Pirate - Duncan Falconer [103]
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.’
Stratton glanced at the man, who gave him a mischievous look in return. They had only just met but the captain appeared to have read the operative’s character from the start and got his measure. Stratton couldn’t help producing the thinnest of smiles that echoed the captain’s.
‘I’d better go and sort out my ship,’ the captain said. ‘You’ll be taking off shortly after last light. Good luck,’ he said as he started to walk away but stopped when he saw something on Stratton’s back. ‘Is that blood?’ he asked.
Stratton hadn’t been aware his wound was bleeding although it had started throbbing slightly after he climbed down the ladder. ‘If it is, it’s not mine,’ he lied, looking the captain in the eye.
The captain nodded but Stratton could see in his eyes he was unconvinced.
Stratton watched him go and turned his attention to the first of the launches that was returning fully laden with men and equipment.
He looked to the horizon, towards Somalia. The Ocean was some fifty miles from the coastline but he could see the place well enough in his mind’s eye, in particular the jihadist camp. He could see Sabarak, his features clear, his cold, hate-filled expression as he stared back at Stratton.
Stratton saw himself put a gun to the man’s heart and, with cold relish, pull the trigger. He could only pray that his wish would come true.
17
Stratton stood on one of the small landings of the superstructure to watch the lads and their equipment arrive. Half the ship’s crew had turned out to watch the spectacle, many of them young lads who hadn’t seen special forces operatives before. In the past,