Stratton asked as he pulled off his shoes and trousers and dug his one-piece fire-retardant assault suit out of the bag.
‘Helicopter reports no sign of life on deck and the bridge looks empty.’
‘Where’s it from?’
‘It’s an Aralco oil company boat. One of their big ones. Last stop was Sidi Kerir oil terminal off the coast of Egypt in the Med where it took on its load. It was on its way to Rotterdam. Last known contact was with its headquarters in Dubai one a.m. this morning.’
‘What’s the plan?’
‘Two under-slung VSVs are on their way by Chinook. We’ll take the bridge as the lads hit the main deck. A bunch of bio-chem and nuclear specialists are on their way.’
‘Who’s in the VSVs?’
‘Jacko’s got Alpha in VSV one, Stevens has Echo in two. And you’ve got us.’
Stratton looked at the other faces: Fred, Nick, Tip and Foster. ‘All right, lads?’ he asked. They gave him a thumbs up. Stratton didn’t know them very well though he had worked with Tip a couple of times. Because Stratton had spent so much time away from the squadrons he hadn’t rotated through the various teams as much as other seniors such as Scouse. Now that he had been back almost a year he was getting to know most of the guys again and meeting the new ones. Everyone knew him, of course, even the new operatives who had just joined. It was generally considered, although it was not a subject particularly discussed, that Stratton was the SBS’s top operative, and often other operatives’ first choice of team commander if an operation was going down.That was influenced by the fact that Stratton was often the operations room’s first choice for the more difficult tasks. Senior officers acknowledged he had the gift of inspiring those he worked with.
‘Hey, Stratton,’ Foster said, leaning towards him. ‘Morgan ’asn’t fucked up my jacket by any chance?’
‘Why’d you lend it to ’im if you’re so worried?’ Tip asked.
‘Either ’e went with the jacket or I did,’ Foster stated.
‘He said something about trimming the sleeves a bit,’ Stratton said poker faced.
Foster studied Stratton, wondering if this was a bite, but he didn’t know him well enough to call him on it.
‘Did that to a pair of trousers I lent him,’ Tip added.
Foster looked at Tip, still unsure, and sat back to mull over the future of his jacket.
Stratton struggled to pull the suit on over his torso, pushed his arms into the sleeves and zipped up the front to his throat. He strapped up his boots, pulled on his harness, sorted out his weapons, put his helmet on his lap and clipped his throat mic around his neck. The final piece of clothing was a pair of leather gloves, which he pulled on tightly, sealing the Velcro around his wrists. He was ready.
He leaned forward to zip his civvies inside the bag when he thought of something. Remembering Scouse’s great appetite he took the sandwich out of his jacket pocket and offered it to him. Scouse took it, looked inside and stuffed the entire thing in his mouth.
‘Thanks,’ he said, munching it. The others looked at him. ‘What?’ Scouse said with an innocent expression, still chewing, spitting a bit of bread out as he spoke. ‘It was only one bite anyway.’
The Lynx flew at maximum speed 5,000 feet above the countryside and it was not long before the coast was in sight. They passed over Exeter and followed the River Exe to the sea.
‘CTC,’ Scouse said, indicating the Commando Training Centre on their left, the camp at Lympstone where they had all joined the Royal Marines as recruits, some much longer ago than others.
Stratton looked down on the huge complex and picked out the Tarzan course, weapon training huts and the route up to Woodbury Common and the endurance course. Memories of life as a young, innocent recruit scrolled through his mind, a time when he could never have even begun to guess what the future held for him. He had lived from day to day through the six months of arduous training while the vestiges of civilian idiosyncrasy were gradually stripped from him to be replaced with those of a soldier.Then as soon as it was over and he had earned the title Royal Marine, it was not enough. He wanted more intensity, tougher goals and a smaller, more exclusive group, and so he applied to join the SBS. As he looked out of the window he thought about his life