Shepherd thought for a few moments. ‘How about Swanbourne with the Aussie SAS? None of us have been there but I’ve heard the training facilities are excellent so while we are waiting to catch a lucky break, we can get up to training speed and our kit can be checked over. A few days training in the sun won’t do us any harm.’
‘Okay,’ Jock said, ‘but we’ll have to set a time limit, otherwise I can’t see the brass authorising the plan. Let’s say three weeks tops before you have to haul your arses back here. I think I can swing it because Whitehall are kicking the Frogs’ arses about paying a ransom. But one word of warning: you won’t find the Aussie SAS the same as here, I’ve been there and they are much more regimental than we are. They pretty much follow the book and although you might find it hard to believe, they frown on mavericks, so keep your neck wound in. If you’re still up for it, I’ll try to swing it through Northwood; they have a liaison officer in SF group headquarters who can be leaned on. I will get back to you ASAP with either authorisation or a return ticket to Blighty.’
The authorisation to move to the Australian SAS camp a few kilometres north of Perth was a couple of days coming through, because Jock had a difficult time persuading the various Head Sheds, until he pointed out that if Shepherd’s team were recalled to the UK and something kicked off in the Far East, it could prove to be very embarrassing should the facts ever hit the media. ‘Not that I was threatening anyone you understand,’ he said with his trademark growl, ‘I was just giving them the facts.’
The final couple of days waiting in Singapore before they were cleared to fly to Western Australia had been almost too much for the Wingco. The military at Changi were suspicious of what might be in the aircraft and made several surreptitious attempts to gain access, so much so that the Wingco made the Snowdrops, Chas and Dave, sleep on the locked aircraft. ‘It’s breaking the Royal Air Force health and safety SOPs,’ he said, ‘but better than the Singapore’s Military Intelligence crawling all over everything.’
They eventually got clearance but when they arrived at Swanbourne, things didn’t get off to a good start. While Spider and the others were ignored, Rupert was hauled off to an interview with the Adjutant. As they waited for him, Geordie glanced around, taking in the neat, single-storey buildings and the starched uniformed soldiers marching past. ‘Not much like the big H is it?’
Shepherd nodded. ‘They seem to like the rank structure and things neat and tidy, but they’re supposed to be good squaddies. Lets just hope they let us get on and do what we want to do.’
Rupert arrived back from his meeting soon afterwards, red faced with embarrassment. ‘That was damn difficult,’ he said. ‘They seem to think we’re a band of ruffians. I had to promise, on pain of expulsion, that we would stick to every rule and regulation that applies to their camp and their Regiment.’
‘You can stick to what you like mate,’ Geordie said, ‘but we’re here to get ourselves back up to speed, ready to finish what we started in Athens, so if you want to stick to rules and regs, that’s up to you, but don’t count me in.’
They were interrupted by the approach of a uniformed soldier wearing a short sleeved shirt, and a small crown on his wrist, the badge of rank of a warrant officer. His hair, bleached by the sun, was flecked with grey and his face bore lines that might have been stress or the advancing years catching up with him, but his gaze was keen and when he shook hands, his grip was like steel.
He had been studying them as he walked over and, ignoring Rupert, he spoke directly to Shepherd. ‘G’day mate, my name’s Ronnie and I’m the senior guy here, except for the bloody Adjutant, who doesn’t really count. The rest of the guys on the camp are either REMF’s or admin, because all the bayonets are over in the East in CT - Capital Territory - or Sydney. Something big is brewing and because we are a small unit we sometimes get stretched and we are certainly stretched now. Anyway, I spent a couple of years with 22 in the UK on secondment and I was treated like a gent, in fact I would have stayed only the pension rights here are better. So if there’s anything you want, you’ve got it, and if anyone gets in your way or tries to obstruct you, let me know, and I’ll tramp all over them. Do me a favour, mate, though: in front of any of the officers or other ranks, call me Sir, would you? We both know it means nothing but it keeps the bastards off my back. I’ve put the Tiffy - the Weapons Artificer - and the Ammunition Technical Officer on standby so they can check over your hardware. I suspect it’s been bounced around a bit and needs a bit of TLC.’
‘Thanks Ronnie,’ Shepherd said. ‘We prefer to do our own maintenance and checks but your two techies are more than welcome to give us a hand.’
Having arranged to meet them for a beer that evening, Ronnie left them to it and Shepherd allocated tasks to everyone. ‘Geordie, you and Jimbo get down and see the Tiffy in his workshop. I want you to go over every weapon we have in minute detail, checking every part, every spring tension, and paying particular attention to the springs in the magazines. Get him to run his measuring gauges over everything and by the time you’re finished I expect every weapon to be 100% perfect. While you’re doing that, I’ll work with the ATO to check every piece of ordnance that we own. We’ll test the electrical resistance in every fuse, check the powder weight of a sample of ammo and at the end I will have him issue a new hazardous aircraft cargo certificate for the whole nine yards. When that lot’s done, and it will take three or four hours, we will then write a new aircraft manifest for hazardous air cargo. That will mean re-boxing and re-packing everything we own, weighing the individual boxes and writing the manifest. I know it’s a balls-ache but it’s got to be done, because the Aussie customs are the worst bureaucrats in the world and we don’t want to be held up at the airport on our way out, if and when the shit hits the fan.’
‘What would you like me to do Spider?’ Rupert said.
‘I want you to go and see if Ronnie will lend you a Ute - a pick-up - for a couple of hours. Then drive down to Fremantle or Perth, find a surf shack that rents wet and dry suits to surfers. I want you to buy at least ten of their discarded stock. I don't care whether they are wet or dry material as long as they are one-piece body suits, and it doesn’t matter what state they’re in because nobody is going to be diving in them.’
Rupert gave him a puzzled smile and started to turn away.
‘Hang on,’ Shepherd said. ‘There’s more. When you’ve got your hands on the suits, I want you to go to the nearest recycling site and buy as many old rags as you can get your hands on. When you’ve done that, come back here and spend the rest of the day stuffing the rags into the dry suits. When you’ve finished, I want them to be the same size and weight as a human.’
‘But what will we use them for?’
‘We?’ Shepherd said, with a smile. ‘We use them to practice our CQB moves. With the Aussies’ fixation on health and safety, if we want to grapple man on man we’ll have to wear padded head- and body-guards which are totally unrealistic and make the training artificial. But with our dummies we can get stuck in and do the moves, bend the limbs, stab them and so on, and it’s just the same as fighting man on man. And when we are finished fighting them, we can take them on the ranges and shoot the shit out of them. They are virtually indestructible and will last for as long as we need them.’
‘Yeah and another thing about them,’ Geordie said, ‘is that we don’t need to patch them up like ordinary plywood targets. The bullets go straight through and the neoprene seals itself, so they save a lot of time on the range and you can get on with the shooting sequences you want to practice without having to stop and paste up the holes. It saves hours and gives better continuity.’
The team and the two Aussie technicians spent the rest of the day and most of the night checking and testing their equipment and finally, just before dawn, the last piece of paperwork was written and checked. The technicians were happy to contribute because of the team’s appreciation of their skills and their own willingness to put in the hours.
They concentrated first on the suppleness of the joints and muscles, then exercises that increased their strength and mobility, then repeated the same exercises with weights. They kept this up for several hours until they were drenched in sweat and Shepherd called a halt.
By the time they finished they had attracted an audience of Aussie squaddies who looked on in awe at the work-out. When the training resumed in the late afternoon the audience had increased in size and included the Adjutant and Ronnie the Warrant Officer, who was watching eagerly.
In the following morning’s session Shepherd added some interval training for the lower body, sprinting 400 yards, jogging 100 yards, sprinting another 400 yards, continuing until the guys were almost exhausted, and then they repeated the previous day’s upper body exercises but with extra weight and increased repetitions.
That evening they started weapon training, first doing dry practices, stripping and assembling different types of weapons blindfolded, loading and unloading, changing magazines and running through the range of weapons stoppages, all the while never standing still but rolling, changing positions, seeking cover, making it as difficult as possible for any potential adversary to take them on. Despite the West Australian heat, all this was done in full combat gear, fireproof coveralls, magazine vest and webbing. Finally they went through the full range of weapon training again but this time wearing respirators.
‘It’s good to be back in harness Spider,’ Jimbo said, as they staggered off to the showers afterwards, ‘and doing the hard yards, I’m feeling better already.’
‘Yeah, I don’t think we were that much out of condition, but it’s good to get rid of the kinks in the body and get the mind sharp again. Tomorrow we go shooting.’
On the range the following morning they started by using the instinctive method of pistol shooting, using one hand to grip the pistol and the other to steady the weapon, sighting on the target with both eyes. They fired double taps, always counting the rounds fired, never having an empty magazine and rolling and using cover while changing magazines. This method had the advantage that the team could use the supporting hand to assist when they had to move through, under, over and around obstacles that they placed in the shooting area.
They started by shooting twelve round groups, and when the grouping was the size of a postage stamp, they moved back to a longer range, remaining there until the grouping was again acceptably small and then moving to a longer range still, repeating the exercise again and again. Never bored, they set themselves seemingly impossible aims, facing the target, turning right and left, and from the rear, then walking and firing, always practising until they had achieved their goals.
When they had reached about the twenty yard mark, the grouping spread and became unacceptably large, and they then changed to an adapted version of the Weaver method of shooting, an American technique, where the shooter holds the weapon in both hands and sights on the target using the pistol’s iron sights, while keeping one arm slightly bent. Effective at longer ranges, it was cumbersome if there were obstacles to cross and not entirely trusted by Shepherd and the others to get the job done.
Once they were satisfied with the results of the pistol shooting, they progressed on to the H&Ks. These came with a selection of optical and laser sighting systems but Shepherd had dispensed with all of them, including the factory fitted iron sights, preferring a smooth clean weapon which would not snag when in a Close Quarter Battle environment. The drills were a repeat of the pistol drills with the emphasis on targets at longer ranges though they proved to be more exhausting because of the extra weight of the weapons and ammunition, but the guys still went to bed happy that night.
Things changed after the following morning’s work-out session on the indoor and outdoor ranges. Ronnie was waiting for Shepherd as he left the ranges. ‘The Adj wants to see you, mate,’ he said with a half-smile on his face. ‘But don’t worry, a miracle has happened! A lot has changed in the last few days and now he thinks he needs your help, he’s much more amenable.’
As Shepherd entered the office, he noticed Rupert sitting in the corner looking uncomfortable, which was fast becoming his default setting. ‘Come in Spider, if I may call you that,’ the Adjutant said, with a big shit-eating smile. ‘I have a slight problem that I think you might be able to help me with. The bulk of the Regiment, along with all the training staff, have been sent to the East Coast to deal with a potential terrorist threat and I’ve been left with guys who were not deemed suitable or good enough to travel with them. This has caused a crisis in the morale of the guys left behind and somehow I have to create a viable strategic fighting reserve from them to deal with any other threat that might arise in Australia’s area of interest. I couldn’t help noticing how impressed my guys were when they were watching you and your team train. Is there anything you could do to help get them motivated and better trained?’
‘I’m flattered to be asked,’ Shepherd said, ‘but my qualifications are UK-based. However, I’m sure Ronnie and I could do something together. He could be the lead trainer and I would support him, provided we can work around our own training times and commitments, always remembering that my team are still putting in twelve radio schedules a day back to our mate in the UK, and if the shit hits the fan at any point, whatever stage of the training we’ve reached, we’ll simply have to cut and run. Anyway, Ronnie and I will sort out a training schedule and content and then, since we don’t know how long we’ll be here, I suggest we make a start first thing tomorrow. I assume that you and Rupert will also be joining in, but as this is intended to be a morale building exercise for the rankers, don’t expect any favours.’
Although he had suggested that Ronnie would be running the training, in fact Shepherd took the lead. He quickly outlined a programme concentrating on the main weapon of the Aussie SASR, the M-16, with a short course on the pistol as a support weapon. Like their own training, each session started with some fitness and mobility exercises followed by dry practices, and when the trainees were at an acceptable level, they moved on to the live firing ranges. After just a few short sessions the results had improved to such an extent that the Adjutant, whose own expertise had also been greatly enhanced, was delighted. He was discussing with Ronnie and Shepherd what the next step should be, when Jimbo came dashing onto the range. ‘We’ve got an OP Immediate from Jock, our guy is on the move!’
‘Sorry gents,’ Shepherd said, ‘looks like you’ll have to handle the training yourselves from here on in.’
He and Jimbo hurried to join Geordie who was keeping the sat-phone link to Jock open, mainly by taking the piss out of him and his injuries. ‘I hope the arm’s not too weak, Jock,’ he was saying as Shepherd hurried in, ‘because that’s the one you hold the porn magazine with while the other one’s busy isn’t it?’
‘We’re all here, Jock,’ Shepherd said, before he could come up with a suitably witty reply. ‘Bring us up to date.’
‘Well our wee friend’s been having a little vacation in Macau,’ he said, ‘laundering his money at the tables in one of the casinos. He then slipped out of Macau on board a high roller’s jet supplied by the casino, so we can assume he lost enough cash to keep them happy. As the Chinese always want the high rollers to come back and lose some more, those jets are not subject to the same immigration and customs checks as normal flights, so we only became aware of his movements when the intercepts by Cheltenham suddenly went off the scale.
‘There are a bunch of his guys in Papua New Guinea - we know that because he started to chat to them just before landing at Port Moresby. So we can assume that he now has cash and manpower, and is looking to ge
t his hands on the hardware necessary to carry out his task, whatever it is. The intercepts are more sporadic now - PNG is not ideal terrain for any form of communications more sophisticated than shouting or throwing spears - but it appears that he has moved location from Port Moresby to a place up-country. I’ll send you the co-ordinates.’
‘Why PNG?’ Jimbo said.
‘Why not? I can’t think of many better places to carry out clandestine training. The government is about as corrupt as they come, the country is wild and semi-lawless, modern communications are almost non-existent away from the cities - there are no roads at all linking the north and south of the island - and the interior is so mountainous and jungle-smothered that tribes even a few miles apart speak completely different languages.’
‘And is there any military hardware in PNG?’ Jimbo said.
‘Absolutely shedloads,’ Jock said. ‘A few years ago the neighbouring island of Bougainville tried to declare independence and take their enormous copper mine with them, so the PNG government took umbrage and set up a deal with a particularly nasty British/South African mercenary outfit to bring the rebels back under control. The mercs were paid a lot of money from the PNG education budget and they bought a load of Soviet-era weaponry including a couple of HIP helicopters, and were all set to fly into Bougainville, all guns blazing, and take control of the copper mine, until the Australian government got wind of what was happening and put a stop to it before there was any bloodshed.’ HIP was the Nato reporting name of the M-8 Russian transport helicopter, which could also be fitted out as an airborne command post and an armed gunship. It was one of the most produced helicopters in the world but Shepherd wasn’t a fan.
Moving Targets: An Action-Packed Spider Shepherd SAS Novel (Spider Shepherd: SAS Book 2) Page 21