Read Online Spider Shepherd: SAS: #1 by Stephen Leather - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephen Leather
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to be the highest praise any of them was ever likely to receive from the man. Navigation had always been one of Shepherd’s strengths, his near-photographic memory meant that he usually knew exactly where he was, even if he didn’t have a physical map to hand.
The stop-start patrolling routine continued until midday when they stopped for an hour and ate a lunch of more tea, biscuits and cheese, then carried on patrolling until two hours before dark, when they ate their main meal of patrol rations, tea and more hard tack biscuits. After that the patrol moved on for another hour, then sat and listened again. Once they were sure everything was quiet, they doubled back on their tracks, stopped to listen again for one more hour and then after night had fallen, they put up their bashas, changed into clothes from their bergens that were only damp instead of soaking wet, and stripped down, cleaned and oiled their weapons. They did it one at a time, so that the rest of the patrol was always armed and ready to respond to any threat. Eventually they bedded down for the night on the jungle floor, using a candle to read or study for an hour or two.
Shepherd lit a candle and unpacked his kit then sat by his basha and stared into the black depths of the jungle. The iridescent shells of beetles sparkled in the flickering light of his candle and huge luminous eyes reflected it back to him. Lizards of all colours, salamanders and frogs were captured by the light for a moment before disappearing among the foliage.
He blew out the candle and lay back, feeling rather than hearing the sonar of bats swooping and twisting between the trees as they hunted down moths, while a torrent of other noises flooded through the darkness. A gibnut foraging in the litter of the forest floor gave a hoarse bark and clattered off deeper into the jungle. A howler monkey screamed its defiance into the night, frogs and toads croaked endlessly and there was the squeaking, buzzing, clicking and rattling of a million insects, but none of the jungle noise sounded threatening to him, not even the snarl of a jaguar deep in the forest. He fell asleep at once, so tired from the exertions of the day that he was oblivious to the thought of the snakes, scorpions and other venomous creatures that he knew roamed the forest floor.
For five days they followed the same hard routine, sleeping on the ground, eating cold rations and drinking water collected from small tributaries of the river system. They kept up their silent patrols from dawn to dusk, following Pilgrim through the jungle. As Shepherd watched him, learning from his actions, he became convinced that if he wanted to, Pilgrim could probably walk on water - he seemed to be able to do everything else.
A couple of hours before sunset on the fifth day, Pilgrim called a halt in a space where a fallen hardwood had created a temporary clearing. Nothing was said, but Shepherd had the feeling that all four of them had passed the test Pilgrim had set. ‘You’ve earned a hot meal so we’ll cook tonight,’ he said, his voice sounding unnaturally loud after so many days of communicating in whispers. ‘Jimbo, gather some dead standing wood - dead branches still on the trees.’
Jimbo worked his way into the forest and snapped off several long, dead branches. ‘Now we have to feather it,’ Pilgrim said. He stripped off the damp bark from the smallest pieces, then feathered the wood by shaving a ring of fine flakes away from the branch. He set Geordie and Liam to do some more. ‘We need about fifteen of those; no shortcuts if you’re going to light it with one match - or one strike of the flint if your matches are wet.’
When they’d prepared enough wood feathers, Pilgrim pulled a few tufts of cotton wool from the medical kit and handed it and a flint to Shepherd. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Now all you have to do is light it.’
Very aware of Pilgrim’s eyes on him, Shepherd flinted it, blew gently on the spark, and then
The stop-start patrolling routine continued until midday when they stopped for an hour and ate a lunch of more tea, biscuits and cheese, then carried on patrolling until two hours before dark, when they ate their main meal of patrol rations, tea and more hard tack biscuits. After that the patrol moved on for another hour, then sat and listened again. Once they were sure everything was quiet, they doubled back on their tracks, stopped to listen again for one more hour and then after night had fallen, they put up their bashas, changed into clothes from their bergens that were only damp instead of soaking wet, and stripped down, cleaned and oiled their weapons. They did it one at a time, so that the rest of the patrol was always armed and ready to respond to any threat. Eventually they bedded down for the night on the jungle floor, using a candle to read or study for an hour or two.
Shepherd lit a candle and unpacked his kit then sat by his basha and stared into the black depths of the jungle. The iridescent shells of beetles sparkled in the flickering light of his candle and huge luminous eyes reflected it back to him. Lizards of all colours, salamanders and frogs were captured by the light for a moment before disappearing among the foliage.
He blew out the candle and lay back, feeling rather than hearing the sonar of bats swooping and twisting between the trees as they hunted down moths, while a torrent of other noises flooded through the darkness. A gibnut foraging in the litter of the forest floor gave a hoarse bark and clattered off deeper into the jungle. A howler monkey screamed its defiance into the night, frogs and toads croaked endlessly and there was the squeaking, buzzing, clicking and rattling of a million insects, but none of the jungle noise sounded threatening to him, not even the snarl of a jaguar deep in the forest. He fell asleep at once, so tired from the exertions of the day that he was oblivious to the thought of the snakes, scorpions and other venomous creatures that he knew roamed the forest floor.
For five days they followed the same hard routine, sleeping on the ground, eating cold rations and drinking water collected from small tributaries of the river system. They kept up their silent patrols from dawn to dusk, following Pilgrim through the jungle. As Shepherd watched him, learning from his actions, he became convinced that if he wanted to, Pilgrim could probably walk on water - he seemed to be able to do everything else.
A couple of hours before sunset on the fifth day, Pilgrim called a halt in a space where a fallen hardwood had created a temporary clearing. Nothing was said, but Shepherd had the feeling that all four of them had passed the test Pilgrim had set. ‘You’ve earned a hot meal so we’ll cook tonight,’ he said, his voice sounding unnaturally loud after so many days of communicating in whispers. ‘Jimbo, gather some dead standing wood - dead branches still on the trees.’
Jimbo worked his way into the forest and snapped off several long, dead branches. ‘Now we have to feather it,’ Pilgrim said. He stripped off the damp bark from the smallest pieces, then feathered the wood by shaving a ring of fine flakes away from the branch. He set Geordie and Liam to do some more. ‘We need about fifteen of those; no shortcuts if you’re going to light it with one match - or one strike of the flint if your matches are wet.’
When they’d prepared enough wood feathers, Pilgrim pulled a few tufts of cotton wool from the medical kit and handed it and a flint to Shepherd. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Now all you have to do is light it.’
Very aware of Pilgrim’s eyes on him, Shepherd flinted it, blew gently on the spark, and then
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