Bravo two zero (11 page)

    Now we had to patrol up to the proposed cache area. We did it in a shuttle, as we had practiced, four blokes ferrying the kit, the other four giving protection, then swapping over. Because we were patrolling, everything had to be done tactically: we'd stop, check the ground ahead, and every couple of miles, when we stopped for a rest, the 4-man protection would go out; then we'd check the kit to make sure that we hadn't dropped anything, that all pouches were still done up, and none of the sandbags had split.

    The water was the worst because it was like carrying the world's heaviest suitcase in one hand. I tried mine on the top of my bergen until the strain on my back got too outrageous. But then, nobody said it would be easy.

    Moving as quickly but as tactically as we could, we had to get to the MSR well before first light to give us time to find somewhere to cache the kit and hide up. In my orders I'd put a cutoff time of 0400 the next morning; even if we hadn't reached the proposed cache area by then, we'd have to start finding an LUP. That would give us an hour and a half of darkness to work in. The ground worried me. If it carried on like this it was going to be too flat and too hard to hide up in. If we had to lie in open ground in broad daylight we'd stick out like the balls on a bulldog.

    We navigated by bearings, time, and distance. We had Magellan, but it was only an aid. Patrolling as we were was not a good time to use it.

    Apart from the fact that it could not be depended upon, the machine emitted telltale light, and it would not be tactical anyway for the operator to be looking at a machine rather than the ground.

    Every half hour or so we fixed a new ERV emergency rendezvous), a point on the ground where we could regroup if we had a contact and had to withdraw swiftly. If we came to a prominent feature like a pile of old burial ruins, the lead man would indicate it as the new ERV by a circular motion of the hand and this would be passed down the patrol.

    All the time, you keep making appreciations. You've got to say to yourself: What if? What happens if we get an attack from the front? Or from the left? Where will I go for cover? Is this a good ambush point?

    Where was the last emergency RV? Who have I got in front of me? Who have I got behind me? You have to check all the time that you're not losing anyone. And you always have to cover your arcs and be conscious of the noise you're making.

    As you patrol you start to get hot. When you stop you get cold again.

    You're sitting there with all the coldness down your back and under your armpits, and your face starts to feel it. The back of your hair starts to get that horrible, uncomfortable, sticky feeling, and the clothing around your belt is soaked. Then you move off again because you want to be warm. You don't want to stop for too long because you don't want to freeze. You've been like this plenty of times before, and you know that you'll dry out eventually, but that doesn't make it any less of a pain in the arse.

    We finally got into the area of the bend of the MSR at about 0445. We couldn't see any lights or vehicles in the pitch-black. We cached the equipment, and Vince's gang stayed to protect it. The rest of us were going to go forward for a recce to find a place to hide.

    "My cutoff time to be back here will be 0545," I whispered to Vince, my mouth right against his ear so that the sound didn't carry.

    If we failed to return but they knew there hadn't been a contact because they hadn't heard any noise, we would meet at the patrol RV near the oil pipeline. If we weren't at the patrol RV by the twenty-four-hour cutoff time, Vince was then to move back to the RV at the heli-landing site, then wait a further twenty-four hours before requesting an exfil. If we weren't there, he'd just have to get on the helicopter and go. They should also move back to the helicopter RV if they heard a contact but it wasn't close enough for them to give support.

    I went through the actions on return. "I will come in the same direction as I leave," I whispered to Vince, "and as I come in I'll approach just on my own with my weapon in my right arm and walk in as a crucifix."

    I would then come forward and confirm with the stag and go back and bring the other three in. I would do all this on my own because as well as confirming that it was me, I would want to confirm that it was safe to come in-they might have been bumped, and the enemy could be waiting in ambush. The other three would be out supporting, so if there was any drama, they would lay down fire and I could withdraw to them.

    We set out on our recce patrol, and after about half an hour we found a good site for the LUP-a watershed where flash floods over thousands of years had carved a small reentrant about 15 feet high into the rock so that there was an overhang. We would be in dead ground, covered from view and with limited cover from fire. I couldn't believe our luck. We patrolled straight back to fetch the others.

    We moved all the equipment into the LUP. The cave was divided by a large rock, so we centralized the equipment and had the two gangs either side. At last I felt secure, even though the problem with finding an LUP at night is that in the morning everything can look different. You can find that what you thought was the perfect LUP is smack in the middle of a housing estate.

    Now was another period of stop, settle down, be quiet, listen to what's going on, tune in to the new environment. The ground did not look so alien now, and we were feeling more confident.

    It was time to get some sleep. There's an army saying, "Whenever there's a lull in the battle, get your head down," and it's true. You've got to sleep whenever you can, because you never know when you're going to get the opportunity again.

    There were two men on stag, changing every two hours. They had to look and listen. If anything came towards us, it was their job to warn us and get us stood to. The rest of us slept covering our arcs, so we'd just have to roll over and start firing.

    More jets went over that night. We saw flak going up and Baghdad erupting to our half right about 100 miles away. There were no incidents on the ground.

    Just as it was coming up to first light, two of us moved out of the LUP position and checked that we hadn't left footprints on our way in to the LUP, dropped any kit, disturbed anything, or left any other "sign" to betray us. You must assume that everybody is better at everything than you-including tracking-and make your plans accordingly.

    We arranged our claymores so that both men on stag could see them and their field of view, and be ready to detonate them with hand-held "clackers." If the stag saw or heard movement, he'd wake everybody else. There wouldn't be hectic running around, we'd just stand to.

    Everything is always done at a slow pace. You'd know if it had to be rushed because you'd hear the stag firing. If somebody was in a position to be hit with a claymore, we were in a position to be compromised, so it was down to the sentry whether or not he pushed the clackers. If they came as close as the kill zone of the claymores, which were positioned as a protection of last resort, we'd just have to initiate the contact. But still the best weapon we had was concealment.

    I went up onto the dead ground to double-check. Looking north towards the MSR, I saw a flat area of 2000 feet, then a slight rise of about 15 feet, and then, another 1300 feet away, a plantation. Looking east and west, the ground was flat as far as the horizon. South, to my rear, I saw another plantation about 1500 meters away, with a water tower and buildings. According to the map and Bert's briefing these locations shouldn't have been there, but they were, and they were far too close for comfort.

    I heard vehicles moving along the as yet unconfirmed MSR, but that was of no concern. The only way anybody could see us was if they were on the opposite lip looking down. No one on our side of the wadi could see us because of the overhang. They could only see us if we could see them.

    I went down and briefed everybody on what was above us. Only one man was needed on stag because from his vantage point he could look down the wadi as well as up on the lip. He had his back to us as I did the briefing, covering his arcs. I described what I'd seen on the high ground and went through our actions on if we had a contact during the day.

    It was time to transmit the Sit Rep (situation report) to the FOB. Until we did, nobody knew where we were or what state we were in. On this task we would try to send a Sit Rep every day, telling them where we were, everything we had learned about the enemy in the area or done with them, our future intentions, and any other information. They would come back to us with instructions.

    As I wrote it out, Legs prepared the radio. He encoded the message and typed it in ready for transmission. The patrol radio would transmit in a single, very short burst that was virtually undetectable by the enemy.

    The burst would bounce off the ionosphere, and we would wait for some kind of an acknowledgment.

    We got jack shit.

    Legs tried again and again, but nothing happened. It was annoying but not desperate, because we had a lost com ms procedure. The following night, we'd simply go back to the landing site and RV with a heli at 0400 to exchange the radios.

    For the rest of that day we tried different antennas-everything from sloping wire to half-wave dipole. All of us were signals trained and we all had a go, but without success.

    We each did two hours' stag, and half an hour before last light we stood to. The ideal conditions for an attack are just before last light and just before first light, so it is an SOP that everybody is awake at those times and everything is packed away ready to go. We got into the fire position with our weapons and prepared our 66s, removing the top cover and opening up the tube so it was ready to fire. Once last light had come, we closed everything up again and got ready for our recce patrol.

    I left with my gang at 2100. Our cutoff time was to be 0500. If we weren't back by then, it would be because we'd had a drama-we'd got lost, got an injury, or had a contact, which Vince's lot should hear. If they didn't hear a contact, they were to wait at the LUP until 2100 the following night. If we weren't back by then, they were to move to the heli RV. If there was a contact, they were to move back to the heli RV that night, and we'd make our way back there as best we could, to get there for the following 0400 pickup.

    Stan, Dinger, Mark, and I climbed over the lip of the wadi in total blackness. The task was to confirm the position of the Main Supply Route and to locate the landline. It's no good just sitting there on top of what you think is your objective unless you have checked. One mile further on for all we knew, there could be the proper MSR, so it had to be physically checked. We would patrol in an anticlockwise direction, generally heading north, using the lie of the ground, to see if we hit anything else which resembled the MSR.

    First, we needed to locate a marker that would guide us back to the LUP if we got lost. We would take a bearing due north until we hit the other side of the road, where we'd try to find a rock or some other feature. Then if we did get lost, we'd know that all we'd have to do was go along the high ground, find the marker, and move due south back onto the watershed.

    It was going to be difficult to map-read because there were no definite features. In most countries there's high ground that you can take reference points off, there are roads, or there are markers, and it's all quite easy. In the jungle, too, it's simple, because you've got lots of rivers and you can use contour lines. But here in the middle of the desert there was absolutely bugger all, so it was all down to bearings and pacing again, backed up by Magellan.

    We found a suitable marker, a large rock, and started heading west on our anticlockwise loop. Within minutes we spotted our first location of the night and immediately heard a dog. Bedu throw their hand in at night; when the sun's down, they go to bed. So if a dog barks, they know there must be something afoot. Within seconds, this one had been joined by two others.

    I had been the first to hear the low growling. It reminded me of patrolling in Northern Ireland. You stop and assess what's happening.

    Nine times out of ten you're intruding on a dog's territory, and if you back off, sit down, and just wait for everything to settle down, it will. Our problem was that we had to recce the location properly. The dogs could be part of a Scud site for all we knew.

    As we sat down we pulled our fighting knives from their sheaths. They would be called upon to do the business if the dogs came to investigate and either started barking in earnest or decided to attack. Either way, we'd kill them. We'd take the bodies with us, so that in the morning the owners would assume that their animals had run away or wandered off.

    They would find it strange, but that would be the best we could make of a bad situation.

    We listened, waiting for lights as people came to see what the dogs were barking at. Nothing happened. We started to box around the position, circumnavigating to see if we could get in another way to confirm what it was. We got around the other side and found it was just some local population. There were tents, mud huts, Land Cruisers, and a hash mash of other vehicles, but no military indication. We got a fix on it with Magellan so that when we returned to the LUP we could inform the others, then headed off northwest using the ground. We wanted to avoid until later the plantation that we knew to be to our north.