Warrior Brothers (9 page)

With the benefit of the early morning light, a three-man recce team – Charlie, Steve and I – moved closer to the river to look for a possible crossing-point. The area was extremely exposed; any error in making our crossing could lead to our patrol being compromised. Steve decided to set up an observation post (OP) over a small village nearby to get a feel for the area. We would hold our position for the day and make our move prior to last light. G and I were given the task of maintaining eyes on the village, and things remained quiet. We spent the day crawling from shadow to shadow in an attempt to dodge the burning sun.

As night approached, our patrol set off again, paralleling the river. It was a calm, stagnant evening and our progress was relatively swift and unremarkable, until we became aware of a low, droning sound. We proceeded cautiously as it slowly increased in decibels, eventually surrounding us. It appeared that our safe passage was being jeopardised by a beehive! But it was no ordinary hive. There were scores of underground chambers that continued for more than 50 metres. We pressed on, and as the sound intensified, so too did the numbers of bees thudding against our bodies. Swarms were diving in and out of the holed earth but, fortunately, they didn't appear overly concerned by our presence.
We breathed a sigh of relief when we exited this noisy little cyclone of black and yellow.

As if large tropical bees weren't intimidating enough, we soon came across a creek filled with deep mud. Steve indicated that this would be a ‘hasty crossing', where we would bump through one at a time, so Charlie identified a crossing-point and stepped into the mud. He promptly sank to the full depth of his boot and took some time and effort to extricate himself.

As second scout, I smirked silently and thought I would try my luck somewhere else. I didn't sink up to my boot – I managed to go down to over my knees. The pack on my back helped to pin me to the very bottom and it took all my effort not to have my boots sucked right off my feet. I didn't bother looking back at the guys as I made my away across the sludge pit; I could sense their silent laughter and there was no need to confirm it. The remainder of the patrol followed the direction Charlie had taken.

As darkness fell across the landscape, our heaving bodies were rewarded with a short rest. The feeling of elation when the weight of our packs was rested on the ground was pure ecstasy. My numb shoulders began to return to life as the ache slowly receded. But we weren't able to rest for long. Within moments Steve made his trademark clicking noise to indicate that we were moving again. We all made last-minute adjustments to our packs before heaving ourselves back to our feet and continuing.

The next stage of our long walk south took us through countless fields of rice paddies, which was a welcome relief after the tangled web of vines and lantana. In the early hours of the morning Steve identified an area of thicket where we would snatch a couple of hours of sleep. We positioned two command-detonated Claymore directional mines at the most likely enemy approaches, established a spot for the security piquet, and then the other five of us collapsed onto
the earth, soaked by our own sweat. So total was our exhaustion that we didn't even bother getting into our sleeping bags. We just nestled into the heavily dewed soil.

Pre-dawn, we were up again. We retrieved the mines and set off for the nearby river, which we also had to cross. Traversing it was more difficult than we anticipated, as the current was fast and the bottom deep. Charlie dropped into the river and was soon up to his armpits in the streaming current. We couldn't see his eyes but they must have been pretty wide at that moment. He was laden with 50 kilograms of equipment, so swimming was not an option. He later told us that if the current had taken him another couple of inches he would have ditched his pack. As it was, he kept going and made the other side.

I was keen to regain some credibility from the previous mud crossing and managed to locate a point that was no more than waist deep. Although shallow, the river here was at least 80 metres wide so we had to cross slowly. Mindful that the rising sun was rapidly exposing our position, we took advantage of the thick blanket of fog and crawled up the banks on the other side.

Weaving through the vegetation, we were suddenly confronted by an alarming sight. There, in the clearing ahead, were several saddled ponies. We faded back into the bushes and waited, the sound of voices distinct and close. Quietly consulting the map, it was clear that while the major village was still some way off, between here and there was an almost constant track of smaller hamlets. The other noises we were hearing now made sense – a melodic group of goats, roosters and chickens on the well-populated path ahead of us. Remaining concealed would prove almost impossible.

We continued as far as we could to the south-west before we saw that the village was coming to life. Tracks surrounded us on either side. We decided to try to seek shelter closer to the river but even that offered no respite. After narrowly
avoiding being seen by a woman washing clothes in the river's shallows, we had to veer off again. At last we decided to bury ourselves in a small thicket, sitting tight while trying to remain concealed for the day. It was nerve-racking, lying so close to human activity, in constant danger of being exposed by the numerous village dogs that wandered across our path.

As the sunlight grew stronger, our hiding place was closely passed by dozens of locals. Lying there watching their feet passing to and fro throughout the day was tense but also amusing. Despite our close proximity, the villagers remained completely oblivious to our presence.

By midday the sun was splashing against our shoulders like torrents of hot water. Most of us were able to find some token level of shade but Jimmy, as signaller, was continually occupied sending and receiving messages. We all felt sorry for him, sort of, as we spied his increasingly red and sweaty face throughout the day.

Through a series of signals G asked me how much water I had left. I held up my fingers to indicate that I still had about 9 or 10 litres. G furrowed his brow and held up four in response.

The sun continued to scorch us, and streams of people passed by, singing, talking and laughing. We were compromised several times by goats, pigs and dogs. One pig meandered into the centre of our position, raised his head and locked eyes with me. Little piggy nearly shit himself and took off squealing. At another point, Steve was taking a piss when a dog crept in for a look. A carefully aimed rock was enough to get the message through that we didn't want any extra attention.

As the day cooled and things began to quieten down again, I asked G in a hushed voice how he was travelling for water. Through parched lips he gave me a grin: ‘Cool – I still have four litres left.' He had spent the day baking in the sun and hadn't consumed a single drop. I was concerned about his
hydration levels, but we didn't have the time to address it then.

Jimmy had received word from the squadron that we had to ‘get eyes' on our target by the next morning or a raid would take place. This seemed a little backward to us. The whole point of our operation was to obtain information that would make a raid safe and effective. Their impatience would force us to compromise our security in order to reach the target by first light. As time was short, we would need to pass directly through the villages ahead. We readied our night-vision goggles and waited for the sky to fall completely black.

We had just entered a small clearing when Charlie and I froze. At a range of no more than 25 metres, and directly in front of us, were two hunters with spears. We stood stock-still – not moving, not breathing – until they had passed by and it was safe to go on. With the coast clear, we signalled to the others and continued through the village.

A little further along this happened again, but with an added difficulty. Charlie and I were well ahead of the rest of the patrol when our night-vision goggles flared. A bright ray of light was coming towards us. We didn't have time to signal the other guys so we just squeezed off the side of the path. With our weapons poised we crouched in the shadows and remained perfectly still. There was no time to take cover in the foliage and we were well aware that any noise or movement would draw unwanted attention to ourselves.

We held our breath as several men carrying spears and torches walked within two metres of our position. Fortunately, the other patrol members had seen us dart left and crouch, so they, trained as they were, had followed suit. At one point the hunters' torch-beam had rested less than twelve inches away from Jimmy's boot.

We pressed deeper into the village, silently passing within metres of groups of men around campfires, skirting thatched dwellings where we could hear the occupants chatting amongst themselves. They had no idea what was lurking so close to them. We crept through a maze of huts and tracks throughout the night. At one point, a dog – perhaps the one we'd pelted with rocks earlier – started going berserk. Luckily, barking dogs were obviously not out of the ordinary and no-one came to investigate.

Further on towards the end of the village, I almost found myself in deep shit. Out of the blue, the ground disappeared from under me. One leg and then the other slid into a black abyss and soon my body followed. I had fallen into some type of hole. Judging from the smell, it was probably a toilet. Luckily, my heavy pack wedged me tight against the earthen walls with my legs dangling in midair. It stopped me from falling all the way to the bottom, but was hardly the most becoming position for an SAS soldier! Even with extensive wriggling I was unable to free myself. I could see Steve's white teeth glowing in the darkness as he helped me out of the stinky hole. His amusement wasn't contagious but his assistance was appreciated.

The incessant barking of several dogs shadowed our patrol as we wove our way through the final lanes of the village. Miraculously, we made it without being compromised.

With a silent sigh of relief, we listened to the barking fade into the distance as we re-entered thick vegetation. Not long afterwards, during a brief navigational stop, G began pressing Steve as to how long we would remain there. When he was told it would be about 10 minutes, G began ripping open his shirt and panting like a dog, his tongue lapping at the air. At first, Steve and I just laughed at his antics. Either G was clowning around or he was being bitten by ants. We continued to consult the map and GPS in order to ascertain our precise location.

But G still seemed disoriented. The problem soon became clear when he told us that he had never been that hot in his entire life. He was without doubt experiencing heat exhaustion. He guzzled a decent quantity of water and slowly regained focus. G was a warrior and carried both the patrol medical kit and the light machine gun. Even a slight increase in temperature can have a profound effect on a soldier over the duration of a patrol.

With G back to normal, we continued a little further before locating a suitable position to sleep for the night. We were now only a couple of hundred metres shy of the creek that ran into our target village. The sun would be rising soon, and should the squadron raid take place, we were well placed to block any militants who attempted to flee into West Timor.

In the morning we received a message that the raid had been postponed and we had another day to assess the area for the presence of armed militants. The information we gathered would be utilised to plan the raid.

As we made our way towards the creek that ran between us and the village, I turned and whispered to Steve: ‘Fuck, I hope we get hit today.'

‘You say that every day,' he grinned, falling back so that his patrol scouts could go ahead.

Charlie and I cleared the ridge and looked down at the dry riverbed in front of us. Our path was incredibly exposed, the high banks leaving little opportunity for cover as we crossed. We propped just short of the crest and signalled back to the other four members of the patrol that we had reached the creek. Steve slowly approached our position while the other patrol members each dropped to one knee and scanned the bush for signs of movement.

Buster and Jimmy were pretty low on water, so they signalled to ask us whether the creek might quench their thirst. I couldn't resist. With one eye on its dusty, dry banks I turned back to them with a large smile and hearty thumbs-up. When both their faces broke into relieved smiles I turned my thumb upside-down again with a grin. Their hand signals sent an unmistakable message back.

Looking at the exposed nature of the crossing, Steve decided we should carry out a ‘deliberate obstacle crossing'. The entire team would take firing positions to cover Charlie and myself as we crossed first. Once we were established on the far side of the creek, we would give the all-clear for the remainder of the patrol to join us. Charlie slid down the bank first, doing his best not to leave tracks across the sandy bottom. As he hit the base of the bank, he quickly moved into a sideways walk, making sure that any prints he did end up making would appear to be pointed down the creek, not across it.

The creek was between 15 and 20 metres wide, and the banks were three or four metres high. As Charlie moved across the riverbed it was obvious that he would have trouble scaling the bank on the far side unassisted. I signalled back to the others and slid in after him. Under the watchful eyes of the rest of the team, we located a suitable point to exit the creek, all the while treading carefully to minimise our tracks. I assisted Charlie up the bank and he silently scanned the foliage before turning around and providing a helping hand for me. Once up safely, we spread out and vanished into the undergrowth.

Steve watched anxiously as our camouflaged fatigues were swallowed up by the maze of green on the opposite bank. We didn't have to be told what to do. The standard procedure was as straightforward as it was effective. The key thing was finding the balance between stealth and haste. Move too slowly and the remainder of our team could be compromised. Too fast and we could find ourselves in contact with the enemy and isolated from our mates. Our constant training and retraining had prepared us to adapt our skills and knowledge to the terrain and situation.

In silence, we both began to clear the terrain, moving through the bush in a large figure eight. As our eyes scanned the area around us, we kept our mouths slightly open to
achieve optimal hearing. I tried to shut out the sound of my racing heartbeat and ignore the weight of my pack and the rush of adrenaline coursing through me.

Each movement was slow and precise. We edged forward only a couple of metres at a time, before pausing to scan and listen once again. There was no whispering and only the odd hand signal, which was always carried out with the non-master hand. Your master hand grips your rifle's pistol grip, the pointer finger parallel to the trigger, the thumb gently caressing the safety catch, ready to disengage the safety mechanism at the first sign of danger. Despite our soaring pulse rates, our senses were operating at maximum efficiency. I'd never felt so alive.

We cleared our way to a small track approximately 35 metres into the foliage, before returning to the creek bed. Charlie stayed in the undergrowth as far back as he could while remaining visible to me. I moved to the edge and signalled to Steve that it was safe for the team to cross. Steve replied with a slow thumbs-up before ordering the remainder of the team across the gap, one man at a time. The creek bed was always covered in both directions, as was the direction we travelled from and where we were heading. The whole procedure took place without words; it was exactly like the drills we had practised so many times before.

Buster was the last man across the creek and he covered all footprints and signs of our presence swiftly behind him. Steve immediately ordered the patrol to adopt a defensive position approximately 15 metres into the foliage. I dropped to my stomach further along in the undergrowth so I could take in the full view from our potential new OP, while the rest of the patrol remained in a defensive circle, seated with packs on.

The OP site was alive with ants, like most of East Timor, and the little bastards wasted no time running up my arms and into my collar, where they savagely bit my neck. After
wiggling my back slightly in the vain hope that the ants might leave me alone, I tested the site's suitability as a vantage point. The frame of my pack pressed hard up against the rear of my neck and I signalled to Steve that I was going to remove it to make it easier to shoot if necessary. Another encouraging thumbs-up came my way. After further assessment I gave the nod and Steve signalled to the patrol that my position would indeed be the location of the OP. It was now my job to clear the area and remove the noisy foliage that littered the ground.

Carefully climbing to my feet, I painstakingly began dragging aside the rotting palm fronds that covered the area. Even with extreme care, the foliage was extremely dry and any movement was going to be noisy. The branches were also entwined with vines, making them even harder to remove. Scanning the creek bed, I had my weapon in my right arm while with my left I attempted to drag the fronds free. I signalled to Steve that I required some assistance and he set about informing one of the others to begin clearing a path to the OP which would allow me to maintain a visual on the creek.

I felt vulnerable standing with my back towards our point of maximum exposure so, as I worked, I glanced over my shoulder to take in the creek bed more fully. I wasn't expecting what I saw. There were six men no more than 20 metres away. All had weapons and all were walking up the creek towards my position. We'd confirmed the presence of armed militia in the area, and they were headed straight towards me.