Chris Ryan (17 page)

kilometres off, but by then the shimmer had gone, and with their telescopes and binoculars the SAS were able to iden�tify them clearly. A quick radio call whipped the coordinates back to base, and a pair of F-16s were scrambled. The TELs looked as though they had just come out to firing positions, and were about to set up for a launch at last light, so that they could run away in the dark if anyone spotted them. A number of smaller vehicles were active round them, but after the SAS had observed them for about forty minutes, moving slowly closer, they all suddenly began to drive away. Clearly they had spotted the dust cloud raised by the approaching enemy, and they were off. For the Scuds, however, it was too late. At last light, before their crews could get them moving, the F-16s came in to hit them with missiles and 1,000-lb bombs. For the onlookers, who by then had moved up to within about four kilometres, it was a phenomenal firework display. Evening haze obscured details on the ground, but the sky lit up with giant flashes, the impact of the bombs made the ground shudder, and the heat from the explosions could be felt. The SAS, talking to the pilots, told them that other Iraqi vehicles had pulled off in a particular direction, and sent them in pursuit. Yet it was not until the next day that they realised the full success of the operation. Only then did they hear that the total bag of Scuds in that one place had been seven or eight. The two they'd seen had been the out�liers of the group. That was just one of many successes. Whenever our guys put in an attack, the Iraqis almost always held or ran away; they hardly ever pushed out. The sight of a dust cloud approaching, and the knowledge that it contained formid�able firepower, was generally enough to send them running. The SAS tactics were to hit hard and disappear quickly. A typical attack would begin with a salvo of 81mm. mortars. As the bombs were falling, the assault party would be creeping in to open up with .50 machine-guns and M19s, as well as twin and single gympis. Once, because of the lie of the ground, they had to dismount and take out bunkers on foot. 228 The One That Got Away Much of the terrain in which the squadrons operated was exactly what I had gone through: a moonscape of black or dark-grey rock and rubble, with large boulders dotted about. At night the units would run back and take up a defensive position, either in a wadi or in the open. If it was the latter, they would make what's known as a fish-hook, driving round in a big loop and coming back almost to the point at which they had swung off their original course, so that they could ambush anyone following up their tracks. Each unit had been allocated a block of territory which it was to search, and gradually, as the guys developed a feel for the ground and for the behaviour of the Iraqis when under attack, they evolved an effective pattern of activity. Generally they would lie up for most of the day, and then, in the afternoon, push out a couple of recces to see what they could find. If they came on to anything, they would take it on just before last light, so that they had time to destroy it, defend themselves and pull out. Their main targets were the towers designed for re�porting air movement. Made of wood and steel, about ten metres high, they reminded everyone of World War Two goon towers set round prison camps. They were defended by forces of no more than platoon strength � about thirty men � most of whom ran away as the vehicles approached. At one, eight Iraqis were taken prisoner. When Bob questioned them, they said exactly what they were doing. They also said that their officer had run away with the radio set, an event that was more or less an SOP for them. They were very frightened, and wanted to go with the British. When they asked where the Brits were going, Bob told them, 'Baghdad.' 'Wh' Y� `To kill Saddam Hussein.' `Good!' Because the guys were low-level squaddies, there was nothing to be gained from sending them back to Saudi. Therefore, after the towers had been blown up, and the weapons and communications equipment destroyed, the Back To Base 229 SAS walked the prisoners about a kilometre out into the desert and left them there with a bucket of water, confident that their own people would come and rescue them before they suffered any serious hardship. Only once did our forces come up against hardened troops, defending a permanent signals outpost. The place had been hit at night by coalition aircraft, and a request came for close-up damage assess�ment. For once the SAS pushed their luck too hard: they found themselves facing a large force of troops who were determined not to move. At about 2200 a gang of four left their vehicle and went in on foot, trying to establish how big the station was. Much of it turned out to be underground, in bunkers, with the de�fenders in slit trenches. Challenged in Arabic, the intruders replied in kind, but immediately came under fire, and the sergeant major was hit in the back. A round went in just beside his spine and came out through his stomach, luckily without hitting any bone. He was carried out of immediate danger by a small lad called Ben (who later won the Military Medal for his gallantry), while their two colleagues gave covering fire. The four of them pepper-potted back to the vehicle, the Land-Rover returned to the rest of the forma�tion, and the whole lot moved off about five kilometres before taking up a position for the night. That same night, further north, the American Delta Force had a big shoot-out and sustained a couple of casual�ties. Next day a helicopter came in to pick them up. The Americans offered to collect the British sergeant major also, but he declined the lift because, along with the OC, he was leading his gang and wanted to stay on the ground. His sense of duty saved his life � for as the helicopter which would have taken him came back into Arar, it crashed just r. short of the base's perimeter, killing everyone on board, in�cluding some of the guys I myself had briefed. The SSM claimed that his wound was not too bad, but by the time two more days had gone by, he was exhausted and glad to be evacuated. The chopper which recovered him also took out the body of the only member of 'A' Squadron to be killed in the entire six-week operation. 230 The One That Got Away When the Iraqi ground forces surrendered, on 28 February, `A' Squadron immediately returned to Saudi territory, but `D' stayed on for a few more days, lying low and keeping abreast of events by listening to the BBC World Service. For them, the ceasefire was something of a disappointment, because they had been planning a joint operation against a number of towers with Delta's Minibugs, their small strike helicopters. With the end of the ground war, this was called off. After three days they pulled back and drove, union jacks flying, down the wadi which they had used as their route in, with A-10s doing rolls and somersaults overhead. Much as I would have liked to take part in all this, I knew I was still a long way from being fit. So when the CO sug�gested that I should go down to the rear base for three days' R & R and then maybe be deployed again, I was staggered. I looked at him and nodded, but I was thinking, Not a chance! There's no way I'm going back over there.' Anyway, I went and packed, and as we were driving towards the control tower the OC suddenly said, 'I think that's your aircraft!' A Hercules was already taxiing into position for take-off, but he screamed across and scorched the Land-Rover to a halt right under its nose. When I got on board, who should I find in charge but the big loadie I'd en�countered at Akrotiri airbase. This time he knew all about me, and apologised for his surly behaviour in Cyprus. Back in the hangar where we'd lived when we reached the Gulf, I got myself a bed-space and went in search of the kit I'd left behind � only to find that in my absence someone had been through it. I'd lost a bivvy bag, an American pon�cho liner, and a few other things. I felt certain that none of the badged SAS guys had done it, and blamed one of the men attached from other units. I had a brief panic when I thought that my original escape map, with the names of the patrol written on it, was among the things that had been stolen; but then I found it, and kept it secured. The cookhouse at Victor was about 200 metres from our hangar, and by the time I had covered that short distance, I Back To Base 231 felt knackered and had to sit down. I was still eating small amounts of food, and putting weight back on very slowly. As soon as I started chewing anything at all hard, my gums would bleed, so that I always had the taste of blood in my mouth � and as I hate raw meat, it made me feel sick. Observing myself in the mirror, I thought, 'You look like a fucking vampire!' Altogether I spent two weeks with them, not doing much: eating, sunbathing, listening to music, trying to recover. I felt dazed, and I was shocked at how long it took me to re�gain strength. When I went to a gym and got on the bench, trying to lift some weights, I realised how weak I had become. I couldn't even do a dip. It was soul-destroying to have become so feeble. A young troop officer who was running an anti-terrorist team told me I could take charge of the sniper team. `No way,' I told him. 'I'm going into town for a couple of weeks to recuperate.' `No, you can't.' `Bollocks. I'm going. I'm not fit to work at the minute.' Next morning two of the guys gave me a lift down, and as we went into a shopping centre, out came a man called Key, with whom I'd passed selection. Somehow the sight of him was too much for me. I burst into tears. He grabbed me, pulled me to one side, and took me round to his accommo�dation in an army camp on the outskirts of the city, where I stayed for the next few days. That first night I went down�town with him to a disco. Life here didn't seem to make sense: with the air-war still in full swing, and the ground campaign coming up, everyone was drinking and dancing. After a few days I felt stronger, and went back to Victor to take over the sniper team. We started work, living in a tented camp, but I found that the Arab food didn't agree with me. It began to go straight through me, and I started losing weight again. At the same time, preparations were in hand for a bodyguard team job in South America, and I was told to learn Spanish. I was given a one-to-one tutor from the Army Education Corps, but I found it impossible to concentrate. 232 The One That Got Away In Bavaria I had had no trouble learning German, and I thought I was quite good at languages; but now I couldn't remember a thing, or even string a simple phrase like 'Good morning' together. My head felt numb; words went in one ear and out the other. I did so badly that my instructor soon got annoyed. 'Listen,' he said, 'have you got the slightest in-terest in what you're doing?' `You fucking listen,' I answered � and I told him what had happened to me. He immediately apologised, and said, 'You shouldn't be doing this. You can't concentrate.' He got hold of a young Rupert and told him to have me taken off the course. Because my teeth were still so slack, I made arrangements to see a dentist. Before my appointment, I was warned that I mustn't under any circumstances tell him where I'd been. But when I got into the surgery, the dentist proved a really sensible, nice guy. A New Zealander, he asked me to fill in a form confirming that I didn't have AIDS, and so on. Then he asked his assistant to leave the room, and said, 'There's obviously something wrong.' `Yes,' I said, 'I've had a bad eight days.' `I should say so. What do you do for a living?' `I test Land-Rovers.' `OK. I'm not interested in what you've done. But your mouth's in a serious state. Your gums show signs of mal�nutrition; they're receding � that's why they're bleeding. I can see the roots of your teeth. There's a chance you'll lose a few. I'll have to take two out, anyway. Meanwhile, rub this paste in.' Noticing that I wore a diver's watch, and that the rubber strap was loose on my shrunken wrist, he said, 'Oh, by the way: I've got a watch like that, and if you like I can cut the straps down with one of my files.' It seemed funny that the instruments he used on people's teeth were equally good for fixing watches. To this day my gums haven't fully recovered; some teeth are still loose. Otherwise, I made a full physical recovery. It took six weeks for feeling to come back into my fingers and Back To Base 233 toes. A blood test taken in a makeshift hospital on an American airbase revealed nothing wrong � but evidently the doctor who did it missed something, because another test, carried out in the UK, showed that I had a blood dis�order, caused by drinking dirty water from the Euphrates, as well as an abnormal amount of enzymes in my liver pro�duced in reaction to poisoning. I was also tested for radioactive poisoning, but there appeared to be no con�tamination. One doctor, talking about weight loss, told me that it was safe to shed one pound of meat a week. When I told him I'd lost thirty-six in a week, he said, 'It's im-possible.' I said, 'It bloody well happened.' To which he replied, 'Well, that's not good.' The psychological scars took far longer to heal. In the Gulf I began to suffer from a recurrent nightmare, in which I walk through the dark along a road. Ahead of me I see two hooded figures, dressed in black, on top of a mound. I know they're the two men I killed in the nuclear complex, but still I go up to them to ask directions. The night is very dark, and it's as if black rain is falling. As I come close, I see the eyes of the second man, wide with fright, and at the last second a knife-blade flashes as he makes a lunge at me. At that point I wake up, sweating with terror. When the dream began, I realised that it was caused by feelings of guilt. I phoned Jan and said, 'I've done something terrible.' She understood exactly, and said, 'Forget it, forget it. Don't say anything.' But I was also plagued by worries about Vince. There was I, a fully trained mountain guide, thrown into a situation where we were all going down with exposure, and I'd failed to do the obvious thing of tethering him to me and dragging him on a leash. Even if I'd just held him by the hand, or kept him in front of me where I could see him, I might have saved him. I knew the reason was that I had been suffering from exposure, too � but that couldn't bring him back. On the other hand, he might have slowed us down so much that the cold would have got the better of us all. Again, if we'd stayed together as a group, I think we'd probably have been captured, because you tend to talk each other into actions which you wouldn't take on your own. 234 The One That Got Away On 24 February, the ground war was
launched at last. I spent the time glued to CNN television. There was one big set in the corridor between the hangars, with a few settees and chairs in front of it, and guys were watching at all hours of the day and night, often falling asleep where they sat. When the coalition began taking prisoners, we couldn't believe the numbers: 20,000, 40,000, 50,000 � we kept a scoreboard. In five days, unbelievably, it was all over. The squadron came back from Al Jouf to Victor, getting ready to go home. Moves were being made to bring 'A' and `D' Squadrons back as well. Then the OC said that as soon as an aircraft to the UK became available, I would be on it. Just after the ceasefire I was in one of the hangars when somebody rushed in, shouting, 'Hey! We've seen Dinger on the telly!' Electrified, I ran back with him to see if I could catch a glimpse. There'd been shots of the Iraqis handing over allied prisoners. `Are you sure it was him?' `Yeah, yeah, it was Dinger all right.' We sat there waiting for the next news programme. When it came on, someone shouted, 'There he is!' Sure enough, it was Dinger � and a moment later we saw Stan as well. Both were in Baghdad. They were wearing orange prison over�alls, sitting at a table, on their way to being handed over to the Red Crescent. It was easy enough to spot Dinger, but Stan was harder to pick out, because he had lost a lot of weight and had become quite gaunt. Just to see them was intensely exciting. We knew those two were safe � but what about the others? We were pretty sure that one man in 'A' Squadron, Jack, had been killed, because he had been seriously wounded and left for dead �but from Bravo Two Zero there were still five to account for: Bob, Vince, Legs, Mark and Andy. We asked the sergeant major what was happening, but he wouldn't tell us anything; then we heard through the regiment that the Iraqis had four more prisoners to release. We reckoned that meant one of our guys must have died. Back To Base 235 Details trickled out slowly. The first to reach us, via Din�ger, was that Legs had died from hypothermia after trying to cross the Euphrates. We therefore presumed that the other four would be coming out. Then, to our amazement, we heard that Jack had survived, and was about to be released. That meant that another of our own lot must have gone down. Rumours flew about, but there was no official in�formation. Then some guys were detailed to pack their kit and stand by to fly into Riyadh, so that friendly faces would be there to greet the prisoners when they returned, and sit with them in the aircraft when they flew on to hospital in Cyprus. `D' Squadron was still inside Iraq, in case anything cracked off again, but 'A' Squadron arrived back at Victor, and there was a lot of in-fighting in their hangar as scores were settled and frustrations worked off something that occurs a good deal in a unit full of very strong characters. The guys are so well trained that during operations they keep control of themselves, whatever happens � but once they are back at base they're quick to vent their displeasure on anyone who's done something stupid or unnecessarily dangerous. When I went in to see my friend John, I found three or four guys lining up to kick the shit out of one of their mates. I let them get on with it, keen to hear John's amazing story. Together with two mates, John had been going forward in a Pinkie at night to recce an enemy camp, when their wheels became entangled in barbed wire. In the dark, they had motored right into a defensive position among slit trenches. When a man popped out, John shot him at point-blank range � but at the noise the whole place erupted. When soldiers popped up out of the ground, he despatched them straight away; but as the driver tried to move off, the wire caught up round their axles and gave off such a shower of sparks that it made them an illuminated target and attracted a hail of Iraqi fire. The Land-Rover was riddled with bul�lets. The big Mira sight on top of it came off and hit the driver on the back of the head, and he was driving semi- 236 The One That Got Away conscious. In the end he stopped, so that two of the crew could get down and try to cut the wire away, while Jack gave covering fire from the vehicle. While doing this, he was badly wounded by a rifle bullet, which travelled nearly the length of his leg, through ankle, calf and thigh. The other two abandoned the stricken ve-hicle. The driver was still semi-conscious, so John carried Jack as far as he could, stopping every now and then to pick off a couple of the Iraqis who were following up. Soon Jack had lost so much blood that he was convinced he was going to die, and since the Iraqis were pursuing them with ve�hicles, using their headlights, John decided to leave him. He got out his pistol and said, 'Jack � if you want, I'll shoot you.' But the wounded man, with his mind wandering, said, 'No, no, no � the squadron will come and get me. You carry on.' So John left him with a 66 and ran off. All night, on and off, Jack struggled to pull the 66 out to its cocked position, so that he could take out any vehicle approaching him; but in his weakened state, he lacked the strength to manage even that simple operation. In the morn�ing the Iraqis swept the whole area with a search-party and found him lying in the desert, saved by the tourniquets which he himself had bound on as he slipped in and out of consciousness. The surgeon who operated on him had left London just before the war started, and did a brilliant job. His leg was saved, and British doctors later said they couldn't have treated it better. John and his friend were picked up by their own colleagues next day, when they made radio contact with an A-10 circling overhead. By giving a sequence of bearings, they enabled the pilot to pinpoint their position, and he in turn guided the squadron on to them. `B' Squadron were the next to return to Victor, and we had a couple of nights on the town. We were told to be back in camp by 2300 hours, but since things didn't liven up until then, John and I decided to ignore the minibus when it came to collect us. Instead, I asked a nurse whom we'd befriended, Annie, if we could get our heads down in her Back To Base 237 flat, rather than go to the expense of a hotel. She said, 'Fine,' so we got ourselves shitfaced, and some time in the early hours collapsed on to her settees. When we came round at 9.00 the next morning, we knew there'd be trouble in store; but when we walked round the corner to the pick-up point, there stood a troop staff sergeant and a sergeant from 'A' Squadron. We felt a lot better, finding we weren't the only offenders, and in fact when we got back to camp, nobody said a thing. Very soon after that, a message came telling us to pack. I would be on the first aircraft going home, together with the OC, SSM, and a couple of people needed for team jobs. So we left Arabia. When the Hercules landed at Cyprus and we walked into the terminal, someone said, 'Oh � we've just had some of your guys come into the hospital.' Immediately the OC got on the phone, but � quite rightly � security was tight and nobody was being allowed to speak to the released prisoners, so he had some trouble getting through. In the end he managed it, and I spoke to both Dinger and Stan. Their voices sounded a bit flat, and I could tell they'd been through a lot; they weren't their normal bouncy selves. But Dinger said, 'Look � I owe you a pint for making me keep my jacket. I reckon it saved my life.' `That's all right,' I said. 'But what happened? How did we split?' `We heard an aircraft and went to ground. But I can't say much now. We'll see you when we get to the UK.' Obviously he didn't want to talk on the phone, but I asked, 'Who else- is coming back?' `Andy and Mark.' That was all he said. But it meant that, besides Legs, Bob Consiglio had gone. I felt very sad about Bob, good, tough little guy that he was � and immediately I wanted to know what had happened to him. I also had a brief word with Stan. 'Ey,' I told him. 'You dropped a bollock there.' `I know,' he agreed. 'I owe you a few pints on that. I should have stayed with you. I bloody well should have stayed.' eleven COUNTING THE COST As we came in to land at Lyneham, the OC was worried that the press might be waiting for us. With our suntanned faces, we were obvious targets. He asked if I had a hood on my jacket. 'You may have to lie on the floor,' he said. But in fact there was nobody waiting for us. My main worry was that the Customs man would drop on my aluminium trunk, which contained a good deal of music equipment. `Right,' he said. 'I know all the squadrons from your regi�ment are coming back. You're the first man through. Do you have anything to declare? And remember � if I find you're not telling the truth, I'm going to strip all the squadrons.' I looked him in the eye and said, 'No � I've nothing,' and he let me through. At the guardroom in Hereford I found a message telling me to go straight to the doctor. I went round the corner on to the quadrangle, and there was Janet. It wasn't the moment for an emotional meeting; it could have been an ordinary weekend. She ran over, greeted me briefly, and came with me to see the doctor, who had arranged an appointment for me that same day at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Wool�wich. First, though, we drove home for my reunion with Sarah, who was being looked after by Jan's parents. It was a terrific moment. I'd been away two months, and was worried that my daughter might not remember me. But Jan told me that every night when she went to bed, she'd kissed a photograph of me and said, 'Goodnight, Daddy.' Now as we reached home she shouted, 'Hello, Daddy!' and jumped into my arms. ' Once we'd got sorted out, we drove up to London, and reached Woolwich about 5p.m. I don't know what people Counting The Cost 239 had been expecting, but they'd scrubbed out an isolation ward for my sole benefit, and when I stuck my head round a pair of double doors, someone shouted, 'Get out! Get out!' as though I was going to contaminate the whole building. When I said I was from Hereford, they replied they'd been expecting someone to turn up in an NBC suit, glowing all over. By then the surgeon had got fed up with waiting for me, and had left; when I spoke to him on the telephone, he was not very polite. 'I've been waiting for you since nine o'clock this morning,' he griped. `Well,' I said, 'I'm here now.' `All right, then � I'll come back in.' Even in the flesh he wasn't very happy at first. But when I told him I'd gone eight days without food, and might have been contaminated in a nuclear refinery, he became a dif-ferent man, and asked me to report for tests in the morning. We booked in for the night in a hotel on Blackheath Com�mon. It was the first chance we'd had to be alone and talk the whole thing through. We went for a walk, and then, as we lay in bed, I told Jan the story. Next day, the tests lasted all morning and into the after�noon. At the end, I went back into the isolation ward, and the doctor came in and said, 'You'd better take a seat.' His face was sombre � as if he had really bad news. Jan was out�side, looking in through a glass screen. `You've got a viral infection,' he said � but I thought he'd said 'a venereal infection', and nearly died. Naturally Janet and I had slept together the night before, and I thought, 'My God, surely I can't have given her a dose?' I prepared to defend myself hotly, saying I must have caught it off a toilet seat, but he saw me looking worried and asked, 'What's wrong?' Did you say venereal?' `No, no � viral. I said viral.' He laughed and said, 'It's just a viral infection which will work its way through your body.' He also found that I had a blood disorder, and enzymes in my liver. On the nuclear front, he did mention leukaemia, but brushed aside the possibility. Naturally that worried me, 240 The One That Got Away as I thought the army might be sweeping the subject under the carpet, rather than facing the truth. After that we returned home, and 'B' Squadron went on three weeks' leave. For me, the prospect of the Everest ex�pedition suddenly revived when Harry Taylor, who was still making his preparations, turned up at the house. `You still on?' he asked. `Damn right I am.' I was feeling better every day, and couldn't turn the offer down. Harry said he would make special arrangements whereby I would stay at the basecamp for as long as possible and, as he put it, fatten myself up for a walk straight through all the intermediate stops � an opportunity most people never get. Usually on that kind of expedition you're sherpa�ing all the time, feeding the camps, building platforms for the real climbers, and then at the end the leader picks the two fittest guys to walk through. But now Harry said, 'It'll be a hell of a thing, after what you've just done, to walk straight through to the top.' The temptation was tremendous. A glamorous adventure like that seemed just what I needed to take my mind off the Gulf and its aftermath. After a chat, we went down to a bar in Hereford to discuss things further. One reason he parti�cularly wanted me to go was that I had medical training, and could act as expedition doctor. As Harry and I returned home, we found the OC there. He said the army had decided to give all the survivors of the patrol a thousand pounds each, so that we could go on holi-day. It was the first time the Regiment had ever done such a thing. `Oh, great!' I said, without thinking. 'We can use that money for the expedition.' `No way!' said Jan. An argument set in between her, me, Harry and the OC �Harry and myself against the other two � and in the end I lost. At the end the OC said, 'I'll tell you something now. You're not getting permission from the Regiment to go on this expedition.' Counting The Cost 241 `OK,' I agreed. 'Fair enough.' So instead of going to the Himalayas, I went with Jan for two weeks' holiday in Tene�rife, the only place where we could book up at short notice. In retrospect, I can see it was a mercy that I didn't go to Everest, as I simply wasn't fit enough. The party went up the North-East Ridge as planned, but Russell Bryce fell ill with altitude sickness and a stomach complaint, so that they had to return. The guy who took my place, an Australian, tried to climb the North Ridge, but turned back just short of the North Col with frostbite in his nose and fingers. The weather was horrendous. When I heard all that, I thought maybe I was well out of it. All the same, lying by the pool in Tenerife wasn't quite the same thing, and after a short time I began counting the days till we got back. Jan and I realised we had made a mis�take in not taking Sarah with us; if she'd been there, she'd have entertained us both, and stopped us from getting bored. In purely physical