When Shepherd and the others had all been transferred to the mother ship, they assembled on the forward deck where the fifth member of the patrol was waiting to greet them. He was a Fijian, Joe Lavatani, who, though a new face to Shepherd, Jock and Geordie knew well. He was dark skinned and, like most of the Fijians that Shepherd had met, seemed to have a permanent smile on his face. The Fijians had a fierce warrior tradition of their own and a long history in the British Army and the SAS. In the early 1960’s British commanders recruited a total of 200 Fijians into the newly created Regular Army. Over the next few years, twelve of them had gravitated to the SAS in Hereford. They proved to be prodigious warriors. Of the twelve, one was killed in action in 1972 in the Battle of Mirbat during the Dhofar Rebellion in Oman. He single-handedly wielded a twenty-five-pounder gun that normally required a gun crew of four to six men to fire, in a battle against overwhelming odds that had gone down in SAS legend. He was subsequently awarded a posthumous Mention in Dispatches for his heroism, but it was an award that many of his comrades in the Regiment felt should have been a Victoria Cross, and probably would have been, had the man in question not been firstly, a “mere” sergeant, and secondly, a Fijian. The 25-pounder, renowned as the Mirbat gun, was on display in the Firepower Museum of the Royal Artillery in Woolwich. Almost all of the remaining eleven Fijians were also decorated for their gallantry and by the time they returned home most had been wounded in combat while on active service.
After shaking hands with Shepherd and Jimbo, Joe hugged Jock and Geordie like long lost brothers and they then launched into a bout of reminiscences about past ops and escapades, and a round-up of everything they’d all been doing since the last time they met.
Shepherd waited patiently for a few minutes, then called them to order. ‘Okay guys, let’s save the rest of the catch-up until we’ve all got a glass of beer in our hands. Let’s focus on the op instead for a few minutes, shall we?’
Joe grinned. ‘Sorry, I sometimes get a bit carried away when I see old friends.’ He produced the Patrol Planning Pack from his bergen and handed it to Shepherd, who skim-read it at once.
The mission was a daunting one: to rescue two American students who had been kidnapped by a group of terrorists close to the Valley of the Kings in Egypt. The two boys, in their late teens, were the sons of a very senior member of the Administration in Washington DC.
‘We can’t be 100 per cent sure,’ Joe said, ‘because the intelligence is understandably patchy, but it looks as if, so far at least, the terrorists are unaware of the identity of the youths. Fortunately they appear to have left their passports in the hotel safe when they went out sightseeing for the day, and it seems that they were targeted and captured purely because they were US citizens.’
The Planning Pack also contained a summary of the available intelligence on the kidnappers. ‘Not exactly War And Peace, is it?’ Shepherd said, gesturing to the handful of lines of text that was all the information supplied. The little that was known indicated that the kidnappers were part of a large group of desert tribesmen who roamed the Western Desert of Egypt and Libya. They travelled in pick-ups that were armed with Russian ZSU anti-aircraft guns, 12.7mm NSV heavy machine guns and some SAM missiles. Although little known in the West, they were such a formidable group and so heavily armed, that the Libyan and Egyptian armies had evidently decided that discretion was the better part of valour and, rather than try to confront them, they preferred to leave the terrorists well alone. As a result, they had the freedom of the Western Desert and the Great Sand Sea, staging raids on tourist sites like the Valley of the Kings or the towns of the fertile strip flanking the Nile, and then disappearing into the vastness of the desert.
The plan put together by the Operations Oversight Team in Hereford involved a helicopter insertion into the Egyptian desert as close to the target area as possible. AWACS and satellite surveillance had identified an area close to the Nile where it was believed the group was now lying up. The patrol were not to transmit any signals when in country; instead they would be monitored by AWACS and would be given a “GO” or “NO GO” command for each phase of the operation from higher up the chain of command.
Jock gave a cynical smile. ‘The Yanks are obviously worried that if Israel cottons on to the fact that Special Forces troops are on the ground in Egypt on a clandestine mission, they might well choose to escalate the situation for their own ends.’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time,’ Joe said. ‘There are also many in the US military who harbour serious doubts about the security of the US covert communications systems and suspect that the Israelis have the ability to monitor them.’
‘That’s probably true,’ said Shepherd. ‘Much of the US equipment was developed jointly with Israel and many in the American forces believe that the systems contain covert monitoring circuits which transmit directly to Tel Aviv. Since the UK’s military communications also pass through American facilities or contain American-manufactured components, what we know, the Yanks will know. And if the Yanks know it, we have to assume that the Israelis will, too. Hence the restrictions on our comms when in-theatre. Better safe than sorry.’
‘Hell’s bells,’ Geordie said, ‘with friends like those, who needs enemies?’
‘You know what they say,’ said Shepherd. ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’
‘So this is an American-led operation, to rescue American boys, and making use of American assets,’ Jimbo said, ‘and yet they’ve given the job to us.’
Joe nodded. ‘The US Administration knows it would take too long to get Delta Force on the ground and in any case very few in Washington would have much confidence that Delta Force are really up to the task.’
‘They’ve got that right,’ Jock growled. ‘By the time Delta’s lot have finished their pre-op Bible reading and prayer meeting, and made arrangements for Burger King and Dunkin Donuts franchises to be set up to keep them supplied while in-country, we’ll already have finished the task and be on our way home again.’
‘At least it looks like we won’t be short of equipment for the job,’ Shepherd said, gesturing towards the cargo parachute loads stacked on the deck nearby.
Joe nodded. ‘Part of that is my fault. After I read the Planning Pack, I added a Packet Easy to the stores list as well. We might need it, and if not, we can always burn it to heat our rations.’
A Packet Easy was SAS shorthand for a pack of one hundred standard plastic explosive charges, each weighing one pound. It came with a variety of detonating card, primers, timer switches and detonators enabling the user to take on a large variety of targets. However, the plastic explosive was also so stable that, without a detonator, it would not explode and could even be set on fire and used as fuel.
‘So that explains one of the cargo chutes,’ Shepherd said. ‘But what was in the other parachute loads?’
‘Desert sand buggies,’ Joe said. ‘They are being tested by the Operational Equipment guys for Delta Force. They are tricycles with a silent petrol engine, and a seriously good bit of kit if you ask me. We’re lucky to get it. But the Yanks want everything to go smoothly so it’s money no object.’
‘A silent petrol engine? That would be a first,’ Jock said.
‘Virtually silent anyway,’ Joe said. ‘The exhaust vents into the aluminium frame rather than into the air, and they are so quiet that you can be standing next to them and not even realise that the engine is running. They are fitted with sand tyres, the whole thing weighs just a few pounds, and they will run forever on a jerry can of petrol, so they are pretty much ideal for where we’re going.’
Shepherd nodded, impressed. ‘It seems like the Yanks are developing the kit for something big in this part of the world pretty soon.’
He’d been thinking furiously about the task ahead of them and had already come up with a few ideas of his own but, as was the SAS custom he initiated a “Chinese Parliament”, allowing every member of the patrol to contribute ideas that would, if necessar
y, refine the plan. Those who chose to remain silent forfeited any right to complain about the plan or its results afterwards.
After a long discussion they decided on an approach to the target by water, reasoning that the kidnappers would be expecting any attack to come from the landward side. Having fine-tuned the plan a little more, Shepherd led them up to the bridge of the ship. Expecting a difficult meeting - relations between Brits and Yanks weren’t always silky smooth and the traditional rivalry between the Navy and the Army only added another layer of complications - they were pleasantly surprised to find that the ship’s skipper could not have been more helpful if he’d tried.
‘Welcome aboard, guys,’ he said. ‘I obviously don’t know what you’re up to, but it’s clearly top priority because I’ve received orders from “on high” that I am to co-operate with you to the fullest possible extent.’ He spread his hands wide, as if encompassing the ship around him. ‘So you’ve got a blank cheque. Anything we’ve got, you can have… within reason anyway.’
‘Thank you Captain,’ Shepherd said. ‘There are just a couple of things you can help us with. We need a Sea Dragon heavy lift chopper here as soon as possible. If you don’t have one on board, can you summon one for us?’
If the ship’s commander was surprised by the request, he didn’t show it and didn’t even blink before replying, ‘You’ve got it. Anything else?’
‘We’ll also need five of the dry suits that your ship’s divers use.’
‘Not a problem. Nothing else?’ He smiled as Shepherd shook his head. ‘If only all the requests we receive for assistance were as easily satisfied. I’ll get those sorted for you right away.’ He turned away and began barking orders as the SAS men returned to the deck and started cleaning their weapons and preparing their equipment.
SAS Standard Ops Procedures dictated a lower limit to the amount of ammo that each member of the patrol had to carry, but there was no upper limit. The use of .223 rounds meant the patrol could carry more ammo to support themselves than would normally be the case. Spider and the others knew that if push came to shove they could not expect the cavalry in the shape of Close Air Support or friendly artillery fire to come to their rescue. They would be on their own.
‘Dry suits?’ Jock said. ‘Aren’t those a little old school even for an old-fashioned guy like me? What’s wrong with wet suits?’
‘As a general rule, nothing,’ Shepherd said. ‘But once we’ve vented all the trapped air through the waterproof cuffs on them, using dry suits will give us a negative buoyancy and that will allow us to float just below the surface, making us virtually invisible.’ He paused. ‘Except to the Nile crocodiles of course.’
As the others burst out laughing, Jimbo tried and failed to smile at the thought. ‘Bloody hell, don’t even joke about stuff like that?’ Sensing that he had just laid himself open to a lifetime of piss-taking, he hastily tried to back-track. ‘I mean, hell, I’m not scared of them but I’d rather go into a contact with the enemy armed with nothing more than a pea-shooter than have to swim down a murky river that could be crawling with crocodiles.’
‘It’s the not knowing, isn’t it?’ Jock said, apparently sympathetic. ‘Not knowing if you’re going to scream like a girl and then burst into tears, I mean.’
‘And look on the bright side,’ Geordie said joining in with relish. ‘If a croc gets you, we’ll make sure we get the croc in revenge, so even if she’s lost a husband, at least your widow will get a nice handbag and a pair of shoes out of it.’
Mercifully for Jimbo, his tormentors were distracted as the Sea Dragon was brought up from below decks and crewmen began swarming all over it, preparing it for its mission. The Sea Dragon was the largest and heaviest helicopter the US military had - bigger even than the US Army’s Chinook. Its triple engines gave it huge lifting power and the massive sponsons on either side of the fuselage carried enough additional fuel to give it a range of well over 1000 miles. And if that was not enough, it was fitted with a probe to enable in-flight refuelling.
‘Right, Joe,’ Shepherd said. ‘Let’s take a look at these buggies you’ve brought and give them a test drive. I’d hate the first time I rode one of them to be during a contact with a bunch of terrorists with heavy weapons.’
Joe unpacked one and began tinkering with it while Shepherd and the others unpacked the rest. They were strange, skeletal-looking vehicles with a thin, tubular aluminium frame, a relatively narrow front wheel and two fat rear tyres.
‘Start one up then,’ Jimbo said, and let’s see how quiet it really is.’
‘I already have,’ Joe said with a grin. ‘It’s running now.’ The bike’s engine was running but it barely made any sound. As Joe had said, the exhaust gases were vented into the frame’s aluminium tubing before eventually being released through a series of small holes at the rear of the frame. The effect was remarkable. The engine was virtually inaudible.
Shepherd gave a nod of approval. ‘Good kit, providing they work.’
‘Let’s see what they can do,’ said Joe. They started up the engines of all of them and began testing them, riding in circles round and round the flight deck at the rear of the ship, and then gunning the engines to test their speed, zooming half the length of the ship, inches from the guard rail, then manhandling them around and speeding back to the prow. Joe glanced at Shepherd. ‘Happy?’
‘I’ll be happy if they run as well on desert sand as they do on a steel deck, yes.’
‘They should run better on it, that’s what they’re designed for.’
Once they had finished their preparations, the SAS men stacked their flimsy-looking desert buggies in the loading bay of the Sea Dragon, and then went off to the mess decks to fuel up with some food. They would be travelling as light as possible, with maximum ammunition and minimum rations. Even if the op went to plan and was trouble-free, it would be at least forty-eight to seventy-two hours before they were back within range of anything other than their belt rations to eat.
Shepherd and the patrol embarked on the Sea Dragon at last light, having spent the previous couple of hours doing work-up training with the chopper crew. The Navy pilots were very gung-ho and did not appear to be at all fazed by their mission, even though it involved a covert insertion into a country that, although technically a US ally, could not be expected to take kindly to the violation of its airspace.
‘I’m getting the strong impression that the US Navy don’t view international boundaries as things to be respected,’ Shepherd said with a smile.
‘Except where the boundaries in question belong to the United States,’ Jock said, ‘when they tend to take them very seriously indeed.’
‘One of the benefits of being a superpower, I guess,” said Shepherd.
They took off immediately after nightfall, heading south over the Eastern Mediterranean. As they flew towards the Egyptian coast the bright lights of the coastal resorts pierced the darkness ahead of them.
Guided by an AWACS aircraft flying thousands of feet above them, the Sea Dragon flew at wave-top height. They reached land and skimmed over the low coastal cliffs, the massive rotors churning up a sand and dust storm as they flew on at low level, disappearing into the black void of the Western Desert, where the original SAS had made such a mark during World War Two. They were heading in a southerly direction, and there was nothing to see in the unrelieved darkness below them but the occasional flare of light from an oil installation, and the flicker of cooking fires in isolated Bedouin encampments.
Eventually, about an hour after crossing the coast, the helicopter swung on to an easterly course and before long, peering down at the ground through their Passive Night Goggles, the SAS men could see the desert giving way to the fertile strip flanking the river Nile. The transition was abrupt; one minute they were still passing over featureless desert, the next, as if someone had thrown a switch, they saw a lush patchwork of crop fields: cotton, wheat, maize, clover, sugar cane, groves of olive and citrus trees, date palms, and, nearer t
o the river itself, extensive rice paddies. Reflecting the moonlight, each crop seen through their goggles glowed a different vivid and eerie shade of yellowish-green.
In the distance ahead they could now see the gleam of the river Nile. Mud-brown in daylight, it glowed silver by the light of the moon. Immediately they began their preparations to disembark, as the pilot began counting them down towards their landing site.
The Sea Dragon went into a hover above a dusty, arable field, and as soon the helicopter’s wheels touched the ground, the loadmaster lowered the rear loading ramp. The SAS men disembarked at once, driving their dune buggies off the ramp through the blizzard of sand and dust raised by the whirling rotors of the helicopter. They went into all-round defence while the loadmaster dumped out the rest of their equipment. A few minutes later the Sea Dragon was rising back into the air, whipping up a fresh sand- and dust-storm as it did so. It swung away to the west, streaking low over the crop fields and the desert sands beyond, and again keeping well clear of the settlements of the Nile Valley before turning north to make for the rendezvous with the US warship waiting offshore.
After the thunder of the helicopter’s rotors had faded, Shepherd and the patrol waited a further twenty minutes before moving, both making sure that their arrival had not been detected and allowing their eyes time to become accustomed to the darkness, and their ears to the faint, subtle sounds of the desert at night. They then spent the next hour cacheing their spare fuel and explosives, before beginning to make for their objective.
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