Judging by the schedule Stratton had been given, he didn’t have a lot of time to get to the UK to meet his next transit east. He climbed into a scuffed US Air Force van and as they headed for a line of huge C-141 jet transport aircraft he couldn’t see how he was going to make the connection in time. So he wasn’t surprised when the driver pulled the van past the transport craft towards a lone two-seater F-16 parked on the skirt.
Stratton stepped from the van as an aviation fuel truck drove away. After the senior officer’s brief explanation of the flight – basically what not to touch and what to do in the event of an emergency – the man handed him a helmet and life vest and invited him to climb the ladder into the back seat of the dull-grey fighter. Stratton nodded to the pilot, who was already aboard. After a brief exchange the canopy closed and the engines roared as the bird rolled off the skirt.
As the pilot taxied the fighter, he called in to the tower and received clearance to go. He turned the F-16 on to the runway and fired the thrusters. Stratton’s seat had been lowered to reduce the effects of the g-force but the take-off acceleration was exhilarating even for him. Especially since all he could see were the clouds through the polycarbonate bubble canopy. Once they were airborne, the pilot raised Stratton’s seat back up and after climbing to thirty thousand feet, they shot through the skies at around fifteen hundred mph, more than double the speed of a commercial jet.
After a while looking at nothing but clouds below and blue sky everywhere else, Stratton nodded off. Until a strange noise woke him. For a few seconds he wondered where the hell he was. A long tube with a bulbous end was hovering above him outside the cockpit. The far end of the tube was attached to the back of a large aircraft above and in front of them. The F-16 was being refuelled, a new experience for Stratton and he watched it with interest.
Three hours after leaving DC, five hours quicker than a Boeing 747, the fighter craft touched down at Mildenhall Air Base in Norfolk and Stratton got taken to an MoD civilianised Gulf jet, where he met Hopper, Prabhu, Ramlal and the ops team who were to give them the detailed briefing and provide the specialised equipment they needed.
Six and a half hours later the aircraft landed in Salalah, Oman, and after that the team rode in a Toyota Land Cruiser heading for the Yemeni border, which they crossed to follow the coastal road all the way to Riyan.
2
Flickering lights coming from the village snapped Stratton out of his reverie and he leaned his elbows on the edge of the wadi to look through a night-vision monoscope. Two Suburbans were making their way between the houses in his direction. It had to be their target departing the rendezvous.
He looked over at Hopper, who was on his knees holding the wire. The last house in the village looked about a thousand metres away. The vehicles would cover the distance in a couple of minutes on the rough road. The first vehicle emerged from between the perimeter houses and into the open, the second one close behind it, their headlights bouncing as they came over the undulating ground.
Stratton placed three small gas grenades on the top of the wadi and slid a hand inside his jacket to touch his holstered P226 pistol. It was a subconscious check. The weapon was already loaded. He had been ready for a fight from the moment they crossed the border into Yemen.
He looked once again at Hopper. ‘You a happy man, Hopper?’ he called out.
‘I will be when we’re on our way home.’
Stratton should have expected such a reply. He would bet fifty quid that Hopper was thinking about his family even then. But he took a moment to ask himself what he would feel like if he had the ideal girl waiting for him to get home.
Headlights suddenly appeared, coming from the coastal highway, and flashed across their position. It was a vehicle speeding along the track towards the village and the two Suburbans.
Stratton and Hopper dropped to the bottom of the wadi just before the vehicle, some type of 4×4, tore by, kicking dirt and stones into the wadi and on top of them. They knelt back up to watch it head towards the oncoming Suburbans.
‘What the bloody hell was that?’ Hopper called out.
Whatever it was, Stratton didn’t like the look of it.
A sudden loud bang came from the direction of the two Suburbans. Not so much like a gun going off, more like the muffled burst of a tyre. Stratton and Hopper watched as the headlights of the leading Suburban bounced hard before turning sharply to one side like the vehicle had lost control. It came to a dusty halt and the second Suburban behind slid to a stop.
Stratton quickly took up the thermal imager and saw several figures running from a fold in the ground where they had obviously been hiding. There were four of them in total and they split into pairs as they went towards both vehicles. He could hear popping sounds as the figures reached the Suburbans. Then he heard a shot.
The red tail lights of the 4×4 flared as it came to a hard halt on the stone track right in front of the Suburbans. The sound of men shouting carried across the night air, the language impossible to decipher.
Hopper stood to get a better look but also out of mild shock. ‘Is what I think I see going on what I think is going on?’
Stratton couldn’t think what else could be going on.
‘Someone’s beaten us to them,’ Hopper said.
Stratton didn’t ask the question, who was carrying out the attack? All he could think of was what he needed to do about it. His team wasn’t equipped for any kind of major firefight against numbers. They only had a pistol each. This was all now about coming up with the right reaction.
The 4×4 carried out a u-turn, its headlights pointing back the way it had come. They heard more shouts accompanied by the slamming of the vehicle’s doors.
Stratton watched through his imager at what appeared to be the original ambush party: four or five men running across the rocky ground in the direction of the coast. The 4×4 accelerated along the track back the way it had come – towards Stratton and Hopper.
‘Pull the claws!’ Stratton shouted.
Hopper hesitated, looking for confirmation. He’d had the same concerns as Stratton – they weren’t equipped for a firefight beyond a handful of pistols.
‘They’ve got our target,’ said Stratton. ‘We’re gonna take him back.’
Hopper yanked on the wire and dragged the multi-barbed snake out of its housing until it was stretched across the full width of the track.
‘Nothing’s changed other than we have just the one vehicle to take on,’ Stratton called out. ‘We also have surprise. They won’t be expecting us.’ He looked behind him and back up the mountain track hoping the Gurkhas would be ready to react as they had originally planned.
The 4×4 came fast along the dusty, rocky track, skidding on the bends, its lights bouncing violently over the ruts. Whoever was driving it was at the limit of his abilities. Stratton and Hopper pulled on their gas masks and braced as the vehicle closed on them. The driver was reckless, Stratton could see, the guy could easily skid into the wadi after hitting the claws. He hugged the edge of the riverbed, crouched below it as the headlights came on.
The vehicle shot over the claws, the teeth biting into the rubber and the links then wrapping around the front wheels as they were designed to, shredding the tyres. The driver fought to keep the SUV under control but he couldn’t and slewed off the track opposite the wadi, the wheel rims gouging the ground. As the car stopped, Stratton and Hopper strode up and out of the wadi, pulling the pins from their grenades as they walked.
The front passenger door opened as Stratton arrived. He tossed a grenade inside. But as the cap fired with a loud pop and smoke hissed loudly from it the passenger climbed out. The man was wearing a gas mask. He was reaching inside his jacket. Stratton had several distinct thoughts in the space of half a second. Going for his own pistol could be the wrong move. The guy could be anyone. He was kidnapping a bad guy so he wasn’t necessarily a bad guy himself. Stratton kept his forward momentum. He rapidly closed on the man, whose pistol came into view, and slammed into him, knee to crotch, palm to face, slapping the gun away with his other hand. The man dropped back into the vehicle with the force of the contact, his feet still on the ground. Stratton grabbed him by his front, ripped him from the vehicle and threw him to the ground.