Andy McNab - Meltdown

It was all routine stuff: flying the flag, maintaining the entente cordiale between Britain and its nearest neighbour.

But now the crew was standing by to carry out an operation that was not routine: a hot refuel in the dark on a helicopter they were unfamiliar with.

The darkness was no problem; the vessel was fitted with powerful lights for just such a situation. The frigate's own Lynx helicopter had been returned to its hangar, and the landing opal at the rear of the warship was ready to receive its new visitor.

The sea was calm and there was no reason to think that the operation wouldn't proceed smoothly. But when the crew spotted the lights of the Cougar as it descended towards the ship, there was an understandable air of tension around the landing opal. Everyone had a job to do and nobody wanted to be the one person who cocked up.

A hot refuel involves an aircraft being refuelled while the crew and passengers are still on board and the rotors turning. If it works efficiently, it can be completed in a matter of minutes, and the crew of HMS Cornwall were intending to make sure it worked efficiently.

Hot refuels are usually carried out when a helicopter is on an operation, ferrying troops to a target. The helicopter may have a range of 200K, but the target could be 400K away. In these situations, larger helis carrying fuel bladders move forward to isolated areas en route and become mobile filling stations.

On a ship, the operation is more complex, with little room for error from either the refuelling team or the helicopter pilot.

Inside the Cougar, Danny was feeling a lot better after grabbing some sleep. He watched in amazement as the heli sank lower and touched down perfectly.

Instantly, crew members appeared on the deck; they were dressed in dark-blue flame-resistant overalls and white face hoods and looked more like members of a Formula One refuelling team than sailors. They ran out and slid blocks behind the Cougar's wheels so that it remained stable. At the same time more seamen were dragging the heavy refuelling pipe across to the heli, along with the thick length of wire that connected the aircraft to the ship so that the helicopter was earthed. Without that, a single spark could lead to a catastrophic explosion.

The moment the helicopter landed, the loadie, who was in the back of the aircraft with the team, pulled back both doors at the rear of the Cougar so that he could check that everything was in place while the refuel was carried out. A cable running into his helmet linked his intercom with the pilot's.

And throughout the operation, a crew member stood in front of the helicopter so that the pilot and co-pilot could see him. His arms were crossed: this signalled that the pilot should keep the aircraft exactly where it was. The operation was not finished.

It all meant that the pilots were getting two independent lots of information on what was happening, visual and verbal, as the loadie made his constant progress reports.

As a final safety measure, the side doors were kept open so that the passengers could make a quick exit in case of fire.

The noise was deafening and the smell of aviation fuel was overpowering. The heat of the two engines made the interior of the Cougar feel like a furnace. Danny watched the refuelling team move around the aircraft like ants as the ship moved up and down in the swell.

He looked at his grandfather and saw that he seemed to be lost in thought. Danny tapped him on the shoulder. 'Amazing!' he shouted, nodding at the men rushing around the heli.

'What?'

'This! The refuel!'

'Oh. Oh yeah… I was just remembering something. Did I ever tell you about Binsy?'

'Who?'

'Binsy Murray!' Fergus was having to shout.

'Binsy?' asked Danny.

'Bins – you know, binoculars. Bloke I was in the Regiment with. We called him Binsy 'cos he wore these thick bottle-top glasses. It was during the Falklands War – we were on a frigate waiting for a heli pick-up!'

Danny shook his head, wondering why his grandfather was telling him a story at a moment like this. And then he realized that Fergus was looking nervous and he understood exactly what was going on. The only time Fergus showed fear of any sort was when he was on a vessel – boat, ship, big or small, he just didn't like them.

'What happened?'

'Well, me and Binsy are walking towards this Scout helicopter when these two Argentine jets come in fast and really low, trying to bomb the Brit ships. They'd already sunk a couple that way.'

'Did they hit you?' Danny was looking interested, and he was, but he was also keeping his grandfather's thoughts off the ship rolling beneath them.

'No, they missed us that time. Anyway, our ship's right in the middle of the fleet – anti-aircraft guns start banging off and everyone dives for cover, including me. But not Binsy. He stands there with his general-purpose machine gun and fires off a complete two-hundred-round belt of ammunition at the jets. Got nowhere near them, but it made him feel better.'

Fergus glanced out towards the deck: the refuel was over and the earthing wire had been disconnected; the refuelling team was moving away.

'So, anyway, four days later, when we get back from our mission on the main island, there's a signal from the navy's fleet chief. He's thanking Binsy for having a go but asking him not to do it again,'

'Why was that?' Danny asked.

'He's missed the planes, but his rounds hit our own ships! The bloke was more of a threat to the fleet than the whole Argentine air force!'

Danny laughed as he looked out through the Cougar's open doors.

The wheel blocks had been removed and as the loadie reported what was happening to the pilot, the guy in front of the helicopter double-checked that everyone was safe before uncrossing his arms and stretching them skywards.

The Cougar's doors were closed and the helicopter took off in a burst of power.

'Great story, Granddad!' shouted Danny.

Fergus nodded and smiled and then settled back in his seat. He would never like ships, even Royal Navy ships.

Waiting and watching, being patient, was part of the job, but Phil's patience was being tested to the limit.

He watched a huge truck, just one up, drive slowly into the old hangar. The doors didn't close afterwards. The reason became apparent less than a minute later when a second truck, two up and pulling what appeared to be an identical trailer, appeared and also drove into the hangar.

This time the doors did slide shut. Phil waited; he was far too experienced to go rushing in. It was fortunate that he was. A few minutes later one of the doors slid open a little and two men came out, closing it behind them.

They didn't seem to be on stag; they were far too casual. Phil guessed that maybe they were the truck drivers, come out to stretch their legs. Or maybe they just weren't needed for whatever was going on inside the hangar at that moment and would be called on later. Whoever they were, they were stopping phil from doing what he had to do.

The hangar was built from solid concrete, designed to take a direct hit from a wartime bomb. There were no windows to look through, just the massive sliding doors at the front and a single metal door at the back.

Phil had made a sortie towards the back and had spotted the door, but before he got much closer a couple of dogs started barking and howling. He saw the police dog vans and swiftly moved back to the cover of his own vehicle, knowing that his only option now was to check out what was going on from the front of the hangar. If only the two goons standing outside would give him a chance.

He couldn't hear what they were saying – they were too far away. All he could see was dim outlines and the occasional flare of a lighter followed by the glow of cigarettes as they chain-smoked.