It had been a long time since Archer had stood by the grassy landing area of RAF Credenhill. As an experienced special forces operator, he hadn't been expecting the feeling of butterflies in his stomach that hit him as the Air Force CH-47 Chinook hovered overhead with a tandem-rotor roar, coming in to land a few hundred meters from his position. But he had every right to be apprehensive, as he knew all of the passengers on board the monstrous aircraft. They were his colleagues and friends, and at the moment, they still thought that their former Leftenant was dead.
Archer licked his lips and took a deep breath in anticipation as with a metallic creak the rear door of the helicopter began to lower and four soldiers immediately, and seemingly simultaneously emerged. Each wore fatigues and webbing in the Multi-Terrain-Pattern, the new British camouflage that was a mixture of Crye's Multicam and traditional DPM. They also wore green shemagh scarves, LASH headsets; Oakley tactical gloves, boots and sunglasses, and carried the usual SAS-issue Diemaco C8 Carbine rifles.
The first to notice Archer was a Leftenant named Jamie Mercer.
The Nottingham-born Mercer was six foot three, hugely athletic with intelligent hazel eyes and thick, dark brown hair. Only a year younger, Mercer passed SAS selection on the same day as Archer. Since then the two soldiers had shared a competitive friendship as they both rose through the ranks of the regiment. That was, of course, until both tried for selection of the international Task Force 141.
Both had been convinced that they would easily pass the strict criteria, even flying out to Firebase Phoenix in Afghanistan to prove themselves to General Shepherd in person on the legendary 'Pit' shooting range. However, it was fate that decided only Archer would join the Task Force, and Mercer began to resent his old friend for beating him to it. Resentment that turned to immense guilt when he discovered that Archer had been killed in a bizarre turn of events in Russia along with two other SAS soldiers.
The moment Mercer noticed Archer he froze, his tanned complexion from a tour in the Middle East turning an icy white. To Jamie, he was quite literally seeing a dead man walking. Eventually, he slowly removed his sunglasses and dropped them to the ground, his mouth open in a state of shock. Eventually, the three other soldiers flanking him noticed and gave an near-identical expression. It takes a lot to shock a man from the SAS, but seeing a fallen comrade standing alive and well in front of you just about manages it.
"What the fuck?" Mercer eventually muttered, with a raised eyebrow, as if Archer were somehow playing some kind of elaborate practical joke on him.
"Hello, Jamie." Archer tentatively replied.
"What the hell happened to you, Arch?" Mercer asked. He rarely used Atkinson's real name, as he had earned the callsign since his scout sniper days in the Parachute Regiment, before even joining the SAS. "I was at your funeral, and now here you are, standing amongst us."
"A clerical error, I guess." Archer murmured.
Mercer smirked. "What, a clerical error that involved your commanding officer going psycho and topping your whole unit? We were told all about it. You the only one to make it out then?"
Archer shook his head. "No. My spotter did, and a Canadian soldier, and…a couple of others. Can't really divulge the details of that at the moment, I'm afraid."
"I bet I can guess who those two were." Mercer said, to knowing grins from the three others.
"But it was true what they told us, about Riley and Sanderson?" Sgt. Evan Briggs, one of the younger soldiers, cut in. His still-youthful face looked anxious, as if Archer's survival had given him a faint glimmer of hope about the rest of his fallen comrades.
Archer sighed, and gave the Sergeant a nod, at which his heart seemed to sink. "I'm afraid so. And that is something I can confirm myself. I'm sorry."
"Fuckin' waste." Muttered Corporal Jake Steyn, the fair-haired Rhodesian-born demolitions expert. "I mean, it's not like I didn't expect them to die out there, just not like that. Remind me never to trust those fuckin' Yankees again, they can handle Ivan by themselves from now on if that's how they thank us."
Archer held up his hands to order a pause. "Whoa, man. Steady. My spotter was a US Marine, and I have him to thank for even being here in the first place, mate. They ain't all bad."
"Yeah, just mostly."
Colonel Brickfield, who had appeared next to Archer seemingly from nowhere, cut the reunion short. "All very nice, Atkinson, but I have to debrief these men right now. You can talk more when I brief you on the plane."
