by Geoff Wolak
Captain Harris noted, ‘Quick and in and out, good result. We’re racking up the successes.’
‘It is getting easier,’ I commented. ‘But our luck will run out some time. Tomo was lucky, fucking kid plugged him with five rounds, three hit magazines, or he would be dead.’
Ten minutes later, and stood outside, the Major approached me. ‘How did “G” Squadron do?’
‘Fine, sir, but they had little to do. But ... they did query my authority to make decisions, and ... would have rather been in charge and leading things.’
‘Who ... queried you?’ he asked, not looking happy.
‘Troop sergeants and captains.’
‘They had the plan given them, no room for questioning something I laid out for them.’
‘They fail to understand my role ... with one foot in Mi6 and one foot with you.’
‘Well, when we get back we’ll have to do something before Bob Staines goes off on one and creates some separate body.’
‘If he does, he’ll do so without me, and my team will stick with me.’
The Major took a moment to study me, then nodded.
We all boarded the Hercules for the flight back up the coast to Morocco, and after levelling off I moved forwards to the cockpit and grabbed the spare headset.
‘Can you hear me?’ I asked, and they glanced around.
‘Yes. How was it?’
‘Fine, sir. Was it you who dropped the cement?’
‘Yes, how was our aim, any good?’
‘You hit the main compound, the bags of cement crashing through the roof and killing most of the gunmen. Did our job for us.’
They exchanged wide-eyed smiles. ‘Then we’ll claim the kills. How many do you reckon?’
‘We found six dead, cement inhalation by the looks of it, sir.’
They laughed. ‘I’m going to paint some terrorists onto the outside of this bird. First time a Hercules pilot killed anyone in combat!’
‘Anyway, well done, sir, and thank you, you helped greatly, but my lot will always deny you killed anyone – that’s our job.’
We got back to Hereford two days later, our coach driving in at 6pm. And we all agreed that a few cold beers was necessary, my team meeting at the curry house, calls made to a few people to join us.
After a quick clean-up we got there at 8pm, the RSM just arriving, and the beers were much appreciated, the story recanted – the cement bombs being the subject of much piss taking.
At midnight I sat alone in my apartment, tea in hand, watching the rain hit the windows, and I realised that the system had changed me, the Regiment had changed me. Now, the job was everything, success was everything, and I was competing with myself to do more and better. To be out now, a civvy, knowing that the lads would be off on a job – that was too much to even consider.
I had promised myself that I would never get caught up in all this, and here I was, more caught up in it that anyone else.
