Chris Ryan
Stand By, Stand By
For my mother
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I wish to give special thanks to someone who shall remain anonymous but without whose editorial help I would never have finished this. To all my family and friends for their patience and understanding. Also to Mark Booth, Liz Rowlinson, Tracey Jennings and Nicky Eaton at Century.
EPIGRAPH
The Castle
As the knights fight in the hall, people stand by the wall.
Jokers joke whilst people poke at one another.
Shrieking sounds down below where cellars glow.
The King sits on his throne when people groan.
The Lady who wears silver threads lives in dread of the spider and the dead.
GLOSSARY
ASU — IRA Active Service Unit
Basha — Sleeping shelter
Bergen — Rucksack
BG — Bodyguard (noun or verb)
Blue-on-blue — Accidental strike on own forces
Box — General name for intelligence services
Casevac — Casualty evacuation
CAT — Counter-attack team
Comms — Communications
CTR — Close target reconnaissance
DET — Intelligence gathering organization
DAS — Colombian Police
DF — Direction finding
Dicker — IRA scout
Director — Officer commanding special forces, generally a brigadier
DOP — Drop-off point
DPMs — Disruptive pattern material camouflage garments
DZ — Drop zone
EMOE — Explosive method of entry
ERV — Emergency rendezvous
EMU — Encryption device
FMB — Forward mounting base
FOB — Forward operating base
GPS — Global positioning system (navigation aid)
Head-Shed — Headquarters
Incoming — Incoming fire
Int — Intelligence
IO — Intelligence officer
LO — Liaison officer
LUP — Lying-up point
LZ — Landing zone
Magellan — Brand name of GPS
OP — Observation post
PE — Plastic explosive
Phys — Physical exercise
PIRA — Provisional IRA
Player — Terrorist
PNGs — Passive night goggles
PUP — Pick-up point
QRF — Quick reaction force
RTU — Return to unit
Rupert — Officer
SAM — Surface-to-air missile
Satcom — Telephone using satellite transmission
SEAL — Sea, Air and Land — American special forces unit
Shreddies — Army-issue underpants
SOCO — Scene of Crimes Officer
SP — Special Projects
SSM — Squadron sergeant major
RUC — Royal Ulster Constabulary
TACBE — Emergency radio
TCG — Tactical Control Group
Tout — Informer
UCBT — Under-car booby trap
US — Unserviceable
VCP — Vehicle control point
319 — VHF radio
WEAPONS
AK 47 — Soviet-design 7.62mm short rifle
203 — Combination of 5.56mm automatic rifle (top barrel) and 40mm grenade launcher (below)
HK 53 — 5.56mm automatic rifle
Galil — Israeli-made 7.62mm automatic rifle
G3 — 7.62mm automatic rifle
Long — Any rifle
L2 — Hand grenade
MP 5 — 9mm sub-machine-gun
RPG7 — Soviet-made rocket launcher
SA80 — 5.56mm rifle
Short — Any pistol
Sig — Sigsauer 9mm pistol
ONE
That night the dream came again. As usual I was being swept forward, unable to control my speed. I felt as though I was on a roller-coaster at a fairground, accelerating bumpily through the cold, dark air. But why were no other passengers riding with me? Why was I alone in this freezing night?
The ride was very rough. OK, I thought, the track’s buckled, but I can handle it — and I clung tight to the side-rails to stop myself being flung out. Then something began to drag at my left arm, holding it back, as if that side of the carriage was being left behind. Let go, dickhead! I told myself, but my fingers wouldn’t unclamp from the rail. Pain ripped through me. I thought, I’m going down here. I’m going to get torn in half.
The cold was horrendous. The air pouring past me was so frozen it was searing my skin. When I opened my mouth to yell, it drove a fierce pain into the roots of my teeth, so that I had to clamp my lips shut. Then over the black horizon ahead came a gleam of light. I was hurtling towards that bright rim, the rim of the world. All too well I knew what I’d see beyond it. Up and on I went, faster than ever, my arm being torn in half at the elbow.
Then in a split second I was over the top and into the light, diving towards an operating theatre as big as an airport. A wall of heat rushed up to meet me, so that in an instant I was pouring sweat, like down in the sands of Abu Dhabi. Brilliant lamps blazed on to the table, and life-support equipment was ranged alongside: drips, oxygen cylinders, white dishes full of instruments. Attendants in green gowns and masks were waiting, ready — and in the centre stood a tall surgeon with a hypodermic syringe the length of an AK 47, the point of its gleaming needle levelled at my eye. I longed for a gun so I could drop him at a distance, but no: I was going in close. ‘BASTARDS!’ I roared as I hurtled down towards him. ‘BASTARDS! BASTARDS!’
I woke up. Kath stood in the doorway, the light from the landing shining on her straight fair hair. In the background Tim was crying.
‘Geordie,’ she said quietly. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ I tried to turn over, but I found I’d got the bedclothes wound around me so I was trussed like an oven-ready chicken.
Kath came across and put her hand on my forehead. ‘You’re soaking. Better change the sheets. I’ll get you a clean pair.’
‘I’ll be OK, thanks. What time is it?’
‘Just after three.’ She sat down on the edge of the bed, silhouetted against the light. With one hand she drew her dressing-gown tight around her neck, and with the other she smoothed out the top sheet. ‘What time did you get to bed?’
‘Not sure. Maybe half one.’
‘How much did you drink?’
‘Not a lot. Two or three more Scotches.’
She knew perfectly well that I’d been hitting the booze far worse than I admitted, and going to ridiculous lengths to cover up. She knew that alcohol was becoming a serious problem for me, and several times she’d pleaded with me to seek professional advice.