by Peter Taylor
Colonel Brian had more subtle ways of gathering intelligence and knew what to look for when trying to recruit an agent, like the barman sleeping with the wife of an internee. ‘With the right questions, he can be extremely useful to you.’ Or the priest walking along with a slightly stiff leg who has a rifle strapped under his cassock. ‘You might chat to him and make one or two points and in the confessional box a few weeks later you might get pieces of information that you might not otherwise have got.’ I asked him if these cases really happened. ‘Of course they did,’ he said roaring with laughter. ‘You don’t get intelligence by sitting on your backside and doing nothing. My job was to destroy the IRA in my area. The Gloucestershire Regiment have been energetically engaged in destroying the Queen’s enemies for upwards of three hundred years and we didn’t see any reason why we should stop now. And we didn’t. The whole Battalion got stuck into it and they were marvellous.’
Brian used his initiative and was probably more enterprising than most in finding ingenious ways of picking up information. One evening he was sitting in the operations room ‘putting the world to rights’ when his signaller, who was browsing through an American security magazine, suddenly said, ‘Cor! Look at this! Here’s a bug that you can stick in the back of a television set and you can hear what they’re saying in the room. And it’s got a range of a mile and half!’ He passed the magazine over to the Colonel who was equally impressed and said, ‘Let’s buy one!’ It arrived in a small package ten days later, two inches by two inches with a little receiver tuned to the frequency of the bug. Brian knew of a nearby house where the IRA held some of its meetings, the only problem now was how to get it into the back of the television set in the target house. Again, the Colonel’s ingenuity triumphed: three Gloucesters with Irish accents and white overalls bluffed their way into the house as TV repair men and installed the bug.
A few days later, the Gloucesters noticed known IRA men going into the house and immediately informed the Colonel. The receiver was switched on and ‘we heard things of enormous interest’. At some stage they picked up a vital piece of information about a car bomb the IRA intended to plant in the city centre. The car that was to be used, invariably a Ford Cortina, was noted and the information passed up the army’s chain of command so that appropriate action could be taken. The following morning it was stopped by soldiers from the Royal Artillery Regiment who told the surprised and nervous occupants that there had been a bomb warning and they were going to cordon off the area. Would they mind staying in the car whilst they did so? Not wishing for a premature meeting with their Maker, the youths owned up to the bomb and told the soldiers how to defuse it.
Later, the Colonel was asked by his superiors how he had obtained the vital information and ‘in all innocence’ he told them. The result was ‘an interview without coffee’ with the new GOC, General Sir Frank King, who had taken over from Lieutenant-General Tuzo in February 1973. King gave Brian a memorable dressing-down, saying that such operations were off-limits unless properly authorized. The bug was removed and the Colonel was summoned back to see the GOC. General King asked if his order had been carried out. Brian said it had. ‘Fine,’ King said, ‘now let’s go and have a drink and you can tell me all about it.’
Brian’s encounter with the GOC was a warning that the days of ‘piratical ventures’ were over. There were to be no more MRF ‘cowboy’ operations, no more Four Square laundries and no more unauthorized freelance operations by enterprising local Battalions. From now on, covert activities were to be strictly controlled and monitored. Nothing was left to chance and proper systems were put in place. Lessons had been learned. The Four Square laundry, for example, had no back-up team. If it had, although it may not have been able to prevent the ambush, it would probably have stood a good chance of intercepting the IRA unit as it made its getaway. Those who had been involved in such operations had had no special training or special selection course. ‘Alan’ had been recruited into the MRF simply because its commanding officer knew him as a fellow Para and thought he was the right kind of soldier for the job.
The change in intelligence-gathering came around the beginning of 1973. The army knew that it had special needs if it was effectively to combat the IRA and the loyalist paramilitaries who were now posing a serious threat with their random sectarian killings. The RUC’s Special Branch operated on a long-term basis, recruiting and cultivating informers and agents with the ranks of both enemies but the army needed more immediate information if it was to thwart the murderous attacks.
After much discussion and an agreed assessment of what was needed, the army established a new covert unit designed to revolutionize intelligence-gathering. It was to be so secret that even those involved in it did not know each other’s real names. It was originally known as ‘14 Intelligence and Security Company’ or ‘14 Int. and Sy’ but its name was soon abbreviated to just ‘14 Intelligence Company’. Its members were known as ‘operators’ because they ‘operated’ out on the ground in the enemy’s heartlands. To the hand-picked élite selected to join, ‘14 Int.’ soon became known as the ‘Det’ because its operations were based on ‘Detachments’ to each of the army’s three Brigades in Northern Ireland. North ‘Det’ was based in Derry and covered the 8 Brigade area in the west of the province; South ‘Det’ was based in Armagh and covered the 3 Brigade area that includes the border and South Armagh; and East ‘Det’ was based in Belfast and covered the 39 Brigade area. The men and women of the ‘Det’ were to play a vital role in the conflict, the crucial importance of which was never recognized by those outside the tight inner circle of the intelligence community because its operations were so secret. Whereas the Special Air Service (SAS) played a vital and often spectacular role in the conflict, it tended to do so at relatively infrequent intervals that invariably attracted a blaze of publicity. In contrast, the ‘Det’ ground away at the IRA and its loyalist counterparts day after day under their very noses. Their achievements could never be publicized nor their critical contribution recognized since to do so would jeopardize their work. On the numerous occasions in which operators shot dead IRA men, republicans invariably laid the killings at the door of the SAS. The army did nothing to disabuse them. To some extent the personnel were interchangeable. SAS ‘troopers’ joined 14 Intelligence Company and ‘Det’ operators joined the SAS.
14 Intelligence Company’s mission was to infiltrate republican and loyalist areas and become part of the landscape in order to watch and track the enemy. They had to do so without attracting suspicion. They dressed like the locals and acted like locals but, wherever possible, avoided opening their mouths. Grunts not words were the preferred and safer option. It was intelligence-gathering of the most sophisticated and dangerous kind, requiring extraordinary physical and mental courage, limitless patience and superhuman feats of memory. In terms of results, a single ‘operator’ was said to be worth a Company of a hundred regular soldiers. As the years went by and the intelligence services’ technical expertise became more sophisticated, the ‘Det’ became an even more lethal weapon in the counter-terrorist armoury of the ‘Brits’ and played a huge part in the war of attrition against the IRA. They bugged or ‘jarked’ terrorist weapons by secretly removing them from their ‘hides’ and then replacing them, having inserted a tiny beacon inside that emitted a signal so their movements could be tracked. Consignments of explosives were monitored in the same way. Through their specialized training in Methods of Entry (MOE), operators could break into premises undetected so the Security Service, MI5, could plant its ‘technical devices’ or bugs. A credit card was a favourite tool to ‘card’ locks: ‘Your Flexible Friend’, the operators called it. In the turret at Stormont Castle, Peter saw the ‘Det’ being born and watched it flourish as the years went by. 14 Intelligence Company was ‘the better parachute’.
They were a remarkable gang of men and women. I have nothing but the highest admiration for them. I think it requires a coolness and a dedication and a strength of nerv
e which actually is quite remarkable. They really did have to have nerves of steel. To go into a known republican shop and actually buy packets of cigarettes over the counter so that you can see who is in there and eyeball them, takes a lot of doing. And there were a lot of people who did that sort of thing. They were very brave, very brave. I think 14 Intelligence Company were actually pivotal and they will prove to have been one of the most significant weapons in the battle against that kind of urban terrorism.
‘Alan’ was one of 14 Intelligence Company’s first recruits. It was, he said, a natural progression from the MRF, the difference being that the ‘Det’ was properly trained and had a clearly defined purpose.
For the first time I believe there was a political will to gain intelligence that wasn’t simply source-generated. There was a requirement for hard intelligence which was real and which was current. 14 Intelligence Company was set up to provide the surveillance that would generate the positive intelligence that would support – or not – source information. It was vital in the war against terrorism.
Most of the training of the ‘Det’ was carried out by army intelligence officers and the SAS until operators became sufficiently experienced to do it themselves. Members of all three services – army, navy and air force – were eligible although most came from the army. In 1973, ‘Alan’ was one of 300 accepted for selection, of whom only seventeen finally made it to Northern Ireland. The selection process began at ‘Camp One’ at the secret location in England. In the early days, few recruits had much idea of what they were being selected for, and those undergoing assessment knew better than to ask questions. The role of the ‘Det’ was later euphemistically referred to as ‘special duties’. The process of weeding people out began immediately. ‘Alan’ told me what happened. ‘Before we arrived, we were told to bring nothing that was attributable, nothing that had badges of rank or unit or anything like that. The very first morning after our arrival, everything was searched, and any diary freaks or address book freaks immediately had a question mark placed over them.’
For many officers, Camp One was a culture shock. One complained that there was no sherry in the evening. Many dropped out, ‘binned’ themselves, because they could not take it. The instructors wore people down to the point of exhaustion, gave them precious little sleep, and then tested their mental powers when their brains were as dead as their bodies. After a day of strenuous exercise and the promise of a good night’s sleep, candidates would be turfed out of bed at 3 a.m. and made to run round a field carrying a telegraph pole until they almost dropped. It was not ‘Alan’s’ idea of a joke. In the middle of another night, ‘Alan’s’ sleep was shattered again.
A thunder flash, a sort of training grenade, was dropped down the chimney into this old pot boiler stove which then blew bits of the stove and bits of coke all over the room. Then you had to get to a rendezvous [RV] point in the dark, totally disorientated. You weren’t allowed to put the lights on and you had to get yourself out of your bed, out through the window, or wherever, and get to the RV where you were then given somewhere else to go.
On that particular night, ‘Alan’ was told to go to the gym. The moment he entered, he knew what was in store. In the middle a set of benches had been arranged in a square. It was a makeshift boxing ring and ‘Alan’, being a Para, knew they were going to ‘mill’. ‘Milling’ involved knocking the hell out of your opponent for two minutes with no holds barred. That night, ‘Alan’ faced a soldier he had served with before and whom he regarded as one of his mates, a Light Infantryman called Richard ‘Dusty’ Miller. ‘Dusty’ was the Battalion boxing champion. ‘My nose was already broken, so it wasn’t a big problem,’ ‘Alan’ said. ‘He battered the lights out of me but at the end of two minutes, we were big mates again.’ I asked ‘Alan’ what the point of this was. ‘To show you could control your aggression, that you could turn it on and turn it off,’ he said. ‘I think it’s a sign of true comradeship that you could batter seven lights out of each other and still walk away with your arm round the guy’s shoulder.’ Intense comradeship bound the ‘Det’ together.
The mental tests were equally demanding. They too would be applied in the middle of the night, even after a ‘milling’. Candidates would undergo a version of ‘Kim’s Game’ in which they were shown one article after another, from ‘a pencil and a piece of string, to a Biro and a cuddly toy’. Sometimes there were as many as seventy. They had to remember them all and then write them down on a piece of paper. Out on the ground in Northern Ireland, operators would have to notice and record dozens of items which they simply had to remember and they could not afford to get them wrong. ‘Alan’ admitted there were other things he would rather have been doing but it stood him in good stead later in the province when the only technical aids he had were ‘two eyeballs, two hands and two feet’. But there was one exercise that remained indelibly etched on every operator’s mind that was as painful as ‘milling’ but in a different way. Again they were roused in the early hours of the morning and this time taken to a building in which there was a projector and a screen. There they were shown what all without exception admitted was the most boring film they had ever seen. It was a black-and-white film, probably made in the 1950s, about a hill tribe in Borneo who made everything out of bamboo. The bleary-eyed audience had to remember each item for a test at the end, after which they never wanted to hear about or see a bamboo ever again. It was too much for some, as one operator observed. ‘You’d look around and there were several “noddy-dogs” around the place. A few people just gave up and put their head on the desk and went to sleep. Those people were “binned”.’
At the end of the three weeks, those who had not already been ‘binned’ or given up through sheer exhaustion were then told if they had passed selection. ‘Alan’ was one of the handful who did. These chosen few went on to the second phase at Camp Two in Wales. There operators spent an equally exhausting and testing six months or so, including a fortnight at the army’s intelligence school at Ashford, being taught all the skills they would require in Northern Ireland: surveillance techniques on foot and in cars; a range of driving skills that would equip them to be stunt drivers in a Hollywood movie; covert photography; the importance of body language and how to dress and act in a way that would not attract attention; training and familiarization with a whole range of weapons, including the enemy’s; and, most important of all, Close Quarter Battle (CQB) skills that would help them survive a shoot-out if ‘clocked’ and confronted by the IRA. Much of this training was carried out by the SAS whose offensive skills gave operators the confidence they needed. But the most controversial part of the training, for which people had to volunteer, were exercises in which they were taught how to resist interrogation if captured by the IRA. This was vitally important as the possibility of it happening was real given the kind of missions undertaken in the heart of hostile areas. The SAS was involved in the interrogations and a doctor was always on standby. However realistic the treatment, it could never mirror the reality of an interrogation by the IRA’s ‘Unknowns’.
Later, when women joined the ‘Det’ and gave its operations a whole new dimension, they too volunteered for the exercise to prove they were as good as the men. For the women operators we met, it was a horrific experience that none ever forgot and would never wish to repeat. All are remarkable women. They asked for and received no special treatment. ‘Anna’ never forgot the experience.
A bag was put over my head, and then I was thrown onto a concrete floor in a very cold location. I was hosed down in cold water and my clothes were taken off me. While this was happening, the bag was still over my head and I couldn’t see what was happening. I was kicked, punched and abused by both men and women, judging by their voices. I was stripped and when the clothes came off my body, they were sarcastic about how I appeared. They put overalls on me and then soaked me again with cold water.
Did you crack?
I did at the end. I told them my correct name. I just wanted t
o get out of there. I was just at my limits of endurance. It just got to a point where I didn’t care if I lived or died.
But ‘Anna’ still passed, became a fully fledged operator and went to Northern Ireland.
When I first heard ‘Mary’ describe what she went through, I found it difficult to believe her account until I heard others confirm it. Astonishingly, she was subjected to some of the Five Techniques that the Government had banned in 1972. When I raised this in the appropriate quarters, I was told it was different because in this instance, the ‘guinea-pigs’ were army volunteers not IRA suspects. ‘Mary’ was deprived of sleep and food and hooded ‘with a hessian sack or something’. She had her boots taken off her to increase the sense of isolation. She was then placed in a variety of ‘stress positions’ including being spread-eagled against a wall with arms and legs apart, supported only by her fingers, ‘like in an American movie search position’. She was also subjected to ‘white noise’ similar to that experienced by IRA suspects after internment in 1971. ‘It’s like having a badly tuned radio playing constantly, for hours and hours, really loud. So your senses were deprived. You were physically deprived. You didn’t know where you were, what’s going to happen to you next and what you were in for.’
I asked ‘Mary’ if she was ill-treated.
We weren’t ill-treated as such because there was always a team monitoring us and there was a medical officer on hand but we were roughed up a bit, beaten up a little bit. Just bundled about and a couple of kicks and punches. Just general abuse really.