64

Vaughn crawled to me through long grass, keeping his head down. His face was blacked, and he wore a black outfit.

He held up one finger – one sentry – and pointed towards the trees. I made a circle with my thumb and forefinger. OK.

I’d spent the afternoon teaching them how to approach a building in the dark, communicating silently. Eventually I’d relented, said they were ready.

I pointed to him, and made a lateral gesture, ordering him to move out to the side. We would flank the sentry.

As Vaughn crawled away, I listened carefully for signs of the rest of the group. The wind was loud in the trees, coming from the south, instead of the west. Rain on the way.

I crept forwards, moving as slowly as I could. I’d impressed upon each person that in the pitch dark of a moonless sky, the only way we’d be discovered was by making a sound while moving.

I froze. A sound from twenty yards ahead. A branch, pushed aside, leaves swishing as it sprung back. Possibly a deer, picking its way through the undergrowth. Most likely the sentry Vaughn had seen. I’d have to be careful. I’d told Vaughn to go around, then gone straight forwards myself. A certain level of hubris, I had to admit to myself. A feeling of invulnerability. I was the expert in this situation, and I was on home turf. But that was the kind of thinking that got men killed. And if I was going to get taken out, I’d be damned if it was in front of Vaughn and chums.

I pushed through the grass, an inch at a time, pausing every second to listen. Vaughn was on my right. He was doing his best impression of stealth, but it still sounded like a man trying not to make too much noise. He’d brought me into the unit to teach them, he’d said, but he didn’t want to learn from me. Generations of breeding and behaviour had given him the rock-solid assurance that a gentleman had nothing to learn from a farmer.

Vaughn was master of his own destiny. I’d given him the information, but only he could decide what to do with it. If it got him killed, that was up to him.

There was something ahead. A patch of darkness below a tall pine changed shape. A subtle shift. I froze, watching the darkness with my peripheral vision, where the sensitivity to light is greatest. Vaughn made another sound, and the shadow shifted again. If nothing else, Vaughn was going to be useful as a decoy.

I waited for the shadow to move from the safety of the tree. I got to my feet but stayed in a low crouch. If the sentry turned, he’d be less likely to see me if I was close to the ground.

The sentry moved quickly. There was a quiet snap of a holster guard being undone. The whisper of metal on leather, a gun being drawn.

I hurried behind the sentry, and as I did Vaughn moved in the far undergrowth. I pulled my knife. Saving Vaughn wasn’t my primary consideration, but if I could reach the sentry before he pulled the trigger I’d keep the advantage of silence.

Vaughn saw the sentry. He broke cover and ran towards the house that loomed beyond the trees. The sentry sprinted after him, and I followed them both.

I gained ground on the sentry and went with a rugby tackle. Unsubtle, and noisy, but the best way to make sure. Arms wrapped around legs, no further movement possible, we crashed to the ground.

Vaughn reached the house unharmed.

‘I did it!’ he shouted.

The sentry rolled over. She pushed me off.

‘You should have let me get him,’ Margaret said. ‘Would have taught him a lesson. He’ll be unbearable now.’

Our final training exercise. I wanted everyone to try their hand at penetrating a target at night, using stealth and the cover of darkness.

‘We’ll take him down a peg or two tomorrow,’ I said.

‘I heard you, by the way,’ she said, as she picked herself up, brushing pine needles from her knees. ‘You breathe like an elephant.’

‘How do elephants breathe?’

‘Loudly.’

‘Any of the others make it through?’

‘Just Vaughn.’

Vaughn made his way over, the conquering hero.

‘Good job,’ I lied. If this had been a real mission we’d all be dead, or captured. Nobody was ready. We weren’t operating as a team, we were a group of individuals out for a lark.

‘Does the victor get a kiss?’ Vaughn asked Margaret. He pulled off his balaclava and wiped his face, smearing the blacking.

‘You’ll be lucky,’ she said.

‘I’m going to win you over, Mags, you see if I don’t,’ Vaughn said.

He slapped me on the shoulder.

‘We’re ready,’ he said. ‘I can feel it.’

‘One more thing,’ I said. ‘Tomorrow. First thing.’