Jordan wondered if the man was lying. A lot of ex-servicemen in the civilian security business claimed to be former special forces. ‘Which squadron?’ he asked.
‘B.’
‘When did you get out?’
Deacon suspected that Jordan was verifying his claim. It only added to his resentment. Surely it was obvious to another soldier that Deacon had to be SAS. He and Jordan had never met but they were men of the same era. Even a shaky boat could see that. It wasn’t unusual for the two services that they’d never crossed paths. Some guys had spent much of their careers cross-training between the SBS and SAS and some hardly at all. ‘Just before Afghanistan.’
‘You know Marvin Goodman?’
‘Marvellous was my sergeant major.’
Jordan nodded, convinced. Deacon was former SAS all right. The man’s arrogance sealed it - he acted as if he’d been insulted by Jordan’s doubts. It didn’t matter that he’d answered the question correctly.
‘You get the leg on the job?’
‘Afghanistan.’ Jordan felt reluctant to discuss his service history.
‘I’ve been there but as a civvy.’ Deacon felt he had little in common with the other man. ‘Was it operational?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Something go wrong?’ It was a fair enough question to ask about an SF wound. The ops were so meticulously planned that if anyone got hurt it was worth hearing about.
‘Not as badly as it could’ve.’ Other than the official debrief, Jordan had told no one about the operation in any detail. Much like Stratton. He had refrained from discussing it with SBS members because it would only cause friction. Some believed it was Stratton’s fault and others felt that the incident was the price of war. He couldn’t discuss it with a civilian. They could never fully understand. But another SF operator might be able to put himself in his shoes. Apply his own experiences as well as his knowledge of the system. Jordan didn’t particularly trust the man in front of him but he had a sudden urge to tell him the story. Perhaps it was because he wanted to hear a qualified outsider’s view. An SAS guy might give an unbiased opinion. ‘It was one of those jobs that was wrong from the start.’
‘Why’d it go ahead?’
‘Same reason a lot of them do. Ego. On the ground as well as those up top. You know what the SBS and SAS hierarchies are like. Always competing against each other, point scoring, wanting to impress London. No offence but the regiment’s been falling behind a bit of late, what with Iraq dying down. And the SBS getting all the glory in Afghanistan. And the Yanks finally starting to share the lead in SF roles . . . maybe even take it from us in places.’
This was all news to Deacon and it did not sit well with him. He had no contact with current troopers or any of his old mates from the regiment yet he had strong opinions regarding special forces. All of them. As far as he was concerned the SAS were at the top of the SF tree with the SBS several branches down and the Yanks even lower. And it had always been that way. It was only to be expected - and typical - for an SBS operator to rubbish the SAS at any opportunity. He suddenly had a good reason to dislike the other man. ‘So what happened?’ Deacon asked.
‘The job went ahead - a hit on a Taliban encampment. We try not to arrest many these days. Ever since the media clowns and bleeding-heart liberals have been bleating on about the treatment of terrorists in prisons like Guantánamo, the only solution is to shoot them instead.’
‘I like that,’ Deacon said.
‘Too much had been left to chance on this one.’
‘I don’t see why it was allowed to go on.’
‘Sure you can. The SAS has had more cock-ups over the last twenty years than anyone.’
‘That’s because they’ve done nearly all the bloody work,’ Deacon said defensively, feeling his hackles rising.
‘That may be a part of it,’ Jordan said, unaware of the hurt and venom in Deacon’s reply. ‘But you’re missing the point. Many of those ops were damned before they started. It didn’t stop ’em from going ahead, though. It’s still about peer pressure and egos causing a lot of the problems.’
‘So what happened?’ Deacon asked, controlling his anger at the digs against his beloved former unit. His foul temper had grown worse over the years and once it turned physical he knew he was apt to lose