by Geoff Wolak
‘As an aside, I’ve asked for running machines to be brought in, so when it’s shitty outside you can run in the gym, eight at a time, and there’ll be a standard requirement for an hour a day for everyone when you’re not elsewhere.
‘OK, a few of the language tutors are here today. Rocko, Rizzo, see if the Ross-on-Wye range is free, have Tomo and Smitty run around and shoot, plus anyone not fully utilised, I have things to sort out today.’
I got a call in to the Air Commodore and dragged him out of a meeting by accident.
‘Sorry, sir, didn’t know you were busy.’
‘Quite alright, what you after?’
‘The RAF medics, with Fl Lt Morten: how about an elite team of ten or so, parachute trained, and they follow us around, a surgical capability.’
‘Excellent idea, which I shall say was my own.’
‘Best way, sir.’
‘Leave it with me, I already issued an order to 7 Squadron, standard monthly exercise - SME, a disused airfield with no electricity or water in East Anglia. They have to do it once a month at least, same for Hercules crew, RAF Regiment in tow.’
‘Seems like it’s coming together, sir, but a war would do that for us.’
‘Well, the whole point is we need to be ready first, not learn on the job. And in effect, all we’re doing is winding back the clock twenty years to a Cold War mentality. All I need do is think like I did at twenty five.’
‘Should please your wife, sir.’
He laughed loudly. ‘Forget I said that, cheeky bastard.’
My next call was the CO of 2 Squadron, eventually put through.
‘Wilco, my lad, calling so soon, need our help with anything?’
‘Well, sir, following my chat with the Prime Minister and the Air Commodore, they suggested you might put together a volunteer unit, a small unit of your best men, call it Echo Flight maybe after my unit, and that we train together – in that they’d come to me for some training.’
‘Already discussed such a thing, be operating before you know it, volunteer basis to encourage competition.’
‘As soon as you’re ready, sir, and you have the team, let me know. But you’ll have to ask for Captain Milton at the Switchboard.’
‘Captain?’
‘Acting Captain, just within my unit, Prime Minister wasn’t happy that a lowly sergeant organised jobs like Angola.’
‘Well, yes, is a bit odd. Speak soon ... Captain.’
Next came the SBS Major, Tetherington.
‘Wilco?’
‘Yes, sir. Got a minute?’
‘Sure, fire away.’
‘I spoke to the Prime Minister yesterday, as well as senior officers, and things are moving forwards with a few units. If you wish to join that party then I suggest that you create a volunteer unit, eight men say ... that come together to train with us, in addition to any on loan. That group would be called upon first in a joint operation, and I’d give them training scenarios often.’
‘We’re keen, yes, and we have four lads up to Brecon next week, see how they do. So far three volunteers to work with you for a year.’
‘They’ll come back with a few scars, sir, so ... family men might be an issue.’
‘It’s all a risk, diving, parachuting, they know the risks.’
‘The volunteers will need to do the three day scenario, sir.’
‘Two have done.’
‘Their scores?’
‘Seventy eight and eighty one.’
‘Would need those up a bit, sir, my lads hit ninety five, your man Elkin was over ninety.’
‘We’re aware of that, so they know what they need to do. Third lad is a Kiwi, and I’d bet a tenner on him surprising you.’
‘Is he coming up next week?’
‘He is, name is Mouri, a bit like Maori, half caste lad, shit hot.’
‘I’ll do his final day myself, sir.’
I sat with Moran and O’Leary, pads and paper ready. ‘Right, how about ... External Member Echo Detachment, as a title someone has if they volunteer to it, pass the three day with a good score, meet other criteria, and have the right attitude. They would stay where they are, such as the Marines and Paras, but could be called upon if need be.
‘Bob is not keen, he wants a small tight unit, but we have to keep the Prime Minister and others happy. We also have to face the fact that if a helicopter went down, or a Tristar, we’d be out of lads and no longer a unit. So a distributed workforce seems best.
‘So ... if we had two troops here permanently, and say four troops outside, any job where two lads are shot and killed means we ask for volunteers to step in.’ I held my hands wide.
‘Gives us the numbers,’ Moran said, ‘without this room being too full. If someone like Elkin existed, was training with us, but lived down in Poole with the SBS, then yeah ... he’s a member, just not under our feet all the time.’
O’Leary said, ‘Be like a two-tier system; those who are in and ready, those waiting to get in but are trained ready. If we have a few lads wounded we have temporary replacements in a day, keeps operational capacity up. Bob would see the benefits.’
‘Technically, all of “E” Squadron are part-time anyhow,’ I put in. ‘Just that I altered it a bit.’
Moran said, ‘We need a selection process, and a re-selection annual process, and a training schedule, then joint exercises.’
I readied my pad and paper. ‘So let’s work that out. Ten mile run, twenty mile, speed march, three-day scenario once a year – and as selection.’ They made notes.
Moran said, ‘That place in Morocco, they should all do that once, and I’d say a three day exercise with us once a month at least, if not more.’
I put in, ‘How about they all do one day a month on the Brecon Range, a simple hill walk speed march one day and shooting the next, a kind of two-day scenario, not as tough; we have the facilities. I’d then have them choose when to do courses like fence climbing, house breaking, photography, Russian weapons – the kind of things they won’t normally get access to.’
Moran said, ‘We need them to come together, and meet each other, that is the whole point – that we know them and get along with them.’
I nodded. ‘At least once a month,’ I agreed, making notes. ‘I’m going to try and create an exercise, a suitable one, but the three-day scenario is too tough, might put them off if they have to do that every month – it would with our lot.’
Moran nodded. ‘I’m not looking forwards to doing that again.’
With the detail ready I had it typed up and sent to Bob, and I left O’Leary to explain it up the line. I had been called across, and in front of quite a crowd in the Admin Section the Colonel presented my captain’s pips, placing them on.
‘Does this mean I should uphold the traditions of the British officer elite ... and not kill large numbers of people, some with my bare hands and teeth?’ I quipped, making them laugh.
‘It’s not normally the done thing,’ the Colonel said, ‘unless you’re wearing the correct bib and tucker.’ I saluted him, and he nodded. ‘Captain. The RSM has your course details and homework.’
Back at the detachment they noticed the pips and stood, mocking salutes given by a few.
Moran said, ‘You’ll have to stop calling me sir.’
‘That could take some getting used to, sir. You’re a proper officer, I’m just a paper one.’
Bob came down the next day, and smiled at my pips. ‘Captain,’ he said, and it sounded odd still. His running machines had turned up an hour before him, the PTIs setting them up in a room off the old gym, which saw little use anyhow.
Bob added, ‘I have a factory for you, disused of course, near Leominster. Was a paint factory, went bust, up for sale, no buyers. The man with the keys will meet us there in an hour.’
I grabbed Moran and we headed out, chatting as we went, soon up past Leominster and east a bit, finding a sprawling factory in the middle of nowhere. It had a tall tower, two large office blocks two
storeys high, large sheds, drains and ditches, open spaces, it was great.
The fence was in good repair, and it would keep prying eyes at least a hundred yards from any exercise, a row of trees helping to hide the inside detail. Since it was surrounded by brown muddy fields I was not worried about security, the whole complex about three hundred yards long, two hundred wide.
‘Bob, I want it, two year lease,’ I told him. ‘I can think of a dozen exercises to hold just here, and not just for us. We can get 7 Squadron choppers in here, it’s big enough.’
‘I can get it for next to nothing. Would you ... blow up the buildings?’
‘No, might blow off some doors.’ I pointed. ‘See that grass area, have several types of fence put up, each more secure than the last, numerous sections.’ He made notes. ‘See that second office block over there, fence around it, a good one, all the tricks, and repair the doors if need be. Inside the fence I want guard towers, guard house simulated, dog kennels.’
‘Escape from Colditz,’ he quipped.
‘Break into Colditz,’ Moran corrected him.
‘Not a bad idea,’ I told Bob. ‘Bob, see that open area at the back, put in two standard Army huts, wooden, a mess hall and a guardroom and dog kennels, fence around it, then an outer fence. We’ll have lads in there as prisoners, see if they can escape.’
‘Great idea,’ Bob enthused.
‘And have your house-breaking guy come up, install doors and windows, and plan a course and test.’ I faced him squarely. ‘What I want to achieve here, Bob, is a large scale and complex infiltration exercise, several teams, coordination, difficult fences, difficult doors, dogs, patrols, blowing doors open, clearing rooms, rescuing people.’
‘It could be used by others?’ he asked.
‘Definitely, all regular SAS and SBS, as well as any spy types you have. You ... have any spy types, Bob?’
He smiled. ‘A couple, yes, and this would be good for them once set up.’
‘Line the inside of the office blocks with wood, and -’ I pointed. ‘- dirt banks ten feet high along that side. There are houses down there, more than a thousand yards out, but still - safety first. Would need permission for live fire exercises in here.’
‘Most exercises would be at night,’ Moran put in. ‘No famers in their fields, and I can’t see any cows to worry about – and we know how much you like shooting cows.’
I gave him a pointed finger as he smirked. We climbed an external fire exit to a roof.
‘No cows for you to shoot,’ Moran confirmed. ‘Just fields, looks like potatoes.’
‘Bob, get the local farmer on board, keep him sweet,’ I suggested. ‘Offer him compensation now and then if we cross his fields, or land by helo.’
Moran said, ‘Those are not houses, but outbuildings.’
I had a look. ‘Yep.’
‘Can’t see a house,’ Bob said, and we looked all around.
‘MOD will still need permission for live firing,’ I suggested.
‘If the farmer is on board, only he could complain,’ Bob pointed out.
I pointed. ‘That gatehouse, do it up, make it an apartment for permanent staff, metal shutters on windows – bullet proof, security guard you can trust.’ I pointed. ‘See that tower, we want infra red cameras, and on these buildings, and a recording system so that we can play back what the teams did and discuss it.’
I faced Bob. ‘If we get this right, then this will be the premier spot for hostage rescue training, complex scenarios, get the French over. I see the teams sneaking up, dealing with the fences, avoiding the dogs, getting access to the buildings or the roof, building clearing, hostages out, helos come in. I’d also use it for those paintball guns, two teams coming at each other. Or one team on defence, other trying to get inside.
‘Budget for this should be part Army, Bob, because regular SAS will use it, SBS, others.’
Getting back, the RSM informed me that someone had smashed in my car’s passenger side window, no witnesses. Inspecting the car, I was mad as hell, a few suspects in mind amongst the regulars. With Swifty following me in my car – a hell of a cold draft for me, I drove to the garage I used down the Abergavenny Road, both of us in uniform.
‘You a captain now?’ the owner asked me in a Welsh accent.
‘I am, I’m afraid. Take a look at the passenger window, I need it replaced as soon as you can.’
‘Leave it yer, try and get one for the morning.’
I checked the glove compartment, under the seats, and took my spare kit and first aid pack out of the boot.
‘No guns or bombs in there I hope,’ the owner fired at me as I dumped my stuff in Swifty’s car.
‘Check underneath for bombs before you hand it back,’ I told him.
Back at the detachment I told the lads what had happened, and they wanted blood, a few suspects in mind as well. I grabbed O’Leary. ‘I want a man that’s expert with small cameras, to fit one to a hut and one to my car, and I want him tomorrow. Get onto Bob.’
The man arrived the following evening, and in my apartment’s underground car park he fitted two small cameras in the passenger headrest. I drove him to the base at 8pm, few people about, and he fitted hidden cameras to a hut, a wire back across to my offices, and to a video recorder with an eight hour tape.
We were set. I thanked him and gave him a few quid, and he would be back to collect his expensive kit in a few days – hopefully finding it all intact.
I drove into work as usual and parked where the hidden cameras would cover my car, O’Leary aware of the new bit of kit, and how to rewind and reset the tapes.
Nothing happened that day, but the next lunchtime my window was noticed to have been put in. We wound back the tapes, many eyes keenly observing the footage. A trooper walked past, walked back, checked around, then kicked in my window. Hitchins, Boat Troop, “D” Squadron. I called over the Major, O’Leary warning me off just shooting Hitchins, but I was mad as hell.
The Major watched the footage. ‘Ill charge him and make him pay, but can’t do that with the first window – might not have been him, but I can dock his pay for this one.’
‘That it?’ I asked.
‘You’re a Captain, start acting like one, you can’t beat him up, and someday you may have problems with one of you own lads – what’ll you do then?’
‘Get rid of them if I can’t trust them.’
‘He’s my lad to deal with,’ the Major firmly told me, and he left, leaving me pondering what to do. Beating up Hitchins or shooting him were the most obvious choices, but I was a captain now, and expected to behave like one.
Later, walking over to Admin, Hitchins walked past and gave me the finger rather than a salute. I stood watching him walk off, ready to explode, but torn between what I should do - and what I was expected to do. My thoughts went back to Colonel Richards, and our chats over the garden fence about what he went through.
I went and found the Major, in with the Colonel and the RSM. I saluted. ‘That prick Hitchins just gave me the finger and a broad smile, did you discipline him?’
‘He’s been charged with criminal damage, his wages docked, a few shit jobs this week,’ the Major responded.
‘That’s it?’
‘That’s normal,’ the Major loudly stated. ‘We’re not about to kick him out for stuff like this, we’d have no men left!’
The Colonel began, ‘As a captain, Wilco, how would you deal with this?’
‘Not as you did as a fucking captain. Sir.’
I could see the Colonel recoil, hurt. I stepped closer. ‘Maybe Bob was right, and being off base may help when little shits like that get jealous of me and do my car over.’ I faced the Major. ‘And what about next time?’
‘Then we’d escalate, and he’d be warned with being kicked out, but he doesn’t want his pay check dented, he has a wife and kid.’
I shook my head. ‘I’m the best there is, and I don’t behave like him, the French lads don’t behave like him, so your cult
ure stinks, Major.’
The Major controlled his anger, a glance at the Colonel, and I inched closer again. I focused on the Colonel. ‘What would you do, sir, if you could go back in time to when you were a captain, chatting to me over the garden fence, ready to give up and quit because of shits like Hitchins fucking you over? Would you tolerate it? I learnt from you a valuable lesson at sixteen, and I won’t tolerate it.’
‘He’s SAS, you’re not,’ the Major pointed out, the RSM staying quiet for now. ‘He’s ours to deal with.’
I pointed left, through the wall. ‘He was in Angola for fuck’s sake, he was there when we engaged the enemy brigade, rifle in his hand, twenty yards to my right. If he had aimed left a bit and shot me no one would have ever have known. If he’s so jealous of me that he wants to smash up my car, what about next time there’s a job with him in support?’ I was getting louder.
‘What if there’s a live job next month, and he’s sniper support for me as I withdraw? All he has to do is aim a few inches left and hit me in the leg – no one would ever know. If he’s that obsessed with me, why would he risk his life for me when he can just as easily stick a round in me? Is he going to give me first aid, carry me ten miles on his fucking back?
‘If I can’t trust him, I can’t trust your fucking squadron,’ I shouted at the Major. ‘So I won’t be wanting you in support of my fucking operations. I need men I can trust with my life, not people like him wanting to get at me.’
I jabbed an angry finger at the Colonel. ‘They fucked with your kit when you were a captain, but that shit Hitchins will be fucking with my life on a live job, rifle in his hand, me in his sights. Being a fucking captain is not worth getting killed over, not worth being here, there are other things I could be doing.’
I turned and made a step, then spun around. Roaring, I began, ‘I will not throw my life away because some stupid shit is jealous of me, the risks I take are high enough anyhow.
‘I will not have that man end my career or kill me from some petty jealousy, and I will not have him anywhere near me with a rifle in his hand. I’ll deal with him, you’d better hope I don’t get caught, then you can make your fucking minds up if you want me here or not.’