Pirate - Duncan Falconer [104]
There was the usual banter from the men as they mustered on deck in groups, small and large. Bursts of laughter regularly broke out, which was the norm. The occasional loudmouth could be heard above all others. Stratton enjoyed the men’s company but his current position, watching them from a distance, proved an illustration of what it was truly like for him. He felt like he was on the outside looking in. It had always been that way. He had his close friends, but not many. It had been like that for him at school, as far back as he could remember. He had friends he would die for. Many of them were standing before him, with a good number of others spread about the world, and not all of them in the SBS. But that wasn’t the same thing. It was bizarre that few of those he would truly risk his life for, and without hesitation, numbered among his close friends. It was a unique relation ship for those who fought side by side in the face of death.
None of the men had noticed him, tucked against a bulkhead in the shadows. Which was the way he liked it, content to hang on to his privacy for a while longer.
He had another reason for holding back from greeting and mingling with them of course. Hopper. The man had been popular among the lads. He would have been down there laughing and cavorting among them already. He would have been waiting for the first lot to touch down on deck to greet them in his gregarious manner. He was never like that with Stratton, though. It was like he knew not to be, even though Stratton had never sent any kind of message of dissuasion. Stratton didn’t mind boisterousness, but no one had acted that way with him in many years.
The last helicopter thudded down and a handful of the lads climbed out of it and headed over to the main group. He recognised the last man to step off the chopper. It was Downs. Stratton wondered if he was in charge of this crowd. He was certainly senior enough to be. There would be officers present but the key man of a squadron would usually be the sergeant major. He would take charge of the groundwork for the operation.
One of the young SBS faces walked up to Downs for a talk. Stratton recognised him as Lieutenant Phelps. The team leaders reported to their sergeant major as he made his way across the flight deck with the officer. The lads quickly lined up to be mustered and checked off to ensure everyone who had boarded the aircraft at Brize Norton had actually arrived on board the ship.
Stratton looked down on a couple of the ship’s officers as they walked out of the superstructure. It looked like Howel and Winslow.
Winslow headed towards Phelps and Downs, no doubt to welcome them aboard. Stratton expected the ship’s operations officer to recognise Downs. It had been five or six years since his selection course, but as a senior course instructor, Downs would have been a focal point for every man on that course, a face that none would probably forget. Downs would have been the last SBS face the failed rankers would have seen because it was his job to explain to the individual why he was on his way back to his unit. The officers would have been given a final let-go by a senior SBS officer. But they would have known it was Downs who had cut the umbilical cord.
Winslow walked up to Downs to introduce himself. It seemed to Stratton that Downs didn’t know who the man was beyond his present role. That was probably because on the selection course Downs would have been looking at dozens of faces and not one in particular.
Stratton knew Downs very well. He had joined the service a year before Stratton. They were of a similar age and quite often ended up in the same section together. The man was generally cheerful, confident