‘Hopefully, zero,’ said Arnold. ‘As I say, this is outline only. Al Fuqaha’s a ghost town, and there’s no recent reports of any major concentrations of bad guys operating in that area. Doesn’t mean they aren’t around, obviously, and we’ll need it all firming up. But Int are working on it.’

‘What about ROE?’

‘Ideally we get in and out without firing a shot, and no fucker ever knows we were there. But usual rules apply if it goes tits up. I’d rather we were judged by twelve than carried by six.’

Lawrence Jones cleared his throat. The young Welshman was the new Troop officer, fresh from Selection.

‘What’s the air threat like around that area?’ he said.

‘Pass,’ said SSM Arnold, without bothering to look at him. ‘We’ll let the RAF worry about that one.’

Jones’ face reddened, and he piped down.

A few other questions were asked and quickly answered, and then Si Pearce spoke up again.

‘Rich,’ he said, ‘you keep saying “We’ll do this” and “We’ll do that”. You’re not thinking of fucking tagging along, are you?’

‘Too fucking right I am,’ said Rich Arnold, with a chuckle. ‘Sorry, mate, but I’m heading this one up. There’s no way I’m not going to be there to step off that plane and find out what the fuck Carr’s been up to.’

Slightly behind and to his left, the OC looked at Arnold and shook his head. He’d tried to talk the SSM out of going – it wasn’t a big enough op to warrant his leading it – but Arnold was as stubborn as a mule and some battles aren’t worth fighting.

‘Right, fellas,’ said Arnold. ‘Let’s get moving.’

An hour later, thirteen men stepped off the back of a CH47 and started moving to the rear of the A400 which was already turning and burning on the pan at Brize.

Rich Arnold watched his men walk up the rear ramp, and then followed them, giving the loadmaster the thumbs-up to confirm all were on board.

The tailgate started to rise and the plane lurched forward.

As the team started to stretch out on the seats, Arnold made his way forward and said his hellos to the crew – all experienced men he knew and respected.

The navigator handed him a headset which he put on.

‘Alright, Rich?’ said Stretch.

‘Good, mate,’ said Arnold. ‘You?’

‘Had a nice bird lined up for tonight,’ said the pilot, ‘but she’ll keep.’

Arnold grinned, as he accepted a brew from the loadmaster and sat down on the jumpseat behind the pilots.

In a matter of moments, the four 11,000 horsepower Europrop engines had lifted the huge aircraft off the runway and it was leaving the green Oxfordshire countryside behind, and heading south.

Arnold settled back, enjoying the familiar buzz and hum of the Atlas, and sipping his tea.