‘When was the last time?’

‘Only happened once. We lost a C130 to ground fire in Iraq, back in 2005. But that was in daylight. Chances of it getting shot out of the air over the Sahara, under cover of darkness, are slim. Getting compromised? Bit higher, but that’s a matter for the politicians to consider. The main vulnerability is when it’s on the ground.’

‘What can we do about that?’

‘Trust John Carr to secure the area as best he can.’

‘And you’re willing to take the risk?’ said Nicholls.

‘Taking risks is what we do, Justin. Get me that lat and long and the PM’s approval, and we can crack on.’

‘Understood,’ said Nicholls. He hesitated a moment. ‘Listen, Mark, one of Carr’s men was killed, I’m sorry to say.’

‘Ah, shit,’ said Topham. ‘Who?’

‘Paul West,’ said Nicholls.

It was Mark Topham’s turn to pause.

He sighed. ‘That’s a real shame,’ he said. ‘He was a good man, Fred.’ He shook his head, ruefully. ‘Mind you, it could have been worse. I’ll be honest, Justin, I was quite prepared for you to be ringing to tell me they were all dead. One thing’s for sure – I’m going to want a full debrief with Carr and the others when they get back. There’ll be lessons here we can learn.’

Chapter 108.

108.

INSIDE THE NEXT half-hour, Justin Nicholls had received authorisation from the Prime Minister for the use of an aircraft, and had relayed Carr’s current position, and his intended landing location, to Mark Topham.

In turn, Topham had been on to the CO of 22 SAS up in Hereford, giving him the green light.

Two weeks earlier, before Carr and his team had even left the UK, Topham had tasked the CO with preparing for just this eventuality – though he had kept the circle of knowledge very tight. Only the commanding officer, elements of Regimental Headquarters and the D Squadron HQ had known why they were drawing up the plan.

A dozen men from the Squadron had been put on thirty minutes’ notice to move, and well inside an hour after Topham and Nicholls had ended their call they were sitting in a briefing room at their Hereford camp, waiting to be told what the task was.

At the front of the room, a map of Libya was projected onto a large screen.

There was a buzz of excitement in the air, and it heightened when Squadron Sergeant Major Rich Arnold walked in with the OC.

Arnold wasted no time.

‘Alright guys,’ he said, in his deep Scouse voice. ‘Listen in. Time’s pressing, there’s a CH47 inbound to fly us to Brize and onto an A400, so alls I’m gonna do is outline this for you now. We all know the PM’s daughter was kidnapped a fortnight ago.’