Operation: Sahara

-Banks-

The end of the story came a week later. Banks joined the rest of the squad in the mess in Lossiemouth. Wiggo and Wilkins stood, Davies didn’t; the private had his left leg in a cast up to his knee and had it resting straight out on a spare chair.

After standing for a round of beers, Banks produced some notes from his pocket.

“Two things to tell you that I learned from the colonel in my debrief.

“Firstly, there’s been a wee volcano eruption in a remote part of Libya. A research team from Edinburgh was unfortunately caught up in it and there were no survivors. Their families have been notified. Off the record, the Libyan Air Force did a bit of target practice at our suggestion. Yon crater, city, and everything around it, is now a pile of rubble.

“Secondly, and more happily, they’ve traced the mannie who wrote the journal back then. He was never done for shooting his C.O., and I might have left that bit out of my report to the colonel. He stayed in service for years after walking out of the desert, won a wheen of medals, retired to a wee house in the Highlands and died in his bed with his family around him at the age of ninety. We would all do well to be so lucky.”

Banks raised his glass.

“To squads, old and new.”

They drank some beer.

Then they drank some more.