Sniper Elite (5 page)

In the minutes before we had to be formed up in three ranks outside the grots, fear and anxiety began to creep in and there was a mad rush to the heads that resembled more like blind panic to evacuate the bowels. This became the norm before every session, and some of the noises and grunting that echoed the concrete and tiled ablutions will haunt me forever. Arguments sometimes developed as some poor sod desperate to drop his load was waiting to get into an overused cubical. Time was critical!

Week 15 was Baptist Run, yet another test exercise, but this was more like an exam on what the recruit had learnt up to that mark–testing all the basic skills but with special emphasis on field craft and the ability to live in the field. These included skills like stalking, giving target indications, and navigation. All recruits had to pass Baptist Run before they could advance onto the next stage.

An award called the Craig Medal was given at the end of this testing phase in acknowledgement of a recruit's all-round performance during this exercise. I was surprised–and pleased–to be the recipient of this award. That was the first of a number of awards I would be presented with during my time at Lympstone.

That weekend they granted us a well-earned long weekend leave, so a handful of us took the short train ride to Torquay on the southern coast and let our hair down for the couple of days.

I also tried to patch things up with Carla over the next few months but it just didn't work out, and the divorce went through without any fuss as we mutually agreed that the relationship was not working.

Now that we had the basics, it was time to really step up to the specialised areas of our trade. We conducted more advanced live fire activities, worked with Sea King helicopters and conducted amphibious operations. This meant we were ready to conduct ship boarding parties from either the sea or air.

A core section of the UK's Joint Rapid Reaction Force are the Royal Marines of 3 Commando Brigade. They are on permanent readiness to deploy across the globe. Royal Marines are experts at mounting amphibious operations from either helicopters or boats. This is a unique capability amongst the British armed services.

Our training included time at the Royal Naval Air Station (RNAS) Yeovilton in a mock helicopter simulating a crash into water. We were strapped inside a basic helicopter frame that plunged into a swimming pool. In the first step a crane lowered the frame into the pool slowly and when fully submerged we did the drills to exit the helicopter and swim to the surface. Once the instructors deemed us competent the final simulation was done in complete darkness and the frame turned upside down when it plunged into the pool. Divers were circling the frame in case anyone had a panic attack or had difficulty getting out. These skills would be put the test by me years later in a life-or-death situation off the coast of Fiji.

We trained with the Royal Marines Assault Squadron at RM Poole and learnt how to conduct night operations using Rigid Raiders. These are small boats powered by an outboard engine that can travel up to 40 knots in all sea conditions and carry eight lightly equipped troops or five fully equipped. Using the ‘raiders' we were taught how to infiltrate enemy lines from the sea and conduct clandestine night raids on key installations such as communications centres. Since the Royal Marines were also the UK's mountain troops we had to learn climbing and abseiling, including how to get marines off a cliff top quickly after completing a raid. To do this you abseil facing downwards and literally run down the cliff face.

We also learnt fighting in built-up areas (FIBUA) as it was called then, and as far as I could tell it didn't seem like tactics had changed much at all since World War II. But I guess as the old saying goes, ‘If it's not broken, don't fix it.' As always, we were constantly being tested through every physically demanding exercise.

At this stage we had to pass a 6-mile speed march to enter the commando phase of training; if successful we replaced our navy blue training berets for the khaki caps originally worn by World War II commandos. While wearing the cap we weren't allowed to walk and had to run everywhere while in the training centre, but to conserve energy and reduce the risk of injury we reduced the run to a shuffle.

Exercise Holdfast came around all too quickly for us. We had heard through the ‘Nod' grapevine, or ‘Gen buzz' that this was extremely hard going. It is a defensive exercise that places a lot of emphasis on nuclear, biological and chemical warfare (NBC) and the threat from air attack.

Each section needed to carry a very heavy load of stores into the field to help in the construction of the position: shovels, picks, materials for construction of the overhead protection (OHP) and as many sandbags as you could carry. We split the stores up within the section and packed them into our already overweight bergens (large back packs).

The contents of a bergen for this particular exercise included seven days rations, warm and wet-weather clothing, a dry set of combat trousers and jacket, spare socks, undies and T-shirt, gloves, spare water, spare 5.56 mm and 7.62 mm ammunition, binoculars, poncho, radio equipment, spare batteries, sleeping gear, helmet, foot powder, toothbrush and toothpaste, baby wipes for personal hygiene and to conserve water, shaving kit, first aid kit, and full NBC gear, which consisted of rubber overboots, NBC suit, gas mask, inner and outer gloves and the testing kit.

Each section also had to carry a general purpose machine gun (GPMG), which weighed 25 pounds and the sustained fire (SF) kit which included tripod, C2 sight and other ancillaries. I am unsure of the total weight, but believe me, it was bloody heavy! So after a rather painful and exhausting 12-mile (19-kilometre) yomp to Woodbury Common we stopped short of our proposed defensive location late that afternoon.

It was raining, as usual. We positioned ourselves into all-round defence, which gave us 360-degree security in case we were unexpectedly attacked from any direction. In the prone position, weapons pointing forward, we loosened both shoulder straps and rolled the bergens off our backs, leaving the master arm through one strap. This was to expedite any extraction from the hasty harbour we had just developed. A four-man recce was designated with the aid of the DS. They left their bergens with us and patrolled the five hundred metres or so forward to get eyes on the area before giving the all clear for the proposed site.

The recce team led us in and placed us into the positions where the trenches were to be dug. Once secure, we placed sentries and began our work routine. With blister upon blister, and pins and needles in the wrists and elbows, we jarred our way through the rocky topsoil. It had stopped raining for the night so sparks flew up from the flint as we struck it with shovel and pick. Soon we hit extremely hard clay, which almost brought the digging to a halt, and after a day and night of hard work removing it lump by lump through the intermittent downpours, we reached a silt layer. What a relief.

Things started to move a lot quicker from that point, and we were able to complete the OHP and concealment by day three. We still had the outer defences to finish off, which were the razor wire fences, minefields and trip flares. We also linked each pit with D10 wire and a dynamo-powered field phone, and heavily sandbagged our machine-gun positions.

The rain was starting to get heavier now and one of the lads had noticed the floor of the trench was starting to look like a shallow flowing stream. We had dug in some rudimentary drainage, but obviously not enough to get rid of the rainwater that was finding its way through the silt layer and into our pit.

Every defensive exercise I have done throughout my career it has pissed down with rain. We were now pretty knackered, and trying to sleep in freezing cold water and mud in the bottom of the sleeping pits at the end of the trench didn't help matters. So when the sun finally did break through the gloom, lethargy began to sweep through the troop and you found yourself nodding off in the direct sunlight.

It wasn't long before the training staff noticed this and decided to do something about it. As soon as I saw these bastards storming over and shouting at everyone to stop what they were doing I felt sick in the stomach. I could tell by their demeanour that we were going to get hammered again. I was warm for the first time in days and just starting to dry off nicely. I was quite comfortable with the routine we had slipped into. So I was less than impressed as we set off at a blistering pace down a nearby track to look for a steep yet open hill–open so the DS could watch everyone complete their punishment and could pick on the stragglers.

It was on such hills we usually conducted a fireman's carry or sprints. We eventually found a hill that fitted the requirement, but suffered a few punishments in between like press-ups and burpees. Once there, we played an all-time favourite of the training team: ‘Pays to be a winner!' On a signal we'd sprint up the hill and, depending how charitable the DS were feeling, either the first two or four to reach the summit would be excused the next climb, or until told to rejoin the punishing routine.

Totally alert now and wet again thanks to ‘Peter's pool', which is a waist-deep stagnant pond on the nearby endurance course, we belted our way back to our trenches. There we were reminded to ‘look after' each other, which meant keeping everyone awake. By now it was week 23 and everyone had hit a low point in training. Morale was on the verge of becoming an issue and blokes looked unmotivated. I'm guessing this was the case for every troop at that stage in training. You could see the light at the end of the tunnel, but you still had a very long way to go.

The attack started the next night with a simulated artillery or mortar strike, then, ‘Here they come,' whispered one of the lads with the common weapons sight (CWS). With the naked eye I could just make out several black shapes that resembled human figures emerging from the grey background and advancing to contact. The tension was building by the minute as we waited for the order to open fire. Weapons at the ready, I could feel myself becoming quite nervous.

The enemy were moving in a tactical formation called arrowhead, and they were coming for a fight! We could now see that their scout had diverted past the simulated mine field and was leading them straight towards us. Within seconds we heard the ‘pop', of the first trip flare and could see the dull yellow glow begin to brighten as the dark silhouettes of the enemy dashed for cover. Instantly, using the direct method of target indication, one of the lads shouted at the top of his voice, ‘Eighty metres…slight left…enemy in open…Rapid fire!' Then all hell broke loose!

Little did I know that 16 years later, I would be on the receiving end of a very similar weight of fire that lasted for three hours, be wounded twice, and left wondering if we were ever going to get out of it alive.

At 0600 hours on the crisp Monday morning, dressed in combat boots, denims, webbing weighing 30 pounds (14 kilos) and rifle, we formed up in three ranks outside the gym nervously awaiting our troop PTI to brief us on the morning's activity: the introduction to the endurance course. In our sections the PTI would lead us on the 4-mile (6.4-kilometre) run to Woodbury Common and to the start of the course.

The troop gathered round, then the PTI spoke about the cross-country course and ran us around it, stopping at the various stages, and demonstrating and briefing us in detail on what was required at each obstacle. It consisted of several muddy bogs; tunnels which varied in length, difficulty and also water levels; steep hills; Peter's pool; the sheep dip; and the smarty tubes. The water tunnels, which were two pipes completely submerged in muddy water, took three people to complete the exercise, and were about halfway round. The first person ducked into the pipe and the second pushed him as far as he could, often submerging himself in the process. The third person at the opposite end reached down the pipe, cheek resting on the water's surface to grab hold of the first bloke and pull him out. All three members rotated through the obstacle.

This three-man drill was done for a very good reason: the pipe diameter was quite small and some of the larger blokes had trouble getting through in webbing. There was also a point in the pipe where we were on our own; neither of our mates were able to help, and we just had to hope we had enough momentum to cover those crucial centimetres.

Once we reached our mate's fingertips he could grab hold of our clothing or webbing yoke to give us a welcoming hand. It did become quite nerve-racking if the drill went a split second longer than we'd hoped. There was also the feeling of anxiety before we entered the pipe. We were already struggling to suck in as much oxygen as possible; then all of a sudden the icy cold water took away what little breath we still had.

On completion of the course, it was an individual 4-mile effort back to Lympstone and straight down to the 25-metre range, where we were given 10 rounds. The minimum standard was six hits on a very small target that replicated being set out at a range of 200 metres within a short time. For some, completing the course wasn't too difficult; however, reaching that minimum standard on the range was. If the course was completed well within the time but too many shots were dropped on the range, you would have to endure the whole course again until you passed.

Introduction to the endurance course over, we got cleaned up and ready for the next lesson, which ran for several hours. But after a massive lunch in an attempt to put back some of the nutrients we had burnt up that morning, we all became very tired and started to nod off during the painfully boring signals lesson. The signals sergeant cracked the shits and then proceeded to run us all down to the bottom field where he made us crawl halfway along the regain ropes and then drop into the icy cold water of the tank beneath. We then did some shuttle sprints just to dry off a little before we went back into the classroom.

If that gonk monster gets a firm hold of you, you will never be able to resist the temptation to close your eyes, not even for that split second when you think the instructor is not looking. I now know after instructing on courses that it is painfully obvious when someone has been struck by the gonk monster. Their facial muscles relax and droop and their eyes become very heavy. Soon after they're away with the fairies until subconsciously they wake themselves, but only to return to that semi-conscious state soon after–or they get a very rude awakening from a third party.

A rude awakening or some physical exercise to introduce more oxygen to the body is generally the best solution, but continuing the lesson when there are people nodding off is a waste of the instructor's time.

The following day we conducted a complete timed run through the endurance course. We had 72 minutes to complete the 6-mile (10-kilometre) circuit. But first we had to run 4 miles (6.4 kilometres) from Lympstone in boots, denims, combat jacket, 30 pounds (14 kilos) of webbing and a weapon to get to the start of the course. Once there we set off in syndicates of three at two-minute intervals down a winding gravel track; not a good place to roll an ankle.

The first obstacles were the dry tunnels. They were constructed using corrugated iron and star pickets and were wide enough to crawl through on hands and knees. However, the floor had many knee-smashing rocks inside. Once out, there was a short run to Peter's pool, and its depth depended on the time of the year–as a rule it was about waist deep. There was a rope secured at both ends to help pull yourself through, but now we were wet and we had a hard slog ahead. All the time there was a DS running beside us, mostly encouraging us, but from time to time they slipped in a ‘Hurry up you fuckin' dickhead, you're letting the team down', or a very angry ‘Get that weapon out of the dirt, you knob!' ‘You better make sure you clean that properly before you fire it!' The DS would always make sure we pulled the barrel through before we fired our rifles at the end of the endurance course.