by Geoff Wolak
I laughed, doubting that she was getting to be posh. ‘So get some standard green lightweight trousers, and put the usual camouflage on it. Large for six of us, normal size after that, say forty of them. Lads are all five-ten mostly. Going to need lots of face masks as well. Top priority, tell your other customers it’s for me.’
Phone down, I approached the Major. ‘Does the Regiment have specialist jungle clothing?’
‘Tried a few variants over the years, most just use lightweight green trousers and a plain green shirt, light windcheater jacket – can get wet and chilly at night. Facemask and gloves in the jungle will be warm.’
‘Being warm is better than being dead, sir,’ I insisted. ‘And we can’t put on cam-cream for four weeks. Right, where do you know – in the UK’s training grounds – where it has dense forest for miles and miles, streams, ridges.’
‘There is a part of the New Forest, Hampshire, used for survival training. Dense as hell in most places, lots of annoying streams. Weather is improving, so should be suitable for some exercises.’
‘Can you check permissions for a few days time, sir?’
‘Can’t do any live firing in there,’ he cautioned, and I nodded.
I grabbed Henri lunchtime. ‘Have you done any jungle training?’
‘Yes, a few times.’
‘We may have a job in Sierra Leone.’
‘I’ve been there, not a nice place for a holiday – I was very sick.’
‘Let your CO know, ask him to pass it up the line, I’ll have the French government notified. What clothing do you use?’
He shrugged and made a face. ‘Just green.’
Stores had suitable green chord, but ordered more for me - we’d need enough for all the lads, hammocks could be made from ponchos.
Thinking on, I called Bob. ‘Listen, what about external members, some action.’
‘It’s a dangerous spot for a first action.’
‘If they got more than ninety on the three-day, they’re tough as Rambo.’
‘Fair enough. And we could do with sharpening them up - and testing them under pressure. Who would you take?’
‘There’s a corporal in the sniper school, a Marine, four 2 Squadron lads, and a few Pathfinders I think. I’d not take too many, because in the jungle it’s single file down a track.’
‘If you took them, and they got a patrol or two, that would help. They can sit in some FOB.’
‘I’ll get O’Leary to notify them, and their COs, bring them in for some training ahead of time.’
‘What about regular SAS?’ Bob asked.
‘What about them?’
‘You want to take some?’
‘Given that it’s jungle, and small unit tactics, doubt we’ll need them. And a helicopter rescue is tricky, tall trees and bushes, nowhere to land close by. I’ll go ask them anyhow.’
Later, I wandered over to see Rawlson, saluting. ‘Sir, I have a job, Sierra Leone and Liberia, and I was wondering if you wanted any of your lot to tag along – training and experience.’
‘We’ve lost men, so I’m not that keen, they have some experience of getting shot at.’
‘No problem, sir, we have enough warm bodies for this.’
‘And what’ll you be doing, exactly?’ Rawlson asked.
‘There are hostages, and some rebels to thin out, sir.’ I saluted and left, wondering about Rawlson’s attitude, but bumped into Sergeant Crab outside.
‘You got a job on? Captain,’ he asked.
‘Yes, but the Colonel is not keen to lose more men, so you guard this base when we’re gone.’
‘What about volunteers?’ he pressed.
‘Could chat to your major and see. I could do with some jungle directing staff -’
‘That’s me.’
‘Go and ask them, let me know.’
Back in the detachment, at 5pm, I found Mahoney in UK combats. ‘Do they fit?’ I quipped.
‘Seem OK, but I’ll keep my own boots though and break in some of yours maybe.’
‘We have a job on in Sierra Leone, jungle warfare, you’ll be coming.’
‘I guess I’d have to check before I go into harm’s way.’
I smiled. ‘Lieutenant, you were sent here specifically with West Africa in mind, after I chatted to the powers.’
‘Something I should know?’ he asked, not looking happy.
I led him outside. ‘Your major is not trying to get you killed, so relax. No, my CIA contact wants a good newspaper headline, so we’re going to rescue some people if we can, then call in your guys to pick them up, and ... you get the credit. It’s all politics, and a dangerous game, so keep it to yourself.’
‘We’ll mount a real rescue?’
‘Yes, and ... thin out the rebels a little. You may be in the jungle a few weeks, shots fired in anger. Any ... thoughts?’
He made a face. ‘I’m happy enough with some action. And when this job is over?’
‘You stay as long as was agreed. How long was that?’
‘They said six months.’
‘Then you stay six months if you’re happy.’
I called Bob that evening, my apartment quiet without Ms Turner. She had not called, I had not called her. ‘Bob, let Chuck know that we may be in Sierra Leone in two weeks or less, and I see on the news that they have ships offshore, withdrawing their nationals and embassy staff.’
‘They do, us as well, and the French, Liberia is going to shit very quickly.’
‘So if Chuck had a team that could look like they rescued hostages that would be good, and be ready in two weeks time.’
‘I’ll meet him for lunch, and torture some concessions out of him first.’
Smiling, I put the phone down, and sat with a cup of tea, staring out the window, and missing Ms Turner, at least missing her large breasts.
A man and a van arrived at the base the next day, sent by Bob and directed to me. He unloaded a variety of jungle wear, the lads examining the gear. His green camouflage shirts were perfect, so we drew up a list of sizes, and I ordered two of each.
His trousers did not impress us, I preferred our own lightweights with some camouflage markings added. He then offered boot covers that were elastic and went up to the knee, and camouflaged. I ordered enough for forty men.
The first lightweight jacket I tried I didn’t like, but he had a lightweight summer jacket that Belgian soldiers used, and if you painted out the yellow they would have been great for cool wet evenings. I ordered one each for twenty-five men.
We tried his gloves, and I found a style that was ideal, mesh on the back and fabric on the front, rubber sewn in, they gripped a rifle well. I ordered two sizes for forty men.
He also brought a camouflaged flysheet, light to carry, small when packed up, elastic, and it came with elastic green chord. When stretched out, it would cover a dozen men. I asked for ten. He had them in the van and handed them over there and then.
‘One odd thing you might want,’ he said, and came back in with what looked like another flysheet. Opened out, it was a large orange fluorescent arrow. Smiling, I asked for eight; they could be seen from a plane.
‘Need a lightweight stretcher?’ he asked.
‘How lightweight?’ I pressed, and he went to the van. What he brought back was a bundle two feet long, as round as a football. He opened it out, fitted the tubes, and tightened a chord. We put Moran in it, and lifted straps over the shoulders of four men, but you could do it with two.
‘Excellent, could have done with these before. I’ll take eight for now.’
The Major signed, and Bob would get the bill.
An hour later and the RSM notified me that the armoury had taken delivery of new rifles for us, but that they were under the SAS regular banner and could be used by the regulars later on.
O’Leary had identified the correct paint, and he had sent the corporal down to Bristol to a specialist shop to pick some up. At 3pm we all sat down with magazines and AKM rifles, and we painted green s
tripes onto the lower half of magazines, and onto some of the black parts of the AKMs, such as the top slide and black metal parts that would not get hot.
The paint dried quickly, and with fore-end covers and butt covers in place we examined the weapons from a distance. Silencers were already camouflaged.
In the morning, a Friday, we got permission to use the training area in the New Forest for three days from Monday, so the exercise was set, and the paintball guns turned up that day, tested against the wall outside, a surprise for the external members as they came and found us. I greeted the sniper corporal, Nicholson, then the Marine, and four men from 2 Squadron, no sign of the Pathfinders yet.
The final items were the rubber plants, and we suddenly had a large bush in the detachment room, men cutting bits off and adding it to their webbing via green elastic cloth. When I was happy that they had enough, each man packed up his rubber plant parts ready.
4pm Friday we met for the briefing, just as the Pathfinders turned up. I paused the meeting, welcomed them, and they sat, kit dumped down, standing at the rear, not enough chairs.
‘OK, Monday morning, 7am we leave here, so be early,’ I began. ‘And not hung over. We’ll travel down to the New Forest in coaches, two hours just about, rations to be taken for two days, water, no weapons or ammo or blanks or thunderflashes in that forest – we’ll be using paintball guns.
‘Take our new folding stretchers and fly sheets, and make sure that you have gloves and facemasks, or you don’t take part. Tomo, don’t shoot Rocko in the bollocks.’
They laughed as Rocko turned and snarled at Tomo.
‘We’ll need facemasks and gloves for our external members -’
‘They have them,’ O’Leary pointed out.
‘You are just too efficient,’ I told him, the guys laughing. ‘OK, I need a few volunteers to work with the external members over the weekend, some range work.’
Swifty raised his hand, as well as Rocko and Rizzo, and Moran.
‘OK, that’s enough, and I’ll be around. Everyone, Saturday night we have a coach down to Cardiff and back, some totty to upset – so dress smart.’
‘Leave the pretty boys behind,’ Rocko suggested, Rizzo agreeing.
‘Jacque, Travis, leave some girls for the rest, eh. Mahoney, you ... any good with the ladies?’
He took in the faces as they stared back. ‘All evidence to the contrary so far. And I’m not twenty five anymore.’
‘Stick with Henri,’ I suggested, the lads laughing. ‘OK, those not helping the externals, see you Saturday, or Monday 7am. Mahoney, hang around, please.’
With a loud scraping of chairs most of the lads headed out, and I got the kettle on for the Externals, but this was not our first meeting. Whilst I had been busy with the Deltas the Externals had been brought together by the Major and O’Leary, briefings given, range work here and Ross-on-Wye, and various people had detailed for them the previous rescues, maps dug out.
They had met most of the lads, and now knew Rocko and Rizzo, so they could hit the ground running.
With mugs of tea in hand they sat, facing the officers, Rocko and Rizzo off to one side.
‘OK,’ I began, facing our guests. ‘We have a live job soon, and you’re all down for it, so long as you want to be down for it, and can get away. If your unit CO is a pain they’ll get a letter from the head of the Army.’
I pointed at Corporal Nicholson. ‘You up for it?’
‘Yes, sir. My boss is happy as well.’
I pointed at the Marine. ‘Sorry, what is your name? Castle?’
‘Cassington, sir, they call me Lassey – don’t ask.’
I smiled. ‘I got called Wilco because in basic training I ended a radio message with wilco. Anyhow, you up for it?’
‘Yes, sir.’
I faced the 2 Squadron lads. ‘Don’t expect me to get your names just yet. Are you all keen and available?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the senior man said, young to be a sergeant.
I faced the Pathfinders. ‘And you four?’
‘Our boss ain’t happy, sir, but ... if we can get away with it we’ll go.’
‘I’ll have a word with him. And for all of you – it’s not essential that you call me sir and salute unless there are other servicemen around, but you always address the Major here as sir. In the field I’m Wilco or Boss or Captain.
‘OK, tomorrow and Sunday we’ll get some training in, although you all did well on the three-day, and on Monday we’ll practise sneaking through the jungle, otherwise known as The New Forest, Hampshire. By Friday we could be overseas.
‘Tonight, allocated rooms, kit down, drink and a curry, meet here at 9am in the morning, keep ID on you, and if anyone asks ... you are Echo Detachment, an external member, and you work for me.’
I faced O’Leary. ‘Can we allocate meal money?’
He nodded.
I faced Mahoney. ‘If you don’t have anything else planned, you can join this lot over the weekend, get to know them, you may need to rely upon them real soon.’
He nodded. ‘Sure.’
I stood. ‘Right then, rooms, civvy clothes, curry.’
Over the curry I got to know something about them, one of the Pathfinders a handful, one of the 2 Squadron lads a bit keen to kill someone.
We met again in the morning, a few hours on the pistol range, all doing well, and two hours at Ross-on-Wye sniping, most doing very well, our sniper corporal almost 100%.
Meeting up outside the base at 8pm Saturday, we took the coach down to Cardiff, and I had money for lap-dancers and beer, but again one of the Pathfinders was a handful. I issued a gentle warning, which went unheeded, Moran noticing.
I chatted to Mahoney at length, and he practised his accent on a lady he liked and got her number, explaining that he was a military medic and may be away now and then. I found a girl I liked, thirty years old, a big pair, but after an hour her ex turned up, she cried and left, the lads wondering what I had done to upset her.
An hour later I grabbed the largest of the Pathfinders, and he was a big strong lad. ‘If your man keeps dicking about you’ll all be sent back, he’ll be expelled. If he can’t control himself here, what’ll he be like under pressure? And I’ve told him twice.’
The three well-behaved Pathfinders had sharp words with the guy and thrust a glass of water in his hand. Leaving the club, we could not find him, a doorman finally informing us that ‘our mate’ had been arrested.
I got everyone on the coach, headcount given – we were missing Jacque and Travis, but I knew they were OK, and off we set, chatting as we went. I called the duty officer at Mi6 and informed him about the Pathfinder, and that he was one of mine. He called me back before we arrived at the base, and the man had touched up a girl and then punched out her boyfriend, now on a serious charge.
Heaving a sigh, I informed the other Pathfinders in front of everyone that their mate was no longer a member of Echo, and would not be allowed back on the base. His kit would be sent back.
In the morning I met those men left at 10am, coffee made, a few sore heads nursed. O’Leary was in, and I explained what had happened. ‘Bin the guy, he don’t come back here,’ I told O’Leary.
Having booked Severn Tunnel Range we got the coach down to the coast, rations, water and tea in an urn taken, but once more we were double booked, this time with a bunch of local air cadets in blue uniforms.
I explained who I was and offered to let the cadets fire the AKM, and they were more than happy. The Externals, with Mahoney, sniped from 500yards, then moved forwards to 100yards, spin and fire, move and fire, team work attacks and withdrawals, the smell of mud and salt air ever present. One of the Pathfinders accidentally discharged, missing his buddy by an inch.
‘Sorry, sir.’
‘It happens, that’s why we practise. And if you kill your buddy, it will help you to focus that trigger finger. Carry on, get it right.’ He exchanged an uneasy look with his buddy.
I gave the cadets a pistol le
sson, and they left happy.
Over a cup of tea, Mahoney asked, ‘What’s the penalty for a misfire like that?’
‘Depends on the circumstances and their attitudes. We’ve all done it, I’ve done it a few times, and I once killed a civvy by mistake when he startled me in the woods in Bosnia.’
‘My lot would get a fine and KP duty, they don’t like mistakes.’
‘Your politicians don’t like mistakes either,’ I noted.
He tipped his eyebrows. ‘And defence reviews move the goalposts often enough; we’re either seen as essential, or about to get scrapped, twice a year, and after Mogadishu there was the usual blame setting by various senators.
‘If the US military was a car, then after the first flat tyre they’d call for five tyres. After the second flat tyre they’d call for tank treads. Fact is ... now and then the car gets a flat tyre, no reason to re-invent it.’
I smiled and nodded. ‘Politicians have short term agendas, they want the popularity now.’
‘They hassle you?’
‘No, but I’ve had a good run of successes. A few fuck-ups and they might change their minds about me, but us Brits are not as cut-throat as you Yanks. Having said that, someone in a rival Intel agency got jealous of the guys I deal with, and tried to kill me.’
‘Wow, and I thought you Brits just sat down with a cup of tea and chatted nicely about stuff.’
I laughed. ‘Us Brits will always make you a nice cup of tea before we stab you in the back, we’re civilised.’
The following morning we set off with a police escort, minus one Pathfinder, the Major would be chatting to the man’s boss, and I was glad that I had taken them drinking; alcohol always revealed the inner layers, the true personality.
Past Ringwood, Hampshire, we met a range warden, despite the lack of a suitable range to hand, and he took us to the training area. It had signs showing the MOD area, but he explained that because there was no shooting nor artillery allowed we might come across people walking their dogs.
Seeing our paintball guns, he asked what they were, and I explained.
‘We don’t want paint on trees,’ he insisted.