Shepherd yawned as he sprawled across a hammock in the cramped interior of a submarine’s forward torpedo bay. It was the last place he’d expected to find himself – SAS troopers jumped out of planes, abseiled down cliffs and blew their way through locked doors, they didn’t generally find themselves in sardine cans breathing recycled air. He wasn’t finding it a pleasant experience. One of the other members of his patrol, Jim ‘Jimbo’ Shortt, was lying on the deck below him in an attempt to stretch out his six foot two inch frame. They were squeezed into the cramped space between the torpedoes - the only free space available. The other two patrol members, Geordie Mitchell and Liam McKay, were sitting on the floor with their backs against a bulkhead. Subs aren’t designed to carry passengers and there were no bunks to spare – even the crew had to work a “hot bunk” system: two men sharing each bunk, one using it while his shipmate was taking his turn on watch. The four SAS men had been together as a patrol since they’d passed Selection and had soon settled into the relentless rhythm of the Sabre Squadrons: Operations - Rest - Retraining - Standby - Operations.
