by Andy Farman
The dark eyed, good-looking Russian Paratrooper with his lilting accent had proved to be a magnet to the local girls.
Nikoli had become known by all the instructors and staff as ‘The Fanny Magnet from Moscow’ which quickly became more simply ‘Fanny M’.
CSM Probert checked that the radio was on 'whisper' mode, adjusted the hands-free ‘mike’ in front of his mouth and depressed the harness switch on his chest.
"You there, Oz?" tucked in to a tall patch of ferns Stevie Osgood the only other Coldstream Guardsman amongst the instructors of the School of Infantry, was 'DS' for tonight's opposition. Thirty-seven would-be platoon sergeants undergoing 'Senior Brecon' dug into the hard rocky ground a few hundred yards from the military road junction known as Dixie's Corner.
"No, I'm getting a BJ down the town… 'Course I'm here". Colin grinned into the mike, "They should be hitting the first trip flare in the next 5 minutes". Earlier Oz had supervised the placement of several trip flares along the planned route Colin's recce patrol would take. Normally the placement of trip flares so far out from a position would only be done for planned ambushes on likely approaches, but the ambushers would manually trigger those. This morning however it was to see if the students were switched on. They were expected to find the first wire stretched across the firebreak where it met a track, but Oz had not attached a flare pot to it, the flare was on the end of a second trip wire placed 12" behind and 6" lower than the first.
The lead man held his SA80 rifle by the pistol grip with the stock resting on his left arm, which was extended and a long thin twig grasped lightly between his middle and forefingers near the thick end. He moved slowly forwards moving his left arm side to side. If a trip wire were laid across his path even obliquely then he would feel the twig touch against it. At that point the patrol would stop and very quietly take up prone firing positions covering assigned arcs whilst the patrol commander decided how best to proceed, follow the wire to the flare pot and make it safe with a matchstick through the safety pin aperture? Or merely have another patrol member and the lead man hold a rifle by its muzzle and butt lengthways a couple of inches above the wire whilst the patrol high stepped over in safety to take up all round defence on the far side. If the young lance corporal leading tonight's reconnaissance, or 'recce' patrol had his 'sneaky head' on then he would check for anything untoward on the far side of the wire. If he didn't then it was going to get very noisy pretty bleeding swiftly thought Colin because the first man over would step directly onto the second trip wire.
On detecting the trip wire the lead man stopped and raised his rifle one handed up and away from his body in a signal to 'Stop', the man behind repeated the signal and added 'Down' with his other. The signal passed man to man until quietly groaning under their 70lb loads they sank to the ground facing outwards with Tail-End-Charlie covering the '6'. Colin cannot help but grin maliciously, when he was a recruit the dress for recce's was very different, combat cap, elastic bands around legs and sleeves preventing baggy clothes brushing against undergrowth. No webbing or bulky equipment, just a toggle rope around the waist to assist in crossing obstacles and a couple of spare 'mags' in separate breast pockets. It made for ease of movement until one day someone woke up to the fact that in a manoeuvre war there was no guarantee that your unit would still be were you left it. By the time you got back they could be miles away and you could be behind enemy lines. These days you take all of your kit, ammunition, rations, spare clothing, luxuries and essentials. Brecon teaches "Survive out of your smock, fight out of your webbing and administrate from your Bergen". In the voluminous pockets of the soldiers camouflage smocks are carried as much food as possible navigation aids, along with tobacco tin size first aid and escape kits. Every soldier on the course had enough experience of field cuisine to be carrying their own supply of curry powder about their person, to inject flavour into an otherwise bland, though nutritious fare.
Wives and industrious bachelors had sown black knicker elastic onto smocks and trousers, facilitating the easy addition of foliage to ones attempted invisibility act. Those more competent with needle and thread also had sown into their trouser and boot seams, short sections of hacksaw blades to facilitate escape and evasion. Ironic how these men’s chances of survival could stand or fall on the simple ability to master a so-called ‘girlie’ skill.
Webbing contains ammunition, smoke and fragmentation grenades (inside of pouches rather than Hollywood style) and water. A ‘Noddy suit’ or Nuclear Biological and Chemical warfare suit, plus a respirator are attached. Also within the pouches were small folding solid fuel stoves with fuel ‘tabs’, storm matches, cleaning kits and folding entrenching tools. The soldiers here also wore old privately acquired’58 pattern ‘bum rolls’ clipped to their PLCE webbing, containing a poncho for shelter and ‘bungee cords’, (the elasticated hooks used to attach recalcitrant children to the roof racks of cars) small ground spikes and a narrow folding, privately acquired saw. It is far quieter to saw away foliage for camouflage and branches for construction, than to noisily hack away with issue machetes and pangas. Avoiding unwanted attention equals living longer.
Most also wore non-regulation fighting knives, because the Army does not have any regulation ones in the inventory to issue anyway, in varying positions of preference. The main use being that of construction and the cutting of turf for camouflage, rather than hand-to-hand combat. Should it come to hand to hand most would choose the folding picks and shovels as far more suited to close-in mayhem than Mr Bowies famous invention. However, despite all man’s inventions, all his high tech machines of war, the only guaranteed, quiet way, to take out a sentry was still a sharp, narrow bladed object, piercing the throat just above or below the Adams Apple. So knives are still carried. Furthermore, until tanks or aircraft carriers are built that can tippy-toe unobtrusively up behind an alert man to deliver that blow, the infantrymen will continue to train in how it is done.
The knives also contained within their handles, small compasses, and lines for snares and fishing plus hooks. Illegal Dexedrine pep pills, antibiotics, water purification, or ‘puri tabs’ and fire lighting flints. The Bergen holds spare clothing, sock’s, an arctic standard sleeping bag, Gore-Tex ‘bivi’ bag, foam sleeping mat, washing and shaving kit and extra rations for up to three days are in the main body of the Bergen. Detachable side pouches with individual carrying straps hold a claymore mine, extra water, a trip flare and picquet stakes (which also doubled as corner posts for the soldiers’ shelter). More rifle ammunition, ‘Shermulee’ para-illumination tubes, spare batteries for electrical kit and an IPK, Individual Protection Kit, for constructing overhead protection in trenches. Had a mortar section been attached to these troops then an additional load of 81mm mortar rounds would have been crammed in adding to their loads. When it 'goes tits up', the 'shit-hits-the-fan' or 'it all goes pear shaped', (soldier speak for a Bad Day in anyone’s language), the squaddies hit the Bergen’s quick release buckles, grab the side pouches, abandoning the luxuries, and fight. If it’s not possible to later retrieve their main packs then that’s just tough.
The man with the 'command appointment' for the patrol was a good-looking Scot from 1st Battalion Scots Guards. So impressed were his platoon and company commanders back home at his battalion that after barely 18 months as a L/Cpl, Andy Cameron had kissed his wife of six months on the lips and hopped aboard a Brecon bound 4 tonner. He'd told her he'd ring each Friday unless out in the 'Ulu', any place that civilisation wasn't, in soldier' terms. Cameron had breezed his battalion's five-week Pre- Brecon 'toughener', designed to bring his fitness level up and ensure he could read a map amongst other infantry skills. Thus far Cameron had done quite well on this course and CSM Probert had his fingers crossed he wouldn't get cocky.
Colin Probert watched closely as he joined the lead man. Cameron was smart enough to know it for what it was and didn't waste time pissing about. From a smock pocket he produced a small canister and Colin heard a brief hiss of compressed
air followed by some cautious movements by Cameron and then the Patrol was up and continuing on its way. Colin and Nikoli moved up and quickly scanned the ground; Cameron had used a can of 'Crazy String', squirted along the track so that the string had draped itself over both trip wires. With the positions of the wires indicated it had taken moments to discover the first was a dummy and cut both wires after disarming the pot on the second. Of the many maxims’ that Brecon spawned, the patrol members had displayed two aplenty.
‘Sod the manual, if it works …do it’ and
‘If its practical…wear it’.
If the non-issue additions to their personal kit had been examined then a third would have been apparent,
‘Anyone can be uncomfortable’.
Colin made a few notes on his 'crit sheet' before stuffing it into his smock, Nikoli smiled in approval at the embryo leaders methods and both men followed on behind the patrol.
SE London, England. 0423hrs BST 20th March
Close to Tower Bridge is an area beloved of filmmakers the world over. The old Victorian era warehouses and narrow cobbled streets provide the perfect setting for Dickensian dramas and period pieces. The area had become quite run down after the chief occupants, brewers for the most, moved on to more modern premises in the 70’s. During the Yuppie years of the mid 80's the warehouses came into vogue as trendy residences for the rich and architects had made a bundle converting them. As is often the case in London the 'rich' live close by to the 'not so rich'. The area known as Shad Thames is just a short distance across Tooley Street from one such region.
Jubi Asejoke had come to the UK from Africa at the age of seven with his parents on a visitor’s visa for an alleged family wedding. The Asejoke's had left Heathrow Airport and dropped out of official sight for eight years until Asejoke senior had been caught attempting to transfer £12,000 from someone else's account to another he had set up under a bogus name. His son had stolen the chequebook and bankcard he was using in a street robbery the day before. Somehow the righteous indignation poured out by Asejoke (Snr) to the two uniformed 'Bobbies' who had first blocked his way out of the bank had fallen on deaf ears. He had been taken to a side office whilst bank staff brought them the evidence of the attempted fraud that had prompted them to call the Police. Mr Asejoke changed tack and swore to them on the lives of his wife and children that as a good Muslim he would never commit the sin of fraud. Both Constables were unmoved by the outpourings of religious fervour and so he had played the trump card that worked so well before against the white middle class citizenry of modern day England … he accused them in a loud voice of being Racists and implored whoever may have been listening beyond the closed office door to rescue him. It had worked for him before, but then he had not previously tried it on Police Officers who had heard it used too often. Mr and Mrs Asejoke found themselves on a flight back to whence they had come eight years before. The Unemployment Benefits office ceased issuing Giro payments to the twelve names the Asejoke's had been claiming under and it seized the detached house, contents, and two Mercedes saloons the Asejoke's had acquired without ever having done a day’s work in England.
Jubi had attended a state school in Camberwell where street cred was everything amongst his peers; academic excellence scored no marks. Jubi preferred to be called by his 'tag', Striker, he was into car crime by eleven, burglary by twelve and had used a knife to commit his first mugging a week before his thirteenth birthday. In a school of 'Bad boys' striving to be badder than anyone else Jubi had reasoned that by impaling his 50 year old Geography teachers right hand to her desks top with a hunting knife he would be respected by his peers. Jubi had avoided arrest until the day he stabbed Elizabeth Reynolds, and as such the bleeding hearts and social workers convinced a barely caring Crown Prosecution Service that Jubi was a victim of a society that had failed him. Jubi had openly mocked the Magistrates as they gave him Community Service to perform as atonement. The miserly sum awarded Mrs Reynolds by the Criminal Injuries Compensation Board had been as insulting as the two fingers waved in her face by Jubi as he had left the courtroom to join his entourage beyond its doors at Camberwell Youth Court. Elizabeth Reynolds never regained full use of the hand and was forced to leave the teaching profession. Not only was she unable to face loud aggressive young people in classrooms anymore, she grew increasingly afraid to leave her home. Unemployed and unable to gain fresh employment Elizabeth's savings dwindled away. She would die of an overdose after her home was repossessed two years later.
Jubi wasn't home when the law caught up with his parents. The Police attempted to compensate for the courts failings and had marked young Jubi's card for him, and they go out of their way to ruin the days of the Jubi's of this world.
Since the court case Jubi was stopped and searched increasingly by officers who showed inventiveness in their grounds for doing so. One day Jubi had a bag containing ten rocks of crack hidden in his underpants, £180 from the sale of rocks at school that morning and a mobile phone he had stolen by means of a mugging the previous week were also on him. He had a girl with him and was feeling good until the Police carrier pulled up alongside him. When the Territorial Support Group officers told him to turn out his pockets he felt he was being slighted in front of the girl he wanted to impress. School mates and others he knew were nearby and watching the proceedings with interest. Jubi felt their eyes on him and indignation welled, he felt he deserved respect without ever having to show it to others. These officers were 'dissing him' and in order to regain face he lashed out with the fourth item he should not have had, another hunting knife.
Jubi appeared in court the next day charged with 'Peewits', Possession with Intent to Supply Class A Drugs, Possession of a Point or Blade, Assault with Intent and for good measure, breaching his Community Service Order of which he had not worked off a single hour. Jubi felt hard done by and his posture showed it, his lip was swollen where it had been split and his right bicep was heavily bruised from the baton strike that caused him to drop the knife. At 15 he was as big as most 18 year olds, he was the one who usually did the hitting and being on the receiving end was an unfamiliar experience. An officer had caught him by the wrist of his knife arm with one gloved fist and followed up with the other a fraction of a second later punching him squarely in the mouth. Almost simultaneously the snap of an 'Asp' extending had preceded the solid blow to his upper arm by a second officer wielding it. The arresting officer was sat at the back of the Court and took great satisfaction in knowing that by the time Jubi returned on bail for his second appearance he would have been identified by the mobile phones owner and further charged with the knifepoint robbery of it.
However, Jubi wasn't in Court a week later, the dealer he worked for wanted £500 from him, not excuses. The Police were set to put him away in Feltham Young Offenders Institute, so he did a runner. Two days later the Police who a few hours’ later carried out a S.18 search under PACE, the Police and Criminal Evidence Act arrested his Father. They had done the same after Jubi's arrest but PACE had only allowed them access to Jubi's bedroom, now though they had the run of the house and the fraudulent activities of the parents became apparent. Mrs Asejoke joined her husband in custody at Southwark Police Station.
On this March morning Jubi was in Shad Thames looking for the opportunity to steal. Ideally he wanted an expensive car, he knew someone who would 'ring it', change its identity, he would be able to pay off 'Jasper' the £500 plus the 'interest' he knew Jasper would levy and regain the street cred he had lost. If the chance presented itself to have some rich white pussy he'd take that too.
Jubi was behind a wheelie bin he had rolled next to the automatic doors of an underground garage. It was a Sunday morning and he was banking on late party goers returning. Directly across the road was another garage entrance and Jubi thought himself quite the wily criminal, it doubled his chances of getting into a garage before the automatic door closed behind the car it had admitted. After a number of false starts, where cars had approached but
driven on by, a gleaming silver BMW Z5 Roadster stopped at the entrance beside the wheelie bin and Jubi heard the garage door roll up. Once the car entered so did Jubi, keeping low and scuttling out of sight, he saw the Roadster driver in profile as it headed toward the ramp leading to the sub level. The face framed by the shining rich auburn locks was beautiful, well made up and spoke of money and privilege to Jubi, and he resented it. It never occurred to him that what she had may have been earned by someone who had studied and in turn put that learning to good use, but as it happens that was not entirely the case.
Svetlana Vorsoff steered the car into the sub-basement bay that corresponded to the number she had been given by email, locked the car and after setting its alarm she unobtrusively assured herself she was unobserved and crouched, reaching under the car below the driver’s door. From his hiding place beneath an expensive Shogun 4x4 Jubi heard a faint metallic 'thunk' as the small box Svetlana had held attached itself to the underside by a magnet. Jubi watched with lustful eyes as Svetlana straightened, from head to toe she was elegantly and expensively clothed but it was the figure beneath the designer form hugging little black dress that held his interest. He allowed a fantasy to distract him in which he could see her naked and sweating beneath him, begging him to let her be his whore whilst in the throes of yet another orgasm he'd provided. So lost in this vision was Jubi that the sound of another cars engine starting made him jump, and he could only watch as the object of that fantasy drove away in another car.