likely route for them to take is the parallel valley to the south of us.’
‘So can we intercept them?’ Shepherd said.
‘We would need to climb a three thousand foot sheer wall of rock, but it can be done, if we’re lucky.’
‘Any objections to that idea?’ Shepherd said, but one look around the circle of grim, determined faces was enough to answer his question. With the exception of Jock, they had only known Gul for a handful of days, but they had formed a strong bond with him in that time. But in any case, as a former member of the Regiment they owed him the same duty that they would owe to any SAS man: vengeance on his killers. One look at Jock’s ferocious expression told Shepherd that any Maoist terrorists they encountered were unlikely to continue breathing for long.
They tooled up at once, travelling very light with only their belt kits and weapons. Shepherd, Geordie and Jimbo carried an AR-15 Colt Commando model with a retractable butt. Jock had the patrol heavy weapon, an M-203 Armalite with an underslung grenade launcher.
Almost the first thing every SAS soldier learns is that weapons are never slung except in the most unusual circumstances. They must always be ready for immediate use, so the sling swivels on their weapons were invariably removed to make the weapons lighter. But the fact they were climbing meant that the weapons had to be carried on their backs so they quickly made makeshift slings from parachute cord. They had fixed up The Rope with a spare Sterling 9mm sub-machine gun from the Nepali police post, the boss insisting Spider sign a ledger for the weapon and three magazines of ammunition to satisfy the bureaucracy in Kathmandu. Each of them - even The Rope - also had a coiled climbing rope slung over his shoulder.
They arrived at the foot of the cliff in darkness and The Rope began climbing even before it got fully light. All of them struggled at times, but Jimbo found it the most difficult, struggling to haul his big frame up the often sheer rock face. They paused to eat some rations, clinging to a narrow ledge, then carried on climbing. Shepherd’s fingers were bruised and bleeding and his forearms and shoulders were sore with the effort of hauling himself upwards. But with a cold, furious determination he kept on moving up, working his way from handhold to handhold, each one marked by the faint traces of resin that The Rope’s fingers had left as he pioneered the route.
Shepherd was moving up fast, gaining in confidence, but had just released his hold with his left hand when the flake of rock he was gripping with his right suddenly sheared off. He shouted a warning as the rock plummeted towards the others climbing below him, and felt himself beginning to fall away from the cliff. He made a frantic grab with his left hand and his fingers scrabbled at the rock, then caught. There was a stab of agonising pain as a fingernail was torn off, but his grip held. He hung there for a few seconds, his heart beating wildly, then found a hold for his right hand and, having checked that his comrades below were unhurt by the falling rock, began to climb again.
Snow flurries blew around him from time to time and ice that had formed in shaded crevasses was another hazard, but he kept working his way upwards, focusing only on the next hold, the next move, and avoiding the temptation to keep looking up to see how far there still was to climb.
About a hundred feet from the top they encountered a smooth slab with few visible handholds at the top of which was an overhang - a ledge jutting out at right angles to the cliff. The SAS men paused while The Rope moved slowly ahead, feeling for any tiny crevice or projection from the rock face that would serve as a handhold, inching slowly upwards.
‘Bloody hell,’ Jock said, his chest heaving. ‘The guy is like Spiderman.’
‘Or Spiderman’s dad anyway,’ Shepherd said. ‘We’re in our twenties and he’ll be drawing his pension in a year or two,
‘So can we intercept them?’ Shepherd said.
‘We would need to climb a three thousand foot sheer wall of rock, but it can be done, if we’re lucky.’
‘Any objections to that idea?’ Shepherd said, but one look around the circle of grim, determined faces was enough to answer his question. With the exception of Jock, they had only known Gul for a handful of days, but they had formed a strong bond with him in that time. But in any case, as a former member of the Regiment they owed him the same duty that they would owe to any SAS man: vengeance on his killers. One look at Jock’s ferocious expression told Shepherd that any Maoist terrorists they encountered were unlikely to continue breathing for long.
They tooled up at once, travelling very light with only their belt kits and weapons. Shepherd, Geordie and Jimbo carried an AR-15 Colt Commando model with a retractable butt. Jock had the patrol heavy weapon, an M-203 Armalite with an underslung grenade launcher.
Almost the first thing every SAS soldier learns is that weapons are never slung except in the most unusual circumstances. They must always be ready for immediate use, so the sling swivels on their weapons were invariably removed to make the weapons lighter. But the fact they were climbing meant that the weapons had to be carried on their backs so they quickly made makeshift slings from parachute cord. They had fixed up The Rope with a spare Sterling 9mm sub-machine gun from the Nepali police post, the boss insisting Spider sign a ledger for the weapon and three magazines of ammunition to satisfy the bureaucracy in Kathmandu. Each of them - even The Rope - also had a coiled climbing rope slung over his shoulder.
They arrived at the foot of the cliff in darkness and The Rope began climbing even before it got fully light. All of them struggled at times, but Jimbo found it the most difficult, struggling to haul his big frame up the often sheer rock face. They paused to eat some rations, clinging to a narrow ledge, then carried on climbing. Shepherd’s fingers were bruised and bleeding and his forearms and shoulders were sore with the effort of hauling himself upwards. But with a cold, furious determination he kept on moving up, working his way from handhold to handhold, each one marked by the faint traces of resin that The Rope’s fingers had left as he pioneered the route.
Shepherd was moving up fast, gaining in confidence, but had just released his hold with his left hand when the flake of rock he was gripping with his right suddenly sheared off. He shouted a warning as the rock plummeted towards the others climbing below him, and felt himself beginning to fall away from the cliff. He made a frantic grab with his left hand and his fingers scrabbled at the rock, then caught. There was a stab of agonising pain as a fingernail was torn off, but his grip held. He hung there for a few seconds, his heart beating wildly, then found a hold for his right hand and, having checked that his comrades below were unhurt by the falling rock, began to climb again.
Snow flurries blew around him from time to time and ice that had formed in shaded crevasses was another hazard, but he kept working his way upwards, focusing only on the next hold, the next move, and avoiding the temptation to keep looking up to see how far there still was to climb.
About a hundred feet from the top they encountered a smooth slab with few visible handholds at the top of which was an overhang - a ledge jutting out at right angles to the cliff. The SAS men paused while The Rope moved slowly ahead, feeling for any tiny crevice or projection from the rock face that would serve as a handhold, inching slowly upwards.
‘Bloody hell,’ Jock said, his chest heaving. ‘The guy is like Spiderman.’
‘Or Spiderman’s dad anyway,’ Shepherd said. ‘We’re in our twenties and he’ll be drawing his pension in a year or two,
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