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altitude. The lower slopes were clad in a dense tropical jungle, but the higher reaches were fields of bare rock and massive boulders, interspersed with ice fields.
    The first three days of the climb were rain-lashed and sodden, and after the blistering heat of the savanna it was truly miserable. The final ascent was done overnight so as to reach the high point at sunrise. But en route the wind blew up and flurries of snow began to whirl around their frozen ears. By the time Grey, Moth, Dude, and Mucker reached the summit they were chilled to the core and gasping for breath due to the lack of oxygen.
    As they crouched in the howling gale the weather miraculously cleared, and a view opened before them that took their breath away. They were sitting on the roof of the world, while two thousand feet below them a carpet of fluffy white clouds stretched into the distance. And at the very limit of the horizon the cloud cover burned off over the golden-brown expanse of the African plains.
    During the last stages of the summit climb Grey had been leading his team, and he’d kept calling to the youngsters: “Moth! Dude! Come on! I got something to show you!” They’d only managed to catch up with him when the summit itself was reached, and Dude for one was curious as to what Grey had been going on about.
    “Say, boss, so what you got to show us?” he gasped, fighting to breathe in the thin, oxygen-deprived atmosphere. In British Special Forces everyone gets called by first name, or “boss” if a more seniorrank is being addressed. Merit is valued above rank, and those who lead have to earn the respect of those who will follow.
    “You what?” Grey replied, feigning ignorance.
    “During the last few minutes of the climb,” Dude explained. “Something you wanted to show us?”
    “So there is, mate.” Grey stretched his arm out into the far distance. “See where I’m pointing?”
    “Kind of. Yeah.”
    “Well, I can see your house from here.” Grey swung his arm around a bit and repositioned it. “And you know what, Moth? I can see yours ’n’ all. Fucking marvelous, eh?”
    Moth eyed him silently for a few moments, as if it just didn’t compute. As for the young American, it took a few seconds for the penny to drop: the lack of oxygen was seriously fogging his brain. Then the Dude cracked up laughing, although at such high altitude it petered out into a strangled gasp and a wheeze.
    “Don’t worry about Grey,” a figure remarked from behind them. “Full of more shit than a Christmas goose.”
    “Christmas goose?” Moth queried.
    “Christmas goose,” the figure confirmed. “Got to be full of shit. When was the last time you ate goose for Christmas?”
    It was Andy “Scruff” McGruff making the comment, a fellow veteran of Six Troop. As his name suggested, Scruff was hardly the most organized or smartest-looking of soldiers, but he was a first-class Special Forces operator. A few months back he and Grey had fought side by side in the epic siege of Qala-i-Jangi, the battle to secure an ancient mud-walled fortress in northern Afghanistan. Eight SBS and SEAL operators had put down a savage uprising by six hundred Taliban and al-Qaeda fighters.
    Grey and Scruff had bonded during that die-hard encounter, and if Grey had a confidant in M Squadron, Scruff was it. The two of them gazed out over the dramatic scenery for a good few moments before the chilling cold and the lack of oxygen finally got the better of them.
    “Seen enough to last a lifetime,” Grey announced. “Anyone care to join me going down?”
    Grey and Scruff fell into an easy step as the rough, worn path wound away below them. Shortly, they caught up with the distinctive figure of Delta Jim, who was also heading down. Jim was a super-fit guy and a hugely experienced soldier: before joining US Special Forces he’d served in the U.S. Rangers. He had chiseled features and close-cropped blond hair, and he spoke with a weird half-British,