Boy Soldier Read online

  Table of Contents

  By the Same Author

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Glossary

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  Extract: PAYBACK Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Avenger

  About the Author

  Picture 1

  Picture 2

  Picture 3

  Picture 4

  Fergus turned and saw them the moment he heard the noise. His decision was instant. He had to save Danny.

  He kicked back at the bung, grabbed the kit and forced his way out of the bush, making as much noise as he could. Leaping to his feet, he made sure that Jimmy and Brian spotted him. Then he ran, as best he could, down the drive.

  The two operators instantly changed direction, chasing full speed after Fergus.

  'We got Watts on the drive! Watts on the drive! Towards you, Mick.'

  Mick had already moved across the road and got into the bushes just off the track. He held his pistol in both hands as he waited to hear the runner on the gravel. He was looking forward to meeting Watts again.

  Danny was just to the side of the window when he heard the shouts and then saw Fergus hobbling down the drive as the two men chased after him. He saw the pistols in their hands. Instinctively Danny stood up and started to run to help his grandfather. But he could almost hear Fergus shouting at him: 'Stick to SOPs! Get to the ERV!'

  'Highly explosive' THE BOOKSELLER

  'Exciting insights into SAS secrets and a fast moving plot make this an adrenaline-filled and highly addictive read' PUBLISHING NEWS

  'Great stuff . . . highly recommended' READING MATTERS

  www.boy-soldier.co.uk

  Also by Andy McNab and Robert Rigby

  PAYBACK

  AVENGER

  MELTDOWN

  Adult titles by Andy McNab

  BRAVO TWO ZERO

  IMMEDIATE ACTION

  AGGRESSOR

  CRISIS FOUR

  DARK WINTER

  DEEP BLACK

  FIREWALL

  LAST LIGHT

  LIBERATION DAY

  REMOTE CONTROL

  Also by Robert Rigby

  GOAL!

  The official tie-in novelization of the movie

  ANDY

  McNAB

  and ROBERT RIGBY

  BOY SOLDIER

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  ISBN 9781407046938

  Version 1.0

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  BOY SOLDIER

  A CORGI BOOK

  ISBN: 9781407046938

  Version 1.0

  First published in Great Britain by Doubleday,

  an imprint of Random House Children's Books

  Doubleday edition published 2005

  Corgi edition published 2006

  9 10

  Copyright © Andy McNab and Robert Rigby, 2005

  The right of Andy McNab and Robert Rigby to be identified as the authors of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This electronic book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

  Set in Palatino

  Corgi Books are published by Random House Children's Books,

  61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA,

  A Random House Group Company

  Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited

  can be found at:

  www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm

  THE RANDOM HOUSE GROUP Limited Reg. No. 954009

  www.kidsatrandomhouse.co.uk

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  GLOSSARY

  Alabama lie detector Baton used by some US police forces

  Bomb burst Split up

  Contact In a fire fight with the enemy

  CTR Close target recce

  Cuds Countryside

  Dead ground Ground that cannot be seen

  DMP Drug manufacturing plant

  ERV Emergency rendezvous

  FARC Colombian drug traffickers

  FOB Forward operating base

  IBs The elite of the Secret Intelligence Service

  LUP Lay-up point

  Mag A weapons magazine that holds the rounds

  Maggot Sleeping bag

  Make ready a weapon To put a round in the chamber, ready to be fired

  MoD Ministry of Defence

  MOE Method of entry

  NVGs Night viewing goggles

  OP Observation post

  Pinged When someone is first seen

  Recce Reconnaissance

  The Regiment What SAS soldiers call the SAS

  RIB Rigid inflatable boat

  Rounds Bullets

  RV Rendezvous (meeting place)

  SOP Standard operating procedure

  On stag On guard

  Stand to Get ready to be attacked

  UGS Underground sensor

  VDM Visual distinguishing mark

  SURVEILLANCE TALK

  Complete Inside any location – a car, building, etc.

  Foxtrot Walking

  Held Stopped but intending to move on – i.e. at traffic lights

  Mobile Driving

  Net The radio frequency the team talk on

  Roger OK or understood

  Stand by! Stand by! Informs the team something is happening

  Static Stopped

  The trigger Informs the team that the target is on the move

  HACKING TALK

  Exploits Hackers' targets

  Root access When the hacker has control of the system under attack

  Script kiddie Novice hacker

  Script A program written by a hacker

  Spoofing Hiding a computer's

  IP address

  PROLOGUE

  1997, Colombia

  Fergus had chosen the base camp carefully. He was always careful. Being careful had kept him alive during his twelve years in the Regiment and now that
he was operating alone nothing was going to change.

  The jungle floor was wet and muddy and covered with decaying leaf litter. Strong shafts of sunlight, as tight and bright as spotlights, speared through the tree canopy high above, illuminating the almost airless clearing.

  The morning rains had stopped thirty minutes earlier but water constantly dripped from the canopy, and every small insect that flew or crawled seemed determined to take a bite out of Fergus. It was hot and sticky and uncomfortable, but then comfort never had been the top priority in his line of work. Staying alive had.

  On SAS operations Fergus had learned the hard way about the seven Ps – Prior Planning and Preparation Prevents Piss Poor Performance – so before setting up the base camp he'd made certain that two escape routes were available in the event of a surprise attack.

  Carefully disguised rat runs had been cut into the undergrowth on either side of the camp. One led deeper into the jungle; the second went towards the river, where the four inflatable Zodiacs were hidden and camouflaged, just a metre or two from the water's edge. Their fuel bladders were still connected to the engines, their bows faced the water. They were ready to be launched within seconds.

  Fergus stood facing the young guerrillas. They didn't look happy.

  'Again,' said Fergus, in Castilian Spanish, keeping it as simple as he could. 'We do it again. Do like I do.'

  One of the Colombians sighed and muttered to his friends. Fergus didn't understand what was said – the words came too quickly – but he knew exactly what was meant. They were bored; they didn't want to spend time stripping down and cleaning their AK-47 assault rifles. They wanted to use them.

  Fergus held his AK in his right hand and the curved, thirty-round magazine in the left. He checked the top of the mag to make sure the shiny brass rounds were seated correctly before placing it in the assault rifle's mag housing and listening for the reassuring click as it locked into position. Then he gave the mag a quick shake to make sure it was fully home.

  'Now you,' he said to the sweat-drenched guerrillas. 'Just do what I did.'

  Fergus could load, unload and strip down a weapon with his eyes closed – he had done, thousands of times – but now he kept his eyes on the twelve young men as they copied his actions. Young men? They were kids, most of them not yet twenty and the youngest maybe seventeen.

  Most were dressed in ripped jeans and old Brazil or Man U football shirts. Some had thin, wispy beards. It was as though they were trying to prove they really were man enough, mean enough and brave enough to be FARC guerrillas. The younger boys were smooth-faced; they probably hadn't even started to shave.

  Their faces were sullen and sulky. They hadn't left their poverty-stricken villages to clean rifles. They wanted to make their fortunes. They wanted action.

  They were about to get it.

  The attack came suddenly, without warning and at the worst possible moment. The government troops must have been watching, waiting for the perfect time to strike.

  Fergus heard the helicopter gunships first. The deep, throaty growl of the engines, immediately followed by the ominous chop of the rotor blades. The tree canopy swayed and shifted and rainwater came cascading down.

  'Shit,' murmured Fergus, as he looked up and saw the first helicopter overhead. 'Stand to! Stand to!'

  The guerrillas ignored the command. Most of them simply panicked and started to run towards the boats, unaware that a gunner was already lining them up through the sights of the heavy machine gun mounted in the doorway of the gunship.

  Fergus grasped the pieces of his own rifle and dived to the ground. 'No!' he shouted, rolling away through the mud. 'Not the boats! Stay away from the boats! Stay low, stay low!'

  But it was already too late. Bullets thudded into the wet earth as the young Colombians hurtled towards the river, their weapons forgotten and abandoned. The youngest boy, Nino, stood rigid, petrified like a rabbit in car headlights, his eyes wide with fear.

  The camp was surrounded: ground troops were approaching from all sides and shouted orders were drowned out by the sound of automatic gunfire. The attack had been expertly planned, and Fergus felt a moment of professional admiration as he mechanically loaded his AK.

  He grabbed the terrified boy and dragged him towards the forest escape route. Before they had moved more than a few paces Fergus heard a stifled cry, felt Nino jerk away and turned to see him falling into the leaf litter. Blood oozed from his head.

  Fergus was hit before he could return fire. The bullet smashed into his thigh and sent him spinning away, face down in the mud. Searing pain burned through his body. He lifted his head and saw blood-red bone protruding from the gaping wound in his leg.

  The thudding sound of heavy machine-gun fire drifted back from the river. Fergus knew that the guerrillas who had made it to the boats would have been picked off by the helicopter gunships and that, by now, their bodies would be floating downstream.

  And then it was all over. The firing stopped as quickly as it had begun. Fergus tried to crawl towards the undergrowth as he heard more shouted commands and then men running towards him. He was grabbed by the shoulders and turned over. Four Colombian soldiers stared down at him, their camouflaged faces glistening with sweat as they jabbed their rifle barrels into his face and excitedly shouted to their commander. 'Gringo! Gringo!'

  Two of the troopers moved aside and an officer wearing the uniform of the Anti-Narcotics Police stepped through. He smiled at Fergus, reached into the breast pocket of his camouflaged combat jacket and took out a photograph. He looked at the photograph and laughed, then beckoned to a paramedic before viciously kicking Fergus in his wounded leg.

  The agonized scream echoed away into the jungle.

  1

  2005, Army RCB Centre, Wiltshire, England

  Danny was running. His pace was as steady and constant as his breathing; he moved with a natural rhythm. This was what he'd been waiting for – at last he was really showing what he could do.

  Sometimes when Danny ran, when he was training, he would wear a Walkman and sing to himself under his breath, fitting the tempo of the song to his strides. It helped maintain the pace and stopped him from getting bored on a long run. But not today. Today he was focused. He wanted to win, even though they'd been told it wasn't a race. But Danny still wanted to win. He always did.

  He was way ahead of the others as he approached the stream. The muddy stretch of water was too wide to clear without the aid of the strong rope dangling invitingly from the thick branch of a tree. Danny's eyes narrowed as he neared the edge and without breaking his stride he leaped into the air, grabbed the rope with both hands and swung effortlessly across to the other side.

  The watching NCO smiled his approval and checked the list of names on his clipboard. 'Good effort, Mr Watts, keep it going,' he boomed as Danny ran on towards the high wall.

  Danny grinned. Mister Watts. Him? He couldn't remember anyone calling him Mister Watts before. A few other things maybe, but never Mister. But it was all so different here.

  When they'd assembled on Day One, nervous and self-conscious, a sergeant had told them they would all be referred to as Mister. 'That's because officers are gentlemen,' he said. 'And that includes potential officers like yourselves.'

  Danny wasn't bothered what they called him – General Watts, for all he cared – just as long as he got one of the Regular Commissions Board bursaries at the end of the three-day selection course. He had to get a bursary; it was the only way he could possibly afford to take up a university place and then go on to Sandhurst Military Academy.

  And the weeks of preparation were paying off. Danny had sailed through the medical and fitness tests, handed in a decent current affairs essay, and if the rest of his written work wasn't exactly University Challenge standard, he was pretty sure he'd done well enough. In the briefings and interviews he had been confident but not cocky. He'd even laughed at the officers' bad jokes.

  He knew they were being assessed at every moment, a
nd that included their relaxation time. So when a few of the others got stuck into pints of bitter in the mess, Danny stuck to Diet Coke. It was no big sacrifice – he couldn't stand the taste of beer anyway.