. ‘It’s a sharp ridge line that leads directly to the summit. It has a reputation for being dangerous, but as long as you stick with me, you’ll be fine.’

  ‘Didn’t a couple of climbers die on Striding Edge last week?’ Jordan asked. He made spooky ghost noises, then looked around with a grin. Jordan was the kind of kid who liked to scare others.

  ‘There have been accidents,’ Mickey said. ‘But we’ll be all right as long as we’re careful and you do what I say at all times.’ He caught Max’s eye. Max looked away and stared through the minibus window at the darkening clouds up above. ‘I’ve climbed the ridge loads of times,’ he heard Mickey say. ‘We’ll be absolutely fine.’

  It was a cold morning. Their minibus was the only one in the car park. The others complained when Mickey insisted they wear waist harnesses and carry heavy loops of climbing rope. They rolled their eyes when he made them share out their supplies and other equipment. It was Max and Suze’s turn to carry the foil ration packs that would be their lunch. Angus was given the first aid kit. The satellite phone, for emergency use only, was given to Jordan. ‘Doesn’t even do Snapchat,’ Jordan said, shoving it into his rucksack. Some of the others laughed.

  The rain – freezing and relentless – started a few minutes after they set out. It took two hours for them to hike and scramble up the foothills of the mountain. By the time they were approaching Strid
ing Edge, the rain was almost horizontal and Max’s hands and feet were numb. Even Jordan was silent as they stopped for a moment and looked at the imposing ridge leading to the summit. It was only a few metres wide. On either side was a steep, scree-covered slope with a drop of at least fifty metres.

  ‘Single file!’ Mickey shouted over the noise of the rain. ‘I’ll lead. Max, you take the rear. Don’t let anybody fall behind.’

  Jordan brushed past Max. ‘Out of my way, orphan boy,’ he muttered.

  Max ignored him.

  The going was slow. The rain was blinding, and the rock was slippery underfoot. Max trod carefully, feeling for loose ground with his walking boots. He tried to avoid looking to either side, but he could still see that the bottom of the slope was invisible, covered in mist and rain haze. Below and to their right there was a mountain tarn, but it was only occasionally visible. Looking down made Max shudder. Instead, he concentrated on the rest of the team snaking out ahead of him. They were the only people on Striding Edge today – with good reason. As far as Max was concerned, the sooner they were back down in the foothills, the better.

  It took another ninety slow minutes to reach the summit. It was a bleak, lonely, weather-ravaged place. Max felt none of the satisfaction that he remembered from his previous CCF climbing trip to the Peak District. As the team congregated by a small cairn that marked the summit, he looked back the way they had come. He could see no more than five metres. Striding Edge was lost in cloud.

  Normally they would rest for a while and eat something from their ration packs. Today, nobody wanted to do that. Mickey looked anxious. Standing by the cairn, he turned a full circle, as if looking for another descent. The wind howled. It was deafening and very strong, and almost caused Max to lose his footing. He approached Mickey. ‘We need to get back down,’ he said tersely.

  ‘There are other descents,’ Mickey agreed. ‘Safer, maybe. But in these clouds …’

  ‘We’ll get lost?’ Max said.

  Mickey nodded. ‘Maybe you were right,’ he said, quietly so the others couldn’t hear. ‘We shouldn’t have come.’ He sounded panicky, like he was turning to Max for advice. That was not what Max wanted to hear.

  ‘It doesn’t matter now,’ Max said. ‘We just need to get down.’

  Mickey nodded, then turned to the others. ‘Guys!’ he shouted above the wind. ‘The weather’s worse than I expected. We’re going to make our descent quickly. We’ll go back down the same way we came, but this time we’ll rope up. The visibility’s poor, and this will keep us together as a group. You all have a carabiner on your harness. We’ll have five metres of rope between us. I’ll lead, Max will take the rear. Does everyone understand?’

  Seven bedraggled heads nodded. Only one shook his head. Jordan. ‘I’m not roping up,’ he said.

  ‘Jordan, you have to,’ Mickey said.

  ‘You can’t make me,’ Jordan retorted. ‘You losers rope up if you want. I can get down by myself.’ He turned his back on them like a spoiled child.

  ‘Jordan, please … It’s for your own safety.’

  ‘Shut it.’

  ‘Mate …’ Mickey started to say, but Jordan stormed off and there was no time to argue with him. The weather was getting worse. Max was shivering. He wished Cory was here. The old climber exuded confidence and capability. Mickey? Not so much. Max noticed that Mickey’s hands were slow and awkward as he threaded a length of sturdy blue rope through their harnesses. It took five minutes. During this time, the temperature dropped noticeably. There was a sudden clap of thunder, very close. Mickey looked round again, rain dripping from his face. ‘Please tread carefully, everybody.’ He sounded exhausted.

  Jordan went ahead, not roped up. He clearly had no desire to wait for the others. Mickey looked like he was going to have another go at persuading him, but lost his nerve at the last moment. He followed, and the line of roped-up teenagers snaked behind him. Max watched them disappear into the mist. He could only see one person ahead: Angus. The rope in front of him grew taut and he started his descent.

  It was difficult to stay upright. The swirling wind lashed his body from all sides. It was almost like being punched. If Max hadn’t known he was on a ridge, he wouldn’t have been able to tell. Clouds obscured the sheer drop on either side. He had just started to walk along the ridge when there was another thunderclap. He felt it as much as heard it. The vibrations went straight through him and almost made him lose his footing. Seconds later, a fork of lightning hit the ridge, maybe fifty metres ahead. Momentarily he could see the others, silhouettes in the mist. They disappeared after a fraction of a second. Then all he could see was the mist again, and Angus treading gingerly ahead of him. Angus looked over his shoulder. It was hard to tell because of the rain, but Max thought he might be crying. He didn’t blame him. That lightning strike had been too close for comfort. ‘It’s okay!’ Max shouted. ‘We’ll be down before –’

  He didn’t get to finish his sentence.

  The second lightning strike was much closer. Twenty metres away, if that. He saw the lightning fork strike a boulder halfway along the line of climbers. As it hit, he felt an electric surge run up one leg and down the other. He called out in surprise and pain, and almost lost his footing again.

  Then, above the howling of the wind and the driving rain, he heard a scream. And a fraction of a second later, as a third lightning strike hit, he saw why.

  Mickey had fallen. The flash of lightning was just enough for Max to see him tumble to the left, down the side of the ridge. Suze, immediately behind him, was being dragged down. In an instant, Max knew that if he didn’t do something, they would all plummet down the rocky slope.

  ‘JUMP!’ he bellowed at Angus. ‘JUMP TO THE RIGHT!’

  It was instinctive. If the others were tumbling to the left, Max knew that his only hope of saving them was to make use of the opposite slope. Grabbing the rope in two hands, he strode to the edge.

  There was no time to think. Thinking would just lead to fear. Max threw himself from the ridge, pulling Angus with him.

  As Max plummeted though the air into nothingness his stomach lurched, as if he was on a rollercoaster. Then his fall was halted with a horrible jerk as the slack rope tightened. He slammed hard against the wet rock ten metres below the apex of the ridge line. The rope strained. Above him, Angus was shouting in pain and clutching one arm.

  Max was battered too. His right side was sore where he had crashed into the rock. But he didn’t think he’d broken anything. He could hear panicked shouting, but indistinct above the noise of the storm. He made the mistake of looking down. His legs felt weak as he saw the slope disappearing into the mist and rain.

  He tugged on the rope. It was taut but there was no drag. That was good. It meant Mickey, at the other end, was not slipping down the opposite slope. But what should he do? Should he try to scramble up? Or would that mean his weight was not acting as a counterbalance? He hung there, gasping. As the wind and rain battered him, he tried to work out his next move.

  Seconds later, his decision was made for him. He slipped a little way down the slope, bumping painfully against the rock. The same happened to Angus, who whimpered in fear.

  Max knew what must be happening. Mickey, and whoever else was at the end of the rope, was climbing to the top of the ridge. Max and Angus had to climb too, otherwise they would all slip down this side.

  Max grabbed hold of the rope. It was wet and hurt his frozen hands, but he gripped it firmly. Slowly, his muscles burning, he pulled himself up the slope towards Angus: five slow, difficult metres. Angus was still cradling his left arm. He was pale and shivering.

  ‘It’s broken,’ he whispered as Max drew up alongside him. There was no ‘orphan boy’ this time.

  Max looked up. Five metres of rope connected him and Angus. It would be enough for him to use to get up to the ridge. But there wasn’t much time. If the others were pulling themselves up, he and Angus would soon slip again.

  ‘It’s going to b
e okay,’ Max said. ‘But we have to move fast.’ He grabbed the rope connecting Angus to the next person along and powered past his companion. There was no time to explain what he was doing. Twenty seconds later, he was on the ridge. He could hear muffled shouts, but there was no sign of the others.

  He seized the section of rope leading down to Angus and hauled as hard as he could. He couldn’t shift his companion. ‘Use your legs!’ he shouted. Angus looked up, frightened. ‘Your legs!’ Max repeated. Angus nodded. He inched up the slope while Max pulled as hard as he could. It took ten seconds to haul Angus up on to the ridge. Both boys collapsed, breathing heavily.

  A crack of thunder. Another hit of lightning. The muffled shouts became more distinct. ‘Jordan! Jordan!’

  Max pushed himself to his feet and helped Angus up. They scrambled towards the top of the ridge. The others came into sight. They were still roped up, but huddled close together. It immediately became clear to Max that Angus wasn’t the only casualty. Mickey lay on his back, pale and shivering. His leg was obviously broken – it went off at a strange angle at the knee. The others looked terrified. A couple were holding their mobile phones, but there was no service. ‘Where’s Jordan?’ Max demanded.

  Their body language told him everything. They looked over the edge into the gaping, cloud-filled emptiness beyond.

  ‘He fell,’ Suze whispered. ‘He lost his balance and he wasn’t roped up. There was nothing we could do.’

  2

  Dülfersitz

  ‘Mountain rescue …’ Mickey whispered. ‘We need mountain rescue.’

  Max stared at him. The only way they could make contact with the outside world was by using the satellite phone.

  And the sat phone was in Jordan’s rucksack.