Читать книгу Behind Iraqi Lines - Shaun Clarke, Shaun Clarke - Страница 7

‘I’ve called you together,’ Major Hailsham addressed the troopers assembled outside his lean-to on the edge of the city of tents spread across the desert plain, ‘to tell you that plans for the liberation of Kuwait are already well advanced and the operation’s been codenamed “Desert Storm”.’

When the men burst into applause and cheering, it hit Hailsham just how frustrated they had been during the past few days, not knowing exactly why they were here and fed up with the repetitive lessons on survival in the desert or the use of the latest high-tech equipment. While this FOB was busy and noisy all day, with helicopters constantly taking off and landing, aircraft roaring overhead and Challenger tanks and armoured vehicles being put through their paces, the activity was purely of a time-filling nature, albeit masquerading as practice. Meanwhile, the ‘Pink Panther’ Land Rovers and motorcycles were sitting idly outside the tents. What Hailsham’s men wanted, he now realized, was more positive action and a clearly defined reason for being here. Now at last they were getting it.

‘The basic plan,’ Hailsham continued when the men had quietened down, ‘is for battleships of the US Navy to bombard the Iraqi coastal positions and offshore islands of Kuwait while US Marines make an amphibious landing from the Gulf. At the same time, Arab elements of the Coalition forces will head overland, straight for Kuwait. Meanwhile, US Marine Corps will be engaging the Iraqis due north of them. The Syrians and Egyptians will push to the north, make a right-handed swing, and come into Kuwait City from the west – hopefully, if things go as planned – meeting up with the Coalition Arab forces already there. No Western forces will enter the capital until it’s been cleared by Islamic troops.’

‘Very decent of us,’ Geordie said sarcastically.

‘Very sensible of us,’ Ricketts pointed out. ‘It shows that this war is for the Kuwaitis and we’re simply supporting them.’

‘Correct,’ Hailsham said. ‘The city must be liberated by Muslim forces to avoid accusations of exploitation or desecration by Christians. We’ll follow them in.’

‘So what’s the state of play at the moment?’ Sergeant Andrew Winston asked. ‘Are we ready to move?’

‘Not quite. As our heavy tank units haven’t arrived yet, all that stands between Saddam’s five thousand-odd tanks and the oil riches of Saudi Arabia are a few thousand US paratroopers and Marines…’ Jeers and farting noises from the SAS troops interrupted Hailsham, who went on, ‘…around twenty-four US Army AH-64A Apache attack helicopters, a few hundred Coalition aircraft, US special Forces Troops…’ – more derisory remarks and noises from the SAS troopers. – ‘…And, of course, us.’ Loud cheering. ‘However, while thousands more Coalition troops – British, American and French – are being flown and shipped in every day, the Gulf is filling up with aircraft carriers and their F-18 Hornet fighters, F-14 Tomcat attack fighters, A-6E Intruder bombers, and KA-6d tanker jets for mid-air refuelling. By the time the UN deadline for Saddam’s withdrawal is reached, the greatest army in history will have been assembled in Saudi Arabia and will be ready to move.’

‘What’s our new role,’ Danny ‘Baby Face’ Porter asked solemnly, ‘now that all the hostages have been released?’

‘A good question, Corporal. As you’re doubtless aware by now, on 2 December Saddam Hussein test-fired three ballistic missiles – similar to the Soviet-built Scuds – over four hundred miles of Iraqi territory, provocatively aiming them in the direction of Israel. It’s our belief that if the battle for Kuwait begins – which it will if Saddam ignores the Coalition’s demand for withdrawal by the fifteenth of this month – he’ll deliberately fire on Israel in order to lure it into the war.’

‘So?’ Paddy Clarke said. ‘We can do with all the help we can get and the Israelis are sharp.’

‘I agree about the Israelis, but in this particular theatre of operations we simply can’t afford to have them taking part. In fact, their intervention would be an absolute disaster, losing us the Arab members of the Coalition and maybe even turning them against us. Our new task, then, is to help prevent Saddam attacking Israel.’

‘And how do we do that?’ Jock McGregor asked.

‘By locating and destroying the Scud bunkers, trailer-erector launchers, mobile units and support systems hidden deep in Iraqi territory.’

‘Can’t they be located by satellite?’ Andrew Winston asked. ‘I’ve heard that the Yanks have two orbiting spacecraft that can sweep the launch areas with infrared detectors every 12 seconds.’

‘They’re not all that brilliant,’ Sergeant-Major Ricketts pointed out. ‘In fact, they even failed to spot Saddam’s so-called supergun at Jabe Hamryn, north of Baghdad. That barrel was 170 feet long and sticking into the sky like a big dick – yet the satellites missed it!’

‘Ricketts is right,’ Major Hailsham said. ‘Aerial reconnaissance can be flawed. The recent Scud test shot, from a base near Basra, was in the final stages of its flight before a US satellite detected the flare from its rocket motor. The satellites, it seems, can only pick them up when they’re in flight – and that’s often too late. Also, the Iraqis are switching off their Squat Eye guidance radar systems, which further reduces our chances of finding them – so we still need good old-fashioned eyeball recces.’

‘From OPs.’

‘Yes, Corporal Porter, that’s the idea.’

‘How many Scuds do they have?’ Danny asked, as solemn as ever.

‘Present estimates vary 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.