Free Red Notice by Andy McNab Page B

Fight Night had been held in the officers’ mess and their guests had had a similar reception. No one knew why it happened; it just always did.
    The RSM jumped onto a chair. ‘Gentlemen!’
    The Rocky fanfare died and everyone shut up, as you did when the RSM wanted you to, no matter who you were.
    ‘Before anything else, I want to give you a sit-rep on Davy. He’s stable. He’s lost some muscle mass on his left thigh, but he should be back with B Squadron by the end of the tour.’
    There was a load roar of approval and applause. The RSM let it run for a few seconds more. ‘OK, listen in! We welcome the officers’ mess for the evening and we welcome the chance once more to kick their arse!’
    There were cheers and boos from the two groups before the RSM quietened them again. ‘Remember, five minutes of hard, aggressive fighting but nothing between the legs or in the eyes. And no biting. Apart from that, the first man down and can’t get up loses – or the first man to go down three times. Winners can elect to continue fighting the next fight if they wish. It means double points for their team. Who’s first?’ Heturned to check the board. ‘OK, Buckingham and Mr Ashton.’
    Rocky kicked out from the speakers once more as Ashton headed for the castle, punching his gloves together like a pro. They were boxing-bag gloves, compact and hard. Until a few years ago they’d used martial arts gloves, but exposed fingers meant the fighters could grab each other. This wasn’t as much fun to watch as punching, and the fights were over much quicker.
    Ashton bounced into the castle arms to the roar of the officers’ team.
    Tom grinned. ‘You won’t catch me napping this time.’
    Gavin slapped Tom on the back as he stepped towards the fight. ‘Mate, get in there and get among it, but keep a bit back for a few more scraps later on. I’ve just bet Jockey a thousand quid you’ll last at least five fights.’
    Tom stopped in his tracks, drawing instant jeers from the officers. ‘Giving up already?’
    ‘You’re joking, aren’t you, Gav?’
    ‘No, mate, deadly serious. Why not? Last year you saw off four before getting dropped. It’s the easiest money I’ll ever make.’
    Jockey looked him over like a farmer at an auction mart assessing a steer. ‘Hope you’re not going to let yourself down, Posh Lad,’ he said. ‘You’re not looking in such good shape. I’d say you’ve put on a few pounds.’
    ‘Trouble is, Jockey,’ Tom said, ‘every time I shag your girlfriend, she gives me a biscuit.’
    ‘Very funny, Posh Lad.’ Jockey liked that one and looked forward to using it on someone else. ‘Let’s just see if you’re still laughing after I’ve punched your lights out later on.’ He started a headbanger’s version of ‘The Eton Boating Song’ as Tom strode towards the bouncy castle to the cheers of the sergeants’ mess. Jockey’s shouts joined the barrage of support and advice.
    ‘Sort out the fucking Rupert, Tom.’
    ‘Deck the dickhead.’
    'Make sure the only way he’ll be able to clean his teeth is by sticking a toothbrush up his arse.’
    Tom stepped onto the bouncy castle and faced Ashton, all business.
    Ashton put on his most confident smile for his supporters, then turned back to face Tom and gave him his best stab at a thousand-yard stare. ‘This year is going to be my year!’ The officers roared their support.
    Tom was barely aware that Ashton had spoken at all. Every ounce of him was focused on what he was about to do. He saw a bead of sweat trickle down Ashton’s nose and a vein pulsing at his temple. By contrast, Tom’s pulse was barely above normal and his breathing slow. His mind was clear of all distracting thoughts. All he felt was a cold, calculated, almost clinical desire to get on with the job. Ashton did not exist for him as an individual, merely as an opponent to be destroyed as quickly and ruthlessly as possible. Afterwards they would have a beer and talk about any