by Geoff Wolak
‘Has ... Rawlson said anything?’
‘He’d like us gone, but we’ve always known that. He’d like us separate, and competing head on.’
‘And you?’ he nudged.
‘I follow orders, Bob. Arrange the meeting for tomorrow if you can, let’s get this nailed down. I need to see your boys about Panama anyhow.’
Bob called me back two hours later, the meeting on, so I packed a bag, my MP Sergeant driving me, and we chatted on the way. He had a room booked next to mine in the usual hotel, and we ate together after I spent an hour with Bob’s man responsible for all things Central America.
In the morning I was driven to the MOD building, starting to feel a bit useless; time was when I used to drive the Air Commodore, and being driven around seem ostentatious.
I was in a suit, Rawlson in uniform and seemingly put out to see me, but he also looked concerned to see me, not least because of this meeting coming so soon after my outburst.
I approached General Dennet and we shook. ‘How’s your daughter, sir?
‘She has a boyfriend, so she’s forgotten about you thankfully.’
‘What’s wrong with having me for a son-in-law, sir?’ I teased.
‘I could write a list...’ he quipped, and we laughed.
I greeted the JIC and UKSF staff, a nod at Bob as he sat with papers, then the Defence Secretary stepped in with two assistants and we moved around the oval table.
The Defence Secretary settled himself, and nod at Bob.
Bob began, ‘We’re here today to discuss the future direction of Echo Detachment -’
‘Is it in doubt?’ the Defence Secretary asked.
‘Not in doubt, just that the SAS are moving to a smaller base when Echo is growing and ... in need of more space,’ Bob explained.
‘And the problem?’ the Defence Secretary nudged.
‘May I?’ I cut in with. Bob deferred to me. ‘If Echo Detachment were to relocate due to size issues, then an unintended natural gap may be created with the regular SAS. And let’s be clear, it is Echo Detachment of the SAS, not of anything else, and most of the current staff are from the SAS.
‘Such a natural break, possibly with a hundred miles of fine English countryside between us, may lead to the parent unit and the child ... growing apart, and possibly even competing for budgets.
‘When I was recently asked for an opinion on the matter, I said ... let’s go ask the Government and the MOD want they want. So, what do you want from us in the future?’
‘More of the same,’ the Defence Secretary began. ‘Good newspaper headlines.’
I faced General Dennet. ‘What aspect, sir, of what we do, would you say was the most important?’
‘Although it’s good to rescue people,’ he began, ‘I’d say that our international reputation is a key feature. How that is achieved doesn’t matter.’
‘And if Echo stopped using the label of SAS, and the SAS was reduced?’ I asked, Rawlson stiffening.
‘That would seem a bit like reinventing the wheel, yes,’ General Dennet agreed. ‘What’s the issue?’
‘The issue, sir, is that some of our work is that which best suits Bob here, and is beyond the SAS. Some of the work overlaps the SAS and takes jobs away from the SAS. If Echo were to grow to its full potential as Bob would like it to, then it would put pressure on the MOD to reduce the SAS – something that I’m not in favour of, since we would be re-inventing the wheel, wasting money and competing.’
‘Agreed,’ the Defence Secretary put in. ‘So the answer is..?’
‘The answer, sir, is for you to consider what you want.’
He took a moment. ‘Echo got started for the purpose of ... naughty jobs, to operate with SIS overseas, and that has gone very well I’m sure we’d all agree. Djibouti and Sierra Leone was more a case of regular soldiering, and as far as I was concerned it was all SAS. Weren’t the numbers made up mostly of SAS?’
‘Yes, sir, after the ramp up, and we work seamlessly together.’
‘Then I’d hope that ... seamlessly continues in the future.’ He took in the faces.
‘I agree,’ General Dennet put in, and I could have dropped Rawlson right in it.
I began, ‘I think, gentlemen, that Echo should always have a core of mostly SAS soldiers on loan, and the SAS working with us, and many joint exercises as per now – even if we were on a separate base. And we keep the name, SAS.’
‘Sounds fine to me,’ the Defence Secretary noted, a glance at the faces.
I pointed at Bob. ‘Bob has floated the idea of a separate base before, and I have resisted – because a natural gap may have formed. But ... but I’ve given a great deal of thought as to what’s most important about what I do, and my unique way of doing it.’ I took in their faces as they waited expectantly, Bob now looking worried.
‘I have to say ... that the thing I consider the most important ... is the effect I have on other branches of the military working together; aircraft, helicopters, ships – and the external members that train with us.
‘If I do nothing else this next year but train two hundred of next year’s NCOs from various units, and get them some combat experience, then to my mind ... my greatest contribution is that those men go on to become good NCOs and officers and teach others, ready for the next small war we find ourselves in. As Bob here has said before, valuable wartime experience accrued in peacetime.’
‘Absolutely,’ General Dennet agreed. ‘I spoke to the Air Commodore the other day, and he said you’d created a stark shift in attitude in many of his units, that people were training hard and competing to come along on your next job, recruitment way up – even for the damn medics.
‘And look at Sierra Leone. The Marines got a good write-up in the papers, the pilots got some practise in and a good write-up, all excellent for recruitment, the RAF Regiment bombarded with new recruits, the number of men applying to the SAS treble what it was two years ago – which was in stark decline.’
‘Yes, good all round,’ the Defence Secretary agreed. He focused on Rawlson. ‘Colonel?’
I could feel Rawlson’s pain, and hid my smile.
‘As has been stated, re-inventing the wheel would be ... wasteful to the taxpayer, and a move away would probably be ... detrimental to the linear history of the SAS.’
‘Do you have a plan?’ the UKSF brigadier asked me.
‘There is an old airfield Bob has proposed we use and, given that I would like to train more externals and conduct more multi-unit exercises, it would seem the best choice, sir. It’s in south Gloucester, close to Brize Norton and Lyenham, close enough to Hereford, and secure – far from prying eyes.’
‘Sounds ideal,’ the rotund JIC civil servant noted. ‘But we’d keep The Factory in Leominster?’
‘Yes, sir, that gets plenty of use. It’s an hour’s drive away from this airfield.’
‘And what do you need?’ Dennet asked.
‘Same as now, sir, but possibly more diverse exercises with more units, and ... as I said about next year’s NCOs, I would bring in units when there was no need other than their own benefit – the benefit of experience.’
‘You’re happy to train others like that?’ the Defence Secretary asked.
‘A great deal of time and money went in to my training, sir, so I should be giving it back.’
‘Yes, definitely,’ they agreed.
‘And Bob here gets what he wants – in the resources of the men to hand, and the regular SAS and SBS benefit as well. But what I would like, to help me sleep at night, is a joint document from all of you gentlemen as to the outline and scope of what Echo does, your desires, wants and needs. That way I won’t go off at a tangent, and ... neither will anyone else.’
They exchanged looks, the hidden meaning obvious to all.
‘It’ll be drawn up and discussed,’ the JIC official noted. ‘Just a pity we never did that with 14 Intel.’
I smiled, a glance at Rawlson. ‘People should just follow orders from the top d
own, eh.’
As the meeting broke up after a few lighter moments and jokes, the Defence Secretary asked me to walk him out.
‘So what was not said in there?’ he bluntly asked.
‘SIS would like their own private army, but they’re not the issue.’
‘No?’
‘No, sir. They have a desire and a need, but they’ll not do anything stupid.’
‘Colonel Rawlson..?’
‘He would have allowed a natural gap to form, if not encouraged it, and pitted his men against mine, but what some may have seen as friendly units competing would have gone the same way as 14 Intel.’
‘And right fucking embarrassing that was. I’ll draw up a document, but what do you want it to stipulate?’
‘That Echo always gives priority in recruitment to any SAS lad good enough and keen to join, that we train together and that our funding comes partly through the SAS budget.’
‘And JIC oversight?’
‘Happy to have them come chat anytime, sir.’
‘Would you ... travel around and chat to new recruits in various regiments?’
‘Yes, sir, time permitting. They keep me busy.’
He stopped. ‘So your concern was not Bob, but Rawlson.’
I nodded. ‘He wants Echo gone. And in fairness, if his lot did their jobs with less attitude, we would never have got started.’
‘But it was that attitude that got you started, and that same shit attitude in the rank and file of the SAS has embarrassed us before.’
‘Colonel Rawlson has done a very good job of getting rid of the dead wood and raising standards.’
He considered that. ‘So he wants the jobs back.’ He nodded. ‘We’ll see how it goes.’
In Bob’s office, he made me a coffee. ‘I think we all get what we want from Echo being at the airfield, and enlarged.’
I nodded. ‘I get to spot the stars for you, and the psychotic lone wolves,’ I said with a smile.
He sat. ‘And your ... real concerns?’
‘Competing with the regular SAS would have been a bad idea, because they’d end up like 14 Intel and want to cut our balls off, and then how do we work with them on a live job?’
‘Yes, bad blood is best avoided there. But you’re happy to endorse enlargement?’
‘If the core men are SAS, then yes. If they bypass the SAS, not so much. We need the SAS close and friendly.’
He nodded. ‘I can see that a rift would have been bad all around. And Rawlson? He was squirming.’
‘He wants us gone, but I told him firmly that the MOD calls the shots, not him or me or you. We may not be here next year, but the Army goes on. Think long term, Bob, see the big picture.’
He sipped his drink and nodded, being thoughtful. ‘Many here would like you playing Petrov full time, and the Americans are screaming at me every week.’
‘They got a result in Panama, so what the fuck do they want – the whole world quelled by one man?’
My sat phone trilled, and I had forgotten I brought it, Bob suddenly very keenly focused on it. I recognised the number. ‘Da!’
‘It’s me,’ came the voice of Tomsk.
‘How’s the diet going, you little fat fucker?’
He sighed long and loud. ‘I sometimes worry it’s not you at the end of the phone, but no one else could be that rude.’
I laughed. ‘Sasha feeding you your greens?’
‘He tries, and I’m swimming more.’
‘Good, I want you alive a long time yet.’
‘Listen, I got some information, might be useful to your British friends, a shipment of arms from America to the communists.’
‘Don’t touch it.’
‘No?’
‘No, because the shits who make and sell those guns are in bed with the fucking CIA.’
‘But the weapons are headed to the communists!’
‘Like the Americans give a shit. They make it and sell it, they don’t care how it’s used.’
‘You think they would be a problem if I stopped it?’
‘Yes, don’t touch it. But I’ll talk to my man anyhow. Best thing to do ... try and get serial numbers and descriptions, hand it to the Panama minister, but don’t tell him you could have stopped the shipment. I’ll call you back if my guy says something.’
‘You give good advice, my friend, you see these things clearly.’
‘I just always assume that those pretending to be righteous are fucking small boys.’
He laughed as I cut the call. I faced and expectant Bob. ‘Tomsk got info on an arms shipment, US suppliers selling to the communists. You want to upset Uncle Sam?’
Bob eased back, thinking, and looking deflated. After a while he said, ‘We’d like such deals stopped, but ... as you said, the CIA probably know about it anyhow. Alerting the Panamanian authorities to it after the fact does some good.’
‘If you want it intercepted, let me know soon, just watch out for some shit from the Yanks.’
The next day the shit hit the fan, and everyone got a piece. Tomsk had tipped off the minister, but the consignment had been delayed a day and so the Panama police found it by accident, accusations made towards the American manufacturers, CNN running the story.
The CIA got wind, from Panamanian officials, of the tip off from Tomsk, and they were quietly mad, their arms producing buddies out of pocket – and now very mad. One more group now wanted Tomsk dead, along with Petrov – who was believed to be still alive and operating with Tomsk.
Around noon the Colonel sent for me, and I walked across, in and saluting – and expecting a row.
‘After me, sir?’
‘Sit.’
I sat.
He took a moment. ‘You could have dropped me right in it yesterday…’
‘What would that achieve, sir? We need to work together.’
‘It’s normally the colonel saying that to the captain, not the other way around, something I realised on the way back. That I was wrong.’ He took a moment. ‘A gap between us would cause more problems than it solves and ... thinking about it, I’d rather not pitch my lot against you – you have a way of thinking they lack.
‘And the long term interests of this place needs to be considered, because I am just here for eighteen months or so, I can see that now. Just needed a kick in the pants. I’m the one always telling people to follow the chain of command, and here you are reminding me of that fact.
‘So when the directive is drawn up we both have our orders, and hopefully it will benefit all, and ... I heard and understood what you said about training others, and it’s something that no one else here has ever done or would ever think to do. But the benefits are clear; next year’s NCOs.
‘I’ll admit to being jealous of what your unit does, but ... but I will try and be more of a father figure in the future if that’s what you want.’
‘Your predecessor told us what to do, whilst working with Bob Staines. No one told you, sir, that you could not be involved. We work under you more than him.’
‘I didn’t want to clash with Bob Staines.’
‘You won’t, sir, when it comes to green-field soldiering. Ask him what his desires are, then assist us reach them, and I’ll get more of your lads doing jobs for Bob. And when we get this new base, come visit and stamp your authority.’
‘Bob won’t try anything underhand towards me?’
‘Not without asking me first, sir, I’d tell him no. But if you sit down with him and chat you’ll find that he has ideas, but not the green-field soldiering ability. That’s where you come in.
‘He wants men to infiltrate, you say – leave it to me. You would only clash if he wanted us for a job and you said no. But then again, if the job looks like a fuck-up from the start, say so. So will I.
‘The way to deal with him, is to say – you want a bad headline, Bob? And he’ll go away and think. Just need the right approach, and he’s not Army – he’s a snake.’
‘But you work well with him...’<
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‘I have shouted at him on occasion, threatened to shoot him, and told him to fuck off. Some of his ideas were a bit dangerous. But he will listen to reason in the end, and he’s shit scared of bad newspaper headlines.’
‘Is it all about headlines?’ he scoffed.
‘Yes, because we work for politicians, sir, not men with sound military judgement. They’re all snakes, and they don’t give a fuck about hostage’s lives – that’s just for the cameras. They like good headlines. And the Falklands War - that was for no practical gain, it was because Thatcher had no choice if she wanted to stay in power.’
He nodded. ‘You see these things clearly. Oh. I have two men you can have, they did ask. Both been in two years, got very high scores, in the nineties.’
‘We do have a gap for them, yes, sir. Send them over for a chat.’
The next day I called a big powwow, everyone sat in the interest room, tea mugs in hand. ‘OK, as many of you know this base is closing soon, in fact it should have closed a year or two back. The new base, just up the road, is ... a slightly smaller base, bunch of modern air-conditioned tin sheds designed for just one squadron at a time.
‘So, we have a choice to make, if indeed that choice has not already been made by Bob and the MOD – who I met with yesterday. The preferred choice is that we have our own base -’
‘Damn right’ and ‘about time’ echoed around the room, heads nodding.
‘- and that base could be an isolated old RAF airfield in south Gloucester, not far from Brize Norton and Lyneham, the old balloon school many of you would have used.’
‘Be good for flying out,’ Rizzo said.
I nodded. ‘Yes, and it’s a short drive to the bars in Gloucester, Bristol and Cirencester, so not so isolated, same distance to Cardiff as now, forty minute drive from here.’
‘Where’d we live?’ Rocko puzzled.
‘There are houses on the base, a barracks, a village, or you drive in,’ I said.
‘I vote yes,’ O’Leary put in.
‘You live three miles from it,’ I pointed out as they laughed.
‘Like I said, I vote yes,’ he affirmed with a smile.
‘My fiancé lives in Dursely,’ Captain Harris put in. ‘So I vote yes as well,’ the lads laughing.
