by Geoff Wolak
‘When walking through dense woods like this, you look down to avoid tripping, but need to look up to see the bad guys – and that trip wire. So the men at the front stay sharp, those behind concentrate on walking quietly, following our footsteps. Guys at the rear stop every few paces and look back.
‘Being successful out there comes down to camouflage, skills, walking quietly, being professional, but most of all reading the map and picking our routes. Worst thing we can do is just bungle along through dense jungle and get lost, because the local boys know their own back yard.
‘There’s then personal hygiene. If you get your feet and legs wet ten times a day, you get foot rot. Troop sergeants need to check their men, or they get their pay docked.’ I wagged a finger. ‘Foot powder on, swap the socks. Where you can, swap to dry socks, wash the old ones in a stream, hang them on the back of your webbing, they’ll be dry soon enough, check for insects when putting them on.
‘You’ll have antibiotic soap, use it every day, groin and armpits, neck. Take diesel oil, or get some over there, put it on ropes for hammocks, keep the creepy crawlies away, oil on wrists and neck and hair, keep the insects away, and keep your gloves and facemask on whenever you can, especially at night. If you’re sleeping on the floor, something will crawl up your nose and lay eggs, or bite you. If you have your facemask on, you’re safe.
‘If you take your gloves off, and put down your hand and get a cut or a splinter, it’ll be infected in just a few hours. Put your hand down on something that bites you, I may have to amputate that hand within six to twelve hours. So take care. We’re there to fight the bad guys, not fight Mother Nature, she’s bigger and tougher than we are.
‘Stream water, if drunk, will make you very sick. Puri-tabs must always be used, and don’t trust the local tap water anywhere – anytime.
‘Normal jungle routine - any scratches and get antiseptic cream on, anything more serious come see me. I’ll have antibiotics, and I’ll issue some to each team leader. I’ll also have anti-venom, never go on patrol without it.
‘As for the food over there, best cook our own rations, local food may make you sick. If you’re in a town, always try and eat cooked food, avoid the sauces where you can’t see what it’s made from, and get plenty of salt with your food because you lose salt in the heat. We’ll have salt tablets with us.
‘If you keep the professional attitude, if you keep thinking, then you’ll go out on patrol and come back in one piece. Now, the people we’ll come across out there are poorly trained, poorly equipped, hungry, and they have little motivation other than for stealing, raping and murder. If you see some idiot with an AK47 across his chest, shoot the fucker. There are no government forces in Liberia, just bad guys, very bad guys, and the kind of bad guys you don’t want to meet.
‘If you see a farmer, and he’s armed, leave him. And in Sierra Leone there are government forces, but they don’t venture north much. There are also peace keepers, but those peace keepers sit in their bases and patrol now and then, they do nothing to keep the peace. Don’t ... shoot any peacekeepers, the guys with blue helmets.
‘Rules of engagement are as follows. If we’re in the jungle and you see a man with AK47 and no blue helmet, kill him. Simple. If it’s a teenager with a rifle, kill him – because he’ll grow up thinking he can do whatever he likes. If it’s a young kid, scare them off or shoot them in the foot – and you’ll see a few ten year olds conscripted into the rebel units. Tomo, don’t go upsetting them.’
My detachment laughed.
‘And don’t trust anyone out there,’ I added. ‘Unless they’re French soldiers. If we drive down a road it will be reported, there are always people reporting movements. If we pass a village, they may report our movements.
‘Now, on the Sierra Leone side there are a few hundred drugged up idiots organised into rebel movements. They dig up rough diamonds and sell them for food, fuel and drugs. Across the border in Liberia you have a dozen rebel groups all at each other’s throats, some are a thousand men strong, and the main group north of and around the capital are dangerous.
‘So, tactics. If we come across a rebel patrol, and shoot some of them, they’ll spray it around. They won’t see us, but they’ll fire in our direction, so you may be hit from a stray round. If you hide behind a bush for camouflage, you’ll be hit. Number one choice ... lay down with a small mound in front of you. Number two, knelt behind a solid tree. Always ... find something solid, always assume that the idiots in the distance will spray it around.
‘They have no tanks or aircraft, they don’t have many Duska, they will have a few RPGs, mostly they’ll have a rusty AK47 and half an hour’s training.
‘Inside Sierra Leone there is one group, five hundred men strong, plus a dozen small groups up north and along the border, dealing in diamonds and drugs. Across the border are several large groups that are more switched-on, and recently some of those groups have displaced the old fighters and upset the status quo. It’s chaos. OK, any questions?’
‘What’s our remit?’ Mahoney asked.
‘We’ll look for hostages, waiting for the intel, but we’ll also try and patrol where we know the rebel groups are and thin them out a bit, or we just come back next year when those boys grab someone else.’
‘We have permission for kill missions?’ Mahoney pressed.
‘We go in with the permission of the Sierra Leone Government, there is no government in Liberia. And we patrol certain areas where hostage taking is prevalent, to deny those areas to the bandits, and we’re allowed to defend ourselves – should we come across any. We’ll ask in the villages about rebels and hostages, because intel is light. We have a rough idea where the hostages are, and how many, but just a rough idea.’
‘We don’t wait for intel?’ Mahoney asked.
‘No, we find our own intel whilst we’re waiting.’
‘Helicopters?’ Moran asked.
‘There are some very safe French Pumas in Sierra Leone,’ I told him, a few men grumbling.
‘Jeeps?’ Moran asked.
‘No, I wouldn’t drive anywhere, too easy to ambush us. We may catch a ride to the border or inland, but I would prefer a helicopter in and walk. That way we can only be ambushed if we’re sloppy. I don’t trust the local army, nor ... any fucker over there except the French.’
‘Patrol durations?’ Rizzo asked.
‘At least a few days, or a week,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to be going back and forth. If we’re fit and well, we keep going, maybe a supply drop, we assess it as we go. If we get an injury we call in a helo, otherwise we keep going, and we might find a good FOB. And keep in mind that the entire country is only sixty miles across end to end, we could walk it in two days if we used roads – and if the roads were any good.’
‘Regulars coming?’ Rizzo added.
‘Not the last time I checked, the Colonel is not keen for more action unless it’s essential. There’s a Navy frigate down there with a helicopter, withdrawing our embassy staff, it’ll hang around a while, French warships doing likewise, and American warships with helicopters.’
‘Where will we be based?’ Henri asked.
‘Sierra Leone with be rear base, the French base, but we’ll find an FOB north and on the border. Have a look at the maps. OK, next contest will take place just north of here, so let’s go.’
I found the right spot, and we made camp, and I soon walked out with Moran to leave markers on trees. This time, men approaching each other would have less cover, and several streams to negotiate.
Back at camp I called, ‘Rocko and Tomo up.’
The guys jeered.
‘Rocko walk left to the marker and in, Tomo right.’
Tomo limped back ten minutes later, having been hit in the balls.
‘What happened?’ I asked a smirking, yet very wet, Rocko.
‘I hid in the stream, he didn’t figure on that, hit him in the balls.’
Smiling, I called up the next two men, and two hours later -
the day growing hot - Mahoney was up against Swifty for the title. They came back together.
‘Well?’ I asked as people closed in.
Mahoney reported, ‘Son of a bitch hit me in the ear from fifteen yards out. He was up a tree.’
‘Well done, Swifty. Everyone pack up, we are leaving, coaches should be waiting!’
Back at base, just before 5pm, I gave the Major and O’Leary the detail of what we covered and how the lads did, paint guns collected in.
‘The Range Warden was not happy,’ the Major reminded me. ‘But Bob got some general to shout down the phone. What was his gripe?’
‘Our paint might damage trees.’
‘What fucking nonsense,’ the Major scoffed. ‘Anyhow, had the CO of 2 Squadron on the line, we wants some action, so too the medics.’
I took a moment. ‘Not sure it would suit them, or be a need.’
The Major pointed at boxes. ‘From Madge in Bessbrook.’
‘Ah, good.’ I opened the boxes and tried on a cotton facemask. ‘How does it look?’
‘Fine, same as the other one I guess. Be warm though.’
I took it off and flattened my hair. ‘Lightweight, cotton, plastic in the top to stay dry.’ I pulled out trousers and found some my size. ‘These will do.’
I called Bob later. ‘Bob, what about RAF medics and more 2 Squadron lads, they want some action.’
‘Is there a pressing need for them?’
‘Not really, no, just experience. The medics might be useful if we get wounded, but the French have medics. Only use would be if we found a good FOB and used it. My first choice would be to find a suitable place thirty miles in, near the border, and work out of there rather than fly back and forth. Have your big-brained lads look at the map and try and spot a good place for an FOB.’
‘Will do. How was exercise?’
‘Fine, they got some practise of dense woods and how to move slow and quiet, snuck up on each other a few times and ambushed each other, good practice. You heard about the Pathfinder I let go?’
‘Yes, and he’s facing a jail term, the idiot. Better off without men like that in the unit.’
‘That sniper corporal can shoot better than most of us, useful man to have along.’
‘How’s the American settling in?’
‘Fine so far, but he’s in at the deep end with Sierra Leone. You spoke to Chuck?’
‘Yes, and he’ll make sure there’s a team off the coast. They have Marines and Navy Seals at the moment, a Delta Force team tasked to go down as well, pretext of hostage rescue – which it will be, but they don’t know time scales, so can you fly on Friday afternoon maybe?’
‘Don’t see why not. Brize Norton Tristar?’
‘No, hired 737s, slip you in quietly at night.’
‘What about medics and 2 squadron, if they come along it could push up numbers.’
‘There are two planes ready, forty seats plus cargo bay.’
‘More than enough, just make sure they’re reliable aircraft!’
Thursday morning, Swifty and Slider training the Externals up at Sennybridge, Bob called back. ‘We found a good FOB, at least it will be good when it’s secure, and I spoke to the Air Commodore, and he’s keen for some training exposure, so you’ll take the medics and a dozen men from 2 Squadron. But there has been some fresh intel. We have eight Germans being held, twelve Pakistani peace keepers missing – presumed being held, and fifty mine workers in Liberia are under house arrest.’
‘How many arms do you think I have, Bob?’
‘All I’m saying is ... that we have some people we could get and look good out of it.’
‘Americans?’
‘Eight are missing, maybe twelve, not sure where they are, but they could just be hiding from the rebels somewhere and not kidnapped.’
‘Either way they need to get out.’
‘Yes, so you’ll need to hit the ground running.’
‘We’ll only need a day to acclimatise.’
That afternoon our jungle jackets turned up with shirts and gloves, men trying them on, and soon painting the yellow parts of the jackets to a dark green, after which they were not too dissimilar to our regular jackets, save being a tenth of the weight.
A full kit check was held at 5pm, men swapping items around, and spare kit was put in the metal crates.
At 7pm I got a call into the Air Commodore. ‘It’s Wilco, sir.’
‘Ah, all set for Sierra Leone I hear.’
‘Just about, sir. And your lot?’
‘Probably running around like headless chickens and sorting it all. You’re due to fly from Bristol at 5pm, land in the dark, five to six hour flight. So they’ll meet you there I guess, or get the next flight. Now tell me, how much danger will they be in?’
‘Once we’ve secured the FOB they’ll stay there, and we’ll use 2 Squadron to defend the wire, so your lot will be protecting your lot, sir.’
‘And the dangers?’ he pressed.
‘Two dozen local gunmen, but after the first day ... none left alive in a ten mile radius.’
‘And helicopters?’
‘There may be medics on French Pumas, with the risks that go with people being on French Pumas.’
‘Can’t help that. OK, let me know if you need anything, and take care of my lot.’
‘Was there any whinging after Djibouti, sir?’
‘No, not directed towards you at least, and I understand they’ve been training hard, joint monthly exercise with 7 Squadron. We’ve managed to make being a medic a sexy occupation!’
Phone down, I considered calling Clifford the reporter, but he’d be a liability in the jungle, but could hang around the FOB when it was secure. Uncertain, I called him anyway, finding his phone being answered by a colleague.
‘He slipped a disk or some bollocks, bad back,’ I was informed.
‘I know how he feels. Is your guy Max there?’
‘I’ll get him to call you.’
Max called back an hour later. ‘Wilco?’
‘Yes, are you fit and well?’
‘I am, you going somewhere for a scrap?’
‘Sierra Leone, hostage rescue.’
‘I’m available,’ he keenly stated.
‘I’ll check permissions, but aim to be at the base Friday noon.’
‘I’ll be there.’
Friday morning we checked the metal crates, checked the kit, and then re-checked it. Everyone had puri-tabs, antiseptic cream, salt tablets, a small antibiotic soap bar, we even packed some sun cream just in case – plus plenty of plastic bags.
We’d be taking our slim green rubber mats, rolled up tightly, and all men had two ponchos, at least one camouflaged, enough fly sheets to cover us all twice over, eight portable stretchers.
Sergeant Crab then appeared. ‘Colonel said three of us can go, for training – no action.’
‘Fine. You have three hours to pack.’
‘What? Shit!’ And he ran out, making us smile.
Moran showed me something he found in with the new jackets. ‘It’s a very big mosquito net,’ he joked, and we opened it out, finding a ten foot wide elastic green net.
‘I know what it’s for,’ I said. ‘Holes are too big for mosquitoes. You string it up, throw leaves and crap over it, hide underneath.’
‘Yeah, well there’re two.’
‘Take them.’
At 4pm Crab was back with two of the usual directing staff, all jungle experts. They had on light green kit, light windcheaters, Bergans full of gear.
‘Weapons?’ Crab asked.
‘We have more than enough in the crates, dozen left over,’ I told him. ‘Take your pistols.’
‘All set?’ the Major asked me, the floor being an obstacle course of metal boxes and wooden crates.
‘Hope so, sir,’ I told him. ‘Plenty of good kit to try out. But we’ll be busy, Bob has identified dozens of hostages, just the one small problem.’
‘Don’t know where they are..?’
‘Just walk around till you find them,’ the Major quipped. ‘Small country.’
‘Might have to do just that. Even Pakistani peace keepers missing.’
Max the reporter approached, his combats on. ‘All set?’ he asked us.
‘Are you all set?’ I countered with.
‘I have my usual kit, camera and satellite gear.’
‘We have spare uniforms for you, jungle gear, you’ll be warm like that.’
He nodded. ‘So what’s the plan?’
‘Plan is not to let them know we’re coming. You send out a report when we have something useful to send out.’
He was deflated. ‘Oh, right. Had some copy typed up ready.’
‘We require secrecy, or you don’t come,’ I firmly told him. ‘And if you hear something you shouldn’t ... and later use it, I’ll put a bullet in you. Never forget that.’
‘Pleasant fucker.’ He nodded, and sloped off.
‘How are the Externals?’ the Major asked.
‘Some are shit hot, like Nicholson. Good man to have next to you when there’s trouble.’
‘Bring him back in one piece, eh, the RSM knows his family apparently.’
Captain Harris appeared at my shoulder.
‘You all set?’ I asked him.
‘Just six of us going, because the locals don’t use clever radios or sat phones, no signals intel.’
I nodded. ‘It is a backwater.’
Coaches led to a plane sat waiting on the apron in Bristol Airport, no passports shown, and we boarded unseen, the aircraft offering seats at the front only. My men were split between the two flights, the RAF medics boarding with me, greetings extended, and we were soon in the air – and soon badly buffeted by British weather till we got above thirty thousand feet.
Seatbelt sign off, I went back to the medics, finding our medic from Angola all smiles, Fl Lt Morten keen to chat. I showed them the map and the FOB, told them conditions would be very unsanitary, and that we could be there a few weeks. They were still keen.