Apache

‘This bar here is what you’re going to strap onto.’

I demonstrated.

‘Okay, with that?’

Three of them nodded, wide-eyed and hanging on my every word. But RSM Hearn didn’t appear to be paying much attention. Instead, he just grinned. I hadn’t the time to ask what he was finding so funny. I thought that perhaps he was nervous; I would have been, in his position.

‘Right, this is what’s going to happen…’

I drew a line in the sand with my finger in front of the Apache, and put a small pebble beside it. ‘That’s the wall, and that’s Mathew Ford. Both aircraft will land in the field here, with the wall on our right. As soon as the pilots give you the thumbs up, go. Run to the wall. When you find the big hole in it, Mathew is just to the left. Grab one limb each and go to the nearest aircraft. Strap him onto the foot step in front of the right wheel with one of your straps.

‘Get back on the aircraft you got off, in the same place. If you don’t have a strap left, just hold on tight. Don’t run round the back of the aircraft or the tail rotor will chop your head off. If we go down, stay with the aircraft. The crew will guide you. If the crew are dead, make for the river. The firebase will cover you across it.’

Was there anything I’d forgotten to mention? Yes, loads; but we didn’t have the time.

‘You.’ I pointed to Rigg, the bloke nearest to me. ‘You’re going to sit on this flat side here, in front of the engine air intake. Wedge your back against the aircraft by jamming your feet against the empty Hellfire rail.’

I took the remaining three round the other side.

‘Fraser-Perry, you’re going here. Same drill. I’ll be back with some straps. You two, follow me.’

We sprinted the 100 metres to the other Apache. Billy and Geordie’s canopy doors were open, ready for me.

‘Give me your straps, guys.’

Billy threw his down. Geordie just looked embarrassed and put up his hands.

‘I haven’t got it.’

‘What?’

‘My jacket’s in for servicing. This is a spare, like. Sorry.’

Bloody hell. Geordie was the squadron’s Combat Rescue officer. Of all the people to forget a strap… He’d be ribbed mercilessly by the lads for this when we got back. Someone would just have to go without.

‘Geordie, you lead, we’ll follow. Make sure you stay out of the gun line; they’ll be firing all the way in to cover us.’

‘No problem mate.’

I dished out Carl and Billy’s straps to Robinson and RSM Hearn – who was still grinning at me – and ran back to my aircraft.

How the hell do I choose who gets the last strap? Shit – is this going to be a life or death decision? It had to be Rigg. He knew where Mathew was, he was marginally more mission critical. I threw it up to him then went back round to see Fraser-Perry.

‘There’s no strap for you.’

He looked at me in disbelief.

‘Put your arm through the grab bar and then force your hand in under your body armour. That way you won’t fall off if you get shot. Do you understand what I am saying?’

He took it well.

‘Yes, yes…’ He nodded frantically and cracked on.

‘Tuck it in.’

The tall marine in shirt sleeves was waiting for me at the front of the aircraft. Now I recognised him. Colonel Magowan. His brow was painfully furrowed, and intense concern was etched over every square inch of his tanned face.

‘Good luck,’ he said, and we shook hands. It sounded like he meant those words more now than he had in his whole life.

I clambered back inside and plugged in as Carl was completing his last checks.

‘Guess who didn’t bring his strap.’

‘Not the SERE officer was it, by chance?’ He grinned. ‘Who drew the short straw?’

‘Young guy, left-hand side; name’s Fraser-Perry. The one on the right’s called Rigg.’

I slammed my door, buckled up, pulled down my visor and tried to catch my breath as the air conditioning kicked back in.

‘I gave them the fullest brief we had time for. At least they all know exactly what to do when we get there.’

‘Good.’

‘Okay, Geordie, your lead.’

‘My lead,’ Geordie replied.

Carl pulled on the collective and we began to lift steadily into our own swirling dust cloud.

Magowan looked up. The loneliness of command was stamped onto his troubled face. I felt for him; whatever the outcome, he would be judged. I wanted to shout, ‘Fortune favours the brave!’ but I didn’t want to count my chickens yet either.

It was not for some hours that I found out that our four passengers had barely heard a word I’d said.

17. INTO THE LION’S MOUTH

We flew directly east, and very low – just ten feet off the desert floor. Only the odd opium runner’s tyre tracks punctured the sea of sand beneath us.

‘We’ll be over the ridgeline at 10.38, Ed.’

‘Copied, buddy.’

The ridge was our cover. As long as we kept low, the enemy wouldn’t see us until the precise moment we crossed it. And by then they’d have other things to think about, if Widow Seven One had done his job. I needed to know that everything was set up right for us.

‘What’s happening with the fire plan, Carl?’