by Geoff Wolak
‘Saving the reputation of the Regiment, but not saving Rawlson..?’
I took a moment, and sipped my tea. ‘He never got on well with London, despite being a good reformer, and when Oxford happened he foolishly expected London to offer its support in a trying time. He got a kick to the balls, as is normal for London: blame first, say sorry later.’
‘This I have to look forwards to,’ he quipped. ‘But I have you to brief me, since London does what you tell it.’
I shot him a look. ‘London likes good headlines, sir, they don’t care if hostages live or die.’
‘A bit cynical?’
‘A bit spot on, sir, so learn fast. They don’t care how you do it, just get some good headlines. If you rescue some people and keep it quiet, you’ll be criticised for it. They’re politicians and snakes, all trying to shit on each other and scramble to get the top job. You need to wise up to that quickly, sir, because your job is all high-pressure politics.’
‘And there was me thinking I was in the Army...’
‘You’re going to be in an Army unit that operates high-profile, high-risk jobs, a unit that kills people in Northern Ireland, that lends men out to the spies for major fuck-ups, bodies sometimes returned. It’s not green field soldiering.’
He nodded, and sipped his tea. ‘I’ve seen a fair bit of shit over the years, and now the reorganisation of the Paras has men at each other’s throats, an unpopular move to Essex. Marines are leaving Deal in Kent as well, so it’s all changing.’
‘RAF are downsizing in a hurry,’ I put in. ‘But I did encourage the PM to keep the sharp end sharp.’
‘You chat often?’
‘More than any other captain, more than you’ll chat with him, sir. I am the bringer of good headlines, and he uses those to win by-elections.’
‘So I need to stop soldiering and start thinking like a politician.’
‘Colonel Rawlson was doing a good job, but was always going to be in my shadow. Echo got started because Mi6 didn’t trust the SAS or like working with them, and Mi6 wanted its own small unit, like SOE. Many believe that we are that unit, and we do get most of our jobs from them.
‘And from an early juncture we had embedded reporters, my boss in Mi6 got the praise, and that got him promoted.’
‘I thought I was your boss?’
‘Not really, sir, just on paper, and a word of warning about Bob Staines. Go head to head with him and you’ll be found with some drugs in your car, your career ended.’
‘He’d go to those lengths?’
‘He’s a spy master, ambitious, and a snake. So yes ... he would.’
‘Did he clash with Rawlson?’
‘No, and Colonel Rawlson made an effort to work with me, and to copy what I was doing. Map reading exercises that I created ... he copied, those patrol routes in Sierra Leone copied.
‘Problem for Colonel Rawlson ... was a double negative and bad timing. When Colonel Richards was there, things were OK, but the old attitude and culture was still around, and men disrespected the officers. They thought they were better than they really were. They all thought of themselves as heroes, but few volunteered for the shitty dangerous jobs.
‘What we had in the SAS when I joined ... was a wide range of attitudes. You had the old timers with a bad attitude, you had a few men who wanted to kill someone – or kill anyone, and you had men who went home to wives and avoided doing anything dangerous. And then you had the men that stabbed or killed wives and girlfriends, and there have been plenty of those over the years.
‘Echo got going as a small team of specialists who would tackle the kind of job that no sane soldier would tackle, not even the SAS. If we had been captured or killed we would have been listed as mercenaries.’
‘You’re a smart man, so why get involved with something like that?’
‘I think the answer is, sir, that ... I like a challenge. If someone says that the job is very hard - I want to show that I can do it. I don’t go seeking medals, it’s an internal thing, to solve the puzzle where others can’t. And, after many years of it, you get used to it and like it.’
‘Go on with how Echo got started.’
‘We tackled a few dangerous jobs, got good results, and so were handed more, and we’ve had a good run of luck. I was given more leeway to recruit and train men - my way, and that helped. I chose men with good skills, but also with a good attitude. My lot won’t stab to death their girlfriends.
‘I had, as a sergeant, the power to recruit, train and lead men, as much power as a major, and one good result followed another. But I also involved the other services, and I made sure that my trusted reporter ran stories on them, and their bosses loved the attention. RAF medics are not normally newsworthy.
‘What happened ... was that attitudes improved in those units, and recruitment went up, being an RAF medic seen as a sexy occupation. In the past, the SAS would snub everyone, or be rude. They told Margaret Thatcher to fuck off, and she started using the SBS.
‘Attitudes were bad back then, they thought they could do whatever they liked, but they were not that good, and the history of the SAS after Oman is a history of fuck-ups.’
Colonel Dean nodded. ‘We all knew the reputation was more bullshit than reality. They did well in the Falklands, but when I was in Northern Ireland they were a pain, a few embarrassing episodes of shoot to kill, and in the Gulf they did fuck all save drive around in the sand.’
I nodded. ‘I was surprised at first, because most were five feet ten and slim, and looking like my old geography teacher. But there were a few stars in there; some came to work for me. But to them, at the time, confirmed kills was currency, and if you had shot someone you had a swagger about you.
‘I remember being with a guy who had done three live patrols around Northern Ireland, and he had a swagger because of it.’
‘So he walked on the wet grass three times and thought he was good? What a wanker.’
I lifted my eyebrows nodded. ‘In the Second World War, some men fought every day for six years and had less of an attitude.’
‘And this ... double negative Rawlson faced?’
‘My team started doing the kind of jobs the regulars should have been doing, and because of historic attitude problems I was chosen over them. Colonel Rawlson saw that, and he wanted the jobs back, which he should have done. Problem was my successes, and he would have found it hard to compete.
‘He did reform the Regiment, and got rid of the dead wood, and he brought in new tests based on my test, and standards have risen and attitudes are better. But ... on several jobs, his men came with us, my idea of including them and getting them some experience, but his men were seen to shoot at each other or spray it around and kill civilians, so instead of fixing the gap it caused more of a comparison between us.
‘And, at one point, after Djibouti, my lot shipped out on a job and Colonel Rawlson told London that his men had picked up enough wounds of late, for which he was shouted at because my lads were doing his job for him and getting killed.’
‘So I’m inheriting an improved Regiment, but with still a few nutcases that may shoot each other or civvies, and I’m going to be measured against you day to day...’
‘I can help, sir. The one good thing in your favour is that my successes are always seen by the public as being your successes.’
‘But London knows the difference.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You said you would help. How exactly?’
‘Echo will never be reabsorbed or disbanded, because Mi6 want it independent, and the other branches of the military love us. I’ve made too many friends in high places. But if your lot are seen to be more seamless and less adversarial ... then we blur the edges, both for mutual credit and for mutual blame.
‘I always try and take a troop of regulars along on jobs, partly for experience, partly so that we’re not moving away from each other, and moving to this base was a risk because we risked moving away operationally. But we have th
e TA quartermaster here, and we train the TA here, and we have regulars down for parachuting. But if Mi6 had its way there would be a division, they still desire their own unit.’
‘You sound like you don’t agree with that?’
‘It would be reinventing the wheel. We’re doing the jobs that the SAS should be doing, and are now better capable of doing. The double negative is ... we got started for a reason, and that reason has mostly gone, but having gotten started no one wants to slow us down. Colonel Rawlson wanted the jobs back, and you’ll want the jobs back, sir.’
‘Well, yes, or there’s no point in being there, just training after training.’
‘SAS is there in the order of battle, it’s just a question of what they do in peacetime, and traditionally that has been Northern Ireland, some hostage rescue work, and small wars. My boss in Mi6 has gone looking for obscure jobs, because with each good newspaper headline he gets closer to the top job.
‘He also plays a political role, in that we set-up hostage rescues for the French and Americans when we could have just done it ourselves. Americans are happy, Prime Minister is happy, Bob gets a pat on the back.’
Colonel Dean nodded. ‘And with your kind cooperation, my lot could be found suitable jobs?’
‘Well, question is ... how many, and how many men wounded? When I started with your lot they did one job a year, two was seen as an exciting year. Some troopers did three years with the regiment and never fired a shot in anger.’
‘So it’s a balance,’ he noted. ‘A balance between training and live jobs, wounded men being a bad headline ... as well a reducing of our fighting ability.’
‘They rotate to Kenya for three months a year, so how about you make that six weeks in Kenya and six weeks in Sierra Leone? There are still hostages around.’
‘So they get some live experience, as well as maybe a few good headlines. Yes, good idea.’
‘To the public, sir, the Regiment’s reputation is fine, but London needs convincing. When the police asked for extra weapons training, Colonel Rawlson made a mistake and said no. Now I’m doing it, gaining friends in high places.’
‘You’re playing a tactical game, odd for a captain.’
‘As I explained to someone recently, I want to get the hostages out, the politicians want a good headline. By sucking-up and playing nice I get what I want, and more hostages go home. If the French or the Americans get the credit, I don’t care.’
‘Question is ... how I play it.’
‘Question is ... do you bump heads with people, do you have a strong opinion on things, or do you do what’s best for the linear history of the Regiment.’
‘I’d say ... the last one.’
‘Then first priority is to satisfy the MOD requirements for your wartime role, second to satisfy the Home Secretary for domestic counter-terrorism, and third – to take part in politically motivated small wars like Sierra Leone.
‘And satisfying the MOD requirements will get no newspaper headlines or thanks, the counter-terrorism role cost Colonel Rawlson his job, and for the last part it’s important to say: “Yes, Prime Minister, glad to help,” when your predecessors told him to fuck off.’
‘And the counter-terrorism role is the high stakes game, because one fuck-up and the politicians will want my head.’
‘Yes, sir, and just the one fuck-up.’ We exchanged looks. ‘But a few months down the line the police will try and pinch some of that work off you.’
‘Might let them take it, they can get the shit.’
‘Would not be a bad strategy, sir.’
He nodded, deep in thought. ‘So I don’t oppose such a move, and I focus on the small political wars, after making sure that the core wartime role is satisfied.’
‘That would help you sleep at night, sir. Getting to the heart of what the SAS is supposed to do, what it drifted into, and what it sometimes does for political expediency.’
‘You talk more like a general than a captain, I can see why you’ve done well; you see it all clearly. Do you visit Hereford often?’
‘No, because Colonel Rawlson wanted Echo gone. If Colonel Richards was still there we’d be hand in glove.’
‘And me? What can I expect of you?’
I made a face. ‘You can invite me up any time, sir, and you can pop down any time, and maybe we can blur the edges a little, not least because I have six or more of your men here in my team, plus Major Bradley.’
‘Does he give you orders?’
‘Not really, he does the paperwork and keeps an eye on us. We run things by him, and sometimes he expresses his concerns, or shouts. He has six months, then he retires.’
‘And then what?’
‘No idea, sir, but Bob Staines and the MOD will have an input.’
‘Someone from MI6 in charge?’
‘Ha! Never! The Army would go mad, and the opposition politicians would label us as Mi6’s private killing machine.’
‘Politicians are opposed to Mi6 taking full control?’
I lifted my eyebrows and nodded theatrically.
‘Never knew there was so much intrigue here. Glad I came and asked. So starting next week, how do I blur the edges?’
‘Colonel Rawlson put together a team of men who did well on my three-day test, and we’ve worked with them on occasion. That could be expanded upon, more jobs together.’
‘Seems like a good place to start, yes.’ He stood, and I followed him up. ‘And I’ll invite you up, so pretend you work for me.’
I smiled. ‘Anytime, sir.’
Monday afternoon, and the Major drove in having been missed in the morning. ‘I was with the new colonel, and he gave a speech to senior staff, but I could hear you on his lips. Did you brief him?’
‘I did, Sunday.’
‘Well he gave a good speech, threatened to RTU anyone that sneezes out of place, and wants a return to core green field soldiering, our war time role to be redefined by the MOD, the counter-terrorism role to be scaled down – case we get the blame, like at Oxford, more involvement in Sierra Leone instead of Kenya.
‘A list will be drawn up of relevant combat experience, weeks spent in harm’s way and shots fired, and many men will be sent down to Sierra Leone to patrol. So any man who’s been in a year and not fired a shot in anger will be sent, and if he doesn’t fire a shot in anger he’ll be sent again.’
‘Sounds like a good approach, they all get some experience of what they’re blabbing about down the pub. Maybe things are picking up.’
‘He seems good, the new colonel,’ the Major noted.
The coppers had been on the range again, but today with M16s, and would swap to old SLRs after lunch.
I stood observing later in the day, the men reminding me of my own basic training, when I had a dated SLR to use, a magazine kept together with masking tape, webbing from the 1960s.
But at least now the coppers were hitting the metal plates more often, and moving with more confidence. Since the Home Office was paying for ammunition and food for the coppers we did not mind their men blasting away with that ammunition.
At 7pm we gathered in the briefing room. ‘OK, ready for a nice straight forwards scenario?’
They moaned, loudly, Moran and myself handing out sheets.
‘Start reading, look at the photos, look at the map – and brains switched on.’
After ten minutes they were looking frustrated, and after twenty minutes I called a halt to the hard brain work.
‘OK, the scenario you’ve been looking at was based on a real siege in Belfast some years back.’ I pointed at the first team. ‘What’s your approach?’
‘Only way in would be the door, to be blown in. Flat has a window, but it’s twelve stories up, no access.’
‘Hands up those that agree?’
They all raised hands.
‘OK, first things first. That block is opposite another block, and what happened in real life was that as the police and SAS got ready to go in the front door, they were shot a
t from the opposite block.’
‘Ah....’ came from many mouths.
‘Always watch your rear, and never trust the neighbours on a council estate. What was considered at the time ... was that the SAS rope down from four floors above, and blow the window just as the door was being blown. What happened ... in real life, was that a hostage got fed up, blocked the toilet, had a good shit and flushed, and flooded the place out. It stank so much after two hours they gave up without a shot fired.’
‘What a shit ending,’ a man quipped, the others laughing.
I held my hands wide. ‘And people say my jokes are bad.’
‘Operation went down the toilet...’
‘Gunmen must have been flushed...’
I exchanged a look with Moran, shaking my head as he laughed. The second scenario was handed out, and it included a gunman with a grenade taped inside his hand.
As Moran and I sat with a cup of tea discussing our new colonel, the coppers deliberated, a few minor rows breaking out.
After fifteen minutes I called a halt. ‘OK, you have a man on a bus, grenade in hand, hand taped up, pistol in other hand. Was based on an actual siege in Israel. So, what’s the plan?’ I pointed at the first team.
‘Negotiator goes forwards, high velocity shot to shatter the glass, second and third to hit the man. No other way.’
‘OK.’ I pointed at the second team, a similar story, and around the room the techniques were similar. ‘OK, first things first. You all decided to shoot the man, despite the grenade, because he had his hand taped up, and you can’t drop the grenade with your hand taped up – so the passengers were safe.
‘First shot to break the glass, good, second shot to hit him, fine. So ... who considered his pistol?’ I waited.
‘What’d you mean?’
‘Was the hammer forwards?’
‘It doesn’t say.’
‘No, but your plan should have been to take a good look with a telescope. In real life, a retired copper noticed the hammer forwards, jumped up and beat the terrorist to a pulp, siege over.’
They all moaned loudly.