Sabre Six : File 51 (10 page)

“Does this mean
no shagging down the local boozer, boss?”

“That is a negative
, Stan! There
are
women on the base, Stan, but leave them alone!” We all laughed.

“No, gentleman, we’ll be running training programmes for the rest of the week
, such as ‘weapon drills, radio training, physical fitness, and first aid! Do you have any questions men?”

We were happy enough.

“There will be a briefing at 18:00hrs so get sorted: grab what crap you need, and be there on time. Especially you, Stan, you dirty bastard!”

We all cracked up
, apart from Stan. He was left bewildered.

When the boss left we got on with our admin. I got my kit sorted out and we paraded at 16
:00hrs so we could pick up our weapons from the armourer. I was handed an M16, with a 203 grenade launcher. The magazine took a 5.56mm bullet and carried a maximum of thirty rounds per mag. I was also equipped with four grenades, two flares, and two smoke grenades. I got into my combats, my spare boots looking like they had been crushed from the journey over. The wind was picking up outside and a gust of sand and wind blew past my head. It stung like hell when it hit my face and I cursed it like hell. My admin was all complete.

Keith sparked up a f
ag and sat down next to me in the hangar for the boss’s 18:00hrs briefing. Stan let out a massive fart: it fucking stank!

“Hi, m
en! Are you all ok? Got any problems so far, guys?”

Pete put his hand up.
“Where is the nearest bar, Sir?” The guys cracked up, including the boss.

“I’m sure we will find one soon, Pete.” He smiled.

“Please, Gentleman, on a more serious note. We have been in country now for several hours and it looks like we will be here for a while. I will confirm dates tomorrow morning, gents.” He looked in his notebook for questions.

“Tomorrow I will find out what the big boss wants with us. I already know that we’ll be shipping out by helicopter in six days after acclimatization training to an outstation about eighty kilometres from here.”

“What kind of jobs, Boss?” Stan shouted out.

“I will let you know when I know Stan. I am sorry but this is a cluster fuck and it is out of my hands for now until the big-wigs pull their fingers out of each other’s arses.”

“Good answer, Boss; I am well impressed!” The lads laughed.

“As of 06:00hrs tomorrow
, lads, there will be lots of weapon training, ok! I don’t want any bickering, just get on with it and get the job done.” We all nodded in agreement.

I made my way to my pit and got my head down. It was very fortunate that we were close to a satellite phone. That night I rang Hannah
, telling her that I was all safe and well. I was not to mention about where I was, or what I was doing. She was a good girl. I rested my eyes and I was gone: out for the count within minutes. I had the best night’s sleep in ages, and I felt great when I woke up. It was freezing in the night, though, but I slept through the worst of it with my weapon in my sleeping bag and my helmet within arm’s reach.

Breakfast was amazing: a complete full English! The RAF always knew how to treat its men and women. The army had a lot of improvements to make to catch up with this standard. Lunch was even better, cod and chips – real chips and a real piece of delicate fish! I had definitely fucked up joining the army.

Now
I had to put my Sergeant’s head on and lead my men. We had to get serious.

“Right, m
en, let’s head off to the range and shoot up some shit.” My guys moved without any moaning.

I had a good team with Stan as my Corporal,
and Keith and Nig. I could not have asked for better really. They sat down in front of me as I briefed them about the range and the daily tasks for the next day or so. Everyone seemed happy enough. These men were professional. They were the best of the best; all I had to do was guide them in the right direction. “It was simple really!”

“Make it quick, Michael, you twat.” We all laughed at my expense.

“Shut it, Fuck Nuts.”

“I love you, Michael! Let’s have a baby.” Nig started now.

“Shut it! Right! Today, men, is range day. We’re going to put a huge amount of ammo into a fist full of paper targets and pretend they are Iraqi soldiers: do you understand me? I do not want any buggering about, so stick your work heads on and let’s impress the boss.” We jumped up and loaded our magazines.

I took each man through individually first of all. Later on, we would do it in pairs
, and then as a team if we had time. Nig was first up. He held his weapon in his shoulder ready to fire.

“Are you ready
, Nig?”

“Yes, B
oss! Let’s go for it: I’m ready.”

“Ok, when you’re ready, set off!
”

He put one foot in front of the other
, and we were off. His attitude had changed drastically. He stalked his prey like a lion placing each foot carefully in front of the other; his finger was pressed tightly against the trigger, just waiting to take his first shot. I saw the first target pop up; it was the size of a small adult. He dropped down to one knee and let rip a full magazine into the target.

“Changing m
ag!” He replaced his magazine with a full one and then shoved his empty down his smock. He continued on, treading carefully, as each step counted. The next target popped up from behind the bush. Again, he dropped to one knee and let another magazine go. He ripped it to fucking pieces. I replaced the magazine, stood up, and continued onwards, standing behind him and continuously updating him. I pulled out a thunder flash, lobbing it just as the next target popped up; he dived down, releasing a full magazine into the target. He never missed a shot.

“Stop!” I called an end to Exercise.
Then I called for the weapon to be made safe, which meant the rifleman was to unload the rifle for a safety inspection by the direction staff, i.e. me! The rifleman would check his safety catch, making sure that it was on safe, then unload the magazine, placing it back inside his pouch. He would eject the cartridge from the main body, look inside for any further rounds and after putting the working parts forwards, release the trigger to ensure he had cleared the weapon for a final inspection. 

I briefed him on the way back to the starting point. He did bloody well and I was very impressed by the way he pinpointed his targets so quickly and emptied the mag so accurately.

“Well done Nig! Who’s next then?” Stan stood up. All the lads gave him shit as he did.

“Right Stan, keep calm, be professional and do a great job!

“Right! When you’re ready, mate!”

He stepped forward. The first target popped up. I made things harder for him by throwing two thunder flashes either side of him. It never even put him off. He got down, checked for his target and obliterated it with a double tap: I could not have asked for more. I was more concerned walking back when he tripped over a piece of wood sticking out of the ground
, which sent him sprawling! I couldn’t help but give him a right roasting for being such a dopey cunt. Nig and Keith were taking the piss out of him with no let-up. Don’t worry – he got some shit for that one!

Keith was up next: m
y God did that man work hard! I threw everything I had at him but he did not let himself down once. I was fucking proud of my men.

Next up was pairs, and then as a squad. We worked hard all morning to achieve our g
oals. By the end of the morning I was a fucking happy man. After a good rest we kicked straight back into assault tactics for the afternoon. Each man was allocated a task and the exercise began. My first task was radio training. They tested us on how quickly we could put a radio back together and send a situation report to a designated call sign. We were taught how to use the radio frequencies, emergency procedures etc. The training team gave us an hour off for a break. We got the brews on and chatted amongst ourselves for a while. Stan got his head down for ten minutes: he loved a little nap!

At 22:00hrs our night exercise started. Our job was to patrol to a grid reference on our 1:25000 maps, locate our position, and set up an observation post. We had been given just twenty-four hours to gather as much Intel as possible and escape to higher ground. There was an allied force tasked with helping us to evade capture, and which would meet us at the extraction point. It sounded easy to me. We tabbed six kilometres North-West to our first Rendezvous point, or as we like to call it, RV1. Keith was Point Man, Stan was Second, I was Third Man and Nig was at the rear. We carried around seventy pounds worth of kit each, sharing the radio batteries between us, as they were heavy. We had one twenty-four hour ration pack and plenty of drinking water to keep us going. Nig had brought along his fags; he knew he would not be able to smoke any, but they were there for medicinal purposes! It was his weakness.

We rested up at RV1, Stan drank from his canteen bottle with everyone else soon following suit. I looked about. The ground was solid, just sand and rock with the occasional piece of vegetation dotted here and there. A carcass of
a goat lay just in front of me and a colony of ants walked past. The wind began to pick up.

“Come on, let’s go.”

We stood up, placed our bergans on our backs and set off to RV2, which was a further seven kilometres away. The wind was picking up something horrible, blowing sand into my face, which was somewhat annoying.

“I real
ly feel like having a fag now, boys,” said Nig.

“Bugger off
, Nig, you twat!” He continued to grunt. (I snapped!)

We arrived at our next RV on time with the wind still bashing down on us. It was pitch-black outside, the moon hidden by clouds. The occasional star presented itself now and again, but only sporadically.

“Right, let’s do it then, men! You know the score, lads: let’s get it cracked!”

We found our observation point, a small hollow plantation about five hundred metres above a small barn. The place was empty, for now anyway. I looked at my watch; it was my turn to stag on (take my position to observe and protect my team). I put my weapon down by m
y side and took control of the binos. The daytime picture was somewhat different from what I imagined last night. Last night I’d pictured just one barn surrounded by rock and dust in the middle of nowhere: I was wrong, bloody wrong. We should never judge a book by its cover. In fact, it was quite the opposite. There were two barns, one small and one large. A fence surrounded the entire estate. The fields were green in certain areas and the buildings were occupied. At night in the field is the best time for a soldier, you are more aware and alert; it also gives the soldier on the ground more cover to manoeuvre. In the day light he must go to ground, and mentally consolidate what he has learnt in daylight so he can use it in the evening!

A car came up the track. A disgusting shit-tip of a motor. One driver and a passenger. We continued to observe our front until the sun went down.

“Write the lot down
, Stan.” He got out his notebook and jotted away. I decided enough was enough and packed up. We walked out after clearing up and destroying all evidence at around 23:30hrs that night. We patrolled down to the bridge, which took us as least thirty minutes. A vehicle was closing in, getting faster and faster. We were very lucky that we had rocks and debris to get in amongst; the rest of the area was plain. The truck turned to face us and the driver put on his full beam and tooted his horn six times. Two masked men let lose two dogs. They started running our way, and were picking up speed. One soldier let lose a couple of rounds and, this put the shits up us.

“Come on, move it, you buggers, now!” We had been compromised!

We legged-it as fast and as hard as we could: the fuckers were on our tail. We had to reach high ground by half one to meet our allies; if we were late, then we were buggered. They were gaining on us. They had less kit than we did, probably carrying only their weapons, we on the other hand were carrying seventy-plus pounds of shit.

Keith egged us on.
“Come on, you reprobates! Move it, get up that bloody hill! We’re nearly there.” He pushed us bloody hard.

We had hit the top only to find
ourselves alone: there was no allied friendly force. My only other option was to about turn and fight our approaching enemy. Stan and Nig looked at me, checked their magazines, and got down into the firing position. We were at an advantage, as they were coming up hill and we were firing down.

“Hold your fire, m
en! Hold your fire! Let them come to us.” I was breathing very heavily. I could see the first soldier. “Fire!” I fired 30 blank rounds at my target dropping him to the floor. They had been demolished, and as we got up and regrouped our allied unit arrived to our rescue.

“Stop! End Ex!
” The whistle went and the exercise was over. The boss pulled me to one side and gave me a fucking good bollocking! It was all pre-planned anyhow; they just wanted to see how we reacted to a compromise. I still got a fucking good rifting for it, though – the wankers!