Sas - Taking Out a Convoy in the Sandpit
Copyright© 2026 by Zak
Chapter 1
It was Sunday afternoon, and I was sitting in the beer garden of our local pub. I was with Asmaan and Damsa, having just finished Sunday lunch, and we were enjoying a beer and a chat in the sun.
We had really settled into home life in Hereford; both girls were working, and our domestic life had found a natural rhythm. I was a happy man; I was still shagging both of the girls. What more could a man ask for?
After the job in Shabar, I had also been promoted to Staff Sergeant. That was nice, as was the extra cash in the bank each month.
Also, since the job in Shabar, I had not been assigned another job; I had been helping train new recruits and conducting weapons testing.
I enjoyed the weapons testing. I got to play with lots of new toys!
Okay, so it wasn’t what I had joined the SAS to do, but I was doing it while I waited for my next assignment. There was a rumour that I would be heading out to South America. The SAS did a lot of work for the DEA; it was all off the record, but I spent three months there a few years back, and it was good fun. Plus, you got a good tan and the scran was okay.
So while I waited to be sent who knows where, it was nice to sleep in my own bed at night and to eat home-cooked food.
I was just about to go and get another round of drinks when my pager buzzed. We all looked at each other. We all knew what the pager buzzing meant. I checked the message. SAS HQ ASAP “Girls, I have to go. I will call you later!” I said. We all stood up. Hugs and kisses were exchanged, and I drained my glass and headed out toward the main road. A taxi rank was about a hundred yards from the pub.
I got into a cab and told the driver where I was going. We talked about cricket as he drove me to the camp gates. I got out, and he tried to give me the trip for free, but I thrust a tenner into his hand and walked away. A lot of the cab drivers dropping lads off at the SAS base tried to give us rides for free, but in the end, they had to make a living.
The gate guards checked my ID. They knew me, but they had to be seen to be doing their job, and then told me the boss was in his office waiting for me.
I got a lift to his office; his secretary was not on duty. I knocked on his door, and he called me in.
“Afternoon, boss!” I said.
“Hello Rosie, sorry to call you in on a Sunday, but we have a job for you, and it’s a big one!” he said. As he said it, there was a knock on the door. In walked three lads that I knew.
Barry ‘Big Bazza’ Bryd. He had been on the training course in Shabar when it turned into a firefight after their neighbours tried to invade their country. He was a good lad to have around, and he had been promoted to corporal.
Ian ‘Coxie’ Coxen – he is a comms and demolition expert. He had also been on the training course in Shabar. He was a great guy, level-headed and calm when the shit hit the fan. He had been promoted to lance-corporal.
Billy ‘Custard’ Birds was a great combat medic and handy with a gun in his hand. Another of the guys who had cut his teeth in Shabar. He was also now a lance corporal.
We all exchanged handshakes and knowing looks.
“Gents, take a pew, and I will rustle up some coffees!” The boss smiled and left the room.
He came back five minutes later with two guys. One was a major in the intel department. He was dressed in civvies. The other was a Yank intel officer, who was dressed in desert battle dress. He had a Glock in a holster on his belt, but I got the feeling he had never seen active combat or ever been in a combat zone.
He didn’t have the look. You can see it in the eyes ... in the way lads act and hold themselves.
The British Intel officer was introduced as Major Dave Thomas; the Yank was First Lieutenant Andy Morris. The intel major linked a laptop to a big screen and waited for the boss to give the word.
Two troopers came in with trays of mugs and flasks of coffee. They put them down, and the boss got two packs of penguin biscuits from his private stash.
We all got coffees and settled in to see what the job would be. The boss gave the nod, and the intel boys took over.
The Yanks had picked up intel that there was a Taliban convoy of arms that had been donated by a foreign power, a power whose name they didn’t give us, but we assumed Russia or China. The intel was that there was a significant amount of weapons and ammo being moved toward a Taliban training camp, and then, once distributed, an attack on a combined UK/USA camp was going to be launched.
The intel guys indicated that the camp was going to be beefed up, but we had been tasked with either slowing the convoy or destroying it. This would give the guys in the camps more time to get ready for the attack.
It was explained that it was a rush job, but not why an airstrike could not be called in.
“How are we getting onto the plot, boss?” Barry asked.
“HALO night drop, mate; any other way and the Taliban will know you are there!” the boss told us.
A HALO (High Altitude, Low Opening) jump is an extreme military parachuting technique where soldiers jump from an aircraft at altitudes up to 35,000 feet and free-fall for a long time before deploying their parachute at a low altitude. This method keeps troopers and equipment covert and safe from ground fire.
“And what sort of forces are we up against?” asked Bill. The intel said there would be over thirty trucks and ten support vehicles. They guessed that the guys in the support trucks would be front-line Taliban warriors. The rest would not be combat-ready. I didn’t like guessing when it came to firefights.
I looked at the other guys, then did some mental arithmetic: two or maybe four guys per truck and maybe six or eight in each support vehicle, so we could be up against two hundred tangos.
The boss must have sensed my apprehension.
“As you know, guys, we are short of numbers; the wars in the sandpits and Europe, as well as issues closer to home, are all draining us of active troopers!” he said. “Also, we are short of time, as we need you guys in the air by the day after tomorrow evening!”
Fuck me, I thought this was a quick-and-dirty job; there was little time for planning or prep.
“When do we think we will have to hit the convoy?” I asked “The convoy’s trucks are being loaded in two days; it will be on the island in three,” Major Thomas said.
We all looked at each other.
“The island?” I asked, asking the question that was on the lips of all the lads.
“Yes, I will explain that later!!” the Yank said.
“And we are sure about time scales?” Bazza asked.
The intel officers both nodded.
“Rosie, you know the guys we have in training!” The Boss said as he unwrapped a penguin biscuit, “I think if you can hand-pick two more teams, that will be all we can send!”
In my head, I was already thinking about the lads I would take. It was a worry if we had to go into battle with four experienced men and eight newbies. When I say they were newbies, they were new to the SAS, but they had all done a few years in the regular army. Some would have seen active service; some wouldn’t.
I was also thinking about weaponry. We would have to parachute in with all the gear we needed, plus rations and water.
“The one bit of good news is the route they are taking; we have been given the route!” said the British intel major.
He fired up the big screen, then showed us the route. Halfway from their pickup point to the base was a large island that had been carved out between two deep riverbeds.
The road ran across the island, and two bridges connected it to the mainland. The island had some small hills on either side of the road; to be fair, it was an ideal site for an ambush.
“So the plan would be, I think, to blow the bridges and hit them from both sides of the road!” said the boss, making it sound simple.
But as everyone in the room knew, “No plan survives contact with the enemy!”
We left the boss’s office two hours later, and we had a rough plan of attack worked out. The boss was going to arrange transport. I rang the girls and told them I would be away for a couple of weeks. Then the lads and I went over to the canteen.
Over coffee and cake, we talked about the job, the risks, and the weapons we would need.
We all bunked down on the base for the night. There was no point going home; we agreed to meet for breakfast at six the following morning. I ran around the base the following morning, and after a shower, I went to the canteen.
Barry and Bill were already there, plates piled high with food. I went and filled a plate before grabbing a coffee and an orange juice. Coxie joined us a few seconds later.
As we ate, all the chat was about how fast the mission had come together, whether the intel was 100% accurate, and how the newbies would react under pressure.
We had just finished a second round of coffee when a runner came in and asked us to be in the boss’s office in ten minutes.
We were all there well before the ten-minute mark. As soon as we were all sitting down, the boss closed the door. The Brit intel officer was there, but the Yank was not.