Immediate Action (56 page)

    I looked at. them and said, "Let's crack on and do it.

    Nobody let me down. Any problems with that?"

    "No. no problems." Rodriguez wanted to be the scout again, so I let him.

    Normally I'd have changed the scout every couple of hours because it was a strenuous job. Chopping his way through would have made noise and leave sign; the scout had to move the vegetation out of the way as he patrolled through. He was on the lookout for movement or any sign of there having been movement. It could be ground sign, such as mud prints, or it could be top sign, such as leaves overturned. A large rubber leaf or fern, for example, doesn't naturally turn up onto its underside, and after a short while it would turn its way back to the sun-so something must have turned it, and that meant that somebody had been there quite recently.

    The scout was looking, too, for any signs of animal traps.

    Indigenous people leave signs that these things are around, and we didn't want to land up in a net dangling from a tree. He was also looking for any signs of the DMP. This could be a lot of footprints going in one direction; it could be a noise; it could be a smell. If he spotted people, we wouldn't take them on; the object was to avol id them, to see where they went, and to follow them.

    It took us nearly half a day to start getting into the rough area of our four grid squares. By now we were all wet with sweat. It hadn't rained; I was just hoping that if it did, it was before last light so we didn't have to sort ourselves out that night in a downpour.

    Then we started our search pattern, which varied with the terrain.

    Sometimes we might be paralleling along grid squares; at others we'd fan out from prominent objects. About once every hour we'd stop for five minutes. That gave us time to tuck our shirts in, pull our trousers up, have a drink, refill the water bottles. Every time we came to a source of water we'd fill up; if the bottles were already full, then we'd drink as much as we could. Some of the blokes put lemon powder in one of their water bottles and had the other as plain water. I preferred both to be plain.

    For the first afternoon all the blokes were keen, but then fatigue started to take its toll-the mental fatigue of continually looking for sign and the physical fatigue of carrying a bergen' in the heat. It was showing on these people quite a lot.

    About an hour before last light it was time to look for a place to L.U.P, but first we'd need to break track to make sure no one was following us. Gonzalo-Gonzwas the scout. I gave him the signal to stop and went forward.

    "We're going to look for an L.U.P-I said into his ear.

    A big smile came up on his face. He had massive tombstone teeth with black marks between from chewing tobacco.

    I said, "Follow me," and he tagged on behind.

    Gonz was about twenty-three or twenty-four. He had a really youthful look on his face, as if he still had puppy fat, and was always smiling.

    At times I didn't know if he was stupid or just happy. It was a mischievous sort of smile; I never really knew what was going on in his mind, but I hoped there was a lot more tucked away than there appeared to be.

    We looped the track and put in an instant ambush on our own trail, because no matter how carefully we went through the jungle, we were always going to leave sign.

    Then, when we were happy, three blokes stayed with the bergens, while Gonzalo and I went to look for an L.U.P.

    The ideal site was not necessarily somewhere that could be defended; the main consideration was concealment.

    Everybody knew what was going on now and was happy at the prospect of getting his head down.

    At the site we took our bergens off again and got into all-round defense, standing to until last light. First, however, came a good dousing of mozzie rep. All around my head I heard the steady buzz of insects. Standing to in the jungle, you always see and hear a lot more than you realized was around you. You think you're moving covertly, but the wildlife has you sussed, and by the time you get there they're well and truly gone. Now, just sitting there, doing nothing, I could hear everything around me. Apart from the mosquitoes it was lovely, being sort of embraced by the jungle.

    As soon as it was last light, we put up our hammocks and ponchos.

    There was no need to talk; everybody knew what to do, taking it in turns. While two of us got ourselves organized, the other three looked and listened.

    I put my dry kit on and got into my hammock and fell asleep listening to the hums and rustles and the rain that came about midnight.

    About an hour before first light we packed our equipment up.

    Again, there was no reason to talk; we just did everything slowly and carefully to avoid making a noise.

    We left as soon as it was light enough to move.

    We patrolled for about two hours, then stopped to make our sitrep to the F.O.B, giving our location, any enemy location or activity that we'd seen, and our own activity and future intentions, which in this case was "carry on patrolling." Back at the HQ the blokes would then plot us on the map; if the shit hit the fan later in the day, at least they'd know where we'd been at 0800.

    The boys sat there eating sugar and corned beef.

    For the next few days that was the routine: moving off, changing over scouts, changing over check pacers.

    Once or twice we got lost. We stopped, moved off track, sat in all-round defense, and got the map out.

    "Where were we last time we definitely knew where we were?" I said to Gonz.

    We methodically worked it out from there; it was no good running around like lunatics, chasing shadows. I sent two boys out on a short recce to confirm that the next feature was five hundred meters further along. I hoped they'd come back and report, "Yes, there is a river, and it flows from left to right."

    On the third occasion I sent out Gonz and One-of three-Joses on a recce patrol. "Go down there no more than four hundred meters. As you start moving down towards the low ground, we should be on the highest point.

    Look around and there should be no higher ground around you.

    If not, we have una problems. And there should be a river about three hundred meters further down, running left to right."

    Off they went, Gonz with a big black toothy smile on his face.

    They came back much sooner than I had expected, and Gonz's smile had vanished.

    Putting his mouth to my ear, Gonz said, "We got down there. We were on the highest ground, but there's movement ahead. We heard a sound of metal and some shouting."

    I got everybody together and said, "There's something down there.

    We don't know what it is. What we're going to do is move forward as best we can. Gonz is going to take us down there to the area where he heard it, and we'll stop and take it from there. Is everybody ready?

    Just take your time; there's no need to flap."

    Everybody started to switch on. We moved down the hill very, very slowly. Gonz was ahead of me, the others behind. I couldn't hear anything.

    Gonz stopped and pointed forward.

    I motioned for him to come with me, and the other three to stay with the bergens. "If there's any problems, you're soon going to hear.

    If we're not back by last light, wait until midday tomorrow and then skirt around the noise, hit the river, and turn right until you hit the road.

    We'll sort ourselves out. Leave our bergens where they are."

    We crept forward through the vegetation, with nothing but rifles and belt kit. We were going to go just far enough to confirm; it would be no good jumping up and down thinking that we'd found it, after only a cursory look.

    I inched through the jungle, following Gonzalo. My eyes were darting around all over the place. He was looking ahead, concentrating on trying to remember where he had heard the noise. Every now and again he looked back for a bit of reassurance, and there was no smile.

    At a point about two hundred meters from where we'd left the bergens, he stopped and held up his hand. I stopped. As a technical adviser I should now have been helping him to go and do the CTR, but I had to make sure the job was done and we all got out safely. Motioning for him to stay where he was and give me cover, I signaled that I was going to go and have a look.

    I got down onto my belly and crawled forward very slowly. I took three or four little crawls, stopped, us- I tened, looked around, and crawled again. After about twenty minutes I couldn't believe what I saw.

    I was looking through about two meters of brush, and then the area opened up into almost a small industrial complex. I saw three or four buildings. One was a long, low one, which I knew was the trademark of a

    

    

    Inside, the coca paste would be laid out on long tables.

    Two other single-story buildings were higher. They had corrugated iron roofs, with attempts to camouflage them with leaves and branches.

    I heard a South American voice shout a question. The answer, in Spanish, was slightly drowned by the sound of a generator, but it had a strong, almost Afrikaans twang to it.

    I saw an old boy walking between two of the buildings. He wasn't armed.

    I stayed there for about half an hour, watching and listening for more activity, not believing our good luck.

    It was the first manufacturing plant I had seen in operation; I didn't want to fuck up. I couldn't see much from my perspective but heard another couple of people and the occasional banging of a door.

    The mosquitoes loved what was happening. They could land on my face, and it would take me long, slow seconds to bring my hand up to wipe them away. I didn't want to move to another position or kneel up to get a better view. I didn't need to do that at this stage; all I needed to do was make myself happy that it was indeed a DMP.

    I crawled my way back to Gonz. I put my mouth to his ear and gave him a thumbs-up. "Bingo!"

    He gave, me a flash of blackened tombstones, but I knew he was thinking, Oh, fuck, we've found one…

    We moved back to the rest of the patrol. I got everybody around and said, "We've found it. It's down there."

    I told them exactly what I'd seen and heard. There was an air of disbelief, together with a mixture of happiness and apprehension. Now something had to be done about it.

    We moved right out of the area to avoid any chance of a compromise. I told them, "i'm going to go in tomorrow at first light with One-of-three-Joses. The other three are going to guard the equipment at the final RP, which is where we stopped with the bergens earlier on.

    This might take a couple of days. You're to stay there for two days if we don't come back. On the morning of the third day, if we're not there, you're to head down to the river, turn right, and hit the road.

    If you hear any firing, you're to come down and help us. Got that?"

    The fourth member of the patrol, nicknamed El Nino, was about nineteen.

    He was about five feet seven inches and had a skinny, bony body. He found it very difficult to look at anyone when he talked, looking above or to the side of the other person's face; maybe he was selfconscious of the jungle of zits that covered his own. He didn't have a clue what was going on. He was always left to do as little as possible. He was all right, just inexperienced and worried. He would rather be at home with his mum than doing this shit. However, he always tried to act the macho bit in front of the others, who took the piss out of him nonstop. He was looking severely worried but happy that he was in the final RP group.

    "Don't put your ponchos up in the final RP," I said.

    "All I want you to do is stay with those bergens. It's going to be a long day-might be two day. Make sure you look after the kit, and you'll be looking after us."

    I got the radio out and sent a sitrep back to the troop HQ. It was in a rush because I wanted to bang it out before last light. I told them what we'd found, what I'd seen. "Unless I'm told otherwise," I said,

    "we will CTR it tomorrow."

    I knew that back at the squadron HQ they would be making the decision as to whether to tell the other patrols on their next sitrep or wait until it was confirmed that it was the target. If they told the other patrols to stop and wait out, they'd be losing time. Not our problem; we started planning and preparing for the CTR.

    I'd go in myself with One-of-three-Joses; the other three would guard the equipment at the final RP. A set of orders would have to be produced, covering all eventualities: how we were going to get there; what we were going to do when we got there; what we were going to do if the enemy opened up on us. What would we do if the final RP group had a contact? How long would the RP be open for before we changed to another RP? What would we do if there was a contact and somebody got caught?

    We would plan and prepare in the area where we were now and then move forward to the final RP, which would be the jumping-off point of the two-man CTR team. The CTR might take one or two days, depending on what we could see and where. We'd just have to make sure that if we were out during daylight hours, we came back an hour before last light; then we could move off and L.U.P somewhere else. The ponchos wouldn't be put up at the final RP; the boys would just place out a couple of claymores, sit with their backs to the bergens, their belt kits on, and then between themselves alternately stag it and get their heads down, which wouldn't be good news.

    The teaching went to bollocks now. In theory it should have been the patrol doing the CTR and conducting any attack, but we'd get only one chance, and it had to be done properly.