Chapter 1

I was on the firing ranges when I got a message to go and see the Boss, I knew that I was in for some action, because he did not call you in to ask how your weekend had been. He was not the touchy-feely kind if you get what I mean. He was SAS to the core. He had come up through the ranks, he had the scars to prove it. He had seen action all over the world, even in places that the British army would never admit to. After a few beers in the mess, he could tell you stories that would make your toes curl.

I signed my rifle back in at the armoury and then I jogged across from the killing house to the admin block and as there was no one around in the outer office, I knocked on his door. He called me in.

The was none of that standing to attention and saluting crap in the regiment, that was okay for the green army but not for the SAS. Saluting an officer in the field made him more of a target than normal to the enemy. All officers are called boss and we did not salute them.

“Hello Rosie,” he said, he was sitting at the big table in front of the window, not behind his desk. There was a stack of maps and aerial pictures on the desk. He had some sort of report in his hand. He stood up and we shook hands.

“Hello Boss,” I said and waited for him to ask me to sit.

“Take the weight off lad” he said and reached for a coffee flask and poured me one without asking.

I took my berry off and sat down. He poured milk into the mugs of coffee.

He passed me the mug and a half-eaten pack of penguin biscuits. I took one out and passed it back.

“So, boss what’s up” I asked and dunked my penguin in my coffee before taking a bite. He smiled at me and did the same.

“We need you back out in the sandpit mate” he said with a smile.

It had been two months since our job in Scotland and I was eager to get stuck into some proper work. I had taken two weeks off and then I had spent the last few weeks helping to train up some AFOs from the met. AFO or Authorised firearms officers, are trained by the SAS to a high standard. They work for the Metropolitan Police in London, and they have to be ready for anything that is thrown at them.

London is a dangerous place; the regiment had a few lads stationed there full time but the AFOs also had to be ready to go into action against anything the terrorists of the world might throw at them. We trained them up on weapons and tactics.

“Great stuff Boss, when do I leave” I asked wondering if I would get back to Birmingham to see the girls before I had to fly out. I had been shagging them both since the Scottish adventure, they did not seem to mind. They would not have a threesome but hey I was not greedy. If I got off the base for the weekend o would spend one night with Asmaan and the next night with Damsa.

I shook my head to get any thoughts of the girls out of my mind and to get my game head back on.

“In three hours, we have three snipers down over there, all with injuries that mean they need to fly back, and we need snipers, you are going to meet up with a brick that is hunting down Taliban training groups.” He said with a smile.

“Do I know any of the lads?” I asked.

“Yes, I think you have worked with Sacka before?” the boss said.

Sacka or as his mother called him John Johnson was a Scots lad. Glaswegian through and through, he got his nickname as anyone on the receiving end of a punch from his meaty hands went down like a sack of spuds. We had done a job out in Bosnia; he was a good lad and a good trooper.

“Yes, Sir I have “I replied with a smile. I had some great memories of drinking sessions with Sacka. He was some lad and tough bugger. I remember doing some training in Norway with him and he was head and shoulders above the rest of us in more ways than one.

“The rest of the lads will be new to you” the boss continued, “they have a nice shiny out of the box major leading them teams out there!”

“What are the logistics boss?” I asked.

“I have to go to London this evening, a chopper is booked, we will drop you off at RAF Northolt and from there you will join a bunch of lads from the paras who are going over to replace lads that have been called back.” He smiled.

“I better get my arse into gear then boss,” I said and glanced at my watch and then downed my coffee.

“Yes mate, I will see you on the Helipad at 16.00 hours,” he said. We shook hands but he did not stand up as I left, he picked up the report he had been reading and got back to it. I guess with more than half the regiment on active missions he had a lot on his plate.

I jogged over to the Quartermaster’s stores and got the gear I would need, I had my own boots, camo gear, webbing, Bergan and of course my Fairbairn–Sykes fighting knife, but I got some other bits of kit I might need, a new first aid kit and spare water bottles and stuff.

I dropped them back in my room and then I went to the armoury and got my weapons. The great thing about being in the SAS is you get to play with some seriously great weapons and it’s your call what you use, within reason, what you take on Ops has to do a job and if you get it wrong you are fucked in more ways than one. The armour on duty was a new guy that I had only seen in the canteen, his name was Dick or Dead Eye to his mates. He seemed a nice enough bloke.

“What can I get for you mate?” he asked as I walked in, a huge mug of tea in his hands.

“Well, a brew would be nice!” he said.

“How do you take it pal?” he asked with a cheeky wink.

“A drop of milk no sugar please mate,” I said.

He made me a brew and then we chatted about weapons and what was new.

Weapons wise I went for my old favourites. Dick did show me some new rifles and I was tempted by the Heckler & Koch G36, but I knew the UCIW would do a job for me, it was tried and tested in my eyes.

For sniper work, I took the L96A1 Sniper Rifle, it is British-made and regarded by many as the best sniper rifle in the world. I took five spare mags for it.

For general use I took the Ultra Compact Individual Weapon (UCIW), for me it was the ideal weapon it fired the 5.56x45mm NATO round, had a collapsible stock and a thirty-round mag. I also took fifteen spare mags. I also took a Glock 17 pistol and five spare mags.

I gave the weapons a good check over and clean, they were in great condition already, but I always liked to give them a once over, after all, they were going to be the difference between life and death for me.

I would be able to pick up Ammo at the ROB, the Rear operating base. I would also zero out my weapons once I was over there. The armourer sorted me out with a flight case for the rifles or longs as we called them. The Glock would stay in my hip holster.

I went to my room and packed up all my kit. Then I glanced at the clock, I had an hour and a half before I needed to be at the helipad. I had a full Bergan and a full kit bag as well as the flight cases for the weapons.

I called the girls; we had a chat and I told them I had to go and do some work. They knew better than to ask where I was going or what I would be doing, they knew what my job was and the less they knew the better for them and me. I told them that when I got back, we would go on holiday somewhere, somewhere they could choose.

Once I had chatted to them, I went down to the canteen and fuelled up. I went for sausage, egg, and chips, washed down with a mug of tea. A few lads were wandering around, but I ate on my own.

I treated myself to a pudding as knew the flight would be long and the food on the plane would be crap.

On the way out I went into the camp’s little tuck shop and picked up a four-pack of Iron brew, plus some chewing gum and mints. I did not take chocolate; it never tasted the same out there. I think the heat made it too soft and I liked my chocolate out of the fridge.

After that, I went back up to my room and tidied it up before changing into my camo gear and grabbing my Bergan, my kit bag, and the travel case with my weapons in. I also had a gym bag with extra clothes and extra washing kit and stuff.

I wandered over to the helipad, there was a helicopter already there and one of the pilots stowed my gear for me. I took a seat and saw the boss running over to the helipad. He might not have been active for a few years, but he still did PT every day and was a fit as most of the troopers. He had two travel mugs in his hands, and he passed one to me.

He boarded the chopper and once we both had headsets on the pilots fired up the engines and minutes later, we took off and sped off toward London.

I drank my coffee and as the Boss was reading through some paperwork there was no chat to be had. Once the cup had been drained, I got my head down and kipped until the pilot touched down at North Holt RAF base. I shook hands with the boss, and he wished me all the best. One of the pilots got my gear out of the hold and I ran over to a waiting jeep.

An RAF police officer was waiting for me and he helped me get my gear into the jeep. He then drove me over to a small plane; it was an Envoy IV CC Mk1. I was handed over to one of the plane’s crew and he stowed my gear, and I went up the steps.

It was a 14-seater but only ten seats were in use, there was a bunch of Para officers, plus a couple of sergeants, and some Para medics. Their red berry’s gave them away. I took a pair of seats at the back and as soon as I sat down, I kicked off my boots and got my Kindle out.