Cast No Shadow, Peter Sharp [books to get back into reading txt] 📗

It was the early hours of the morning and pitch black. He was holding onto a cliff face that was virtually sheer, while the rain lashed against him. This was the final exercise of the SBS training programme, and he was leading a four-man section on a simulated raid.

They had been released from a landing craft which was simulating a submarine approach, although it was hardly convincing, thought Kelly. They’d had to swim the five hundred yards to shore underwater, wearing wet suits, breathing apparatus and fins.

Once ashore, they had retrieved their weapons, rope and footwear from their waterproof bags and made ready for phase two, the cliff assault. Kelly had been delegated as cliff leader and so had to negotiate the cliff face, make fast the rope, and then let it down to enable the other three to climb quickly to the top.

He took a few deep breaths before continuing, shaking his free arm to encourage the circulation back into it and releasing the pressure on his legs as much as he dared. What was it that the colonel had said about the training? Easier than the assessment? Not at this moment, he thought.

Wiping the rain out of his eyes, he peered into the darkness, willing his eyes to focus. The fissure in the rock seemed to go up quite a way. It was the first lucky break he’d had since starting the climb. Forcing his free right hand into the crevice above his left again, he made a wedge, scrabbled for a foothold on the wet face, then released his left hand and repeated the process hand over hand.

He was making much quicker progress now and his spirits rose as he caught sight of the grassy top of the cliff. By now the fissure had opened out too much to use the wedged fist approach, but there were enough good handholds, ‘jug handles’ his instructor had called them, to ensure he would reach his objective.

He slid over the cliff top—rather than climbed over—trying to keep his profile as low as possible to prevent detection. They had been warned that they would be considered ‘eliminated’ if they were observed. Kelly slithered in from the edge, about six feet, took a spike and a small rubber mallet from his waist bag and hammered the spike into the ground as far as possible. He tested the hold. Satisfied, he took the rope from around his shoulders and attached one end to the spike, then without a word threw the rest over the cliff face.

Within a moment, the rope tightened, and number two was on the way up. Climbing up the rope was second nature to all of them. They had practised day in, day out.

In considerably less time than it had taken Kelly to free climb the cliff, the others joined him, carrying the weapons and all necessary equipment for phase three. No words were spoken; Kelly relayed his orders with hand signals.

Bent double to maintain a low profile, they fanned out in diamond formation, moving swiftly and quietly forward. Once in sight of the objective, in this case an old Austin Champ guarded by two sentries, they went to ground. As they had rehearsed for hours prior to the ‘mission’, two and three were on either side of Kelly within touching distance, while number four was behind. Two and three were now quietly slinging their Stirling sub machine guns across their backs and unsheathing the mock Sykes-Fairburn daggers ready for the final assault.

Kelly waited. They dared not rush it. He delayed until the two sentries, apparently moving randomly, both had their backs to the group. Then he tapped two and three simultaneously. In an instance they were on their feet and on the sentries, clamping one hand over their mouths and simulating a knife thrust to the throat and again to the stomach and yet a third between the ribs on the left side. Any one of the thrusts if carried out in reality would in all likelihood result in death, but this was also about maintaining silence.

Playing their part to the full, the sentries slumped down to the ground. Only then were the hands removed from their mouths. Two and three took up a guard position as four, on Kelly’s hand signal, rushed forward with his haversack of ‘explosives’, placed it against the vehicle, primed the detonator and set the timer.

Job done, three and four ran back to Kelly while number two covered, then he in turn returned to the rendezvous.

Again they fanned out, and made for the cliff top where each in turn abseiled down the rope. Gathering their fins and breathing apparatus from the hideaway where they had stowed it, they took to the sea, submerged and were gone.

“Right! Listen in!” A pause as the room went quiet, then “Orders!” Pause. “Orders!”

At first Kelly had thought that the appointment of Major Tom Foley as Raid Commander was an extraordinary coincidence, but on reflection it all made sense. This was Archie Jenkins’ show and Archie had particularly wanted Dan to be involved because of his first-hand knowledge of the ground and his appraisal of the situation. But it was Jenkins who had organised his pre-commando training and had used Foley for that purpose. Clearly Tom was one of Jenkins’ ‘men’. Someone he trusted and valued.

Tom had called his team of officers and NCOs together for an orders briefing. “Let me make some introductions first, so that everyone knows who everyone is, prior to formalising who does what,” he said. “Did that make any sense to anyone?”

There was a general chuckle before Foley went on, “My name is Major Tom Foley. I will command this raid. My second-in-command will be Lieutenant Dragan Kelly.” Kelly nodded acknowledgement as Foley continued.

A marine lieutenant spoke behind his hand to a sergeant, looking slightly puzzled, in a whisper loud enough for everyone to hear, “Sergeant Arnold, I have no idea if this dragon breathes fire or