Pirate - Duncan Falconer [100]
Stratton took a long sip of his tea and put the mug down. ‘The job doesn’t suit everybody,’ he said. ‘Maybe you wouldn’t have enjoyed it.’ And if you had got through, he thought, you wouldn’t have got along with anyone in the service with the attitude you have.
‘I’m going to get my head down,’ he said, walking away.
The officer watched him go. Stratton could feel the man’s eyes on his back.
He pushed through the doors and went in search of his pit. Winslow stirred his cup of tea then he put the spoon down, poured the liquid into a bin and sighed to himself. It was easy for those who had made it into special forces to write off those who hadn’t. But the truth was many who failed were mentally scarred for life. Which was a risk few allowed for. There was the odd one who did attempt it knowing they would fail but wanted to give it a go anyway. But the vast majority of those who signed up for the gruelling course never planned on failing it. They had to believe in themselves. Winslow considered himself highly intelligent but he couldn’t grasp what was obvious to those maybe less intelligent than he was. He knew that to dwell on his failure would be unhealthy and nothing could be done to heal him other than trying the course again and passing it. But that window of opportunity had closed for him. He had moved up in rank and he could no longer apply. He knew he should let it go, but he couldn’t.
It was early morning when Stratton got prodded by a hand. ‘Time to get up, mate.’
He woke instantly in the narrow bunk, recognising the young sailor who had shown him to the galley the night before.
‘I brought you a cup of tea,’ the sailor said, holding out a steaming mug. ‘I’m not a creep. But I reckon you deserve it.’ He grinned.
Stratton rubbed his face and swung his feet down on to the floor and took the mug. ‘Thanks.’
‘’Ope you like it sweet. I do.’
Stratton took a sip of the dark molasses that looked like it could absorb a pint of milk without getting any lighter in colour. He did all he could not to wince. ‘You sure it’s tea?’
‘Tell you the truth, I made it for myself but decided to give it to you when they told me to give you a shake.’
Stratton handed it back to him. ‘I’m wide awake now, thanks.’
‘It does that to you.’
Stratton stood up, still in his boiler suit. There were several other bunks in the room, all occupied. He checked his wrist, forgetting he had no watch. ‘What time is it?’
‘Just gone eight. You slept well.’
‘I need a doby. Where can I get a towel and a change of clothes?’
‘I’ll see the chief. Oh, I almost forgot the most important thing. The old man wants to see you up on deck.’
Stratton looked at the mug, took it off the sailor and had another sip. He shook his head as he tasted the strong tea and handed it back. ‘I really don’t think I could get used to that,’ he said.
Stratton made his way through the boat and up a couple of flights of steps to a level where he could see daylight flooding in through the far end of the corridor.
He walked through a broad opening and on to a platform a flight above the main deck. The wind struck him as he stepped through the entrance and he braced himself against it, almost losing one of his sandals as he stepped back. The opening gave him a balcony view of the flight deck.
Six Sea King helicopters stood lined up in a neat row on the far side of the deck, their noses pointing forward, rotors folded back to form a single blade pointing towards the tail, where they were secured by a strap. The Lynx