by Andy McNab
‘We are here in a supporting role,’ said Captain Owusu. ‘Politically, this is very sensitive. The Kenyans need to be seen to be taking the lead on this and our task is to keep as low a profile as possible. They want Al Shabaab to know they are unwelcome, in the most forceful way possible.’
Another soldier raised his arm. This time it was Lance Corporal Parker, a quiet guy who generally spent his free time reading or doing long distance running. He also wrote poetry. No one took the piss – his stuff was actually excellent. ‘Do we have the right to engage if things get sticky?’
‘The aim is to ensure that they don’t,’ said Lieutenant Young. ‘This is, after all, subsurface and Close Target Recce. And that means making sure you’re not spotted.’
‘But what if we are?’ Parker continued. ‘If we get pinged, I’m assuming we don’t just stand up, wave a hello, and apologize for playing I-spy?’
A rumble of laughter made its way around the model.
‘You will work this to the letter,’ said Captain Owusu. ‘No unnecessary risks are to be taken. Getting caught by Al Shabaab is something nobody wants. You all saw how Azeez deals with prisoners. His reputation is built on his ruthlessness and it’s safe to say he thoroughly enjoys killing the enemy, particularly first hand and up close. So, if things do turn bad, and the proverbial poop hits the air-con, you get out fast, using whatever force is necessary to get clear. I’m sure I don’t need to waste my time telling you why. We do not wish to see a repeat of what happened in Mogadishu.’
Owusu stood back, and once again Lieutenant Young spoke to the platoon. He may have been a fair few years younger than the captain, but he spoke with assured confidence and authority.
‘At midday we will be taken by Chinook to a forward operating base close to the border with Somalia. The FOB lies inside the Boni National Reserve, which runs along the border and down to the Indian Ocean. The FOB itself is little more than a clearing and at less than twenty-four hours old, Al Shabaab will have no idea that it even exists.’
This made total sense, thought Liam, and would explain the sudden departure of the KDF the night before. They must have been sent ahead to make the area ready for the operation. There was no point planning an offensive and trying to keep it secret if they were then going to do it from an FOB that Al Shabaab probably already had eyes on. They’d be spooked if they noticed major troop movements.
‘And that,’ concluded Lieutenant Young, ‘is all you need to know for now. So I suggest we all spend the next few hours getting our kit up to scratch. Dismissed.’
‘All sorted?’ Biggs was standing at the end of Liam’s cot, kitted up and ready to go.
Liam responded with a nod. After Captain Owusu’s briefing, the platoon had gone into overdrive. Weapons were stripped, checked and double-checked. Kit was collected. And in a few minutes, they would be off.
Like everyone else in the platoon, Liam was armed with his SA80 and carrying 300 rounds. The SA80 bayonet was clipped to his belt. In addition to this, he was carrying the recently issued Glock 17 Gen 4 pistol. Lighter than the Browning pistol, which had been the mainstay of the army for years, it was also considerably more accurate. And with an increased magazine capacity of seventeen 9mm rounds it gave the individual soldier four additional chances to stop a threat to his own life and those around him. His bergen was packed with his usual equipment, including doss bag, clothing and a waterproof Gore-tex jacket, and half of his forty-eight hours’ worth of rations. The other half he carried in his webbing, with his medical kit and other necessities. They may have all received medical and survival training, but that training only came into play if the worst came to the worst. Liam had no urge to put those skills to the test.
Satisfied that everything was in order, he fell in behind Waterman and joined the rest of his section outside their sleeping quarters. From there it was a quick walk to where two Chinooks were waiting to take them to their next location.
‘Nice of the army to take us on a sightseeing trip, eh?’ said Cordner as they made their way towards the helicopters.
‘Reckon we’ll be able to send postcards?’ Liam asked.
Closing in on the Chinooks, conversation ceased, the thrum of the twin rotor blades and the roar of the engines drowning out all other sound. Climbing in, Liam strapped himself into his seat and closed his eyes. A lot had changed in the last twenty-four hours, he thought. As for what the next twenty-four held, he could only wonder.
Just under three hours later, in mid-afternoon, the platoon landed at the FOB. It was action stations as soon as their boots hit the dirt, as the platoon split into sections and got down to business. Around them, the KDF were busy erecting shelters and distributing kit.
A map was on the ground and Biggs was crouched down beside it. ‘Pretty shortly, we will be driven across the border with Somalia here,’ he said, pointing to it. ‘We will then, under cover of darkness, make our way here.’ Biggs’s finger rested on a ridge overlooking a slim valley running east to west. ‘Here we split into two four-man teams and set up two subsurface positions. Our targets are here, and here.’ He pointed. Drawn on the map in red were two simple crosses. The sergeant moved his finger back a fraction to a blue circle. ‘This is where we will set up a dead-letter drop. The KDF will then keep this stocked with equipment and we will relay back and forth with our INT, returning with supplies.’
‘So what exactly are we copping a look at?’ asked Fish. ‘We talking a couple of shacks in the jungle, or a full-on holiday camp for trainee terrorists?’
‘That remains quite literally to be seen,’ said Biggs. ‘Anything that Al Shabaab has established in this kind of terrain will be well-camouflaged and pretty damned temporary. The INT suggests that they’ve a number of dens along this valley, but as to size and number no one’s got a clue. So with us and the rest of the lads having a sneaky look-see, we’re hoping we can catch them at whatever it is they’re up to.’
‘We’ve only got forty-eight hours’ worth of food and water,’ Liam pointed out. ‘There’s no way it’s going to last us if we’re pegged out there for God knows how long.’
‘Which is why,’ replied Biggs, ‘we will be fully dependent on a supply chain provided by the KDF. They know the area well. Dead-letter drops will be established and we will use them to swap all our INT – maps, memory cards, whatever we find – with water, food and anything else we need.
‘We’ll work in the teams we’re used to. So that’s me, Pearce, Cordner and Scott. And Waterman, Jackson, Bale and Airey. We’ll be in touch with each other on our PRRs.’
Liam was pleased to hear that they would all have Personal Role Radios. The small transmitter-receiver radios had made a huge difference to soldiers on patrol, and communication was now immediate rather than whispered up and down the line or sent by a complex code of hand signals.
‘Then what?’ asked Waterman. ‘I’m assuming we’re not just sitting in a hole for a couple of weeks, then winging it back here for a pat on the back and a brew.’
‘Not exactly, no,’ said a voice from behind them. It was Lieutenant Young. ‘If we need to, we’ll be sending some of you back in on CTR. The KDF don’t want to miss anything. And if there’s a chance to sneak in and grab Abdul Azeez, even better.’
‘So it’s a possible smash and grab?’ asked Pearce. ‘Bags me in on that.’
‘For now,’ said the lieutenant, ‘focus on getting in, collecting as much INT as you can, and getting out safely. And in case you’re interested, your limousine awaits . . .’ He nodded across the clearing to a knackered old pick-up with a canvas hood.
‘Not what I’m used to,’ said Cordner. ‘I’m more of a Rolls-Royce kind of guy.’
The truck, observed Liam, looked like it had spent its life on a farm and had been sent to them for one last job before being allowed to die.
‘There’s less chance of you being noticed in that than if you drive into Somalia in a Humvee,’ said Lieutenant Young. ‘And I’m sure you’ll all appreciat
e the aroma of manure in the back. Now get shifting – you’ve work to do.’
The lieutenant turned and marched off. Without another word spoken, Liam and the rest of the section were on their feet and jogging over to the truck. The driver got out to welcome them.
‘Odull!’ said Liam.
The big man grinned back. ‘I will be driving you today, Lance Corporal Scott.’
‘Fuck me, that dude really is massive,’ whispered Pearce. ‘How did he even fit in the driver’s seat?’
Odull moved to the back of the pick-up, unhooked the tailgate, then flipped the canvas hood up.
‘I am sorry it is not more luxurious,’ he said. ‘But I have swept it out. The smell I could do nothing about.’
Liam clambered in, with the others following behind. ‘Cosy,’ he said as he dropped himself onto the flatbed, and he was soon squashed up tight against the driver’s cabin.
‘It’s a safety feature,’ said Cordner. ‘No seatbelts, so pack us in so tight that we can’t actually move if there’s a crash. Pure fecking genius.’
Odull heaved the tailgate back into place. ‘I will drive as carefully as I can,’ he said. ‘But the track is not good.’
‘How long is the journey?’ Fish asked.
‘It will take us about two hours,’ Odull replied. ‘If you need anything, just knock on the cabin. If I see something ahead, I will do the same.’
‘By something ahead, you mean Al Shabaab?’ asked Airey.
‘It is hard to say,’ Odull replied. ‘Al Shabaab have been in Somalia for a long time. They have recruited even children to their cause.’ He pulled down the hood. Then the engine grumbled into life and they were on their way.
‘Children?’ said Liam.
‘Life for them is hard,’ explained Biggs. ‘Most of them are starving as it is. All it takes is the promise of some fruit and a pair of shoes, and you’ve got an eleven-year-old kid running around with an AK47 in his hands.’
‘You mean there’s a chance we could end up being shot at by kids?’ Liam asked. ‘And having to return fire?’ He’d never even considered that as a possibility. Adults, yes, because they at least had some say in what they had decided to do. But children?
‘Best not to think about it,’ said Biggs. ‘If we do this well, then we hopefully won’t actually get shot at by anyone.’
From then on, no one spoke. Instead, they made use of the time to get some shut-eye. Uncomfortable it may have been, but if there was one thing all soldiers knew how to do, it was how to sleep anywhere.
They woke up in darkness as the truck pulled to a halt. On the equator, the sun set quickly and early, and now the stars were out. The trip, though uncomfortable, had thankfully gone without hitch or pause. After being dropped off by Odull, Liam and the rest of the section made their way on towards their destination.
Once far enough away from the track not to be spotted from anyone driving by, they had quickly got their bearings and then set off. Their navigation skills were immediately put to the test, and along with their maps and compasses, they took frequent glances at the sky in order to use the stars as markers. Regular checks every couple of hundred metres ensured that they never wandered too far from the quickest route to their destination. They passed the dead-letter drop – a well-hidden cleft in a small crag concealed by brush and small acacia trees. Empty now, in the next twenty-four hours it would be filled with fresh supplies.
In Afghanistan, the terrain had been rocks and mountains and thick scrub that tore at your boots. Here, it was greener, the countryside more rolling. Then there was the wildlife. At first, it had taken Liam’s eyes a while to adjust to what he was seeing, but soon he felt like he was walking through a BBC David Attenborough programme. He could hear the howls and snarls of wild dogs, and in the distance he spied the distinctive silhouettes of a herd of giraffes. Odull had told him that lions sometimes roamed the area, although Liam was very relieved not to encounter any. Mosquitoes swarmed around their faces and flies emerged from the long grass underfoot, disturbed by their movement. Despite being bitten God knows how many times, Liam still felt very lucky. The wilderness was as beautiful as it was dangerous, and being there was an experience he found difficult to describe.
Approximately six hours later, the section arrived where Biggs had shown them on the map – a ridge, slipping down on the other side into a thin valley below. It was still dark, but dawn was approaching and there was no time to dig in properly.
‘This is where we split up,’ said Biggs, turning to Waterman’s team. ‘You know what to do: get yourselves undercover sharpish and stay out of sight during daylight. As soon as night falls, get dug in and hidden. And stay in touch. Call in on the PRR every two hours even if nothing is happening. We all need to be aware of what’s going on. Understood?’
There were silent nods all round.
‘We’ve got two hours max,’ the sergeant continued. ‘We need to be out of sight and quiet before the sun decides to shine a halo on our location. So no fucking around. We’re in the badlands now. Any questions?’
The only question Liam had was just what they had let themselves in for.
9
‘RB?’
Liam was on with the SLR. The SD card was close to full and he had thirty minutes left taking photographs of anything that looked out of place or betrayed possible human activity. He kept his eye at the camera, and answered, ‘Yes, boss?’
‘It’s your turn to go for replen, mate,’ said Biggs. ‘We’re closing in on the end of our second forty-eight-hour stint. And I’m sure, like me, you’re desperate to get your hands on more burgers and beans.’
Having kept out of sight for their first day overlooking the shallow valley, Liam, Biggs, Pearce and Cordner had gone to work digging their hole. The soil had been soft, but the roots of the surrounding plants were gnarly and thick. Their entrenching tools had served them well, cutting and hacking through, but at points they’d had to improvise, falling back on the saw blades in the pocket survival kits they all carried at their own personal expense.
Once dug, they’d covered the scrape with netting, keeping it from sagging too much into the hole with stakes stuck into the ground. With leaves and twigs threaded through, the whole thing had then been thoroughly covered with anything to hand and it was almost dangerously invisible. Liam had, once or twice on leaving it, been at a loss as to how to find it again, which was both unnerving and comforting. If he couldn’t see it, having helped to create the thing, then anyone who didn’t know it was there in the first place wouldn’t have a chance.
Biggs and Liam were the only ones awake, with Cordner and Pearce taking their shift at grabbing some shuteye. The hole had certainly grown ripe, the reek of four unwashed men and all their kit leaving nothing to the imagination.
‘You mean Cordner didn’t put in the order for steak and beer we requested?’
‘Wouldn’t matter even if he had,’ said Biggs. ‘You’ve seen his writing. Looks like a snail trail. Anything new to report back?’
Liam shook his head. ‘Nothing more than what we’ve already seen. Those two sites we were supposed to observe are still empty. But there’s definitely movement on that trail Pearce spotted.’
‘He has some uses, it seems,’ said Biggs. ‘And that movement corresponds with what Waterman’s lot have seen from their post.’
‘I still don’t get how the KDF didn’t know there was a camp down there,’ said Liam.
‘The satellite photographs we were given were taken a week ago,’ said Biggs. ‘These kind of camps are built and occupied as quickly as they are abandoned. How’s your map coming along?’
‘Piss off,’ said Liam. ‘I don’t see why it’s down to me to sketch it out.’
‘It’s a process of elimination, RB,’ said Biggs. ‘And God knows you need the practice. Have you checked your kit?’
‘For what?’ Liam asked.
‘Well, I’ve heard stuff can take a wander,’ said Biggs. ‘You know, just disappe
ar and then suddenly reappear in front of the enemy. Ration bags, for example.’
‘Well, aren’t you the comedian?’ said Liam.
‘And I’m here all night,’ said Biggs.
Liam shook his head, knowing he’d never live down the incident from the LRCC. He looked back at his map. Along with the memory cards and any observation notes, hand-drawn maps were also sent back to the dead-letter drop.
Liam snapped another photograph, then turned to stare past Biggs, who was on with the spotting scope.
‘So who’s going to wake Pearce?’
‘I’ll leave that pleasure to you as well,’ said Biggs. ‘No, don’t thank me. Honestly, it’s fine.’
Considering their situation – they were essentially behind enemy lines and miles away from any serious backup – Liam was actually enjoying himself. They had settled into a well-ordered routine, and as yet no one had fallen out or made any errors. It was also good to know they weren’t just training any more, or training someone else, but doing an important job that they all hoped would make a difference.
‘I’ll give him another fifteen minutes then,’ said Liam, putting off the inevitable.
‘Scared?’
‘Of Pearce, no,’ said Liam. ‘But of the stink that comes out of his doss bag? Too fucking right I am. Reeks like something crawled up his arse to die.’
Biggs started to laugh, but stopped midway, his expression snapping immediately to serious.
‘What is it?’ hissed Liam, instinctively dropping his voice, the look on Biggs’s face warning enough.
Biggs held up a hand, then pointed at his right ear.
Liam listened in. Focusing, he zoned out the sound of his breathing, his heartbeat, and concentrated on what was happening around them.
