Eejits aside, we were into the final twenty four hours of the
exercise. Now we were wearing our NBC
suits. A charcoal lined affair, which
made you feel dirty and grimy, and that’s even before you put it on. Luckily we had not been told to wear our gas
masks which I and everyone else were so looking forward to. We were also wearing ponchos. In case any of you are not ‘au fait’ with the
fashion scene I shall try to describe a poncho to you. They are; well; it’s sort of. Imagine a large circle of canvas with a hole
in the centre. One side which has been vulcanised. You stick your head through the hole and wear
it like an all-around cloak. Very fetching.
There was a hood, but with the hood up,
you would add valuable seconds to putting your gas mask on, especially having
to remove your steel helmet first, something the fellow with the dictaphone
would be watching for.
So; it’s the middle of the night. I’m looking quite fabulous in my matching
green combat fatigues, green and grey NBC suit and green poncho. It’s raining I’m soaked through and to
complete my ensemble I’ve been given a light machine gun, with the end where
the bullets comes out pointing away from me. It was an awful night. Not only did time seem to crawl along but it
was wet and cold. I really do remember
lying there, looking very military, leaning on my machine gun and knowing that
I could feel every stone and piece of gravel through all the various layers of
clothing I was wearing. I really was
tempted to chuck it all in and there was a right old ding dong going on in my
head, the back side of my brain was stirring things up again. Being seen as the worst leader in a bunch of average
people was humiliating to say the least.
We had been told that we would be attacked and should expect
some close combat to ensue. Again, we were
cold and tired, hungry and pissed off, so to add to our excitement the instructors
guaranteed us that various groups of SAS troops would attack. There was no ifs and buts, we would be
attacked. Having been a member of the syndicate
that had allowed a squad of SAS to enter the guarded area I was determined not
to let the same happen again. It was
quite quiet, even the normal hubbub from the instructors had died down and I
got the feeling that something was about to happen. Dawn was coming down the valley, although
still some way away. I then spotted
them.
About twenty yards in front of me I saw two hooded
heads. Two SAS men in a trench. Judging from their position and my position I
reckoned that they would be attacking me and my syndicate. This time they had picked on the wrong man,
for what they didn’t know was that I was going to attack them first. The old adrenaline began to pump through my
veins and using the battle field hand signals we had been taught, I realised that
they didn’t work in the dark, so I had to whisper behind me for members of my syndicate
to come forward. The fellow who was number
one came up and I whispered to him that I had spotted two SAS men, in a ditch,
twenty yards ahead. Despite the fact that
he was in charge, should have come up with a cunning plan, informed the groups on
either side of us and the command post, I told him that he was to bring up the remainder
of the syndicate and we would attack the SAS.
He didn’t seem to
embrace my proposal with the same enthusiasm that I had and with the enemy
being so close there wasn’t much room for discussion as we didn’t want to scare
them off. Fair play to the fellow, he
did what he was told and brought up the remainder of the syndicate. The six of us were lying in a line. I hoped the two SAS men didn’t see the guy
standing behind us talking in to a dicatphone, it might have given our position
away, and as he was moving forward with us, he might give our intentions
away. My plan was quite simple, as all
the best military plans are. We would
rush forward and pile into the trench. I
knew that my hands were so cold I probably wouldn’t feel anybody’s face ramming
in to my fist, I hoped my face would be the same as I expected them to
retaliate. Number one seemed to be
losing all enthusiasm for my project so I sort of took over.
I roared out loud as I rose from my position. I didn’t want my
machine gun to get in the way, so as I neared the two SAS men I dropped it and
launched myself toward them. I’ve had
some awards in my time and for this one I suppose you are thinking I deserve
some sort of bravery award for valour of the highest calibre. When the Sergeant with the dictaphone had stopped
laughing I think he would have awarded me the best rugby tackle on two sandbags
ever seen at Hereford. Once again I had probably
done the right thing, but once again I had done it in the wrong place, at the wrong
time, in front of the wrong people. A couple
of instructors came over to have a giggle at my expense and see if the sandbags
needed first aid. Number one was
complaining that it wasn’t his fault, it was all mine, in fact I was guilty of
some sort of mutiny.
We were called back in to the hanger and rather than being
hidden away in tents, like vampires terrified of daylight, we were allowed to
sit around in our groups. We were to
prepare a meal and distribute the ammunition ready for the final push. Number one was worse than useless. We were supposed to count how many bullets we
had left, sorry, we were supposed to establish our level of remaining ammunition
and then give seventy five per cent to the machine gun, splitting the remainder
equally between the rifles. Number one couldn’t
remember the split and was handing out bullets, sorry, was issuing ammunition like
someone passing out sweets at a child’s party.
I tried to intervene but was told to shut up by the Sergeant with the dictaphone. I kept trying to tell number one what he should
be doing, when the senior instructor was called over by the Sergeant. They spoke between themselves and the head
instructor asked me to step outside the hangar with him.
I knew I was probably going to get thrown off the course or at
least get one severe bollocking and was surprised when the head instructor
apologised to me. He explained that from
day one they had known I was a natural leader.
They were not going to make me perform any of the leadership tasks; his
exact words were something along the lines of ‘not teaching your grandmother to
suck eggs.’ A very strange practise
indeed. Anyway. As I could now see, number one, who was going
to fail the course, had messed everything up and as all the others had had
their stint of leadership would I mind leading the syndicate through the final phase
of the exercise.
Words like ‘why didn’t you tell me all this at the start of
the exercise you fecking cretin’ ran though my head but I thought diplomacy
would dictate that I should say nothing.
I came back in to the hanger and began to show the syndicate how a real
leader did things. Number one was taken
outside and explained that he had been relieved of his command. In full NBC gear with gas masks on we went
outside and took up our defensive positions.
The odd comment about my skills in sandbag combat were being made, but I
was feeling a lot better and couldn’t care less what they were saying about me. We were strafed by two Jet Provost aircraft
and it was quite a release to be allowed to fire back at the feckers as they
came in for their second run.
Suddenly it was all over and we were formed up in
syndicates. The head instructor thanked us
and explained that the following morning we would all be debriefed individually. All we had to do now was double away from the
exercise area to where some trucks were waiting, which would take us to the
helicopters, which would ferry us back to Hereford. I was exhausted but felt quite proud leading
the syndicate with the best moral, something to do with attacking sandbags I
think, off the battlefield. We doubled along
lanes till we came to an open area which was obviously short on trucks. ‘Sorry,’ explained the instructors, ‘the trucks
haven’t turned up, keep going it's only two miles to the helicopters.’ I realised that I had not heard any
helicopters in the area all morning. I wasn’t
worried about how far it was back to Hereford, I only hoped that there were no
telegraph poles lying about on the way.
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