Immediate Action Part 29

I could hear my breath rasping in and out and was trying to slow down and breathe rhythmically to cut down the noise.

I made sure my torch was working, my pistol wasn't going to fall out, and the weapons weren't banging together. As number one, once I was ready, I stood in position, safety catch off; the moment the door opened I could see into it and start to fire. I had my weapon in the shoulder, ready to go.- Tim and Dave were right up behind me.

Forward and peripheral vision from inside the respirator is good; all my concentration was focused forward; all I could hear was the noise of my breathing.

I could feel my face starting to get wet with sweat.

The command was given on the net: "h.e.l.lo, all stations, I have control.

Stand by, stand by, go!"

As the second "stand by" was given, Tim took the door in. I was straight into the room to take on the first threat I saw. Reacting to the situation in a room is not so much a matter of drill as experience and training. The terrorists won't be sitting or standing where they ideally should be; they are not playing our game. It could mean going left or right, or I might have to fight through a barricade to get to a target. It could be dark, or the lights might go out just as I entered.

No more than a foot behind came Dave, the number two. He had to react to two different factors-me and the terrorists.

As we entered, we were firing at the heads. Dave was on auto; I preferred to fire rapid single shots. It was a matter of personal choice.

We were firing on the move, and the name of the game was to shoot until the target was dead. Because we were training and not dropping live bodies, I personally would fire until I could see enough holes in the target, and then I'd know that it was dead. Each man might get through twenty-five rounds every time he went in, more than he probably would in a real rescue.

I moved closer to the target, still firing. I had both eyes open so I could see everything that was going on.

The last thing any terrorist would see was my torchlight blaring down on him.

Once Dave was in and firing he might have to move around the room to protect the hostage and give cover for Tim to do his stuff. He came in with no weapons, apart from a pistol in a holster; he was shouting through his respirator at the hostage: "Up, up, up! Move, move, move!" as he picked him off the floor by whatever he could get his hands onollar, hair, head, anythingand. very aggressively dragged him from the room. There was no time to mess around. For a s.n.a.t.c.h to succeed it has to be all over in a matter of seconds, and the only reason it is so quick is because of the months-and in most cases years-of practice.

All four of us came back into the room for a debrief.

"A bag of s.h.i.+te!" Fat Boy said, smoothing down his ruffled hair after being manhandled by Tim. "Andy, the reason I put that target where I did was that I knew you'd go for the obvious, when in fact to the right of you was the real and immediate threat. As you came in, you should have seen that target straightaway. You f.u.c.ked it up. Do it again."

I was more than happy to practice it again. If I had missed the immediate threat in real life, I would probably have been killed.

After practicing the same s.n.a.t.c.h again, we changed positions so that every time there was somebody in the room and three men outside.

After each session we had another debrief, perhaps watching a videotape of the proceedings so there could be no bone excuses, and drinking tea that tasted of lead because of the five thousand or more rounds that were fired in the building each day. The lead fumes get in the throat and nose and linger all day.

We trained for stoppages. It's not the most pleasant situation in the world for nothing to happen when you go to fire your weapon at a terrorist five meters away who's bringing his weapon up at you. There is no time to sort it out; you've just got to keep both eyes on the target and draw your pistol. You have to be quick or you are dead.

The reason we all went into the room as the hostage was so that we could give an honest account of what we heard and saw from the other side and gain confidence in the other team members. It takes total trust to sit there, sometimes in the dark, feelin the blast from the.

MP5s as these people burst in firing live ammunition all around you.

Given the high number of rounds that are fired every day-more than by the rest of the British Army put together-casualties are very low. All training, however, must be as realistic as possible.

It got to the stage where we were so confident with each other that we did quite outrageous things while training. There was a fellow called Mel from B Squadron, at that time a member of CRW, who was so confident in the other blokes that he would stand between two targets in a dark room while they came in with pistols and torches and fired at the Hun heads beside him.

Mel was a bit of a fruit. He was trying to get us to wear a new type of body armor, but we were very skeptical about its effectiveness.

In the end he said, "Look, I'll prove it works." He put the kit on, loaded a shotgun with solid shot, and told one of the blokes to shoot him.

It took him down, but he was alive. Mel felt he was vindicated.

On another team we were looking at some new Kevlar helmets. Mel was sure that they were a good bit, of kit, but we were saying, "We don't mind'the extra weight and discomfort of having this Kevlar helmet on, but will it take the shot?"

Mel put the helmet on and said to Mick, the 'ap-slapper, "Listen, Kevlar's a wonderful material. Shoot me in the head with a nine millimeter."

Mick said, "f.u.c.k off, behave yourself and have a brew."

There were no other volunteers, so the event didn't happen. About three days later the Regiment got a letter from the manufacturers asking what we'd thought of the dummy helmet. Apparently what they'd sent us was just a mock-up to demonstrate its weight and the shape.

There wasn't an ounce of Kevlar in it. There was talk that a shot to the head wouldn't have made much difference to Mel anyway.

We'd practice procedures for Man Down. If one of our blokes was shot, we couldn't do anything about it immediately; the only thing that was going to save him was our taking that room or area as quickly as we could. If we stopped to sort him out, we'd all die; we must still carry out the task and, now that he was down, also carry out his job as well.

We trained for every eventuality-and trained and trained and trained.

There are so many different types of buildings, from high-rise blocks to caravans, and all sorts of scenarios in which people could be held.

Getting into an aircraft, for example, is a lot different from getting into an emba.s.sy; clearing a s.h.i.+p is a lot different from clearing a hotel. For a start, the ammunition's got to be different. If we started firing ball ammunitionsolid, full metal jacket rounds-it would be w.a.n.ging around all over the place as it ricocheted off the metal structure; therefore it has to be able to fragment once it hits metal.

We, looked at all sorts of vehicles, from coaches to jumbo jets.

We practiced getting up to an aircraft, then making an entry without anybody knowing. The counterterrorist team has to know how an aircraft pressurizes, how it depressurizes, how the system can be overridden, how to open the escape chutes.

People came up with new ideas all the time. One of the team once said for a joke, "How about trying to climb up the tail and somersault down into the c.o.c.kpit?"

We did.

There was progression every time a team took over.

The techniques never stayed the same because what we were trying to get into and defeat never stayed the same; the technology always moved forward.

As well as the a.s.sault and sniper groups practicing among themselves, the whole team would get together and train for the different "options."

One of these was called the I.A (immediate action), a plan that the 3 i/c had to organize. He had to get all the information available and be able to give orders to one of the teams thirty minutes after they arrived; the O.C meanwhile would be planning the deliberate options.

The I.A was continually updated and changed as more information became available. If there was a drama and the terrorists started to ma.s.sacre all the hostages, the I.A would go in as prepared as it could be.

One of the teams was always on standby on the I.A; within seconds it could be stood to, ready to go in on the target. Helicopters and Range Rovers were used to get the team on target as quickly as possible.

On days when we conducted our own training 'we would try to be finished by midafternoon. There were no breaks; we just cracked on until it was done. Then it would be back to the team hangar, clean the weapons, drink more tea, ensure everything was ready to go in case of a call out, and close down. Some of the blokes would then go training or go home and make an attempt at fixing their leaky guttering. Those of us with any sense would go downtown for a brew and talk about how close we were to our football pools syndicate winning on Sat.u.r.day.

Another commitment for the team was to be ready at a moment's notice to go over the water to reinforce the troop. I used to enjoy this; it got us away for a few days or even weeks.

Sometimes if there was only a small number required, it was a case of first come, first served. There was a callout on a Sat.u.r.day morning; I jumped into my aging Renault and screamed off to work; my foot was right down to the floorboards, gunning the vehicle at speeds of up to 50 mph along the straight.

I knew the Puma would be flying in to RP with the team who were going, and within ninety minutes we'd be in the province-as long as I got to the camp in the first place. As I approached the main bridge in town that crosses the river Wye, I had a bang, clipping a Mini Metro with my left-hand wing. The other driver insisted on doing all the paperwork, and there was no way I could run away or tell him who I was. just as we finished exchanging particulars, I saw the Puma lift off from the camp.

The CQB house was always on the list of tourist attractions at Stirling Lines, and visiting VIPs were generally given a demonstration of firepower and entry techniques. All chief constables were given demos so that they understood the Regiment's capabilities, as were the many other organizations that needed to know the type of product we could supply.

Sometimes demos became a pain in the a.r.s.e. It was okay doing things that needed to be done, but instead of being the counterterrorist team, we sometims became the demo team.

The teams were becoming more and more fed up so that instead of training, they were jumping through hoops for all and sundry during the demo season. We didn't mind doing it for customs and excise and police firearms teams-but teams of rugby players or doctors and nurses? Even the fitters who were laying carpet in one of the messes had a morning out; the joke was that someone was obviously getting his front room done for nothing. It came to the point where the only people left in Hereford that we hadn't done a demo for were the Women's Inst.i.tute.

The guests would ask some really daft questions.

"How much do your gloves cost?" I was once asked.

"One hundred and fourteen pounds," I said, plucking a figure out of thin air. "Give or take a few bob."

It got to the stage where we started to st.i.tch each other up to relieve the boredom. One of the better ones was during the pallet displays, for which all the vehicles were moved out of the hangar and the weapons and equipment laid out on show. A member of each part of the team would then talk about his kit and task.

I was doing the talk on the a.s.saulters and had sorted out my pallet. I had all the clothing, body armor, abseil kit, the lot, and the weapons that any member of the a.s.sault group would be taking, and there was Fat Boy, who was dressed up in the kit. As I talked about a weapon, he would bring it to bear.

Everybody's looking; it's all rather impressive. Fat Boy drew his pistol, then the shotgun, and there were knives and all sorts coming out all over the place.

Earlier in the day I had gone over to the sniper team's pallet when they weren't around and had left a tennis ball on their display.

When Eno started talking about the different ammunition, it would be good to see him get out of it. When I came back, I didn't realize I'd been st.i.tched up myself.

I carried on with the waffle and saw an old boot in the middle of my display. Everybody was rolling up on the other pallets. The Regiment head shed were giving me bad looks; they were not impressed.

I moved on to point out the weapons, and there was a plastic water pistol. I couldn't do jack s.h.i.+t about it.

Luckily n.o.body asked what it was for because I would have been obliged to pick it up and say, "It's to shoot people with," and give them a squirt.

One memorable day the Prince and Princess of Wales and the d.u.c.h.ess of York came down to Hereford. The purpose of the visit was familiarization with the Regiment, so if the s.h.i.+t hit the fan for them, they'd know what to expect when the boys came screaming through to rescue them. But also it was a fun thing, a good day out for us. A day like that was good for them, too; they could let their hair down away from the press, and without having to shake hands, pick up flowers, or make small talk with Jonathan Dimbleby.

One of the demos that we gave them was how we could covertly enter a building and get to the hostages in total darkness.

They were sitting in bne of the large CQB rooms listening to an explanation of how we trained: "As you can see, we can control the light levels, from full to total darkness."

The lights were now off.

"Sometimes the team has to operate in total darkness because there may be no power or the terrorists have control of the lighting."

We were going in wearing NVGS. It was like looking at a negative with a green tinge. The goggles give a weird perspective; if you go to grab something, you might be out by an inch, so it takes constant practice.

Going up a step, we'd have to exaggerate our movements to make sure we didn't trip up; to walk, we'd place a heel gently and run the outside of the heel all the way along the outside of the foot, then gently place the boot down, and then go with the next one.

Sometimes I couldn't hear what I was doing; I was trying to breathe shallowly; even the noise of the NVG, a tiny whine, sounded fearsome because it was right next to me.

Nice and gently, taking our time, we slowly moved toward the table where they were sitting, all the time thinking, What if we screw up?

We're supposed to be the smoothy clockwork operators.

The lights went on, and standing over the royal visitors was an a.s.sault group in full kit carrying MP5SDs, trying to breathe slowly and look casual. The Royals particularly liked that one.

We staged mock sieges to rehea.r.s.e the Royals in the procedures we would go through in the event of a terrorist attack. The exercises were very realistic, and they didn't always go according to plan.

During a demo of a building a.s.sault, the Royal party was aboard Range Rovers as part of the attacking force, watching others who were fast-roping from a helicopter onto the roof. The Agustas were zooming in, lots of bangs, lots of firing, the big ma.s.s a.s.sault on the emba.s.sy.

Suddenly, as the helicopter lifted away, a bloke in black kit tumbled out and fell fifty feet onto the roof, his body being hidden from view by a three-foot-high perimeter wall.

The blokes said they heard Prince Charles say, "Oh, my G.o.d, a man's been killed!"

Almost immediately what should have been a dead body jumped to his feet, dusted himself off, and continued with his task. Everybody looked at one another, openmouthed.

Later that day the Regiment became trendsetters. Diana was going to be in a room where flashbangs were going to go off. Flashbangs are noisy things; they are designed to disorientate you and make you want to curl up in a ball and wait for your mum to come and get you.

As it went off, she turned and one of the maroons. .h.i.t her in the head.

There was the smell of burned hair and lacquer, and our army pensions suddenly didn't look any too healthy.

The only lasting damage was to her hair, which was badly burned.

Days later the press and Royal fas.h.i.+on watchers noted that Diana was suddenly sporting a new, shorter hairdo. There could be no comeback.

They had signed a disclaimer that was now in B Squadron's inter In Tsodilo Hills, Botswana, 1986.

Members of 6 and 7 Troop in Okavango, 1986. mil FN 9MM pistol, stripped. FNITRH Pictures Heckler & Koch 9MM MP5SD.

Heckler Koch Pictures est room: "No member of B squadron will be committed to the Tower if any of the demos go wrong."

n.o.body-least of all the other members of the Regiment-could believe what had happened to the bloke who fell from the helicopter, and it was only in the club later that we learned the truth about Superman. Unknown to anybody but the team in the heli, he had hidden himself behind the wall.

Then, at the right moment, the lads in the heli had ejected a dummy dressed in black kit.

As well as all the training that was done for once we were on the target, we had to practice the call-out system and moving to an incident; we had frequent exercises enabling the different agencies and personalities involved in any hostage incident to practice their bits.

Mrs. Thatcher had long been a fan of the Regiment.

After refusing to allow the government to give in to the terrorists' demands during the emba.s.sy siege, she had personally sent in the team to bring it to an end.

She might as well have had a bed s.p.a.ce down in Hereford; she always seemed to be there. I respected her nononsense approach, and she laughed at the jokes. She might have been the only one walking around the camp wit I a andbag, but she was as tough as any man when it came to the crunch. She was in the CQB house once when we burst in and pumped live rounds into targets either side of her. One of her aides curled up into a ball.

Maggie looked at him and snapped, "Get up, you fool."

There was a lot of liaison with different units of the police. We did major exercises where everybody was involved, from the Prime Minister down, because everybody had to be tested. It was no good having all the soldiers-the coal face workers-practicing their techniques and practicing cooperation with other organizations, if the people who were sitting up there in C.O.B.R (Cabinet Office briefing room) listening to all the information and making decisions weren't practiced, too. So we'd do exercises where C.O.B.R would take command and direct operations from a bunker under Whitehall, the idea being to put Mrs. Thatcher and her team and everyone else down the chain under as much pressure as possible.

There had been a big exercise a couple of years before in the States, and some of the Regiment went over as guests to observe. The incident was of national importance involving the National Security Council, the presidential committee that commits the troops. But the problem was, the council didn't actually a.s.semble to join in the exercise. There was a debrief afterward, at which one of the Regiment blokes stood up and said, "The exercise was excellent; all the different organizations worked together and any little problems are now ironed out. However, where was the President?" It was ident and his advisers who had to make the decithe Pres sions, and they had to be getting hit with the problems exactly the same as everybody else.

In the UK everybody from the Prime Minister down was. .h.i.t with the problem at the same time as we were and had to make decisions. So it wasn't just the S.A.S going in to kick a.s.s; it was everybody working together toward the same aim-a negotiated surrender. The last thing any of us wanted was to start putting charges on buildings and go screaming through shooting people-or, even worse, getting shot at. It's dangerous.

n.o.body's jumping up and down with excitement to go and do that sort of stuff; he might be killed. However, if it's got to be done, okay, that's a fair one, off you go, and if the people in command, up to government level, have practiced alongside those at the sharp end, then at least the blokes are happy that the decision has been taken by people with experience.

During one tour I was on the thirty-minute team. I was in town shopping when I got a call on my bleeper. By now I had a 250 cc Yamaha; I took it steady going over the bridge this time. As I rode in, all the hangar doors were open and vehicles were moving to the ammo bunker to load up.

There would be maximum activity as blokes were loading their ops bags into the wagons, which held everything an a.s.saulter could wish for.