At intervals of ten minutes, he fired off three more flares. The Norwegian coastguard was on watch for them and the support chopper was patrolling just off the Lofotens, so help should have been with them within half an hour at worst. But as the minutes ticked by and still no help appeared, all of them began to succumb to the near-zero water temperature.
Shepherd was shivering uncontrollably and felt as weak as a newborn. It took all his strength just to cling to the hull of the raft. When he fumbled for a fresh flare, his movements were clumsy and uncoordinated. He recognised the symptoms of the onset of hypothermia and knew that his blood was retreating from the extremities towards the core of his body. It was the body’s way of trying to survive extreme cold, but if it continued unchecked would lead to unconsciousness and death.
After what felt like hours, above the howl of the wind and the sound of the waves battering the upturned boat, he heard a faint sound. It grew rapidly louder, swelling into the clatter of rotors and he saw a black speck approaching from the coast. He felt relief surge through him. Every movement slow and laboured, he managed to fire another flare and saw the helicopter change course slightly towards them. It overflew them and even went into a hover, but it then swung away and headed back towards the coast. In desperation he fired another flare but the helicopter kept on its course and soon disappeared from sight. How had they missed them? How had they not seen the flares?
He stared helplessly at his three companions. ‘Flares!’ he shouted. ‘Keep firing the flares.’
They kept firing flares but did so now more in desperation than in genuine hope that they might result in a rescue.
The time dragged by and Shepherd no longer had any sense of how long they had been in the water. Only a deep-rooted, subconscious survival instinct kept him clinging on. He was not even aware of feeling cold any more, in fact, if anything, in his rare moments of relative lucidity, he almost felt too hot. He was now only semi-conscious. The others were in no better shape and the weather was deteriorating, with vicious gusts of wind and stinging showers of sleet and snow blowing across them. Through the fog of his thoughts, he was dimly aware of a sound that appeared to come from a long way off, but in his confused state it seemed of no more significance than a fly buzzing against a window pane. It grew louder and louder, but he still gazed vacantly in front of him, even as the downdraft from a hovering helicopter lashed the water into foam. A moment later, a dark shape splashed into the sea alongside them.
The winchman grabbed Jimbo first, manhandling him into the sling and signalling to be hauled up. He returned a couple of minutes later for Geordie, who seemed no more aware of what was happening than Shepherd. The winchman came to get Liam next, but Liam shook his head, pointing towards Shepherd. ‘Take him,’ he said, his speech so slurred that he sounded half-asleep. ‘He’s not going to make it if you don’t. Take him.’
Shepherd was only half aware of what Liam was saying. The winchman swam towards Shepherd and wrestled him into the sling. He signalled to the winch operator to haul them up. Shepherd was swung in through the hatch and laid on a stretcher on the floor of the helicopter next to the other two men. His pupils were fully dilated and his skin had turned blue. He didn’t appear to be breathing and had no detectable pulse, but the medic refused to give up and began using CPR to try to restart his heart.
As the medic fought to revive Shepherd, the winchman swung out of the hatch ready to retrieve Liam. He could see the dark shape of the Irishman, still clinging to the hull. But as he descended a huge wave broke over the boat and ripped Liam away. The winchman stared at the waves waiting for Liam to reappear, but there was no sign of him. He spoke to the pilot on his headset and the helicopter began a series of slowly widening circles around the boat, but nothing broke the surface of the sullen ocean swell. Time was running out for the three men they had already rescued so eventually the pilot had to abandon the search and he wheeled the helicopter away to speed back towards the Norwegian coast.
* * *
Shepherd heard a voice and opened his eyes a fraction, blinking in the strong light. ‘Welcome back, Dan.’ The voice had a Scandinavian accent. As Shepherd’s eyes came into focus, he saw a white-coated figure looking down at him.
‘Where am I?’ croaked Shepherd.
‘In Narvik, at the University Hospital, and you’re a very lucky man indeed,’ the doctor said. ‘You nearly died out there. You had no pulse or visible respiration when you were brought in, and the core temperature of your body was barely twenty degrees Celsius. A weaker man wouldn’t have recovered. ‘
‘Good to know,’ said Shepherd. He tried to lift his head but fell back.
‘Luckily for you, the medic on the rescue helicopter is no stranger to hypothermia cases. Once you reached hospital we gave you a breathing tube with warm air for your lungs, and warm saline through an IV and through a tube directly into your stomach. That helped to raise your temperature from the inside - much faster than heating you from the outside. But it was the medic on the rescue helicopter who really saved your life.’
‘What about the others?’ Shepherd struggled to sit up again and failed.
‘Please lie still,’ the doctor said. ‘You’re very weak and your body has had a very narrow escape. Give it time to recover.’
‘But my friends? What about my friends?’
The doctor’s smile faded. ‘Two of them are recovering well and you will be able to see them shortly. But I’m afraid the other man drowned before he could be rescued.’
‘Who was it?’ Shepherd dreaded the answer, whatever it was, but he had to know.
The doctor consulted his notes. ‘McKay. Liam McKay.’
Shepherd groaned and lay back.
‘I am sorry,’ said the doctor. ‘If it’s any consolation, drowning in such a cold sea is relatively painless.’
Shepherd held up a hand to silence the doctor. He didn’t want to be consoled. He was barely aware of the doctor leaving the room. He took slow deep breaths as he came to terms with what he’d been told. Liam was gone. Not killed in combat - a proper soldier’s death - but lost in some stupid training accident. It was a senseless death. And it could so easily have been Shepherd who had died in the icy waters.
His dark thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door and a fair-haired man walked in. He was wearing a red anorak over pale green overalls. Shepherd scowled at him. ‘This isn’t a good time.’
‘I won’t keep you long,’ the man said. He shifted his weight from leg to leg, clearly uneasy. ‘My name is Mats. I was the winchman on the rescue helicopter. I just wanted to make sure that you were all right and tell you how sorry I was that we weren’t able to save your friend.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Shepherd. He struggled to sit up and extend his hand. ‘I owe you my life.’
Mats solemnly shook hands with him.
‘Seriously, if there’s ever anything I can do for you, you only have to ask,’ said Shepherd. Sitting up was painful so he lay back down again.
Mats smiled. ‘That really isn’t necessary, I was just doing my job, and anyway, if anyone deserves your thanks, it’s our medic, Runar. I’d given you up for dead but he worked on you all the way back to Narvik.’ His smile evaporated. ‘I’m sorry about your colleague. Liam. He was a very brave man.’
Shepherd nodded. ‘I know you did your best.’
Mats nodded. ‘I rescued the other two men first, and then I went to your friend, but he insisted I take you first, saying that you wouldn’t make it unless I did. He was obviously hypothermic himself, but I did as he said. If I hadn’t, you probably wouldn’t be here now.’ He grimaced and shook his head at the memory. ‘ He was washed away and when I was lowered, there was no sign of him. We searched but he didn’t resurface.’ He took a deep breath to steady himself before continuing. ‘He gave his life to save yours.’ Shepherd felt a slow tear trickle down his cheek. ‘I’m sorry,’ Mats said, ‘ but I thought you should know how he died.’ He hesitated for a second. ‘There
’s one other thing you should know’ He took a step closer to Shepherd’s bed and lowered his voice. ‘My chief told your Commanding Officer that the weather was not fit for the exercise and likely to deteriorate further. He was ignored and the exercise went ahead. My chief remained concerned and sent us out to overfly the boat. Your CO came with us in the helicopter and though he could see you in the water and saw the distress flare you fired, he insisted that you were, as he put it, “in control of the situation” and would be able to right the boat, and he ordered us back to base. We only returned because when the weather deteriorated further, my chief overruled your CO.’ He searched Shepherd’s face for some reaction. ‘I hope I have done the right thing in telling you this. I thought you ought to know.’
‘You did the right thing,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m grateful. And my offer to you stands, if you ever need help of any sort, just say the word and I’m there for you.’ Mats nodded, forced a smile, and left Shepherd to his thoughts.
* * *
Shepherd, Geordie and Jimbo were discharged from hospital two days later and flown back to England. The cab that dropped Shepherd off in front of his house in Hereford had only just pulled away when a heavily-pregnant Sue opened the front door. Shepherd rushed towards her and hugged her. As he held her close he felt his son kick in her womb and he gasped. Sue laughed. ‘It’s his way of saying hello,’ she said. ‘Either that or he wants to be a professional footballer.’
Shepherd laughed and then the implication of what she had said hit home. ‘It’s a boy?’
‘He’s a boy,’ said Sue. She kissed him on the lips. ‘We’re having a son.’
They went inside and Sue took him into the kitchen to make tea. As she busied herself with the teapot she asked him what had happened. Shepherd couldn’t tell her too much – even families weren’t privy to SAS operations – but even if he had been in a position to give her the details he would never tell her just how close he had come to losing his life. He told her about Liam dying in the freezing waters and her eyes misted over. Liam had been around to their house many times and they had been planning to ask him to be Godfather to their child. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said.
‘Neither can I,’ said Shepherd. ‘And it was all down to an incompetent officer putting our lives on the line.’
‘What will you do?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know yet, but I want some answers about what went on.’
Lying in bed that night, his hand resting on her bump, feeling their son’s kicks inside the womb, he turned to her. ‘Can we call him Liam?’ he whispered.
She smiled. ‘Of course we can.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure.’
* * *
Shepherd, Geordie and Jimbo had been put on sick leave while they recuperated, but word of what had happened and the circumstances of Liam’s death spread rapidly around and brought the SAS Stirling Lines base to a state of near-mutiny. To placate the troops, the Regiment convened a Court of Inquiry where the Squadron OC, de Vale, defended his actions vigourously. He appealed to the Regiment’s ‘warrior traditions’, as he called them, to justify leaving his men struggling in a near-frozen sea. ‘It was reasonable to expect that they would be able to right their boat. We preach self-reliance; this was an opportunity for them to demonstrate it.’
Shepherd’s evidence was pithy and direct. He had burned with a cold fury as he listened to the OC’s self-justification. ‘There are limits to self-reliance,’ Shepherd said when it was his turn to address the court. ‘When you are sent into Arctic waters in weather conditions that lead the submarine commander and the Norwegian coastguard to call for the exercise to be postponed, and you are provided with a supposedly self-inflating boat that first fails to inflate and then capsizes, self-reliance is irrelevant. We are soldiers; our job is to follow orders and complete our task to the best of our ability. The job of our officers is not to needlessly put us into harm’s way as a result of excessive ambition, hubris, ignorance, or point-scoring.’
De Vale’s gaze had been fixed on a point on the far wall as he listened to Shepherd’s testimony, but he snapped around and glared at Shepherd. Despite further damning evidence from the submarine crew, the Norwegian Coastguard officers, and the other patrol members, the Inquiry found that Liam’s death had been ‘a tragic accident for which no blame could be attached to any individual’. That in turn influenced the subsequent Inquest into Liam’s death held at the Coroner’s Court in Hereford, which also returned a verdict of ‘Accidental Death’. It was, Shepherd knew, a total whitewash.
Jock McIntyre, a ten-year veteran with the Regiment, who had been brought in to take Liam’s place in Shepherd’s patrol, shrugged his shoulders when he heard the verdict. ‘No surprises there, eh ,Spider?’ he growled in his near impenetrable Glaswegian accent. ‘The coroner here’s always vulnerable to pressure from the Regiment; it takes a strong man not to buckle under it.’ Jock’s seniority should have made him a patrol leader, but he was a man who did not suffer fools gladly and, not for the first time in his military career, he had been busted down to the ranks. On the most recent occasion he had settled an argument with an over-bearing Sergeant-Major by knocking him out with a single punch. Had he not been such a good soldier he would probably have been RTU’d as well. A few days later came the news that de Vale was being promoted and posted to Special Forces HQ in London. Jock merely gave a weary shake of his head. ‘It just goes to prove the old adage that there are three regimental mottos. One: “Who Dares Wins”. Two: “Who Cares Who Wins?” And Three: “Shit Never Sticks To A Regimental Rupert”. But whoever said that life was fair, huh?’
* * *
Shepherd’s patrol was on the rest cycle and he was at home still recovering from his ordeal and spending some quality time with Sue getting to know their new-born son, when he was called into camp by de Vale’s replacement as Squadron OC. Geordie, Jimbo and Jock were already there when Shepherd arrived. His name was Allan Gannon. He was a big man with a cleft chin and a nose that appeared to have been broken several times.
‘Right gents,’ said Gannon briskly. ‘Time to shake the lead out. I’ve got an active service op for you.’
Jock exchanged a look with Shepherd. ‘But Boss,’ Jock said. ‘We’re not on operational standby or even re-training. We’re on the rest cycle. D squadron are the next cab off the rank.’
Gannon gave a sympathetic smile but spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘Sorry boys, my hands are tied. The order comes from Special Forces HQ and I can’t countermand it. So I’m giving you a Warning Order for an imminent active service operation. You’ve got forty minutes to call your wives and girlfriends, and sort your kit.’
Although they’d seen action in Belize at the end of Selection, for the three newly-badged members of the Regiment, this was to be their first planned active service operation and they should have been excited and elated, but Shepherd felt only bitterness and suspicion. When they got outside, he and the others clustered around Jock. ‘I joined the SAS to go on ops,’ Geordie said. ‘But I don’t see why we’ve been pulled off the rest cycle to do it when D Squadron are sitting around twiddling their thumbs. They’re on Standby, this should be their operation.’
‘And what did he mean by a Warning Order?’ Jimbo said.
Jock flashed a cold smile. ‘You have much to learn, Grasshopper. It means we’re being placed in isolation and quarantine, effectively cutting us off from the outside world. Any contact can only be made through the supervisory guard forces, and then only if they sanction it. We’ll prepare for the op at a purpose-built camp away from Stirling Lines. You’ve not seen it yet, but everything we need for the operation is there: ranges, weapons and explosives. There’s also a dedicated admin support group to cater for anything else we might need, but they’re subject to the same restrictions as us.’
‘It’s payback from de Vale,’ Shepherd said. ‘This has nothing to do with the operational needs of the Regiment
and everything to do with stopping us from going public about the Norwegian fuck up. The Warning Order is a gag, right?’
‘Give the man a cigar,’ Jock said. ‘Got it in one.’
‘So what do we do?’
Jock patted Shepherd on the shoulder. ‘What can we do? We get on with preparing for the op. And then, after we’ve done the op, whatever it is, and got back to the UK, if I ever catch our old Boss out of uniform, I’ll beat the shit out of him.’
‘You can get in the queue,’ Shepherd said. ‘Liam was my mate and I’ll be first in line for payback.’
As the others hurried away to break the news to their families and throw their personal kit together, Jock called Shepherd back. ‘One other thing about a warning order. Once a soldier has received one he can’t legally resign, so whatever you decide about your future, you can’t now apply to leave the army until the order has been lifted.’
‘What do you think the op will be?’
‘Who knows?’ said Jock. ‘But I can pretty much guarantee that it’ll be outside of the UK. So far as the top brass is concerned, the further away we are, the better. My guess is that we’ll not be seeing the UK again for a wee while.’
Shepherd phoned Sue to break the bad news. ‘So you can’t tell me where you’re going or how long you’ll be away or anything at all?’ she said. ‘And meanwhile I have to stay here, the dutiful little wife, with our baby boy, not knowing what’s happening to you or even if you’ll come back at all. Is this what our life is going to be?’
‘It is for now, but not forever,’ Shepherd said. ‘That’s all I can say.’
‘And that isn’t enough, Dan. And you know it isn’t.’ Shepherd heard the click as the connection was broken and swore violently under his breath as he hung up.
They transferred to the isolation camp later that morning and at once went into an intensive phase of work-up training. As elder statesman, Jock spoke to them at their first briefing. ‘We’re all angry and frustrated,’ he said, ‘and with good reason, but we need to set that aside for now, and focus only on the task. This isn’t about de Vale, it’s about getting the job done right and getting ourselves in and out of wherever it is in one piece.’
Warning Order (A Spider Shepherd short story) Page 2