Soldier J: Counter Insurgency in Aden

by Shaun Clarke

  Given Ellsworth’s relative inexperience, Dead-eye and Jimbo were both impressed and nodded in agreement. Then Dead-eye raised and lowered his right hand, indicating that the men should get back into their respective armoured cars. As they were hurrying to do so, a mortar shell exploded about 50 yards away, tearing the soil up in a mushroom of smoke and flying foliage, large stones, dust and loose gravel. The debris, when it rained back down, made an eerie hissing sound which grew louder as the roaring of the explosion faded away.

  That first mortar explosion was followed by others as the last of the men were practically dragged into the Saladins and the column continued its tentative advance along the wadi without the benefit of lights. As the convoy left its original position, the enemy tracer and mortars spread out in a wider arc, moving away from the column in one direction, advancing towards it in another, indicating that the guerrillas were now firing blind, not knowing in which direction the column was moving and hoping to hit at least part of it by accident.

  Luckily, the next time the lead vehicle, Ellsworth’s, hit a larger boulder, the column was out of range of the enemy fire. But the tracer and mortar explosions continued to come nearer the column as the men in the captain’s vehicle clambered out to roll the stone away. Even as he was directing two of his troopers in this difficult task, the darkness was brilliantly illuminated by the jagged flash of another exploding mortar, which showered the men in stones, gravel and swirling, choking sand.

  Dead-eye materialized out of the settling cloud of sand, wiping some of it from his flat, grey eyes. He glanced back over his shoulder as more explosions erupted between the armoured cars and a hail of bullets ricocheted noisily off them. Turning back to Ellsworth, he said: ‘I don’t think we can make it any further in the Saladins. Those guerrillas will keep firing blindly down here until they hit one of us. When they do, the flames from the burning vehicle will light up the rest of us. I think we should make the rest of the journey by foot.’

  ‘That’s one hell of a hike, Sergeant.’

  ‘Better than sitting here and being shot to pieces.’

  More mortar shells exploded, one showering Ellsworth and Dead-eye with soil, sand and gravel. The captain glanced up at the dark hills, where he could see the minute flashes of the enemy rifles and machine-guns, then turned back to Dead-eye. ‘I think you’re right. We can move a boulder in the darkness, but we can’t get an armoured car out of a pothole without using the torches, and that would be the end of us.’ He nodded, covered his ears to shut out the roaring of another mortar explosion and clapped his hand over his face until the stinging, swirling sand and gravel had settled down, then said: ‘Right. We’ll hike out of here under covering fire from the Saladins’ guns.’

  While Ellsworth was telling the two troopers trying to move the boulder to forget it and get their weapons out of the armoured car, Dead-eye was making his way back down the line to tell the other men to do the same. Even before the first of them had climbed down, the 76mm QF guns and Browning .30-inch machine-guns of the armoured cars were roaring into life to rake the distant hills in the general direction of the flickering enemy guns.

  Terry was one of the first out, jumping to the ground with his bergen on his back and his SLR in his right hand. Almost bowled over by the explosion from a mortar shell mere yards away, he staggered, steadied himself, ran through the hissing gravel and sand, then doubled up and vomited uncontrollably.

  Gasping for breath, he glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. Relieved to see that the other men were too concerned with making their way between the explosions of the mortar shells and spitting lines of machine-gun fire, he knelt down, quickly wiped his boots clean with a paper handkerchief, then straightened up enough to run at the crouch towards the opposite side of the wadi.

  Once there, Terry knelt beside Jimbo, Ben and Taff, all of whom were looking up to where the moon was lighting up parts of the steep, rocky slope. Feeling faint, but trying to hide it, he said: ‘Well, are we going up or not?’

  ‘Not much fucking choice,’ Jimbo replied gruffly. ‘Yes, Trooper, we’re going up. Ready, lads?’ They all nodded. ‘Move out!’

  With the Saladins’ guns roaring in their ears, the men hurried up the lower slopes of the hill, soon leaving the explosions of the mortar shells and rebounding bullets behind them and melting into the moon-streaked darkness.

  When the last of the men on foot had left the bed of the wadi, the Saladins turned around and went back the way they had come, keeping up a hail of fire in order to draw the attention of the guerrillas away from the troops scaling the rocky slopes. By the time the enemy guns had finally stopped firing – the guerrillas obviously convinced that they had forced a retreat – the SAS men had melted into the moonlit darkness above the wadi.

  Silence enfolded them.

  9

  Halfway up the hill, the patrol turned east and headed away from where they had seen the guerrilla guns flickering. Adopting the diamond formation more suitable to open country, with Dead-eye out front on point and Jimbo acting as Tail-end Charlie, they marched through the moonlit darkness in silence. Even at night, the heat was stifling, making all of them sweat, but luckily this gave way to a comforting breeze as they climbed ever higher up out of the wadi.

  It was not an easy march. Each man was still burdened down with his 60lb bergen, SLR and four magazines, plus a bandolier of the same ammunition and 200 rounds of .303-inch for the patrol’s Bren gun, the latter weapon being carried between the even more heavily laden Ben and Taff. Each man also carried his full ration of water – a one-gallon container and four water bottles per head. As for Terry, he was growing increasingly worried about having vomited, was not feeling any better for it, and soon began feeling exhausted from having to hump the additional weight of his A41 tactical radio.

  By contrast, the other members of the patrol were in good spirits as they tramped between rocks and over the dunes of Wadi Rabwa. The higher they climbed, the more they were exposed to moonlight and the less dangerous the march became, given increased visibility. Nearing the top of the hill, they saw the mountains of the Radfan clearly, with the dark mass of the 3900-foot Jebel Ashqab soaring up to their right. Their objective lay on the other side.

  The very thought of the climb was enough to fill Terry with fear. When he first saw the mountain, his stomach twitched involuntarily with nerves. This was followed by a spasm of darting pains that almost made him cry out, but he bit his lower lip and continued climbing in silence. His breathing was becoming more difficult and soon he was stopping frequently to fill his lungs.

  By the time the patrol had climbed out of the wadi and was crossing open ground to the lower slopes of the Jebel Ashqab, Terry could hardly control the spasms in his guts and knew that he would have to throw up again. This he did after deliberately falling back to the rear of the column, forgetting that Jimbo was bringing up the rear a good distance behind the main formation. Terry was wiping his lips dry when Jimbo caught up with him.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, before seeing the mess around Terry’s boots. ‘Oh, Christ!’ he said softly.

  ‘Sorry, Sarge.’

  ‘Too late for that, Trooper. You don’t seem to be improving.’

  ‘I’ll probably be all right after this.’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’ Still holding his SLR at the ready, Jimbo was glancing left, right and back over his shoulder as he talked, not forgetting the possible presence of the enemy and the constant need for alertness. ‘All right,’ he said, turning back to Terry, ‘get back up there with the column. If you don’t think you can cope, let me know. Meanwhile, I’ll be watching you.’

  ‘Yes, Sarge. Thanks.’ Thoroughly ashamed of himself, Terry grabbed his SLR and hurried to catch up with the others and take his position at the rear of the diamond-shaped formation. He managed to keep up for another hour or so, but gradually fell behind again.

  This time some of the other men saw him and, automatically slowed down to let him c
atch up. At the head of the column, but well behind Dead-eye, who was still the scout, Captain Ellsworth saw something was happening and was about to make enquiries when Jimbo caught up with Terry and spoke quietly to him. Looking troubled even from where Ellsworth was standing, Terry wiped sweat from his face, adjusted the straps of his radio distractedly, then hurried to catch up with the rest of the men. When they saw him coming, they started off again and Ellsworth, deciding that, whatever was wrong, Jimbo must know what he was doing, marched on with them.

  By now they were embarked on the even more arduous climb up the steep, rocky slopes of the mountain itself, where the loose gravel slid underfoot and patches of smooth lava gave way abruptly to sinking sand that could scarcely be seen in the darkness. More than one of the men tripped and fell, rolling downhill in a noisy tide of gravel until he was stopped by a boulder or the hand of a comrade. Others were visibly struggling for breath, owing to a combination of exertion and the night’s stifling heat.

  Given the problems faced by the healthier men, it came as no surprise to Jimbo when Terry vomited again, fell back again to catch his breath and caused the men nearest to him to stop and wait for him to catch up. This time, Jimbo called the patrol’s medic, Lance-Corporal Larry Johnson, down the hill and told him to give the ailing trooper something for his stomach.

  ‘What do you think caused it?’ Larry asked, letting down from his shoulder his well-stocked medicine box.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Terry said.

  ‘Don’t bullshit me, Trooper. I can’t decide what to give you until I have a rough idea of what’s wrong. Was it something you ate?’

  ‘How would I know?’ Terry responded, glancing anxiously at Jimbo.

  The sergeant shook his head wearily. ‘He had something from a food stall in Aden and I’m willing to lay odds that’s what did it. Those carts aren’t hygienic and he’s not used to the food either. He’s fucking well poisoned himself.’

  Larry nodded. ‘Bloody stupid thing to do,’ he said, searching through the wooden box.

  ‘I knew you’d say that,’ Terry said.

  ‘Not much else to say, is there, Trooper? Any stomach pains?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Nausea?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Fever?’

  ‘I think so. We’re all sweating so much climbing this mountain, I’m not sure.’

  ‘Sweat’s one thing; heat is another.’ Larry placed his hand on Terry’s forehead and cheeks. ‘Fever. Diarrhoea or constipation?’

  ‘I had pretty severe runs before leaving camp.’ Larry glanced automatically at Jimbo. Terry, seeing the glance, hastened to explain: ‘But it passed away the night before and I seemed to be all right the next day, which is why I didn’t report it.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘It seems to be constipation.’

  ‘Which won’t help your breathing.’

  ‘I’m having trouble with that, too.’

  Larry nodded. ‘Food poisoning. I can’t say how severe. I’ll make you a little brew of tea, powdered charcoal and milk of magnesia.’ Terry grimaced, but Larry, now grinning, continued: ‘It tastes rotten, but it might absorb the poison in your stomach. I’ll also give you some aspirin to bring down your fever. If neither remedy works, then the poisoning is severe and we’ve got problems.’

  With the forward half of the patrol continuing to climb the mountain, unaware of what was happening behind them, the other troopers in the rear, not sure what to do, waited for Larry and Terry to finish what they were doing and catch up. Aware of this, Terry felt distinctly uncomfortable, but could only wait until Larry had mixed his potion in a metal cup and handed it to him. It tasted awful.

  When Terry handed the cup back, Larry gave him two aspirins, poured some water into the same cup, handed it to him and told him to wash the tablets down. This was marginally easier than swallowing the first potion, but Terry literally took his medicine as punishment.

  ‘If it gets worse, tell me,’ said Larry, before packing his medicine box and hurrying back up the steep hill. Chastened, Terry glanced at Jimbo, who just nodded, grim-faced, indicating that he should follow Larry. When Terry had done so, the rest of the men began the climb again, now separated from the others by a large gap.

  A cardinal mistake, Jimbo thought. The guerrillas could use that gap to divide us and then we’d be finished. We can’t continue like this.

  Luckily, they were nearing the summit and the steep slope was gradually levelling out. Though it was still warm, a strong wind was blowing, moaning mournfully across the rolling hills and around the jagged peaks. Below, where the Wadi Rabwa cut through the flat desert, was almost total darkness, illuminated here and there by moonlight catching high rocks. It looked like a black sea of unknown depth.

  Terry fell back again – and once more the men nearest to him waited for him to catch up while those in front kept marching, unaware that half of the column had stopped behind them. With another dangerous gap in the column having been created, Captain Ellsworth hurried back down the line to check what was happening.

  ‘Trooper Malkin has an upset stomach,’ Jimbo informed him, not mentioning the real reason. ‘He must have picked up a bug and not known about it until we were well under way. He told me about it, boss, but by then it was too late to turn back the convoy. Lance-Corporal Johnson’s already given him some medicine, but it doesn’t appear to be working.’

  Ellsworth studied the sweating, white-faced trooper. ‘Is it bad?’

  ‘Pretty bad, boss,’ Terry readily confessed, grateful that Jimbo had saved his skin.

  Ellsworth was about to say something else when Larry came back to join them.

  ‘Still bad?’ he asked, placing his hand on Terry’s forehead to discover that it was still burning.

  ‘Yes,’ Terry said.

  ‘Still feeling nauseous?’

  ‘My stomach’s settled down a bit, but I’m still having the pains.’

  ‘Breathing problems?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Larry turned to the captain. ‘He’s suffering from food poisoning, boss. I was hoping it was mild, but I think we’re out of luck. Not much I can do for him at the moment, except give him more of the same in the hope that it’ll drain out some of the poison.’

  ‘Assuming the second dose works,’ Ellsworth asked, ‘how long will it be before it takes effect?’

  ‘A couple of hours.’

  ‘So what do we do?’ Ellsworth asked of Jimbo as Larry prepared another potion. ‘We can’t call in a CasEvac chopper and we can’t leave him here.’

  ‘Now that we’re on the mountain and back in file formation, I suggest we put him in the middle of the file and redistribute the loads, with someone else carrying the radio. Lance-Corporal Moody’s pretty good with it, so put him in charge of it.’

  ‘Right, let’s do that. Trooper, the radio.’

  ‘But, boss …’

  ‘Hand it over!’

  Sighing deeply, Terry unstrapped the A41.

  ‘I’ll take that,’ Ellsworth said. ‘Signal when you’re ready to move out. This delay has left a breach in the column and that could be dangerous.’

  ‘Right, boss,’ Jimbo said.

  The captain marched back to the middle of the formation, as far as the gap, to give the radio to Les.

  ‘Bloody typical!’ Les complained quietly to his mate, Ken, when the captain had moved on to take up his position at the head of the second group. ‘Malkin farts about in Aden, playing cowboys and Indians, then comes down with some bug that I’d bet he picked up from some filthy A-rab grub. They ought to RTU the little prick.’

  ‘Difficult to RTU him from here,’ Ken replied, grinning as Les strapped the radio onto his packed bergen. ‘Anyway, that extra weight should do you good – keep the fat off you, mate.’

  ‘Fuck you an’ all, mate!’

  When Larry had given Terry another dose of his potion, both men hiked back up to join the others. There, Terry was placed safely in the m
iddle, so that he could be helped by the others should he falter. The patrol moved off again, the second half hurrying to catch up with the first.

  Within half an hour it became clear that Terry was having even more difficulty breathing and was struggling even harder to keep up. At 0200 hours an exasperated Captain Ellsworth, increasingly worried about the gap being caused by Terry’s erratic pace, called for a break and huddled down to confer with Dead-eye and Jimbo.

  Though short of the precipice rising to the summit, they were now almost at the top of the highest ridge on Jebel Ashqab and, even better, sheltered from the wind by two ancient stone sangars that could only have been constructed as firing positions by local tribesmen.

  ‘According to our original plan,’ Ellsworth said, ‘we were supposed to be in hiding on the objective before dawn, which is approximately 0530 hours. We’d then lie concealed until dusk, when we’d secure the DZ perimeter and identify it with torches and an Aldis lamp for the Paras’ descent later that night. Unfortunately, Trooper Malkin’s become a bit of a liability, dividing the patrol too often for my liking and also slowing us down considerably. At our present rate of progress, given the number of times we’re having to stop, we won’t reach the DZ on time. Any proposals, gentlemen?’

  Dead-eye checked his logbook, then looked up again. ‘According to my dead reckoning, we’re still about three miles from the objective.’

  ‘With this kind of climb, that’s a long way. Now too long for us to get there by first light.’

  ‘Right,’ Jimbo said. ‘And to be caught in the open after sunrise would make us soft targets for the guerrilla snipers hiding on the hilltops.’

  ‘Which would compromise the entire operation,’ Ellsworth said grimly.

  They were silent for a moment. The captain stared moodily at the wall of the sangar, Jimbo peered over it at the hills silhouetted in the distance against the starry sky, and Dead-eye calmly studied his notes.