Immediate Action (49 page)

    "Okay, there's you and Dave two, and I'll get another four on it.

    I've got a Wessex coming in to pick you up and fly you down to meet up with A Squadron. The QRF you've got are two call signs of H.M.S.U."

    All in all, there were just over a hundred people involved, plus the expense of flying A Squadron over for the recce. Pete said, "This is the most outrageous recce we've ever done. You'd better find it!"

    When we landed in the Wessex, there was a hive of activity at the SF base. The H.M.S.U had turned up. Because of some of the experiences we'd had with the army QRF, the Regiment and Det now always used the H.M.S.U. We had a really good relationship with them: We'd go to their houses; we knew each other; we got on really well. On jobs like this it tended to be the same faces every time.

    A Squadron were on the team; they'd taken all their black kit off, got hold of the boats, and got on the Chinook. They thought it was great. I found them pumping up their boats, checking the engines and putting dry bags (diver's dry suit) on. They didn't have a clue yet what was going on. All they'd been told was to get over here and sort themselves out.

    The H.M.S.U were unloading their bags into the accommodation. They would stay here and come screaming out in their armored Sierra 4x4s if Dave 2 and I were in the shit. They were expecting to be there for the next two week and. were smacking their lips at the thought of all the sovertime.

    I got everybody together and explained what was going to be happening.

    "We're going to leave from here in the two Geminis. Once we get to the dropoff point one of the Boat Troop boys will swim and check the shoreline to make sure everything's all right for us to land.

    "Once we've landed, A Squadron will stay where they are, with Rick and Eno. Dave and myself will then start going forward to do the CTR. The general route we're going to take is along the hedge line here, then start working our way north.

    "You can see on the map the checkpoints I've marked.

    When I reach them, I'll radio back to the boats so you'll know where I am. If we find a hide, then depending on the time, I'll call in Rick and Eno, and they'll put in the technical attack. If not, the cutoff time stays as it is and we'll come back tomorrow night. Easy!"

    It looked more like a fighting patrol than a recce patrol. We had two boats, A Squadron were in their dry bags ready for the swim; two Det blokes in each boat, both in full uniform, bergens on, carrying G3s, all cammed up and ready to go for it.

    We all trundled down to the boats, only to discover that the edge of the lake further down was lined with civvies with fishing rods. I'd wanted to start trogging down the river toward the lake so that just as it was last I light, we'd have traveled some of the distance. Instead we had to sit there, waiting for the fishermen to go home.

    At last light we paddled our way down river until we got on the lough, then opened up the engines. The Geminis bounced up and down in the chop, the Boat Troop wearing their PNGs (passive night goggles) as they navigated us to the dropoff point. It was totally dark, and I felt as if we were on the sea. Finally the engines stopped, and they started paddling in a bit. Two blokes, each with a weapon, jumped into the water in their dry bags and fins and disappeared.

    The flash of their red torch told us that they had cleared the beach. We paddled into the edge, and the boats ' were tied up. We put our bergens on and set off, carrying photography kit and large radices so we could communicate with the rest of the patrol. I thought there was no way we'd find it on the first night, but at least we'd have a rough idea of the ground and could come back time and again and dissect it.

    At about twelve-thirty we were moving up a hedge line. Ahead of us in a corner of the field we could make out the shape of what must have once been an old workshop or farm building. The ends were semicircular and built of breeze blocks, and the roof had been corrugated Iron.

    The metal sheeting was rusty and full of holes and in most places had fallen down onto old lengths of wood, broken bricks, bottles filled up with mud. Sitting to the right was a rusting 1950s-style tractor without tires. Debris lay all around: empty paint tins, rolls of

    

    

    moldy old carpet, plastic fertilizer sacks, and little piles of rubble.

    About fifty meters beyond was a row of four or five traditional-looking terraced houses, probably built in the days of tenant farming. The people who lived in them now perhaps still worked the land-but obviously weren't very tidy.

    As we started to walk closer, we, had a good look at the layout of the buildings. Obviously they would have to be searched at some stage, but that 'would take a night in itself. Then I spotted something that had been obscured from our view by the dead tractor. A number of large-diameter four-foot-long plastic drainage pipes, each with a male and female end, were stacked up against the building. There were three on the bottom of the pile and two on the top, but the strange thing about the arrangement was that the ends against the wall were draped over with newspaper. At what should have been the open ends of the pipes was a small pile of bricks; above that were pieces of corrugated iron that looked out of place, because they just didn't look ramshackle enough. I looked at the stack and thought, No, it's far too obvious; we've got that as a marker; let's carry on with the patrol and go and see what other possibles there are. Otherwise we could spend all night doing this because it would take a long time to dismantle, and if it turned out not to be a hide, we'd have lost a lot of valuable time. We kept on going and were looking at a small culvert that ran under a track. We checked a rubbish tip area, looking for large drums. It was a pain in the arse because it had to be done slowly. We had to make sure we didn't leave sign.

    Dave 2 came up and said, "Tell you what, let's go back and have a look at that marker. You never know."

    The site was surrounded by long grass. Some of it on the right-hand side had been trodden down, but that meant nothing. We went around the edge, crouched down, and looked. We studied it for about five or ten minutes to make sure that we could recognize exactly how it looked. I took some I.R photography of it.

    We then started to take off the top layer of wriggly tin. This was quite a pain in the arse: There was the risk of noise, and as we moved each sheet, it scraped against the others. It was also slightly dug into the mud, so to make sure that the earth was still nicely presented, it was a lift, a push up and a bring out. As the wriggly tin started to come off, Dave 2 would pass it to me, and I would then lay it out on the ground in order so we knew exactly what bit of which went where.

    As soon as we had also got a couple of the bricks out of the way and there was just enough room to peer inside, Dave 2 got out his Maglite torch and shone the tiny beam down into the pipes. He couldn't see anything. We started pulling off more bricks, one by one. It was like a surgical operation; I was laying them in a specific order so I knew which went where and we could put them back exactly as we had found them.

    Dave was taking his time, looking at every brick before he lifted it up.

    He took one brick off-nothing.

    Another-nothing. Then all of a sudden he leaned back, gave me a thumbs-up, and whispered, "Bingo!"

    It was the word everybody liked to hear on the net.

    "Don't know what it is," he whispered, "but it's definitely a hide."

    I got the radio out and communicated back to the boats. "Hello, Lima, this is Alpha, over." I got nothing.

    I tried again. The hide must be in a blind spot. I knew that without comms the blokes would be flapping because they didn't know where we were on the ground and therefore couldn't back us quickly if we had a drama. It was now about one-thirty. I sat there pissed off that we weren't getting any comms and worked Out that by the time we walked to the boats to pick the lads up and bring them back to the hide, then larked the weapons and replaced the hide, we'd have run out of dark time hours. That meant me and Dave 2 staying on the target and everybody else going back and then returning the following night.

    We both started to put the bricks and tin back in order, Dave 2 putting his hand out for each item like a surgeon requesting instruments. It had taken us an hour to open up the hide, checking all the time for telltales and that the cache wasn't rigged up with a booby trap, and it now took us as long to put everything back.

    "I could see some longs wrapped in black plastic bags and some more shit deeper in ilie hide. I couldn't make it out," he said.

    We moved back down to the boats, and I explained what was going on.

    "Dave two and I'll just sleep here on the shore," I said. "We won't watch the hide-it's pointless, it's too exposed-but we want to make sure we can go back at last light, and that gives us an extra two hours to get the tech attack in. We can get the kit out as they are moving to us."

    Next day we just sat there and lay up in the shade, watching the fishing boats and pleasure craft on the lough. One of us went on stag while the other one slept.

    About two hours before last light we got back on the radio and spoke to' the blokes on the boats to check that everything was okay and that they were ready to move as soon as it was dark enough.

    At last light we went straight up to the hide. As we started to pull it apart, the lights of the houses were still on. It was so close I could hear a toilet being flushed.

    We uncovered an Aladdin's cave of AK47s, shotguns, small hand-held radios, and ammunition wrapped up in ski masks.

    Now all we had to do was wait for Rick and Eno.

    Time dragged on and on, and because of the blind spot, we still had no comms, even when we tried moving position.

    It was now coming up to about one o'clock. I started to get worried.

    It was going to get fairly light come about four. By two o'clock still nothing had happened. We made a plan: At three o'clock, if no one had reappeared, we'd have to block up the hide and bluff it.

    This was worrying. This was our second visit, and this time the weapons ad been unwrapped. I didn't want to rush replacing the hide if Rick and Eno didn't turn up.

    By about twenty past two we didn't even need night viewing aids as we watched the boys trogging up the hill.

    "The fucking engine gave up halfway across!" Rick said. "We've been paddling like lunatics for the last two hours." Eno was by now doing his job. His annoying personal trait of being so precise and neat made him ideal for this type of work.

    "We've got to rush it," I said. "It's going to be light soon."

    "I've got theIR photography you took last light. You might as well look at it; it's light enough." Dave 2 and I covered them as they got on with it. It was nearly daylight when we started putting the stuff back.

    Cocks were crowing. By the time we finished and got back to the powerless Gemini it was breakfast time and we had to paddle in broad daylight to meet the other boat that had been sent to fetch us.

    My tour with the Det finished in late 1988. When I came back, everything between Fiona and me was different. I didn't know what it was, whether it was because we'd spent so much time apart, but there was a definite air of independence between us. It wasn't a case of me coming home to Fiona and Kate; the way I was feeling it was coming home to Kate, which was the wrong way around.

    Running up to Christmas, I went away on another job for a while, and it was as if I'd never been at home. I yearned for Kate, the product of the relationshi, rather than the relationship itself. Fiona an p d I didn't exactly row about things, but there were times when we sat down and had to have some really serious talks about the direction we were going. Both of us knew there were problems, but both of us thought that we could work it out. However, my priorities were work, Kate, Fiona, and she probably sensed that.

    Eno started to have a few problems with his marriage, too, and it eventually broke up. Maybe it was the same in the police force or the fire brigade, but people in the Regiment always seemed to be divorcing, remarrying, redivorcing, and always for the same reason. It took an enormous amount of effort and dedication for a bloke to have got where he was and to stay there, and almost inevitably there was -a conflict. our of us were sitting in a Portakabin listening to the slime telling us what was going on. Outside, the sun was shining, but it*asn't as hot as I'd expected for this part of the world. All around us on the walls were maps, Magic Marker boards, and cork boards.

    The Int boy finished off by saying, "Well, that's it. I know you're not going to ask any questions, because it's a waste of time. I don't know the answers."

    "So basically we're going to do something, but we don't know what, where, when, or how. We just sit here and pick our arses, do we?"

    "Yeah, that's about the size of it. Have a look at what information there is on the board, and we'll start squaring it away tomorrow. The G Squadron blokes you're taking over from are away on the ranges at the moment; they'll be back tomorrow."

    We had a quick look at the pictures of the city and personalities, but the faces were familiar, enough, and at this stage everybody was more interested in getting a few rays.

    We walked outside onto the pan in our jeans, T-shirts, and trainers. The sun was blinding. On the pan were Chinooks and Pumas and a couple of aircrew mincing around on them.

    James, one of the team, said, "Not hot enough to sunbathe in, but all right for a run."

    "Where to?" I said, looking at the barbed-wire fence that surrounded the location. "Talk about keeping the animals from straying."