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
