And saw them approach.
15
The fundamental component of a Special Forces operator is aggression. And a touch of fucking madness.
Observation by Staff Sergeant to new recruits of 22nd Special Air Service Regiment
Taking roughly the same path as Black, the young couple approached. They were maybe a hundred and fifty yards distant. The female waved up at him. Black was easily visible from where he stood, at the pinnacle of the hill, at the foot of the rock. It was impossible for him not to be noticed. Black waved back. He watched them carefully, their movements, their mannerisms, the way they walked, the way they regarded their surroundings. Every little detail was important. They weren’t making any effort to conceal themselves. He couldn’t hear them, but they looked as if they were chatting to each other, unconcerned, enjoying the ramble. The picture of innocence.
The only way down the hill was the way he had climbed up. The other side of the hill was steep, verging on vertical. The type of descent that could lead to a broken neck.
Black made his way down, zigzagging to prevent strain on the ankles. He got to the plateau. Flat, and about the size of a tennis court. Short, wild grass, and clusters of small rocks. He sat on the edge, took out the bottle of water from his rucksack, took a sip, and waited. The rain started again, a sudden drizzle. The sun was gone, hidden by clouds the colour of old bruising. The air felt heavy. The skipper was right. Black sensed thunder looming.
The couple reached the foot of the hill, in plain sight. They looked up.
“Ahoy there!” shouted the man, raising an arm, his manner careless, unconcerned. To Black’s mind, he was maybe thirty. Perhaps younger. Clean-shaven. Brown hair cropped short. Regular, forgettable features. Maybe six feet. Lean and muscular. “Is it worth the climb up?”
Black responded, smiling. “Depends what you’re looking for.”
“Is it just a big rock?” shouted the woman. She too was about thirty, strong and fit. Athletic. Black noted that neither seemed out of breath after the mile hike through the moors. “We thought it was some sort of monument!”
“No monument! A big chunk of sandstone!”
She looked at her partner. They exchanged glances. They didn’t move. Hesitation, thought Black. The man gave the slightest shake of his head.
“We’ll not bother!” shouted the woman, her laughter ringing up through the rain. “Seems too much like hard work! If you’re coming down, we’ll walk you back!”
Black nodded grimly. Of course you will. They had reacted as he would have done. Climbing up the hill was disadvantageous, with Black looking directly down at them, perched as he was at the edge of the plateau. You don’t attack an enemy uphill. Too many variables, and essentially, the other side always has momentum. And momentum can make all the difference. Basic rule of combat. And more obviously, if they’d walked all the way to get here, they would have climbed anyway. Perhaps he was being paranoid. But Black had learned that in his world, paranoia was essential for self-preservation. And when Black thought something didn’t add up, he was usually dead right.
Black stood. He had to follow this through. Play act.
“Sure! Why not!”
He started the descent, keeping one eye on his footing, one eye on the couple. They had separated, unnaturally so. Classic positioning. Soldiers were taught in Special Services to function in small groups, and never in close proximity with each other, making them difficult targets in the event of attack.
Black made his way down gradually, nerves taut, thinking. The conversation between the pair had stopped, both intent on Black’s descent. The rain got suddenly heavier. Thunder rumbled.
Black was six feet from the bottom.
“Some weather,” he said, casually. He stopped, leaning back against the incline of the hill, and stooped down, as if adjusting the lacing on his boot. The woman was closer to him, standing directly beneath him. The man was fifteen feet to her left, standing further back. Black watched her out the corner of his eye.
Maintaining a cheerful smile, as if in slow motion, she pulled a pistol from a side pocket of her rain jacket.
Black didn’t hesitate. He leapt, using the hillside as an improvised springboard, Ka-Bar knife in one hand. The woman took a step back, shocked. Not what she was expecting. She raised the pistol, but too late. Black cannoned into her, hard. They both tumbled on to the long grass. Black thrust the knife up and through her throat. Blood arced into the air, a sudden red rainbow. She spasmed. Her hand jerked open, releasing the pistol. Black retrieved it, rolled her on top. Just in time. Gunshots. He felt her body reverberate as it absorbed the impact of four bullets. Her male companion approached, firing two more. The woman’s head exploded, Black momentarily blinded with segments of bone and brain. He lifted his hand, fired, more in hope than accuracy. The man recoiled, clutching his shoulder, dropping on his backside. Black pushed the dead woman away, stood, aiming the pistol at the man, who was sitting up, head bowed, taking short, sharp breaths, the top of his shoulder blown off. The man tried to aim his pistol, but his arm was wavering, uncoordinated. Black kicked it out of his hand. The man groaned.
Black loomed over him.
“Who are you?”
The man raised his head, staring fixedly at Black. His shoulder was a ruin,
