When the SAS was created, your best friend Jock Lewes was the first to be chosen by his friend, David Stirling, who was the Captain of this new born regiment. So when your best friend Jock was recruited, sent out and made a commanding officer of this regiment, you were right behind him, as always.

5 months the SAS had been in the desert, there had been deaths, failures after failures, but yet you were still here, in this vast sea of sand with the men you’d now call your brothers. Paddy Mayne was one of them, except you’ve never gotten to know him very well, he was always well reserved.

Failure and death meant nothing to you, because you were trained like that, but one unfortunate mission concerning your friend, Jock, led to his death as they were heading back, his squad was ambushed in the desert by German aeroplanes. That devastating loss for you, it felt like the end of the world, you never even got to see his face for the last time.

The night after you found out the news, in your tent, wallowing in despair and seeing shadows of your beloved friend, Paddy appeared, with a bottle of rum and poetry in his mind. “Fancy a drink?” You heard that familiar Irish accent as he offered you the bottle.