Immediate Action (55 page)

    "Fucking thing," he said. "How come of all the bloody nags in this country I get the one that's just snorted a nose bag of white powder?"

    Each recce patrol, consisting of four policemen and one of us, would search an area of four grid squares-four square kilometers. Time out on the ground would be anything up to ten days, and the object, as always, was not to kill the people in the manufacturing plant but to arrest them-especially the European chemists-and then to destroy the equipment.

    At the muster parade the next morning Gar announced to our trainees,

    "We're going to go out and do some training. We're going to be away for about two weeks. Pack your kit,and be ready at lunchtime to move off."

    We drove to an area about an hour away that we had been using for training. Gar told the boys to relax and get a brew on, then said,

    "We're not going training.

    We're going out on another operation. The lack of success that we've been having is because of leaks by informers in the system.

    We're going to take you out of here now, and you're going to go and look for a DMP that is to the west.

    "It's up to you to make sure that you put in all your best efforts.

    You've done all this training, and you're getting really well paid.

    We're expecting you to perform.

    We know you can do the job, we know you're good, and we're going to be with you all the way. We hope we're going to find the target-imagine the prestige when you succeed. All you have to do is exactly what we tell you, end everything will be fine. Now let's get out there. The quicker we do it, the quicker we can all get home."

    We got into our own little groups around the wagons and started to do our orders. I could hear the others talking to their groups around the area of the wagons.

    Wayne and Gar were sorting out rations for the patrols.

    To my four boys I said, "Once we've succeeded, you will have all the credibility that you want and deserve. If we fail, maybe they will disband the paramilitaries."

    I saw four worried faces, perhaps picturing themselves back on traffic duty.

    I said, I hoped in my best Spanish, "So, we're going to go and locate a drug manufacturing plant. We've been told that it's roughly in an area sixteen Ks square somewhere in the west. We don't know where it is or how big it is. We don't know if people are still there.

    If we find it, we're going to put a CTR on it, bring all the other ap trois in, and then we'll get a plan together to go and attack it.

    There'll be lots of helicopter support coming in, and plenty of other troops. if another patrol finds it, we'll go to meet them, join forces, and attack it."

    The ' boys were still looking worried. This operation was going to be totally alien from what they were used to. Usually it was the helicopter screaming in on top of the location, and everything all over and done within a couple of hours. What we were looking at now was a prolonged operation, a very different kettle of fish.

    "Another change is that this time we're not going to helicopter in; we're going to drive in the vehicles down to the area and gradually patrol in. We don't want anybody to see us or to know that we're there.

    This time we might find something. Do you say yes to that?"

    Four nervous smiles and a chorus of "Yes!"

    "It might take a couple of days to get into the area," I went on, "but it will be worth it. We'll be taking our time; we've got plenty of food; we know what we're doing. There'll be no problems."

    I laid out as much information in front of them as possible: a small-scale map, some drawings, the area in general, and then a large-scale map for the detailed briefs. I had to keep reminding myself that I wasn't dealing with professional soldiers. I had to sit them down and say, "Before we start, does anybody want to go to the toilet?

    Anybody need to do anything before I start?"

    After every phase of the orders I made a point of pausing and asking,

    "Are there any questions?" They had to feel comfortable about asking, no matter how stupid the question. It was important not to take the piss out of them when they did come out with something really bone, and not to allow others to either.

    I first gave them all the political and military factors and made sure they realized how important it was that they pushed themselves forward to stop the trafficking. I then talked about the ground, starting with the area in general-all known enemy locations, all old processing sites, and all our own locations.

    We didn't have a target as yet, but I talked about the terrain, the weather conditions, what we expected the going to be like, what the locals were like, the names of any towns and villages, the direction of the ma' in rivers. al If the shit hit the f and they were on their own, they would know that if they followed a certain river downstream, they were going to hit a town. As I spoke, they checked everything on their maps.

    I then went into the situation. I told them everything they needed to know about the enemy in order to carry out the task, including the fact that the local barons were feeling pretty confident at the moment and would fight if we came up against them. I described what weapons they had and what they dressed like.

    "Now-friendly forces," I said. "There will be another three patrols that are going to be patrolling in other grid squares." On the detailed map I showed them the rough area where the other patrols would be operating.

    Next came the mission. "Mission: to locate and CTR the DMP in these grid squares here." I repeated it, then went into the execution, which I had broken down into phases.

    "Phase One, the infiltration. We're going in by vehicle- As you know, once the stuff is ready it has to be moved out by aircraft or vehicle.

    There is usually a road within ten to twenty kilometers of one of these plants.

    With trucks, we'll keep control of security. It might take us two or three days to patrol into the area, but that's what we get paid for."

    We'd be on hard routine. "I'll have a scout out at the front, and I'll be doing the map reading myself, with the local patrol commander checking. There will also be pacers and check pacers. If it's dense canopy, we'll probably patrol in daylight and bin it at nighttime. If the terrain allows us to patrol at nighttime, all well and good, we'll do that as well. But in that sort of terrain I don't anticipate any movement by night."

    We understood the boys well by now, and they understood us. We had mutual respect that bordered on friendship; when we said we wanted something done, we expected them to comply-and they did. They no longer questioned our orders because they trusted us.

    The slings had disappeared long ago from the 7.62 Galits, following our example. The swing swivels had also been taken off or taped down; they were designed to move, and therefore they made noise. Every man had about four to five meters of paracord, so if we-had to do any river crossings, they could tie their weapon securely.

    As a navigation aid, I had taped a Silva compass onto the stock of my weapon, with the big arrow covered up to avoid having a fearsome luminous object moving through the jungle. If I was moving forward as a lead scout, I knew the rough bearing that I wanted to go on and the compass supplied an instant reference. As the patrol commander, with the scout out in front of me, I could also give an immediate indication of direction if required.

    When the patrols were first issued with magazines for their weapons, they started taping them together because they'd seen a few Oliver Stone movies, and they thought it looked rather macho. We discouraged them as much as we could. The 7.62 is a heavy round, and a twenty-round magazine is a hefty object. When they were down on the ground, some of the lads could only just about lift the rifle up, let alone deal with the weight of a double magazine.

    The Regiment blokes all took 9MM Brownings. The pistols the rest of their patrol took were weird and wonderful. Some had cowboy six-shooters; some had Colt.45s. What they expected to do with them probably even they didn't know.

    We carried plenty of plastic explosive for destroying the DMP, and also we had the means to burn down any fields that we came across-P.E4 mostly and American C4, and all the odds and hods that went with it such as detonating cord, detonators, and claymores for our own defense.

    Once we'd found the target we'd put in a CTR. A picture speaks a thousand words when it comes to reconnaissance, especially if the troops you're briefing don't speak your mother tongue. We therefore also carried cameras and video recorders and portable darkroom equipment to produce negatives. I favored a Nikon with a zoom lens, plus a 28 men lens for I.R photography, and a Canon point-and-shoot, also fitted with an I.R filter for night photography.

    A video camera was excellent for CTRS, and we also had with us a little Sony play-back machine; with it, we could brief the patrols with visual reference, so they'd know what they were looking for when they got onto the ground. The video had a manual-focus lens; an auto-focus lens latches on to the nearest object in the center of the field of vision, which in jungle is almost always a leaf.

    We also took night-viewing aids, either pocket scopes or weapon-mounteds, and all the kit had to be waterproofed.

    Almost more important than the kit we took was what we didn't take.

    Everybody had to go out sterile, apart from any obvious documentation.

    The boys carried their police warrant cards, but no home addresses or pictures of the wife and kids. They all knew the statistics; they'd all had family, friends, or colleagues gunned down in the street.

    We set off that afternoon in a convoy of four cattle trucks and traveled through the night. Everybody was subdued; nobody was talking much. The occasional fag flared in the darkness. It reminded me of Selection and the long drives to the Elan valley, and I tried to get as much rest as I could; I knew I'd be running around like a lunatic for the next couple of weeks.

    For most of the next day we traveled through towns and villages, the roads getting more and more outrageous. A couple of hours before last light we stopped and had a brew. Gar came over and said, "We're going to split off about three Ks up the road. I'm going to take two groups, Wayne's going to map-read your lot. If there's any dramas, get on the net, because we've got the helicopters standing by.

    Don't fuck about, just get on the net and get the people out. See you soon."

    We got back on the wagons. I was in Wayne's vehicle, which was leading.

    The road was metaled but badly potholed. The suspension was shaking itself to pieces, and we were getting shunted about in the back; soon everybody was standing up to save himself from a battering.

    It was coming to last light. The vehicle stopped; the engine was turned off. It went very quiet, and the noises of the savanna took over. Wayne got out and said: "This is your dropoff point."

    I got the blokes off the wagon. They looked as if they didn't want to get off but at the same time knew the job had to be done.

    Shades again of Selection.

    "We aren't going to do anything tonight," I said. "All we have to do is tab into our area."

    It was all in slow time. We got our bergens on, sorted ourselves out, and started to walk off toward the cover about half a kilometer away.

    Once we'd gone a couple of hundred meters we heard the engines start up then drive away. After a minute or two there was total silence. I watched the headlights threading their way along the road and disappear into the distance.

    I could hear my breath. I'd had twenty-four hours of total inactivity, and now I was starting to get my second wind.

    The weather was very warm and moist. The night was full of 'ungly sounds, though we were still in savanna."could hear crickets.

    There was a very light breeze. It was moderately cloudy, but I could see stars.

    I was feeling fairly comfortable. We had plenty of food and water and were going to get our heads down for the night. I was actually looking forward to a few hours in my hammock.

    In the morning, because we weren't in any danger, I let the guys start with a brew and hot scoff.

    One of the blokes in the patrol was called Rodriguez.

    He was about twenty-two, tall, black, and rather effeminate. He had unnaturally long eyelashes and very fine, defined features, a pianist's hands and immaculate nails.

    He spoke with a soft tone and seemed to apologize for everything he did.

    He was, however, very good at his job, and I wanted him to be the scout.

    I said, "I want you to set off on this bearing, Rodriguez. We're going to go forward, and after about an hour we're going to stop and have a brew. Keep your eyes,open and keep on the bearing; we don't want to start getting lost. Do you understand? We are depending on you!"

    "Si." He smiled. "Si, sorry, no problem."

    The scout kept far enough ahead to give advance warning of a problem, but close enough for me to see him and signal occasional directions. He really dictated the movement of the patrol as The moved along: If he wanted us to stop, he'd tell us to. If he stopped dead, I'd also stop dead, and everybody else would do the same.

    He was the first set of eyes.

    After an hour Rodriguez stopped in a dip in the ground under a large tree. We hunkered down and got a brew on. Birds twittered in the branches overhead; some form of wildlife rustled in the undergrowth. We talked in quiet whispers.

    "This will be the last brew," I said. "Make sure you don't tell anyone I let you have it!"

    They were pleased to think it was our little secret.