hours later. He had spent the last eleven of them on his feet, following the trail that the sergeant had set out for him on the map. The exercise had begun at six o’clock in the morning after a gray-lit breakfast of sausages and beans. Wolf and the others had disappeared into the distance ahead of him a long time ago, even though they had been given 55-pound backpacks to carry. They had also been given only eight hours to complete the course. Allowing for his age, Alex had been given twelve.
He rounded a corner, his feet scrunching on the gravel. There was someone standing ahead of him. It was the sergeant. He had just lit a cigarette and Alex watched him slide the matches back into his pocket. Seeing him there brought back the shame and the anger of the day before and at the same time sapped the last of his strength. Suddenly, Alex had had enough of Blunt, Mrs. Jones, Wolf … the whole stupid thing. With a final effort he stumbled forward the last hundred yards and came to a halt. Rain and sweat trickled down the side of his face. His hair, dark now with grime, was glued across his forehead.
The sergeant looked at his watch. “Eleven hours, five minutes. That’s not bad, Cub. But the others were here three hours ago.”
Bully for them, Alex thought. He didn’t say anything.
“Anyway, you should just make it to the first RV,” the sergeant went on. “It’s up there.”
He pointed to a wall. Not a sloping wall. A sheer one. Solid rock rising two or three hundred feet up without a handhold or a foothold in sight. Even looking at it, Alex felt his stomach shrink. Ian Rider had taken him climbing … in Scotland, in France, all over Europe. But he had never attempted anything as difficult as this. Not on his own. Not when he was so tired.
“I can’t,” he said. In the end the two words came out easily.
“I didn’t hear that,” the sergeant said.
“I said, I can’t do it, sir.”
“Can’t isn’t a word we use around here.”
“I don’t care. I’ve had enough. I’ve just had …”
Alex’s voice cracked. He didn’t trust himself to go on.
He stood there, cold and empty, waiting for the ax to fall.
But it didn’t. The sergeant gazed at him for a long minute. He nodded his head slowly. “Listen to me, Cub,”
he said. “I know what happened in the Killing House.”
Alex glanced up.
“Wolf forgot about the closed-circuit TV. We’ve got it all on film.”
“Then why—?” Alex began.
“Did you make a complaint against him, Cub?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you want to make a complaint against him, Cub?”
A pause. Then… “No, sir.”
“Good.” The sergeant pointed at the rock face, suggesting a path up with his finger. “It’s not as difficult as it looks,” he said. “And they’re waiting for you just over the top. You’ve got a nice cold dinner. Survival rations. You don’t want to miss that.”
Alex drew a deep breath and started forward. As he passed the sergeant, he stumbled and put out a hand to steady himself, brushing against him. “Sorry, sir …” he said.
It took him twenty minutes to reach the top and sure enough K Unit was already there, crouching around three small tents that they must have pitched earlier in the afternoon. Two just large enough for sharing.
One, the smallest, for Alex.
Snake, a thin, fair-haired man who spoke with a Scottish accent, looked up at Alex. He had a tin of cold stew in one hand, a teaspoon in the other. “I didn’t think you’d make it,” he said. Alex couldn’t help but notice a certain warmth in the man’s voice. And for the first time he hadn’t called him Double 0 Nothing.
“Nor did I,” Alex said.
Wolf was squatting over what he hoped would become a campfire, trying to get it started with two flint stones while Fox and Eagle watched. He was getting nowhere. The stones only produced the smallest of sparks and the scraps of newspaper and leaves that he had collected were already far too wet. Wolf struck at the
He rounded a corner, his feet scrunching on the gravel. There was someone standing ahead of him. It was the sergeant. He had just lit a cigarette and Alex watched him slide the matches back into his pocket. Seeing him there brought back the shame and the anger of the day before and at the same time sapped the last of his strength. Suddenly, Alex had had enough of Blunt, Mrs. Jones, Wolf … the whole stupid thing. With a final effort he stumbled forward the last hundred yards and came to a halt. Rain and sweat trickled down the side of his face. His hair, dark now with grime, was glued across his forehead.
The sergeant looked at his watch. “Eleven hours, five minutes. That’s not bad, Cub. But the others were here three hours ago.”
Bully for them, Alex thought. He didn’t say anything.
“Anyway, you should just make it to the first RV,” the sergeant went on. “It’s up there.”
He pointed to a wall. Not a sloping wall. A sheer one. Solid rock rising two or three hundred feet up without a handhold or a foothold in sight. Even looking at it, Alex felt his stomach shrink. Ian Rider had taken him climbing … in Scotland, in France, all over Europe. But he had never attempted anything as difficult as this. Not on his own. Not when he was so tired.
“I can’t,” he said. In the end the two words came out easily.
“I didn’t hear that,” the sergeant said.
“I said, I can’t do it, sir.”
“Can’t isn’t a word we use around here.”
“I don’t care. I’ve had enough. I’ve just had …”
Alex’s voice cracked. He didn’t trust himself to go on.
He stood there, cold and empty, waiting for the ax to fall.
But it didn’t. The sergeant gazed at him for a long minute. He nodded his head slowly. “Listen to me, Cub,”
he said. “I know what happened in the Killing House.”
Alex glanced up.
“Wolf forgot about the closed-circuit TV. We’ve got it all on film.”
“Then why—?” Alex began.
“Did you make a complaint against him, Cub?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you want to make a complaint against him, Cub?”
A pause. Then… “No, sir.”
“Good.” The sergeant pointed at the rock face, suggesting a path up with his finger. “It’s not as difficult as it looks,” he said. “And they’re waiting for you just over the top. You’ve got a nice cold dinner. Survival rations. You don’t want to miss that.”
Alex drew a deep breath and started forward. As he passed the sergeant, he stumbled and put out a hand to steady himself, brushing against him. “Sorry, sir …” he said.
It took him twenty minutes to reach the top and sure enough K Unit was already there, crouching around three small tents that they must have pitched earlier in the afternoon. Two just large enough for sharing.
One, the smallest, for Alex.
Snake, a thin, fair-haired man who spoke with a Scottish accent, looked up at Alex. He had a tin of cold stew in one hand, a teaspoon in the other. “I didn’t think you’d make it,” he said. Alex couldn’t help but notice a certain warmth in the man’s voice. And for the first time he hadn’t called him Double 0 Nothing.
“Nor did I,” Alex said.
Wolf was squatting over what he hoped would become a campfire, trying to get it started with two flint stones while Fox and Eagle watched. He was getting nowhere. The stones only produced the smallest of sparks and the scraps of newspaper and leaves that he had collected were already far too wet. Wolf struck at the
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