Spider Shepherd: SAS: #1 Read Online Free
Author: Stephen Leather
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure, Short Stories, War & Military, Genre Fiction, War
guarding the entrances at both ends of the tunnel. And charmingly, they make their own countrymen fleeing the shelling and killing pay a fortune to escape. I’ve heard of civilians having to pay over one hundred dollars - more than most people here earn in a year - to get themselves and their families through the tunnel. The President of the Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina also used it to make his escape as the siege tightened but unlike his subjects, he didn’t have to dirty his patent leather shoes, apparently, because he was carried through the tunnel on a chair.’
‘They made the refugees pay to leave?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Yeah, their own people,’ said Harry. ‘They should be ashamed of themselves, but…’ He shrugged. ‘Let’s just say wars don’t tend to bring out the best in people.’ He shook his head sadly before continuing. ‘Parts of the tunnel run close to the surface, so it’s more of a covered trench than a tunnel for part of the way, but it also runs right underneath the airport runway and for obvious reasons it’s much deeper - about five metres down - under the runway. Oh and a couple more things: there’s no ventilation and the air is apparently so foul in the middle that we need to use breathing masks, and it’s also subject to flooding, so bring your water wings if it looks like rain. However, at least that may help to deal with the other problem.’
‘Which is?’ Spud said, eyeing him suspiciously.
‘It’s crawling with rats, apparently.’
‘So where is it?’ Shepherd said, as the truck lurched to a halt a hundred yards short of the airport perimeter fence.
‘You’re looking at it,’ Harry said, gesturing at a drab house, one of a row of a dozen or so standing just outside the fence. The only clue that one of them contained something of value was the ring of trenches, manned by Bosnian soldiers, that encircled the houses and the muddy ruts and potholes that hundreds of vehicles and thousands of feet had worn in the dirt road and across the waste ground surrounding them.
‘That’ll be our guide,’ Harry said, as a Bosnian wearing filthy blue jeans and a combat jacket and carrying a Kalashnikov emerged from the doorway of one of the houses and beckoned to them. ‘I’m Ibrahim,’ he said, ‘but everyone calls me Ibro.’ Shepherd studied him with interest. His eyes, so dark that they looked almost black, made a vivid contrast to his face which was as pale as if he had spent years underground. ‘There are no suntans in Sarajevo, my friend,’ Ibro said, intercepting Shepherd’s look. ‘We are all nocturnal here, or those of us who wish to stay alive anyway.’
He led them to the third house in the row. From the outside it appeared no different than its neighbours but as they reached the doorway they saw that it had been completely gutted inside, leaving an empty shell with walls and ceilings reinforced with concrete and steel girders. A ramp just inside the door led down into a dark opening barely wide enough for two men to pass each other.
Four Bosnian soldiers lounging against the walls gave them a suspicious look but made no effort to stop them as Ibro led them into the tunnel. He took a breathing mask from a row hanging on nails driven into the walls at the mouth of the tunnel and gestured for the soldiers to do the same. Carrying the laser target designator between them, Shepherd and Gus the ammunition technician struggled into the tunnel. Even through the mask, the air Shepherd breathed was stale and the mildewed stench made him want to gag. The walls to either side were stained with mould and slime and he heard the steady drip of water somewhere ahead of them.
A rudimentary system of lamps spaced at irregular intervals cast pools of yellow light onto the ground, giving just enough light for them to see their way. The tunnel was cut through solid rock, the marks made by the picks that had dug it clearly visible in the walls. Iron supports had been used
‘They made the refugees pay to leave?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Yeah, their own people,’ said Harry. ‘They should be ashamed of themselves, but…’ He shrugged. ‘Let’s just say wars don’t tend to bring out the best in people.’ He shook his head sadly before continuing. ‘Parts of the tunnel run close to the surface, so it’s more of a covered trench than a tunnel for part of the way, but it also runs right underneath the airport runway and for obvious reasons it’s much deeper - about five metres down - under the runway. Oh and a couple more things: there’s no ventilation and the air is apparently so foul in the middle that we need to use breathing masks, and it’s also subject to flooding, so bring your water wings if it looks like rain. However, at least that may help to deal with the other problem.’
‘Which is?’ Spud said, eyeing him suspiciously.
‘It’s crawling with rats, apparently.’
‘So where is it?’ Shepherd said, as the truck lurched to a halt a hundred yards short of the airport perimeter fence.
‘You’re looking at it,’ Harry said, gesturing at a drab house, one of a row of a dozen or so standing just outside the fence. The only clue that one of them contained something of value was the ring of trenches, manned by Bosnian soldiers, that encircled the houses and the muddy ruts and potholes that hundreds of vehicles and thousands of feet had worn in the dirt road and across the waste ground surrounding them.
‘That’ll be our guide,’ Harry said, as a Bosnian wearing filthy blue jeans and a combat jacket and carrying a Kalashnikov emerged from the doorway of one of the houses and beckoned to them. ‘I’m Ibrahim,’ he said, ‘but everyone calls me Ibro.’ Shepherd studied him with interest. His eyes, so dark that they looked almost black, made a vivid contrast to his face which was as pale as if he had spent years underground. ‘There are no suntans in Sarajevo, my friend,’ Ibro said, intercepting Shepherd’s look. ‘We are all nocturnal here, or those of us who wish to stay alive anyway.’
He led them to the third house in the row. From the outside it appeared no different than its neighbours but as they reached the doorway they saw that it had been completely gutted inside, leaving an empty shell with walls and ceilings reinforced with concrete and steel girders. A ramp just inside the door led down into a dark opening barely wide enough for two men to pass each other.
Four Bosnian soldiers lounging against the walls gave them a suspicious look but made no effort to stop them as Ibro led them into the tunnel. He took a breathing mask from a row hanging on nails driven into the walls at the mouth of the tunnel and gestured for the soldiers to do the same. Carrying the laser target designator between them, Shepherd and Gus the ammunition technician struggled into the tunnel. Even through the mask, the air Shepherd breathed was stale and the mildewed stench made him want to gag. The walls to either side were stained with mould and slime and he heard the steady drip of water somewhere ahead of them.
A rudimentary system of lamps spaced at irregular intervals cast pools of yellow light onto the ground, giving just enough light for them to see their way. The tunnel was cut through solid rock, the marks made by the picks that had dug it clearly visible in the walls. Iron supports had been used
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