On one recent deployment, we were tasked with helping locate a missing man near a London airport. He’d walked out of the terminal, leaving his belongings behind, and disappeared.

In a foot team with four others, we spent hours scanning every corner of the area. It was muddy, visibility dropped as night set in and we reached an area of thick woodland that couldn’t be cleared safely until morning. We flagged it with police and stood down.

By then, we were scratched, tired, and aching. But I remember feeling content - we’d done everything we could. When I woke the next morning, we were told that the missing man had been found in that exact area. Sadly, he had died. That moment stays with me. We hadn’t found him alive. But we’d helped bring closure. We’d helped his family end weeks of worry.

Most people imagine search and rescue as a moment of heroics. But really, it’s a team effort built on patience, training, and relentless care.
Even when we don’t find the person, we search to give families hope - or, at the very least, answers.

The greatest gift of what we do is the ability to say: for this moment in time, you were not alone - we looked for you, and we saw you.