Pirate - Duncan Falconer [113]
Matt’s jaw clenched even more tightly. ‘You really do rate yourself, don’t you?’
Stratton decided to ignore the man and get back to sorting out his glider. Matt’s hands balled into fists. If anyone else had turned their back on him, he might have considered closing the distance and testing the waters further. But despite all his ill feelings towards Stratton, he knew better than to cross a certain line with the man. Matt had some weapons in his arsenal but he would not test them against those in Stratton’s. But then again, there would probably never be a better time than this one.
‘That’s enough,’ Downs said, stepping in. ‘One more word, Matt, and you’re off the op. And you know that ball will bounce all the way to the top by the time you get back to Poole.’
Matt might not have been the brightest light in the SBS but he could instantly figure out the consequences of being kicked off an operation. He not only backed off but gave Downs a look that was pure deference. He didn’t even give Stratton a parting glance as he turned away and got back to his glider.
But anyone who knew Matt was aware he wouldn’t let the issue go completely. He wouldn’t risk injuring his career for anything but neither could he back off when he believed he was right.
Stratton focused on securing his equipment but he could feel the eyes on him. His wound was sorely exposed.
Downs wanted to say something to his friend but he couldn’t. He knew as little about the incident as everyone else and was one of those who had forgiven Stratton immediately, feeling that if he had indeed killed Hopper then he had a good reason and that was that. But it still left something of a bitter taste in his mouth. He could sense Stratton wasn’t exactly comfortable with it and suspected there was a lot more to it. He would ask Stratton, one day, but not at that moment. Perhaps over that pint they had talked about.
It was like the sun had taken advantage of the men’s distraction to slip below the horizon. Darkness came quite suddenly. Which wasn’t helped by the carrier going into full external dark mode, with only dim red lighting inside the superstructure’s entrances. The men used low-light glowlights to finish off preparing the gliders.
The Ocean continued to cut through the water but at a reduced speed to control the wind.
‘Is that Somalia?’ one of the men asked no one in particular.
They could see a faint glow in the distance in the direction of the Somali coastline.
‘Calula,’ someone answered.
‘I think that’s too far east,’ another operator said. ‘Could be, I suppose,’ he added, having a second thought.
The wind suddenly picked up a little, something each man was keenly aware of. Crewmen hurried to the wing ends to hold them in case a gust should arrive. With no one sitting in them, the craft were relatively light and could get blown about. The single thought that ran through every operative’s mind at that point was how strong the captain would let it get before cancelling the take-off.
There was one other significant element in the equation that could stop the operation and that was any sign of mobilisation by the Somali jihadists. The ship’s operations room carefully watched the terrorist camp via satellite. If they got any indication that the enemy were preparing for an attack, the task would be aborted, for the time being at least. The teams didn’t have the manpower, equipment or firepower to mount an assault against a defended position. The satellite guys felt confident that the jihadists hadn’t reacted unduly to Stratton’s escape despite him knowing the whereabouts of their camp. The initial fear had been that they might immediately relocate. But all signs seemed to indicate