Stratton politely shrugged indifference. ‘Good to meet you too, sir.’
The captain looked him up and down. ‘I see you’ve not had a chance to get some duds, or is it that you prefer the scruffy look?’
‘One of the lads is finding me a razor and something to wear, sir.’
‘Personally I envy you being able to wear what you want. When I go on leave I don’t normally have a shave until the day I return to work. My wife likes that too. I don’t think anyone would deny you your rest after what you’ve been through.’ The captain checked his watch and looked in the direction his ship was sailing. ‘I’m sorry about your friend.’
Stratton didn’t answer. The captain had obviously been briefed by Poole or London. There hadn’t been any hint of judgement in the way he said it. That was because it was unlikely he knew all the details. He wouldn’t have been told anything other than the basic facts. He certainly wouldn’t know that Stratton had killed his colleague. That kind of information would be kept in house, for a while at least. It would eventually leak out from Ops and into the ranks of the SBS. London could also be a bit of a sieve for that kind of gossip. So it would find its way into the general information mainstream, through wives and bar talk. It wouldn’t be classified as secret, just sensitive. Everyone gossiped. Special forces and military intelligence were no different. It was a piece of information that ultimately did no harm if it was leaked. Helen, Hopper’s wife, might be upset by it. She might understand when she heard the full details. But she would not be pleased if she discovered that Stratton was ultimately responsible for her husband’s death. That the strategies he had employed were flawed. Self-seeking. That would leak out too. Eventually. She might wonder if it was a twisted rumour at first. If so, she might ask Stratton to clarify that himself. He would tell the truth. He didn’t know her well enough to guess how she might react. He did know if she had a temper, she might hit him. He would have to take it. He would want to take it. Hopper’s two children would eventually learn about it too. One day. They had all of that to come.
So the captain would eventually learn the whole story. He might reflect on their meeting. Stratton wondered how the old man would judge him. For the moment, at least, he would remain ignorant.
‘You’ll have a chance to avenge him,’ the captain said.
Stratton wondered what he meant. It could have been a general ‘you’, as in the service. Or he might have meant Stratton personally. The captain had clearly been told about an operation of some kind.
‘Scopus inbound one minute,’ a voice boomed over the ship’s loudspeaker system.
‘That’s your boys,’ the skipper said.
Stratton looked in the direction the captain was gazing. The skies were cloudy but they were thin, streaky and very high. Typical for altostratus formations.
A helicopter started up. Stratton looked around to see the rotors beginning to turn on the nearest Sea King, several crew members climbing on board. Other Sea Kings came to life down the line.
‘There they are,’ the captain said above the growing high-pitched sound of engines.
The old man was looking skyward. Stratton followed his gaze to see a small, distant cluster of black. It wasn’t long before it separated into three aircraft. As they drew closer they became large cargo carriers, too big to land on the ship. That could only mean one thing. They were going to drop something. And the Sea Kings would collect the delivery.
Before long all but one of the Sea Kings had started its engines. Stratton thought about asking the captain to elaborate but decided not to. He would find out in good time.
As the three aircraft got closer Stratton decided they were C-130s, flying at around a thousand feet. The sound of the helicopter engines increased. The turbulence from the rotors reversed the direction of the wind that had been blowing in the men’s faces and whipped at the backs of their clothing.
The transport aircraft lost height as they passed down the length of the ship a kilometre away in a staggered formation. All had their tailgates open.
The lead Sea King lifted off the deck, turned its tail towards the superstructure, lowered its nose and moved away from the ship. The next craft carried out the same manoeuvre and the others followed in turn.
As the helicopters flew in a broad arc around the front of the vessel the sound of their engines and throbbing rotors decreased enough for the jet propellers that powered the fixed-wing cargos to be heard in the distance.
Stratton and the captain watched as the Hercules turned far beyond the stern of the ship before straightening up on a heading that would bring them down the port side. The two men stepped across to that side of the ship where they could see the drop take place.
All three aircraft had lost yet more height and were coming at the ship barely a few hundred metres above the grey, choppy waters.
When the lead cargo plane had got close enough to make out the pilots in the cockpit, a large parachute deployed from the back, which in turn dragged out a bundle the size of a small car. Closely followed by another and then a dozen more. Seconds after each chute fully deployed the bundle swung down and hit the water with a foaming crash.
The following aircraft released a similar load in a line alongside the first. The last aircraft roared by a little further out to sea but just as low. As before, the first thing they saw appear out of the rear tailgate was a parachute, smaller than those attached to the other bundles. But this time, on the end of each, dangled a man. Over forty individual chutes, the first man hitting the water barely seconds after he had deployed and long before the last chute had exited.
The sound of other powerful engines came from below as several launches sped from the
Stratton wondered what the bundles contained. He assumed the squadron would be heading into Somalia and he considered how he might carry out an operation like that based on everything he had reported about the target location. Which would have to be the jihadists’ camp because that’s where the missiles were. If you were going to assault the camp, you couldn’t use helicopters. Not without pinging up on their radar. Choppers could be used to drop off teams far from the camp that would then have to yomp in. But that would take time and they’d risk being seen before they hit the camp.
As he thought about why they had chosen to mount the operation from the carrier, an option came to mind. He smiled to himself at the thought that Ops could have given the OK to such an audacious plan. He hoped it would be true. Something like that the SBS had never done operationally, to his knowledge. In fact, he didn’t know any military outfit that had. He’d heard a story about the Israelis attempting something like it years before on a long- range desert assault. Whatever, you’d be well advised to try it only against a less sophisticated enemy. Like the Somalis.
He found himself suddenly looking forward to seeing if it might be true. And more importantly, if the plan included him in it. Because there was a chance it might not. But it would make sense to take him along because he knew the ground better than anyone else. That wouldn’t guarantee him a seat but it had to go a long way towards helping. He felt glad he hadn’t gone to the ship’s hospital to have his wounds checked.
As soon as the transporters had dispensed their loads, their tailgates closed and they continued on into the distance, heading back to England no doubt, Stratton thought.
The Sea Kings roared around the sides of the ship low to the water, dividing up to collect the men and bundles, assisted by the launches.
‘An adventurous scheme to say the least,’ the captain said.
Stratton suspected that he might be toying with him. The old man would know that Stratton couldn’t have been privy to any operational details as yet since his only communication with his people had been the night before when he gave his verbal report – and there was no way a plan had been hatched in that time.
‘Sorry,’ the captain said shortly after. It was a half-hearted attempt at admitting he was well aware he had Stratton at a disadvantage. ‘I’m at liberty to tell you that your chaps are going to invade Somalia using powered hang-gliders.’
Stratton smiled once again. He had been right.
‘I don’t believe we’ve ever done anything quite like it before. What do you think?’
‘I think it’s a great idea,’ said Stratton.
‘I suppose you’d like to go with them?’
Stratton remained poker-faced, wondering if the captain was always such a baiter. Perhaps this time he wasn’t playing games. Stratton decided not to answer.
‘I hope you do,’ the captain said. ‘You’re to attend the briefing.’
