by Pete Scholey
There followed five months of frustrating diplomatic negotiations, during which the SAS remained on standby for action. Eventually, Vince and the rest of A Squadron, along with B and D Squadrons, were given their marching orders. It was the largest mobilization of the Regiment since World War II, but as he flew out for Saudi Arabia after enjoying Christmas with his wife and two daughters, Vince had no more idea of the role the Regiment was to play than anyone else.
There were plans to use the SAS in its traditional role as a raiding force behind Iraqi lines. There were also tentative plans based around the possibility of rescuing British hostages being held both in Iraq and Kuwait, and plans for the Regiment to forge ahead of the Allied advance when it was eventually launched, disrupting Iraqi supply lines and communications. The commander of the Desert Storm operation, General Norman Schwarzkopf, however, was not a great fan of special forces and had no immediate requirement for the SAS, despite its reputation as the British Army’s foremost exponent of desert warfare and the fact that it had conducted extensive training exercises in the area.
When Vince arrived in the Saudi desert he was kept busy with his troop, organizing their equipment and training with the Pinkies (Land Rovers) to ensure they were ready to go wherever they were asked to go, at a moment’s notice. They were to enjoy a lengthy period of desert acclimatization not normally afforded to SAS troops on operation. It slowly became clear, however, that there would be a very specific role for the SAS desert raiders to play.
At the end of November and beginning of December, Saddam began test firing his Scud long-range ballistic missiles. The ageing Soviet designs had been improved by the Iraqis to extend their range to almost 400 miles (644km). The missiles fell harmlessly in the wasteland of the Iraqi desert, but they had been fired, quite deliberately, in the direction of Tel Aviv. Saddam had demonstrated that should the coalition forces think about trying to drive him out of Kuwait, he had a weapon with which he could not only deliver high-explosive, poison gas or chemical warheads into the coalition’s rear echelon, he could also hit Israel. The Israelis, naturally, would then retaliate with their own missiles, and the prospect of the Iraq/Kuwait situation escalating into a far greater Arab/Israeli war was a very uncomfortable notion. Israel signalled its intentions by test firing one of its own long-range missiles into the Mediterranean Sea and deploying its missile batteries, undoubtedly equipped with nuclear warheads, pointing in the direction of Baghdad.
Clearly, Saddam’s Scud threat had to be eliminated. While a deadline for his withdrawal from Kuwait was issued – he was warned that if he didn’t leave by 15 January the coalition forces, with backing from the UN, would move against him – satellites and reconnaissance aircraft desperately searched for the mobile Scud launchers. They proved to be highly elusive. America attempted to persuade the Israelis to stay out of the confrontation and supplied them with batteries of Patriot missiles that were supposedly capable of destroying a Scud in flight. The Patriots, however, could never boast a 100 per cent success rate, and if just one Scud delivered a chemical or gas warhead to a densely populated area of Tel Aviv, it would cause thousands of deaths. Israel’s subsequent reaction to such an attack didn’t take much imagination.
The only possible solution to the Scud threat was to insert covert reconnaissance teams on the ground, placing them in the areas where the missiles would have to be based to have any chance of reaching Israel. The teams would not only identify Scud sites and Scuds in transit to call in air strikes, they would also have a search and destroy brief.
The day after the withdrawal deadline expired, the first coalition air strikes were launched against Iraq. The day after that, Iraq launched eight Scuds against Israel. The missiles did not cause the carnage that had been feared, but they demonstrated Saddam’s willingness to follow through on his threat. The task of the SAS teams in what had become known as ‘Scud Alley’, a vast expanse of Western Iraq stretching south of Highway 10 to the Saudi Arabian border, became even more urgent.
Vince Phillips was drafted into one such anti-Scud patrol, code-named Bravo Two Zero. A great deal has been said and written about this particular patrol, mainly because it was the one that went wrong. The debates will rage forever about whether they were supplied with inadequate intelligence before their departure, whether they had the right kit, whether they should have taken vehicles with them as other patrols did and whether the right decisions were made on the ground. None of that really matters now. As they prepared to be infiltrated into Iraq by Chinook on the evening of 22 January, they had made their choices and were ready for their mission. They were experienced, well-trained SAS soldiers who knew their own abilities and limitations and knew what was expected of them. The eight-man patrol was as ready to go as they would ever be. The one thing that they didn’t really have on their side was luck.
Vince was second-in-command of the patrol and, like the others, looking forward to doing his bit to eliminate the Scuds. When the Chinook dropped them off at the LZ they immediately set off to put as much distance between themselves and the LZ as quickly as possible, heading for their designated area of operations. As always on such patrols, each man was carrying a load heavy enough to flatten a pack mule. Four of them carried M16s with M203 grenade launchers, while the others had Minimis, a very effective light machine-gun with a high rate of fire. Each man also carried a disposable LAW 80 rocket launcher and they were all weighed down with ammunition and demolition charges.
They made their way north towards a petroleum pipeline close to a ridge that was to be their designated RV, the place where they would gather should they become separated in an emergency. It was hard going and the temperature in the desert hovered around freezing – this was to be the worst winter weather experienced in the region for many years. They trekked for about 12 miles (19km) until they located their RV and from there identified their primary reconnaissance target, one of the Main Supply Routes (MSRs) out of Baghdad. They found a small cleft in a rocky outcrop, a cave nestled in a wadi that would serve as an ideal LUP during the daylight hours, providing them with shelter from the elements as well as a good hiding place.
The terrain around the LUP was mainly flat and featureless, although a quick check in the darkness identified some kind of settlement only about a mile away, with a water tower clearly visible above a cluster of darkened buildings. Once they had stowed their kit in the cave, they attempted to check in with base by radio. Try as they might, they could not make contact. Believing the radio to be faulty, they had no choice but to follow their ‘lost-comms’ drill and head back to the helicopter LZ the next night to pick up a new set.
When dawn broke, they checked out their surroundings by daylight. To their horror there was a military camp practically on their doorstep. It had not been marked on their maps. Although scheduled to be out in the field for 14 days, it was clear that they could not stay there. They would have to wait out the daylight hours in the cave and then move out after darkness. From the cave they could see traffic moving on the MSR, but there was no movement in their vicinity until that afternoon, when a boy tending his goats wandered into the wadi and spotted them. He took one look, turned and ran. It would surely only be a matter of time before someone from the camp came to investigate. Now they would have to get out fast in broad daylight.
Taking a detour to avoid being spotted from the Iraqi camp, they then made a bee-line for the helicopter LZ. They marched fast, building up a sweat but glad to be on the move. For a while, it looked like they might have put enough ground between themselves and the camp for anyone checking out the boy’s story to dismiss it as a childish fantasy. Then they heard the unmistakeable sound of a tracked vehicle rumbling up a small ridge to their left. They assumed a defensive position and Vince knelt with the shoulder-launched LAW ready to fire. An armoured personnel carrier (APC) crested the ridge and trundled down the incline towards them. Vince fired. A rocket from one of the others also hit the APC and it ground to a halt. Then a truck appeared and
that too was immobilized with a rocket, but there was now another APC and a detachment of troops closing on them. The patrol was too exposed simply to turn and run, so they attacked. One half of the patrol advanced under covering fire from Vince and his group, then Vince got to his feet and charged forward with his men. The hail of fire from the Minimis, M16s and grenade launchers drove off the Iraqis, despite the fact that they had the patrol heavily outnumbered.
Their action gave the SAS soldiers the breathing space they needed to try to make good their escape. They made off fast, but soon came under fire from a group of infantry disgorging from two trucks that pulled up in the distance to the east. They changed direction but began to be targeted by, of all things, a battery of anti-aircraft guns. Ditching their Bergens so that they could move faster, they ran on, shaking off their pursuers as darkness began to close in. Running without the Bergen suited Vince. Running was his sport. He had run in army cross-country teams ever since he first joined up. He had been a member of the Para RAOC team that had won the Welsh 3,000m event in 1976 and had competed in marathons for the British Army. He had picked up an injury to his leg during the firefight, but if they had to run, he was fit enough to keep running all night.
With no sign of anyone in immediate pursuit, they stopped for a breather, sucking in the cold night air as they gathered together to discuss their options. They would be expected to head south for Saudi Arabia. Instead, they would take the longer route to Syria, over 75 miles (121km) to the west, in the hope of shaking off anyone who might still be tailing them. They were now drenched with sweat that was chilling on their clothes and bodies in the freezing night air. They marched on into the darkness, stopping every hour for five minutes to take a drink and rest. As the night progressed, the group became more spaced out. Vince’s injury became progressively worse and he began to slow up. One of the others was also beginning to suffer from dehydration. At the next stop, the column was rejigged so that the two slower men were marching second and third in line to ensure that they did not fall behind.
In the darkness, however, the group became more and more strung out and eventually the three in front could see no trace of those behind. As the icy wind began to blow through rain, they had to keep moving to try to stay warm. Before long, the rain turned to driving snow. Vince’s injury, exacerbated by the intense cold, now left him intensely frustrated at not being able to move as quickly as he wanted. The other two, however, were no better off. As dawn broke, with snow still falling, they found themselves out in the open, with no cover to be found anywhere nearby. Huddling together in a rut in the ground they shivered as snow settled on their clothes and they tried to rest. They would be easy targets if they were spotted marching during the day, so they hunkered down and prayed for darkness to come so that they could move on again.
The desert cold is intense and Vince and the others were unlucky enough to be experiencing the most extreme conditions anyone could remember in that area. They now faced far greater danger from the environment than they did from the enemy. Even under favourable conditions, when you are not fleeing for your life from heavily armed pursuers, the cold can be a killer. On exercise with the Regiment in Norway, I was part of a patrol that forded a river before continuing along a mossy path towards our objective at the head of a valley. It was bitterly cold, but there was no snow, just a light, penetrating rain that seemed to chill your very bones. After a few hours, I started to grumble. Knowing me, my friends took this as some kind of joke and ignored me. Then I started to complain, loudly, moaning about being wet, being cold and being in Norway in general. This wasn’t like me and it was annoying for everyone, but apart from the odd request for me to shut my trap, they let it go. Then I started babbling a load of nonsense and, when one of the patrol saw me stumble he immediately realized what was happening. I was suffering the onset of hypothermia. Disorientated and confused, I was helped into a sleeping bag with one of the others hugging me tight to provide some body warmth. They made a hot drink for me and we rested up until I appeared to have returned to normal. Without their help, I would have been in serious trouble, my core body temperature would have dropped and, drained of energy, I would have slipped into a sleep from which I would never have woken. This was the peril that now faced Vince and the other members of Bravo Two Zero.
When they deemed it dark enough to continue, Vince and the others dragged themselves to their feet and forced their legs to start carrying them forward once again, heads bowed against the wind and rain. The further they marched, the greater the distance that developed between the three. Vince stumbled on, keeping up as best he could. When they stopped to rest, the other two looked round to find that Vince was nowhere in sight. They searched for over an hour, calling to him, their voices carried off into the night by the howling wind. They never found him. Vince had wandered off course and died from hypothermia.
Any man who is prepared to put his life on the line serving his country is a brave man. Any man who is prepared to go into combat behind enemy lines, completely isolated from the support that is enjoyed by most conventional soldiers, is a hero. Vince Phillips was one of those men.
AFTERWORD
Several of the men I have written about in this book have died since leaving the army. Some of those deaths are recorded in the relevant chapters of the book. Where this is not the case, I have noted a few details about their later lives below. It would not be wise of me, however, to provide an update on the lives of a number of those who have featured in this book. Some are still involved in sensitive work, and others could do without being directly identified in such a way in print.
Bronco Lane
Bronco is still very active and travels widely giving presentations and demonstrations about his experiences as a mountaineer.
Lofty Large
When he retired from the army, Lofty set up his own transport business and later went back to Oman to work for the SAF as a transport officer. Once back home in Hereford, he started his own driving school, wrote three books about his military career and took part in a TV documentary, in which we returned to the Koemba River in Borneo. Sadly, Lofty died in 2006 after a long illness. He was a great friend and I will always miss him.
Kevin Walsh
After a remarkable military career, in which he faced up to and overcame all kinds of dangers, Kevin fell ill and succumbed to cancer in 1986.
Talaiasi Labalaba
For his brave actions at Mirbat, Laba was awarded a posthumous MID to add to the British Empire Medal (BEM) he’d been awarded while serving with the Royal Irish Rangers. His funeral service in the small churchyard of St Martin’s Church in Hereford was one of the most moving I have ever witnessed; the most poignant moment was the singing of a Fijian hymn, unaccompanied, by the numerous fellow Fijians who had gathered from all over the UK, and elsewhere, to bid farewell and pay their respects to their friend and colleague.
Laba is buried next to Tommy Tobin. The inscription on Laba’s headstone reads: ‘No greater love hath any man than he should lay down his life for his friend.’
In his native Fiji, Laba is regarded as a military hero. There is a memorial to him, dedicated by B Squadron in 1998, alongside the Wesleyan Chapel in his home village of Nawaka, where many of his family still live. His elderly mother, Torika Canau Laudola, now nearly 90, and sister, Merewarita, are immensely proud of him and a framed photograph of Laba stands in prime position in their home. They always give a warm welcome to his friends from the Regiment who visit on trips home to the island.
When HRH Prince Charles visited Fiji in 2005, he requested a meeting with Laba’s family. His mother was unfortunately not well enough, being badly crippled, but Merewarita was able to meet privately with the prince, something that she greatly appreciated.
Laba was a thoroughly good man; he is remembered not only for his courage and professionalism, but for his great sense of humour, constant cheerfulness and kindness. He was a good Christian and family-loving man whose character embodied the mo
tto of the Great Seal of Fiji: REREVAKA NA KALOU KA DAGA NA TUI (Fear God and Honour the King).
Pete Loveday
After Pete retired from his civilian job with the Regiment, he settled down to enjoy his retirement with his family. Sadly, he developed emphysema and died in 2002.
IN MEMORIAM
Blair ‘Paddy’ Mayne 1915–55
Don ‘Lofty’ Large 1930–2006
Kevin Walsh 1938–1986
Reg Tayler 1940–2004
Talaiasi Labalaba 1942–72
Tommy Palmer 1951–83
Vince Phillips 1955–91
Alfie Tasker 1930–2003
Pete Loveday 1931–2002
Iain ‘Jock’ Thomson 1939–2004
Steve Callan 1941–83
Tommy Tobin 1947–72
Gavin John Hamilton 1953–82
The 20 men I’ve written about are representative of the soldiers of the SAS, past and present. Over the years, I served with so many outstanding soldiers, any of whom could have been included in my list of unsung heroes, men like:
Roy Ball
Sir Peter de la Billière
Ken Connor
Bill Farley
Keith Farnes
Fred Fearnley
Clive ‘Dusty’ Grey
Reg ‘Brummie’ Hassall
Alan ‘Spike’ Hoe