The Forgotten Land Read Free Page A

never lost a fight. Will was respected
by those who knew him.
    Will
had explained to Steve once that by acting intimidated when someone threatened,
you were almost guaranteed a victory. Apparently this gave the attacker a
renewed confidence, which of course brought their guard down. Usually they
advanced towards Will further, trying to intimidate him more. However, it also
meant that the aggressor no longer expected a fight and that gave Will the
element of surprise. So in a few short seconds, without throwing a punch and
without the attacker knowing, Will had actually become the aggressor and his
opponent had become the victim.
    It
was then that Will’s eyes hardened and he attacked. Steve had only seen him in
one fistfight. It had been in a pub and was not a pretty sight. It had lasted
only about ten seconds. Will then left quietly when the bouncers asked him to
depart. The man that had provoked him, however, took a ride to the hospital in
an ambulance. Will McDonald was a good man to have on side in a fire fight; he
fought like a rabid dog.
    Scott
Gillman was rough as guts, with tattoos covering his arms and back. He had a
mouth like a sewer and spent most of his money pissing against a wall each weekend.
At the end of each weekend he always had a different girl in tow which the boys
constantly pulled the piss out of him for. It was a common joke that he had no
money because he got divorced fifty-two times a year.
    Scott
switched on when necessary, but otherwise was always playing practical jokes,
getting himself in trouble, or trying to pick fights. He should have been a
sergeant by now, but he had clowned around so much that he had not advanced
beyond lance corporal. Usually within the regiment, men like Scott were
returned to their previous unit very quickly. What kept Scott within the SASR,
however, was that he could switch his mind set and focus completely on the task
at hand when it was time to be serious. That was what was required of all soldiers
and officers within the SASR.
    He
had started on Will’s case when he had first joined the group, but had learned
very quickly to leave him alone. Today his face was focused. His main role and
the others hoped they would not need it, was linguist work. Scott had studied
two main, eighteen month language courses in particular. One being Indonesian,
and the other Arabic. He had also studied many less detailed six month language
courses and was able to talk his way out of trouble in most countries around
the world.
    Matt
Russell, at twenty eight, was short and balding. He had the look of a slow man
old well before his time. However, he was in fact incredibly fit and built like
a bull terrier; his bright green eyes were alert, missing nothing. All the
soldiers present were trained medics, but Matt was a qualified field doctor as
well as a sharp shooter. He could remove an appendix out in the field if he had
to. He had joined the army as a medic, but had always taken an interest in
competing in every shooting event both military and civilian he was able to.
    Within
two years he had been awarded the crossed rifles badge, an indication of his
skill with a rifle. Matt had been satisfied with his career as a medic for
close to five years, but something, not even he himself knew what it was, lit a
fire under him. From that day onwards, he went on every medical course he
could, even going so far as to begin an external, part-time degree in medicine.
To top it off, after he had completed his degree, he took on the field doctor’s
course. He passed successfully and it was then that he showed an interest in
the Special Air Service Regiment. For the next year he spent most of his time
on fitness and strength work and it wasn’t long before he cut an imposing
figure.
    Whenever
the opportunity arose, he attached himself as a medic to infantry battalions on
exercise. He went out bush with them and participated in as much of the
exercises as he could. He did this to get a feel for