‘May I continue?’
‘Please do, boss.’
‘In July this year Harold Macmillan set 1968 as the year for the Federation’s self-government, promising that independence would be accompanied by a continuing British presence in Aden. In short, we wouldn’t desert the tribal leaders with whom we’d maintained protection treaties since the last century.
‘However, Egyptian, Yemeni and Adeni nationalists are still bringing weapons, land-mines and explosives across the border. At the same time, the border tribesmen, who view guerrilla warfare as a way of life, are being supplied with money and weapons by Yemen. The engaged battle is for control of the ferociously hot Radfan mountains. There is practically no water there, and no roads at all.’
‘But somehow or other,’ Dead-eye noted, ‘the war is engaged there.’
‘Correct. The Emergency was declared in December 1963. Between then and the arrival of A Squadron in April of that year, an attempt to subdue the Radfan was made by a combined force of three Federal Regular Army battalions of Arabs, supported by British tanks, guns and engineers. As anticipated by those who understood the tribal mentality, it failed. True, the FRA battalions did manage to occupy parts of the mountains for a few weeks at a cost of five dead and twelve wounded. Once they withdrew, however – as they had to sooner or later, to go back to the more important task of guarding the frontier – the patient tribesmen returned to their former hill positions and immediately began attacking military traffic on the Dhala Road linking Yemen and Aden – the same road that brought you to this camp.’
‘An unforgettable journey!’ Ken whispered.
‘Diarrhoea and vomit every minute for three hours,’ Les replied. ‘Will we ever forget it?’
‘While they were doing so,’ said Callaghan, having heard neither man, ‘both Cairo and the Yemeni capital of Sana were announcing the FRA’s withdrawal from the Radfan as a humiliating defeat for the imperialists.’
‘In other words, we got what we deserved.’
‘Quite so, Corporal Brooke.’ Though smiling, Callaghan sighed as if weary. ‘Given this calamity, the Federal government…’
‘Composed of…?’ Dead-eye interjected.
‘Tribal rulers and Adeni merchants,’ the CO explained.
‘More A-rabs,’ Ken said. ‘Got you, boss.’
‘The Federal government then asked for more military aid from the British, who, despite their own severe doubts – believing, correctly, that this would simply make matters worse – put together a mixed force of brigade strength, including a squadron each of RAF Hawker Hunter ground-support aircraft, Shackleton bombers, Twin Pioneer transports and roughly a dozen helicopters. Their task was twofold. First, to bring sufficient pressure to bear on the Radfan tribes and prevent the revolt from spreading. Second, to stop the attacks on the Dhala Road. In doing this, they were not to deliberately fire on areas containing women and children; they were not to shell, bomb or attack villages without dropping leaflets warning the inhabitants and telling them to move out. Once the troops came under fire, however, retaliation could include maximum force.’
‘Which gets us back to the SAS,’ Dead-eye said.
‘Yes, Sergeant. Our job is to give back-up to A Squadron in the Radfan. To this end, we’ll start with a twenty-four-hour proving patrol, which will also act as your introduction to the area.’
‘We don’t need an introduction,’ the reckless Corporal Brooke said. ‘Just send us up there.’
‘You need an introduction,’ Callaghan insisted. ‘You’re experienced troopers, I agree, but your experience so far has always been in the jungle – first Malaya, then Borneo. You need experience in desert and jungle navigation and that’s what you’ll get on this proving patrol. We’re talking about pure desert of the kind we haven’t worked in since the Regiment was formed in 1941, which excludes most of those present in this tent. Desert as hot as North Africa, but even more difficult because it’s mountainous. Limestone, sandstone and igneous rocks. Sand and silt. Lava fields and volcanic remains, criss-crossed with deep wadis. The highland plateau, or kawr, has an average height of 6500 feet and peaks rising to 8000 to 9000 feet. The plateau itself is broken up by deep valleys or canyons, as well as the wadis. In short, the terrain is hellishly difficult and presents many challenges.’
‘Any training before we leave?’ Dead-eye asked.
‘Yes. One full day tomorrow. Lay up tonight, kitting out and training tomorrow, then move out at last light the same day. The transport will be 4×4 Bedford three-tonners and Saladin armoured cars equipped with 5.56-inch Bren guns. Enjoy your evening off, gentlemen. That’s it. Class dismissed.’
Not wanting to waste a minute of their free time, the men hurried out of the briefing room and raced each other to the makeshift NAAFI canteen at the other side of the camp, where they enjoyed a lengthy booze-up of ice-cold bottled beer. Few went to bed sober.
Rudely awakened at first light by Jimbo, whose roar could split mountains, the men rolled out of their bashas, quickly showered and shaved, then hurried through the surprisingly cold morning air, in darkness streaked with rising sunlight, to eat as much as they could in fifteen minutes and return to their sleeping quarters.
Once by their beds, and already kitted out, they had only to collect their bergens, kit and weapons, then hurry back out into the brightening light and cross the clearing, through a gentle, moaning wind and spiralling clouds of dust, to the column of Bedfords and Saladins in the charge of still sleepy drivers from the Royal Corps of Transport. The RCT drivers drank hot tea from vacuum flasks and smoked while the SAS men, heavily burdened with their bergens and other kit, clambered up into the back of the lorries. Meanwhile, the sun was rising like a pomegranate over the distant Radfan, casting an exotic, blood-red light through the shadows on the lower slopes of the mountains, making them look more mysterious than dangerous.
‘We should be up there in OPs,’ Les complained as they settled into their bench seats in the back of a Bedford. ‘Not wasting our bleedin’ time with a training jaunt.’
‘I don’t think we’re wasting our time,’ Ken replied. ‘I believe the boss. All our practical experience has been in Borneo and that won’t help us here.’
‘I wish I’d been in Borneo,’ Ben said. ‘I bet it was more exotic than this dump.’
‘It was,’ Larry said ironically. ‘Steaming jungle, swamps, raging rivers, snakes, scorpions, lizards, giant spiders, fucking dangerous wild pigs, and head-hunting aboriginals blowing poison darts. Join the SAS and see the world – always travelling first class, of course.’
‘At least here we’ve only got flies and mosquitoes,’ Taff said hopefully, swatting the first of the morning’s insects from his face.
‘Plus desert snakes, scorpions, centipedes, stinging hornets, spiders and Arab guerrillas who give you no quarter. Make the most of it!’
Having silenced the new men and given them something to think about, Les grinned sadistically at Ken, then glanced out of the uncovered
