Andy McNab: Meltdown

He had been working in Baghdad, guarding VIPs, for the best part of two years, watching the locals rip themselves apart as most of the country continued its downward spiral towards total anarchy, with the coalition forces helpless to do anything but dodge the bullets and pick up the pieces. Sometimes it was innocent bystanders, sometimes insurgents, and sometimes – the worst times for guys like Phil – it was friends. Guys like him.

But Phil didn't trouble himself too much with politics, or deciding on the rights and wrongs of situations; usually he was too busy making sure he stayed alive. And getting on with his job. His attitude to life was 'never explain and never complain'. He kept himself to himself, but Fergus liked that.

Dudley had recommended the fourth member of the team, even though Fergus had the final word on selection. His name was Leroy Simmons, and at just twenty-five he was already highly regarded in the Security Service. Fergus had met him, grilled him and recognized quickly that Dudley's assessment was correct. He was in; the team was complete.

Now Phil, Leroy and Danny were being put through their paces in Hereford.

Phil had little to learn – he could probably have taught most of the instructors a thing or two – but it was important that the three got to know and trust each other, and the best way to achieve this was to train together, working as a team. Fergus also wanted Phil there to keep a watchful eye on Danny and, to a lesser extent, on Leroy, who was being taught weapon-handling drills he'd never learned with MI5.

The ten-day build-up was now virtually over, and Danny was knackered, physically, mentally and even emotionally. There was so much to take in. But he'd not only hugely increased his personal fitness levels; he'd also been fast-tracked through both standard and advanced driving courses, and improved his street craft and trade craft, which Fergus had spent more than a year trying to drum into him.

There had been MOE work, where Danny had learned how to covertly break into locations so that he could carry out close target recces.

And there had been extensive weapons training: if Danny was old enough to carry a weapon, he was old enough to use it. And there was no point in him learning how to handle a weapon unless he was willing and able to pull the trigger – to save his own life, or someone else's. He had to accept that if ever he pointed a weapon at someone, he had to shoot to kill. So 'Show your hands or I will shoot' could never be merely a threat. If he said it, he had to mean it.

He'd become familiar with a comprehensive range of weaponry, ranging from the latest 9mm pistols and 5.56mm assault rifles to the sort of stuff used by street gangs – revolvers and shotguns.

Now Danny was embarking on a final day of tests. He was holding a 9mm Sig semi-automatic pistol. The weapon already had a familiar feel in his hands, and so far he had acquitted himself well on the ranges and in various exercises.

But this task was going to be very different from anything he'd done before. He was about to burst into a room and take on a number of life-size cut-out x-rays with rapid double taps to the head.

Danny had learned new words as well as the skills that went with them. X-rays were the enemy while yankees were those on his own side. He was already familiar with the term 'the third party' from his time with Fergus. The third party was Joe or Josephine Public – anyone who was unaware of what was going on around them on the streets. These code words were used by the SAS to make information sent over the radio net easier to understand.

As far as this exercise was concerned, Danny would know if the rounds had hit the x-rays because each one had a red inflated balloon filled with red chalk dust pinned to the head.

It sounded simple enough, but there was an added complication. Amongst the targets was a real person: Phil Reddington was sitting on a chair somewhere in the room. And on top of that, Danny had no advance knowledge of where the x-rays would be sited. They might be directly in front of Phil or just inches to the side.

Phil's life was literally in Danny's hands.

The Regiment uses such exercises to build confidence and trust, and as Danny waited for the order from his instructor to go, he was desperately hoping that Phil's apparent confidence in him would not be misplaced.

The burly SAS instructor looked at Danny closely. 'Remember, always head shots.'

Danny nodded.

'No good nodding, son. I want to know why.'

'Because the x-rays could be wearing body armour.'

'Correct. Anyone can get hold of it these days. And not only that: if you come up against someone high on drugs, it might take three or four double taps to the body before the stupid bastard realizes he's dead.'

Danny smiled thinly at the even thinner joke. He'd got used to the very particular brand of humour that ran through the place. The guys here were being trained in the art of killing, and the terrible jokes and camaraderie helped them all to keep a sense of sanity as they went about their deadly business.

'A double tap to the head will make sure they drop like liquid,' added the instructor as he poked Danny's head twice with an index finger. He nodded at the closed door. 'Your mate's in there. Make sure he's still your mate when it's all over.' He moved back a little, ready to give the order to begin. 'Stand by! Stand by!'

Danny braced himself and held the pistol in both hands.

'Go!'

Danny sucked in a breath, raised his right foot and kicked open the door; with his pistol in the aim and both eyes open wide so as to assimilate as much information as possible, he ran into the room, taking in the immediate threat as he entered.

There were two x-rays to the left, one two metres away, the other further. He double tapped the closest one, the main threat, and the weapon's report thudded in his ears as the walls bounced back the short, sharp, high-velocity sounds. The balloon exploded and sent red dust into the air as Danny kept moving forward, his eyes already fixed on the head of the next x-ray.

Danny's mind went into slow motion, even though he knew he was operating quickly. The target became blurry: both his eyes were focusing on the pistol's foresight as it lined up on a female x-ray's head. With only the front pad of his finger on the trigger he squeezed off a double tap, short and sharp, and the balloon disintegrated in a cloud of red dust.

His head flicked right. A figure was sitting behind a table. Beyond that was another. He saw a flash of red on the first figure and kept focused on it, turning his body and weapon towards the target, bringing it in line with the head as he raised the weapon into the aim. The target went blurry as he focused once again on the foresight and tightened the pressure on the trigger.

But something was wrong. The red was on the target's chest, not the head. It had to be Phil!

Danny kept moving forward towards the target behind Phil.

'Get down! Down!'

He needed a clear shot. Phil dropped to the floor as commanded, and Danny double tapped the final x-ray about seven metres away from him. His first shots missed, and he kept double tapping and moving towards the target until red dust exploded into the room.

The instructor stopped the exercise. 'Stop! Unload!'

It was over. It had taken no longer than ten seconds. Danny's heart was thumping as the adrenalin pumped through his body. He could feel his fingers trembling slightly on the trigger of the Sig as he squeezed off the action after unloading. His ears were ringing as they struggled to cope with the high-velocity noise he had created.

Phil Reddington got up, looking completely untroubled apart from the red chalk-dust that covered his hair. It was as though he'd sat through nothing more threatening than a thunderstorm. But Phil was old school; he gave little away. His focus was on the next part of his job, which was to debrief Danny.