James Barrington - Foxbat

Richter raced straight for the section of fence where he’d stashed the ladder, lifted it up and leant it against a post. In front, he could see Dekker moving quickly towards him in a crouch, another SAS soldier right behind him. Richter climbed up and perched for a moment on top of the fence, while he swung the ladder over, then slid down to the open ground outside.

‘Time we got out of here,’ Dekker observed.

‘Roger that.’

As they turned away from the fence, Richter felt a slight tug on his left boot. He glanced down and spotted what they’d all missed, but it was now too late. The thin silver trip-wire gleamed in the darkness.

‘Oh, shit.’

Behind him security lights suddenly flared into life, illuminating the boundary fence and the open ground outside it. Simultaneously, sirens started their atonic wailing. Their supposedly covert insertion and surveillance operation had just turned very overt indeed.

North Korea

The truck seemed to come out of nowhere. One minute the road was empty as far as Yi Min-Ho could see. Then headlights came stabbing through the darkness directly towards him. The unmistakable sound of a big diesel engine shattered the silence of the night.

He’d just crossed the bridge over the river that drains into the Teiton Wan bay at Ugom, and was about to leave the road and strike out across country, heading for a narrow gap through the double line of hills that lay north of the town.

For an instant Yi didn’t move, a combination of fatigue and surprise momentarily dulling his reactions, then he stepped unhurriedly off the verge – if the truck contained police or soldiers, a sudden movement would immediately attract their attention – and headed into the adjacent field. But the moment he was clear of the headlight beams, he ran like hell.

The truck growled to a halt and Yi could clearly hear men shouting, followed by the sound of their boots clumping loudly on the metalled surface of the road. He concentrated totally on keeping his footing on the uneven soil, and covering the ground as swiftly as possible.

The sudden flare of the truck’s headlights had impaired his night vision, and Yi stumbled and almost fell three times in his desperate escape. But the men behind him experienced exactly the same problem, and the dancing beams of their torches were of little help because he already had a substantial lead of about one hundred metres.

The ground beneath his feet began to change as scrubby farmland gave way to the uncultivated terrain leading up to the foothills. Running across rough ground is very tiring, and Yi’s breath now came in short, painful gasps. He would be forced to stop soon, despite his desperate situation.

Around him were clumps of bushes and stunted trees, and he realized that these offered the best cover he was likely to find. He slowed down and skidded behind two trees growing close together, looking back down the slope towards the lights of his pursuers. They were now even further away, probably two hundred metres, but Yi could clearly sense the determination in their pursuit.

What had started out seemingly as a simple chase was now transformed into a methodical search, with about fifteen men spread out in a line and walking up the hill towards him. Making a conscious effort to slow his breathing, Yi pulled out his binoculars and focused them.

The moonlight was bright enough for him to detect that they were soldiers, assault rifles slung over their shoulders. He’d obviously been unlucky enough to run into a North Korean Army patrol, but the surprise was that they hadn’t already started firing in his direction. Because these were military, rather than the police, he didn’t imagine they would give up the chase easily, but whatever happened, he mustn’t get caught. Realizing he would now have to put as much distance as possible between himself and such a determined pursuit, Yi replaced the binoculars in his pocket, turned northwards and jogged on up the hill.

In fact, luck had nothing to do with this encounter. The moment Pak Je-San ended the call from the radar-watch supervisor at Pyoksong, he had proceeded to mobilize troops from the closest military establishment, which was the fighter airfield at T’ae’tan. There were very few roads in that part of the country, so anyone landing south of Suri-bong had little option but to head east. And therefore Pak had guessed exactly where his quarry was going.

Aïn Oussera Air Base, Algeria

Suddenly the base came alive with the sound of vehicle engines revving up and with loudly shouted orders. The sentries around the various hangars left their posts and began running towards the perimeter fence. It was only a matter of seconds, Richter realized, before they started shooting.

‘All callsigns, Alpha One,’ Dekker shouted. ‘Let’s get the fuck out of here. Break, break. Delta One and Two, get the Pinkies moving, immediate.’

The response from the two SAS troopers guarding the Land Rovers was instant. ‘Deltas mobile, heading straight for you.’

The six SAS men were already up and running, weaving and dodging unpredictably from side to side to make themselves as difficult targets as possible, but all the time heading away from the fence and the glare of the security lights.

‘Regroup in two hundred yards,’ Dekker instructed, as the metallic clatter of a couple of Kalashnikovs on full auto echoed behind them, bullets spraying randomly in their direction. ‘But don’t return fire.’

They were already well away from the fence, so he knew the Algerians had to be firing blind. Shooting back would just confirm their position, giving the enemy something definite to aim at.

Richter could see two pairs of headlights approaching, half a mile away to their right, the vehicles bouncing wildly over the desert floor.

‘Regroup on me,’ Dekker called out, as he slid to a halt behind an outcrop of rock. ‘Anyone hurt? Any problems?’ It took less than ten seconds to confirm that none of them had suffered any injuries, then they started running again, this time in two loose groups heading directly towards the approaching Land Rovers.

Behind them, the main gates of Aïn Oussera were open, and the first of the Algerian Air Force trucks, loaded with heavily armed soldiers, were heading out in pursuit. Unfortunately the headlights of the SAS Pinkies would soon give them a clear target.

‘Delta One and Two, kill the lights,’ Dekker ordered. ‘Home in on our torches.’

Immediately the headlights were extinguished, which would obviously slow their escape, but not having the lights blazing might buy them a few precious seconds, or even minutes, while the Algerians tried to locate them. Meanwhile two of the troopers took out their torches and shone them steadily, like beacons, in the direction of the approaching Land Rovers.

Dekker called a halt for a few seconds, while he looked back towards the airfield, checking the disposition of the enemy troops. A couple of large trucks had emerged and were now heading in their general direction, but obviously the drivers had no firm idea where their quarry was located. Richter wasn’t bothered about such vehicles – the Pinkies could outrun them, no problem – but the three smaller ones were a definite concern. In the lights from the perimeter fence, they looked like either open jeeps or Land Rovers, and in each one he could discern the unmistakable shape of a heavy machine-gun, set on a pillar right behind the driver. Whatever those vehicles were, they had pretty much the same armament as the Pinkies, and could also probably match them for speed. But before Richter could suggest any action against them or their occupants, Dekker was already issuing orders.

‘Alpha Two, Bravo One, take out their jeeps.’