Jungle Kill Read Free

He’d been out of that for too long. Nelson was offering him a way back.
    ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’m in.’

3
     
    After that, things moved fast. Mitch and Nelson headed for a secure building within a Ministry of Defence compound in Whitehall. Mitch followed Nelson down to the basement, which looked like a standard briefing room, except for the array of weapons on a large table, which a group of men was examining. The men turned as they came in.
    ‘Guys,’ announced Nelson, ‘meet Trooper Paul Mitchell, our new unit member. Henceforth to be known as Mitch, unless he’s got any objections?’
    Nelson looked at Mitch, who shook his head. ‘Mitch’ was fine by him. It was what he’d always been called.
    ‘Mitch, meet Delta Unit. Your own countrymen first: Captain Bob Tait – known as Tug – mysecond in command.’
    Tug was young, five foot seven, serious-looking, with longish fair hair. He nodded and said, ‘Welcome,’ but there was no accompanying smile. Even in that one clipped word, there was a hint of the upper class that nettled Mitch.
    Mitch knew he had a chip on his shoulder about people like Tug. Mitch came from a very poor background on one of London’s sprawling, lawless sink estates. People like Tug would never know the daily struggles that people like Mitch had suffered.
    ‘And this is Trooper Danny Graham,’ continued Nelson. ‘Or Gaz, as everyone calls him.’
    Gaz looked about the same age as Mitch and was built like a rugby player, with the broken nose to go with it. He was slightly shorter than Tug, about five six, but much friendlier. He shook Mitch’s hand with a firm grip, grinned and said, ‘Good to have you aboard, pal!’ in a strong accent. Newcastle, Mitch guessed. His hair was cropped so short it was almost just stubble on hisbony head. With his build and his shaven skull, Gaz looked like a human version of a pit bull terrier.
    At five foot eleven, Mitch knew he himself was tall by SAS standards, almost as tall as the six-foot Nelson.
    ‘Now your American cousins …’ said Nelson. ‘Sergeant Tony Two Moons.’
    The taller of the remaining two soldiers stepped forward, his hand held out.
    ‘Welcome to the tribe.’ He grinned, shaking Mitch’s hand.
    ‘Two Moons.’ Mitch nodded. ‘Native American?’
    ‘From the Sioux tribe, before the white man persuaded me to join up.’
    The others had obviously heard the joke before, but they all grinned, especially the black Colonel Nelson.
    ‘And this is Lieutenant Bernardo Jaurez. Better known as Benny. He’s from Texas.’
    Benny merely nodded and said: ‘Welcome to the unit, Mitch.’ No smiles. He was short, thin and wiryand Mitch guessed he was a man who took himself seriously.
    Like Tug, Benny looked to be a few years older than Mitch. Early to mid-twenties.
    That’s two friendly faces, thought Mitch: Two Moons and Gaz. The other two, Tug and Benny, are definitely suspicious of me. The two officers. He wondered if their attitude was because of what had happened with Captain Danvers – all written up in his case file. Mitch didn’t blame them – they didn’t know the
whole
story. Still, he didn’t like talking about it, so he wasn’t going to start explaining himself. If they wanted to know what had happened, they could ask.
    It was an interesting group: a Sioux Indian, a Hispanic Texan, a Geordie and himself, a Londoner. Where was Tug from? There was definitely something aristocratic about him. Maybe the second son of some titled family. He’d find out later, if it mattered. And the unit was led by the tall, charismatic black colonel from Boston, Massachusetts. Mitch wasintrigued.
    ‘OK, introductions over, guys,’ said Nelson. ‘Five more minutes checking out the hardware, then take your seats for the briefing.’ And with that, he headed for the door.
    ‘Where’s he going?’ Mitch asked.
    ‘Gone to take a leak, I expect,’ grinned Two Moons. ‘Why?’
    Mitch shrugged. ‘Just worried he’s going to suddenly