My latest novel, Hatch, has been published in the past few weeks and has received great reviews so far, so thank you for that!

If you haven’t read Hatch yet and would like to try before you buy, then please find the first couple of chapters below.

If you’d like to pick up the full version of Hatch, it is available on Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com

Enjoy x

Chapter 1

Hatch

6 years ago

Squinting slightly, I focus my full attention on the trigger mechanism of my gun, careful to remove every last grain of desert sand.  When I first joined the army almost a decade ago, I used to try and speed through the task, ensuring my weapon was forever failing the inspection.  These days, I actually find it incredibly therapeutic, sitting with the rest of my squad, music playing in the background, just talking shit.

The truth is, the group of people currently surrounding me are the closest thing to a family I’ve ever known and I would lay down my life for any one of these guys, just as I know they would for me; the definitive brothers in arms.  It is this very attitude that ensures that our elite platoon sustains next to no losses, despite the danger of our role.  With a ‘no man left behind’ attitude, we have a reputation of being a unit to be revered…and feared.

‘You’ve dropped something, Sir,’ pipes up one of the newer members of our squad.  I watch as a photograph flutters out of Commander Greg Jenkins’ pocket and falls to the floor.

‘Ah, thank you, Flynn.’  In an incredibly well-spoken voice which I’d recognise anywhere, my commander graciously accepts the return of his prized possession.  Humming a familiar tune on his outward breath, he gazes affectionately down at an image of his much beloved daughter; his entire world.

‘What do you think, Hatch?’ he demands, eyes creasing slightly at the corners, with a smile that never quite reaches his mouth.  Dropping my cleaning cloth to the table, I accept the photograph being offered, along with the compliment that my opinion is being sought out by this great man.  This charade has been played out between the two of us for years now, and as always, I’m careful to say the right thing for my own self-protection, as opposed to the truth.

Ten years ago, when Commander Jenkins was proudly sharing family snaps which contained his twelve-year-old princess, it was very easy to agree how pretty she was, because she was.  Via photographic evidence, I’ve watched her grow up from a distance; through her gangly teens, the temporary addition of braces to her teeth, attempting various hairstyles, some of them more successful than others.  It’s like I know her so well, yet we’ve never actually met.  But with time, she’s grown up from an innocent girl whom we would all willingly pledge our lives to protect, into an incredibly beautiful and alluring young woman.  Consequently, I’ve had to learn to curtail my responses appropriately.  If I was being completely honest, I’d admit to dreaming about running my fingers through her long hair, pulling upon it gently as I drop kisses against her neck while the heat between us builds.  But as her father, Commander Jenkins doesn’t want to hear my wicked fantasies which he would certainly not approve of.  He still sees her as his little girl, and quite rightly so because she always will be.  So instead, I revert to my standard response, which always receives a bark of laughter from the Commander, while causing a wave of nervous giggles from any new recruits.

‘I think she must have inherited her good looks from her mother, Sir,’ I chuckle, taking one final opportunity to store the image of the beautiful woman smiling adoringly up at the camera, safely in my memory.  A decade ago, I would never have dared to say such a thing, but over the years we’ve grown incredibly close.  Closer than any father-figure I’ve ever had in my life, that’s for sure.  Having never known a proper home, I joined the army at eighteen and in it found a purpose, ensuring I’ve never looked back.  My success has been largely due to the Commander, who I’ve served with almost every step of the way.  He’s taught me everything; humility, acceptance, respect, trust, combat skills and how to be a decent man.  A true role model, he is quite simply the best person I know, have ever known or will ever know.  And although he remains my senior commanding officer, in my wilder moments in recent years, I’ve looked upon him more as a friend.  And I dare to believe that feeling is reciprocated.

As predicted, despite the line being incredibly old now, Commander Jenkins doesn’t disappoint.  His laughter eases an emptiness in my chest.

‘It’s her twenty-first birthday next week,’ he divulges quietly, as he retrieves the photograph from my hand and returns it to the pocket adjacent to his heart, where it always takes pride of place.  ‘I’m taking leave to go home and celebrate.  If there aren’t any perks to being the boss around here, then what’s the point, huh?  Family is the most important gift you will ever know,’ he states, raising his voice slightly and addressing his final comment to the group at large.  ‘And although my daughter is my closest family member, you boys are my second family.’  Do I imagine the direct glance I receive when he speaks that truth, drawing me out for special attention?  Hell, who knows.  Sometimes I’m aware of an unspoken affection between the two of us, but it remains unspoken.  After all, we’re tough guys, right?  Emotions, weakness and…heaven forbid, tears are not welcome here.

Just then, the atmosphere of our platoon shifts.  A crackly radio transmission breaks a rare period of contentment within this cruel war zone which I’ve gradually learnt to call home.  Our shared banter is replaced by the urgent clatter of weapons being hastily re-constructed and boots pounding across the floor.  There is no time to relax or unwind under these circumstances.  We are always on duty.  On high alert.  Our very survival demands it.

***

Every soldier in my unit knows what we do is fucking dangerous, but it still doesn’t dampen the thrill of our job.  And the truth is, seated directly behind the Commander as his weapons officer on board a state of the art, fully loaded fighter jet only serves to heighten that thrill.  The roar of the engines, the kick of the G-force and the knowledge that on board, we have enough ammunition to erase a small town, only enhances the experience further.  I glance sideways out of the window to note Will and Tommy in an identical jet beside us as we streak across the desert wasteland below.  Obviously alert to our presence, Tommy sends me a mock salute that makes me grin inside my flight helmet…cheeky fucker.  He’s just acting smug because he beat me at poker last night, but I have every intention of rectifying that later.

‘Thirty seconds out,’ I announce, knowing that the comms system will relay my words to the Commander who, as usual, is handling this multi-million-dollar machine as easily as reversing a Ford Focus into a supermarket car park space.  

Returning my full focus to the job in hand, I ready myself for the attack.  We’ve just received intel that the target is hiding out in a cave system along the southwest border of the desert, so we’re going in heavy handed.  It’s where the leader of El Hayah is rumoured to be hiding out.  El Hayah…Hellfire more like.  This fundamentalist group are responsible for terrorising their countrymen, beating fathers, torturing boys, raping girls and removing any meaningful rights from women.  They are the very essence of evil, making it morally very easy for me to justify this attack and undertake my role to the best of my ability.  It’s the best chance we’ve had so far to defeat them too.  Like a spider able to sprout more legs and regenerate indefinitely, one has to destroy the head to have any chance of ensuring that none of the legs can continue to function in a meaningful way.

Suddenly, seemingly from out of nowhere, the Commander takes evasive action, swinging us sharply to the left.  His quick reflexes undoubtedly just saved our lives, but I instinctively know that’s not true for our companions, when an explosive ball of orange flames lights up in my peripheral vision.  In shocked disbelief, I swing around in my seat and acknowledge with a flash of revulsion that Will and Tommy’s plane has been annihilated.

‘Bravo Lima down,’ I utter, trying to swallow the bile back down my throat.  Our colleagues are undoubtedly already dead.

‘Those fuckers,’ mutters the Commander, in a tone so cold that I don’t doubt murder is on his mind.

With the split-second reactions he’s greatly admired for as a pilot, the Commander takes evasive action to avoid a second missile strike and we power through the clear skies in preparation to retaliate.  Fully focused, I rely heavily on my training to push away the emotions that would otherwise threaten to swamp me, thanks to the loss of my friends.  With my finger on the trigger, I launch a missile towards the location from which the direct hit originated.  It hits the mouth of a cave with accurate force, causing part of the cliff structure to implode.  With smoke and dust smouldering up from below, the Commander swings us around to take another shot, eager to avenge our fallen comrades and that’s when it happens.  Seemingly from out of nowhere, a vibration rattles through my entire body accompanied by a sound I never wish to hear again from a plane I’m flying in.  Frantically, I twist around to get a decent view, aware the plane is shuddering violently and we’re already descending fast.  Smoke is billowing from the wing.  This feels every bit as bad as it looks.

‘Fuck it, we’re hit,’ I hear Commander Jenkins mutter, clearly struggling with the controls.

For a second, I’m frozen with disbelief and fear because I know we’re going to die, if not from the impact of crashing to the ground, then at the hands of the welcoming party that greets us down there, who will be far from friendly.  Having obviously given up with the controls, the Commander unexpectedly removes his harness and spins around in his seat.  Roughly pulling down the zip of my suit, he thrusts the photographs of his daughter inside before refastening my clothing.  Given those photographs never leave the pocket beside his heart, this is a bad sign.  A very bad one indeed.

‘You’re a good man.  Protect my daughter.  Prepare to eject.’

‘No, Sir!  Don’t!’ I shout, reaching towards him.  It’s the first time that I’ve ever argued with my commanding officer.

‘Delta five, prepare to eject, unless you want your hands blown off.  Eject…Eject…’

‘Noooooooo!’ I bellow against his decision, even though my training ensures that I instinctively grasp my seat in preparation.

I don’t hear the third “eject”, for at that moment my body rockets into the air under such immense force and pressure that all I can do is close my eyes and focus on trying to remain conscious.  With a synchronicity which I would be astonished and fascinated to watch under different circumstances, my chair falls away as the parachute automatically deploys. Aware that the G’s have finally eased off, I discover I can breathe once more.  

Opening my eyes, I try to gain my bearings, only to discover that I’m at a far greater altitude than I’d been expecting.  From a distance of well over a mile away, I watch as our plane hits the ground hard, surprised to discover it doesn’t explode upon impact.  I look around frantically, hoping that the Commander also managed to eject but, in my heart, I know he would have chosen to go down with the plane, probably in some misguided attempt at saving me.  Like his life isn’t a million times more valuable than my own.  I bellow throughout the entire descent, not through fear or adrenaline, but from sorrow.  By being taken out of danger, he’s removed my ability to protect the only person I’ve ever loved in this cruel world.  

As I land heavily on the ground, I’m aware of hot, salty tears rolling down my cheeks beneath my helmet.  I’d seen the enemy rushing towards the twisted metal shell.  I know how this ends.  Oblivious to the personal danger I’m in, I detach my parachute, rise unsteadily to my feet and start to run through enemy territory in the direction of the crash site.  Gone are any promises to offer protection to the Commander’s family, for there is only one thought in my mind right now; vengeance, at any cost.  

I sprint as hard and as fast as I can towards my destination, but despite my best efforts, I’m still too far away.  As the scene of carnage draws into sight on the distant horizon, I pull a pair of binoculars from a hidden jacket pocket, watching in horror as they drag Commander Jenkins’s lifeless form from the smouldering wreckage.  I have no idea whether he’s alive or dead, but to my utter horror, my question is quickly answered when someone fires a bullet straight through his skull at point-blank range.  I vomit unexpectedly.  It is perhaps fortunate that several rounds of celebratory ammo are fired into the air at that point, for it serves the purpose of drowning out my hollow yet harrowing screams, almost destroying my throat with the sheer pain and desperation of my cries.

With hands fisted tightly, I watch the Commander’s body being dragged towards the cave entrance before he is dropped to the floor like the piece of trash they believe him to be.  Instinctively, I know this is a scene which will haunt me for the rest of my days.  My natural instinct is to charge towards them, Last of the Mohicans style, intent on taking out as many of the fuckers as I can before my eventual and inevitable death.  And if I thought he was still alive, you wouldn’t be able to hold me back.  I’d already be wreaking revenge.  But in my heart, I know he’s dead, however unimaginable that truth might be.  With his head bowed at an unnatural angle, I know my Commander has already departed this earth.  No, this cheering mob is toying with his corpse in order to test my resolve and force me out into the open, making me a far easier target.  But I won’t play their game, largely thanks to the infinite knowledge and wisdom I’ve gained from the great man they’ve just executed.  I can almost hear his voice in my head.

Don’t be a dick, Hatch.  Think this through.  Never attack in anger.  Remember, in our line of work, winners strategize.  Acting on emotion gets you dead.

With barely contained fury, I lower my binoculars and turn away.  I don’t need to keep watching because I already have more than enough distilled hatred in my heart to make what happens next inevitable.  Somehow, I’ve managed to get this far without being seen by the enemy and I must use that to my advantage.  Three members of my platoon have died today, one of them the very best man I’ve ever known, and I must not allow their sacrifice to be for nothing.  The Commander’s legacy will not be a suicide mission by his subordinate but rather a well-considered, meticulous and swift assassination of the whole fucking lot of them.  If I’m going to avenge my friends, I’m going to do it right. 

Unwittingly, by allowing me to witness their cruel treatment of my friend, the enemy has lit an inextinguishable flame of anger inside me.  Revenge is all that matters right now, and I will watch the life drain from every single one of them, or die trying.  I swear that when I meet the perpetrators later tonight, I will hold nothing back.  No mercy.  No humanity.  They will pay for what they’ve done today with their lives.  Over a decade ago, Commander Jenkins gave me the nickname Hatch for a reason, informing me that as well as great physical strength, I also exhibited attributes he valued highly himself; cunning, planning, plotting, and a higher degree of intelligence than most of his officers, and some of his peers.  Now, I must live up to his expectations of me.  So, against my instincts, I retreat, appreciating that I need to contain my anger, funnelling it into a more creative outlet.  Only then will I be ready to unleash hell on the enemy.

Chapter 2

Hatch

It’s almost dusk and although the adrenaline is still pumping around my body it has certainly lessened, ensuring I’m painfully aware of the various injuries I’ve recently sustained.  In their infinite wisdom, the Army has ensured I have an emergency medical kit as part of my equipment.  Unfortunately, despite using every single item contained within it and patching myself up as best I can, I still feel broken.  I’m not sure if that’s because of the grief or the force of being ejected from the aircraft, or perhaps a mixture of both.  It’s well documented that ejector seats take a significant toll on the human body; bone fractures and burst blood vessels are certainly commonplace and I don’t doubt I’m pretty badly damaged.  I probably look like hell on earth, but fortunately I don’t have a mirror to hand or any fucks to give.

The stark reality is, against what I’ve calculated are twelve well-armed men, I don’t have very much going in my favour.  Aside from being physically damaged, I’ve only got a single weapon; my handgun and six bullets.  I know this because I’ve counted them several times in the past hour alone, in the hope that more might materialise, which of course they never do.  But ironically, the grief I’ve been forced to suffer has only honed me into a more fearless, determined killing machine.  Tonight, I will have absolutely no mercy, not that I normally have a great deal.  I won’t rest until every person responsible for the death of my Commander has paid with their lives.  And that is my solemn vow.

I’ve been watching them all day from my vantage point, just as my training has prepared me for, with my gun cocked, safety off, ready to shoot.  Of course, I don’t want to fire because it will immediately advertise my position, but if I have to, I will.  Fortunately, I discovered an excellent hiding spot early on where I’ve been camped out all day, which has probably saved my life.  Several times I’ve heard voices nearby as they search for me, no doubt with a view to tying up loose ends.  With nothing else to do but observe the enemy and silently hatch my revenge, I’ve had plenty of time to learn about each of the twelve men.  In my head, I’ve given each one a belittling name, to help me distinguish them.  One guy drags his left leg slightly when he walks; he’s been nicknamed “limp dick” in my mind.  One scraggy little runt with absolutely zero body fat who would probably blow over in a strong wind has become “pencil dick”.  One with spots all over his face is “spotted dick”.  You get the idea.  There is only one guy who doesn’t receive an amusing name, largely because every time I catch sight of him, the rage flowing through my veins knows no bounds.  With mean features and an Arabic symbol tattooed on the side of his neck, there is only one name I’ll be referring to him as; the shooter.

The most challenging part of my inaction today has been the knowledge that my Commander’s corpse remains lying in the desert sand, just a few hundred meters away from me, exactly where I watched him fall earlier in the day.  It’s been slowly destroying me, knowing that I can’t dash to his side, close his eyes and lay my army jacket over his head and torso as a mark of respect.  Instead, he’s been left lying out in the sun as though he’s an animal, his face swarming with flies, occasionally being kicked or spat on by those I vow to destroy. At times I’ve wondered if their behaviour is actually a challenge to me, in an attempt to draw me out of hiding, on the small chance I am still alive.  To be honest, I don’t concern myself with their motivations too much, given that in a few hours, I intend for every single one of those fuckers to be lying dead on the floor.  I just have to demonstrate a little patience first.

But although I hate the thought of hiding away like a coward, rather than facing my enemy head on, I’m confident that this current course of action is the correct one.  I want to murder each and every one of these bastards in cold blood, but I have to do it right.  And even if I die tonight, which probability informs me is quite likely to happen, I will die with fearlessness, courage, and above all, strategy.  Only when the final rays of the sun have dipped below the horizon do I glance at my watch and pull myself up to standing, knowing it’s time to move.  Ultimately, my injured, fatigued body will be permitted to rest but until that time, adrenaline drives me on.

Perhaps surprisingly, my first instinct isn’t to charge screaming at the cave entrance but rather to take a detour in the opposite direction.  I’ve covertly watched these bastards all day, understanding their processes and rhythms in an attempt to identify their vulnerabilities which I intend to exploit to the maximum.  As part of my observations, I’ve identified a sniper located on a distant hill.  It’s an assignment where the personnel seem to change every three hours, and by my calculations, the end of the current shift is fast approaching.  Operating under the cover of darkness with only faint moonlight to guide me, I sprint towards the higher ground, taking care to utilise the rocky outcrops as cover.

As I ascend the terrain, I’m aware of occasional sounds of revelry drifting out from the cave mouth.  A party is clearly in full swing, our enemy blatantly celebrating their achievement of bringing down two allied aircraft and murdering those inside.  For a brief moment, my desire to annihilate the whole fucking lot of them surges through my veins, hot and overwhelming.  But instead of allowing emotions to control my actions, I work hard at driving my murderous intent back down, just like my training has taught me.  I pause, slowly exhaling a slow stream of air.  As satisfying as it would be to give in to the pure hatred that keeps bubbling up inside, I know in my heart that rage will not win this fight.  Only strategy coupled with sheer, military-trained courage will do that.

Purposefully, I shift my mindset as a wall of ice-cold fucking calm settles over me and my adrenaline disperses.  I choose to be grateful that my enemy has decided to celebrate tonight, appreciating their negligence will work in my favour.  Alcohol and excess will make them infinitely less alert and consequently far more killable.  It is always preferable to fight an intoxicated enemy as opposed to a sober one.

I reach the sniper’s location and creep stealthily up behind him, managing to get so close without being seen that I don’t even require a bullet, which ensures I don’t alert anyone to my attack.  Feeling a sense of huge satisfaction, I break the bastard’s neck, only recognising him as “limp dick” when his dead body drops to the floor at my feet.  His absent-minded replacement is dispatched just as easily minutes later, with a blade through his throat, courtesy of a ridiculously long knife I’ve procured from my first victim.  Talk about trying to overcompensate for other areas which I don’t doubt were lacking.  

With both men dead, I admire the sniper rifle which I estimate has a range of at least half a mile.  Curious, I raise the weapon into position, point it in the direction of the cave mouth and focus down the scope.  The detail I’m able to pick out, even by moonlight, is astonishing, and for a short while, I position the crosshairs against the forehead of the single guard who maintains his position at the entrance to the cave.  It is almost too tempting.  I’m so eager to pull the trigger, but I know I can’t.  Shooting their sentry will immediately raise the alarm that they are under attack, and simply because I’m still outnumbered ten to one, the last thing I want to do is pull every one of those fuckers out into the open.  I also don’t want to give them time to send any form of emergency communication out to their comrades.  I need to take them down stealthily, one at a time, meaning I need them to remain celebrating in blissful ignorance for as long as physically possible.  So, even though it goes against my every instinct, I lower and then disable the sniper rifle before quickly frisking my recent victims for any additional firepower.

It takes less than ten minutes to return to the rough undergrowth adjacent to the cave mouth.  Crouching in the shadows, I listen carefully, aware that I’ll need to live up to my namesake of Hatch more than ever tonight…this will need to be the best hatched plan I’ve ever fucking dared to imagine.  Although, the more I observe this group, the more I’m forced to question their skills.  I’m already convinced that taking down both of our birds today was more luck than judgement.  Their lone sentry, aka “spotted dick”, for example, walks a circular route around the cave entrance every ten minutes and right past the vegetation I’m currently hiding in, ensuring he is both isolated and exposed.  Big mistake.  Their weak defence ensures the guy doesn’t see me lurking in the shadows until I’m already wrestling him to the ground.  Taken totally by surprise, he doesn’t even manage to fire off a single round before I’ve snapped his neck with a twist of my thick, powerful arms.  I feel neither guilt nor remorse.  The honest truth is, I don’t feel anything except perhaps a release, knowing that justice will soon be done.

With their single sentry efficiently dispatched, I quickly grab his machine gun for reserve firepower, throwing the strap around my torso.  Then, purely out of habit, I switch on the camera which is housed in my army jacket.  In all honesty, it provides no other function than helping me feel better that I’m following protocol and, in a strange way, that makes me feel slightly less alone during what could well be my final minutes.  Thanks to being in a signal dead zone, none of my team is ever going to see this recording unless the camera somehow gets back into comms range again, at which point the data will automatically begin to upload.  At least if that ever happens, it will hopefully provide the allies with important evidence to help move forward the fight against terror.  At the very least, the images will demonstrate how our intel was incorrect.  There are a number of caves along this cliff face and our intel resulted in us bombing the wrong fucking one.  

With a certain amount of satisfaction, I know that incorrectly identifying the cave which leads into their HQ isn’t something I’m going to do again.  With eyes fixed firmly on my final destination, I sprint towards the now unguarded entrance, handgun held firmly in front of me, safety off.  As quietly as is required against an inebriated enemy, I pause at the cave mouth, glance in and then stealthily creep into a wide tunnel, taking care to keep my body pressed against the cave wall.  The space is lit with the occasional flaming torch, the air feeling far warmer and more stifling than the quickly cooling temperature of the desert outside.

I catch a lucky break with the first hostile, who I assume is heading outside to relieve himself.  Certainly, I don’t suppose he’s expecting the last words he ever hears to be muttered from my mouth.

‘This is for the great man that you dared to murder earlier today.  Rot in hell,’ I hiss, taking enormous pleasure in dispatching the scum quickly and quietly.

By some stroke of luck, I continue deeper into the cave system, meeting only individuals, never groups.  Thanks to the element of surprise, along with the knowledge that I’m filled with vengeance with a capital fucking V, I allow my training to take over and I become the killing machine I never doubted I could be; swift, shrewd, brutal, merciless and, perhaps most importantly of all, overflowing with sheer, gold-plated courage.  These fucks deserve nothing less.  

Ultimately, I find myself approaching a small, final cave which is undoubtedly acting as their control centre.  As I inch closer, I can hear the rumble of low voices which, if my calculations are correct, belong to the only three remaining enemy targets whose hearts remain beating…for the next few seconds, at least.  Taking a deep breath, I raise my firearm and step boldly into the room.  I shoot the first guy twice in the chest before he’s even managed to reach for his gun.  As the second guy dives for cover, I recognise him as “pencil dick”.  Operating on auto-pilot by this point, I stride fearlessly into the room and empty the remainder of my bullets towards the boxes he’s dived towards.  I swing the machine gun I procured earlier off my back, step further into the room, and empty it into the bleeding scum who is crawling across the floor.  Then, just to be sure, I lunge towards him, powering my size thirteen army boot straight into his skull.  I take a perverse sense of satisfaction in watching the disgusting but strangely rewarding sight of his eyeball rolling out onto the rocky floor.  A liquid sound accompanies the dying man’s grunt.

As his body slumps and death takes him, I inhale deeply, relieved and also a little surprised that I’m the last man standing.  This honestly wasn’t the outcome I’d been expecting, although it was obviously the one I’d been hoping for.  After all, I have a promise to keep, and how the hell am I supposed to keep the Commander’s beloved daughter safe from beyond the grave?  This did, however, count as payback in my book.  If I was a vengeful man, I might now be tempted to go after each of these scum’s families; their wives, their children, parents, siblings and friends.  But that isn’t my job as a soldier.  My task was to incapacitate the enemy and, looking around the cave at the carnage surrounding me, there’s little doubt I’ve achieved that.  Of course, the only issue is that unless I’ve miscounted, which I know I haven’t, eleven men have just been dealt with but I haven’t met the shooter yet.  Instinctively, I know that engine I heard mid-afternoon must have been him exiting the camp.  One thing’s for sure; he’s not here anymore.  

Fuck it.  He got away.  

Still feeling slightly surprised that I’ve made it this far, it suddenly dawns on me that I’d better think up a part B to this grand plan of mine.  Although my next step is really pretty simple; get the fuck out of this stinking cave which now has death and destruction splattered across almost every surface.  I’m just about to follow my own excellent advice, when the glimmer of a silver laptop catches my attention.  Striding towards it, I take a quick look at the screen, instinctively appreciating, even with my only very rudimentary understanding of their native language, that this is going to be very useful.  Quite incredibly, there is also a list of what look like passwords taped to the cave wall.  Grabbing those too, I tuck everything inside my jacket.  Then, holding one of the discarded enemy guns ahead of me, I make my way back out of the cave.

Feeling physically very weary and emotionally destroyed, I return to the mouth of the cave and enjoy a deep inhale, hoping to rid my lungs of all the death and destruction I’ve recently been forced to breathe in.  The sunset is a distant memory now.  Only moonlight illuminates the expanse of nothingness ahead of me.  For a moment, I listen carefully, before taking one final step out into the open, bracing myself for the bullet which would mean I miscalculated the number of targets present.  But there is nothing.  I am entirely alone in this wilderness.  Willing myself to relax, I finally release the breath I didn’t realise I’ve been holding, a stream of air exiting my tightly pursed lips.

I glance at my watch.  By my calculations, I have a little under seven hours to make it to safety under the cover of darkness and relative cool.  I’m over twenty miles away from the nearest allied base.  Even mildly injured as I am, it’s a distance I could easily make alone, but of course, I have absolutely no intention of being alone.  I made a vow to protect the Commander’s daughter, and the very first stage of that process involves returning such a brave hero to the family he loved so much, to enable them to start to grieve.  No way could this great man be fully remembered by an empty grave.  My good friend and compatriot will be accompanying me on this final journey, regardless of any cost to my own personal safety.

Jogging towards the mangled wreckage of our plane, thanks to the moonlight, I see the slumped corpse of my protector and friend.  He’s in exactly the same position, his limbs at unnatural angles, his eyes staring blankly up to the sky, reflecting the light of long-dead stars from so many thousands of light years away.  Swallowing hard, I slow to a walk before dropping down to my knees, a strange mixture of sorrow, hatred and utter grief are so overwhelmingly powerful that briefly, I can’t even think.

‘I promise to protect your daughter,’ I eventually state aloud, before sliding my palm down his face to close my friend’s eyes for a final time.

For a moment, I allow the surrounding silence of the cold desert night to embrace us, but time remains of the essence.  I have to get us moving if we have any chance of reaching safety.  Bracing myself for what I know will be one of the most difficult missions of my life, I lean down and try to lift the Commander’s body across my shoulders.  As I struggle back to a vertical position, I’m instantly conscious of the additional load, moaning with the burden of both the actual and emotional weight that I am now carrying.  With a grunt, I try to reposition him slightly and then, holding onto one arm and one leg to keep him firmly pinned against me, I set off towards the direction of sanctuary and refuge.

Interspersed with occasional spurts of jogging, I hike solidly through the night, grateful for the darkness I’m provided within enemy territory which acts as an unexpected type of shield.  I’m accompanied on my trek across the desert by despair, dread, danger, disenchantment, death and, at times I wonder, even delirium; basically, a lot of bad stuff beginning with the letter D.  Every additional mile places more strain on my broken, exhausted body.  Every mile I contemplate collapsing and simply giving up, but somehow I find the strength to keep pushing forwards, largely in memory of the man I continue to carry on my back, and the haunting thought of a young woman spending her twenty-first birthday cuddled up in bed, alone and inconsolable, as the father she adores fails to show up.  

Just as the pinks and reds of sunrise start to infiltrate the sky, I practically crawl towards the heavily defended allied camp, instantly mindful of a positive arsenal of firearms being pointed in my direction. 

‘Don’t shoot,’ I rasp, my voice almost non-existent after so much physical exertion.

I’m vaguely aware of allied soldiers swarming around me, warily shouting instructions as they attempt to discover whether we are actually friend or foe.  Utterly exhausted, I follow their instructions, carefully lowering the Commander to the rocky earth, before tossing aside my weapons and dropping to my knees beside him, my fingers interlaced behind my head.  Little do I realise, as I finally allow the events of the past twenty-four hours to overwhelm me, that surrendering my weapon will be the last ever action I undertake as a serving soldier in the British Army.

The only trace of satisfaction that might be gleaned from this entire sorry affair is that the war with this country ended less than two weeks later, largely thanks to the intel provided by the stolen laptop, which ensured every enemy location identified on the system was blown to kingdom come.  If he’d known about it, my Commander would have been proud.  Come to think of it, had I known about it, I would have been proud too.  Alas, for many months afterwards, having been transported straight home, I was held in a secure facility which marked the start of my long, long road back to recovery, for both my physical and mental health.

Chapter 3

Annie

3 years ago

‘Noooooooooooo!  Don’t go yet!’  My best friend grabs me around the hips, encouraging me to sway from side to side, in a desperate attempt to get me dancing again.

‘I have to go, Kath,’ I state firmly.

‘But it’s only…’.  She glances at her watch, an impressive degree of intoxication ensuring that she has to move her wrist in and out several times, before finally settling upon the appropriate position.  ‘Fuck!  It’s half past eleven already!’

‘Yeah.  I know,’ I laugh.  ‘I’ve already stayed an hour later than planned.’

‘Fine.  Love you,’ Kath grumbles, squeezing me tightly before instantly being distracted by a fit bloke across the dance floor, flashing his come-to-bed eyes at her.  Instantly, she focuses in upon her prey, lifting her hands in the air while swaying her hips to the sultry rhythm of the music.  This is my chance for escape and I take it.

‘I love you too, crazy birthday girl,’ I mutter to her back.  No way was I going to miss her party tonight, but I do need to get home now.  I have a new job starting tomorrow, hence I was planning to get a relatively early night, only consume one glass of wine and not act too outrageously…well, two out of three ain’t bad.

Heading to the cloakroom I collect my much welcome coat and pull on my winter hat and gloves.  It’s bitterly cold outside with snow forecast again tonight.  I guess the South of England in February could never expect to be balmy, but equally, it’s unusual for the weather to be quite so fucking freezing.  Bracing myself for the outdoor temperature, I swing my handbag strap over my head and clamp the bag against my abdomen.

The second I set foot outside I start to feel uneasy.  Freezing fog has descended, making the trek back towards my car more akin to swimming underwater.  Sounds which would have normally made sense become questionable, as the world closes in on me.  I increase my pace and a sinister yet familiar sensation crawls up my spine.  I catch the scent of stale cigarette smoke in the air and it almost feels as though I’m being watched.  But that can’t be possible, surely?  I can barely see my own hand in front of my face, so how the hell could anyone be following me?  No, the issue is that I’m walking the streets on my own, the visibility is poor and I haven’t had enough to drink.  I’m just being stupid.

Fortunately, the further I walk, the more dispersed the fog becomes.  Gradually, the orange glow of the overhead neon lights begin to assist my journey, rather than causing a confusing jumble of foggy illuminations.  I can start to see the outline of the houses which border the residential streets I’m marching through.  Alas, my car isn’t anywhere close to the venue because I’m taking advantage of parking in a distant cul-de-sac; not exactly convenient, but certainly free.

Confident of my location and knowing that I’m mere minutes away from my car now, I determinedly increase the length of my stride.  But all my good intentions to outwardly display confidence are shot to pieces when my phone unexpectedly rings, shattering the silence of the surrounding street.  I leap skywards with fright.  

Coming to a halt, I grapple in my handbag and pull out the lit screen, smiling when I see who is calling me.

‘Hello, welcome to Babes For You,’ I announce in my most sultry of voices.  ‘How may I assist you tonight?’

An unattractive snort of laughter echoes in my right ear as I recommence walking at a more leisurely pace.

‘Are you safely back in your car?’ asks Kath, causing my heart to explode with love for this girl.  Even on her own birthday, pissed out of her mind, with hot guys to distract her, she’s still worrying about me.

‘Yep, pretty much,’ I confirm.  That isn’t too far from the truth.  My car is only a couple of streets away and now the fog has almost entirely lifted, I can see my destination, even if I haven’t quite reached it yet.  ‘Satisfied?’

‘Not for years now,’ sighs Kath dramatically, making me giggle.

‘You know what to do then, don’t you?’

‘What?’

‘Either get yourself a decent bloke or a more powerful vibrator.’

‘More powerful?’ guffaws Kath.  ‘Jesus!  I’m not sure that’s possible.  Several of mine run off the mains electricity as it is.’

I slow my pace even further to dab away the tears now rolling down my freezing cheeks.  It’s surprisingly difficult to keep walking while simultaneously crying and doubled over with laughter.

‘We should live together,’ slurs Kath, obviously starting to suffer the impact from her solid night of partying.  ‘Let’s house share!  We’d have such a blast!’

‘I’m not sure I could afford to go halves on your electricity bill, by the sounds of it,’ I laugh.  ‘I’ll speak to you tomorrow, okay?  And remember to drink a pint of water before you go to bed tonight.’

‘Yes, Ma’am!  I’ll try,’ promises Kath, hanging up.

After enjoying her rowdy, exuberant conversation, the surrounding environment suddenly feels unnaturally quiet, filled only with the click-click-clicking of my heels on the path beneath my feet.  I swallow hard, eyes focused on the road junction ahead as I once again start to believe I’m not alone.  My imagination is really running wild now; it won’t be long before I’m jointly accompanied by the Abominable Snowman and the Loch Ness Monster, just to really conclude the nightmare in a suitably terrifying way.

Unfortunately, as I turn into the road I’ve parked in, I realise it is entirely unlit; a fact I hadn’t appreciated earlier, when I arrived in the daylight.  It’s always so easy to imagine the worst when in darkness, and darkness is something I know all about.  I’ve been trapped in its clutches for several years, although I’m gradually learning to steer my own path towards the light.  And that’s exactly what I’ll do again now, because what is darkness anyway, other than the absence of light?  It shouldn’t make a situation any scarier.  It didn’t mean there were ghosts or murderers waiting behind each and every corner.  Besides, I can fix the problem of there being no light.  Grabbing my mobile phone, I flick on the torch function.  See.  Sorted.

All the same, I reach for my car keys, just to ensure I can make a very quick exit because despite my fake, internal bravado and however ridiculous I’m sure it sounds, in a dark recess of my mind, I still can’t shake the feeling that I’m being observed.  Watched.  Followed.

I click the central locking button on my key fob, causing a flash of amber light to fleetingly illuminate the area surrounding my car.  And that’s when I see his great, hulking mass.  Instantly, having received confirmation that I’m not alone, I’m alert to the physical changes taking place in my body.  My heart rate ramps up, my brain inundated with swirling feelings of panic and fear, a cold horror dripping down my spine as I appreciate that it wasn’t my imagination after all.  This is the real deal.  A very large man stands between me and my car.

Squeezing my keys painfully within my fist, I refuse to falter, instead stepping across to the other side of the road in the hope of avoiding him.  But he matches me step for step before lunging closer.  I open my mouth to scream but only a dry croak is emitted.  It’s a nightmare I’ve had countless times, where fear removes the ability to fight.  To scream.  To exist.  A sensation which is made ten times worse now he’s close up and I inhale the scent of stale alcohol and nicotine seeping from his sweaty skin.  Has he been tracking me all the way from the venue?  An uncomfortable shiver ascends my spine and settles in the back of my skull.  His scent means one thing; Danger. 

‘’ello, darlin’,’ he grunts, as I struggle against his iron embrace.  ‘Like a real man inside you?’

I draw in another sharp breath as his huge arms tighten around my torso like a noose.  As he pulls me against the solidity of his frame, I’m conscious of a hard protrusion digging in against my ass cheek and I swallow down the bile and dread which automatically engulfs my throat.

No.  Fucking.  Way.

Whatever this guy thinks he wants out of this situation, he’s not getting it unless I’m dead first.  I am my father’s daughter and I refuse to be a victim.  Acting entirely upon instinct, and possibly thanks to the many self-defence courses I was encouraged to attend as a teen, I wait until I can sense his head has dropped down towards mine, before smashing the back of my skull into his nose.  The impact hurts like fuck, but from his reaction, I reckon it was pretty agonising for him too.  Unfortunately, he doesn’t release me from his grasp.

‘You fucking bitch!’ he roars.  Clearly pissed, his anger only multiplies when I slam one of my heels hard into his shin and he grunts in pain.  Yeah, that’s right buddy.  If I’m going down, I’m going down fighting.

This time, although he still doesn’t release me, I suddenly discover I can move my arms enough to plunge one hand inside my handbag.  An idea comes to me in a flash of divine inspiration and I grab the medication I always carry for my peanut allergy.  Flipping the lid of the case off with one hand, I feel the EpiPen slide out into my bag.  It takes me a moment of blind grappling to decipher which way up I need to hold it.  Then, pulling it out of my handbag, I flick the blue cap off the end with my thumb and plunge the needle hard into the tree trunk of a thigh behind me.  For a second, the only noise I hear in the street is the click of the device, as the needle shoots into my attacker’s body to deliver a dose of adrenaline.

Time passes by in slow motion, as I lean against the pressure of the injection being administered, ensuring the needle remains in his leg for the few seconds required to deliver the full dose.  Then in a flurry of reaction, he gasps, releases me from his grip and steps back in shock.  Fortunately, at least fortunately for me but less so for him, the curb behind us is very uneven.  Combined with the lack of lighting, the man takes a tumble backwards, whereupon the back of his head hits my car.  Hard.  With what looks like a broken nose and a cracked skull, I stare down at him in disbelief.  Eat your heart out, Miss Congeniality.

‘Oh, nice work.  Very nice work indeed,’ speaks a low voice from just behind me, the throaty grunt suggesting its owner hasn’t had cause to speak in a while.  Gasping, I spin around to face this latest potential threat.  I can hear a slow clapping, the sound echoing eerily through the silence of the street.  ‘Inspired, even,’ he continues.  ‘There’s just one problem, though.’

The closer the guy approaches, the bigger he seems to get, until he is quite literally towering over me like a fucking mountain.  If I hadn’t tilted my head upwards to look at him, my eyes would have only met his chest.  But thanks to the street being so dark, I can’t pick out any of his features, other than the fact that he’s fucking built.  I’m not sure whether I ought to run or stand and face him but ultimately, I stay exactly where I am, feet planted firmly to the ground.  I know it sounds completely crazy, but there is something about his voice or his demeanour perhaps, that instinctively makes me trust him.  It might be his build, stature, obvious power and strength or just his protective, attentive stance which makes me think he’s in the armed forces.  And rightly or wrongly, in my mind, that association makes me feel safe.

For a second, we stare at each other and I’m aware that I’m panting hard.  I can barely pick out his face but I realise he’s wearing a hoodie of some kind and beneath a beard or at least some scruff on his face, he has a solid, square jaw.  I briefly catch a glimpse of his sparkling eyes but in the dim light, I can’t tell what colour they are.

‘W…what’s the problem,’ I ask, drawing in sharp breaths, not daring to react until I’m sure of his intentions.  I remain stationary, like a cobra waiting to strike.  The ultimate aggressor in this situation, if circumstances require it.  Or at least, that’s what I tell myself anyway.

‘That when you fight back, you’ve really got to mean it.’

And then, to my absolute astonishment, the guy grabs my still partially conscious attacker by the throat and lifts him straight up into the air.  The bloke who had been slumped on the pavement is a fully grown man.  I can’t even begin to imagine the sheer strength and phenomenal power required to do that.  The scene looks like something straight out of a film or even a cartoon, except this is happening in real life, right in front of my very eyes.

Both of my attacker’s hands migrate instantly to the single, thick wrist that’s clamped around his throat, but to no avail.  As a compressed, choking sound escapes him, the guy starts to thrash wildly around, unable to gain purchase on anything, now that his feet are dangling off the ground.  But no amount of struggling is doing anything to reverse his dilemma.  And in all honesty, given that I’m pretty sure my attacker was planning on raping me tonight, I’m struggling to drum up too much sympathy for the self-inflicted predicament he now finds himself in.  I know the sensible thing to do would be to run.  After all, this new guy could crush me with both hands tied behind his back if he chose.  And yet some twisted sense of justice makes me want to stay.  I have a sick desire to watch my attacker suffer.

‘I’m guessing your daddy never taught you how to treat a lady,’ the man-mountain growls.  ‘So let me provide you with that lesson right now.  Unless you’re invited to the contrary, you keep,’ he states coldly, apparently tightening his grip further, going by the inhuman sounds now escaping my attacker’s throat.  ‘Your fucking,’ he squeezes even tighter and I’m convinced I hear cartilage snap.  ‘Hands.  To.  Yourself.  You piece of shit.’

At that point he releases his grip around my attacker’s throat and the guy collapses to the ground like the sack of shit he is.  Seconds later, a massive fist sails through the air, landing straight in the middle of the guy’s face with a sickening crunch and sending the back of his skull cracking into the pavement.  Jesus Christ.  The impact of that was unreal; like witnessing a high-speed car crash.  The power ratio of his punch must be terrifying.

Briefly shocked and quite unable to process what I’ve just witnessed, I simply stare at my now fully unconscious attacker who is crumpled in a heap on the floor, my jaw slack in utter astonishment.  But suddenly, an urge for revenge kicks in.  In what feels like an entirely sensible reaction, I rush towards the guy and kick him hard in the balls.  The impact of my shoe connecting sharply with his groin vibrates up my leg, but he doesn’t even flinch.  Clearly, the guy is out for the count.

‘Good girl,’ my rescuer growls, nodding approvingly.  And at that moment, I’m forced to question just how fucked up I really am.  Because despite everything that’s happened tonight, everything I’ve witnessed, and the danger I might still be in, it is those two words that make my pussy swell and my panties wet.

‘Possibly a little too restrained given the circumstances, though Annie,’ he continues, apparently unaware of the sudden surge of desire I’m experiencing.  ‘With trash like this, the lesson needs to be a thorough one.’

The sureness of his statement doesn’t hit me right then.  In all honesty, I don’t recognise anything is wrong for weeks after the event.  Because I should have questioned it right then and there.  How the fuck does he know my name?

But I’m evidently distracted because that’s when he really goes to work on him.  Dropping to his knees, my apparent saviour starts to smash his powerful fists into my attacker, sending consistent punches to his abdomen and jaw which undoubtedly cracks.  I know if I don’t do something to stop this wild, vigilante behaviour then I’m going to witness a murder here tonight.  And call me selfish, but I don’t need that on my conscience.

‘Man down,’ I shout, taking my life into my own hands by placing a palm on his shoulder.  Instantly, I’m overwhelmed by the sheer strength beneath my fingertips.  The guy’s body is one hundred percent pure muscle; he’s a powerhouse in every sense of the word and I’m damn grateful he’s acting as my protector and not my enemy.  And now I have no doubt he’s a soldier; he certainly fights like one.  It’s probably part of the reason I subconsciously slipped into army terminology that I’d previously only ever heard from my father.  But my intervention seems to work.  Almost instantaneously, the guy rocks back onto his haunches and the physical assault of the unconscious man immediately ceases.

***

If you’d like to pick up the full version of Hatch, it is available on Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com