The Dreadnoughts Box Set

Search and Rescue The Dreadnoughts Book One Chapter One Jason Chastain Jason gripped tightly onto the controls of the rigid inflatable boat—otherwise known as a RIB—as it bounced on the relentless, white-capped waves of the Atlantic Ocean. According to the GPS, they were closing in on their destination. And thank God for GPS; simply looking for their target was futile—it was pitch black, and the remote Scottish island they were headed for was uninhabited, so there were no lights to help guide them. Not even a bloody lighthouse. To make things worse, they didn’t know exactly what—or who—they were going to find when they landed, so they were in stealth mode, meaning no lights on their boat, either. When they got close enough, they’d have to kill the engine, too, so as not to be heard by anyone who might be waiting for them. He hunched his shoulders against the biting wind which still managed to worm its way in through his layers of technical gear and muttered to himself. Complaining out loud was pointless—the waves and wind would stop the others from being able to hear a word he said, anyway. Besides, he was really in no position to complain, since it was his fault the four of them were here in the first place. The job offer had come in via the contact form on his security firm’s website—all mysterious and anonymous, and on the first read he’d almost dismissed it out of hand, his finger hovering over the ‘delete’ button even before he’d read the final line. It was so vague he’d thought it was spam, or someone pissing about—even organisations who wanted to employ him for highly classified missions usually gave more information than that. Not to mention more notice. But something, the merest grain of intrigue, had made him read the message through again and absorb it fully. Despite all the cloak and dagger, it seemed legit. And when his phone pinged with an alert, prompting him to check his business bank account and find the promised amount just sitting there, all nonchalant-like, the grain of intrigue had turned into the Sahara Desert’s worth. Particularly since the amount in question was just a deposit to help with expenses and getting the mission off the ground. What would have happened if he’d refused the mission? Did he get to keep the money anyway? By this point, that wasn’t really an issue, anyway, since there were a hell of a lot more zeroes at play if he and the three buddies he had in mind to come with him managed to pull this off—a ridiculous sum, even when split four ways and taking costs into consideration. Whoever the client was, they were extremely important, or insanely rich. Maybe both. In other words, a good person to get on side. If he played his cards right, this mysterious client could keep him in work for a long time to come—if not personally, then by way of sharing contacts and word of mouth. Either way was good, as far as he was concerned. Despite the secretive nature of this mission, it would certainly beat some of the two-bit jobs he’d taken on out of necessity in the past few months. Unfortunately, the need to eat and the requirement to pay bills didn’t go away just because the exciting work had dried up. But this job could be the turning point. The one that launched him from dull bodyguarding of ‘celebrities’—some of those fuckers have been so Z-list that even Google doesn’t know who they are—and protecting sensitive goods to actually making a difference, like he used to do back in the military. Helping people. Taking bad people off the streets. It could also be the job that launched him into the Atlantic Ocean—not for the first, but possibly for the final time. The RIB lurched violently, and Jason heard the rest of the crew swearing and exclaiming even over the roar of the elements. And these were guys who weren’t afraid of anything. He risked a quick glance over his shoulder and counted three large figures. They were all still there, and for now, that would have to do. There was no time to check in—according to the GPS, the shore was coming up fast, and he’d need all his concentration, skill, and brass f*****g balls to land them on the beach in one piece. More importantly, the boat needed to be in one piece, since that was their way out, once they’d secured their target. Without it, they were royally f****d. Unlike in the military, they had no one to call, no backup, no rescue teams. They were it. He shook his head, wondering for the umpteenth time who the hell threw so much cash around in order to hire a four-man team to take on a monumental, potentially very dangerous task, knowing perfectly well that if it went t**s up, there was no second chance? No clean up team? The best he’d been able to come up with was: Someone desperate, with a need for secrecy. So exactly who was desperate, secretive, and filthy rich? It’s only a matter of time before we find out. If we ever make it onto this bloody beach, that is. He took a deep breath and squinted into the darkness, willing his eyes to pick up something useful. Normally he’d have donned his night-vision goggles, but the rain and the sea spray would splatter constantly onto the lenses, rendering them useless. All he could do was keep flicking his gaze between the GPS and the landscape in front of the boat and hope for the best. He wasn’t a religious man, but he mumbled some random words of prayer to the heavens anyway, just in case. Couldn’t hurt to try, and it certainly wouldn’t make things worse. Finally, his vision and the gadget seemed to agree the beach was imminent. With another deep breath, Jason killed the engine and mentally crossed his fingers and toes they were close enough that the waves would wash the boat up onto the shore, rather than dragging it back out to sea. He’d researched tide times and planned accordingly, but he knew better than most that things didn’t always go to plan. Especially when it came to Mother Nature. She could be a sadistic b***h at times. But then, given the way the human race treated her, he could hardly blame her for lashing out from time to time. Thankfully, after what felt like an interminable amount of time, but was actually only a few minutes, the equally terrifying and relief-inducing sound of the boat scraping on to dry land rang out—audible even over the wind and waves. Jason maintained a fierce, knuckle-whitening grip on the controls as the boat lurched, more to keep himself steady and to take out his nervousness on the rigid material beneath his fingers than anything—after all, the steering had lost most of its effectiveness the minute he’d switched off the engine. He’d never admit it to the guys, not in a million years, but his heart was in his mouth. These boats were built to be sturdy, designed to carry out exactly this kind of mission, but it wasn’t impossible that a particularly sharp rock or even something manmade that had been left or washed up onto the beach could puncture it. He released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding when the boat came to a surprisingly gentle stop on the sand. He let go of the controls and gingerly relaxed his fingers and hands, then flexed them, wincing a little as the muscles, joints and tendons protested. Immediately, he dropped into a defensive crouch and began readying himself to disembark—they weren’t out of the woods yet. Far from it. For all they knew, there could be a hostile force lying in wait for them. Once he was ready, he turned to the rest of the team, barely able to make out who was who in the darkness. He shuffled closer to ensure they could hear him. “All right, lads, this is it. Stay alert. We might be on dry land now, but it doesn’t mean we’re safe. I have literally no idea what we could be walking into here, so be prepared for anything. Comms check.” They ran through the necessary, removed their lifejackets and stashed them in a heavy-duty container, and ensured they had all their gear. That done, Jason took the lead and carefully leapt off the boat, knowing the others would be right behind him. The four of them had always had each other’s backs, and that wasn’t about to change now. Especially not when the stakes were so high. He dropped back into a crouch immediately after landing on the sand, and paused momentarily to flip his night-vision goggles—usable now they were off the ocean and in a more sheltered spot—into place before setting off to find a route off the beach. He turned his head from side to side, examining his surroundings. It was clear this was no sunbather’s beach, not even in the height of summer—such as it was in this part of the world. He reckoned he’d be more likely to bump into a smuggler here than a sunbather or a swimmer. The sand ran right up to the base of some inhospitable cliffs, craggy and steep. Shit. I knew this wasn’t going to be a walk in the park, but I didn’t think we’d fall at the first f*****g hurdle. Even smugglers wouldn’t be so daft as to end up here. He murmured into his mic as he crossed the sand—he was fairly certain they were alone, but wasn’t about to take any chances, “Looks like we’re clear of hostiles; of the human kind, anyway. Those cliffs seem pretty f*****g hostile. Jota,” he used the nickname for the Greig twins, Joshua and Taylor, for brevity, “you two secure the RIB, make sure it’s not going anywhere. We’re f****d without that thing, remember? Smith and I will split up and look for a way off this beach. Catch us up when you’re done with the boat. Everyone remain alert for company, though, just in case.” Three responses of “roger that” came from his earpiece and, like the well-oiled machine they were, they set to their respective tasks. The cove they were in wasn’t huge, and the rocks at its edges jutted out into the sea just enough to provide some protection from the elements. As such, the wind and rain weren’t quite so biting, and hearing and visibility were greatly increased. That made their job easier, but it was clear this was still going to be one hell of a task. Jason approached the left-hand side of the cliff base, knowing instinctively that Smith—full name Aidan Smith—would have clocked where he was going and immediately gone right, leaving the twins to take the middle section when they’d sorted the RIB. That was the best part about this team—as well as being as highly trained and skilled as he was, they didn’t need micro-managing, leaving him able to concentrate on what he was doing without worrying about them every second. The four of them gelled well together, always had. That fact, along with their unique skillsets, made them incredibly effective. There were no three people on the planet he would rather have with him when it came to a mission like this. Even so, it was going to be tough—and they’d taken on some extremely dangerous missions in the past. This one was in a league of its own, though—not least because knowledge was power, and he was seriously lacking in knowledge right now. He’d managed to stop the others asking too many questions by spouting the old ‘need to know’ crap, but not having all the facts had landed a cold, heavy rock in the base of Jason’s stomach. He was the kind of person who liked to prepare for all eventualities, vastly reducing the chances of ever being caught unawares. This time, though, he’d been swayed by intrigue—and, if he was honest with himself, the potential for earning mountains of cash and scoring a useful contact—and had now plonked himself and his three closest friends right in the middle of a life-threatening situation, without fully informing them of the risks. That cold, heavy rock wasn’t just worry, or powerlessness. It was guilt. Shame. He swallowed hard, shoved the uncomfortable thoughts to the deepest recesses of his brain, and focussed on the task at hand. The best way to get rid of his uncomfortable feelings was to complete this damn mission and make sure everyone got home safely. He could then hand over his buddies’ hard-earned cash and they could all go back to their day jobs. Until the next offer came along which required an elite, specialised team, anyway. He scoured the rock face, eager to find a route that would provide them with enough hand and foot holds. The trouble was, it was so sheer and so high he couldn’t get a clear view to the top. Hell, he couldn’t even get a blurry view to the top. Damn, he needed to figure something out, fast. He spoke into his mic. “Got anything? I’m giving myself f*****g eye strain here and coming up with bugger all. A few areas that look doable to start with, but impossible to see whether it’s climbable all the way to the top.” “Negative so far,” came the response from one of the twins—Taylor, he thought, but couldn’t be sure, since their voices were as similar as their looks. “Same as you.” “Aye,” came a voice, “what he said.” Jason rolled his eyes and stifled a groan, then asked hopefully, “Smith?” “I have a possible route,” he replied in his no-nonsense tone. “Not an easy one—but when is the stuff we do ever easy?” “Great,” Jason replied, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Coming to you.” Less than a minute later, Jason and the twins had joined Smith over on the right-hand side of the beach. After another check around to make sure there were no other signs of life, they stood together as Smith pointed out what he’d found. “Here’s what I reckon we should be able to do. Scramble up the first six feet or so. Then it looks as though there’s a bit of a ledge, with a huge outcropping above that. We get some rope tied off to a grappling hook, chuck it over the outcrop, secure it, then use the rope to climb up as far as that takes us.” He shrugged. “Haven’t a clue what’s beyond that, but I figure it’s better than nothing. Maybe there will be more rocks, or even a tree we can tie off to. It’ll be time consuming for the first of us to go up, but after that, it shouldn’t be too bad. We leave the rope in place so we can use it to get back down again.” Jason had been trying not to think that far ahead—if he let what seemed like an impossible task spool out in his mind, he’d get bogged down in the minutiae. No, he worked far better if he broke things down into manageable chunks: reach the island, land the boat, get off the beach… and whatever came next. “Sounds good, mate. Well done. I’ll head up first then, since I’m the best climber.” That was utter bullshit, and they all knew it, but he was leading the mission, so the others weren’t about to contradict him—they had an informal agreement not to question his decisions unless it was a life or death situation—and thank God for that. This was risky, and he should be the one taking the biggest risks. His pack contained a length of rope and a grappling hook, so after a curt nod to his buddies, he turned to the cliff face, flexed his fingers and hands once more, then began climbing. To keep himself calm, focussed, he even broke this task down into chunks: climb six feet, stand on ledge, tie hook to rope, toss hook, secure rope, climb with rope. See what’s next. Each small part, once completed, would give him a sense of achievement and a mental boost to help him c***k on with the next one. As he ascended, he was painfully aware of the passage of time. They really needed to be at the top and in a position to find cover before the sun started coming up. The darkness had made their mission so far a b***h, but it was better than being lit up like a firework on New Year’s Eve. Hardship beat vulnerability, hands down, every time. However, if he started rushing, and he slipped, he could be dead. And alive beat dead, hands down, every time. This whole thing was a balancing act between speed and safety. At least once he’d got his length of rope secured to the outcrop, the others would be quicker and safer on their ascent. He just hoped there wasn’t too much more cliff beyond the outcrop, or they could all be hanging out there like idiots at sunrise, with great big targets on their backs. Despite the rain and sea lashed rock face, and the occasional strong gust of wind, Jason reached the ledge in decent time, then immediately shucked off his pack and retrieved the rope and hook. He tucked the bag into a crevice so as not to knock it off the ledge as he worked, then set about fixing the hook and rope together. Moments later, he was ready. “Lads,” he muttered into his mic, “get well clear of my position. I’m about to toss the hook, and I’d prefer it if none of you got skewered if it falls.” Again, three “roger that”s reached his ear. He paused for a few seconds to give them chance to move off, squinting into the darkness at the outcrop and calculating his throw. Then he lobbed the hook with everything he had. His heart pounded as it sailed through the air, its weight keeping it fairly steady against the buffeting effect of the wind, then landed somewhere out of sight with a worryingly loud clang. Jason tucked himself into the same crevice his pack currently occupied and peered up the cliff face, half expecting to see a hostile staring back down at him. “Guys. Any sign of life from your position? Nothing from here.” A few seconds passed. Then Smith said, “Negative.” Immediately, one of the twins put in, “Negative.” Finally, the other twin spoke. “Other than some stupid wee fucker cowering against the rocks halfway up the cliff, I cannae see a thing.” “t**t,” Jason hissed into his mic, but he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. Trust Taylor—the most smartarsed of the spirited siblings—to come out with something like that. He shook his head. “Right, I’m going to get this thing secured, then see where it takes me. I’ll let you know. Stay back for now.” He tugged the rope. There was some movement, and he tensed as he waited to see whether the hook had found purchase. By some miracle, it had. He pulled the rope again, then again, harder, making absolutely sure it could take his weight—and that of his gear. Confident it could, he put his pack on and secured the rope to his harness. “All good. Going up.” Trusting his life to the hook, he continued his climb. Sooner than expected, he got to the see what’s next part. Much to his delight, what he saw as he rounded the outcrop and then scrambled on top of it, was a way forward. Or up, anyway. The cliff face was much craggier here, giving way better hand and foot holds, and plenty of them. It wasn’t even worth messing about with ropes on this part—quicker for experienced folks like them to just climb carefully. He released the rope from his harness and began doing exactly that. After a few feet of ascent, a sharp gust of wind had him flattening himself against the rocks and holding on tight for a few seconds. Once it passed, he chuckled to himself. Perhaps that had been his punishment for not bothering with ropes on this section. Too late now, anyway. His only option was to push on. Minutes later, to his surprise, he ran out of cliff. He manoeuvred himself up and found the land rolled back from where he was—maybe something to do with layers of different rock, one harder than the other?—then there was a mini-cliff, maybe five feet high, then that was it. The island proper. Somewhere out there was their target. First, though, he needed to get the rest of his team up here. He made his way to the base of the mini-cliff and inspected the lay of the land over its top, hugely relieved to find a whole lot of nothing. Well, nothing worrying, anyway. There was plenty of grass, trees, and wildlife. But all of that, they could handle. Perhaps this mission was going to be easier than he thought.