Undercover: Nelson, #0

By James Felix

A storm is brewing and Nelson is at the centre. Join him as he embarks on a high-octane journey into the heart of danger in this gripping prequel to the adrenaline fuelled Nelson Series. From the windswept hills of SAS training to a covert mission to track down an armed mercenary group and their dangerous leader, Nelson is thrust headlong into a perilous journey on board a ship of secrets to uncover a web of treachery. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Felix
• Release date: Nov 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223273509

James Felix

James Felix, is a former soldier and police officer, who crafts action-packed thrillers that pull from his wealth of real-life experiences. Drawing on his years of police and military service, he brings authenticity and gripping detail to his tales of suspense and intrigue, transporting readers into a world of high-stakes scenarios and adrenaline-fueled adventures. Residing in the scenic Cotswolds of England, James finds inspiration in the tranquillity of his surroundings, often penning his riveting narratives amidst the peaceful hum of nature. When he's not unravelling thrilling plots, James can be found walking his dogs through the countryside, cheering on his favourite NFL team, or perfecting a new Italian recipe. Not one to sit still, James is also an aspiring carpenter, always looking for ways to improve his skills and create something new. His stories, much like his carpentry projects, are meticulously crafted and finely tuned, each piece fitting together to create a captivating whole. James Felix is not just an author, but a storyteller, who enjoys weaving his experiences and imagination into thrilling reads. As he continues his writing journey, he aims to keep readers on the edge of their seats, always guessing, always engaged.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Sergeant Nelson levered a gap in the respirator seal with his fingers to let some more air in. His chest heaved as he refilled his lungs with deep gasps.

That’s cheating, screamed an unseen but familiar voice.

Nelson let the rubber seal clamp back against his sweaty face and turned to glare at his tormentor. Sue me, he rasped from behind his fogged lenses.

All around Nelson lay the collapsed bodies of his selection cohort. Twenty men drawn from different units across the British Armed Services writhed in the hot Brecon sun.

Well, at least you’re still on yer feet, snorted the voice. More than can be said for this lot.

The mist cleared and Nelson recognised the stout figure of Intelligence Corps Warrant Officer Kilcoyne, dressed in number twos, standing in front of him. The moans and groans of his fellow candidates, clear evidence of the gruelling suicide laps they had all just endured.

Kilcoyne leant in towards Nelson. Why’d you wanna be in the SAS, anyway?

Nelson shrugged, his breathing still restricted by the respirator clamped to his face. It sounds cool.

Kilcoyne laughed and cast his gaze across the rabble of soldiers lying beside the dusty track. And what if I have a better offer for you?

Nelson tipped his mask off and gulped a deep lungful of air. What … and leave all this! He noted the directing staff standing back, giving the warrant officer some room. The break from the constant verbal barrage was a precious relief.

It’s time critical, Nelson. I’ll brief you back at Hereford. Kilcoyne jerked his thumb towards a long-wheelbase Land Rover.

Nelson frowned. I trained hard for this. I’m doing well. There’s only a few days left.

Aye, you are. But accept this mission and I’ll ensure you join the next cohort for the Jungle phase.

So, I’ve passed the hills then?

Kilcoyne screwed his face up. Look at ’em Nelson. You’re the only one still standing up, son!

Nelson glanced across at a member of the DS. A wiry man with a handlebar moustache and a tight-fitting, white PTI vest nodded in return. Nelson cleared his throat and fixed his stare back on Kilcoyne’s flinty eyes.

Jungle phase—no messing me about.

I promise.

Alright then, Nelson replied and swooped a canteen from the side pocket on his Bergen.

The PTI clapped Nelson on the back as he passed. See you in Belize, boyo.

Damn right you will.

Don’t lose your fitness while you’re away. You’ll need it for phase two.

Nelson nodded as he swigged from the canteen and slid into the passenger side of the Land Rover alongside Kilcoyne.

A few heads turned, but most looked too exhausted to pay much attention. Nelson smiled to himself as he heard the sharp voices of the directing staff break the lull.

Right. On yer feet, you lazy bastards! hollered one voice.

Get up. Move it—move it, yelled a second.

Nelson let his head fall back against the metal bulkhead and closed his eyes against the bright sunlight. The familiar smell of rubber and diesel surrounded him as Kilcoyne crunched through the notchy gearbox. He cracked open the side window, which oozed down with a squeal, and breathed in the warm air as the chunky tyres wobbled over the rocky path and descended the slope towards the road.

I thought you were retiring, Nelson asked, swigging from his canteen again.

I am. In one week.

What’ll you do?

Take a long holiday … somewhere hot.

Try the Welsh Valleys in July!

Kilcoyne chuckled. It’ll probably piss down tomorrow. No, I’ve got plans.

Good for you. Nelson nodded. So, what’s all this about? Why me?

Kilcoyne’s face split into a broad smile. You’ll see.

Chapter 2

Nelson stood to attention, letting the wooden chair scrape behind him. His T-shirt was sodden dark with sweat, his boots scuffed, and his lightweights were frayed from the weeks of toil spent carrying heavy packs across the unforgiving Welsh countryside.

Sit down, Sergeant, said the gravelly voice of Colonel David Mad Dog Jones, who bustled into the classroom. Kilcoyne had been tight-lipped the entire way back to base and the sudden appearance of the SAS commander explained why.

Nelson eased himself back down, his muscles complaining and his body cooling rapidly. He knew of the stocky colonel. Everyone in the special forces did. The man was a living legend in the community. A bull neck supported a head so wide, Nelson wondered if the man’s sand-coloured beret was specially made.

I’m sorry to pull you away from selection. I know you’ve worked hard to get here, began Mad Dog. But I want to reassure you a place in phase two awaits, whether you accept the mission or not.

Nelson nodded and remained silent. Six weeks in the jungle promised to be an even greater challenge than the month he’d just spent slogging his guts out tabbing around the Elan Valley. Even at twenty-six, and having been a pathfinder for five years, he had found the brutal selection process for 22 Special Air Service to be the toughest physical challenge of his army career to date.

Mad Dog eyed Nelson and continued. This mission is time critical, and my options are limited. You’ve completed the army surveillance course?

Yes, sir.

And your record suggests you’re a soldier who can operate with limited support.

It’s the pathfinder way, sir.

Mad Dog perched on the edge of a desk and stared at Nelson. Narrow lupine eyes peered out from a broad face. Drop the sir—you’re inside the Stirling Lines now.

Nelson didn’t know the highly decorated colonel well enough to use the man’s bloodthirsty nickname, reputedly earned in battle, so chose something else to convey the required respect. Yes, boss, he stumbled.

Your father … was Russian? replied the colonel slowly, removing his beret and flipping open a buff file containing a thick wad of papers.

Yes.

A KGB agent?

Yes.

Do you speak Russian?

Only the swear words.

Kilcoyne closed the classroom door softly and raised his fist to his mouth, stifling a chuckle. Silence descended on the musty classroom. The chalk marks of a partially scrubbed out route march remained on the board behind the colonel. Distant voices from the far side of the camp echoed across the sun-bleached parade square outside.

A smile crept into the corner of the colonel’s mouth as he looked down at the briefing notes in front of him. Do you know Arnold Lennox?

Nelson swallowed. Only by reputation. Former SAS captain. Went rogue and killed a bunch of Iraqi villagers near Mosul a few years ago.

That’s putting it mildly, spat Mad Dog. He locked thirty women and children in a cold storage unit and threw a grenade in after them. Made the men in the village watch … before he gunned them down, too.

Nelson winced. He got off in court, right?

Mad Dog’s face hardened. The only witnesses died in mysterious circumstances before the case came to trial. We drummed him out of the service for going AWOL, but we could never make the murders stick.

Nelson puffed out both cheeks. He’d never known the precise details of the incident, but the former SAS captain’s