The Ocean continued to cut through the water but at a reduced speed to control the wind.
‘Is that Somalia?’ one of the men asked no one in particular.
They could see a faint glow in the distance in the direction of the Somali coastline.
‘Calula,’ someone answered.
‘I think that’s too far east,’ another operator said. ‘Could be, I suppose,’ he added, having a second thought.
The wind suddenly picked up a little, something each man was keenly aware of. Crewmen hurried to the wing ends to hold them in case a gust should arrive. With no one sitting in them, the craft were relatively light and could get blown about. The single thought that ran through every operative’s mind at that point was how strong the captain would let it get before cancelling the take-off.
There was one other significant element in the equation that could stop the operation and that was any sign of mobilisation by the Somali jihadists. The ship’s operations room carefully watched the terrorist camp via satellite. If they got any indication that the enemy were preparing for an attack, the task would be aborted, for the time being at least. The teams didn’t have the manpower, equipment or firepower to mount an assault against a defended position. The satellite guys felt confident that the jihadists hadn’t reacted unduly to Stratton’s escape despite him knowing the whereabouts of their camp. The initial fear had been that they might immediately relocate. But all signs seemed to indicate that they hadn’t. Not yet. It was the reason why the assault had been organised so quickly. They had to hit the camp before the missiles could be moved. The jihadists had to know that Stratton had escaped them but would they expect him to have escaped Somalia? Which was why Lotto had been upgraded to a significant factor.
They estimated that the pirate chief would have reached his coastal base by dusk that day. How he acted would depend on how seriously he took the possibility that the British would mount an attack right away or even at all. Lotto didn’t necessarily know that Stratton had discovered the weapons secreted on board the Oasis. Once again, it was another good reason to mount an attack immediately.
A glider engine fired up and its propeller whirred. The glider engineer who had accompanied the teams was running a test after having completed some work on it. Stratton felt surprised by how quiet it was. He hadn’t heard the engines since the new suppressors had been fitted. In fact most of the sound came from the propellers cutting through the air rather than the engine itself.
Before long, every glider had its wing fitted and appeared ready to go. The wind hadn’t increased significantly and everything looked good to go.
‘You all set?’ Downs asked Stratton.
‘Yep,’ Stratton said as he buckled up his fighting harness and adjusted the strapping.
‘Seriously. You looking forward to this or not? You had a pretty hard time of it over there.’
‘I’m ready to go,’ Stratton said, with little emotion. ‘More than anyone else here,’ he added.
Downs believed him. He had the feeling there might also be more to it than just revenge for Hopper. He pushed the send button on his radio that was attached to his body harness. ‘All stations, this is Downs, check.’
‘Harry, check,’ came an immediate reply.
‘Dizzy, check.’
‘Spud, check.’
And so on as each glider team responded to the communications check in turn. First or nicknames could be used instead of call-signs for a number of reasons. The communications system had been encrypted and even the Russians or Chinese wouldn’t be able to decrypt it, let alone the Somalis. Another reason was that with so many teams it could be difficult to keep tabs on who belonged to which call-sign. The final check came from the ship’s operations room.
‘Oscar Zero, Downs, permission for countdown?’ Downs asked.
‘Oscar Zero, that’s affirmative.’
‘Roger. All stations, this is Downs, countdown five minutes. No reply required unless you have a problem.’
Downs waited for a moment in case anyone did reply but the airwaves remained silent. ‘Gentlemen, get seated and start your engines,’ he said to those around him.
That had a ripple effect as the rest of the teams boarded their aircraft.
The ship’s loudspeaker broke over the sound of engines starting up. ‘All non-mission personnel move behind the flight lines.’
The sailors who had been lending a hand hurried across the deck in between the lines of gliders and over the thick white line that surrounded the superstructure. Some of the crew moved behind the squadron of gliders to the helicopters parked on the rear portion of the deck.
Every glider engine purred away, the craft positioned two abreast with several metres between the following rows. The take-off had naturally been discussed in detail but there had not been any time to carry out rehearsals back in the UK before departure. There had been a brief discussion about the practicalities of carrying out a practice run earlier in the day but that had been nixed immediately. Taking off was much easier than landing and accidents were only to be expected. A 10 per cent failure rate had been built into the take-off and target-approach phase of the operation, which meant they could afford to lose two craft and four men before the first assault stage began. A rehearsal that included a difficult landing on the flight deck, something none of the pilots had actually done before, was considered ill-advised.
Stratton got comfortable in his seat to the rear and above Downs and buckled himself in. He secured the strap of his Colt in case he had to release it from his grip for whatever reason, but otherwise it would remain in one of his hands. He had a pair of goggles but elected not to wear them unless the wind became too uncomfortable. Stratton disliked hats and sunglasses or goggles and only used them when he had to.
The propeller turned over behind him, vibrating the chassis. The bucket-style seats were snug and quite comfortable. Stratton checked his small backpack was secured to the back of Downs’s seat in between his legs and that the mortar shells nestled tightly in their pouches either side of him. The safety pins remained in the heads to prevent them from going off should the glider crash. He looked over at the glider to his side. Matt sat in the back staring ahead. The man had not even looked in his direction since Downs’s threat.
‘Clear for take-off,’ came a voice over the radio from the ship’s operations room.
Stratton looked at the back of Downs’s head and wondered how the man was feeling. He knew Downs to be a tough fighter and although he would be as nervous as everyone else, he was good at hiding it.
Stratton felt a touch of the butterflies in the pit of his own stomach as the seconds to take-off ticked away. The wind had picked up a little but it was being controlled by the captain to a large degree using the ship’s speed and direction. The plan would be to have several knots blowing in their faces to aid the take-off because the first craft only just had enough runway to get airborne. That would improve for each following row of aircraft.
Stratton checked his GPS. The Somali coastline was eight miles away. There was a bit of a headwind but they hoped to be on target before 2200. The ideal time for an attack such as this would be in the early hours of the morning, around 0200 to 0300, when the enemy would be well asleep. But that would not have left them time to complete the other phases of the operation before first light, which was important.
‘Hey, Stratton.’
Stratton looked at Downs who had his head turned to the side enough to talk to him but not to see him. ‘Yeah?’