The final reason for using the gliders was the need for pinpoint pre-assault bombing. They needed to soften up the camp using air-delivered bombs. They intended to confuse and hopefully scatter the warriors before the ground assault – historically, such bombing operations, particularly in woodland, hadn’t produced a significant number of casualties. A ground force would have had to use mortars. But they wouldn’t have been as accurate as the same bombs delivered by hand from directly above by men who could see what they were aiming for. HMS Ocean didn’t have guns large enough to hit the encampment. Stratton guessed London had considered Cruise missiles to be too heavy-handed and probably calculated they might work against them in the subsequent propaganda exchange. A more hands-on, surgical solution had been required.
The Lynx’s engines roared to full power and it rose off the deck and politely reversed off the back end so as not to harass the men and their gliders with its downdraft. It turned to one side and dropped out of sight as it headed towards the coastline a few feet above the waves. Without any of its navigation lights, it soon disappeared from view and seconds later it could no longer be heard, the throb of its engines absorbed by the blustery wind.
Downs walked around the edge of the hustle and bustle and over to Stratton and the glider he was to share with his old friend. ‘Bloody madness, if you ask me,’ he said in his rich Irish brogue and wearing his usual grin. ‘I’m talking about this glider lark. What do you think?’
‘I think that about sums it up,’ Stratton said. ‘And you and I wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world right now.’
‘Ha, bloody roight.’
Lieutenant Phelps stepped out on deck and searched the men spread out in front of him until he found who he was looking for. ‘Stratton?’ he called out.
Stratton turned to look at the man whom he hardly knew.
‘A brief word, please,’ the officer said.
Stratton left Downs and walked over to him.
The officer stepped away to a more private piece of deck as Stratton arrived and glanced around to ensure they were out of earshot of everyone else.
‘I have a message for you from London,’ Phelps said. ‘The Chinese insist they don’t have an agent in Somalia at this time and have not had in recent months. They have acknowledged the agent you confronted in Yemen. Given that, London is inclined to believe them. Why would they acknowledge one and not the other? They have accounted for all of their known citizens in Somalia and none fit the description of the woman in your report.’
Stratton felt surprised by the revelation. His initial inclination was to believe it but he wasn’t immediately sure why.
‘Good luck,’ the officer said, before walking away and back inside the superstructure.
Stratton’s head started to fill with questions about what the girl could have been doing in Somalia if she wasn’t an agent. Maybe the Chinese were lying. That he could believe. Maybe she was connected to Al-Shabaab and the acquisition of the weapons. If so, something had clearly gone badly wrong for her. But that didn’t explain why she would have been sneaking around the Oasis when he found her. None of the dots connected in a way that worked for him. He couldn’t find a remotely satisfying explanation for it. He clearly didn’t have enough information.
Despite the possibility that she had duped him, he couldn’t dislike her. He never got the impression she was a bad person. Which was possibly naive of him but he fancied himself a fair judge of character.
He wondered where the girl was at that moment. Had she truly gone back to Somalia to finish whatever it was she had started there, madness though it had to be? Hopefully she had made it safely to another coast. If she wasn’t a Chinese agent, it helped explain why she jumped ship. She knew Stratton would have included her in his report. She would also have expected him to go to the nearest British safe haven and would have expected her to accompany him. The Chinese authorities would also have been informed. She wouldn’t have wanted to be interviewed by the British, and even less by her own people.
Stratton’s thoughts were interrupted by Howel and Winslow stepping out on deck through a door beside him. The two officers headed over to Downs.
‘The old man said you can go ahead and prepare for departure,’ Winslow said. ‘He’s adjusting the ship’s speed and heading to reduce the wind so that you can complete the assembling of the gliders.’
Downs looked into the wind and decided it had indeed grown weaker in the past few minutes. He brought a whistle to his lips and blew it. Everyone looked in his direction. ‘Let’s get the wings on,’ he shouted.
Howel looked around at the preparations as he and Winslow walked back towards the superstructure, where Stratton still stood.
‘God, how I envy you lot,’ Howel said to Stratton.
‘Well, you know where the door to true adventure lies,’ Stratton said. ‘You just have to get through it.’
He winked at Winslow and walked away. Winslow watched him go, his jaw tight.
Stratton stepped to his glider as a couple of the ship’s crew were assembling the wing. The rest of the glider pairs, aided by sailors, were doing the same all over the deck area.
A tall, strongly built SBS operative preparing the glider beside Downs and Stratton’s looked over at Stratton as he arrived. ‘Hey, Stratton,’ he said.
Stratton looked at him, recognising the face but unable to place him right away.
‘Matt,’ he reminded Stratton, aware the operative could not remember his name. ‘We were in Helmand last year at the same time. I was in Blue Team.’
The man fell into place for Stratton. ‘I remember. How’s it going?’
Matt stepped closer. He was a head taller than Stratton with a pair of shoulders to match. ‘So what’s Somalia like?’
‘I found it a tad unfriendly. But it would be unfair to taint the entire country. I only saw a small part of it.’
‘I’m looking forward to punishing those bastards. Hopper was a good friend. Do you know his wife, Helen?’
Stratton had been wondering who would be the first to mention Hopper. ‘Only in passing,’ he said.
‘You met the kids?’
Stratton could sense an edge to the man’s tone. ‘A couple of times.’
Matt nodded. Like he had no real interest in Stratton’s answers to his questions, like he wanted to get to others he had on his mind. ‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’ he said. ‘There’s a rumour going around that you killed Hopper.’
The hint of confrontation Stratton had detected became suddenly far stronger. Hearing Matt’s voice had improved his memory of the man. Matt had a reputation for being stroppy. He had a bit of the big-man syndrome. He used his size and naturally aggressive nature to intimidate. It worked on most people. Stratton remembered his behaviour during one set of operational orders in Afghanistan. During the questions phase, Matt had been sarcastic to the sergeant running that small op. Stratton suspected it was because he felt like he should have been running it. A childish response but some people were like that.
For Matt’s part, Stratton didn’t overly impress him. He felt he was every bit as good as guys like him. In Matt’s eyes, the only difference between them both was that he hadn’t yet had the opportunity to prove himself.