Free First Into Action by Duncan Falconer Page A

God, I hoped I would not fuck up. I did not feel like a soldier at that moment, never mind an élite soldier. I felt nodifferent from when I was at school, a kid, as if it was only the other day. School was only the other day. Looking back on that moment and others like it, the rush one gets from deadly conflict, they were the most thrilling of my life, what I like to call rocking-chair moments, to look back on when you’re old and all you have left are memories.
    A soft, squidgy sound came. He was shifting his weight. Nothing could move quietly in that mud. I suddenly feared my safety-catch was on. No matter how hard I squeezed the trigger the gun would not fire and I would die. My right thumb quickly found it and it was off. Of course it was off.
    ‘Come on,’ I kept saying to myself. ‘Take the step. Show me just a piece of yourself.’
    The step came and I could make out his face. He was low, on his knees, and he was growling.
    How I did not blow it away I’ll never know.
    It stood there on the end of the hedgerow looking at me and snarling continuously, pausing only to take a quick breath. It was six feet in front of me. Maybe it belonged to O’Sally. It looked like a Rottweiler. Its head was huge.
    My eyes and ears scanned the area like lightning. Had O’Sally sent it ahead to flush out anyone waiting for him? If I fired at it O’Sally would see my muzzle flash and fire towards that. Maybe it was a stray dog. Whatever it was, if I shot it the operation would be blown – locals would hear the report – the word would be out before dawn – O’Sally’s house was hot – he would never come home, and my name in special forces would mean shit. His first ambush and all he shot was a dog. What a nobber. My brain needed more information. The dog came closer. Christ, it wanted to have a go. I could not afford to get into a hand to hand with it, either. I was screwed either way.
    Then I had an idea. I carefully reached into a breast pocket and pulled out a laser torch. Laser torches were designed to be used with light amplifiers such as passive night-vision goggles (PNGs), otherwise the light is invisible to the naked eye. The laser beam is harmless to flesh, except areas as sensitive as the retina of an eyeball, which it will burn if concentrated on for several seconds. I flicked on the beam and aimed it at the dog’s face. I could not see the beam and had to guess it. The dog continued to growl, but then began blinking and shaking its head. I was on target and the laser was quickly taking effect. Its eyesight was deteriorating and it had no idea why. Within a few seconds it stopped growling, let out a whine, and backed away. I had blinded it. It turned around, disorientated, and walked off into permanent darkness. I heard it bump into bushes as it headed back into the countryside.
    Silence fell. I was fully alert once again. I chastised myself for relaxing. This was not a game. No matter how long the odds are of something coming off you never relax, especially when you’re the only one on watch. War graves are dotted with those who did.
    I would not normally have been carrying a laser torch. They were not standard equipment unless you had the PNGs to go with them. PNGs fitted over the head with lenses positioned over the eyes that extended like binoculars and were balanced by a counterweight on the back of the head that allowed the hands to be free. They were not practical for ambushes because the batteries did not last very long and they had a binocular effect which distorted the true distance of objects. If you were to stand and look straight ahead you could not see the first yard of ground immediately in front of you without looking down at your feet, which then looked further from your body. An inexperienced user walked in a kind of goose-step fashion. The reason I had the torch was because a few nights earlier I had been on a reconnaissance job with Sam, an SAS trooper.
    We had been sent to check out a