Behind Iraqi Lines. Shaun Clarke
Читать онлайн книгу.
from four hundred to a thousand missiles on thirty to thirty-six sites and maybe two hundred mobile launchers.’
Andrew gave a low whistle. ‘That’s a lot, boss.’
‘No argument there, Sergeant.’
‘So what happens when we locate bunkers or mobile launchers?’
‘Either we call in air power or we relay the info to Intelligence HQ in Riyadh. Patriot surface-to-air missiles will then be alerted automatically to the Scud’s course and speed – a process that only takes a few minutes.’
‘Our parameters?’
‘As of this moment, we’re the only ones allowed to cross the line ahead of other ground forces.’ This caused whistles of approval and sporadic clapping, which tailed off when Hailsham waved his hand for silence. ‘We have a secondary reason for being allowed to go in ahead. The Coalition is greatly concerned about Iraq’s chemical-warfare capability. At the moment we know very little about the types of chemical agents Saddam has in his arsenal. We do know he has mustard and nerve gas and is likely to arm his Scuds with them. So one of our jobs may be to infiltrate the contaminated areas and collect samples of the agents being used. The samples will then be flown back to Porton Down for analysis and, hopefully, the creation of an antidote.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ Andrew said. ‘I don’t like them chemicals, man.’
‘Nor do I, Sergeant.’
‘How do we insert?’ Danny asked.
‘The Regiment will be broken up into two sets of mobile teams: one for deep-penetration ops in Iraq; the other for hit-and-run raids in the desert, using Land Rovers – just like they did in Africa during World War Two.’
‘Sounds like fun,’ Geordie said. ‘I’ll buy that, boss.’
‘Me, too,’ agreed Jock. ‘Are you going to throw in some motorbikes?’
‘Yes,’ Hailsham said.
‘I haven’t been in a Pink Panther since Oman,’ Andrew said, glancing back over his shoulder at the brightly painted Land Rovers and motorcycles on the dusty tracks between the lean-to tents. ‘Look at ’em! As pretty as a picture.’ He turned back to grin at Major Hailsham. ‘Count me in, boss.’
‘I have your name and number, Sergeant Winston.’
‘When do we move out?’ asked Taff Burgess.
‘We have to be gone by the night of the twenty-second. If Saddam doesn’t withdraw from Kuwait on the fifteenth, hostilities will begin on the twenty-ninth. That gives us seven days to do as much damage as possible before Desert Storm commences.’
While talking to the men, Hailsham frequently had to shout against the noise of the RAF Chinooks that were taking off and landing in billowing clouds of sand on the nearby airstrip. Even noisier were the Tornado F-3 air-defence planes roaring frequently overhead, going to or returning from practice flights out in the desert. Also churning up clouds of sand and creating a lot of noise were the Challenger tanks being put through their paces on the sands surrounding the camp. This was a large, busy FOB.
‘What are the negatives?’ Andrew asked.
‘Local beliefs, sand and water.’
‘That’s not too clear, boss.’
‘As you know, the men here call the desert the GAFA, or “Great Arabian Fuck All”.’ The explanation copped a few knowing laughs. ‘It’s amusing, but accurate,’ Hailsham said when the laughter had died down. ‘Out there, where we’ll be going, the desert appears to be empty of everything except sand and gravel. That appearance, however, is deceptive. Even the most barren stretch probably belongs to somebody and will be highly valued as grazing for the camels still maintained here by the Saudis, particularly those of high rank. As it is with their religion, so it is with their property: we have to be careful not to give offence.’
‘And the other problems?’
‘Too much sand and too little water,’ Hailsham replied. ‘Sand ingestion gives us severe mechanical problems. Even with filters, the life of helicopter engines is reduced to about a tenth of normal usage. The power-packs of the Challenger tanks are failing so often that 7th Armoured Brigade’s desert training had to be curtailed. Other supply vehicles that were perfectly fine in Europe, when loaded here sink into the sand. And container trucks are particularly useless here. In fact, we’ve had to borrow a lot of M453 tracked vehicles from the Yanks. We’ll be using them in conjunction with wheeled vehicles for staged resupply journeys. A further problem is that the desert is mostly flat, featureless terrain, which makes direction-finding difficult for the supply trucks. They can also get bogged down in the sand, thus becoming exposed.’
None of the men showed too much concern at that.
‘Water?’ Danny asked.
‘It normally comes from the desalination plant at Al Jubail, but if we miss the REME supply columns, or if we’re out on patrol, we’ll have to drink the fossil water from the prehistoric aquifers beneath the desert floor. Of course the sappers will also be prospecting the best sites for artesian wells, but they have to negotiate with local landowners, who aren’t always keen.’
‘I’d rather drink my own piss,’ big Andrew said. ‘It won’t be the first time.’
‘As it is with the flight crewmen,’ Hailsham continued when the laughter had died down, ‘you’ll all be given approximately £800 worth of gold, to help you if you’re caught or find yourselves cut off and faced with non-friendly civilians who want their palms greased. You’ll also be carrying a chit written in Arabic, promising that Her Majesty’s Government will pay the sum of £5000 to anyone who returns you safely to friendly territory or persons. If nothing else, I trust that makes you feel important.’
‘I’m important enough without that,’ said Andrew without hesitation. ‘You can look me up in the Imperial War Museum. I’m in there with the greats.’
‘You do us all proud, Sergeant Winston. Any questions, men?’
‘Yeah,’ Paddy said. ‘What do we do between now and the twenty-second?’
‘We prepare,’ Hailsham said.
The men dispersed and went their separate ways, most of them looking a lot happier than they had done for the past couple of days.
Ricketts put his thumb up in the air. ‘Very good, boss.’ Hailsham just grinned.
On 19 January, five days before the planned date, the Squadron was kitted out with weapons, survival equipment and battle clothes especially modified for desert conditions, before being flown from the FOB to a landing zone (LZ) somewhere deep in Iraq.
Since the briefing in early January, they had all undergone special training and weapons testing in the Empty Quarter, a vast, uninhabited region some distance from Al Jubail, with an emphasis on desert driving, survival in dust, sand, fierce heat and freezing cold, the protection of weapons from the same, and direction-finding by the moon and stars in case of compass failure. They were also trained in the use of laser designators for marking targets. All were looking forward to finishing the training and being airlifted to the LZ on the twenty-second.
They were therefore taken by surprise when, at 0001 hours Zulu – one minute past three local time, or one minute past midnight Greenwich Mean Time – on Thursday 17 January, two days after the deadline given for Saddam’s withdrawal from Kuwait – which he ignored – eight US Apaches of the 101st Airborne Division, equipped with laser spot trackers and range-finders, attacked Iraqi radars with Hell-fire missiles, rockets and 30mm cannon shells, destroying two command centres and their Soviet radars, Tall Spoon and King Rest, thereby creating a safe corridor for Allied aircraft.