Immediate Action

by Andy McNab

  We could hear on the net that the other two cars were now in the area of the hotel and starting to search. One of the suspicious vehicles in that area that we knew to look out for was a blue van, possibly of foreign make.

  Eno said, "I bet it's a fucking come-on." Maybe the boys wanted us in the area because they had planned a party.

  The Boss was map-reading with a small Maglite torch: "Down here, turn left."

  The car slithered around the bend. Frank said, "No point rushing.

  Let's just trogon; we'll get there eventually."

  Then we heard: "Stand by, we have a possible here, wait out."

  Everybody shut up now, 'waiting to hear what happened next.

  Al, Eddie, and Clive were in one of the cars and drove past a blue Toyota van parked up on another road just off the Drumrush Lodge.

  Everyone apart from the driver was keeping right down; they didn't want to put anyone off their work. They came ' back on the net: "It's parked up, no lights, no movement, but the door is slightly open. It looks like something's going down."

  Ken was on the net: "Block the road. We'll stake it out and see what turns up."

  His team was now at the other end of the road. The van wasn't going to go anywhere; with luck the area was contained. However, we still didn't know what was going on.

  Clive's team were out of their car and Al put out the caltrops, spiked chains that would stop a vehicle by blowing the tires out.

  Ken was on the net to Fraser: "Is there any area that I've left?"

  He obviously wanted to know if there was any road or track between the two cars that they hadn't seen.

  "No, that's okay, everything's covered."

  They stopped and listened. Sound travels much more at night and even further on cold ones.

  As we slithered along as fast as we could on the ice, I pictured Eddie listening in the fog as he tried to learn what was happening around the car. He'd be opening his jaw to take out any noises of swallowing that he made with his mouth and leaning his ear to the area.

  Eddie could hear something, but he needed it confirmed: "Clive, listen to this." He came to Eddie and turned his radio off so that there was no interference from his earpiece.

  Someone was walking down the road. In the freezing fog this was wrong.

  "Stand still, and put up your hands where I can see them!" Eddie shouted. "This is the security forces!"

  The walker was about ten meters away and Eddie had decided that that was close enough. He called out just loud enough for this walker to hear, not loud enough, he hoped, to alert anyone else further afield.

  "It's okay, it's only me!" The boy sounded as if he was flapping good style; he was hoping no doubt that his challengers were just a local army patrol so he'd have time to think of something or get some backup.

  "Shut up, stand still or I will fire-do you understand?"

  By now Clive had his HKS3 in his shoulder and was starting to move forward.

  The boy ran.

  Al moved to the back of the car to get a Schermuly flare from the boot.

  He fired it into the air, and night turned into foggy day.

  Clive and Eddie fired to the side of the boy as he ran over a ditch and fence and into a field. Night viewing aids were of limited value in fog. They were going to lose him; they had to do something.

  From Ken we heard: "Contact, contact, wait out."

  We started to get sparked up. The Boss said, "Fucking hell, it's on! We need to get there as fast as we can."

  Frank said, "It's pointless rushing. We'll get there."

  I knew Frank was right, but I felt helpless in the backseat.

  Ken's team didn't know any more than we did; they would not move forward in case of a blue-on-blue (friendly fire). If Clive and Eddie needed any help, they would call for it.

  All this time two other members of the PIRA gang had been no more than five meters away from Clive's team in the car. They must have heard it stop, and remained hidden. As the Schermuly went up and Clive and Eddie started to fire, so did they-at Al.

  Clive and Eddie had got the runner. He quite sensibly stopped as the Schermuly was doing its job and he knew that he was in the shit.

  "Bring your hands up and turn towards me. Now walk towards me."

  Clive was giving commands, but the boy wasn't listening. He got dragged onto the road and put facedown.

  "I am going to search you," Clive said. "If you move, you will be shot, do you understand?" Eddie shouted for Al to bring some plasticuffs so they could immobilize him until the R.U.C arrived.

  ' We were nearly there now and telling Ken the direction of our approach so he could put us in where he wanted. The area was in darkness again.

  Al hadn't responded to their request, so both men dragged the prisoner to the car.

  Eddie said to Clive: "Take my weapon. I'll get in the back for the cuffs."

  He handed it over to Clive, who covered the boy on the ground.

  There wasn't a sling on Eddie's weapon so Clive was holding it in his hand.

  Next person we heard on the net was Eddie: "Hello, all call signs, we have a man down. It's Al-we need a heli. Get a helicopter in now!"

  Fraser came back: "Roger that, confirm it's Al. Confirm it's Al, over."

  He needed to make sure so that the blood type could be matched.

  Eddie came back: "Yep, it's Al. Get it in now! We need it in now!"

  We heard Ken say, "Get it in now! Fuck the weather, I want a heli in there now!"

  The scaleys were on other frequencies now, trying to get a heli up. But there was no way a helicopter could fly in freezing fog. The boss down at TCG was trying to organize to get an ambulance in.

  Fraser came back to Clive and Eddie a few minutes later. "We can't get a heli in; the fog, s down too much.

  We're trying for an ambulance, we're going to get something in for you, wait out, wait out."

  Al had taken rounds in the arm and chest. Eddie got the trauma pack out of the boot to stop the bleeding and get some fluid into him.

  This wasn't looking good: As well as Al's being down, there were more players around in the darkness.

  Ken's team were out in the fields following up, and by now so were we.

  The boy on the floor must have heard everything and considered himself deeply in the shit because he decided to go for it. He lunged at Clive in an attempt to get past him; Clive dropped Eddie's HK53 so he could use his arm to drop him.

  He was too late. The boy was gone, and so was the weapon.

  "He's got a fifty-three!" Clive shouted. "He's got a fifty-three!"

  They went after him.

  Eddie had drawn his pistol; they both fired, and the boy dropped.

  They ran forward and checked his body, 230 but there was no pulse.

  They went back to Al, but it was too late. Al Slater was dead.

  Ken came over the net, "Contact, wait out."

  Frank replied, "We're about two minutes away. I'm stopping anything moving out."

  We stopped any vehicles we saw coming from that direction. I was glad we were in uniform; there was a security base nearby, and now the shit had hit the fan I wouldn't have wanted to be in civvies.

  We saw lights coming along the road and put in an instant VCP.

  Frank went to the car as any normal soldier would, so as to not arouse any suspicion: "Hello, could I see your driving license please?

  Where are you going? Thank you, good night."

  What they didn't know was that I had an M16 pointing at the head of the driver and Eno had an LMG ready to stop the car and its passengers if there was any threat to this local army VCP.

  We started to follow up in the area, but it was going to be more luck than anything if we bumped into ihem.

  We had to cover as much ground as possible as quickly as possible.

  On the net we heard the local unit's QRF being called forward by Fraser to cordon off the area, hoping that the players from the bomb team were still in the area
feeling like trapped rabbits.

  We could tell by the radio traffic that there were far more chiefs than Indians. Some of their Land Rovers were in ditches because of the ice.

  All they knew was that. there were casualties and terrorists in the area. Every time a tree moved it was reported. There was a danger of our being shot by our own QRF.

  There were short bursts of gunfire in the distance. Every time we got on the net: "What is it? What is it?" We wanted to react. Fraser came back each time. "Stand down, stand down." It was the QRF, firing at shadows.

  There was a good chance that the boys could still be in the area, but the QRF were multiplying the problems, and if any more time was wasted, we might lose them.

  Ken was severely pissed off and got on the net: "Get this to the QRF: We will contain this area. They are to stay where they are. They are not to fire at anything unless one of us tells them to or they are being fired at.

  No patrols, no movement; stay in the vehicles. Tell them not to react to anything until they're told."

  We were well insulated, but my feet 'and hands were stiff with cold.

  Every few steps I was slipping on the ice.

  Fraser said, "The QRF have reported movement in some hedgerows by the river. Are there any of our call signs down by the river, over?"

  Silence.

  Frank said: "Me and Andy will take that."

  "Roger that. Frank's going down to the river. Ken, acknowledge."

  "Ken, roger that."

  Frank said, "Andy, what I want you to do is just keep I moving forward and scanning the hedgerow with your night sight.

  I'll be behind you with mine, and we'll get these boys out."

  I switched my sight back on, took a deep breath, and started moving.

  It was eerily quiet. I could hear the ice cracking on the grass.

  I was in a semicrouched position, safety catch off, butt in the shoulder, picking my feet up really high, trying not to breathe too hard, trying to keep the noise down, trying to keep as small as possible. Frank was about five to seven meters behind, aiming just to my right so he could take anybody on. Because he was detached, it would be easier for him to react.

  I was listening in on the radio, making sure I knew where everybody was.

  By now an ambulance had turned up, and it had its blue light flashing.

  It was a fair way away from us, but as the light spun around, it was catching us like dancers in a disco strobe. I thought, Fucking hell, this is a good day out this is.

  I took two or three steps, stopped, ran my night sight up and down. We moved on, stopped, moved on. At any moment I was expecting to hear a burst of gunfire and to feel the rounds thud into my body.

  It wasn't a nice feeling at all.

  Big drainage ditches ran alongside the hedgerows. It was pitch-black; visibility was shit; there was lots of commotion, lots of noise in the distance. Running around in there somewhere were terrorists who'd just had a contact. They would be flapping, they would want to get out of it, and they would be armed.

  It was only after about twenty minutes that I thought: Shit, I've drawn the short straw here, haven't I? I'll take all the rounds and Frank lands up shooting them.

  We found nothing.

  After a few days pieces of the puzzle started to come. together.

  Antoin Mac Giolla Bride was an ex-Southern Irish soldier and a well-known terrorist since he was first arrested with a rifle in 1979.

  His A.S.U (active service unit) had planned to lay a land mine, consisting of beer kegs crammed with low explosive, in a culvert at the entrance to the hotel. By the time we got the call the bomb was in place.

  As Al's car drove past, they must have heard it and hidden.

  Unfortunately the car stopped just feet from two of the boys. As he sent the Schermuly up, they must have seen his silhouette and opened up.

  Al took rounds but managed to turn and fire back.

  Then he fell.

  They moved off and got to the banks of the Bannagh River. One of them jumped into the water to cross to the other side. The river was only about twenty feet wide, but it was in flood, and there were deep pools.

  When he got over, he couldn't find his companion. He'd drowned further downstream.

  The troop was a close-knit group, and Al Slater's death put all of us on a downer. It's never easy losing somebody you know, but there's not a lot you can do about it, you've got to get on with it. Within about two days the jokes were being cracked.

  We were going to have a Christmas piss-up. The troop invited all the different personalities from the police force and other organizations that we had dealings with.

  One of the policemen there, a fellow called Freddie, had lost his left hand in an accident and had a Gucci replacement strapped onto his stump.

  It worked on electrodes, and gave him the capability to flex his fingers to grasp things, but unfortunately the arm occasionally developed a mind of its own. It would be all right when he put it on, but then all of a sudden the electrodes would short-circuit and the fingers would be flexing all over the place like something out of an old B movie. We all used to think it was great.

  We were thinking about getting him a present, and there was much humming and hawing about what it should be. The best we could come up with was a regimental plaque, but Ken said, "That's crap. Don't worry, I'll sort it out."

  Freddie turned up at the do, and there must have been 150 or so people present.

  Ken got up with a small parcel in his hand, wrapped in fancy paper and ribbons.

  "Well, Fred," he said, "this is just a little something to say thanks very much for all the help and support this past year. We hope this will come in handy, and rather than give you something really bone like a plaque to hang on a wall, we thought we'd give you something much more practical."

  "Thanks very much," said Fred. He started to undo the ribbons and paper, which took him ages because Ken had used four layers of wrapping just to fuck him up. At last, after Fred had got a decent sweat on wrestling with ribbons and sellotape, our gift was finally revealed in all its glory-a can of WD40.

  Freddie took it really well, rolled up his sleeve, and had a little squirt.

  I bought Al's Barbour jacket at the auction; it would have been cheaper to have bought a brand-new one, but that's how it goes.

  Nobody was worse affected by Al's death than Frank Collins.

  "I've seen a lot of mates die during my seven years in the Regiment," he said, "but this has hit me the hardest."

  Maybe Al's death was the first big test of his Christian faith.

  Frank left the Regiment soon afterward and decided to train to be the ayatollah. However, he wanted to pay off his mortgage before he enrolled at Bible college, and his first freelance job took him to Sri Lanka.

  Frank lasted two weeks. When I saw him much later in Hereford, he said,

  "They had no understanding of right or wrong and thought nothing of wiping out Tamils. Some of the people we trained committed atrocities.

  It was well paid, but I came straight home."

  He then got a BG (bodyguard) job in Athens and worked for Burton chief Sir Ralph Halpern and Harrods boss Mohammed Al-Fayed. finally, when he'd saved up enough, he did the church's version of Selection and passed. After two years of studying he was badged as a fully-fledged vicar, and an excellent one he was, too.

  Debbie had a job, and I assumed she was enjoying it. I didn't know for sure because I was never there.

  I phoned her whenever I could, but every time I'd tell her how I was and never really listened when she told me how she was. I still wasn't getting my priorities right.

  Everything was the Regiment; I loved what I was doing.

  But I was being selfish; I was sacrificing the marriage, and it was my fault. If I came back for R&R, all I wanted to do was go downtown an see all my mates again. Everything I did revolved around them; she was secondary. It must have been outrageous for her.

  I was even stupid enoug
h to start talking about kids when I wasn't even responsible enough to look after my wife.

  But I didn't realize, because I was a dickhead. I didn't know that the marriage was going down; I was too busy wanting to get the skills in, and the big one I wanted was demolitions.

  One of the aims of this twelve-week course is to teach industrial sabotage, strategic tasks, and strikes on defined targets," the instructor said to us. "A typical Regiment task might be to render useless the industrial base of a nation we're fighting against. Their army might be at the front line, but at the end of the day an army's no good if it can't get supplies.

  Attacks on the industrial base also lower the population's morale, which is all good for the general war effort."

  It was gripping stuff, and I couldn't wait to get stuck in. Even as a kid I'd been fascinated by television pictures of steeplejacks dropping power station chimneys I and tower blocks collapsing within their own perimeter.

  I had a little basic knowledge from Selection, and I wanted more.

  Training wing, as well as take Selection, was also responsible for teaching demolitions and all the patrol skills. Joe, the dems instructor, was coming up to the end of his two years in the job, and he really knew his stuff. Demolitions would also be used within other jobs, he said, as a surgical strike: We might want to drop a bridge, railway line, hydroelectric power station or crude oil refinery; or render docks useless, open floodgates, destroy military or civilian aircraft.

  We learned how to disrupt microwave and landline communications within military and civilian environments. "So much damage can be done with just two pounds of P.E," Joe said. "Why send in an air force to destroy a big industrial complex when the same result could be achieved by taking out its power source?"

  If we were going in covertly, we had to know and practice our trade craft-including surveillance and antisurveillance.

  For the first couple of weeks we learned parrot-fashion all the rules, the dos and don'ts, and all the formulas. We weren't going to have our little reference books with us when we were on ops. Joe banged the rules into our heads from day one and tested us every day.