Counter-insurgency in Aden. Shaun Clarke
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a fucking sight easier than humping that tripod,’ Les informed him, ‘so count yourself lucky.’
‘Move out!’ Jimbo bawled.
The whole squad moved out in single file, spread well apart as they would be on a real patrol, with the men who were carrying the support weapons leaning forward even more than the others. The climb was both backbreaking and dangerous, for each man was forced to navigate the steep slope while looking out for sharp or loose stones that could either break an ankle or roll from under his feet, sending him tumbling back down the mountain. In this, they were helped neither by the sheer intensity of the heat nor the growing swarms of buzzing flies and whining mosquitoes attracted by their copious sweat.
Almost driven mad by the mosquitoes, the men’s attempts to swat them away came as near to unbalancing them as did the loose, rolling stones. More than one man found himself suddenly twisting sideways, dragged down by his own kit or support weapon, after he had swung his hand too violently at his tormentors. Saved by the helping hand of the man coming up behind him, he might then find himself stepping on a loose stone, which would roll like a log beneath him, sending him violently forwards or backwards; or he would start slipping on loose gravel as it slid away underfoot.
By now the breathing of every man was agonized and not helped by the fact that the air was filled with the dust kicked up by their boots or the tumbling stones and sliding gravel. The dust hung around them in clouds, making them choke and cough, and limiting visibility to a dangerous degree, eventually reducing the brightening sunlight to a distant, silvery haze. To make matters worse, each man’s vision was even more blurred when his own stinging sweat ran into his eyes.
The climb of some 1500 feet took them two hellish hours but led eventually to the summit of the ridge. This had different, more exotic trees scattered here and there along its otherwise rocky, parched, relatively flat ground, and overlooked a vast plain of sand, silt and polished lava.
Throwing themselves gratefully to the ground, the men were about to open their water bottles when Jimbo stopped them. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Put those bottles away.’
‘But, Sarge…’ Taff began in disbelief.
‘Shut up and listen to me,’ Jimbo replied. ‘As you’ve all just discovered, the heat in the mountains can wring the last drop of sweat out of you much quicker than you can possibly imagine – no matter how fit you are. If you allow this to happen, you’ll soon be dehydrated, exhausted, and if you don’t get water in time, dead of thirst.’
‘So let us drink our water,’ Les said, shaking his bottle invitingly.
‘No,’ the sergeant replied. ‘Your minimum daily intake of water should be two gallons a day, but on a real operation we won’t be able to resup by chopper because this would give away the position of the OP. For this reason, you’ll have to learn to conserve the water you carry inside your body by minimal movement during the day, replenishing your water bottles each night by sneaking down to the nearest stream.’
‘So we should ensure that the OP site is always near a stream,’ Ben said, ‘and not on top of a high ridge or mountain like this.’
‘Unfortunately, no. It’s because they’re aware of the constant need for water that the rebel tribesmen always check the areas around streams for our presence. Therefore, the site for your OP should be chosen for the view it gives of enemy supply routes, irrespective of its proximity to water. You then go out at night and search far and wide for your water, no matter how difficult or dangerous that task may be.’
‘Sounds like a right pain to me,’ Ken said.
‘It is. I should point out here, to make you feel even worse – but to make you even more careful – that even after dark the exertion of foraging for water can produce a dreadful thirst that can make you consume half of what you collect on the way back. In short, these mountains make the jungles of Borneo seem like sheer luxury. And that’s no exaggeration, believe me.’
‘I believe you,’ Les said, still clutching his water bottle. ‘Can I have a drink now?’
‘No. That water has to last until tonight and you’ve only brought one bottle each.’
‘But we’re all dying of thirst,’ Ken complained.
Jimbo pointed to the trees scattered sparsely along the otherwise parched summit of the ridge. ‘That,’ he said, indicating a tree covered in a plum-like fruit, ‘is the jujube. Its fruit is edible and will also quench your thirst…And those,’ he continued, pointing to the bulbous plants hanging from the branches of a tree that looked like a cactus, ‘are euphorbia. If you pierce them with a knife, or slice the top off, you’ll find they contain a drinkable juice that’s a bit like milk.’
‘So when can we drink our water?’ Taff pleaded.
‘When you’ve put up your bashas, cleaned and checked your weapons, put in a good morning’s firing practice and are eating your scran. Meanwhile, you can eat and drink from those trees.’
‘Bashas?’ Ken glanced down the slopes of the ridge at the barren, sunlit plain below, running out for miles to more distant mountains. ‘What are we putting bashas up for? We’re only here for one day.’
‘They’re to let you rest periodically from the sun and keep you from getting sunstroke. So just make triangular shelters with your poncho sheets. Now get to it.’
The men constructed their triangular shelters by standing two upright sticks with Y-shaped tops about six feet apart, running a length of taut cord between them, draping the poncho sheet over the cord, with one short end, about 18 inches long, facing away from the sun and the other running obliquely all the way to the ground, forming a solid wall. Both sides of the poncho sheet were then made secure by the strings stitched into them and tied to wooden pegs hammered into the soil. Dried grass and bracken were then strewn on the ground inside the ‘tent’ and finally the sleeping bag was rolled out to make a crude but effective mattress.
When the bashas had been constructed, the men were allowed to rest from the sun for fifteen minutes. Though it was still not yet nine a.m. local time, the sun’s heat was already intense.
Once rested, the men were called out to dismantle, clean of dust and sand, oil and reassemble the weapons, a task which, with the dust blowing continuously, was far from easy. Jimbo then made them set the machine-guns up on the ridge and aim at specific targets on the lower slopes of the hill: mostly clumps of parched shrubs and trees. The rest of the morning was spent in extensive practice with the support weapons, first using the tripods, then firing both the heavy GPMG and the LMG from the hip with the aid of a sling.
The GPMG, in particular, had a violent backblast that almost punched some of the men off their feet. But in the end they all managed to hold it and hit their targets when standing. The noise of the machine-guns was shocking in the desert silence and reverberated eerily around the encircling mountains.
Two hours later, when weapons practice was over, the men were again made to dismantle, clean, oil and reassemble the weapons, which were then wrapped in cloth to protect them from the dust and sand. By now labouring beneath an almost overhead sun, the men were soaked in sweat, sunburnt and gasping with thirst, and so were given another ten-minute break, which they spent in their bashas, sipping water and drawing greedily on cigarettes. The break over, they were called out again, this time by the fearsome Sergeant Parker, for training with their personal weapons.
Dead-eye’s instruction included not only the firing of the weapons, at which he was faultless, but the art of concealment on exposed ridges, scrambling up and down the slopes on hands and elbows, rifle held horizontally across the face. The posture adopted for this strongly resembled the ‘leopard crawl’ used for the crossing of the dreaded entrails ditch during ‘Sickener One’ at Bradbury Lines, Hereford. It was less smelly here, but infinitely more dangerous than training in Britain, as the men had to crawl over sharp, burning-hot rocks that could not only cut skin and break bones, but also could be hiding snakes, scorpions or poisonous spiders.
More than one man was heard