by Geoff Wolak
‘Would I go in uniform?’
‘Yes. Or a suit if you like.’
‘Just let me know when, I’d like to be there.’
‘How long till you’re fit?’
‘Fit ... by whose standards?’ I countered.
‘Fit for light duties?’
‘Now, more or less.’
‘Fit as an average enlisted man?’
‘A week or two.’
‘Fit as you were?’
‘Six weeks.’
‘You really think you could get back to that standard?’ he puzzled.
‘It’s focused me, and I’m becoming more determined. The pain eases every day, and every day I run further and faster. But there may be issues with my skull, and my intestine. It could be argued that a good blow to either would take me down.’
‘I don’t think it’ll matter,’ he said. ‘The Intel boys want you back – or else!’
‘Why do I get the feeling ... that a year from now ... I’ll find myself in some cold dark forest...’
‘It’s what you’re good at.’ He stopped smiling. ‘We can send you in, or someone who won’t come back out.’ He studied me. ‘You patrolled Armagh alone, and most troopers are shit scared to do that.’
‘Maybe I’m just stupid.’
‘Maybe you can see through the fog, and that’s what we need. Some sit in the pub and talk about great deeds, some do them – without blabbing about it.’
I nodded slowly. ‘You make a good case, but .... but I sometimes wonder if I’m looking at returning to you lot because I’ve nowhere else to go.’
‘Fancy a job behind a desk, suit and tie, clocking off time, lunch in a plastic box?’ he teased.
‘If the secretaries in the office were nice, then maybe,’ I joked. ‘And how come you stuck this so long?’
He shrugged. ‘Nothing else to do, not much else I’d be good at I think. I have friends out there in regular jobs, and they whinge like hell, and they all hate their jobs. I don’t think I’m missing anything.’
‘You don’t go to the various reunions I’ve heard.’
‘Full of people talking shite about what heroes they were, and most were never even there. You won’t find me doing that. Those that were there in thick of it don’t blab about it. But you’ve had a good affect on Rizzo and some of the others.’
‘Who replaced Captain Tyler?’
‘They have a captain on loan from the territorials. He came up through the ranks, so he knows what he’s doing. And three or four new lads, so the gaps has been filled to some degree, just the experience that’s missing.’
‘I’d like to do the sniper course when I get back,’ I said.
He shook his head. ‘They’d not let you.’
‘Why?’
‘Why? Because we can’t have Marines that have never killed a man trying to tell someone like you how to do it. Some will know who you are from Northern Ireland, some from Bosnia, and you’ll be teaching them.’
I nodded. ‘I suppose. I did get some good experience of shooting man-targets and not paper ones, learnt a few things.’
‘Could you knock together some training scenarios?’
I puzzled his request. ‘I suppose, but I’m not senior to anyone?’
‘We learn from the experience of others, and that goes into the general experience pool. If someone has a problem with a certain type of explosives, they blab about it, and soon everyone knows what to look out for. Put a man with experience in the mix and others learn from it. One man tries out a new jeep, and then he tells the others what the problems are.’
I nodded my agreement. It was how things were done at Hereford, just one more quirk of the regiment.
A week later, and in a suit - but with a stupid white bandage on my head, I was driven into the base by Smurf. He quickly headed off to a hut to change into his No.1 dress uniform as I entered the admin building, most people stopping to stare.
I greeted the RSM, then knocked on the Major’s door.
‘Come in!’
I entered, the Major in his No.1 dress uniform for the service and burial of Captain Tyler and Tabby, the others being buried by family in various places around the UK.
‘Still with us?’ he asked as he stood.
‘Getting fitter, sir.’
He nodded. ‘There are ... doubts about that, you’ll need to have a full medical, tube up your arse, scans of your head. But ... we’d slide you over to “E” Squadron formally if you fail and Bob Staines will call the shots, so not much difference really.’
I nodded, not wanting to be found medically incapable, but not sure why. ‘I’d like to say something today, to the men, set the record straight.’
He seemed hesitant. ‘Like ... what?’
‘The truth. They all have the story anyhow, sir, they gossip like old women. They just need to hear it start to end, with accuracy. And Captain Tyler was my friend.’
He reluctantly nodded, and thirty minutes later we were stood on the parade ground, officers and men from all over, Signals and Intel, quite a crowd, Constable Moore and his sister plus a bunch of local high ranking police officers, many men in suits that I did not recognise.
The Colonel did his bit, followed by the Chaplain, then – with a glance from the Major – and a surprise for the Colonel, I stepped up to the podium and faced the men.
I took a moment, taking in their faces. ‘You have all heard the rumours ... of what happened, and some of you may have opinions ... about what happened. Our insert that day was routine, and Captain Tyler wished to tag along for experience, nothing unusual in that, officers are supposed to go on such patrols and get some hands-on experience.
‘Tabby was not thrilled about having an officer along, but ... he was not planning a mutiny either. On that first evening, Intel picked up a large movement of Serbs, but they didn’t know we had men inserted, and somehow that information was delayed by a few hours.
‘If that intel had gotten to us, we may ... have made it out to the north, but could have just as easily run into a patrol. It would have been nice to have that intel, but it’s not black and white; that intel, or the lack of it, did not kill the lads. We were unlucky, inserting to an area where the Serbs believed a certain high-value rebel leader was hiding out.
‘On the morning in question I found us to be surrounded, and reported that fact to Tabby. Given the numbers around us, Captain Tyler suggested surrender, because he was thinking of the men with him. Neither myself nor the lads were keen ... because we knew what they did to prisoners. Those surrounding us were not an army, but a militia of hate mongers, and we would not have been treated well.
‘Tabby ordered me to snipe at them, that order confirmed by Captain Tyler, to try and buy us some time. The plan was ... to shoot a few Serbs, to get their uniforms ... and when it grew dark to slip out in the confusion. My sniping brought down the artillery, one unlucky shell landing in our hide-out.
‘I found body parts, and then I found Captain Tyler still alive but mortally wounded. There was nothing I could have done for him. As most of you are aware, he and I met socially a few times a week. I was his closest friend on this base, and his loss came as a hard blow, along with that of Bob, another close friend.
‘I had no time to think, shells landing, patrols coming in, but I survived. Men of the Regiment ... I evened the score for us.’
A murmuring of approval swept around the men.
‘No one screwed up that day. The intel was late, but may have made no difference. Tabby did nothing wrong, he did not argue with Captain Tyler, and Tyler did not interfere. We were dealt a bad hand ... as has happened so many times in the past. The helicopter that went down in the Falklands was no one’s fault, but the regiment lost many men. These things happen, it’s the game we’re in, the sharp end of the British Army.
‘I wish to set the record straight, now and for all time, because anyone questioning the record of events will risk upsetting me: no one screwed up that day.’ I took in th
eir faces. ‘The lads can be remembered well, and with honour.’
I stepped down, another murmuring of approval sweeping around the parade ground.
After the funerals, I stood with Constable Moore and his sister. ‘You holding up, Sue?’ I asked.
‘I’ve made a point of moving on with my life, got a temp assignment in Gloucester, a change of faces, I ... even met someone.’
‘Good, go out, move on. You’re not required to mourn too long or to mope around.’
She nodded. ‘I’m going to avoid soldiers.’
‘Like police work is safe,’ I scoffed.
‘I met a desk sergeant, office bound.’
‘Might work then,’ I commended.
I chatted with many of the lads, many from other squadrons keen to meet me and chat, questions of my pending return, some questions about going south of the border in Northern Ireland.
That following week I trained with a renewed effort, but the headaches persisted – not that I reported that fact. I was sick on occasion, and reported a few of those occasions, but my day to day fitness was improving. The pain was not subsiding, but the fitness was improving.
On the Thursday, Kate off at some function, I could resist no longer, Nurse Karen in a top with no bra, and I made a point of discussing her nicely shaped boobs. One thing led to another, and my first shag for a long while was a good one, but not written down – neither its duration or if any pain was felt.
Laying together, she got around to the inevitable question. I could have timed it. ‘What about you and Kate?’
‘She has a life, and she doesn’t want me to have a part in it. She wants a healthy child of mine ... but not me.’
‘Doesn’t seem fair.’
‘Life is not always fair, hence me losing a testicle.’
She rubbed them. ‘Feels OK.’ She looked into my eyes. ‘You won’t be saying anything about us, will you?’
‘Not so long as you keep letting me play with those lovely boobs of yours. Just be discrete around the rest of the gang.’
With a regular shag to hand I was soon feeling better, and the pain seemed to ease a little. A pushed myself as hard as I could, painkillers taken first, but the effect was positive, and two weeks later I felt like I might pass that medical. Problem was the skull, and any bone weaknesses.
Worrying about it, I called Bob Staines, and he popped down a few days later, on his way to the base.
‘Fuck the medical,’ he said. ‘You stay where you are, regardless, we’ve already told the medical board what to write down.’
I smiled. ‘Bob, are you keen to see me back in some dark forest?’ I toyed.
‘Are you keen ... to be a nobody in civvy life?’ he countered with, and it stung. I took a moment. He added, ‘We both know you love this kind of work, and you’re a natural, so ... you keep doing what you do, we’ll keep benefitting from it. A symbiotic relationship. And if you did quit the military we’d have some work for you.’
I slowly nodded. ‘Only way out for me ... will be in a box.’
‘Most likely,’ he agreed, and my eyes widened.
Four weeks later, and my medical was done, the MOD doctor confirming that I was OK to return to duty, but to take it easy for a while, whatever that meant. I packed up straight away, told Kate – rather than discussing it with her, and drove off with Smurf, damn glad to be leaving, but promising to stay in touch with Nurse Karen, not least because the sex was great.
I reclaimed my posh apartment, cleaned it, bought some supplies and sat down alone with a cup of tea, staring out of the window and the gentle green hills leading towards Abergavenny.
The next morning I drove into the base, and into squadron orders, a few cheers, jeers and rude comments about my long holiday being over. And I had missed this bunch.
I knew what I wanted to do, first day back, and I grabbed the SSM, an AKM and plenty of ammo. We were soon on Ross-on-Wye range, and it felt strange at first, memories coming back. But round by round my attitude changed, and my aim improved, and having hit the bull twenty times standing the SSM said, ‘You have that look.’
‘What look?’ I queried.
‘Like that target raped and killed your daughter, and that you’re going to kill it dead. Don’t worry, many of the lads are like that, some a bit too much – they don’t know when to switch off. You go into kill mode and your movements and aim improve; your mind is back in Bosnia.’
I stared past him at the houses, and made a face. ‘I was bound to have learnt something during those four days, and I expended more ammo than our lot fire in a lifetime. Wonder the fucking barrel didn’t melt.’
He worked me hard, a variety of fire positions, then some sniping. The next day we were on the pistol range, and I was soon back in the zone, my aim fantastic, better than before. We had booked the Sennybridge range, and with Smurf and Rizzo tagging along we hit the targets that popped up and dropped away if you were too slow. My scores impressed everyone, and those scores gave me hope for a full return to active duty.
The Major cornered the SSM that evening at the end of work. ‘How’s ... Wilco coming along?’
The SSM took a moment. ‘God help any enemy soldiers that he encounters. He’s better than before, but has that look in his eye – and that look alone could kill an oncoming platoon. Few here could touch him.’
On a wet Tuesday a few weeks later I knocked on the Major’s door and waited.
‘Come in!’
I entered, stopped and saluted, the Major rolling his eyes.
‘You’re the only one that does that, save the Signals lads.’
I approached his desk. ‘I was thinking about a training scenario based on Bosnia, and I think I have it sorted now.’
‘Ah, good, it has been mentioned a few times.’
‘If I can borrow the RSM for a few things, I think I can knock the plans together.’
‘Yes, do so.’
‘It won’t be cheap, in that I think four men could do the test in parallel, but they would fire a thousand rounds and throw some grenades, and we’d use a shit load of plastic explosives.’
‘Not a problem, since those upon high have expressed a desire to see it done.’
My face adopted a curious frown. ‘They have?’
‘They have. So don’t worry about cost, but don’t go mad either.’
‘The controlled target range in Sennybridge is the best bet, and we’d not wreck it, but I’d need some targets on rails going sideways.’
‘There is one, or was one, in Essex someplace.’
‘I’ll do some research then, sir.’
He eased back. ‘Would the scenario be ... hard?’
I smiled. ‘Damned hard, but the point is that people learn, not just get tested.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Three days, not much sleep. When I have it down I’ll go through it with you, sir.’
‘Excellent. Get to it.’
I saluted and exited, stepping a few doors down to the RSM.
‘Wilco, my boy, what brings you to my door?’
‘Need your help, sir.’ I sat. ‘I’ve designed a three-day training scenario based on Bosnia...’
‘About bleeding time.’
I shot him a look. ‘Major said I could borrow you for a bit to get the detail right.’
‘I’m all yours. Fucking paperwork can wait.’
‘First, we need to use that controlled target range in Sennybridge...’
‘Rangemaster lives a few doors down from me! We’re good mates.’
‘Well that makes it easier. When can I meet him?’
‘Tomorrow, I’ll get that sorted.’ He made a note.
‘Know anything about some range in Essex that has targets moving sideways?
‘They scraped it, or are about to.’
‘And the scrap targets?’ I pressed.
‘Dunno. We’d have to chat to the MOD about that.’
I pointed at his phone and he turned it towards me. I dialled
the MOD, London, after looking it up in an index. ‘General Dennet, please.’
‘And who’s calling?’ demanded the unhappy man at the other end.
‘Wilco, SAS, Hereford.’
‘Oh. Er ... hang on.’ I waited. ‘Adjutant’s office.’
‘It’s Wilco, SAS...’
‘Wilco, paid your fucking hotel bill yet?’
I smiled. ‘Not yet, sir, saving up. Is General Dennet about?’
‘Since when did enlisted scrotums like you call up the General?’
‘Since he owes me a favour, or three.’
I heard laughing. ‘Hold on.’
After a minute came, ‘Wilco?’
‘Yes, sir, that you?’
‘My name tag says so, so does the sign on the door, so I think so. What you after? And what’ve done this time?’
I smiled. ‘Well, sir, people have been nudging me to design a training scenario based on Bosnia -’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, sir, and I think there is a decommissioned range in Essex that has targets on rails that go sideways.’
‘You must be psychic, it came across my desk last week. It’s being scrapped.’
‘Can we have the rails and targets, sir?’
‘I should think so, they’re just sat getting rusty. What would you use them for?’
‘We’d place them in Sennybridge, at the range with controlled targets, and I’d create a three-day scenario where troopers are tested to the limits.’
‘Just troopers?’
‘Sir?’ I puzzled.
‘If I help, I’d want others involved. Marines, Paras, SBS.’
‘I think that would make best use of the facility, sir, yes.’
‘Then I’m going to appoint someone to oversee it, since you are indeed not a colonel, but a lowly grunt.’
I smiled. ‘They know where to find me, sir. I’ll have the detail in a week or two.’
‘And this scenario would teach men what to do?’
‘Yes, sir. War-like conditions, or as close as we can get.’
‘Expect a Colonel Masters soon.’
‘I’ve met the gentlemen, sir. And he snores something terrible.’
Laughter preceded a cut line.
