The New Recruit Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Army Foundation College, Harrogate

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Facts and information

  Maps

  Kit for Patrol

  Stamina Secrets

  Fighting Fit

  Life in the Army

  UK Medals, Awards and Insignia

  Glossary

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Also by Andy McNab

  Copyright

  About the Book

  What if your prank killed your best friend. Could you live with yourself?

  You try to forget and move on; you enrol in Army training, you want to make something of your life. The training is tough and it almost breaks you. But you survive; you know you’ll make a good soldier.

  Finally, when you’re out in Afghanistan, under enemy fire, you come face-to-face with your best friend’s brother. He still blames you for his brother’s death. You now have more to fear than just enemy soldiers . . .

  THE NEW RECRUIT

  For the 2012 intake of Junior Soldiers in training at Army Foundation College, Harrogate

  Thank you for all the help you gave me during the writing of this book. Without all of you I wouldn’t have been able to ensure that this story was a true reflection of what you do for our country. Hopefully it will make you proud of what you have become. I know I am, and that anyone who reads this book will feel the same.

  Army Foundation College, Harrogate

  ‘Just do it! Come on, it’s a piece of piss.’ Liam’s own words burned.

  Another figure, shaking his head, refusing to budge, ignoring him.

  ‘So you’re chicken, then? Is that it?’ Liam bent his arms and flapped them like wings.

  ‘Not listening.’ Dan’s voice was firm as he backed away from Liam, but in the wrong direction. Towards the edge of the building, where they were free running.

  ‘Dan! Stop! The gap!’ Liam’s stomach turned over as he realized the danger.

  A laugh. ‘You expect that to work, too? Sort yourself out, Liam. Known you too long, mate.’

  Liam shouted again, but still Dan backed away, each step taking him closer and closer to the drop . . .

  A scream ripped itself out of Liam’s throat. Sitting up, for a moment all he could see was darkness. He was drenched in sweat and his breaths were hard and fast, his heart thumping as though it wanted to burst out of his chest.

  Movement . . .

  Something was at the end of his bed and the night bent round it as though afraid. Liam had once felt the same, but not any more. Not now. If time hadn’t healed him, a life-change had.

  ‘Hey, Liam . . .’

  The voice froze the air. Liam’s heart was racing now, but it was more due to adrenaline than fear.

  A shadowy figure leaned forward. Slowly, deliberately, as though to do so any faster would cause it to topple, collapse, crumble. Its face was a mess of blood and bone, the features barely recognizable, one eye gone, the other wide and staring, unblinking.

  Liam breathed deep, squeezed his eyes tight shut, balled the heels of his palms into them till he saw stars, sensed tears slip out to run down his face.

  Come on, Liam, sort your bloody head out. It’s not there, not real. If you can’t handle this then you’re going to be no use as a proper soldier!

  The shadow was gone.

  Lying slowly back in his bed, forcing his breath to slow down, Liam focused on the other sounds in the room. The faint tick of a watch. A bubble of water doing its best to push through a weary heating system. And the deep-sleep breathing of other exhausted young soldiers in the same room.

  As he tried to drift back to sleep, he thought of his last days at home, down in London. His mum was in the kitchen, creeping about timidly to make his dad a lunch he wouldn’t even eat. His dad, barely sober from the night before – and even in the morning already halfway through another can of Special Brew – was signing the papers for him to enrol at the Army Foundation College in Harrogate.

  ‘So if I sign this, it means you’re out of the house for good, right? About fucking time, if you ask me.’

  ‘Just sign it, Dad.’

  ‘What if I don’t?’

  ‘For once, don’t be an arsehole. And I’ll only be home on leave, that’s it.’

  ‘You know there’s a war on, right?’

  ‘Anything’s better than here, Dad.’

  And that was it, job done.

  Rolling over onto his side, Liam did his best to ignore the pain in his muscles. They hadn’t stopped aching from the day he’d arrived.

  He checked his watch. With little more than a couple of hours left, he forced his eyes shut.

  1

  ‘THIS PLACE IS a shit tip!’

  And with that, Corporal McKenzie, a man who made up for being short by being wide and loud and angry, smashed his boot into the bin. It clattered across the floor of the room Liam shared with eleven other junior soldiers, and slammed into the radiator under the window. The sound was deafening.

  The corporal came up close enough for Liam to smell his breath. And it wasn’t minty fresh. His skin was marked, like he’d spent his childhood picking spots off his face to squeeze out the pus. And the snarl etched into his features, like marks carved into rock, was one worn from pure displeasure.

  ‘Do I need to check your locker, Scott, or shall I just guess that it’s a complete bag of bollocks like usual?’

  Liam was used to being called by his surname. They all were. It’s what they were supposed to call each other when in training or on any exercise. First names didn’t count then, mostly because if an officer called out ‘Dave’ there was a good chance he’d get at least half a dozen ‘yes-sir’s. That was just annoying; if it happened on the battlefield, it would be downright dangerous.

  The corporal edged past Liam, who then heard his locker door open and his kit, which he’d yet again spent ages trying to get just right, heaved out across the floor. His heart sank, but he didn’t show it. Corporal McKenzie had a knack of picking up even a flicker of pissed-off in a junior soldier’s face. And to him that was just an excuse to come down even harder.

  ‘So what’s wrong with you, Scott?’ the corporal asked, his voice a loud snarl, bullish and angry, his eyes narrow and piercing. ‘Can’t you follow simple bloody instructions? Or do you need your mum to come and do it for you? Is that it? A fucking mummy’s boy who can’t wipe his own arse without having her check it for him?’

  Corporal McKenzie held up a laminated sheet of card – the illustrated instructions on how every junior soldier should set out their locker – and shoved it in Liam’s face. ‘Does your locker look anything like this?’

  Of course it doesn’t, you bastard, now that you’ve thrown it all over the floor!

  ‘No, Corporal!’

  ‘What was that?’

  Liam said it again, louder.

  ‘Then get it bloody well sorted, Scott. Understand?’
/>   ‘Yes, Corporal!’

  As Corporal McKenzie moved on to deal with the next junior soldier, Liam breathed out slowly. He knew this was all part of getting them into the Army mindset, toughening them up, taking orders, but it was still hard to swallow.

  A few minutes later the locker inspection was over.

  ‘He’s a right bastard, that one, hey, Scott?’ said the bloke opposite.

  Liam nodded. It was an accurate description.

  The lad who had spoken was Cameron Dinsdale, a seventeen-year-old who hailed from a farm somewhere up north and had a thing for Land Rovers. At first, and because his accent was so thick, Liam had a job understanding just what he was saying. If he lost track he’d already worked out that a nod and a smile was often enough of a response to keep him happy. But the two lads had hit it off immediately, and it felt good, Liam thought, to have a mate.

  ‘It’s a height thing,’ Cameron added. ‘Probably not the only thing that’s small, either.’

  Liam laughed, along with a few nearby junior soldiers; Cameron seemed to have a knack of cracking jokes at just the right time.

  The first few weeks at the Army Foundation College had been non-stop and Liam couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any time to himself. If he’d been expecting that Army life would be all running around shooting guns and blowing stuff up, he couldn’t have been more wrong. They’d spent as much time in the classroom as they had outdoors, going to lessons, sitting at computers, and working on their reading and writing skills as much as their fitness. Another thing he hadn’t been prepared for was that there were girls at the college. Some of them were even pretty fit. Not that he should’ve been surprised, but a part of him had expected them to be mingers, which they weren’t. And some of them, he knew, could probably kick his arse. Now, though, there was a buzz of excitement around the place. In a few hours they were heading off for their first overnight exercise.

  ‘So, you up for this then?’

  The question, which was as much a challenge, was from a black lad in the bed next to Liam, Jon Renton. Jon’s hands looked like they’d spent years punching their way through walls, his knuckles tough and leathery. He was fit, focused, but always, it seemed, seriously pissed off.

  Liam shrugged. They all knew what they had to look forward to. ‘Basha building, cooking on a stove and getting shouted at? Yeah, why not?’ he said. ‘But at least we’re outside and not stuck indoors doing basic skills and shit like that, right?’

  ‘Bet it fucking rains,’ said Jon, nodding out through the window. ‘It’s already pissing down. Yorkshire’s such a hole. Corporal McKenzie’s going to bloody love this, isn’t he?’

  ‘Stop putting a downer on everything, Renton, you knob,’ said Cameron, who was close to finishing sorting out his locker after the corporal’s visit.

  Another voice joined in with, ‘Yeah, shut it, Renton. You’re keeping me awake with all your shit. You’re too keen – and too miserable.’

  It was Matt Penfold and he was lying on his bed – something he seemed to do a lot. To Liam, he just didn’t seem like soldier material. He carried more weight than the rest of them, most of it sort of squishy. With hands the size of dinner plates, he looked more like a truck driver than a bloke who wanted to get tooled up and go head-to-head with the Taliban in the desert.

  ‘It’s in the family,’ said Jon. ‘I’ve always known I was going to be in the Army – it’s a kind of tradition with us. Dad was a Para, which is what I’m aiming for. Grandad did some crazy shit over in France. This is where I belong and I’m not about to let it get fucked up by a lazy twat like you.’

  It was a fair point, thought Liam. Penfold was right: Renton was keen; but it hadn’t escaped any of them that he was also one of the best at the college.

  When the time to head off came round later that day, Liam jumped onto the bus with the others and grabbed a seat by the window. Jon, it seemed, had been right. The rain not only hadn’t stopped; if anything, it had got heavier. After a short drive, they were all out of the bus and standing in woodland. Their kit had already been sent ahead, including the SA80s, all the rifles fitted with a bright yellow BFS, or Blank Firing System. Then, after a briefing on what they were going to do, Corporal McKenzie stepped forward.

  ‘The point of this exercise is to give you all a taste of what it’s like to live outside. And to see if you can handle being away from a duvet and a hot shower.’

  Liam was already cold and wet. So far, so not so good, but he could put up with it, would have to.

  ‘You’ll all be sorting out your own shelters and putting up a basha in pairs, cooking up some scoff, doing some simple perimeter patrols. So listen to me and the rest of the staff and don’t piss around. You never know, you might surprise us all and learn something.’

  A while later, having been split into smaller groups, Liam and the others had watched Corporal McKenzie put a basha up between some trees, explaining everything in detail. Not just the kit involved – a camouflaged waterproof sheet, bungees and some paracord, which were all easily stowed away in your personal kit – but how to find a good spot to pitch camp and how to check it over. Then he’d demonstrated how to put up the basha. It was the same process as always, and one Liam was getting very used to: Explain, Demonstrate, Imitate, Practise, or EDIP for short. Everything they did went through this same sequence, and the construction of the basha had been no different. Now it was their turn.

  ‘And remember,’ the corporal had said, finishing off his demonstration, ‘keeping your kit dry is absolutely vital. Trust me, from experience, trying to grab some kip in a doss bag that’s wet puts a serious downer on the rest of your week. Balls it up and you’ll freeze, you won’t be able to think straight. And if a firefight kicks off, you’ll be no bloody use to anyone.’

  Having been put into four-man patrols, Liam and the others were all directed to specific areas to set up camp, each patrol far enough away from the others to at least make the junior soldiers feel like they were out on their own. Liam knew, though, that a member of the staff was always within shouting distance. The only time he didn’t feel like he was being watched was when it was lights out, and even then he wasn’t so sure.

  ‘Reminds me of home,’ said Cameron, sidling up beside Liam. ‘Mud, fields and rain. All it needs is a knackered Land Rover with a dead sheep in the back. And my dad swearing through his pipe.’

  Liam laughed as they both worked on the process of fixing their basha, just as Corporal McKenzie had demonstrated.

  ‘Don’t suppose you’ve ever seen a tree before, have you?’ Cameron asked, once the basha was finally up. ‘Being a Londoner, like. Big green and brown thing? Looks a bit like giant broccoli?’

  ‘No, and I don’t know where milk comes from either,’ said Liam as he set to boiling up some water in his mess tin, over a folding Hexamine stove. He then dropped in a silver food pouch from a twenty-four-hour ration pack they’d all been given to heat it up. A minute later, he ripped it open and tucked in. It was sausage and beans and, if he was honest, didn’t taste too bad. A memory flashed into his head: him and his best mate, Dan, as eight-year-olds, trying to cook beans on a smoky fire in Dan’s garden. They’d had to scrape them off the pan, but at the time they’d been the best beans he’d ever eaten . . .

  ‘That stuff’s rammed with calories,’ said Cameron, breaking into his thoughts as he sorted out his own stove. ‘Designed to keep you going and to stop you having a shit for at least three days.’

  Just opposite, Jon and Matt had finished their own basha. Glancing over, it struck Liam how for the first time since arriving at the college they all actually looked like proper soldiers. They were only four weeks in; but loaded up with kit, drenched, and carrying semi-automatic rifles, they at least looked the part. He wondered briefly what his dad would think if he saw him now. Probably wouldn’t care, he thought.

  ‘Who’s taking first stag?’ asked Cameron a few minutes later as he munched through his own silver pouch of lamb
curry.

  Liam nodded across at Matt. ‘Oi, Penfold – you finished your food first, so you’re up.’

  Matt protested, but Jon backed him up.

  ‘Shouldn’t be such a fat greedy bastard,’ he said. ‘So quit moaning and do like Liam said: fuck off.’

  Liam was stunned. To have Jon agree with anyone was rare.

  Matt heaved himself to his feet. ‘Someone had better come and get me after an hour,’ he said, starting to make his way off to where Liam had set up a lookout point. ‘I need my beauty sleep.’

  ‘You’re not kidding, Penfold,’ said Cameron. ‘You’re an ugly fucker.’

  Food done, and Matt on his way, Liam, like Cameron and Jon, settled down into his doss bag. It wasn’t massively comfy, but he was tired, cold and didn’t care. He’d be asleep in a second. But when he was woken up by Cameron shaking his shoulder, he wasn’t so sure he’d slept at all.

  ‘My turn already?’

  Cameron shook his head and Liam could see that for once he wasn’t about to crack a funny.

  ‘It’s Matt,’ said Cameron. ‘He’s wandered off.’

  ‘But there’s nowhere to go!’ said Liam. ‘We’re being observed all the time. And it’s not like he’s easy to miss, is he? Penfold’s huge!’

  ‘He’s a fucking muppet,’ said Jon, who was standing with Cameron. ‘Why the hell is he here, anyway? Just wasting his time and messing stuff up for the rest of us.’

  ‘We’re all in the shit if we don’t find him,’ said Liam, unable to hide his irritation at Matt. ‘Losing someone on our first exercise? We’d never live it down!’

  ‘McKenzie will have our balls,’ said Jon.

  ‘And wear them as cufflinks,’ added Cameron.

  ‘Well, he can’t have gone far,’ said Liam, still wondering how this could’ve happened without someone like Corporal McKenzie coming over, with a cowed-looking Matt in front of him, to find out how they’d already managed to screw things up so badly. ‘Let’s sweep the area till we find him.’

  Taking care with each footstep not to get caught in a tree root or slip on a rock, Liam walked through the dark, with Cameron and Jon to each side. Despite the fact that what they were now doing could end up getting them all in serious trouble if they didn’t find Matt, it was the first time Liam had felt like he was on his way to being a proper soldier. Edging through the darkness of the trees, it was easy to imagine what it would be like out on a proper patrol. The thought excited him and made him nervous. This was just a night out in a wood searching for an idiot who cast a shadow as big as Ben Nevis. It didn’t compare to going out on foot patrol in Afghanistan, where the Taliban were waiting in ambush to riddle you with bullets or blow you apart with an IED.