by Simon Cursey
John, a Royal Anglian who we sometimes called ‘Titch’, was a lance corporal from Lincolnshire, blonde and a little goofy. But he was very good at mechanics and an excellent driver who could do almost anything with a car, in forward or reverse gear. I’m sure he could have gone on to be a top rally driver, given the chance.
Last was Bob, a Royal Marines corporal; dark, quietly spoken and from the south of England, slim built and always very cheerful, constantly keeping us entertained.
Then there was us three, Dave, Ben and me, hoping to fit in, to fill the gaps and help create the ‘Magnificent Nine’ of section 83. We were all from the north of England, with varied military skills, coming from signals, reconnaissance and support weapons backgrounds.
I was introduced to the others last and after giving my five-minute stand-up chat on my background, I was put into a team to work with Kev, John and Bob; but as a sub-team I was to work directly with Kev. This decision made me feel quite chuffed, because if we got into any trouble I would have the big bear next to me – and believe me, I was glad that he was on our side.
I’m five feet ten and was 12 stone in those days, but Kev at six feet two, with arms like my legs, could pick me up with one hand, and he always made me feel like a dwarf when we stood together. Kev and I always got on really well and he made me laugh on countless occasions, especially when he took out his flick knife to clean his fingernails in a life-or-death situation.
Dave and Ben made up two more teams with Mike, Tug and Colin. More usually, however, Bob and Dave would switch and work directly with Mike, so effectively we operated as three teams of three much of the time. At this briefing, we officially found out that the three guys in our cabin were Kev, Colin and Tug; Mike and the other two of the team would share the cabin opposite with 81 Section.
Later that day, I walked along the path and into our cabin and saw Dave and Ben sitting chatting with John, the guy who told us about the lovely white car. They were asking what types of operations we could expect to get involved in, and what they might entail.
In reply, John went over much of what the Boss had told us the day before, but added more detail, telling Dave and Ben about a surveillance job a couple of months earlier, when a couple of the lads from another section had been mobbed in the Shankhill Road while out patrolling on general surveillance one afternoon. They noticed a suspicious car and followed it around the area for a time.
Shortly after, the target car stopped and our two lads pulled in and got out of theirs to keep the target under surveillance. Unfortunately they were noticed and attacked by a group of Protestants who assumed they were IRA terrorists. The group had attacked with sticks and crowbars, giving our two lads quite a beating and destroying their car. But fortunately, during this beating, someone in the Protestant group suddenly shouted at the others, ‘Stop, stop! These guys are Army – I know this one from when I was in the forces.’
At the same moment, a uniformed patrol pitched up, dispersed the crowd and took our two lads away to the Musgrave Park Hospital. They had both suffered a lot of punishment and one of them sustained a broken arm in the scuffle. Within a few weeks, they had both recovered and were back on the streets patrolling with their section again.
During the attack, the target vehicle managed to escape from the scene and was never traced.
Chapter Three – Fired-Up and Fine-Tuned
Over the following few weeks we were kept very busy. Often, while on standby section, we had to sit in on briefings and study sessions, learning about the Belfast streets and studying the photos of the characters we were interested in, and their areas of the city. Then later, while on duty section, we’d be on-the-job training while patrolling. This was quite dangerous, especially in a place like Belfast when a gunman or bomber could pop up at any moment. In 1972 gunmen were freely roaming the city streets, and could be waiting to launch an attack from around a corner at any time, a fact which undoubtedly fine-tunes your senses. As a result, you tended to learn things very, very quickly. You knew that just one simple mistake could easily cost you your life – or even worse, your friend’s life.
In those early days we all clearly felt there was a great sense of urgency in the air, on the part of the Army, to select the best people available and get us trained up as quickly as possible. All sections of the MRF during this initial, chaotic period were made of corporals and sergeants, known as NCOs (non-commissioned officers), although almost all of us were qualified, top-grade small-arms weapons and firing-range instructors, and we generally came from a working class back-ground – with good reason. We didn’t have any officers in the sections working with us, getting involved on operations with us at all. Sometimes the Boss would accompany a section for a couple of hours on general patrol, but only on rare occasions. Much of our time on duty was spent mixing closely with the local population that inhabited some of the most dangerous, unforgiving and fearful parts of Northern Ireland. We felt that the average British Army officer, in uniform or plain-clothes, stood out like an elephant on a ski slope … with their private school and silver service up-bringing, which was much more noticeable in the early 1970s than today.
On the streets of Belfast during this very dangerous and explosive period, when every stranger was meticulously scrutinised, it was absolutely essential for us all to blend in with our surroundings. We had to completely fit in, looking like and acting just like the locals. And we found that the average Army officer-type on plain-clothes operations simply defied this profile: you could easily have seen that they were Army from miles away.
It’s common knowledge that later, in the 1980s and ’90s and well known that the activities of 14 Intelligence Company – the Det – was restructured and took on more of a passive, surveillance role and the social profile was not so vitally important. Then, other plain-clothes departments were tasked to take on any aggressive confrontational operations with the terrorist groups.
However, in the early 1970s, we in the MRF took on all these offensive, defensive and surveillance roles ourselves. The fires were burning furiously and it appeared there was little time or any existing structure available to departmentalise our responsibilities and efforts. We had to just get on with the tasks and operations, whatever they were and be ready, when required, to confront and deal with the terrorists head on.
It was inevitable that our small unit of the MRF would become compromised sooner or later. This was partly due to the relentless, heavy commitments and the aggressive nature of some of the operations we were tasked with. But I feel it was mainly a handful of reckless press reports, released from some so-called ‘Army spokesmen’, which exposed our unit.
The Army, under quite some pressure from the press to ‘come clean’, appeared to openly give out details of some of our operations. It seemed like they simply handed out press releases admitting to a couple of incidents we were involved in. It looked like they freely gave out the initials of the unit, which some then guessed at the time to stand for Military Reconnaissance Force or Mobile Reconnaissance Force. Information regarding the weapons we used, our general area of operation and the strength of the MRF unit was also leaked.
Instead of sticking to the original plan we were told – of denying all knowledge and toughing it out. There appeared to be some nervousness and backsliding, especially with regard to some earlier reported incidents.
No-one knew for sure anything of our existence or involvement in those few publicised incidents until the Army let it out to the press, generating provocative headlines such as ‘Tommy Gun … Plain-Clothes Killers’, ‘Troops Taken For IRA Men’, ‘Plain-Clothes Army Patrols - Whitelaw Challenged To Come Clean’, ‘Republicans On “Military Murder Squads In Mufti”’, ‘Army Secret “Civvy” Squads’, ‘Army Murder Gangs - The Faceless Ones … Secret Squads Spy On The IRA Gunmen’, ‘Secret Agent Is Shot Dead By Terrorists’ and ‘Flare Line Spies … Silently, They Risk Death To Save Ulster’. It sounds glamorous now, but at the time it was deadly dangerous for us,
as our lives depended on being invisible.
We were involved in a wide variety of operations and the few publicised actions were just the tip of the iceberg. Nonetheless, someone behind a desk lost his nerve, got cold feet and compromised the entire unit’s activities, risking each and every one of our lives all over again.
Contrary to popular belief, the MRF did not appear to be totally disbanded in 1974-75. There seemed to be little change in the unit at that time except that many operations were toned down. We also went through a variety of name changes over a period of a couple of months, from MRF to various other names but some time later, eventually settling on 14 Intelligence Company. This seemed to be purposely done to shake the enemy off our scent and sow confusion everywhere, and it worked quite well by making everyone assume we had been disbanded and rendered non-operational. It sowed confusion with us, too, mind: in fact, our name was changing so quickly and so often I wasn’t sure from day to day what we were supposed to be called.
During those first few months after I arrived, much of our time was spent on surveillance techniques, both mobile and on foot, together with counter-surveillance – making sure you’re not being followed while you follow the target. This was all very intensive and energy draining, mentally and physically. We worked in a group of five to eight men, all in radio contact with one another. The main objective was to follow the target, not necessarily the person himself, without being seen.
For example, on foot: we would be watching and following something distinctive such as a hat, a coat or an item the person was carrying. The reason for this was that we never wanted to make eye contact with the person or get so close as to see their face in detail. If eye contact was ever made, the lead position had to change immediately and the next man in line took over the surveillance. Radio contact within the team was essential and a running commentary of every move the person made was relayed back through the whole team. Useful aids in foot surveillance can be things like vehicle and shop windows because you can stand with your back to the target and still observe them in the reflection. But you must take care which windows you choose: you would look a little odd staring for ten minutes into a shop full of ladies’ underwear or one that was empty and undergoing renovation.
We often practiced the various formations on foot and in vehicles. In the city, we would sometimes ‘bracket’ the target, with operators in parallel streets, ready to take over the lead if the target turned left or right. Or we would ‘box’ the target, with operators to the front, rear and sides, which usually depended on the amount of other people or traffic in and around our area of operation. Or perhaps the weather conditions at the time allowed us to move nearer and to close in all around the target, as was possible if it was foggy or raining heavily.
You also had to act in a natural way and with a purpose, pretending to do one thing while actually doing another. What if you followed a target into a shop but as you walked in the door, the target walked back out straight past you? This is one way a target tries to shake off a tail if he thinks he’s being followed. As it is, you would have to carry on in, without flinching or hesitation, as if you really wanted to buy that neck-tie. Then as quickly as possible you informed the next man in line, by radio, who would be close by outside. You would tell him that the target had left the building, say where the target now was, and ask your colleague to carry on the surveillance. You would emerge a decent time later to join the rear of the counter-surveillance team.
The whole process is mentally very draining and takes plenty of practice for the team to co-ordinate its movements. You need your wits about you and must be totally focused forward on your target and everything else that’s going on around him or her. You can’t afford to miss anything: the passing of a note, the shaking of hands or a simple wave of a hand – you must see it all and relay every move back to the team while they are busy making notes and watching your back.
With mobile, vehicle surveillance, the process is very much the same but we would use four or five vehicles. However, in practice it’s a little more difficult to carry out because co-ordinating movements is more complicated due to traffic and stop lights. Furthermore, it’s not so easy to slip a tonne of metal out of sight, like it is for a man on foot to hide himself. I always felt less vulnerable and more confident carrying out foot surveillance as it’s much, much easier to blend in with your surroundings.
The OP (observation post) and photography were next. I was actually re-learning how to set up an OP, as I had done it a few times before in my parent unit. The new element to it was setting up and operating in an urban area where the enemy might be only a few feet away, and then having to stay and virtually live in your position for days on end. Simple things like eating and shitting become a major undertaking. The most important things to remember when sighting and preparing your OP are your avenues of escape in case you have to make a quick exit. Also, you need to take the correct equipment with you for the type of OP you are operating. If you were in the countryside, you would need ground sheets and camouflage nets for protection from the damp earth and also from the weather above, together with chicken wire to hold up the bracken after you cut into it so it doesn’t all collapse in on top of you. Small garden trimming cutters and string are handy to cut into the bracken and tie it back afterwards.
In a house OP, on the other hand, your kit would obviously be a little different. If you were located in an old broken-down attic or a room of a burned-out building, handy things would be tables and chairs, blankets and some face-veil type of material. You need to be elevated with the chair on the table, well back from the window, with the blankets and face veil over you as cover, and with just the camera lens or rifle barrel showing. In this position, anyone outside, down in the street, would have great difficulty in seeing you. Not only are you elevated (people rarely look up) but you are well back in the shadows or a corner of the room, and your shape is totally broken up.
Another type of OP is from a vehicle, casually parked for a short time watching someone’s house or an area you’re interested in. In this situation we’d periodically get out of the car, call into a shop and mingle with others in the street.
Or perhaps we might set up an OP in the hills overlooking a housing estate or an area of interest, looking out for movements of weapons or explosives around the area. We could even find ourselves standing for a while on a street corner observing a house or houses, and relaying back information on activities in and around the target area.
Sometimes we set-up OPs in large gardens in the grounds of a house, provided there was plenty of cover from trees and shrubbery and of course good avenues of escape. A couple of us would simply sit and live there for two or three days at a time, taking photographs and making notes, while we had other section members nearby, patrolling in cars as our backup if they were needed.
One time, John and I had been positioned, located in the bushes of a large garden on just such an OP on the fringes of Belfast. We sat there for two days living on tins of corned beef – ‘corned dog’ as we all called it. We were dressed in camouflage and had blacked-out, camouflaged faces and hands. The weather had been totally miserable with lots of fog interspersed with light and heavy rain showers and we were both pretty well fed-up with being cold and damp.
It was a never-ending task trying to keep the cameras and our weapons clean and dry. We had been taking lots of photos of a variety of people as they arrived and left the property. Then suddenly Kev turned up in the middle of the night, called us on the radio and threw a big bag of hot fish and chips over the wall into our OP. We quickly grabbed them and John and I got stuck in with wide smiles on our faces. We told Kev on the radio that we owed him for that. Kev just quietly replied, ‘Enjoy lads … catch you later.’
After an OP operation was concluded, we had to clean up all around and leave absolutely no trace that we had been there. The extraction was normally carried out in the very early hours of the morning. Our cars closed in on our position when w
e radioed them to say we were ready and we moved out with all our equipment packed and weapons at the ‘ready’, joining up with the nearby cars within moments. And then we were gone.
The photography instruction was enjoyable and usually part of the OP training. We learned developing, enlarging and the use of different films back at the minilab, a large broom cupboard at our base. Setting up and locating the different cameras and long lenses on tripods was interesting; we had to get to grips with things such as f-stops, focal lengths and depth-of-field, and learn about ASA, ISO and DIN settings as part of normal OP practice. It was a little complicated at times, but all very fascinating to me; in fact it turned out to be a life-long hobby.
Another enjoyable part of our training were the kidnap, hijack and anti-hijack drills we had to master. We always worked in small teams, and everyone was beginning to gel and work well together, spending our rest breaks talking over the drills and procedures, often with a pot of tea and a sandwich, while watching another team go at it and figuring out the best methods, until everyone knew exactly what to do and when to do it. We did have our occasional cock-ups, such as two of us running around the car, in opposite directions, weapon in hand, so that we’d crash into one another and end up sitting on the ground, looking and feeling a little embarrassed, with Mike standing over us, hands on hips and looking unimpressed. Fortunately, this type of training was done way out of town, usually in secluded countryside or some place in the middle of nowhere. Alternatively, we’d occasionally practice on the nearby firing ranges while awaiting our turn.
The house-entry techniques and instruction was a relatively small part of our training programme. We were informed that the unit don’t have much hardware – meaning mini cameras and listening devices – for that type of operation. There was some, but nothing like they have now. ‘It will be on very few occasions that you’ll be fiddling around with locks and latches to enter a house,’ we were told. ‘Perhaps you’ll only be doing it to place the odd listening device.’ Ordinarily, if we entered a house, we would be simply bursting in ‘fast and furious’ to lift the occupants for questioning.
