Read Online Spider Shepherd: SAS: #2 by Stephen Leather - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephen Leather
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make us lie on it, will it?’
Shepherd raised an eyebrow. ‘Not complaining, are you? You can stay here if you want.’
‘Hell no,’ Geordie said. ‘We can get some high altitude trekking and climbing in while we’re there and after a week of that, even a miserable Scots git like Jock might be glad to be back in Cyprus with his feet up.’
‘I’ll check in with Air Movements right now,’ Jock said. ‘Just to make sure we can really get on that flight.’ He hurried off.
They were still sitting on empty crates outside the shipping container, having yet another brew, when Jock came back. ‘You’ll never guess who I’ve just seen over by Air Movements,’ he said. ‘Gul the Gurkha. He’s on his way to Nepal on that Hercules and he’s overnighting in the transit accommodation.’
‘Who’s Gul?’ Shepherd said.
‘You won’t know him. He was before your time in the Regiment and he only did one tour and then left because he wasn’t comfortable with the individual thinking philosophy. He was much more comfortable in the group relationships of the Gurkhas, but he was a brilliant soldier, as brave as a lion, and he sailed through the Selection course.’
‘Never heard of him,’ said Shepherd.
‘He’s a living legend,’ said Jock. ‘He did a lot of operations when he was here and developed a great reputation. It was a shame he didn’t stay longer. And I tell you what, you’d much rather have him as an ally than an enemy, because he was a real warrior. When the Falklands war was on, Gul used to infiltrate the Argentinian lines during the night. He’d by-pass or kill their sentries, sneak into one of their eight-man tents and slit the throat of one of the sleeping soldiers. Then he’d gut him and spread his entrails all over the floor of the tent, and then exfiltrate back to his own lines. They say you could hear the screams when the Argentinians woke up in the morning from a mile away. Did wonders for their morale.’
‘I’m guessing the rest of them wouldn’t sleep too easily after that,’ Geordie said. ‘You wonder who’d greenlight something like that.’
‘I’m guessing he was using his initiative,’ said Jock. ‘Anyway, I said we’d see him for a few beers tonight. You can ask him yourself.’
‘After a build-up like that, I’m not sure how wise that would be,’ Shepherd said with a laugh.
‘No danger,’ Jock said. ‘The funny thing is, off-duty, you couldn’t meet a nicer, gentler guy.’
They met Gul in the Transit Mess that evening. He had the typical Gurkha build: short and wiry, with dark skin and jet black hair. He could have been anywhere between his early forties and his mid fifties and the only outward signs of his fearsome reputation as a warrior were his fierce, challenging stare and the proud way he carried himself. But he also had a ready smile and a dry sense of humour, and Shepherd warmed to him at once. The others drank beer as they chatted, but Gul stuck to the customary Gurkha drink of dark navy rum that he gulped rather than sipped.
‘I don’t know how you can drink that stuff,’ Shepherd said. ‘To me it looks, smells and tastes like engine oil.’
Gul shrugged. ‘All Gurkhas drink it; it’s even written into our terms of service that we’re entitled to a tot of rum a day. On dark nights it keeps out the cold and we also believe that it stops the mosquitos from biting us.’
‘You might be right about that,’ Shepherd said. ‘One whiff of that and I’d definitely be buzzing off somewhere else.’
‘So why are you heading for Nepal, Gul?’ Geordie said. ‘Bit of home leave?’
‘No, I’m on my way home for good. I’ve served my full twenty-two years now, but I’m still on the payroll for a few more weeks, helping out on the MoD’s annual Gurkha remittance and recruiting flight. We’re taking the pension payments out to the retired Gurkha soldiers in Nepal. It’s like Christmas, New Year’s Eve and the fourth of July rolled
Shepherd raised an eyebrow. ‘Not complaining, are you? You can stay here if you want.’
‘Hell no,’ Geordie said. ‘We can get some high altitude trekking and climbing in while we’re there and after a week of that, even a miserable Scots git like Jock might be glad to be back in Cyprus with his feet up.’
‘I’ll check in with Air Movements right now,’ Jock said. ‘Just to make sure we can really get on that flight.’ He hurried off.
They were still sitting on empty crates outside the shipping container, having yet another brew, when Jock came back. ‘You’ll never guess who I’ve just seen over by Air Movements,’ he said. ‘Gul the Gurkha. He’s on his way to Nepal on that Hercules and he’s overnighting in the transit accommodation.’
‘Who’s Gul?’ Shepherd said.
‘You won’t know him. He was before your time in the Regiment and he only did one tour and then left because he wasn’t comfortable with the individual thinking philosophy. He was much more comfortable in the group relationships of the Gurkhas, but he was a brilliant soldier, as brave as a lion, and he sailed through the Selection course.’
‘Never heard of him,’ said Shepherd.
‘He’s a living legend,’ said Jock. ‘He did a lot of operations when he was here and developed a great reputation. It was a shame he didn’t stay longer. And I tell you what, you’d much rather have him as an ally than an enemy, because he was a real warrior. When the Falklands war was on, Gul used to infiltrate the Argentinian lines during the night. He’d by-pass or kill their sentries, sneak into one of their eight-man tents and slit the throat of one of the sleeping soldiers. Then he’d gut him and spread his entrails all over the floor of the tent, and then exfiltrate back to his own lines. They say you could hear the screams when the Argentinians woke up in the morning from a mile away. Did wonders for their morale.’
‘I’m guessing the rest of them wouldn’t sleep too easily after that,’ Geordie said. ‘You wonder who’d greenlight something like that.’
‘I’m guessing he was using his initiative,’ said Jock. ‘Anyway, I said we’d see him for a few beers tonight. You can ask him yourself.’
‘After a build-up like that, I’m not sure how wise that would be,’ Shepherd said with a laugh.
‘No danger,’ Jock said. ‘The funny thing is, off-duty, you couldn’t meet a nicer, gentler guy.’
They met Gul in the Transit Mess that evening. He had the typical Gurkha build: short and wiry, with dark skin and jet black hair. He could have been anywhere between his early forties and his mid fifties and the only outward signs of his fearsome reputation as a warrior were his fierce, challenging stare and the proud way he carried himself. But he also had a ready smile and a dry sense of humour, and Shepherd warmed to him at once. The others drank beer as they chatted, but Gul stuck to the customary Gurkha drink of dark navy rum that he gulped rather than sipped.
‘I don’t know how you can drink that stuff,’ Shepherd said. ‘To me it looks, smells and tastes like engine oil.’
Gul shrugged. ‘All Gurkhas drink it; it’s even written into our terms of service that we’re entitled to a tot of rum a day. On dark nights it keeps out the cold and we also believe that it stops the mosquitos from biting us.’
‘You might be right about that,’ Shepherd said. ‘One whiff of that and I’d definitely be buzzing off somewhere else.’
‘So why are you heading for Nepal, Gul?’ Geordie said. ‘Bit of home leave?’
‘No, I’m on my way home for good. I’ve served my full twenty-two years now, but I’m still on the payroll for a few more weeks, helping out on the MoD’s annual Gurkha remittance and recruiting flight. We’re taking the pension payments out to the retired Gurkha soldiers in Nepal. It’s like Christmas, New Year’s Eve and the fourth of July rolled
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