by Paul Jordan
We had the ambush set up in about nine minutes. The six claymores were joined using detonation cord and could be fired from a central location using one firing device. We only had to wait about one hour when the first ambush went off, then another and so on until we blew ours. Even sitting eight metres back from the claymores and behind our packs we still had a fair load of shit thrown at us. We dusted ourselves off and headed back to our camp.
Over the next few days the rest of the blokes went on with some booby trap training. They asked me if my patrol knew anything about making booby traps. I said they did, so they gave me a heap of explosives to do my own training. We played around a bit with booby-trapping, but still had a heap of explosives left over, so John went fishing in our little creek. When our neighbours came back to the camp at the end of the day, John had about 50 little fish for them. They were rapt and hurriedly cooked them. They tasted all right, but had heaps of bones. Our neighbours had caught a big frog that day and also cooked that up. They boiled it with three rocks from the creek and a piece of fungus selected from a tree. It turned out to be beautiful and the soup was good, very similar to chicken soup.
On our last day in the camp we packed up and prepared for a 45-kilometre walk to an ambush position that was near a small town. That was 45 kilometres as the crow flies, but in this place, with some of the biggest mountains and thickest jungle in the world, it could become 80 kilometres or more. We had seven days to reach the ambush position, so it would mean a fairly quick pace.
On the night before we left the camp, one of the corporals was being tested on his night attack so we took part as well. It was all live fire, which concerned me a little, but what could we do? We moved to a point about 200 metres from the enemy camp and were told to leave our kit there, and that we would move along another 100 metres and sleep there the night. This meant lying on the ground without a sleeping bag or a hutchie. I knew it would piss down with rain all night, so I told the patrol to grab their bivvy bags and a couple of hutchies between us and to give them to John who had a small pack to carry them in. This we did and, as night fell, I told John to pass out our gear and we got into our bivvy bags. About an hour after dark, it pissed down — I mean literally bucketed down. Now a bivvy bag is water resistant to an extent and will keep the dew out, but we were nicely located in a gully and, as I lay down, I found myself in a foot of water. A couple of hutchies went up, but you couldn’t move under them because of the other blokes. Basically, it was a bloody miserable night, and in situations such as this you realise how long nights really are. The jungle is hotter than hell during the day, but at night, when you are soaked to the skin, it’s bloody cold.
We completed the attack and didn’t lose anyone to gunfire and commenced our walk out. We were given a local soldier to go with us to ensure we didn’t get into trouble and that we took the correct route. I had already prepared and given orders for the patrol to the ambush site, and told my local man that he would be positioned between Stuart and Cleve. After breakfast, and a final briefing from the Captain, we patrolled off in a rough north-westerly direction with John scouting. I doubled as patrol commander and the second scout about five metres behind him, while Stuart, as signaller, patrolled behind me, then my local man, then Cleve as medic and Tony as the 2IC. Tony also had responsibility for acting as the rear scout. He had to ensure that no-one was tracking us, to protect us from enemy surprise from the rear and to ensure we didn’t leave a huge trail behind us. We were patrolling well in primary jungle that followed a north-west ridgeline. The patrolling was easy and we made good time. While we knew there was no enemy, we still patrolled tactically — this was a great opportunity to refresh our jungle patrolling skills.
For a soldier, there is no greater challenge than patrolling, surviving and living effectively in the jungle. Everything wants to bite you, sting you, suck your blood, scratch or kill you. Everything is rotting and that includes you if you’re not careful. Contact with the enemy is at a distance of 10 metres, which means if they see you first, it is hard to miss from that range. This also means you can’t make a sound because noise travels and will give your position away. It is beyond hot, but worse still is the near 100% humidity. Your clothes are always wet and then they stick to you. Walking up a slight incline is difficult because your wet trousers stick to your leg making it difficult to lift. Night observation posts or ambushes mean lying on the jungle floor all night, usually in a torrential downpour.
After two hours we approached the end of the ridgeline which began to turn to the west, as I knew it would, so I was forced to search for a suitable spur that would take us in the general direction of the ambush site. I signalled John to stop and moved up behind him. John continued to look to his front and I whispered in his ear, ‘Stop here for 10; I need to do a nav check.’ John nodded in acknowledgment. The rest of the patrol could see we’d stopped and moved up behind. I indicated where I wanted them to be and then we sat. For five minutes we sat still and listened to the noise around us, adapting to our immediate environment. I pulled out my map and identified our position. We were making good time without rushing things, and were 1200 metres from our start point. According to my map, 100 metres up ahead was a spur extending from the ridgeline like a finger pointing towards the north. It seemed to extend for about 1000 metres and was quite high. The higher we stayed in the jungle, the better the patrolling. Down low in the re-entrants, the jungle was secondary and very thick. I got up and moved to Tony first to brief him on the plan. He had nothing to add, so I briefed the rest of the patrol and we moved off after a couple of good mouthfuls of water.
I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth and John looked around. I gave him a slight nod of my head and slowly John got to his feet. He inspected the floor of the jungle on which he’d been sitting, and moved some leaves to disguise the once-occupied area. He then moved off along the westerly spur. When he was about five metres away, I went through the same routine, as did the rest of the patrol, all spaced about the same. The whole patrol moved in a ‘pepper pot’ fashion. If John was moving, then I was stationary behind some cover giving John protection. If I was stationary, then Stuart was moving and so on. This style of patrolling was painfully slow, took a great deal of patience and discipline, but always ensured I had one foot on the ground if the shit hit the fan. No-one was getting the drop on us.
I’d counted out 180 paces, which for me was about 100 metres, but I checked with Stuart’s count to ensure I was about right because there was a substantial spur branching off to the north. I clicked with my tongue to John who immediately stopped and I moved up behind him. As scout, John would never take his eyes off the axis of advance. If I needed to talk to him, I had to move up behind him and whisper in his ear. ‘That’s the spur, let’s go.’ I indicated to the rest of the patrol with a sweeping hand to the right that we were going to change direction. It was necessary to inform the patrol of any change in direction because, in close jungle, those at the rear of the patrol might see the fleeting movement of the scout and shoot, thinking he’s the enemy.
As we reached the end of the spur we found ourselves back at ground level. The jungle was very thick. It was getting on for 1.00 pm and I could see the level of patrolling was slowly dropping off, so I caught Stuart’s eye to indicate a lengthy stop, and pointed to an area that I considered suitable for the stop and defendable in the event of enemy surprise. Stuart passed this down the line, I informed John, and we moved in and occupied the position.
One by one we removed the small packages of food from our trouser pockets and ate. We’d had a long morning, so I told the blokes to brew up if they wanted to. Everyone took turns at preparing their brews and a feed so, at any given time, all five heads were not looking down rather than towards the perimeter. We sat in this spot for about 40 minutes when I decided to give each member a quick brief as to what we would be doing for the afternoon and to update the rendezvous points. We were going to continue in a north-westerly direction to a posit
ion about 300 metres away on a bit of high ground. I hoped to be in this night lay-up position by 4.00 pm.
One at a time we stood, checked our personal space and moved off. The jungle was thick and the patrolling was slow. It becomes very tiring when you have to bend over to get your pack under overhanging branches and through thick jungle, and when soldiers become tired they tend to make more noise. But this was just one of those occasions that separates regular soldiers from the SAS. This sort of patrolling requires extra discipline, strength, vigilance and concentration on the area surrounding each member. An SAS soldier would never forgive himself if he made the noise that gave the patrol’s position away.
We continued on, but by now I knew we weren’t going to reach the desired night lay-up position so, at 3.45, I started to look for a suitable location to hide the patrol for the night. To my half-right, I spotted a thick piece of ground on a slight rise. The area was covered in thick secondary growth and measured about 25 x 25 metres. I indicated the area to the patrol and we moved in. The growth was very thick and we had to struggle to get on top of the rise which was a little clearer and suitable for occupation. As the patrol members occupied their various positions, I inspected the surrounds and confirmed that no-one could sneak up on us through this growth. Normally I would send the blokes out some distance to check a piece of ground that we hadn’t covered for dead ground and anything unusual, but in this area they would make more noise doing the check and that would defeat the purpose. We stood for five minutes and listened to the noises around us and had a good look at the surrounding area. I then sat down and the whole patrol followed. This action was standard operating procedure in the patrol. I figured it was better to make the noise of sitting down once, not five times. Again, we went through the eating process of one bloke preparing at a time, then each of the blokes cleared an area for sleeping. The sleeping area was wide enough to accommodate a sleeping mat which, when unfolded, was long enough to keep the hips and the shoulders off the ground, and a sleeping bag. The area was cleared only of twigs and anything that would make excess noise when compressed.
With the nightly routine almost complete, the patrol sat quietly and finished off the last of the brews while scanning the perimeter with their eyes. I moved around to each of them and asked how they were going, told them what I had in mind for the following day and what the rendezvous points were for the evening. When visibility diminished and the sun was all but gone, I told each bloke to lay out his bedding. Each patrol member had his pack rigged so that, while facing the perimeter, he could unbuckle, reach into a compartment and withdraw his bedding. So, at this stage, each man still had his webbing on, his weapon on his lap and only one compartment of his pack open. This meant that, in the event of a contact, he would, at worst, only lose his bedding, while everything else was still packed away. Some 20 minutes after dark we bedded down for the night.
At 5.15 am the next morning I woke and sat up. The sun would not be up for another 45 minutes, but I always seemed to wake early in the bush. It’s a good opportunity to have a bit of a listen and to adjust my eyes once again to the darkness. I’d done the same thing three times during the night and so had the other guys at different times. Slowly the remainder of the patrol began to stir and I could see them sitting up and slipping on their webbing. After a few minutes of sitting and listening, they slowly and methodically packed their bedding into their packs. Thirty minutes after first light I called the patrol closer in and said, ‘We’re never going to make it at this pace. So from here we step it out and move as quickly as we can to the ambush site.’
After breakfast we bolted for the ambush position. John set a blistering pace — well, as fast as you can go in secondary jungle — and, at the end of that that day, I was well and truly rooted. At the end of the next day both Tony and I had a bitching case of crutch rash. Having trousers that were continually wet meant some severe rubbing on the inner thighs until the skin was gone. It felt as though someone was running a blowtorch across my thighs. The worst was the local guy. He had his head down all day and just seemed content to follow and do nothing more. I had to stop the patrol more often for the local guy because I didn’t want to lose him nor did I want to embarrass him should he go down with heat exhaustion.
At the end of the fourth day we were still 4000 metres from the ambush site. We found a secure spot inside some thick undergrowth to conduct our nightly routine and sleep. After a tactical breakfast in the morning we moved off on a general bearing of 5900 mils. This would take us pretty much to a position some 200 metres to the rear of the ambush position.
Patrolling in the jungle is very slow, and covering 4000 metres in one day is unheard of, but we had to cover this, so we patrolled at a speed that was faster than I would usually be comfortable with. We’d patrolled for about an hour and just got smashed by some bloody thick jungle that was almost impenetrable. We were making too much noise trying to find a way through this wall of foliage so I stopped the patrol and told John to push forward to see whether the jungle opened up. Moments later, I’d lost sight of John, but heard him swearing and cursing. I wanted to tell him to shut up, and I moved forward, taking the patrol with me, to see what was going on. John’s cursing grew louder as I got closer to him but I still couldn’t see him, so I called to him. He replied but, to our surprise, so did someone else. We froze, wondering who the hell it was. Slowly we moved forward and the jungle opened to reveal a small cleared area where I saw John. He had dropped his pack and webbing, his weapon was on the ground, his shirt was off and his trousers were around his ankles. At the same time another Asian patrol broke through on the other side of the clearing. We all looked at one another, then the semi-naked John and then back to one another. Their once narrow eyes were now as round as dinner plates as they tried to process the sight of this naked, cursing white man in the middle of nowhere. This was beyond confusing. What the fuck was John doing and who the hell were these guys?
I heard the guys behind me laughing. I looked closer at John and realized he was pulling green ants from his hair, chest and pubic hair. In fact he had ants all over him. Obviously he’d walked under the nest in a tree and it had collapsed on him. This other patrol saw we were laughing and did the same. John eventually got all the ants off himself and we sat and had a chat with these other guys. It turned out they were a patrol from Singapore doing their officer training and had been in the field for only a few days. We threw on a brew and shared a few stories with these guys before heading off again. Before we left, their patrol commander approached me on the quiet with his map in his hand and asked if I could show them where they were. No problem and we parted ways.
We continued on and, at about 3.00 pm that day, I located the track that we were to ambush. With the patrol dropping a little further back and John and I moving a little further forward, I located a suitable section of the track to ambush. I told John to lead the patrol to the rear of the ambush position so we could prepare to occupy the position at last light. It was to be a rifle ambush and, given that we weren’t using any comms, there was very little preparation required. I located a reasonably secure lay-up position and, about 20 minutes before last light, we moved in and occupied the ambush site. I lay in the middle of the ambush, about six metres off the track and in a small hollow in the ground. I expected an enemy, possibly two or three, to move down the track at around 10.00 pm this evening.
Once the ambush was set, the only thing to do was to wait and be patient. At 7.30 pm I heard some people talking as they moved up the track from north to south. There were about ten people, maybe two families, laughing and chatting as they went, using torches to guide them. The children were all over the place and very unpredictable. They were walking off the track and into the jungle, and came within a few metres of us. In an ambush, the trick is to remain motionless. If they aren’t looking for you, they won’t see you. Children, being so inquisitive, are the best at compromising ambushes. I was sitting in an ambush near Daly River in the Northern
Territory once, and we were trying to ambush the Americans at a creek road junction. The plan was to allow their humvees to cross the creek and ambush them with a few sticks of PE-4 (explosive) which would shower them with water to let them know they had been hit. While we were waiting, a car load of Aborigines pulled up next to the creek for some lunch. We waited, hoping they would leave, but they didn’t. The men walked into the bush and started removing bark from a tree about two metres in front of me, and the kids spotted the explosive in the water and moved in to retrieve it. The men then walked to another tree behind me and were about to kick me when I let them know of our presence. They didn’t say a word as the rest of the patrol recovered the explosives and we withdrew.
Back in our jungle ambush position, we watched as the family moved along and again we waited. About 15 minutes later, I heard more noise and saw more torches coming down the track. ‘Fuck me,’ I whispered. Then they came into view: four men wearing military uniforms and carrying M16s. As the middle man came to my front, I let rip with a 28-round burst from my weapon and the rest of the patrol followed suit. We didn’t all fire 28 rounds, some only fired 20 and some 10 — we didn’t want to risk everyone having a stoppage at the same time. The enemy went down and I gave the nod for my search teams to go into the killing ground to search the dead enemy. After two minutes my guys returned and we withdrew through the rear of the ambush.
