Aden's Last Hours
Warning
Some
may find the adult language used in these pages offensive
JK's arrival in Aden in 1966 for his second tour of duty in South Arabia would have blown the mind off any man, regardless of experience, Regiment, or strong personal qualities such as courage, determination, resilience and endurance. He met the infamous John Buckhan AFM, DSO. Buchan was waiting for him at Khormaksa airport, not in the arrival's lounge, as one would expect, but on the tarmac at the bottom of the Britannia aircraft steps. Buchan did not offer introductions unless his "follow me" could be classed as an introduction of some form. In ten minutes the crazy fun began as JB spun round and nearly ran through the lounge and straight through immigration and customs with a wave of his hand to the duty officers, with JK in tow dragging along his kit, plus rifle, ammunition and parachute.
All the Britannia passengers were military personnel, and most had cross-decked from the VC10 ‘moon ship' from UK to Bahrain, as was the normal practice. Everyone called the VC 10 the ‘moon ship' because it brought out to the Middle East white humans with white knees called ‘moonies' because they had no suntan. Because the shuttle had only a third of its normal passenger capacity, the passengers during the short journey carried all personal kit and suitcases. Loading bay facilities were full of more important and much needed items for the camps in Aden, such as Tenant's beer cans with gorgeous half naked nubile women models printed on the sides, mail and newspapers.
"Get in, and hold tight, watch and observe for Grenadiers, you'll see a large hotel called the Red Sea on the left, opposite is a block of flats on the Ma'alah Bandar turning, watch them for snipers, questions when we arrive at Steamer Point, understood?"
"Understood."
"I'd like a dead ‘Golly' by the time we arrive, clear."
"Clear."
With that he leapt the long wheel based Landrover forward with a screech of burning, acrid smelling, smoking tyres. He drove like a madman but expertly and with complete calm. JK knew this display was for his benefit, and didn't mind. A fairly comprehensive and detailed briefing about JB had come his way before leaving the UK from Harry Smith his Aden post predecessor.
Buchan's appointment in Aden was Officer in Charge of the RAF Steamer Point Fire Section, Station Ground Defence Training Officer, Station Security Officer, Station Bomb Disposal, and Demolitions Officer during bomb scares. If time allowed, the Army Bomb Disposal Teams were called in, but JB seemed to want to do everything himself. He was old for his rank of Flight Lieutenant, and highly decorated, his courage was beyond question though bordering on that of an impulsive, irresponsible madman. He had blasted many people of high rank in the past and this was still happening in the present, so much so that promotion was out of the question. JB didn't give a shit about anything or anybody. One small example of his attitude to rank and position came when a staff car carrying Arab dignitaries pulled up outside the fire section gates and the occupants went into the RAF Police and Special Branch HQ across the road. JB saw the vehicle and shouted "Corporal Carmicheal, go and let that posh car's tyres down."
"Yes Sir, you are aware it's a VIP car and there are some Arab bigwigs with it?"
"Their hard shit Corp, do as you're told."
"Right away Sir."
All his Staff knew better than argue with JB, if they had done they would suffer, he was vindictive and carried a grudge forever. The Arabs finished their visit and returning to their car found the tyres flat. At first they were confused, then angry. JB casually strolled up to the gate, and looking at the Arabs shouted to Sergeant Brooks over his shoulder.
"Sgt. Brooks, it seems these stupid fucking Arabs and their driver can't read the no parking sign we've displayed in four fucking languages, they've blocked the fire engine entrance and now if there's a bomb or a fire we can't make our exit to deal with it. I wonder how many poor innocent people will die, including Arabs because of these thoughtless selfish bastards?" With that he turned on his heel and walked away, with the stutters, screams and gesticulations from the irate Arabs bouncing harmlessly off his back. Twenty minutes later there was a telephone call telling JB to report to the Station Commander immediately. JB climbed in his long wheelbase, which was rigged with crash bars for ramming small roadblocks, and shouted
"In for a penny, in for a pound!"
He drove at speed out of the compound ramming the front near side of the staff car knocking it out of the way. Half an hour later he came back (by now the remains of the staff car had been towed away) with a huge grin spread all over his face.
"I enjoyed that Sgt Brooks, but it will cost me some money I'm afraid, at least a round of drinks in the Officers Mess and two for the Station Commander and his wife."
Back to JK's arrival, they approached the Red Sea Hotel at a fast rate of knots, and all JKs concentration was on the block of flats opposite looking for snipers. Suddenly JB swerved right, across the central reservation, and into the road at the side of the flats that ran through the Ma'alah Bandar. This side road joined the major road called the Ma'alah Main near Tawahi on the road towards Steamer Point. Huge signs were displayed in English and Arabic on each side of the road and on awnings stretched over the top of the track, saying that this route was strictly out of bounds to all traffic including military vehicles. To top this up, ‘Danger Mine' signs were everywhere. JB just smashed his way through, knocking over old corrugated iron sheeted ‘Kochi huts,' (temporary Arab dwellings) old bins and anything else he could use his roadblock crash bars on with good effect. He was laughing a maniacal scream of a laugh as he wrought this destruction.
"Watch out for crowds of kids."
He shouted over the roar of the engine, swerving to the right to deliberately knock over a bicycle parked at the side of the track.
"The terrorist uses kids as a cover for grenade attack, there's a crowd of kids, we slow down for them, the kids all hit the ground, a grenade comes from behind them. Motto? Run the kids down, kill the grenadier behind them. Understood"?
"Understood."
This little revelation was not news to JK, his brief from Harry included this terrorist ploy, and it had been used on six occasions, killing four British soldiers and injuring eight. As they continued on JB's stock car racing practice circuit to Steamer Point, JK even though very entertained by JB's antics, had time to reflect on why he was sent here and what he had to do in the future months ahead. He had a licence to ignore politics and protocol plus military rules and regulations, and employ the terrorist weapons and tactics against the terrorists themselves, using ‘Misinformation and Psychological Warfare' to its and his maximum potential. Why he was here was caused by a short but recent history of political events, which would lead to the British military withdrawal from Aden.
Aden is situated on a peninsular at the southern entrance to the Red Sea, between Arabia and eastern and northeastern Africa, and acted as a commercial station for neighbouring states. It gained even more commercial importance after the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869 and as a result of oil discoveries in Arabia and the Persian Gulf. The superb natural harbour was thought vital to safeguard the sea routes to trade in India and the Far East. Aden was at the centre of the British Colonial trading system. Ships stopped there for fuel en route between Europe and these eastern trading ports. It was still a loyal imperial outpost in 1953 when the newly crowned Queen Elizabeth paid a visit during her World tour.
During the 1950s Aden became the busiest port in the world after New York. Another great boost to its trading potential came when BP Oil refineries were built in Little Aden located on the West Side of the bay to process oil from the Gulf. The British enjoyed the good life in the little Rahj, pampered by Arab servants and catered for by Indian traders they felt safe in their imperial backwater. Through out the 1950s when our Empire was being dismantled, Aden's economy boomed and as a free port, was raided by thousands of cruise ship tourists from around the world. Lost in time, British rule continued in the old colonial style. Around Aden colony itself was a wilderness larger than England and Wales called the British Protectorates and ruled by feuding tribesmen. When the British grabbed Aden we had no interest in these lawless territories other than as a defensive zone. Tribal rulers like the Amir of Bahein were persuaded to sign ‘Treaties of Protection' and to accept British political advisors into their sheikhdoms; the few British to enter this medi evil world could do little to change it. General Sir James Lunt, Commander of the Arab Army from 1961-64 gave us an example of this backward place in our arrival lecture. When he was coming back from a visit ‘up country'. He arrived at a village and heard a scraping and clanging noise at his feet, looking down he saw an iron grill embedded into the ground with a blurred human face pressed against it. He asked his Arab hosts who the man was and they were very evasive, the Sheikh in particular. General Lunt ordered the man-released and on coming out of his dungeon, he saw a man dressed in ragged shreds of clothing, caked with filth and excreta, a beard down to his knees, finger and toe nails like eagle talons and was very imanciated. Sir James asked how long the man had been down there and nobody could remember. Apparently he had been shackled hands and feet (these shackles were now thick in rust) and imprisoned many years before and had been there ever since. Sir John ordered the shackles to be removed and the man set free. Far from being grateful for Sir John's intervention and his release, the man complained profusely that he wanted to go back because if he were free nobody would give him food anymore. Such was the law in this backwater as late as the early 1960s.
In the Protectorates, approximately half a million people scratched a living from the soil, unlike their neighbours in Saudi Arabia; their leaders did not have oil revenue. Britain bought them as allies for a few rifles and a small amount of money. The Aden Protectorate Levies was formed; a small army of Arabs under British Officers mostly from the RAF Regiment and well equipped with Ferret armoured cars brought the British and the local Sultans into closer alliance. The colonial power also had a more modern system of controlling the tribesmen, Air Power Policing or APL. If a village or a Sultan caused any trouble, leaflets were dropped, from aircraft warning them they would be bombed and at what time, if they didn't hand in hostages to prove their good behaviour in the future. If this instruction was not complied with they were bombed. They were ordered to move everybody plus their livestock out of the village, and at the precise time the village would be bombed into oblivion. This was found to be an excellent, fast, cheap, and cost effective way of controlling a large number of people spread out over a large almost inaccessible area of land.
Aden became self-governing in 1962, and joining the FSA (Federation of South Arabia) in 1963. The FSA linked the feudal sheikhdoms lying between Yemen and the coast with the urban Aden Colony. Opposition to the British presence increased after the Suez Operation in Suez during November 1956. After this military abortion we were seen to climb down because of outside political pressures. Nasserism emerged via inflammatory broadcasting on radio Cairo and later to a less extent from regional broadcasting stations such as Taiz in the Yemen. For the first time Arabs had an outspoken leader speaking for all Arabs against colonialism and supporting nationalism everywhere throughout the Arab states. Nasser joined with Syria and Yemen to form the United Arab Republic and the Imam of Yemen claimed that Aden belonged the Yemen. Nasser backed a campaign to turn Arabs in the Protectorates to turn against their Sheiks. This antagonism towards us increased with the establishment of our Middle East Command Headquarters on the colony of Aden. The Sultans were so extremely worried by the increase of nationalist propaganda from radio Cairo that they were persuaded by the British to join a Federation of South Arabian States. In 1959 this Federation was established, and eventually most of the Sultans were to sign up.
Britain built a ‘Whitehall
in the sand' and palaces for the Sultans. In the new Federal Capital
Aden, the Sultans performed a charade of parliamentary government.
One of the few Sultans with a formal education acted as their spokesman
Mohamed Farid, Federation Foreign Minister, 1962 / 67. When he was
questioned by ITV on his thoughts on the Federation, he said something
to the effect of,
‘Before the Federation
we Sultans had a system that worked. The tribal leaders elected our
Sultans and that, by western concepts may not be democratic, but by our
concepts it was, and it worked. We believe it is no good trying to
adopt the western system in our country, as it has failed in every country
in the world, and led to nationalist calling for freedom from your colonialist
rule. If I am wrong in my words, ask yourself, where has your Empire
gone?' Wow! Did he pack a punch?
The absence of elections
and the autocratic rule of the Sultans did not allow us or the Sultans
to understand the depths of nationalist feeling among the people in the
New Federation. Saleh Musleh, a prominent NLF guerrilla leader said
to me,
‘The Sultans were
our enemies. The imperialists set up the Federation. We felt
nothing had changed since their ancestors had signed the protection treaties
with the British colonialists.'
In Aden, after the loss of the Suez Canal in 1956 the BP refinery in Aden was greatly expanded and the resulting prosperity had attracted a huge influx of immigrant labour from all over South Arabia. They joined trade unions led by Abdullah Asnag a Yemeni left wing Socialist that took up the Nasserite anti imperialist cause and opposed the Federation with strikes and demonstrations. Asnag meant to take Aden from the British and make it part of Yemen. The new country would be called The Democratic Peoples Republic of Yemen. Strikes and the serious violence that followed were organized and this led to the break down of law and order. The authorities ignored the nationalists and gave full backing to the Sultans and the Federation. We really were very short sighted in those days and seemed incapable of reading the writing on the wall.
An Army led coup overthrew the hereditary ruler of the Yemen, the Iman, in 1962 and was backed by Egypt. The new republican government of Yemen initiated revolution by its brothers in the south, Aden and the Federation did join in and the battle against colonialism began. We now had an undeclared war on our hands involving two colonial powers, Britain against Soviet backed Egypt with a horrendous battle ground of pure desert, sand, silt, lava and volcanic remains all criss crossed with deep wadis and mountainous territory, with peaks up to 9000ft. Britain backed the guerrilla royalist army of the deposed Iman, as did Saudi Arabia. This army was supported by mercenary troops mostly comprised of so called ex SAS ‘veterans' operating out of bases in the Aden Federation. We had two problems to contend with, putting down the tribal uprising in the Radfan, adjoining Yemen, and highly organised urban terrorism in Aden Colony itself.
In July 1964 Harold Macmillan
set 1968 as the year for the Federation's self-government, but with a continuing
British presence in Aden. This statement help to accelerate the nationalist
cause to force Britain out by military force. Yemeni, Egyptian, Adeni
nationalists, and paid mercenaries continued bringing weapons, mines, explosives
and grenades across the border for the use of border tribesmen who view
guerrilla warfare as a way of life. These ordinance items were mainly
ex British equipment that we had left behind when we evacuated the Canal
Zone, Egypt in late 1955. Later on in the struggle as more Aden terrorists
received Marxist guerrilla training by the Soviets and Chinese, more and
more high tech Soviet weaponry began to appear on the scene.
The emergency was declared
in December 1963 coinciding with the new outbreak of severe fighting in
Cyprus, which tied up Middle East resident garrison troops. An attempt
to subdue the Radfan was made by a force of Arab Federal Regular Army battalions
supported by British tanks, guns, engineers and other specialist corps.
It failed, at the cost of five dead and twelve wounded. As soon as
this force withdrew the tribesmen moved back into their old stomping grounds
and carried on attacking traffic on the Dhala road which links Yemen and
Aden. The Federal government asked for more British military aid
and were supplied with a mixed force of Brigade strength and support aircraft.
These force's rules of engagement forbid them to bomb or attack areas containing
women and children, so they dropped leaflets warning the local nationals
to move out of harm's way. They could retaliate with maximum force
if the troops came under fire.
The Para's and Marines carried out this latter job to great effect. At the time of JK's arrival on the scene, the British government had announced our intention to withdraw from Aden in 1968, breaking our previous promises to maintain a military presence after independence. As a consequence of this political blunder, or gaff, as it's been called, the narrow streets of the Aden townships was the scene of a bloody civil war between the NLF (National Liberation Front) and FLOSY (Freedom for the Liberation of South Yemen). Britain was between the two factions and under attack from by both. These two antagonists were trying to prove to the local populace who was the strongest, and who should be the party to rule Aden when we were seen to be driven out. Even though we had said we were pulling out, they wanted to claim that they threw us out. In this war soldiers were getting killed in a land that was no longer of any interest to us, and for reasons that no one in Britain could understand. All accept the stupid politician who announced we intended to leave the place against our previous promise to stay, thus leaving a power vacuum for one of the belligerents to fill.
On the plus side, because
the Aden colony townships were small and in close proximity to each other,
surrounded, and dominated by overlooking volcanic high ground, they were
easily controlled by troops and air support, only a limited number of troops
were needed for normal battalion internal security duties. It gave
the British an ideal training ground to practice special operations tactics
and new weapons and the individual's various skills, new technology was
given its proving base here. Intelligence gathering techniques was
a top priority, and combined service SOGs (Special Operations Groups) were
tasked with that side of the game, and issued with all the new night surveillance
equipment and specialist cameras, bugging and tracking devices that the
military may purchase, found an operational test bed with them. JK's
job as a TWATT member (Terrorist Weapons and Tactics Team) was another
embryo organisation to develop in this theatre, one can imagine the piss
taking they received from other Special Forces with a name carrying that
sort of abbreviation. It was fun in a way when you met someone, especially
a supercilious officer who asked, ‘what are you? You would reply ‘I'm a
TWATT'. On actual operations they learnt the job, tested equipment
and produced brilliant results, as one shall see as this story develops.
They were allowed access to SOG information, which was invaluable as a
tool of war. So too were the SAS (Keenie Meeni) squads, the most
dangerous job of all. These very brave men lived as Arabs among the
Arabs, they dressed in Arab clothing and were armed only with their Browning
High power 9mm pistols, rooting out and eliminating terrorists on their
back yard, the rabbit warrens and Koochi's behind the main road running
by the sea, here the terrorist felt safe and ruled supreme, and in complete
control of their own area of terror. Many tales have been told about
these silent, crazy men and quite rightly so. They deserve it.
Consequently, because of this ‘use' of the war, a lot of original anti
terrorist ideas were welcomed from even the lowest ranks and tried in a
true combat situation. Some paid off, some didn't, and some had hilariously
funny results.
Finally, after a few more
Daytona 500 episodes involving a stream of cursing Arab taxi drivers, who
were also infamous for their ‘one arm out of the window' driving, JB pulled
up in the Steamer Point fire section yard. He sat behind the wheel
for a few silent minutes then said,
"Welcome to my empire. You'll find I'm strict but fair, and I will listen to ideas, just don't try to be too clever, or I'll screw your arse so far into the ground even ants will look down on you, do I make myself clear?" JK grinned,
"Yes Sir, would you brief me as to what you feel my duties are? I want to get started and make the time go by quicker."
"Your job is to be part of the GDT (Ground Defence Training) Section. You will run the Cemetery Valley CQB (Close Quarter Battle) weapon ranges. You will lecture on the military situation in South Arabia to all new arrivals to the colony including turn around battalions. You will lecture and demonstrate captured terrorist weapons, and the tactics behind their use. You will keep abreast of all newly found arms catches, and liase with the brigade ATO (Ammunition Technician Officer). With the ATO you will devise methods of combating the weapons you encounter and, if possible turn the tactics used in their employ back on the terrorist himself. Is that clear? Have you any questions?"
"Just one Sir, who am I answerable to? You? Brigade Major? Senior ATO? Just so I don't make any chain of command balls-ups, you understand, it's a little confusing at the moment. I received a briefing in the UK outlining my duties; you read me another set of instructions. Nobody informed me about CQB ranges or history lectures, so who is my boss?"
"I am, you report everything to me. I take it up the chain of command. In that way you have a buffer and shield between you and some of the supercilious bastards at Command HQ, they are a right toffee nosed bunch of twats up there I assure you, is that clear enough for you?"
"Yes Sir, for the time being. When do I start?"
"Straight away, follow me, I'll introduce you to the team."
With that he heaved himself out of the Rover, and started walking down a long concrete yard, passed the two large fire engines and the crash rescue Landrover. Home made wooden shacks appeared around the edge of a wide area of sand forming some semblance of a training area, with one large marquee in the middle. This area took JK by surprise, as it couldn't be seen from the road. Behind it, was a sheer volcanic cliff face, and this cliff curved forming a semicircle of protection against prying eyes. The boundary not covered by the cliff was enclosed in barbed wire, eight double rolls of Danet Razor Edge. Quite a fortress. Three separate training groups were at work on weapon training. One element was carrying out dry runs on different firing positions, lying, kneeling and standing with the Lee Enfield Mark 3 Rifle. A second was carrying out stoppage drills with the 303mm Bren light machine gun, and a third group was involved in the load, unload and firing positions with a collection of Mark 2, 3, 4, and 5 Sten guns. The instructors were all stripped to the waist, dark skinned and sun-tanned and wearing green bush hats and desert canvas boots. They looked exceptionally fit and were screaming instructions like mad men at the luckless trainees. The trainees themselves were obviously new arrivals, they had sickly white skins compared to the instructors, and were made up of males and females of all ranks of the three services.
"Why are they training on these obsolete weapons, don't we have any SLRs (Self Loading Rifles) or Stirling sub machine guns here?" JK believed these training weapons being used had gone out of service years before.
"Steamer point is a RAF station, with RAF Headquarters and Administration set ups covering all three services posted here, command pay accounts, hospital and maintenance units are all combined service organisations for example, but run by the RAF. The RAF are still issued with the old second world war, and before weaponry, everybody posted here has to carry out their own unit guard duties, including a station guard duty at least once a month. Station policy is to train the new arrivals on the weapon they will use when on guard. They then carry a card saying they are competent to carry that weapon; they have to fire a set practice every three months to keep this card stamped, signed and up to date. If they fail to do this, they are charged and fined, that means we keep the Cemetery Valley Range open every morning of the week from 7am till 1pm. We may fire as many as one hundred and fifty people every morning, can you see now why we need you on the range?"
"Yes Sir, but if I'm on the range everyday, how do I fit the other jobs in?"
"You lecture to new arrivals on the history, terrorist weapons and tactics on Monday and Tuesday mornings, then you're on the range the rest of the week, your dirty tricks stuff comes in the afternoons and night. You've no time off here my old son."
"Those three instructors, is that our full complement?"
"Yes, the fire section is a separate entity, fully manned by RAF crews, but on top of their usual work they run the Arab labour force. We have to employ the bastards because of political agreements, so we give them all the shit jobs such as putting up barbed wire fencing, cleaning fire engines and a dozen other jobs.
"I'm surprised we have Arab labour in this terrorist hot bed when we're involved in fucking them up, surely they won't work with my side of the schedule?"
"You have two levies that help out on the range, they are closely controlled by Corporal Charmicael, filling magazines, opening ammo boxes, cleaning weapons, you're to busy running the show for them sort of things."
"You must concentrate on running the different weapon firing practices."
"These two Arab weapon experts we've trained, they go back to their Arab Quarters and run night classes on weapon training for their friends I suppose?" JK couldn't help sounding just a little sarcastic at this news.
"You've a lot to learn about
this rathole. Everybody here is your bloody enemy, the local Police,
Customs officers, Federal Army, they're all climbing on the side of the
NLF who are Yemeni and hill people and appear to be stronger than FLOSY
who are Aden townspeople, if they don't they're dead, if not now, certainly
when we leave. Your two men are FRA. The bloody British government
has put us in a terrible, impossible situation we'll be lucky to survive,
let alone win. I'll introduce you to Hugh Boyle, he'll update you
on all the devious, underhanded skulduggery called politics that's going
off here, and something we can do fuck all about."
Hugh was a fit, tough experienced
character, full of a broad calm and peace, which possibly came from his
upbringing in the Western Isles at Benbecular. When he spoke, his
voice was deep but profoundly clear and concise in its punctuation and
sounding vowels. His handshake was strong and positive, something
JK looked for in introductions, he hated incipid, limp, feminine handshakes,
and carried an instant distrust for people who had them, he normally found
people's character reflected their hand shake, he instantly liked Hugh.
"Welcome, I won't ask if
you've had a good trip, I'll bet you a tenner the last three miles on Buch's
dodgems were the best." With that very true remark he grinned, shrugged
a follow me sign and headed for the opened up marquee in the dust bowl
centre.
"Sgt Boyle, I'll cover your
duties, it'll keep my hand in weapon wise, fill JK in with everything you
know and two hundred percent of what you don't know, take what time you
need." Buchan wheeled out the tent like an imitation of some glamorous
Sheikh from the ‘Arabian Nights.'
"Ah hem! God help the poor wee trainees with that bastard loose on them." Hugh laughed a loud raucous explosion of sound seemingly far too loud for his size. I soon noticed his thoughtful ‘ah hem' came out as the sound of a throaty cough, screened behind the back of his hand, and was a habit which indicated that he was thinking of or considering an answer to any question, or contemplating what he was going to say.
"Ah hem, I heard you were
coming about two months ago, and no bullshit, it was great news.
We need your know how here on the terrorism side. All the team are
slightly pissed off that you have to be included in the defence training
side, we're so pushed though, that's the only way out to keep the station
personnel able to draw and use weaponry on guard, I'm sorry." JK's
brief had stated Hugh was a straight to the point merchant, so this introduction
and compliment didn't surprise or embarrass him in anyway.
"It did give me a bit of
a kick in the balls when the Buch told me about ranges and lectures etc,
but I can see the need, and I don't really mind as long as I can get the
other side of the job done with satisfactory results. I received
a brief in UK but I'm going to drain your mind of everything you know about
this fucking place during the next few days, especially now I've found
out that I have to teach all new arrivals the military history of the bloody
place. Are there any more suprises like that waiting for me?"
"Ah hem, no, you lecture in the main lecture rooms above station HQ, I'll take you to see the place shortly. You have all the training aids you need for the history side, maps, news reports, and intelligence daily data tickertapes, OHPs, (Overhead Projectors) Debrea 16mm projector, Pathe News clips about Aden that's made the world news, and the station library WRAF girl keeps these updated. Ah hem; you have the new arrivals for history on Monday 7am till 1pm. Then your own terrorism thing on Tuesdays, same hours, you'll have a mixed bag of both genders, of all ranks, and services, possibly one hundred per week. The station supply lecture room cleaners and personnel to lay the room out with chairs and so on just as you dictate. You also have secure lockup facilities for your equipment downstairs in the Station Orderly Room, is all clear so far?"
"Yes, no problems, but Hugh, just spell out to me why the powers that be want new arrivals filled in on the history of the region. They are here to do their own particular work, they follow orders on security as they change day by day, why this emphasis on fucking history?"
"Ah hem, we only assume that somebody up there in the command ‘Gin Palace' has had a dream that everyone will be better little sailors, soldiers or airmen, if they know why our Arab neighbours fucking hate us and are trying to kill us! Who knows?"
"I can see the need for terrorist weapons and tactics for all ranks, especially with them all doing their own individual unit guards, and searching Arab workers on the way into work. They'll be able to recognise even small parts of a device if the Arabs try to smuggle them inside their compound, and then assemble the parts together later into a complete bomb."
"JK, you've got it in one. Ah hem, your side of the work is very necessary, the history might be interesting, though its value is doubtful but ours is to do and die and all that shit. Come with me and I'll show you our private club, we'll have a cold drink." Hugh stood up knocking over the folding flat table they had been sitting at. With a grin he bent down and pulled a small tape recorder bugging device from the underside of the table held in place with tape. Putting it close to his mouth he let out a high pitched whistle then scream, then put the device back, and put the table upright.
"Ah hem, that should blow the Buch's eardrum out when he decides to listen to that, he wears earphones to listen to his baby bugs, he plants them everywhere to see if people are breaching security regulations. I knocked the table over because he sometimes plants spray bombs to test for alertness. The only problem with them is you can't get the spray off and it stinks to high heaven. What a cunt he is, have you met one like him before?"
"I can't say that I have. Thank fuck, I'm a great believer in the word called ‘trust' when it comes down to your own men, If I find him fucking me about he'll have bloody problems on his hands, like real booby traps not bloody pretend ones." JK was pissed off with these new revelations of Buchan's character, he had once laid an officer out unconscious who he caught trying to catch sentries out at night. That type of stupidity takes the men's eyes off the real ball and doesn't help at all in real situations.
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