by Geoff Wolak
‘Bit cheeky, and no respect for rank. Will you get into trouble for that?’
‘No,’ I said. I testily added, ‘I’m a valuable asset, bringer of good newspaper headlines.’
‘It was the same in the Falklands, and after they accidentally shot an SBS lad they joked about it, was a punch-up at one point on the ship, Canberra.’
I nodded. ‘The French you see here, they’re special forces, yet they salute and say sir, so do the Americans and ... most everyone apart from the Brits. The bad attitude is passed down to new lads when they join.’
‘And this lot?’ he asked, getting stared at by some of the lads.
‘Better, but we’re not big on rigid structures, and we all eat and sleep and fight together, so I don’t expect them to stand when I walk into a room. During the First World War an officer might visit his troops, not sleep in the same room, hence the standards.’
He moved along and chatted to some of the younger lads, getting their perspectives. I went and found the communal toilets, had a shit and then a wash with my top off, my rifle always to hand, a few RAF Regiment lads cleaning up.
The journalist appeared next to me. ‘If the Serb lads saw you like that they would think you a fucking ghost.’
I nodded at him, and took in my reflection in a cracked mirror.
He risked, ‘If I ... got you together with the Serb lad. Would you ... meet him?’
I took a moment. ‘What’ll you get out of it?’
‘A photo, and when I finish the book it’ll be in it, last page, you and him.’
‘A reconciliation?’ I said as I put my shirt back on. ‘An easing of whose conscience?’
‘You regret killing the young lads, I can see it in you. It would be a human interest story.’
I made a face. ‘Maybe, if I live long enough. Might be killed next week.’
‘Does that not bother you?’
‘Not really, no. This is all I know now, and ... I gave a speech to the lads a while back, after someone criticised how many men we killed on a job. I told them – that for every bad guy we kill ten others will live, so we keep a score.
‘At the start, in Bosnia, I regretted killing the Serbs, then – on the walk out – I found the mass graves, saw the raping and killing, and I stopped feeling sorry for them. It just needed to be put in context. If you’d seen what some of that Serb’s friends were doing, you’d have puked.’
He nodded. ‘I reported on the massacres.’
I led him outside, following concrete paths through the sandy soil. ‘In London I got together with the men and women I saved in Bosnia, and that got this all into context, and I met the hostages we rescued down here and elsewhere, as well as their families, and that also gets it into context. If I kill a dozen fighters next week, how many civilians will be saved their fate, how many villages not burnt down?
‘That trooper I hit, he doesn’t know why he’s here, many don’t, my lads do. They like to kill the bad guys and get their scores up, and most of them have seen what the bad guys do to women and children, and they sleep well at night knowing that our fights are not unjust or simply political.’
‘And your take on Northern Ireland?’
‘I’d pull the Army out and leave them to it. We took the land by force, like Gibraltar.’
‘You reputedly killed many IRA gunmen...’ he floated as we walked.
‘Yes, but I wounded many more, so that they would stand trial. I have no regrets about the men I killed there, since they would’ve set off bombs. If they had met us in a field, like soldiers, fair enough, but bombs kill women and children.’
We arrived back at the hut. Sergeant Crab was waiting.
‘Sergeant?’ I asked.
He glanced at the journalist. ‘We’re sorry about that idiot, we’ll send him back. He was out of order big time. Just that ... the lads wanted you to know that.’
‘Thank you, Sergeant, we’ll try and move on and do the job we came to do. Oh, and ... why don’t you give our reporter here your perspective on Djibouti.’
I left the two of them outside and claimed my uncomfortable bed.
‘Don’t let it get to you,’ Swifty firmly told me. A few of the lads turned my way. ‘The guy is a knob.’
I nodded. ‘That rape allegation will never go away, they never do.’
‘You’ve been accused of worse, and you’ve done much worse, so keep it in context, eh,’ Swifty urged. ‘Or I’ll beat you senseless.’
I cocked an eyebrow at him as Rocko laughed.
I was up early, the sky a dark blue, and seeing steps up the side of the hangar I climbed up, taking in the airfield, and where everything was. I was on one of three hangars, old and rusted, a handful of Pumas on the apron, and now I could see two white Cessnas, presumably for us. Across the airfield were sheds and some sort of industrial area, a brick building with a company logo on it.
To the right of me were the sprawling huts, and I could see the medical tents, and behind the hangars sat two-storey brick buildings, an old control tower in the distance, but I could not see anyone in it. I could see the outer fence and the access road, beyond it a row of plastic sheets protecting crops, small abodes dotted about, low hills in the distance.
I could see a shooting range, that would be helpful, and little else before I clambered down; we were in a flat expanse of nothingness.
As a group we wandered around to the canteen, a handful of French soldiers around, and we claimed trays and plates, knives and forks, large black French soldiers serving us scrambled eggs and potatoes, bread, and apple juice. It would have to do.
Others arrived as we left, and at 9am I sent people out with messages - a meeting of all staff in the hangar in fifteen minutes. Ambling around to the hangar we found our two RAF Cessna pilots.
‘Where did you sleep?’ I asked them, the lads halting behind me.
‘Pilots room, camp beds, not too bad.’
‘Are those Cessnas serviceable?’ I asked.
‘We checked the logs, they’re fine, recent service. There’s a maintenance shed and two qualified French civilians, as well as French Air Force ground crews, and fuel.’
‘Good, follow us.’
I waited as the various groups arrived, most just ambling in, the RAF Regiment marching in, and I could not see the trooper I hit.
When it looked like all of them I stood on a jeep. ‘Gather around please.’ I waited. ‘We don’t have a command building yet, so no command room. Henri, try and find one.’ He nodded. ‘What will happen today ... is not much, as we check kit and acclimatise. We’re also waiting more kit and jeeps, and the French promised us extra jeeps, suitable jeeps.
‘All of your units, keep men – or ladies – on stag at all times, trust no one local, but you can trust the French here. SAS, check all your kit, test your jeeps, drive around the perimeter and have a look, there is a shooting range.’ I pointed. ‘Use it in rotation, I want no one sat around getting bored.
‘Paras, check your kit and take a long walk around the perimeter, stretch your legs, use the range. RAF Regiment, static guards and roving patrols, you know what to do, and maybe we’ll get you some jeeps soon.
‘Medics, check your kit and get ready, but there won’t be any patrols for a day or so. You can use the range, and you can walk around the base midday with backpacks, and that will help with fitness.
‘Cessna pilots, check the aircraft, take them up and test them, then take up those of my lads that are flyers, two hour sessions. I then want you to design a navigation exercise for my lads, an hour’s flight out, hour’s flight back, but over safe areas – not over the border yet or the desert, follow roads.
‘I then want you to plan an exercise for my flyers where they go out to a place – having found it first, and they use binoculars to study it – they’re not allowed closer than a mile, and when back they draw a picture of it, compared against the map. I want that moving along quickly, so pilots – you have something to do straight away.
&nb
sp; ‘OK, tomorrow morning, 9am, all troop sergeants and officers will meet in the command room, when we have a command room that is, and each day the same. All units are to keep a record of stores, what’s used, and we’ll try and get a French liaison for water and food and fuel, but the next Hercules flight, due this morning, should have additional ground crews and supplies.
‘Captain Moran, Swifty – with the pilots. Staff Sergeant Rizzo, your troop on the range for an hour, Staff Sergeant Rocko, take yours for a run please, then swap – but always have a man in our hut, or an RAF Regiment lad outside.
‘Oh, while I remember, we have a journalist with us from The Sun newspaper. You can all chat to him and answer questions, but we also have a major from the Press Corp, so what you say might not be printed. Medics, you can be photographed and give stories, so too the RAF Regiment, and Paras if you like. Thank you, everyone. Dismissed.’
Outside, I called the Major.
‘Bradley here.’
‘It’s Wilco, sir, just giving you an update. All the various teams are in place now, training and acclimatisation underway.’
‘Any problems?’
‘I hit one of Sergeant Crab’s men, if you call that trouble.’
‘I’d call that trouble, yes. How badly is he hurt?’
‘He’ll live, they stopped me before I shot him.’
‘Why were you going to shoot him?’
‘He asked me if I would be popping out to rape the local women.’
‘That’s not on, and no respect for an officer either. Still, his new major will have to deal with it, and complain to me about you.’
‘Perhaps you should go see him, sir, I’ve sent the man back, the rest apologised for him, wanted to stay.’
‘They don’t want to upset you, no, get no more jobs, but you have to resist hitting the men under you.’
‘And how would I look in front of the men if I issued a warning and a small fine.’
‘Like the rest of our officers!’ Bradley stated.
‘I’m not like them, never will be, and I won’t take shit like that. If he’s that disrespectful, then what happens when it gets tough and I give him an order he doesn’t like?’
‘Point taken, you’re in a war zone, need to trust them, but still – work hard at it, you’re a captain now.’
‘How’re things ... back at base?’
‘Seems like Colonel Peter’s is unwell following a road traffic accident, so we have the admin Major holding the fort with a colonel down from UKSF at the moment. Colonel Richards is still here, but he won’t want stay long, he has plane tickets and he sold his house.’
‘Pity about the new colonel, eh. I’ll call you if anything interesting happens here.’
An hour later a Hercules landed, soon followed by a second, and a Squadron Leader I recognised came over to me as we observed the aircraft unload, our signals and intel stepping down with their kit.
I saluted him. ‘Hello again, sir.’
‘I should have been here yesterday, sorry, bit of a cock-up. I’ll be handling all the logistics, I have a French liaison officer as well – somewhere – and I know the layout of this place.’
‘We’re settled into the huts, no idea where your accommodation is, sir.’
‘I do,’ he said with a cheery smile.
Captain Harris approached.
‘Nice of you to finally join us,’ I quipped.
‘Sat at Lyneham for a day.’ He rolled his eyes.
‘Find a hut, there are some empty, then find the command room, try and sleep next to it if there’s space.’ He led his team off.
We observed as a fuel buggy was pushed off the Hercules and around, but this was diesel fuel for jeeps, and it was followed by several large pallets on wheels, six men each to push the pallets, and we were soon very well stocked, one pallet containing water bottles.
I left him to it and wandered towards the range as a Cessna took off, soon followed by a second. At the range, cracks sounding out, I found Rizzo shouting at the younger lads, encouraging faster movement, more accurate aim.
Stood next to him, I said, ‘Later, get the brown cloth, go to the edge of the airfield and try creating shell scrapes and hides, then call me to have a look.’
He nodded. ‘Warms up quickly here,’ he noted.
‘It’s not summer yet, so we should be OK. Be a bitch here in August.’
‘We’d fucking cook standing up!’
Back at the hangar I found a line of six French jeeps, desert brown, but these looked more like Range Rovers at a safari park than our open-top jeeps, and each had seats for six, roof racks for kit. I had them moved inside the hangar to keep their inside temperatures bearable.
I was then informed that there were six French soldiers to drive them if we needed them, so I intercepted Rocko and had his troop given lessons by those French drivers. ‘I want all our lads to be expert, and soon!’ I told him.
An hour later I jogged through the heat to the east and to the perimeter, Rizzo stood waving me over. Standing back, I inspected the shell scrapes and camouflage hides, offering comments.
With silencers fitted, I had them fire rounds whilst I stood off to one side, and at fifty yards the lads were invisible, so someone at four hundred yards had little chance of seeing them.
After evening meal, which was passable, I put Rizzo’s troop on driver training, everyone having a go, and Moran and Swifty joined in when back from flying.
That evening we found several uninvited guests in the hut, our guests either flying in, crawling in or slithering in, some adopted as pets, some stomped on.
When two shots rang out we grabbed weapons and moved outside ready, finding that the 2 Squadron lads had killed a large black snake. Back in the hut, we all checked carefully under beds and behind cabinets, Rocko finding a small scorpion.
The morning command meeting was held in the designated command room in one of the brick buildings, maps on walls and on a large table at the front, French signallers plus our intel and signals staff in the next room, our RAF logistics officer stood with his bored French counterpart – who looked like he wanted to be somewhere else, or anywhere else.
There were not enough chairs for everyone, so a few stood at the rear.
‘OK, settle down,’ I called. ‘Right, we now have our logistics officer and French counterpart with us, so we can expect smooth sailing as far as supplies go. My team now have jeeps, we have fuel, and so we can make a start on the job at hand. OK, Cessna pilots, what did you get done yesterday?’
‘We took up two of your flyers, basic circuits and bumps, and then a map reading exercise – they did OK. Today we’ll do the recon exercise.’
‘OK good, but we have four flyers, so you might have a long day, and do some night flying training as well for them please.
‘Sergeant Crab, if you look on the map you’ll see that the access road is south, that it turns east out the gate and then there’s a long straight road to the border. At the border the road goes north fifty miles and bends back around. Work out a circuit, send two patrols – one in either direction, have a look, stay armed, but we don’t expect too much hassle this side of the border.
‘Rules of engagement are – if they shoot at you then you shoot back without pursuing, and you try and avoid confrontations yet. After dark I want that repeated, different teams. Paras, you now have four jeeps, yes?’
‘Yes, sir,’ they agreed.
‘When you’re happy that they’re serviceable and tested, loaded with kit, you will take my French sergeant Henri -’ I pointed him out. ‘- with you, a small patrol. Go east to the border, you’ll see a road south, go fifty miles, have a look, perform a foot patrol near the border – an hour or so, then back, rotate your men after dark for the same patrol. Rules of engagement are the same, take the advice of Henri.
‘Staff Sergeant Rizzo, load up two of our new jeeps, put your men in it, drive west and then southwest, you’ll see hills. Go fifty miles, cook lunch, short foot patrol, b
ack for sundown, get a feel for the terrain, practise shell scrapes and camouflage, fire a few rounds if no one is around, use silencers.
‘Staff Sergeant Rocko, have your men practise on jeeps, use the range, and I want a foot patrol around the outside of this base, a mile out. Look for tracks, as well as anyone showing an interest in us.
‘Intel, I want regular reports of what’s happening over the border, and local radio traffic. You’re our eyes and ears.
‘RAF Regiment, maintain static guards and foot patrols inside the wire. Keep your men fit with long patrols in the heat, good for losing weight, but also use the range. You can have two of our French jeeps to use for patrols. Oh, and find some binoculars, put a man up on the hangar roof – there are steps, one hour rotations or they’ll cook. Medics, we don’t have anything for you yet, so get a tan as you keep fit.’
‘We have a French lad with an infected cut, we have a scorpion sting, and a bunch of locals who want free health care – so we’re keeping busy.’
I smiled. ‘I have no problem at all with a little hearts and minds for the locals, just keep security tight, please.’
With the men leaving to their assigned duties, the RAF planning officer closed in. ‘So what’s the plan?’
I showed him the map. ‘Two hundred miles over here are hostages, and a bunch of bad boys attacking the French, as well as attacking the local police and soldiers, so we’ll go attack them when we know where they are – and when the lads are acclimatised and ready. No hurry, it’s all good experience.’
Two hours later and the panic alarm was hit by Captain Harris, those men left called in, Rocko and his troop, Pumas made ready, medics onboard. A foreign-owned mine in Mali had been hit, seventy miles due east, and we flew there in four Pumas, the ground below featureless and inhospitable for the most part, the rest looking like the surface of some alien planet.
Landing, we were informed that the attackers had fled north more than an hour earlier, so we loaded the wounded, many in need of urgent care, and we reversed our course, medics working on the wounded in the backs of helicopters.