by Andy McNab
Then, all the way up, following that line. Is the det on securely? Is the det on securely to the det cord? Is the charge all complete?
Is the respirator on right? Is the seal tight between the respirator and the coveralls? You don't want to start getting gas down you because it hurts. Gas doesn't only affect the breathing system and the eyes; it affects the skin, it stings severely. Are the gloves on tight? If they were baggy, I might have a problem as I went to draw MY Pistol or started manipulating my MP5 or pistol.
Everything was secure. I was holding on to the vehicle, waiting for that "Stand by!" to go.
We heard, "Hello, One and One Alpha, move to your holding area, over "One, One Alpha, roger that, out."
The helicopters were starting to go up; within the forward control room the senior policeman must have been a bit concerned about what was going on. He hadn't handed over control, but he was saying: "Get the helis up to save time, so at least once they're in the holding area we can start running them in."
At the same time all the snipers were coming on the net.
"Hello, Alpha, this is Sierra One. That's still more shouting.
Still more movement. It seems now there's movement on Two-Two, the window above. Can't identify anyone; it's just movement. I can see the window and the curtains moving. There's a face at the windowcan't identify it, over."
"Yep, roger that."
Blokes were pulling out flashbangs from their ops waistcoats; as we were going in, just as we were approaching the place, we'd start throwing them to produce distraction and confusion-the more the better.
We wanted to disorientate and scare these guys.
All the engines were running. Everybody was just waiting for the go.
And still we had more hollering and shouting; the snipers were bringing in more information.
The negotiators would be working really hard talking to the people inside the building-if they still had comms with them, that is, and these people wanted to talk. They'd be talking to them and at the same time they'd be giving messages in siga language to everybody around them in the main incident room.
For us on the Range Rovers, it was just a question of sitting there in the wagons twenty seconds away, out of I sight. Nobody was doing anything; we weren't talking, y because we had our respirators on.
I sat back and put my head clown, listening to what was going on.
I didn't want to waste energy. I just slumped. I had my weapon strapped over me; I was weighed down with kit; it would have been pointless running around. We couldn't hear what the negotiators were saying, but I knew they would have been trying to calm the situation down. There was no way that C.O.B.R were going to let them talk with their people in Parkhurst.
"Alpha, Sierra One, that's the X ray back in White One-One, window and curtains closed."
"Alpha."
The deadline had passed. The negotiators were doing their bit; the chief constable must have been satisfied that the threat to kill two hostages at 3:00 P.m. had been successfully avoided.
"Hello, all call signs, this is Alpha One-stand down the I.A.
Stand down the I.A. All call signs acknowledge."
We all acknowledged the Boss and took our respirators off and made our weapons safe-an unload followed by a load, without putting a round in the chamber.
We drove back with the police escort and watched the heli teams walk back to the briefing room.
The place looked completely different. By now all the intelligence collation and signals equipment was on-line.
There were more pictures and plans of the building plus information on the wiring, sewage pipes, ventilation systems-more intelligence than You could shake a stick at.
Also there were a number of photos of one of the terrorists, taken by the technical teams of the Home Office. Now we had our second terrorist, called X ray Two, and a picture, There was nothing high-tech about the scene, just boards with things stuck on with pins, masking tape, magiboards with magnets to hold bits up. It was a very fluid situation; we had to be able to pull information off and replace it quickly.
Each of us had a white paper cup of hot tea in our hands as we went over to the briefing area where the Blue team were waiting. The slime were going to give everyone an update.
"The situation so far is, the negotiators are trying to get three of the Yankees exchanged for food. These are one sixty-five-year-old employee, the gardener and his two grandchildren, aged six and nine.
Pictures are now starting to arrive of some of the Yankees; as soon as we get them, I'll put them on the board with a description if possible.
"As you know we now have an X ray Two. He is a male, approximately six foot two and fifteen stone.
There is no new deadline as yet and no more info apart from what is on the boards. Any questions?"
The squadron O.C then took over.
"The Red team is to stay on standby for the I.A until oh-six-hundred hours. Orders for the team changeover will be at oh-five-thirty. Any questions?"
"What are the feeding arrangements?" Fat Boy asked.
I smiled. So what's new? I thought.
Everyone looked at the SQMS.
"There will be a container meal arriving at nineteen hundred hours, and from then on the police will take over. As soon as I know more, I'll post it on the board. I'll make sure the tea urns are filled. Try to save the paper cups; use your own mugs if you can."
We filed out of the briefing room, throwing our paper cups into the black bin liners that the SQMS and his storeman had been putting up everywhere.
There was background noise of ringing phones and the amplified voices of the snipers sending back information, relayed through loudspeakers so that everyone could hear what was happening. There was a general buzz of people talking to one another and into phones and radios, and the noise and echo of others moving and setting up more equipment. It was still cold inside the building; there was localized heat as some heaters were now on, but I could still see my breath.
The admin area next door had changed also. The Red team had got their camp beds out and started to place their body armor and belt kits next to them; then the books and Walkmans were coming out. As NWe were the I.A, no kit came off apart from our MP5s and respiratorsI got a camp bed, unrolled my sleeping bag, but decided it was too early to sleep.
I went outside between the two rooms and saw a couple of the Blue team talking with two policemen who were part of a cordon to stop people coming into our area.
"It's great for the overtime," one of the policemen was saying.
He started to talk about the miners' strike.
"There was one force that had their own T-shirts printed with the message 'A.S.P.O.M.-Arthur Scargill Pays Our Mortgages."' I went into the briefing area to see what was going on.
The squadron O.C was on the net to Sierra Two, who was tucked away in his OP, watching the front and right-hand side of the building.
"From your position could you get gas into White Three-Two, over?"
Sierra Two said, "Wait." He'd want to take another look before committing himself.
"Alpha One, Sierra Two-yep, I can do that if I move twenty meters left before the standby, over."
"Roger that, out to you. Hello, Sierra One, what's the cover like from you to the rear fire escape, over?"
"Sierra One, ' there is dead ground up to about sixty meters short of the fire escape. However, I haven't been there, over."
"Alpha One, roger that. There will be someone down on your position soon, and they will have a look. Out.
He was busy planning a number of deliberate options covering day, night, covert, and overt situations. These options would have to be ready for when C.O.B.R had tu had enough or the si ation had deteriorated to the extent that the police handed the incident over. Planning for the deliberate attack could involve anything from an elaborate model being made up for us to look at to just loads of floor plans and masking tape put out on the ground to represent the area. We would wal
k and talk through everything. Sitting in were both teams' 2i/cs and their ruperts; they were all part of the planning process.
The team 2i/cs, the senior noncommiss oned ranks, were there because of their experience; the team ruperts were there to suck them dry of information-to learn, as well as be part of an operational squadron.
One day one of them would be in the squadron O.C's seat-a fearsome responsibility.
The Regiment didn't need troop commanders; in 7 Troop we didn't have a troop commander for years. A troop ran itself under its senior NCO. However, what was needed was squadron commanders, a squadron HQ element. With troops dotted all around the world, somebody was needed who knew where they were and what they required. One of the troop commanders was one day going to be the squadron commander, so it was in everybody's interests to make sure we trained them up well.
For them, it was another form of Selection; they did their three-year tour, and if they were any good, they might get invited back to run a squadron. If they screwed up, it wasn't their fault but that of the troop senior or the troop as a whole. It was our responsibility not just to give the rupert a hard time-as you do-but to make sure that he was given all the opportunity in those three years to learn as much as possible. It was no different really from training recruits at Winchester. A bad product was down to us, not the recruit.
It was the senior NCO, the team senior, who really ran the show.
He did the day-to-day planning and all the administration. And it was also his job to make sure that the officer knew what was going on, and we as a team needed to be teaching him as well.
I got bored and went back to my sleeping bag to read my book, The Feudal Kingdom of England.
Then it was time for the container meal. This was, as predicted,
"Airborne stew"-Meat, potatoes, vegetables, all cooked up together.
Sometimes there are paper plates on offer, but most people bring and use their own; they hold more. For pudding, there were six rounds of bread I.C each and a sticky bun.
One of the scaleys came in while I was still eating.
"Can we have both teams in the briefing room at nineteen-thirty for an update, I thank you!"
Some of the scaleys were the world's oldest corporals and sergeants.
Because they don't want to leave Squadron, they forgo any chance of promotion that would mean moving out of Hereford.
We sat down in front of the slime and finished off our stickies.
"We still have seen only X ray Two. All the negotiations are still being conducted by the woman."
We could hear her voice on the loudspeakers.
"Can you turn that up?" someone shouted from the back of the team.
Her words filled the room: "If you do not put our statement on the BBC nine P.m. and ITN ten P.m. news, we will start to kill people. We have shown you that we are not savages, you have your old man and children "
"I want to help you," said one of the negotiators.
"None of us want this to turn out a bloodbath, do we? I cannot make any promises, but I assure you that I am making all efforts to help you.
Everything I said I would do has happened. We need to work together..
. ou must understand I need time." y "It is obvious you are not listening. We will start to kill if the broadcasts are "
Somebody turned the volume down.
The slime continued: "As you heard, the old man and two children have just been released. He is in shock and cannot give any information of any use apart from that he thinks there are four or five and only one of them a woman."
One of the scaleys shouted out: "Stand to the I.A!"
We ran to the vehicles and turned our radios on.
Weapons were made ready and respirators put on while we screamed off to the start line. The people with the entry charges were checking to ensure they were okay, and putting on the claymore clacker that would initiate the charge.
"Alpha, Tango One and Two at the start line, over."
"Roger that, out to you. One, this is Alpha, over."
"One, rotors turning and stood to, over."
"Roger that, out."
On the net we could all hear the snipers giving information on the target: "More movement on White TwoOne and White One-One. There is screaming coming from the ground floor, I can't tell what room."
"Roger that, Sierra Two."
I heard two bursts of automatic fire and knew it wouldn't be long before we went into action.
"Hello, One and One Alpha, this is Alpha One. Move to your holding area."
"One, roger."
We could not see them, but we knew that both helis would now be flying off to an area where they couldn't be heard by the terrorists, waiting for the order to move on target. It was dark by now, and all lights were out.
Steve and Jerry would be using their NVGS.
The chief constable now had to wait for confirmation that people had been killed. The sound of shots was not enough.
He was soon to have his confirmation: A body was dumped at the main door with the threat of another one in five minutes if the TV statement demand was not met.
The policeman spoke to C.O.B.R, and the decision was made.
The squadron O.C got on the net: "Hello, all stations, this is Alpha One, radio check, over."
We all answered.
"All stations, I have control, I have control. I Call signs One and One Alpha, commence your run-in."
"One and One Alpha, roger that, out."
It was on.
The helis dropped low over the trees, still on their NVGS. The doors both sides of the Agusta 109s were open. Each helicopter had four men aboard. The number one, who was going to come down the fast rope, was looking out of the helicopter as it screamed in, respirator on, looking at the approach. He had two hands on the fast rope, which was six inches in diameter. The rest of the rope dangled around his right foot ready for him to kick it out; he'd put two hands around it, grip also with the sides of his assault boots, and slide down, very much like a fireman coming down a pole.
"That's thirty seconds, thirty seconds."
This was the last chance to cancel. The O.C would have looked at the policeman for confirmation.
"All stations, I have control. Stand by, stand by go, go, go!"
The vehicles moved off with the teams holding on for grim death.
As we turned the corner, we could see the building; Tango Two came up level with us, and I heard the helis making their approach. They were flying low toward the building, lower than the building itself.
A little arm sticks out from each side of the aircraft with the fast rope; as soon as the helicopter starts to' hover over the target, the number one kicks out the rope. As soon as the rope goes out, the number one goes with it; he slides down the fast rope before it hits the bottom of the roof.
I looked up. The helicopters were coming in, lots of noise, lots of downblast, shit flying off the roof. They flared just ten feet above the roof. There were flashbangs exploding, and by now the pilots have taken their NVGs off. The instruments are on a swivel on their helmets; they just push them up above their helmets as NVGs are affected by flashbangs and would be whited out.
The helicopters were striining in a flare position, then started going backward and forward two or three feet in a hover. The blokes were streaming down the rope. The number three on each team had quite a task, because as he fast-roped, as well as his equipment, he would be bringing down a rectangular charge over his shoulder.
He'd have to be really careful with it so he didn't rip off the det or mess up the wiring.
At one time there were all four of them on the fast rope. As soon as each man's feet hit the bottom, he moved out of the way. As they came down, they were looking around, looking at the floor, making sure nobody was coming out of the skylights to start taking a pop at them.
Seconds later the helis were gone.
Someone put his head out of the top left-hand window; we knew Sierra One had him in h
is sights; there was no need for us to worry, that was his job. He didn't get on the radio, he just got his telescopic sight on him, covering the assault as it went in. If he was a threat, he would soon have a 7.62 Lapua round in his head to make sure he stopped being one.
On the standby the other two snipers around the back, Sierra Three and Four, had gone running forward with G3s, choosing areas where they could cover two sides each. They didn't need telescopic sights because they were so close; their G3s had normal iron sights.
They had the outside covered; they could take any runners that were coming out. If the X rays ran out beyond the snipers, they'd get caught in the police cordon, but that never came into the equation; as somebody in B Squadron once said, no one runs faster than Mr. Heckler & Koch.
As the Range Rover stopped, flashbangs were going off.
We jumped off and ran to the main doors. They were locked and still covered over with curtains. Dave secured the charge to the left-hand side door with doublesided tape; there was enough explosive to blow the whole thing in.
Everyone was back against the wall, looking up with weapons covering the windows. If anyone poked his head out with bad intentions, he would not enjoy the view for long.
As he moved back, Dave checked with his hand the line of the det cord to the detonator and then to the firing wire, a last check to make sure everything was right. By checking, he could say, "Bin it," if it was screwed up, and we'd go straight in with the axes, just as Tiny had had to do at the embassy. Dave, was rushing, but he was still taking his time to make sure the charge was complete. The last thing he wanted to do was push that clacker and have nothing happen.
Both teams were ready. As Dave went past, Tim, the number two, was ready with another flashbang.
I had my weapon up in the aim, ready to go in. As I took off the safety, I shouted, "Go!"
Our charge and one of the first-floor teams' went off at the same time.
I started to move. The flashbang flew past me, and I followed it in. It would be no good going in after it had finished; I had to be there with it.
The hallway was dark and was starting to fill with smoke from the flashbangs. Another one exploded, and I felt the effect of the blast.
