by Pete Scholey
While keeping their eyes peeled for Cairo Grenadiers, Laba and Tak also had to be wary of groups of children. The terrorists would use a crowd of Arab children as cover during an attack, throwing a grenade or opening fire on their target from the midst of the children, knowing that British soldiers would be reluctant to fire back. The children themselves could also pose a danger. The terrorists were known to supply weapons to young boys and dare them to go out and kill a Brit – and the Brits had prices on their heads. The kids would be offered a few dinah for shooting a soldier, twice as much for shooting an officer.
Laba and Tak also had to deal with the constant danger of discovery. They were certainly compromised the night they were forced to shoot the two Arabs in Sheikh Othman, but there they had enough space to defend themselves. They had to be very cautious when mixing with a crowd on the street. A shoot-out is easier to deal with than a knife in the back.
It was not only the locals of whom they had to be wary, though. There were other undercover groups at work in the townships, also dressed as Arabs. It is no accident that the Swahili ‘keeni-meeni’ was chosen as a name for the clandestine operations in Aden. The idea of undercover infiltration in this manner was employed by Major Frank Kitson in Kenya during the Mau Mau uprising and further developed in Cyprus and Palestine. The British Army was keen to try it out in Aden, too. Although different units had different areas in which they were supposed to operate, the SAS was not confined to any particular patch and there were systems in place to warn other units if operations were likely to overlap. But mistakes can happen. When an SAS patrol opened fire on a group of armed Arabs in Sheikh Othman, they seriously wounded two members of the Royal Anglian Regiment’s newly formed Special Branch Squad. They had no idea there was another undercover unit in the field. Should any of the regular British Army patrols have spotted the SAS Fijians in Arab dress and carrying weapons, they would also have taken immediate action. Laba and Tak were very much aware, therefore, that they were almost as likely to be shot by their own side as they were by the terrorists.
Laba and Tak’s keeni-meeni role left them dangerously exposed, but not nearly as much as the non-Fijian SAS soldiers who occasionally worked with them. When Tony McVeigh joined them on operations, his job was not to try to disguise himself as an Arab – quite the reverse. Tony would walk into a market place or shopping street dressed in civvies and wander around under the watchful eyes of Laba and Tak. Posing as a tourist or souvenir hunter, Tony would be the only white person to be seen and would naturally attract the attention of the terrorists or terrorist sympathizers. When they cornered him, Laba and Tak would move in. Poor Tony was just bait, like a little lamb left tethered in a clearing while the hunters lie in wait for the tiger to attack.
The SAS HQ in Aden (although the Regiment had a second base for operations up-country) was in two blocks of flats that had once served as married quarters for RAF personnel at Khormaksar. Here Laba, Tak and the rest of the 20-strong keeni-meeni team ate, slept and planned their missions. Aden provided invaluable experience of operations against urban terrorists that would be put to good use in the years to come, not least in Northern Ireland. It was in Aden, too, that the CQB (Close-Quarters Battle) skills the Regiment had started to acquire were refined and taken to a new level. The idea of the CQB course that John Slim had set up in Kenya was developed at the Cemetery Vale range in Aden. Situated near an Arab burial ground at the foot of Jebel Shamsan, the range was shared with the other services and special ops groups, including the Terrorist Weapons and Tactics Team, known for obvious reasons as the TWATTs. On the range, Laba and Tak practised drawing the heavy Browning pistol from beneath the Arab robes and ‘double-tapping’ a target from no more than 15 yards (14m). Their techniques for bringing the weapon into play had to be fast and smooth. An instant’s delay with the pistol caught in the folds of the robe could mean the difference between life and death.
Laba and Tak had no way of knowing the direct effect that Gamel Nasser’s incitements to the Arab peoples and the communist influence from the Soviet Bloc was to have on their lives in the future. Even if they had owned a crystal ball, I doubt if either of them would have given much thought to any predictions it provided. When the Regiment, and the British, left Aden in 1968, the country became a Soviet satellite state, the People’s Republic of South Yemen (in 1990, North and South Yemen merged to form today’s Republic of Yemen), the military facilities falling into the hands of the Soviets. Laba and Tak, however, had not seen the last of the Yemeni-backed belligerents.
Four years later, on 19 July 1972, the two Fijians were lying on their bunks in their billet in the small Omani harbour town of Mirbat. A low mist hung over the slopes of the Jebel Massif only a mile or so inland, spreading its penetrating drizzle almost as far as the coast where Mirbat nestled on the shore of the Arabian Sea. This was the monsoon season and the thick cloud meant that, at 5.00am, daylight was still some time away. This suited the Adoo, who crept silently towards their targets in the darkness. Over 250 of them swept down from the mountain, heading towards Mirbat. They divided into specific attack groups, those groups further split into squads of ten men, and made for their start positions, ready to advance on the town from all sides. Mirbat was surrounded.
The Adoo’s first objective was an outpost just over half a mile north of the town, standing on a small hill. Halfway between the town and the mountains, the hill towered over the target area and any sentries stationed on the hilltop had to be dealt with swiftly. The eight men manning the outpost were supposed to have died silently, their throats cut as they slept, but things did not go exactly as planned. A shot rang out, cutting through the damp air and, in the instant that it takes to recognize a gunshot, it was joined by a volley that left the sentries in no doubt that they were under attack.
Having lost the element of surprise, the Adoo mortar teams immediately opened up on Mirbat. Inside the town, Laba, Tak and the other seven members of the SAS British Army Training Team (BATT) heard the thud of the mortar explosions and rubbed the sleep from their eyes. Surely the Adoo weren’t trying to lob mortars into the town from way out on the Jebel again? The harassing fire rarely caused any real damage and the mortar teams always fled back into the mountains before anybody had a chance to get at them. Then a second wave of shells landed. Laba and Tak exchanged glances. This sounded different, closer. The SAS men scrambled to their stand-to positions to try to see what was going on.
The fishing harbour and garrison town of Mirbat lies on a sandy beach about 40 miles (64km) east of the southern regional capital of Salalah. The narrow strip of coastal plain around the bay is furrowed with wadis cut by water from the summer monsoons rushing down from the nearby mountains to the sea. In the dim light of the approaching dawn, from the roof of the mud-brick BATT house the team could see the wali’s fort to the north-east, barely make out the looming mass of the Jebel Ali much farther off to the north and just about identify the Dhofar Gendarmerie (DG) fort to the north-west. This fort housed the 25-strong contingent of the Dhofar Gendarmarie, the local paramilitary police force, who were armed with modern SLRs and boasted one Bren gun in their arsenal. A deep wadi separated the small clutch of buildings that skirted the marketplace, including the BATT house, from the main dwellings of the town further round the bay to the south. Surrounding the whole town, undulating over the uneven ground and cutting through the patchy scrub, was a perimeter fence of barbed wire.
Flashes in the distant gloom identified the location of the Adoo mortars at the base of the Jebel Massif. Their barrage was creeping closer, the rounds now falling at the edge of the town. Smaller flashes from rifles and machine-guns sparked on the Jebel Ali. It was clear from those that the DG sentries in the outpost had been overrun. Most of the fire from the Jebel Ali, including bright green lines of tracer, was directed against the DG fort.
The wali’s fort was manned by around 30 Askars, regular troops assigned to the local wali and whose job was security. They searched anyone coming
into or going out of the area for weapons or food that might be destined for the Adoo up in the mountains. The Askars were armed with old .303-calibre bolt-action rifles that were accurate in expert hands, but did not provide a very impressive rate of fire.
Heavily armed with mortars, several RPG-7s (Rocket-Propelled Grenades) and at least one Carl Gustav (both originally designed as anti-tank weapons), Kalashnikov assault rifles, heavy machine-guns and grenades, the Adoo were confident that they outgunned and outnumbered Mirbat’s defenders. Their intentions were quite simple – take the town and slaughter everyone in it.
The Adoo had suffered some dispiriting defeats at the hands of the sultan’s forces and badly needed a resounding victory to rally their disillusioned supporters. They chose Mirbat as a demonstration of their strength because the town was the focal point for the local Firquat, who were being trained by the SAS BATT. The attack on Mirbat was intended to teach the turncoats a lesson and show that the Adoo were not to be crossed. Sacking Mirbat was so important to them that they had assembled their best-trained, most experienced soldiers for the operation. They knew that most of the Firquat were out on patrol in the mountains and wanted them to return to a town that had been razed to the ground, with the butchered bodies of their families lying in the ruins.
It was obvious to the SAS team, under the command of Captain Mike Kealy, that the Adoo’s primary target in the village was to be the DG fort, which dominated the town, and the 25pdr field gun dug in outside the fort’s main gate. The gun’s main purpose was to provide covering fire for the Firquat should there be any Adoo on their tails as they returned from patrols in the mountains. Dug in with its ammunition bunker alongside, the gun was of the type used by the British Army in World War II, reputed to be the finest artillery piece of its size at the time and still a formidable weapon in the right hands 30 years later. Laba decided that those hands should be his. If the gun was captured, the Adoo could lay waste to the forts and the rest of the town. By this point shrapnel from the bursting mortars was screeching over the BATT house and there was sporadic, largely inaccurate, incoming small-arms fire from all sides. Laba left the BATT house and sprinted across the rough ground towards the 25pdr. He took cover where he could, but never for long. The gun urgently needed to be brought into action.
Tak watched his friend disappear towards the fort from his position in the BATT house mortar pit just a few yards from the building. The machine-guns mounted on the roof of the BATT house, one GPMG and one .50-calibre Browning, as well as the other troopers’ SLRs, remained silent. There was no point in giving away their exact positions by opening fire when there was barely enough light to identify a target. Tak, however, was busy with the 81mm mortar, pounding the Adoo’s mortar positions. As one of the three-man team took fire-control instructions over a walkie-talkie from the mortar controller on the roof of the BATT house, another was frantically unpacking mortar bombs from their containers, removing the safety pins and stacking them ready for Tak to drop them down the tube. In the Fijian’s big hands, the deadly 9lb (4kg) shells seemed no more than lightweight children’s toys.
Then came the reassuring crash and boom of the 25pdr opening up. Laba had reached the gun pit and was aiming, loading and firing the gun single-handed. Under more normal conditions, the gun would have had a crew of five. As the light started to brighten, the Adoo could be seen advancing towards the wire in the wake of their mortar barrage, which was now creeping forward ahead of them into the town. Using classic assault tactics, one squad advanced to good cover then gave covering fire as the next squad ‘leapfrogged’ them. Captain Kealy gave the order for the BATT house machine-guns to open fire and the troops in the forts also began to give good account of themselves, although the rate of fire from the ramparts was as nothing compared to the hail of bullets now streaming into the town.
Inside the BATT house, Captain Kealy ordered Pete Winner to contact SAS headquarters at Um al Gwarif, on the outskirts of Salalah, informing them that Mirbat was under attack and that they were taking heavy fire. As Pete worked the Morse key, a mortar round rocked the building. Abandoning normal encoding procedures, he sent the desperate message in plain text. Outside, the Adoo were probing towards the wire, searching for breaches opened by their mortars. No one wanted to present a tempting target by becoming entangled. The exchange of fire continued unabated and the clearing morning mist was reinforced by a pall of smoke and dust. Visibility did, however, slowly improve, although the low cloud made the beleaguered BATT unit’s requests for air support almost impossible to fulfil. Reinforcements, however, were being organized. The men of B Squadron in Mirbat had been due to go home on the day of the attack. Their replacements from G Squadron were already at Um al Gwarif and were now emptying the armoury, taking every GPMG and loading as much ammunition as they could carry into the trucks that would take them to the airstrip at Salalah. From there, helicopters would airlift the 22 men and their equipment to Mirbat ... once the mist had cleared enough for the pilots to be able to see where they were going.
Meanwhile, Laba worked hard, crouched behind the armoured shield of the 25pdr, his shirt stained with sweat and blackened with powder. The Adoo were so close that he was reduced to sighting the gun down the barrel, firing into the advancing men at what amounted to point blank range for a gun that was capable of hurling its high-explosive rounds more than 3 miles (5km). There were occasional, and temporary, lulls in the battle when the gunfire subsided from a thunderous frenzy to a more sporadic exchange as the Adoo went to ground. Then, having regrouped, a fresh wave rose to advance on the DG fort and its gun emplacement. They faced a withering hail of defensive fire and the determined barrage from Laba on the 25pdr. When the Adoo had closed to less than 50 yards (46m) from the fort, the rocket-propelled rounds from their RPG-7s and the high explosives from the Carl Gustav blasted enormous chunks of brick and plaster from its walls, leaving gaping holes.
Then a message came through on the walkie-talkie from Laba in the gun pit. ‘I’ve been chinned, but I’m okay.’ The message caused grave concern in the BATT house. Laba was not the sort to bother reporting a minor injury and only a lucky few hit by the 7.62mm round from a Kalashnikov ever got off lightly. It was clear that Laba was now in serious need of assistance. Even had he wanted to, there was no way that Captain Kealy could have stopped Tak from going to his friend’s aid. Clutching his SLR and a few magazines, Tak left the BATT house, running flat out towards the gun pit. The others gave him covering fire, but still Tak was running into a storm of bullets. A former top-class rugby player, dodging, weaving, diving and sprinting were second nature to Tak and the big Fijian covered the ground at a breathless pace.
Finally flinging himself into the gun pit, Tak gulped in great lungfuls of the smoky air and looked across at Laba. A blood-soaked shell dressing (a gauze-covered cotton pad with lengths of bandage attached) was tied around his face, roughly covering the wound where the bullet had smashed his jaw. Still crouched behind the bullet-ridden armour shield, Laba nodded to Tak, asked for more ammunition, and carried on operating the gun. Once he had made sure that Laba had enough shells to keep him going, Tak decided that what they really needed was another pair of hands. The only place from where he could hope to get more help was the fort. Steeling his body for another Olympian effort, Tak launched himself over the low sandbagged wall of the gun emplacement and dashed towards the door of the fort. Unsurprisingly, when he got there, it was locked. Tak hammered on the door and bellowed to the men inside as machine-gun rounds carved patterns in the masonry around him, showering him with debris. After what seemed like an eternity, the door was opened by Walid Khamis, the Omani gunner with whom both Tak and Laba had trained on the 25pdr. Both men raced for the gun pit.
Tak now knew that they had a chance. With Laba and Walid operating the gun, he could use his SLR to hold off the advancing Adoo. Now they could really start to make a difference. He tumbled back into the gun pit and turned to see Walid collapse on the sandbags. He had taken a rou
nd to the stomach and crashed down into the pit, writhing in agony. Laba and Tak were on their own again.
Back at the BATT house a casualty evacuation helicopter had been requested from Salalah and one of the team had slipped out to guide the chopper in to a landing area near the beach. As the helicopter appeared, he threw a green smoke grenade to show that the landing area was safe, but when the aircraft was on its final approach a group of Adoo opened fire, churning up the dust around the landing area. The trooper threw a red grenade to warn off the chopper and its engines roared as it climbed back into the sky with Adoo bullets tearing into its fuselage. The trooper then made his way back to the BATT house. But if one chopper could make the 25-minute flight from Salalah, then so could others. G Squadron was now embarked on three helicopters, heading down the coast to Mirbat.
The situation in the BATT house was now becoming desperate. The mortar crew’s targets were so close that it was almost impossible to engage them. The barrel was already raised to its maximum elevation, so the crew set it on the lowest charge, primary charge, and fired; the bomb travelled up almost vertically then dropped down on the enemy. The Askaris in the wali’s fort were firing at anything that moved, but the main thrust of the Adoo attack was still towards the DG fort. Having breached the wire in several places, they were moving inexorably closer.
Laba and Tak worked like machines. The gun fired, they opened the breech, ejected the hot shell case, slammed in a new one, rammed it home, closed the breech and fired. Their machine only ground to a halt when Tak reached for another shell and was hurled backwards into the sandbags. He’d been shot in the chest and as he landed another round creased his skull. He was in agony and losing a lot of blood, but he was still conscious. Laba helped Tak prop himself up against the sandbags and handed him his SLR. Then Laba went back to firing the gun and Tak peered down the sights of his rifle, picking off any Adoo who appeared within his limited field of fire. Automatic fire from the Adoo peppered the gun pit and Laba decided that the time had come to try a different tack. With the ammunition for the 25pdr all but gone, the floor of the gun pit was littered with spent shell cases and steeped in blood. Laba looked around for the small 60mm mortar he knew was in there somewhere. Spotting the weapon propped up against the sandbag wall, he crawled across the floor and reached out from behind the 25pdr’s shield to make a grab for the mortar. As he did so, an Adoo bullet ploughed into his neck and Laba slumped to the floor, dead.
