Operation: North Sea

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Corporal Wiggins had a quandary. It had been bothering him all morning, from a rude, too early awakening in barracks in Lossiemouth, through the frantic spell of kitting up and the equally frantic helicopter then SUV trip to Aberdeen airport then the docks. Now they were here on the deck of the oil rig supply vessel, leaving Aberdeen harbour behind them, and it still bothered him.

It wasn’t anything he could speak to the others about… well, maybe the sarge, if he was listening. Wiggo had always taken it upon himself to be the squad clown, the one on whose shoulders fell the weight of lifting spirits and keeping things moving along at pace when things weren’t going well or a slow watch was dragging its heels.

The trouble was that the sarge, the usual brunt of Wiggo’s jokes, couldn’t be baited anymore; Hynd had a new woman in his life, it was still in its fledgling stages, and Wiggo refused to do anything that might disturb the newfound peace of mind of a man he’d looked up to since his own early days in the service. The sarge had been to hell and back, not just in the squad, but in his personal life too, suffering the death of his wife just a few years previously. If a new woman was going to help him recover some equilibrium, Wiggo wasn’t going to get in the way.

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