by Geoff Wolak
‘In return for?’ the Colonel asked.
I took in their faces. ‘I’d have to do a job or two for him.’
‘What?’ the Major hissed. ‘He’ll send you on some reckless mission, your nuts blown off, or you’ll be captured and tortured!’
‘I struck a deal, we’ll see what happens, and it’s all a risk.’
‘Why risk yourself for me?’ the Colonel asked.
‘Surprised you have to ask that, sir.’ I took a moment. ‘We’ve known each other a long time, and you helped in the past. Besides, maybe now you’ll let me sleep in late.’ I placed down a mug of tea for the colonel.
A knock came at the door, and I let in Colonel Bennet. Richards peered up at him as Bennet looked forlornly down. ‘You’re not here for Wilco, are you.’
Colonel Bennet sat, shaking his head.
‘Major?’ I called, and led the Major out, closing the door, Rizzo stood ready. ‘I’ll assemble the men and let them know, because this will be on the news later, and ... they may go off on one and attack 14 Intel.’
The Major sullenly nodded.
With Rizzo’s help I gathered the troops together, even the armourers, all puzzled as to what was up. Stood before them, the Major silent and still stunned, I began, ‘You’ll see it on the news tomorrow, so I’ll give you the heads up now. The good looking lady captain that was here had been blabbing about our operations to her lover, a Captain over at 14 Intel. Problem is ... he’s been selling that info to the IRA for years.’
A loud chorus of indignation swept around the men, a few threats, looks exchanged. I waited, finally saying, ‘It was just one man, no one else involved, and no one should think that the people in 14 Intel are crooked, or that the intel staff here have done a bad job with security. They caught him, he’ll stand trial, and they’ll throw his arse in jail for the rest of his life. We will, however, need to be a bit more careful in future, a few random changes to plans – just in case.’
They still wanted to kill someone, and preferably tonight. ‘Quieten down!’ I barked at them, and stepped forwards, Stretch being a bit mouthy. ‘Anyone that doesn’t shut the fuck up and calm down gets a free boxing lesson from me, complimentary hospital bed.’ They hushed down. Quieter, I said, ‘Please ... go back to what you were doing, and fucking cool it will you.’
They ambled off, and that just left me and the Major, and I led him to the Intel Section, a few people sat working quietly, the kettle knocked on. I took in Karen Moore’s desk, a few personal items remaining.
‘I feel bad for the CO,’ the Major said, tea in hand, staring at the rain hitting the window. ‘He accepted me into the Regiment, taught me, gave me pointers, covered a few of my mistakes.’ He shook his head. ‘Sold out by one of our own, and a family member.’
‘Such things are rare, sir. We will recover.’
‘The CO came up through the ranks, and he has his critics in the Old Boy network. This could give them the excuse.’
‘Maybe they’ll see the ability, not the DNA in his blood.’
‘Don’t underestimate the upper classes, my lad. They still hold onto old ideas.’
‘Be odd in the Regiment if he goes. Not sure I’d like it.’
He turned to me. ‘You’d go?’
I made a face. ‘It would feel like ... mum has a new boyfriend and your dad is not coming home again. And a new CO would never let me get away with stuff.’
The Major managed a smile.
Turning my head, I noticed Captain Harris returning. He went straight to her desk, and after he stood studying it for a while he smashed her personal photos, people shocked and looking across.
Plonking down next to us, he took in our faces for many seconds, and then lowered his head. ‘I was at Sandhurst with him, at his wedding, went on holiday with his family. And I blabbed to him about things.’
‘You’re an Intel officer, so is he,’ I began. ‘You’re allowed to blab, no blame.’
‘I’m an Intel officer,’ he said with an ironic lilt. ‘My own best friend was a spy, and I never spotted it. Right fucking intel officer I am.’
‘He fooled everyone, and for a long time,’ I pointed out. ‘According to Mi6, he sold no more than one or two bits of info a year, not getting greedy. And they’re sure that he was behind the deaths of many 14 Intel lads.’
‘You think you know someone,’ Captain Harris let out.
‘Bit like a cheating wife,’ I said. ‘Always a shock when you find out.’
‘I shagged Karen Moore, two years back, Christmas function. That could come out as well.’
‘I think they’ll have greater concerns,’ I said in a reassuring tone. I faced the Major. ‘When I was sat here at night I could see her on the phone, and see the body language, and you don’t use that body language for hubby at home. I knew she was shagging around, a bit jealous that she never threw herself at me.’
The Major smiled.
Twenty minutes later and Colonels Bennet and Richards appeared, hands shaken. Richards came and sat with us, waving us down.
He took a moment. ‘If they claim I discussed inappropriate material with him, and that led directly to him selling it and someone getting killed, then I’ve had it. If not, then they don’t have much of a case, and I can’t be blamed for an act of birth. ‘Besides, I just found out that Bromley’s other uncle is a serving general. I knew he was an officer somewhere, but he’s a Staff General, so they’ll be raised voices in the MOD tomorrow, and that may overshadow my link to him.’
‘You sound a bit more positive, sir,’ I noted.
Richards nodded. ‘From the pit of despair, to a small hope.’ He took in our faces. ‘I was hoping to do a few more years, but there is a limit because future generals and hotshots all aim for two years with us, so I would get the push eventually, staff college looming.’
‘Do you really want to go beyond the Regiment?’ I asked with a curled lip.
‘Truthfully, no. No office in Whitehall.’
‘Who wants to sit in Whitehall?’ I said dismissively.
‘I don’t,’ the Major informed us. ‘I fancy New Zealand, part time work with their Territorial SAS. My wife is up for it.’
I nodded. ‘Then let’s hope we all stay out of prison for a little while longer, eh.’
Tyler appeared later, as I sat alone, and I gave him the detail, stunning him. I also told him that if he was to address the troop or to discipline anyone, that I should be present. He was grateful.
Colonel Richards flew off first thing in the morning, with Colonel Bennet, further meetings planned, and the lads were still making threats and wanting to kill someone, but at 3pm the news came in that Bromley, on remand in a prison in Belfast, had hanged himself – prison guards being questioned by the police and the Army because Bromley was on suicide watch.
I went and found the Major. ‘You heard, sir?’
The Major nodded. ‘Did ... Mi6 help with a long shoelace?’
‘Rumour has it ... that it was part of my deal with them.’
He stared back. ‘They’ll come to collect the debt.’
I nodded. ‘Yes, sir, I’m sure they will, but I owe the Colonel.’
Outside, walking to the armoury, the Borderers WO2 bellowed my name, about twenty NCOs with him. I altered course towards them.
‘Is it true?’ the WO2 demanded.
I took in their faces. ‘Which part?’
‘That the 14 Intel fucker sold us out?’
I nodded. ‘He did, and has been doing so for many years.’
‘We lost a lot of lads here,’ the WO2 complained. ‘Could any of those incidents be down to him?’
‘We’ll never know for sure. And, a short while ago, he hung himself in his cell, so no answers from him.’
‘A fucking captain!’ someone said.
‘Married with two kids,’ I said. ‘But, you never can tell.’
‘Best warn 14 Intel to nay step foot in here.’
‘A whole unit can’t be blamed for
one man, and they do a good job for the most part. They’ve lost ten men in recent years, and most were probably down to Captain Bromley. They ... are hurting more than anyone, and they’re regular enlisted men like you lot. He fooled everyone for years.’
Back inside, I asked the Major if he would call 14 Intel and warn them off visiting, but he said they already knew, some of their lads beaten up at various bases. It was a mess.
Is that cow dead?
A few days later, and with the aftermath still echoing around – the threats still echoing off the walls, we got intel that suspicious movement had been seen on the Armargh side of Fews Forest, and 14 Intel – of all people, had an OP that reported gunmen moving back and forth to an isolated farm. We made ready to go in, a six man patrol with back-up standing by, just in case it was another trap.
Rizzo would lead a four man patrol for a close recon, and I was asked to provide sniper support with Swifty.
When I mentioned to the Major that I had not yet completed the sniper course, he said, ‘On that course they teach you head shots and chest shots, no arse shots. For now ... just get on with it.’
I had asked the armoury lads for an AKM 7.62mm 20inch barrel with a telescopic sight, and two had been brought over, Swifty preferring them as well, Rizzo insisting that his patrol have M16s. Since we were not ‘in’ his patrol, technically, we stuck to AKMs, and rudely told him to fuck off.
Experimenting with the AKM ammo pouches, I approached Madge, and had her modify my jacket. Swifty was suspicious, and so insisted that he know what changes I was making, and immediately he we wanted a jacket and trousers like mine – with the new innovations. We were like twin brothers arguing over toys at Christmas.
Madge altered my jacked so that inside the zip flap - but not inside the zip, I had three pouches either side in which to put magazines, and they would fit snugly, hanging down at a slight angle so that rounds were exposed near the zip.
She added green velco to the outside of the zip flap so that it could be stuck back, allowing fast access to the magazines when necessary. When ready, I ditched the ammo pouches from my webbing, which made life easier.
The briefing lasted an hour, the map pored over and a plan cobbled together, and 14 Intel had withdrawn their OP just in case we shot them full of holes – which was a distinct possibility. We got kitted up, Bergens checked, webbing checked, weapons checked. At the armoury, Swifty and myself made use of the tiny test-firing range, basically a corner full of sand backed by wood, and fired off a few rounds.
Back inside, the Major could see the differences in our kit and camouflage, but did not stop us – or whinge at us, and he examined the magazine pouches, and the covers I had made for the AKMs. Each AKM had a sleeve over the forend, pistol grip and butt, and I showed him the ‘wet cover’.
It had been made from a nylon combat jacket and cut and sewn by Madge, velco fasteners allowing for quick release, and it sat the length of the weapon, covering everything bar the sight and the muzzle, a hole for ejected rounds.
If the weapon was fired when the cover was in place there was a danger of an ejected round hitting the cover if not fitted properly, the benefit being that the wet cover also covered the sniper’s upper body when lying-up for hours on end in the wet Irish countryside.
After final checks the major wished us well, and we lugged our Bergens to the Lynx, soon inside – and soon cramped, a short fast flight to the insert, which was three miles from the old 14 Intel OP.
Out of the chopper we knelt, our ride soon pulling away, and we lifted our Bergens on, Rizzo leading us to the tree line in a hurry. Once there he checked the map, taking his time.
‘OK, we have an hour’s slog to get there, but we won’t move into position till after dark. On me.’
He lifted up and led his team off, myself and Swifty bringing up the rear. At the first fork in the track Rizzo knelt and called myself and Swifty forwards. ‘Take point. Fifty yards ahead.’
‘Yes, Boss,’ I quipped, a look exchanged with a smirking Swifty, and we soon pushed ahead, keenly looking and listening through the trees, but expecting civilians out walking their dogs. When I stopped the patrol stopped, and when I moved they moved, the first point of interest being a used condom. It looked freshly used, and each man in turn had a look at it.
I spotted forest workers in time and we skirted around them, a man and his dog avoided since we did not want anyone to know that we were here this time around. Losing the light slowly, we reached the edge of the forest and followed an area of newly planted trees, some cover afforded us, and so far the rain was holding off.
Losing the light, I followed the edge of the shrubbery to a mini-canal of static water, the route memorised from the night before. Stopping, and lifting my left sleeve, I said, ‘Car up ahead, probably a courting couple. Take five.’
We waited, stood silently, and the car moved off after fifteen minutes. Approaching the road, I checked all the dark angles carefully, listened intently – an ear to the breeze, and then ran across. ‘OK, listen up: road to cross, but tight bends, so if there’s a car it will appear quickly. Get to the last tree, check the road, then leg it.’
I observed Swifty’s dark outline move across the road, followed by Rizzo, three other dark outlines following at intervals. We had all crossed before the first car headlights illuminated the forest.
Taking point, I led the team on an additional mile, and we climbed higher along a track, not wanting to use fields and leave footprints for the farmers to report. Reaching the crest, we ran across a tarmac round and down another tack, soon to the first OP position, and from up here Swifty and myself would cover the lads when they moved around in the valley below.
Bergens down, Rizzo had the lads use sacking on their boots. When ready, I pointed out the lay of the land below to Rizzo.
‘Far left is a small wood, then the farmhouse of interest, then the slurry pit, then the barns in the centre, then the stream and the trees on the right. You go far right, down the stream, and that takes you right up to the barns to sniff around. The 14 Intel OP was supposed to be at the top end of the stream somewhere.’
Rizzo grabbed his guys, Bergens lifted, and they set off across a field - no signs of any cows nearby, and their dark outlines were soon lost. Swifty and I dumped our Bergens out of sight, raised ponchos, and got a brew on, not much to do till dawn unless we heard shots fired.
‘Wilco, radio check,’ came Rizzo’s voice.
‘Good signal,’ I responded. ‘You’re in line of sight.’
‘You can see us?’ Rizzo puzzled, making Swifty laugh. ‘No, but there are no obstacles to a good radio signal.’
Swifty took the first rest, and I slept midnight to 5am, soon peeing as the grey dawn appeared; it had rained heavily during the night. He handed me half of his tea and I downed it quickly, the brew warming my insides nicely.
Leaving the Bergens, a few branches tucked into our webbing at the rear, we walked forwards bent double and took-up a provisional position near the farmer’s wire fence.
‘There,’ I said. ‘That big bush. We get under it.’
Retrieving the Bergens, we approached the bush from the far side, being careful about prints, and stepped on a few fallen logs to avoid further indentations in the wet ground. Behind the bush, we dropped our Bergens and I took out my knife, resting my rifle against my Bergen – a serious offence in the SAS, Swifty covering me after lightly telling me off.
Crawling into the bush, I cut down those stems that blocked free movement, and found an area of bare dirt that was quite dry. Those stems I cut down were shoved to the edges of the bush, helping with the camouflage.
‘Bergen,’ I whispered, and Swifty shoved mine through. ‘Rifle.’ He handed it to me. ‘Your Bergen.’ It was shoved in, and dragged in further. ‘OK.’
He crawled in and lay beside me as I adjusted the Bergens so that we could both open them, as well as use them to hide out feet and block the hole. I finally broke a large branch off and placed
it over the hole; we were looking good.
Inching forwards, both of us cutting stems, we reached the north-facing side of the bush and peered down at a grey misty landscape, the grass soaking wet. Even the spider’s webs were soaking wet.
‘Can you see the stream?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, just one small part blocked by a clump of grass.’
‘I can see most everything.’ Placing on the wet cover, I inched out and to the point where my muzzle was beyond the wire of the farmer’s fence. Since the ground under me was not that sodden, I did not pull out my poncho or green mat.
We waited.
Half an hour later, and with the farmer up and about, I lifted my sleeve and clicked on the radio. ‘Rizzo, you awake?’
‘Yeah, you in position?’
‘We are, got the whole area covered. Where are you?’
‘We’re moving down the stream now.’
‘The farmer is awake and pissing about near his house, no signs of a dog yet.’
‘Roger that.’
Peering down through the telescopic sight, I observed the farmer moving a trailer and hitching it to his Range Rover, my cross-hairs following his movement. I clicked on the radio. ‘Wilco for patrol, looks like the farmer is getting ready to leave, he’s hitching a trailer ready. Standby.’
Movement caught my eye, only to find a very cute small brown rabbit sat staring at me. ‘Shoo.’
‘Shoo?’ Swifty repeated.
‘There’s a cute little rabbit staring at me.’
‘Threaten to punch it out.’
I turned my head and gave him a look, as best I could through the face mask.
Fifteen minutes later the farmer led out a short fat wife, the good lady wrapped up warm, a sheep dog jumping up into the front passenger seat and peering out of the window. They drove off, a burst of smoke from their exhaust.
‘Wilco for patrol, farmer and his lovely wife - as well as his lovely dog, have driven off. Go take a look while we have the chance, double time.’