by Geoff Wolak
I turned around, Rizzo now studying the ground intensely, and we backed up slowly to the track. On it we knelt, all round defence taken up.
‘What do we do?’ Smurf asked.
‘Can’t leave it and walk off,’ I said. ‘Some fucker with a dog could go in there.’
‘We get bomb disposal,’ Rizzo said.
‘And if it’s a trick, just a wire placed by some teenagers, we look like idiots,’ I said.
Rizzo considered that. ‘Then we attached a chord to the wire and yank the damn thing, then have a look at that grave.’
‘I have a reel of fishing line,’ I said. ‘Hundred metres.’
Rizzo led us to a dark area and we dropped out Bergens, soon returning to the track and checking the area. I went forwards, using my previous footprints, and tied off the end of the fishing line to the wire, being very careful not to nudge it as I fed out line from the reel. I crossed the track and kept going, the guys following, and we hid behind a log some fifty yards from the wire.
I took the tension, looked at Rizzo as we eased down lower, and then yanked the wire.
The blast washed over us, feeling like someone had just kicked me in the rips - front and back, my ears ringing, the lads soon being pelted with mud and branches. Looking up, we peered at each other through a mist of falling leaves.
‘Fuck,’ Bob let out, shaking his head.
‘You OK?’ I shouted at Rizzo.
‘My ears are a bit fucked,’ Rizzo shouted back.
‘Mine too,’ Smurf added as he knelt up. ‘Shit, we could have walked into that.’
‘That was no grenade,’ Rizzo stated. ‘That was like ... a mortar shell.’
Captain Harris lowered his phone and turned to Major Bradley, who now sat reading a file with a cup of tea. ‘Major,’ he loudly called, people turning around. ‘Reports of a loud explosion in the Fews Forest.’
‘What!’ the Major shouted as he stood.
‘A bomb has gone off,’ Harris stated, people closing in.
Bradley rushed to the Comms section.
Standing up and brushing ourselves off, ears still ringing, heads shaken, I said, ‘Bob, get on the radio; we’d best explain that before they send people down here.’
Bob knocked the radio on and called it in, and gave the report, and thirty minutes later the Land Rovers appeared; Army, RUC, as well as bomb disposal. In the meantime we had kept away from the area.
Bomb disposal had a look, and agreed that it was a mortar attached to a wire. They checked the area carefully, finding no more wires, then dug up the grave – very carefully, finding a body, with a warning note about informants in a plastic bag, the RUC recognising the man. And we were ordered back, picked up by Lynx in a nearby field, the Army lads stood watching.
Back at Bessbrook we dumped our kit, and had a quick wash before we faced the CO and Tyler. The Major looked mad at us.
‘OK, whose idea was it to test the wire?’
‘Group decision,’ Rizzo said.
‘You’re the patrol leader. So, who decided?’
‘I did, sir. We couldn’t just leave it there, and we wanted to have a sniff at the grave we could see,’ Rizzo added.
‘And did you not think to get bomb disposal in there?’
‘It was just a wire, and if it was a prank ... we’d look like idiots,’ Rizzo insisted.
The Major considered that. ‘Perhaps.’
‘We took all precautions, and we were fifty yards away and behind logs.’
‘And if it had been a five hundred pound bomb?’
I said, ‘We’d be deaf, but probably still alive, sir.’
The Major took a moment, and then shook his head. ‘Well, the body was a result, and neutralising the mortar too I suppose.’
‘We look good out of this,’ I said. ‘We found that wire and grave, no one else did, and it’s been there for weeks. Bound to have been Army patrols through there.’
The Major nodded. ‘That informant was 14 Intel, but we’re keeping that quiet for now.’
‘They’ve lost a lot of people, sir,’ I noted. ‘Do their methods need ... re-evaluating?’
‘That’s a political decision, but you’re not wrong.’ He sighed. ‘OK, food and rest.’
We stood. ‘We stopped and waved at many people, sir,’ I told him. ‘Got the message across good and proper.’
‘We did,’ Rizzo confirmed.
‘Sir,’ Smurf called. ‘If Wilco hadn’t spotted that wire you’d be four men down. We’d all be dead.’
We all took a moment to reflect, and the Major stared back as we filed out.
At 10pm I sat down in the Intel Section, tea in hand.
‘So, you got blown up,’ the nice lady captain noted. ‘And found a body.’
‘Your intel is wrong, Ma’am.’
‘How so?’ the challenged with a heavy frown.
‘We found the body, then got blown up.’
She squinted at me.
That following Friday most of us flew back to Hereford for a week’s rest. I went straight for a curry with Smurf and Bob, but could not be bothered with clubbing – or seeing Kate.
Saturday morning I hit the gym at 6am, finding Tyler wandering in at 7am. ‘Didn’t know you were a member, sir. But I heard that a few officers used this place.’
He explained that he had been a member, but then stopped when he was injured, and joined back up two weeks ago. ‘I heard you trained early,’ he told me.
‘If you need a training partner, sir, I can suggest Swifty. Trying to keep with me would be a bad idea.’
‘Yes,’ he said with a smile.
We ate breakfast together, and I told him all about the kidnapping, and he seemed more like a friend than my troop officer. Still, he seemed a great deal better than Captain Marks.
With time off, and after a heavy sigh, I called Kate, and we drove down to the South coast. The sex was good, but she had a bad habit of being grumpy in the mornings, and after two days I had usually had enough.
Back at Bessbrook things were hotting up, or rather – going from bad to worse. The Seamus lad had walked his dog near the 14 Intel OP, who – recognising him – had promptly shot him dead. Since the lad was unarmed at the time it was a mess, rioting in a few local towns, Bessbrook hit by a distant sniper, a window smashed, the nice lady captain scared shitless; she has been stood by it at the time. Security was tight, nerves frayed, and the Borderers lost another two young men wounded.
We’d been back two days when Swifty arrived with his kit, and an hour later the Major called in myself and Rizzo.
‘Right, we’ve got some intel, and a job in the offing. But ...’ He took in our faces. ‘... it’s south of the border by a mile or so.’
I made a face. ‘I could never read a map anyway, and Rizzo is even worse.’
‘What?’ Rizzo snapped. ‘Oh, yeah.’ He faced the Major. ‘I can’t read a map either, sir.’
I added, ‘And I know for a fact that Swifty never learnt to read and write.’ All apart from Swifty laughed, and I got a look from him.
‘If this went wrong there would be trouble, and the Army top brass might want to give you some shit for straying across the border.’
‘Dark wet night, sir, no lines in the fields, just across the roads,’ I pointed out. ‘No one is going to prove anything at an enquiry since one dark field looks like another.’
‘True,’ he agreed. He produced a map. ‘Logan’s Farm is on the border, and Mat Logan owns the part in Northern Ireland, his cousin owning the spread south of the border – very convenient. We know they’re up to something, not sure just what. Could be they’re using red diesel for VAT fraud -’
‘All the farmers on the border are doing that, sir,’ I pointed out.
He nodded. ‘And the money earned goes to the IRA, at least part of it. But, there have been some odd movements near the farm so we’ll take a close look. And by that, I mean we’ll take a look at both farms.’
‘If it’s only a mile, t
hen we’d be back across the border before the Garda turned up,’ I mentioned.
‘Let’s hope so.’ He took a moment. ‘If challenged by armed men you would defend yourselves, otherwise you try and avoid anyone.’
‘And if we saw armed men south of the border, sir, say ... three hundred yards away?’ I nudged.
‘Well, south of the border is like Mexico, it’s ... south of the border, so ... I won’t complain if you shoot someone who justifiably needs shooting, and there’ll be no inquiry north of the border.’
‘Unless we get caught,’ Rizzo mentioned.
‘Don’t get caught,’ the Major told him.
‘If we are south of the border,’ I began, ‘then carrying AK47s and using them would make it appear that we were gunmen, and that it was a local falling out. There is, also, a stash of recovered AK47s, some of which had been used in terror attacks. So...’
‘If they were fired, the bullet striations would track back to the IRA,’ Swifty noted.
‘Funny you should say that,’ the Major quipped. ‘I think we may have some here in the armoury.’
‘What luck,’ I said in an exaggerated tone.
The Major focused on me, and paused. ‘You have no qualms ... with a job like this?’
‘I never did, and you’re painting me as someone who sticks to the rules because I shot two men in the arse. Your mistake. I shot them in arse because a trial is better than a funeral, not because I’m squeamish, or soft.
‘Here, you’ve outlined a dodgy job, and taken on board our opinions rather than just sending me off. So ... I know what the plan is and what the risks are, and a mile over the border doesn’t bother me. But ... when I’m there I’ll use my judgement.’
‘I would expect nothing less.’ He faced Rizzo. ‘I want to test Wilco, see what he’s made of, so he’ll lead this trip, but only if you’re happy with that.’
I cocked an eyebrow.
Rizzo made a face. ‘He knows what he’s doing, and he reads tracks on the ground like a fucking Indian, and sees like a hawk. He even sniffs the air and finds people. So, yeah, in the woods he’s good to have along, and he always asks my opinion on stuff.’
The Major nodded. ‘Insert will be by unmarked van at 2300. Twenty four hours in, then out, go back now and then till we either find something ... or get bored. Get some sleep before then.’
Back in the room I checked my kit, the lads asking about the operation. I told them, ‘We’re doing an OP in Belfast, some tall tower, all hush-hush, so don’t ask.’
Rizzo told them, playing along, ‘Waste of fucking time OP.’
When it was just myself and Rizzo I told him, ‘If this job goes wrong I’m sure we’d make it back, but if you tell the lads about it ... then five years down the line - when you’re not in any more - you get arrested, and the Army won’t care. When thinking about blabbing about this, think about that prison sentence.’
Since I was patrol leader, Swifty having no problems with that at all, I dictated the kit, which was basically webbing and little else, but I gave both Rizzo and Swifty parts of my first aid kit, and each carried a tourniquet in a pocket, an inch hanging out, and they practiced pulling it out quickly and tying off an arm or a leg. Antibiotics were not needed for a quick stint, but I handed both men the new face masks and gloves, Swifty examining them – and pleased as hell.
In the armoury I selected an AKM with a good telescopic sight, and carried six twenty round magazines. I also had my pistol, just in case.
Facing the armourer, I said, ‘Need a favour. I need those weapons wiped down -’
‘Already done,’ he said with a smirk, standing proud.
‘And the magazines...’
‘Aye,’ he confidently assured me, as if he was daring me to test him.
‘And the ammo?’
‘Soaked in Pepsi Cola and washed down, nay prints.’
‘Pepsi?’ I said, curling a lip. ‘At least you could have used real Coke!’
Before we left, the Major handed me another pistol, this one in a plastic bag. ‘That was used to wound a Garda officer a few years back. Drop it somewhere suitable if you get the opportunity and, if it’s found on you, then you ... took it from one of the bad guys.’
I nodded. ‘No radio contact with base?’
He shook his head. ‘Quick in and out. Just be at the RV on time, or every hour after that for four hours. After that, call us.’
‘I memorised the numbers,’ I informed him. ‘There is one problem, though,’ I said as Swifty drew level, checking his AK47. ‘My name is on the back of my underwear.’
With Swifty laughing, the Major headed off to a warm bed. We waited at the helo departures hut, so that no one would see us, and the grey van appeared at 10.30pm, driven by a man that none of us knew, and we were not about to ask questions. We clambered in, soon sat amongst plumbing supplies.
The drive was a little nerve wracking because we could not see out of the van, and we did not know the driver; he could have been taking us to an ambush. Still, I had cocked my weapon as soon as cleared the base, safety off, and I peered through the front windows as we progressed, noticing that Rizzo had connected several pipes to create an odd shape.
After twenty minutes the van squeaked to a halt. ‘Gate behind the van, edge of Logan’s place.’
We opened the door and rushed out, soon over the gate whilst covering each other, alone in the dark a moment later.
‘Footprints,’ I said, and pulled out three hessian sacks. ‘Leaves in the bottom, mud, then on. Swifty first.’
We covered him as he grabbed leaves and mud before tying off the sacks, and I placed on my facemask and gloves, Rizzo copying. With all three of us now with sacks on our boots we headed off across a black field. At the opposite corner they held the gate and I stood up on the top of it, fixing the location of the barn and the distant house. I also spotted the cattle.
Back down, I whispered, ‘House and barn that way, cattle in this next field, so we go around to the south first, have a look at the border.’
‘Cattle are a pain,’ Swifty said. ‘And if you disturb them at night they make a racket.’
Whilst seeing the odd car headlight in the distance we skirted quietly around the cattle, soon to wasteland that I knew delineated the border, a slurry pit assaulting our noses. I stopped beyond it, and we stood staring at the black hedgerows, the green fields now a dark grey.
‘Plenty of vehicles coming and going from the north farm,’ I said. ‘But he’ll have dogs, so we can’t get too close.’
Ten minutes later, with nothing of interest spotted, I led them south across the border. ‘Hope you brought your passports,’ I whispered.
Fifteen minutes of slow stepping brought us to a gate, and I could see a few car headlights further south. Passing my rifle to Swifty, and with the lads pushing against the gate, I clambered up and stood on the gate bars, getting a feel for the area.
Easing down, I said, ‘Farm is half a mile away, big old barn off to the right, lights on in the house, a car pulling up.’ I led them over the gate, and we wiped down mud from the gate before we moved off.
Half an hour was used up cautiously approaching the barn, a look taken inside it, but it had no walls, just a roof. Finding a dirty old Land Rover I noted the registration, and used a pen torch to look inside, noting a letter with a name on it. I wrote down the name and address.
Moving off slowly, we skirted around an open field and approached the farm upwind in case of dogs. Finding a small tree in the corner of a field I clambered up, wedged my legs into the branches, and used my telescopic sight towards the house.
The lights were on, and I could see three or four men inside, and as I observed them over twenty minutes they exchanged money, an old wooden box lifted to the table. I could not see what was in the box, but it had rope handles either end, reminiscent of a box that held rifles.
Leaving the house for the vehicles, one of the men checked a rifle, an AK47. I clambered down as quietly as I
could. ‘Bingo. Now we leave.’
‘We leave?’ Rizzo asked.
‘Got the intel, now we make a plan. On me.’
We ran back at a steady pace, across the gates one at a time, mud wiped off, and slowed to move back past the slurry pit. We reversed course back to the road where we had been dropped off. Once there, we crossed over through a gap in the hedge, and crossed a field to a small lake, more like a canal, and edged along it.
‘Where we going?’ Rizzo asked.
‘I know where there’s a payphone. Hope it works.’
Getting to the payphone ten minutes later, I dialled Bessbrook and got through to the Major.
‘Wilco?’
‘Yes, sir, everything is fine, but we need a pick-up. Got the map.’
‘Hang on. OK, go ahead.’
‘See the drop off point, go north and see a canal type lake, top end, on five hundred yards, road junction, field south east. Any chance of a chopper.’
‘I’ll send a patrol instead, you’re a bit close to the farm. Thirty to forty minutes, hide yourselves.’
‘Roger that.’
I hung up and led the guys into a field, and we tucked ourselves away behind a hedge as it started to rain, ditching the sacks on our feet.
‘Face masks off, and gloves, for the pickup. We don’t want to scare them,’ I ordered.
‘Why cut it short if they’re up to something?’ Rizzo complained.
‘I have the intel, so nothing to be gained by staying, everything to lose by getting spotted.’
We waited forty-five minutes in the dark, soon the loud noise of Land Rovers, and we eased out, showing our faces and waving. Hopping into the rear of first Land Rover, we slammed the door and took off, the driver not asking questions as we sat in the dark, thirty minutes back to Bessbrook.
With the weapons back in the armoury, we washed quickly and met with the Major.
‘Report.’
I began, ‘We went down to the farm in the south, and I got up a tree some two hundred yards short of the farmhouse. I could see four men, an old wooden box - the type you put rifles in, large wads of cash changing hands, then a guy going to his car with an AK47.’