Doyle: The Mel Doyle Series, #1

By Sam Boyd

Mel Doyle, is SAS a special forces soldier and as hard as nails. This is his story from birth to present day. Follow him from birth through his youth in the gang culture around the docklands of Liverpool, before joining the military. Experience the willpower and courage it takes to become an elite soldier in the SAS. Learn about the covert operations he carried out on behalf of the UK Government and understand the immense stress these men are under. In the end many of them break. When you have read this book, you will understand why.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sam Boyd
• Release date: Aug 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393445128

Book preview

CHAPTER

ONE

The fresh mountain air was cold against Doyle’s skin as he crept along the ridge in the White Mountains of Pakistan. The SAS trooper laid across his shoulders was dead and heavy. Despite the cold, Doyle was sweating profusely. Under his breath, he was swearing a curse, an oath and a promise of what he was going to do to the MI6 Officer who had been on the mission with them. That was presuming he could get his hands on him again. MI5 and MI6 were famous for disappearing their agents faster than a Houdini trick when shit hit the fan. Occasionally Doyle’s swearing and expletives didn’t remain under his breath and came out in a torrent of foul language. Much to Scott Gardener’s amusement, although there was nothing funny about their current situation.

Doyle and Gardner, a US Navy Seal, had been on a joint covert mission to capture or kill Dr Ayman al-Zawahiri the second in command of Al-Qaeda.  The operation had not gone well. There were eight in the team, three Navy Seals, three SAS troopers, and an intelligence officer from the CIA and MI6.  The agents had been put on the operation as observers, against Doyle’s and Gardner’s better judgement. The team only found out the spooks were going along as they boarded the Chinook helicopter to commence the operation. Both Doyle and Gardner had been told to shut up and get on with it when they voiced their objection.

Scott Gardener put it beautifully according to Doyle when he said,

As usual some useless waste of space sitting at a desk in the security services is putting our lives in danger and couldn’t give a fuck what we think.

The US and UK security services had independently received information that Zawahiri was hiding out in the mountains in Southern Waziristan near a village called Wanna. North and South Waziristan are part of the FATA region (Federally Administered Tribal Areas) of Pakistan.  It is a known training ground for Al-Qaeda and Taliban rebels and one of the most dangerous areas in the world.  The tribesmen of that area are hard, fearless fighters and have had many skirmishes and battles over the years with the Pakistani Army.  The region is lawless despite numerous attempts by the Pakistan government to bring it under control.

The intelligence obtained by the security services confirming that Zawahiri was in the area was too good an opportunity to miss. An operation was hastily put together to take out a senior member of Al Qaeda. Doyle and Gardner were already in the region carrying out Special Forces training with the SSG the elite Pakistani Special Forces. They are known as the Black Storks and one of the top ten elite forces in the world.

Doyle was ordered to head up a SAS team of two troopers for a covert operation to find, capture and or kill Zawahiri. Scott Gardener would head up a Seal team of two. The overall mission was under the control of Scott Gardner. As its commanding officer, he was in charge of the six-man squad. At the last minute, the two spooks joined the mission, much to the annoyance of the special forces soldiers.

Like most hastily put together plans it went south soon after the action began, and the team were making their way back down the mountain to a pre-arranged RV point. Seven of them, and it was slow, painful going. Doyle was carrying the dead SAS trooper on his shoulders. Gardner with a severely injured Seal across his back. The third SAS trooper is supporting a Seal who had taken a bullet that shattered his kneecap.  The CIA agent carrying kit removed from the injured. The only one missing, the MI6 officer.

I was reading the summary of an old undated after action ‘Top Secret’ report that had been inserted into the file I had requested on Doyle. My name is Lord Jack Turner, and I was looking at Doyle’s suitability to be my second-in-command in a new specialist unit. It was to be known by the code name SF20 and had unlimited powers to eliminate known enemies of the state. Other than the Prime Minister and those in the unit, no one would know it existed. What we did and how we did it had to be deniable by the government.

The people I was looking for needed to have specialist skills and Doyle fit the profile perfectly. There was one major problem. No one liked Doyle in MI6 or MI5, and I needed their support for SF20 to function effectively.  I requested his file to see if I could find a way to resolve the impasse with the security services personnel. I needed Doyle, and so did his country. There had to be a way around this. What was confusing me was why had this top-secret folder been inserted in Doyle’s file.

What is more, it wasn’t alone. There was a second file underneath. It was only by chance I found them.

CHAPTER

TWO

My first meeting with Doyle did not go well. It was at Thames House in Millbank London, the headquarters for the UK Security Services of MI5 and MI6. Thames House is a beautiful old building on the north bank of the River Thames, close to Lambeth Bridge.

I don’t give a rat’s arse what your name is, who you are, or what you do, Doyle said, I’m more concerned with what the job is, what kind of man you are, and what you will be like to work with?

These were Doyle’s first words after I had introduced myself. At first, I thought I must have misheard the Prime Minister.  My understanding was that I had gone to interview Doyle, not him me.

At that time, I was Sir Jack Turner and had recently been appointed as the Minister for Trade and Industry in Her Majesty’s Government of the day. Doyle’s response caught me completely off guard and took me by surprise.  Later in life, as I got to know him better, I found out it was a tactic he used regularly. It was meant to elicit precisely the reaction he got from me, one of shock and surprise.

The Prime Minister had called me personally earlier that morning.

I have made you an appointment with MI5 to interview and select your bodyguard. He said, The bodyguard will be with you at all times when you are on official government business. The protection officer will be like your shadow, seen but not heard and soon forgotten.

I made the mistake of thinking this was a friendly call from the PM.

Thank you, Prime Minister, I replied, Any advice on what I should be looking for in this man?

Why do you presume it will be a man, Turner? He said sharply. I sensed by his reaction and tone of voice that he had not called to be helpful. He merely wanted to give me an instruction to run along to Thames House like a good little boy.

My mistake, Prime Minister, I answered, At what time do they expect me over there?

The conversation with the PM should have alerted me that this was not going to be a simple or easy process. And so, it turned out. Someone should have told Doyle that first impressions are important. How you look, how you dress, how you speak, and what you say create an immediate impact. Mine of Doyle was that he was a foul-mouthed, uncouth lout and not the kind of person I wanted alongside me at any price.

My job was to meet and press the palm of some of the most influential people in the world. My protection officer needed to fit in seamlessly with the entourage, not stick out like a sore thumb. Why on earth had they sent someone like this for me to interview? It was beyond my comprehension. I had an overwhelming urge to terminate the discussion immediately. It seemed to be a waste of both our time. I couldn’t tell you why I didn’t or why the meeting with him lasted almost an hour. But it did.

I had made up my mind, the decision made within the first few minutes of meeting him. Doyle would never fit in and would be an embarrassment to the government. Get rid of him quickly and look at who else had been sent for me to interrogate. It didn’t happen that way, and there must have been something else that held my attention for all that hour. I can’t for life in me think or remember what it could have been. The only thing that gives it some meaning is that I overreacted. Not wanting to appear rude and end the interview quickly, I overcompensated and kept him longer than I intended. In any event, it didn’t matter. The result was the same.  I had already made up my mind about him and eventually appointed someone else.

Darren Curtis was my first security protection officer. Tall, dark-haired, handsome and looking every inch a diplomat in a dark grey suit. He fit the bill perfectly. His background from a middle-class family, in middle England with a neutral accent was what I needed.  Someone who would blend into my support team and not stand out by looking like a thug. It would take another fifteen months before I met up with Doyle again. Looking back now, it seems to me that fate decided we should be on the same team one day.

Darren Curtis turned out to be everything I had hoped he would be. He came with me on my first official trade mission to Germany. I was there to meet my opposite number at the German Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry. It turned out to be a testing meeting for both of us in different ways, but especially for Darren. It seems that his opposite number in the Bundesnachrichtendienst (BND) had not forgotten the wars between our two countries were over. According to Darren, he took delight in reminding him they were still the master race, and then the British did not win the war, the Americans did.  The whole time we were in Berlin, it would seem that Darren had dirty tricks played on him.  When he refused to take notice and ignored their silly games, the provocation increased into a physical confrontation. To Darran’s credit, I only found this out after we returned to London, and he made an after-mission report to his superiors. When I asked him how he had dealt with it, his answer was;

It is best if you don’t know, sir, but rest assured there will not be a diplomatic incident, and the man will not be doing the same to anyone else again.

His actions and the way he dealt with the problem was everything I could want from a team member if I had needed any proof, that I had chosen the right man, that incident provided it for me.  Even now, when I think of Darren from time to time, I still wonder what he did to resolve the problem in Berlin. I would love to have known.

Working with MI5 or MI6 on protection services are all short-term contracts for the SAS. To keep troopers up to date and relevant they are trained for and go on other covert missions. I would ask for Darren every time, but occasionally he would be unavailable, and a replacement sent. I had been allocated a few other bodyguards during those fourteen months, but never Doyle. Looking back, it is strange that Doyle never worked for me because if I recall correctly every other person, I interviewed on that day did at least once.

It came as a complete shock and sadness when I received news that Darren had been killed in action on a covert mission in Bosnia. The Land Rover he was travelling in was shot to pieces on the outskirts of a small border town as he was exfiltrating after completing a mission. Darren had been with me for fourteen months. In that time he never put a foot wrong, and he was a pleasure to have around

Shortly afterwards, I was invited to Thames House to choose a permanent replacement. I remember feeling disloyal the morning I turned up to interview Darren’s successor. There were five candidates put up for an interview. Two had been replacements for Darren when he was unavailable, two were unknown to me, and the fifth one was Doyle.

I didn’t recognise him at first. He was a changed man. Gone was the anti-establishment attitude, the crude language and insecurity he had displayed on our first meeting. Here was a highly trained elite soldier, confident in his abilities and his place in the world. He was now a specialist sniper based at Stirling Lines in the County of Herefordshire and came highly recommended as the one I should choose.  That was when I looked at his record and remembered him. At first, I admit, my suspicion was, that the high recommendation he came with, was from a need to get him out of their hair and into mine. I felt there was pressure on me to give him the job. I didn’t want him. I still remembered what he was like at the first interview. I wanted him in and out so I could