‘Did you get the fruit?’
‘In the fridge,’ said Ash. ‘Do you want some now?’
‘Bring it with us,’ he said.
Sunny finished his sandwich, wiped his mouth again, then opened the door to the garage. Al-Hussain followed him and got into the car, holding his backpack. Sunny opened the garage door as Ash climbed into the driver’s seat with a blue carrier bag, which he passed to al-Hussain. ‘There’s your fruit,’ he said. Al-Hussain put it on the seat next to him.
Ash drove out of the garage. Sunny closed the door and got into the front. ‘Rock and roll,’ he said, beating a rapid tattoo on the dashboard with the flats of his hands.
Ash headed west, away from the house. Sunny switched on the radio and flicked through the channels, eventually settling on a station playing pop music. Al-Hussain would have preferred silence but the music was preferable to Sunny’s inane chatter.
Ten minutes later Ash turned into a supermarket car park, looking for Jay and Adam’s car. It was still dark but a dozen vehicles were parked up ‘There they are,’ said Sunny, pointing at a white van with the name of a florist on the side.
The bay next to the van was empty and Ash reversed in so that the boot was furthest away from the building. Adam was in the van driver’s seat and gave Ash a thumbs-up. Sunny got out of the car and walked around to the back. Ash pressed a button and the boot popped up as Jay opened the van’s rear doors. Al-Hussain twisted around in his seat. Jay jumped down from the van, took two steps to the car and put the case containing the rifle into the boot. Sunny slammed the lid and got back in. As soon as he’d closed his door, Ash moved off. It had taken just a few seconds and no one had been in the vicinity to see the handover. Ash turned onto the main road and headed for the Peak District.
Liam groaned as Shepherd switched the bedroom light on. ‘What time is it?’ he said, rubbing his eyes.
‘Time to get up,’ said Shepherd.
Liam peered at the curtains. ‘It’s still dark outside.’
‘But not for long. See you at the car in five minutes. Dress for a run.’
‘A run?’
‘You want to be a soldier? You can show me you’ve got what it takes.’
‘Are you serious?’ asked Liam, sitting up, but Shepherd had already gone.
He was standing at the back of the X5 when Liam came out, wearing a sweatshirt, tracksuit bottoms and trainers. Shepherd grinned. They had dressed the same, pretty much, though Shepherd was wearing his old army boots and two pairs of socks. He had put a rucksack and a smaller backpack into the boot and slammed it. ‘Get in,’ he said.
Liam got into the passenger seat while Shepherd sat behind the wheel.
‘Where are we going, Dad?’ asked Liam.
Shepherd tossed him an Ordnance Survey map. ‘You tell me,’ he said, as he drove away from the house.
‘Can’t we just turn on the sat-nav?’
Shepherd threw him a withering look.
‘Okay, okay,’ said Liam. He unfolded the map, checked the road signs that flashed by. Realisation dawned. ‘No way!’
Shepherd grinned.
‘You’re taking me to the Brecon Beacons?’
Shepherd’s grin widened.
‘To do what, exactly?’
‘You tell me.’
Liam’s eyes widened. ‘The Fan Dance?’
‘Why not? You said you’d been training. You said you were fit.’
‘Army fit, not SAS fit.’
Shepherd laughed. ‘The Fan Dance is just to see if you’re ready for Selection,’ he said. ‘The Long Drag is the real test, but we’ll save that for down the line.’
Liam settled back in his seat. ‘Bring it on,’ he said.
The Fan Dance formed part of the Fitness and Navigation phase of the SAS’s selection process. It was a fifteen-mile trek up and down Pen y Fan, a three-thousand-foot peak. From one side to the other, and back again. It was a speed march and recruits had to do it in less than four hours and ten minutes, though Shepherd had never taken more than three and a half. The Long Drag was a more serious affair, a forty-mile march in full gear, which had tested Shepherd at the peak of his fitness.
It took just less than an hour and a half to reach the Storey Arms Mountain Rescue Centre. Shepherd parked a few feet away from the red phone box, where the SAS usually gathered before starting the Fan Dance. He and Liam climbed out and walked to the back of the vehicle. Shepherd opened the door and handed Liam the backpack. ‘On Selection you carry a Bergen, total weight thirty-five kilos. But I’ll let you off with energy bars, four litres of water and a foil blanket.’ He took out his old rucksack, filled with bricks wrapped in newspapers. It had been more than a year since he’d used it, but it slipped easily over his shoulders and his body automatically accommodated the weight.
‘Okay, this isn’t a race, not against each other,’ he said. ‘You’re testing yourself.
‘Dad, if you want a race, I’m up for it.’
Shepherd laughed. ‘I admire your enthusiasm, but stay within earshot of me.’ He pointed at Liam’s trainers. ‘The forecast is warm so you’ll be fine in those. But the weather can change quickly up there. If it starts to rain I’ve got boots for you in my rucksack.’
Liam nodded.
Shepherd could see the lad was enthusiastic but over-confidence could be dangerous on Pen y Fan. ‘Pace yourself.’
‘How fast can you do it, Dad?’
‘My record is just over three hours but that was fifteen years ago. I’ll be happy if we’re back here in four.’
Liam looked at his watch. ‘Ready?’
Shepherd grinned. ‘Hell, yeah.’ He slammed the door of the SUV, then turned to see that Liam was already sprinting away. In the first two miles the terrain climbed around two thousand feet so he doubted that the boy would be able to keep up the blistering pace for long. He headed after him, his boots thudding on the ground. Liam led the way for the first half-mile, Shepherd staying about fifty feet behind him. Then there was a downward slope and Liam picked up the pace to a shallow river. The terrain was uphill again after the river, but steeper, and Shepherd easily caught up with him.
Liam was breathing heavily but not panting, and he slowed to a fast walk. It took almost forty minutes to reach the summit by which time their faces were bathed in sweat. Shepherd clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Quarter of the way,’ he said.
Liam stopped and surveyed the view. On the other side of the hill a group of five men, not much older than Liam, was heading up towards them. They were all wearing full mountain gear and carrying lengths of pipe. Obviously soldiers training for Selection – on the real thing, the men had to carry their Bergens and weapons. They were climbing Jacob’s Ladder, the rock-strewn hill that separated the peak from the Roman road below.
Shepherd pulled a bottle of water from Liam’s backpack, opened it and gave it to him. Liam drank half and handed it back. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. ‘Ready? Or do you need more time to rest?’
Shepherd put the empty bottle into the backpack and zipped it up. ‘After you,’ he said.
Liam headed down the hill at a slow jog. After ten minutes they reached the group of guys who were working their way up. They were all lean, fit and sweating profusely under the weight of their Bergens and pipes. ‘Well done, guys, keep it going,’ said Shepherd.
The guy at the front, tall, with an unruly mop of ginger hair, grinned. ‘Thanks, sir.’
The four guys behind him all wished Shepherd and Liam good morning as they continued up.
Liam was about twenty feet ahead of Shepherd when he reached the top of Jacob’s Ladder and Shepherd called for him to be careful and watch his step. The rocky incline was the most dangerous part of the hike, treacherous in the wet and a death-trap in the dark. But the weather was good and the rocks were dry so, provided they were careful, it was a simple enough descent. Again, over-confidence could lead to a slip or a fall. The first rocks were huge with drops of a couple of feet, but then it became more of a staircase and eventually an uneven track. From there it was a downhill slope all the way for going on five miles, traversing towards a lake and woodland before eventually hitting the road.
By the time they reached it Shepherd was about fifty feet behind Liam and his shirt was soaked with sweat. It had been a long time since he’d exercised with the bricks on his back and even longer since he’d done the Fan Dance. Most of the time he ran on the flat and he was finding the slopes, uphill and down, challenging to say the least.
On the road it was a long, slow descent to the turnaround point. Shepherd checked his watch and nodded appreciatively. ‘Ninety-two minutes,’ he said to Liam. ‘Not bad.’
Liam was bent double with his hands on his hips, breathing heavily, but when he straightened up he was grinning. ‘Ready to go back?’ he asked.
‘Rehydrate first,’ said Shepherd. ‘Even if you don’t actually feel thirsty you need to keep putting water into your system.’ He took off his pack and pulled out two bottles of water. He gave one to Liam and opened the other. Shepherd held out his bottle and Liam tapped his against it before they drank.
‘How many times have you done the Fan Dance, Dad?’ asked Liam.
‘Too many to remember,’ said Shepherd.
‘And if you fail this, you don’t get into the SAS?’
‘You don’t even get onto Selection,’ said Shepherd. He waved his bottle up at the peak. ‘Those guys we saw had the right idea. If you’re serious about passing Selection you need to come out here half a dozen times, and at different times of the year. Today’s a nice day but it can be as hot as hell up there, or freezing cold, with rain, fog and even snow. Selection always seems to be at the hottest or coldest time of the year, never like it is now.’
They finished their water and Shepherd flattened the two empty plastic bottles, then slotted them into pockets on his rucksack. He looked at his watch again and clapped Liam on the back. ‘Off we go,’ he said, but Liam had sprinted off before he finished the sentence. Shepherd grinned and ran after him.
They reached the bottom of Jacob’s Ladder just as the five guys they’d seen earlier were descending. They passed them at the midway stage. ‘Good time, guys, well done,’ said Shepherd. ‘Keep it up.’
‘We intend to, sir,’ said the ginger-haired lad, who was now number two in the string. All five were sweating but none appeared over-exerted.
‘Do you have a Selection date?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Yes, sir,’ said the lad. ‘This winter.’
‘Wrap up warm,’ said Shepherd, and the five guys laughed as they headed down the rocks.
By the time they reached the top, Shepherd was breathing heavily. Liam was waiting for him, hand on hips. ‘Having trouble?’ he asked.
‘All good,’ said Shepherd. He took off his rucksack, pulled out two bottles of water and two energy bars.
‘Want to change packs?’ said Liam.
‘Now you ask! When it’s downhill all the way!’
Liam laughed and bit into his bar. He chewed as he looked out over the rolling hills and farmland. ‘Is this where they do Escape and Evasion?’ he asked.
‘That’s right,’ said Shepherd. Escape and Evasion was the final stage of SAS Selection. Recruits were dropped in the countryside and expected to escape detection for three days. They had to make their way to a series of checkpoints, feeding themselves off the land and finding water where they could.
‘Does anyone not get caught?’
‘Some,’ said Shepherd. ‘But it doesn’t make any difference. Even if you escape detection you still have to report for TQ.’
‘TQ?’
‘Tactical questioning. It’s where they rough you up and interrogate you.’
‘And you can only answer with your name, rank, serial number and date of birth.’
Shepherd nodded. ‘Anything else, you have to say, “I’m sorry but I cannot answer that question.” Say anything else and you’ve failed.’
‘Was it bad?’
Shepherd grinned. ‘It wasn’t pleasant. But it’s not supposed to be.’
‘Have you ever been interrogated for real?’
Shepherd took a final bite of his energy bar, and drained his water bottle. ‘Let’s save the war stories for later.’ He put away his wrapper and bottle and waited for Liam to finish, then tucked his rubbish into the rucksack. He grunted as he hefted it onto his back.
‘Last one down’s a sissy,’ said Liam.
‘Just be careful,’ said Shepherd. ‘These hills can be unforgiving, even on a day like this. Watch where you put your feet – it’s way too easy to twist an ankle out here.’ Liam had already started down the hill and Shepherd headed after him.
The final run home was simple enough and, despite Shepherd’s warning, Liam was able to keep a slow jog for much of the way. Shepherd followed, breathing heavily but not in too much pain. His feet were fine – he’d had the boots for years and they fitted perfectly – but the slope was playing havoc with his hips and calves. His back was burning, too, the result of the heavy weight on it. By the time he reached the river, Liam was already on the other side, munching another energy bar. He had a bottle of water and gave it to Shepherd after he had splashed across.
‘You okay, Dad?’ asked Liam.
‘Do you want to race the last bit?’
Liam laughed. ‘I don’t want you having a heart attack.’
‘Cheeky bugger,’ said Shepherd. He pointed off in the distance. When Liam turned to look Shepherd ran off, the rucksack bouncing against his back.
‘Cheat!’ shouted Liam, and hared after him.
The terrain was uphill for a few hundred yards and Liam made no headway, but then there was a slope down to where they’d left the car, and though Shepherd was running flat out he could hear Liam gaining on him. He didn’t look around and concentrated on where he was placing his feet: even though the ground was relatively smooth there were plenty of traps for the unwary that could result in a fall and a twisted ankle. His chest was burning and his legs felt like lead but he kept up the pace. A mile passed. Then another. They were both still running, but they’d slowed to a jog.
Ahead Shepherd could see the car park and the red phone box that was the traditional finish point. He pushed himself harder but he could hear Liam’s heavy breathing behind him and then they were neck and neck. Liam grinned at him. ‘Gotcha!’ he said.
Shepherd was too tired to reply. There was a hundred yards to go and he grunted and ran faster but Liam was already pulling ahead. He gritted his teeth and increased the pace but there was no catching his son and Liam reached the phone box a good five seconds before Shepherd. He hugged it, then turned around, took off his backpack and slid down until he was sitting on the ground, legs splayed.