by Simon Cursey
Over the time of this Hotel assignment, which turned out to be just under three weeks long, we had one or two little incidents when the odd drunk came in, wanting to get in the bar, but nothing too serious, except for one event that could have turned nasty. Kev arrived one afternoon to drop off some extra batteries for our radios. As I said, he wasn’t with us on this operation, and it turned out this was because he had some other work to cover, so we had him as our link man to the outside world. He called in sometimes for a coffee and a chat or to drop off something we needed. On this particular day we were both in the bar quietly drinking a coffee and chatting, when one of the gate security men walked up to me.
He sat down with us and raised his eyebrows in the direction of a couple of blokes on the other side of the lounge. ‘Those two men sitting across by the window are armed; I frisked them and felt the weapons but said nothing and pretended I didn’t feel the guns. They didn’t offer any ID and I let them through.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Leave it to us and we’ll check them out.’
Both Kev and me, just like the gate man, were almost certain they were RUC detectives here for a lunchtime drink. I was a little annoyed because they knew they were required to hand in any weapons to gate security before entering the hotel, so we decided to teach them a lesson as they probably thought they were being clever – or perhaps were trying to test our security and thought that they had breached it. I was dressed in a nice suit but Kev didn’t look so tidy. He was wearing jeans and a black donkey jacket frayed around the edges; he was also unshaven and his long unwashed hair was flopping down to his shoulders.
We got up, walked over to the two men and sat down at their table. They just looked at us in total surprise. We didn’t say anything but Kev took out his eight-inch flick-knife and started nonchalantly cleaning his finger nails, periodically glancing up at these two guys.
While they appeared mesmerised at what Kev was doing, I drew my Walther PPK as a precaution as we weren’t absolutely sure who these two were at that time, and I laid my hand with the pistol flat on the table between their two coffee cups. The weapon’s ejection chamber was facing upwards and the muzzle was aiming directly at the chest of one of the men.
Both men turned white. ‘Don’t make any sudden moves and slowly with your left hands show me some ID,’ I said quietly. Gingerly they opened their wallets, confirming they were two detectives. ‘I know you are both armed,’ I said. ‘Why haven’t you left your weapons with security?’ They tried to give us some lame, bumbling excuse, but I interrupted them. ‘You know you shouldn’t do it,’ I said harshly. ‘If any of your people come in this hotel again with weapons, they’ll have a big problem. Now drink your coffee, get out and don’t come back.’
Within moments they gulped down their coffees and were gone and we never saw them or any other RUC again while we were there. I left the bar and walked outside to see the gate man.
‘You did the right thing in letting them through and telling us,’ I told him. I think this cheered him up, because I’m sure he didn’t really know what he should have done in this particular instance, and whether or not he had cocked up.
Back in the Bar, Kev said, ‘They looked really scared when you pulled the Walther. They had no idea who you were.’
‘It wasn’t the Walther that scared them,’ I grinned. ‘It was that dammed machete you keep waving around at people that gave them the shits.’ We had a bit of a laugh about it while we finished our coffee and then Kev set off from the hotel, vanishing into the city streets and making his way back to base.
At the end of our stay we briefed the staff, offering a little advice to everyone on tighter security arrangements, and we said good bye to the MD, who gave his thanks to us and wished us well, saying, ‘Take care of yourselves.’
Then, with our weapons and equipment bagged up, we simply disappeared, melting into the city streets in a similar fashion to when we arrived. I never managed to go back there again, and for the rest of my tour in Belfast the hotel never had another serious attack, only the odd stone-thrower or ineffective petrol bomb chucked from beyond the security barriers.
Chapter Six – Duck, Dash, Get Down
Early one morning after a wonderful big breakfast of sausage, egg, bacon, beans and tomatoes, we piled into the ops room. Our section, 83, was due to take over as the ‘duty’ section at 8:00 am. While checking in with the Int. boys and drawing our weapons from the armoury, we were informed that we had the North Howard Street Mill operation for the day. After our briefing at 8:15 am, we got our weapons and equipment together and moved off at 9:00 am to meet the Intelligence and Operations officers at the North Howard Street Mill Army location, in a side street off Falls Road.
During our briefing with the area Int. and Ops officers, we were told the details of the operation. We were to be operating with cars and our full section, together with the regular Army OP (observation post), in a derelict house on the Falls Road. This OP offered a clear view of approximately 200 metres along the main road in the direction of Andersonstown. We were also provided with details of the ‘Top Ten Wanted’ players in the area, which included descriptions, photos, names and addresses etc., together with a dossier of their past record of offences listing their known and suspected involvements. Each wanted person was given a title code, Alfa, Bravo, Charlie and so on.
Our job was to wait just inside the main gate of North Howard Street Mill Army base in two vehicles on immediate standby, at a moment’s notice to move. We couldn’t even leave our cars to go to the loo and food was brought to us while we just sat and waited, sometimes for up to seven or eight hours.
Our third vehicle a few metres behind us was on reserve/backup in case we had a major problem out on the Falls Road. Plus, an Army Land Rover patrol with four men was also on standby if required. The entrance to the location was nicely up a side street and quite secure, hidden from general view. If the troops in the OP spotted any of the ‘Top Ten’ listed characters, they would simply come up on the radio net, giving the title code-letter – Alfa, Bravo or whatever – and details of exactly where the suspect was, what he was wearing and what he was doing (talking with two or three friends, in a shop, etc.).
Within seconds we would mark their exact position on our street maps and then we were speeding out of the location onto the normally busy Falls Road. On reaching the position of the suspect we would completely seal off the road with both cars, creating a temporary secure zone between the two cars. The two patrol commanders were covered by the SMG-man from each vehicle as they made the snatch. The third man in each vehicle (the driver) stood by his car with pistol drawn. Their job was to hold the secure zone we were working within and keep people back.
The essence of this type of operation, like many others, was surprise, aggression and speed. We had different procedures based on whether the suspect was walking, standing in a group or inside a house or shop. After hours of practice we calculated the whole operation from leaving the Army location, making the snatch and returning in the vehicles with the suspect, to be not much more than two to three minutes. Any longer and we ran the risk of an IRA ASU (Active Service Unit) being mobilised to confront us. Also, we never attempted more than two snatches in any one day. If we did, an ASU would almost certainly be waiting for us to appear on our third outing.
During the snatches we almost never encountered any opposition from passers-by or shoppers. They were generally surprised and stunned by the events in progress and then a little afraid and shocked. We looked as rough as any IRA unit and we had a very aggressive approach.
I often felt that people in the street thought we were just some terror group kidnapping someone – which was happening on a daily basis on all sides at that time in the city. IRA gangs were kidnapping people from the loyalist paramilitary UDA (Ulster Defence Association), and the UVF and UFF (Ulster Freedom Fighters, Ulster Volunteer Force: both protestant terror groups) were kidnapping members of the IRA. Perhaps people were thinking we w
ere the IRA or even the UFF or UVF.
However, on this particular operation, everything and everyone was ready and waiting by about 10:30 am. We were positioned just inside the gates, close to the wall of the Army location and our third car with Ben, Bob and Colin on backup was in position about ten metres behind us. I was commander in my car with John driving and Kev in the back with his SMG – and of course his flick-knife. Mike was in front of me in the other car with Tug and Dave. All seemed fairly quiet for a long time except for the regular radio checks with the OP crew.
We were all perfectly capable of working in each other’s positions in the cars, but Kev usually preferred to ride in the back with the SMG or sometimes he’d drive. John always liked to drive and they normally left me to be the Commander, working with the radio and maps. But we always discussed everything together before making any decisions or plans which we always agreed as a group.
At about 3:00 pm it happened and we received an urgent message over the air.
‘Hello all stations 83. This is Oscar 1 [Army OP] – shop – numbers one, one, eight, [street number] – Foxtrot [subject’s code letter] in blue jeans, black jacket. Over.’
While Mike and me plotted the target’s location on our maps, Tug at the wheel acknowledged the message and we were away like a Grand Prix start. Bumper-to-bumper we roared out of the gate, turned right and then right again onto the Falls Road. We managed to get straight out onto the main road without any delay at the junction. Had there been a blockage or oncoming vehicles we would simply have forced our way out. We only had to drive about a hundred metres or more up the road to the shop.
As we approached number 118, John let Mike open up a space between us to allow for our little secure zone. At the same time I heard Kev cocking his SMG in the back seat of our car, preparing himself for when we arrived. We braked and quickly swung half right, stopping diagonally, right outside the shop, and creating a kind of chicane in the road, temporarily blocking the traffic. Mike and I jumped out with our 9 millies in our hands, followed by our back-seat SMG men, while the drivers left the engines running and took up their positions inside the zone, looking outward.
The drivers were there to cover us and to indicate for the traffic to stop while we were busy. Our SMG men took up positions on each side of the shop door, keeping people back and covering us as Mike and I went in. Mike went first with me back-to-back with him, virtually pushing him in. This way we avoided getting separated as we entered and moved through the customers, looking for our target. As we pushed our way through the crowded shop my 9 millie was panning from side to side through a 180 degree arc, indicating for everyone to stay back while I simultaneously scanned the figures surrounding us for any aggressive movements. Mike was doing the same as he searched out for our ‘Foxtrot’.
I felt him stop and take hold of someone; he grabbed hold of our ‘Foxtrot’ around the neck to prevent him resisting, showing him we meant business, while I continued to ensure that everyone else in the shop stayed well back. Then we reversed direction and began making our way back out to the street with me leading and Mike pushing me with his back. At the same time he was pulling ‘Foxtrot’ backwards with one arm round his neck, holding the target close and keeping him off balance while prodding his 9 millie in the guy’s ribs in between panning the barrel around the shop.
One or two women screamed initially but everyone backed off from us. I’ve never known anyone (that was sober) come forward onto me while I was waving a 9 millie under their nose: they could probably see that I intended to use it given a reason.
Outside, as we were about to force our ‘Foxtrot’ down onto the floor in the back of Mike’s car, we noticed that he was the wrong man. He looked similar but he wasn’t our target. Mike instantly let the man go and told him to move on. This man was initially a clear and present threat to all in our section and Mike told his driver to watch him while we returned for our real Foxtrot. He turned to John:
‘John, keep an eye on him until he moves on,’ said Mike as he raised his hand, indicating for me to go back inside with him.
We both ran back into the shop, same procedure, followed again to the doorway by our SMG men, and eventually found our real ‘Foxtrot’ hiding behind a large lady near the far end of the shop. He was only a young guy, about 20 years old, slim and not very tall. Mike reached for him and with the same procedure he grabbed him, pulling him close like before.
On our way out to the cars I noticed a couple of old ladies on the verge of passing out and I couldn’t blame them, really. I thought that if it had been my mum in that shop and all this happened to her twice in a few minutes, she would have had a dicky-fit. But there again, on second thoughts, my mum would have probably laid into us with her handbag, tough old lady that she was.
She had had a traumatic time in Europe during World War Two, spending a few years in a north German concentration camp when she was very young, narrowly surviving. She escaped after the Americans bombed it, mistakenly believing it to be a German Army camp. She met my father in Austria at the end of the war, and they got married and came to England when he was demobbed in 1947.
After a quick frisk, we piled our ‘Foxtrot’ onto the floor in the back of Mike’s car as Dave, his SMG man, jumped in on top of him, trampling him face-down and binding his hands with some plastic ties we used for hand cuffs. Pressing his foot hard on ‘Foxtrot’s’ neck, Dave slipped a bag over his head and held ‘Foxtrot’ firmly down with his feet, almost standing crouched on top of him while he roughly searched him again for any weapons he might have had hidden. Kev and I jumped into our car, and with John at the wheel we reversed up a little, spun hard right and sped off back to North Howard Street Mill, followed closely by Mike in his car with Tug, Dave and the prostrate ‘Foxtrot’.
Back at the Mill, we quickly handed over our hooded and bound suspect to the uniformed troops there waiting to arrest him. Within moments of our arrival, he had been frog-marched away for questioning.
This time, our operation had taken almost five minutes before we were on our way back to our base location and we were lucky we didn’t find ourselves in a re-make of The Gunfight at OK Corral. On other occasions we did get into confrontations, and we sometimes had to shoot our way out.
A few weeks later, we were back at North Howard Street Mill to carry out this same operation again, same format, same plan and same crews – but different target. We had been sitting there for about four hours when the radio burst into action.
‘Hello all stations 83. This is Oscar 1 – house – numbers one, three, niner, – Charlie, in blue jeans and green jumper. Over.’
Again the front vehicle driver acknowledged the message while Mike and I plotted the target on our maps, and we were off. But this time – because a house will have back-door access – our backup third car drove with us to cover the rear street. Meanwhile the Army Land Rover patrol listening in to us on the radio moved up to immediate standby position.
As before, with the same crews in each car, Mike and I opened up a little and then swung our cars to a halt in the half-right position, jumped out with our SMG men and burst in through the front door of the house. However, at the same time, our ‘Charlie’ and another man were running out the back.
By the time Mike and I made our way through the building, checking and clearing the downstairs rooms while backed up by one of our SMG men on the landing, we reached the kitchen and back door. The target and his accomplice by this time were in the back street and one of them opened fire at us with three shots from a pistol as we emerged into the back yard. Luckily the rounds struck the wall to our left as we ducked and split up, taking cover in the back yard area. Mike and I quickly took up positions against the back yard wall either side of the gate. Then, almost at the same moment, we heard more shots – but they were not from us or from the enemy.
Colin with his crew had appeared in the back street. They had parked and got out of their car and Colin, with his SMG-man Dave, had crept along the street
to cover the rear exit of the house. On seeing the two men run out of the house firing, Colin fired one shot into the chest of the gunman from a range of about ten metres just as the man was about to fire more shots at us in the yard. Then with a second shot, Colin fired at the other man who was also armed, whom he recognised as our ‘Charlie’, as he turned to run. The target was hit in the right buttock and both men tumbled to the floor.
Colin had intentionally aimed low at our ‘Charlie’ because, as always, the target was required for interrogation by our friends in uniform. Within moments, as arranged, our backup uniformed patrol arrived to take over from us and take control of the situation – one man dead and another seriously injured.
Both rounds that Colin had fired from his own personal .357 Magnum were armour-piercing and had passed right through each man. The rounds were so powerful that Colin knew very well how one for each man would be enough to stop them dead in their tracks at that short range. I’d seen a .357 Magnum armour-piercing round stop a car in the past. Aimed at the rear, the bullet passed right through the boot, then through the passenger compartment and cracked the engine block.
Before we left the area, Mike had a chat with us all and we packed up our equipment after we went back in the house for a quick check around for any other players who could be in there. Later we heard that a follow-up search on the house had produced quite a haul of weapons, including some ammunition, which made us feel quite pleased that the day had turned out so fruitful.
