Immediate Action

by Andy McNab

  The sun was very bright, making it-easier for me to see the target and harder for them to see me in the gloom of the forest. I could see some buildings, each about thirty feet by twenty. They were built of vertical wooden planks with corrugated iron roofs and leaves and rattan as a crude form of camouflage over the top.

  The iron sheeting had lost its shine and was rusting, indicating that the camp had possibly been there for quite a while. Some of the slats had gaps between them, I some were close-joined. All the buildings had windows, covered with mosquito netting. There were two doors, a wooden inner and a mesh outer, an antimosquito measure that seemed strange given the gaps in the wood.

  There was intermittent noise-music, a bang of metal, a bit of shouting-indicating that there weren't that many people there. Very slowly I eased the camera bag from my back. If we were going to hit this place, people had to have a firm idea of their targets and what the camp looked like. With luck this would be the first of many pictures as I moved around the camp.

  I got the camera off my head. The biggest danger would be the lens reflecting the sun, so the whole camera was wrapped in a face net.

  It wasn't a problem; the photographs would still come out. ReAlly slowly I put the camera on the ground, aimed, and gently squeezed the shutter release. Nothing happened. With my thumb I tried to move the film winder along, but it was stuck.

  There was no time to muck about with it; I put it down by my side and kept on looking. This was going to be a pain in the arse. I cursed myself for not bringing the video camera; I'd wanted to save the batteries for any OPs that we might have to put on.

  I stayed where I was, watching and listening. I could see four main buildings. To my left was the long, low building, of which I could see about a third. I was assuming that it was the DMP. To the right of that were two other buildings; one was definitely the kitchen and administration area. The door opened, and out came an old boy of about fifty or sixty wearing a football T-shirt, a pair of shorts, plimsolls and a fag in his mouth. He was carrying a pile of pots and pans, which he just threw onto the ground. There were small piles of kitchen rubbish strewn around within easy reach of the door.

  There was also a generator running, the noise seeming to come from the other side of the cookhouse. I could still hear odds bursts of shouting but had only seen the old boy. I wanted to know what the protection looked like, how many of them there were, and what weapons they had.

  After about an hour I backtracked out. Whether it was too early in the morning or the. re simply wasn't a lot going on, I didn't know. I backed out until I reached One-of-three-Joses. He was sitting there grinning away.

  I took the camera off and gave it the cutthroat sign. I put my belt kit on, pointed to him, and showed him the way we were going to go, which was anticlockwise.

  It took us about twenty minutes to travel thirty meters to be near the edge of the amp again. We stopped, I signaled to One-of-three-Joses to stay where he was, and I inched forward. This time I was facing the living accommodation, and almost immediately I saw a white face. He was small, about five feet five inches, in his forties, and in the process of throwing away a bowl of water. He was wearing only a pair of shorts, boots, and dark glasses. His hair was wet and pushed back; I guessed he'd just had a wash. His arms were darkly tanned up to the T-shirt line, and he had a big white ring around his neck. He hadn't shaved for about a week and looked in shit state. He put a fag in his mouth and lit up and then walked back into the hut. I was pleased: at least one European. I just wised the camera was working and knew I'd get a bollocking from Gar.

  I had been waiting there for another forty-five minutes when two players appeared. One had a long, a G3 automatic nfl, the really old type with the longer muzzle and solid stock. The other one wasn't armed. They moved from the living accommodation over in the direction of the processing hut, which I couldn't see. They were very casual, smoking, talking, and laughing, obviously very confident about where they were.

  That was three characters, not counting the old cookhouse boy. I stayed. I didn't move to swat the mosquitoes that were landing on me; I just kept my head low, looking up and listening, trying to take in every detail. My head was starting to fill up with lumps, but I'd given up by then. I was lying there with my hands in front of me, resting my chin on my hands.

  To help me listen, I opened my jaw a little to close off any swallowing sounds.

  I was trying to get a mental picture of exactly what this place looked like. I had only about 20 percent of the information at the moment, and I had to get as much as I could.

  I could see where the generator was now. It was between the two buildings. I could alsosee antennas on the roofs. There was a satellite dish, which could have been for television or comms. There was also a normal whip antenna.

  I could hear music playing and everyday routine noises. Plates clattered; men laughed. I heard two men talking in their own language, which was possibly Dutch or Flemish-I was no expert. I didn't particularly care; all I knew was that there were Europeans in the camp.

  I was starting to get really tuned in now. I could picture this side of the camp, where the doors were, how they opened up. It was fairly good construction and had been there a long time. The areas where they walked were well trodden down.

  It started to look as if something was happening.

  From the direction of the processing hut I heard another generator sparking up. I decided to give it half an hour.

  The European came out, now wearing a grubby-looking T-shirt, and sauntered over toward the processing hut.

  Then another two came out. They weren't talking, but they were white.

  One was rubbing his hair as he walked, obviously having just got up. He, too, was in his forties, but much taller than the others. He wore A American combat trousers and a dirty smiley-face T-shirt. His hair was long and dark blond and elither wet or greasy. The other was about two paces in front of him and enjoying a cigarette. He was in his late twenties or early thirties and looked much smarter, and was carrying a leather bag.

  Something was about to start.

  I now knew there were definitely at least six people in the camp, but there were still people in the accommodation, and I needed to know how many. All I'd seen so far was one G3; I also needed to know how many weapons there were.

  I waited for another half an hour, but nothing happened. I could still hear music and the sounds of the cook throwing around his bits and pieces, but it seemed that everything was happening around the other side. I crawled back out. One-of-three-Joses was really happy to see me this time; he'd been sitting there for what must have seemed like hours, and in his head he didn't know what was happening. I motioned for him to stay still and then set off.

  I mooched down a few more meters, following the rough line of the camp perimeter. I moved on my hands and knees trying to find another point to move in. I couldn't see the camp but could hear it. I was not getting down near the river, which was the original feature that the blokes on the recce patrol had gone to find. I moved between the water and the camp and came across a wellwom track with tire marks.

  Have they got a vehicle? I decided to go down to the river and follow the track. On the opposite side of the track were two rubber Geminis with outboards. They were beached on the bank and concealed in undergrowth. I still couldn't see where the vehicle tracks came from.

  It must have been something that was carried on the boats and then used as transport.

  I now wanted to get onto the other side of the DMP to see what was going on and how many people were involved. There obviously weren't going to be that many because there wasn't enough accommodation. I went back, spoke right into One-of-three-Joses's ear and said, "We're going to go back around the other side." He nodded, turned, and off we went in really slow time.

  Every time there was a noise we stopped and listened.

  Once it subsided, we carried on, keeping far enough from the camp not to be seen, but close enough so we could hear
what was going on.

  When we were right on the opposite side, I stopped, took my belt kit off, and kitten-crawled in. There was a definite amount of activity. I wasn't bothering to look up at the moment; all I was doing was getting as near as I could. As soon as I could hear clearly what was going on, I stopped and listened.

  It looked as if things were about to spark up in what I presumed to be the actual manufacturing area. As I got closer and closer, I could see that the manufacturing building, about two-thirds of the height of the other buildings, was in fact an open hut with the roof supported by posts and walls that only went a third of the way. In the shadows I could see people moving around.

  There wasn't a massive hive of activity, but there were certainly other generators running. I could see the heat now coming off the ground in the exposed camp.

  To the left of the processing hut was another building.

  I guessed that it was a storeroom of some kind. Also on that side, I saw a three-wheeled trike with a trolley.

  I waited another ten minutes, took a deep breath, and started moving again. By now it was starting to get pretty hot. The sun was up, and I was on the edge of the cleared canopy. I could feel the heat on the back of my neck and on my shirt. I was a bit worried at one stage because I thought that if my stuff started to dry out, they might see the steam.

  I was stinking. The bottom half of my body was soaking wet, and I was covered in mud and bits of twig and brush. I kept wanting to scratch it and rub at the mozzie bites that felt as if they covered every exposed inch of flesh.

  But the only thing I wanted moving were my eyes.

  I was breathing really heavily. I didn't want to go further forward, but I knew I had to. We needed information; otherwise we'd just have to go back the next day.

  The next thing I saw was a weapon. It was an oldtype M16 with a triangular stock, left leaning against the trike. It meant these people were fairly nonfussed; they were obviously feeling comfortable with their situation.

  I still couldn't see how many people there were. Probably some of them were still in the huts. All I could see from this perspective was the processing hut; I couldn't see the'living accommodation. I'd fucked up;

  I should have stayed on the other side for longer so I could see people coming and going.

  I was annoyed with myself. I didn't want to stay there any longer than I had to, and I didn't want to come back another day. I imagined what the people at the final RP were thinking. They'd be sitting here doing absolutely nothing, frustrated as hell. I knew; I'd done it myself often enough. I hoped they felt confident enough to sit and wait.

  At last there was movement. A boy came out to the trike and sat on it.

  He lit up a cigarette and leaned back on the seat, soaking up a bit of sun. He had sunglasses on and a pair of jeans that were rolled up to halfway up his calf muscles, and trainers but no socks. He had a light-colored denim shirt hanging out of his jeans. That was one more narco.

  He shouted at somebody, went around the back, and disappeared. He then came back into view and started to walk toward me. He didn't pick his weapon up, but I was flapping. One thing I didn't want was eye-to-eye contact; I kept looking at his feet. I had my chin on my hands; I kept still, taking really slow, deep breaths. I thought: If he walks much closer, he's going to see me.

  What then? Am I going to drop him and run? Or am I going to draw the pistol and shoot him and run? Or do I just take him, get him down, tie him up, and keep him quiet? I wasn't too sure. I decided to play it by ear; it certainly wasn't a good day out at all.

  I was sure he hadn't seen me, or he would have picked his gun up.

  He didn't look inquisitive; he was just walking. But the closer somebody gets to you, the more chance there is of being seen. He got so close I was bracing myself for a shout. Suddenly he veered to the left-hand side of me. Fuck, I thought, if he's going to start mooching in the jungle, he'll find.One-of-three-Joses. Was he going for a shit?

  They must have some facility, probably for shitting into the river.

  What the hell was he doing?

  He walked past, no more than two meters away from my face. At that stage I put my head down, closed my eyes, and kept as still as possible.

  I heard his trainers kicking the ground; then he shouted back at somebody. I was looking on the jungle floor, trying to keep my breath as slow and controlled as possible. I wanted to start going slowly for my pistol.

  But it was in a shoulder holster, and to get it, I'd have had to cross my hand over my chest and go down for the pistol grip, which was going to create movement and noise. If he came over, I'd just have to spin over and draw it. Mentally I was running through it. The safety catch was on; the hammer was back. All I had to do was drive it out, flick that safety catch off and I could shoot him. I'd turn over and push my foot up because if he started lunging at me, I could keep my foot up and keep him off my body and then drop him. And then I'd just run for it-and I hoped not get shot by One-of-Three-Joses.

  He carried on moving to the left. About two minutes later he came back, carrying a small cardboard box.

  There must be another part of the camp that I hadn't seen, another storeroom or something. So could there be more people up there? Could it Just be a storeroom?

  Why would they have a storeroom that far away?

  He went back to the trike and dropped the box onto the floor. It split open, and cans fell out. He picked one of them up, stabbed it, and lifted it to his mouth. Yet it wasn't a drinks can, it was small and flat, more like a can of tuna. Then it dawned on me: It was milk.

  It was condensed milk.

  After about another hour I decided to move. I wasn't seeing that much, and it was starting to get really hot.

  People weren't moving around. I didn't know how much activity it took to manufacture drugs. All I knew was that I'd seen people doing things in the processing hut.

  I had a good idea of the layout of the camp but not what lay to the left-hand side.

  My heart was pounding severely. I was pleased that we'd found a plant and revved up because now we had to do something about it.

  I eased myself back and got back to One-of-three-Joses. We had eye to eye, and I gave him a thumbs-up before quietly putting my kit on. I pointed up to the area where the character had been walking and further to the left of the target. He didn't seem too pleased, as he'd obviously assumed that the recce was over; time was pressing, and if we didn't get back soon, it meant a night in the FRP. We mooched on very slowly. We started going up a gentle rise, and then we hit a track.

  The trees and vegetation were very sparse now, and we had beams of sunlight coming down on us. It was boiling. it was obvious to me at once that this must be the track the character had gone to. Up to the left was flat ground; we doubled back on ourselves and went up onto the high ground. We stopped. I took my kit off and went forward on my hands and knees, pistol in my hand.

  It was a clear, flat area with a wooden platform-a helipad. There were odds and ends scattered around, including cardboard boxes. Some food must have come in by helicopter and been left there. A helipad was excellent news; it meant we could get helicopters in right on target.

  By now I was sweating good style in the heat. Crickets were chirping away; the noise was different outside the canopy compared with the inside. I could feel the wind, and the light was hazy, shimmering.

  It made me want to go and stretch out in the sun before I went back into the other world of doom and gloom.

  I got back to One-of-three-Joses and sat there for a while. Back in the relative safety of the undergrowth, I allowed myself a few deep breaths. jose was grinning again, and this time it was pure relief.

  He knew that we must have finished. In my mind I ran through whether we knew everything we needed to know. I came to the conclusion that it was pointless coming back in the next day; I knew as much as I was going to know, unless I sat there all day again and tried to count people. It wasn't a mass of activity, which made it d
ifficult to count. I knew there were at least two weapons, and I could only guess that the guards would use them to defend the plant.

  There was a lot of money at stake. Some of these people would stay and defend the plants at any price; they knew there couldn't be an unlimited supply of men coming in and attacking the place, so it might be worth their while just taking us on.

  I was satisfied that we had all the first-phase information that we needed. I tapped One-of-three-Joses on the boot and nodded toward the FRP. He was happy now as we made our way carefully back to the others.

  We met the bergen cache from exactly the same direction we had left. I passed on all the information so that everybody would know exactly the same as we did. If One-of-three-Joses and I suddenly dropped dead, at least the information would have been pooled.

  "We're going to stay here for the night," I said. "I want to go forward again tomorrow morning."

  Their faces fell, and it suddenly dawned on me that I'd forgotten who these guys were and had been treating them as members of the Regiment.

  I changed my mind. "We're going to leave from here in a minute and go back to the L.U.P."

  The relief was evident; as far as they were concerned, they were being cut from the danger area. Rodriguez flashed me a brilliant smile.

  We got back to the L.U.P-I was going to send a sitrep out that night, but it was getting too dark. I decided to prepare it and encrypt it and bang it out first thing in the morning. I'd tell them what I'd seen of the camp, the numbers, the grid of where we were going to sponsor the troop RP, which was where we were. Once the four recce patrols were assembled, we would become a fighting patrol. I'd also say that I was going to send an OP out the- same day to go and get more information. I decided not to use the video the next day as I didn't want to put them under pressure to use it and then fuck up.