Everything was going to shit. It was already a fickle and dangerous operation to head, and now it was going to shit in a way you hadn't even planned for.

Some other SAS soldier had appeared in that clandestine op you were running, injuring one of your men (and almost doing worse had you not immediately jumped in) because he wasn't aware. Your sergeant now was on a stretcher with a screwed up arm and concussion.

On top of that, the op was fucked.

Obviously, you were pissed, getting up in the sergeant who'd appeared out of nowhere's face and demanding for his CO. Although he seemed apologetic enough for injuring your guy, he was very much arguing back in a rather hard-to-follow Scottish brogue despite ranking below you.

Finally a hand pulled the sergeant back by his shoulder, and a man with a beard and a bucket hat stepped between you two, looking just about as unhappy as you felt.

"You're their captain? What's bloody going on?" he snapped, a growl tinging his voice.