22 Special Air Service Regiment, 1976–80
Selection
Eventually the time came to travel to Hereford’s Bradbury Lines, the home of 22 SAS, to start the SAS selection course. This course had a number of phases. There was an initial physical weeding out process where attendees had to complete the normal British Army fitness tests. Surprisingly, a few failed even these tests. Over the next few weeks we went to the Brecon Beacons and Black Mountain areas in groups and then in pairs. This was to ensure that those from other corps, not infantry, were sufficiently competent and fit to be able to operate alone in the area. These initial marches were part of the general fitness attrition of candidates. A number of those on the selection felt that they had to impress the SAS training staff who accompanied us into the hills by moving at a very fast rate which we all had to match. I knew that this was not wise because we were using up valuable energy before we even started the final and gruelling ‘test week’.
I remember standing up in the back of a four-tonner that was taking us back to camp after one of these marches and reminding the others that we did not have to race each other and that what we were doing was not going to be helpful in the long run. I also recall a number of my fellow candidates looking at me with a certain amount of derision, clearly thinking that I was not able to keep up the pace. I passed several of them on Test Week lying beside the track completely drained of energy and unable to finish the course.
If a candidate had a bad day, he was given a ‘gypsy’s warning’ that he needed to improve his timings. If the candidate failed to improve he was described as going to Platform 4. This was the SAS euphemism for ‘Thanks for trying but now fuck off!’ Platform 4 was the platform at Hereford railway station for the London-bound train.
The routine in the camp was very relaxed and although we ate centrally in the main mess hall we lived in our own respective messes. There was no pressure put on candidates to continue or to voluntarily leave the course. At the end of each day candidates were briefed on the activities for the following day and it was up to them to prepare themselves and be at the vehicles ready to depart early the next morning.
The final physical week of the course was Test Week, which involved daily individual treks across the valleys and mountains of Wales. At the start of each trek all candidates were given a grid reference (GR) and we made our way to that grid reference where we would meet a member of the SAS training staff who would then give us the next GR and so on. The treks became longer and longer each day and the weights we had to carry increased. One of the treks was euphemistically called ‘Fan Dance’ and involved going to the top of Pen y Fan from three sides. On another trek Ordnance Survey maps were replaced by hand-drawn ‘escape’ maps. Despite the weather or the terrain candidates had to travel at a minimum of 3 kilometres per hour!
I had two aids during these long tiring treks. One was a small plastic cup on the end of a piece of para cord tied to my smock. This cup was actually one of Juliette’s and was embossed with baby animals. It allowed me to scoop up water from streams to drink as I raced along and it meant I did not have to open or refill water bottles. The other aid was a small portable radio and earphones so that I could listen to music as I ploughed through the snowdrifts. I particularly remember at 11am each week day listening to Dave Lee Travis and his ‘Tiny Tots Session’. My favourite song and one which drove me along was ‘We got us a convoy!’ by C.W. McCall. I now always smile when I hear this particular song. I never knew whether the SAS staff would think I wasn’t taking selection seriously by having a radio so I always hid it whenever I approached a selection RV.
The final hurdle was ‘endurance’. This was the long 16-hour trek across approximately 37 miles of the Beacons. The twist in the tail was that you did not know when you had reached the final RV. More than a few candidates gave up when they received a new grid reference to walk to when they were expecting to have reached the final check point. As a touch of cruelty, the final RV and waiting four-tonner were sometimes only 200 yards around a corner from the penultimate RV. It must have been heart-breaking to give up and then realise that you only needed to walk another few yards to the finish line.
I successfully completed Test Week and then, as an officer, I also had to survive Officers’ Week. Officers’ Week had a physical component but naturally included a requirement to carry out operational planning for various SAS-type operations. These plans were then presented to an audience of SAS officers and senior NCOs who would thoroughly challenge them. Their questioning was very robust and even if they personally agreed with the plan presented they wanted to establish how a very tired and nervous young officer would act under pressure. Once again, on a day-to-day basis there was no pressure or even assistance from the training staff. You were given a task at any hour of the day or night and it was up to you to sort it out.
There were two other remaining officers, including a fellow Parachute Regiment officer, on my course and I watched them cheat during Officers’ Week by walking along roads during one of the cross-country treks. Using roads was forbidden; if you wanted to take the risk it should only be done at night, but these two were ambling along roads in broad daylight. Using roads was obviously a great deal easier than navigating and moving across the unforgiving terrain of the area. They both failed selection but to my surprise they were both permitted to stay on in Hereford and attend the next selection, which they failed yet again!
My selection course had started with ten officers and 100 soldiers but in the end only ten soldiers and I passed.
Joining 8 Troop
After the initial selection course candidates were required to complete some months of Special Forces skills training culminating in a ‘resistance to interrogation’ course and parachute training. As I had already completed the latter two, I attended a six-week junior staff course at the Infantry Centre in Warminster. After that I was finally able to officially join 8 Troop, ‘The Lions of Mirbat’, B Squadron of 22 SAS in mid-1976.
The other troop commanders were Cedric D and John M. Cedric D had been posted to B Squadron from another squadron; he was a very intelligent but taciturn, insular man who tended to communicate by grunts and mumbles. John M was a Para engineer officer who was abrasive and singularly overconfident. He would later serve as a squadron commander for B Squadron. During the Falklands War he made it obvious that he was very unhappy with a planned operation for his squadron and so he was unceremoniously ‘sacked’ by Peter de la Billière, the Director Special Forces at the time. In an interview I had with Peter de la Billière some years after the Falklands War he described John M’s actions as inexcusable! John M and I were to meet again later in the Sultan of Oman’s Special Forces.
8 Troop, B Squadron’s mobility troop, was composed of a number of experienced SAS soldiers who had served several tours in Oman. An 8 Troop patrol had been a key element in the success of the British Army Training Team (BATT) and the local Omani gendarmerie in defeating the attack by a large group of 250–300 communist-trained insurgents on the town of Mirbat, a provincial capital. The troop commander, Captain Mike K, was awarded a Distinguished Service Order (DSO) – an unusually high gallantry decoration for a captain’s rank; Sekoi ‘Take it Easy’ T (also known as ‘Tak’) was awarded a Distinguished Conduct Medal (DCM), and another Fijian, Talaiasi L (known as ‘Laba Laba’), was awarded a posthumous Mentioned in Dispatches. The attack took place on 19 July 1972. There was a team of nine SAS operatives in a local house, supporting a small number of Omani soldiers who were based in the old Mirbat fort.
Tragically, prior to taking command of an SAS squadron, Mike K died of exposure in the Brecon Beacons while joining a selection course in extremely adverse weather. After he died Cecilia and I would see Arthur D, a fellow troop commander who was a great friend of Mike and his wife Maggie, visiting Maggie. Years later they were married, which was a happy ending to a very sad event. Some years later, as second-in-command of the Sultan’s Special Force, I had the pleasure of escorting Arthur and Maggie around the fort at Mirbat when they visited Oman. She was finally able to see where Mike and his troop had fought so gallantly.
But all this was still in the future. For now, I was extremely honoured to take Mike’s place as troop commander, although he was a tough act to follow. B Squadron was mainly composed of fellow members of the Parachute Regiment and had a reputation for operational aggression even within the SAS Regiment. Most members of the SAS are free-thinkers, but B Squadron and 8 Troop seemed to have more than most. I was glad that I had had operational experience in Vietnam and this certainly helped me become accepted by the troop.
8 Troop had many characters within its ranks and all with a wicked sense of humour. Throughout my three and half years with the troop this sense of humour prevailed, no matter what the operational circumstances were or the level of danger. I don’t think I have laughed so much with any other military organisation I have been with. Don’t get me wrong, they were exceptionally professional and took their Special Forces soldiering very, very seriously but they would always be ready with an amusing cryptic comment or observation on events that were happening.
Kevin ‘The Airborne Wart’ W was one of my troop sergeants. He was also a Para and a short, gobby Londoner, and very funny. When the troop was carrying out motorcycle training on its old BSA 250cc plodders in the Hereford city area we came to a red traffic light. Unfortunately, Kevin was really rather short and when he went to put his feet on the ground having stopped at the light he fell right over. The hot exhaust pipe then lay across his leg and he protested mightily. The rest of the troop could hardly stand up as they were so convulsed with laughter. He was eventually rescued by John W, another of my troop sergeants, before too much damage was done. John W was a calm Scotsman, the image of the dour Scotsman in the old TV series Dad’s Army. John’s brother had been killed by the Indonesians while serving with the SAS during the Borneo conflict. I was fortunate to have John to calm down some of my exuberant ideas – he was a thoroughly good man. The third sergeant in my troop was ‘Gentleman’ Jim V. Jim had been awarded a Military Medal in a battle at the Shirashiti caves near the Yemeni border where he was wounded in the leg. He and his fellow Fijian, Laba Laba, had been very good friends. Jim confided in me one day that as B Squadron was flying into Salalah airfield over Mirbat to start an operational tour, Laba Laba had leant over to Jim, pointed to Mirbat below the C-130 and said, ‘I am going to die there’. I could not have asked for a better team of men.
One evening, before going into town, Kevin W turned up in the sergeants’ mess in Hereford in a very smart, brand-new, Mao suit with a high collar. Kevin fancied himself as a ladies’ man and he did seem to have a following amongst the Hereford ladies although it may have been pure curiosity on their part. At about 3am the Ministry of Defence Police, called the ‘Mod Plod’, were patrolling the camp area when they observed a large object entangled in the barbed wire atop the fence surrounding the sergeants’ mess. They stopped to investigate and there hanging upside down ‘like a bat’ was Kevin, completely entangled in the wire in his new suit and ‘three sheets to the wind’. It seems that he had returned from town and had mislaid his access card for the mess gate and so had decided to climb the fence before becoming entangled.
Kevin was part of a 22 SAS team which tested the fences and walls of government establishments and he had an amazing reputation for clearing most obstacles at great speed. However, in this instance, a number of pints of Hereford’s best ale and his unfamiliar Mao suit conspired against Kevin’s clearing the fence that night.
‘Sailor’ (also known as ‘Snapper’) W was another colourful character in the troop. He had also been at Mirbat – manning the .50 calibre heavy machine gun. He was a very competent Special Forces operator, but he did not always have the best of luck. He was sent on an SAS team task to Hong Kong to work with their Special Duties Unit. He was looking forward to the task but one night he was invited to join some Hong Kong Special Branch officers for a social evening. Some trouble started in a bar and the Special Branch officers left ‘Sailor’ on his own as he was being assaulted by a group of men. Naturally, he defended himself but unfortunately, when the regular Hong Kong police arrived and detained everyone involved, they found a knuckle-duster on ‘Sailor’. The laws against carrying ‘weapons’ in Hong Kong were very, very strict and ‘Sailor’ was found guilty and given an option of six months imprisonment or four ‘strokes of the cane’. He chose the cane which turned out to be a huge bamboo pole wielded by the one of the biggest men he had ever seen. Sailor described the pain of the beating as simply horrendous. He returned to the UK after a short stay in the military hospital in Hong Kong – on his stomach – and was RTU’ed (returned to unit) on his return. Before he left we were playing rugby for the unit against a local team and Sailor, as he was changing into his rugby strip, showed me the vicious wounds from the caning and said, ‘I am the only sergeant in the British Army with four stripes – and they are all on my fucking arse!’ After having completed two years or so of ‘penance’, he would return to Hereford, complete SAS selection again and finally re-join B Squadron. He continued to have a successful Special Forces career, featuring prominently in the SAS termination of the siege at Princes Gate in London and in the Falklands War.
Taking command of an SAS Troop was quite a daunting prospect for an officer new to the SAS. Each squadron in 22 SAS treated its new officers differently. There was a very influential core of senior NCOs within 22 SAS and they could make life difficult for a new officer. Two new troop commanders arrived after the routine departure of Cedric D and John M once their tours as troop commanders had finished. Both new officers were from the Parachute Regiment. One of these fellow troop commanders, a fit Para, was nicknamed Captain Trigger, a TV personality of the time. His fitness got him through selection, but he was not accepted very easily by his own troop. His troop sergeant made Trigger’s life very difficult.
The other troop commander was Mike ‘Rough House’ R. He had joined the army later than his peers. He was a solid, no-nonsense officer but had a tendency to be overly serious and was prone to over-analysing every situation. He had taken over the post of second-in-command of 3 Para Patrol Company when I had left the Parachute Regiment and our paths seemed to keep crossing. He gained his nickname when B Squadron took over the UK Counterterrorism (CT) role. When the CT teams were on standby or between periods of training they entertained themselves, and kept fit, by playing ‘murder basketball’. This was a no-holds-barred game with the basic, and I mean very basic, aim of getting a medicine ball (a large, heavy leather-bound item of gym equipment) from one end of a hall, room or field to the other. It was an all-ranks affair and many a perceived slight was rectified during the melee. It wasn’t long before a local rule had to be introduced which was that each ‘player’ had to have a boxing glove on one hand. This was to try to lessen the physical damage to persons and bodies. ‘Rough House’ participated fully and played with extreme vigour and probably a little too much aggression. The answer to this enthusiasm was for both sides to pass him the ball and then both sides would proceed to maul him. I am not sure to this day if he realised that he was always being set up and that that is how his nickname originated.
Deployment to Northern Ireland
In January 1976 Prime Minister Harold Wilson announced that the SAS would be deployed to Northern Ireland, and an element was based in Bessbrook Mill in South Armagh. We were deployed towards the end of 1976 to replace the original squadron. We were also based in Bessbrook Mill. Of course, I had been in Bessbrook Mill with 3 Para Patrol Company the previous year and so knew the area reasonably well. We were to carry out OPs with the aim of apprehending armed members of the IRA.
Most of the squadron’s operational experience had been obtained, for a few, in Borneo and, for the majority, on tours in Oman. Very few of the old hands had served in Northern Ireland. Whenever I grew tired of hearing war stories about Oman I would make a disparaging comment about ‘that police action’ and reinforce the fact that Vietnam, where I had gained my operational experience, was a ‘real war’. This would always lead to robust discussions about the merits of each conflict.
We travelled to South Armagh with the Royal Marines from, I believe, 45 Commando. This commando was replacing 3 Para as the battalion in residence in the area. On our arrival I met quite a few members of Patrol Company, my old company, who reminded me with great amusement that I had said I would not be coming back to Northern Ireland when I left to go to the SAS!
South Armagh was known as ‘bandit country’ and a number of British soldiers had been murdered there. The physical area is small with few roads and lanes. Patrolling soldiers could only use so many different ways to get from point A to point B. The IRA, from their safe sanctuary in Eire, could lay mines or booby-traps knowing that someday a soldier would stand on them or set them off.
We became adept at establishing and maintaining rural OPs, spending days watching the homes of local suspects in an attempt to photograph them with weapons or explosives. This photographic evidence was necessary in the laborious legal follow-up in the event that we killed an armed terrorist. On a lighter note, as it was a mainly rural area, we would often find that cows, as curious creatures, would take a great interest in the bushes in which we had set up an OP during the night. This was a dead give-away to any farmer that someone was on his land. We bought a number of catapults with which we would fire stones at the cows as they peered into our ‘homes’. I still have my little camouflage-painted plastic catapult.
We carried out a certain amount of vehicle surveillance but carrying out mobile surveillance in a rural environment can be somewhat tricky. There is little other traffic and the locals are very aware of any new events happening. We used to say that the farmers counted the sparrows on the telephone lines each morning. A particularly challenging operation was to follow and ‘house’ a person of interest who was on a tractor! We needed at least eight vehicles and even then I suspect we were ‘pinged’.
On another task, we were carrying out a vehicle ‘follow’ when we were caught up in a mob of sheep in a country lane. I was next to the farmer as we stopped and tried to negotiate our way through the sheep. In my best Ulster accent I said, ‘How are you, now?’ but after the third exchange of similar pleasantries he was obviously well aware that we were not from ‘round these parts’!
It was initially difficult to get the older troop members to learn the need for silence when patrolling or in an OP. Their previous operational experience in the wide-open spaces of the Middle East meant that they had to get used to talking, cooking and eating silently. If we wanted to get a tactical advantage over any IRA who were skulking about the area to set up landmines, attack the homes and families of UDR men and women or snipe at army patrols we had to be quiet. It took a few weeks of me having frequently to go ‘Shush!’ to eventually get the message across. I remember standing up in one OP and banging some mess tins together to emphasise my point – we quickly vacated the OP that night.
There was not a great deal of ‘good’ intelligence for us to work on and one of the reasons for this was that the Northern Ireland military hierarchy was very nervous about our presence in the province. They seemed to be convinced that SAS soldiers would be totally uncontrolled and would cause mayhem and murder. In line with this we all had to have our personal weapons forensically tested before we arrived in Ulster to ensure that all our weapons had a recorded barrel ‘signature’. Ridiculous and quite unnecessary measures like this certainly did not endear Headquarters Northern Ireland to us at all. Moreover, we were not permitted to establish direct links with the RUC Special Branch officers. These policemen knew more about their own ‘patch’ than anyone else and they had continuity whereas British Army units came and went. In order to communicate with Special Branch we had to operate through appointed non-SAS army liaison officers (LO). These LOs were of mixed ability and more than one was an SAS ‘wannabe’.
The IRA had started setting up illegal vehicle checkpoints (IVCP) in the areas close to the border with Eire where military vehicle patrols were few and far between due to the risk of roadside IEDs. If we received information that there were IVCPs being set up in the local area we would cruise that area wearing civilian clothes in nondescript civilian cars with the hope of coming across one of these road blocks. We were very heavily armed on these patrols with M16 rifles, Heckler and Koch MP5 sub-machine guns and my preferred weapon of choice – the M79 grenade launcher.
We did not achieve a great deal during this tour in terms of military successes, but we gained valuable experience in working in a rural environment close to the border with Eire and we certainly did succeed in restricting the movement of the local IRA.
Counterterrorism Role
One of the main attractions of the SAS for me was the diversity of tasks that we carried out. When we came back from Northern Ireland, I took over command of one of the two UK counterterrorism (CT) teams. The teams were called Alpha Team and Bravo Team. This was a four-month task and we were on 15 minutes’ standby throughout that period. We had to be able to send an advance team to any part of the UK in the shortest possible time, by vehicles, aircraft, boats, parachutes, or a combination of these.
We spent a great deal of time training and shooting in the ‘killing house’ throughout the duration of our CT role, continuously practising our drills. The ‘killing house’ itself was a purpose-built shooting range inside a building in which various situations and scenarios could be prepared. We only used full-bore ammunition in this building so accuracy and safety were absolutely essential.
But before 8 Troop and I even took over responsibility for the UK CT response we were mentored by the team in post from another squadron. This was serious stuff because if they did not give us the ‘tick’ of approval we would not be able to take over the role. During the lead-up training we were in the ‘killing house’ about to make an aggressive entry into one of the rooms where there was a hostage and terrorists (in this instance wooden targets only). I was the assault team commander and number two in the line-up while number one had the shotgun to blow off the locks on the door. On our radios I counted down, ‘Standby; standby – go!’ At this command number one shot the locks off the door, moved aside, and I rushed forward, pumped full of adrenalin, and attacked the door pushing it with my full might. It would not open! I thought this was a ‘special’ – introduced by our trainers specifically to test me and so I attacked the door with even greater aggression. But it would not move. The rest of the team with their MP5s and stun grenades was closed right up behind me ready to enter and clear the room. Then … one of the trainers leant over and whispered in the ear of my gas mask … ‘Boss, it’s a “pull” door!’ I took a while to live that one down. But otherwise training progressed smoothly, and we successfully rotated onto CT duty.
As the team commander I also had to spend a lot of time giving lectures to all sorts of dignitaries and VIPs, including members of the Royal Family, who came to visit Hereford. Often, we would take them into the killing house and they would play the role of a ‘hostage’ in a terrorist situation. They would be with an SAS chaperone and would sit on chairs with three or four ‘terrorist’ wooden targets around them. At a given signal the lights would fail, and the CT team would burst into the room preceded by several ‘flash bang’ grenades with their deafening bangs and blinding flashes. There would be bursts of automatic fire and the hostages would be unceremoniously dragged out of the room. Then the lights would be turned on and the disorientated and flushed hostages would be shown around the room that they had just left. The preceding sequence of events would be explained to them. Most of them thought it was jolly exciting until they realised that the CT team had been using live ammunition as indicated by the closely grouped bullet holes in the targets that had been right beside them.
Throughout our CT role we travelled in white Range Rovers, often ten in a convoy. It was an impressive sight as we raced down motorways at speeds of over 110 miles per hour. We were always preceded by a Hereford traffic police car with sirens and flashing lights, and we had blue lights on our vehicles as well. As we reached each police district we would be met by a police liveried car from the district we were entering which would then travel with us to the next police boundary. On one call-out we were going to transit a small rural police area. Waiting to escort us at the county line was a little police panda car – I don’t think that car ever saw us again.
One of the main routes from Hereford to the south of the UK was across the older Severn Bridge which connects Herefordshire and south Wales. It had toll booths at the English end and as we sped past I remember seeing the toll booth attendant pressed against the far wall of his booth with his mouth wide open as we hurtled through the narrow gap.
Often on a rural run we would have a helicopter above us advising us if the route ahead was clear to overtake civilian vehicles. We had to smile at the looks of absolute horror on the faces of civilian drivers as we overtook them in ‘unusual’ places.
Our driver training was carried out by two brothers from the Herefordshire police and they would take us out in our Range Rovers and teach us how to drive safely at incredibly high speeds. They were excellent and instilled in all of us a real confidence in our own abilities as well as teaching us how to read all the features of a road. They would sit calmly in the passenger seat telling each driver to go faster and faster – much to the horror of the driver and more so of the other SAS members in the rear of the vehicle awaiting their turn.
We trained and trained but during my time we only had one genuine call-out, which resolved itself without our intervention. Just four years later, in 1980, B Squadron would be called upon during Operation Nimrod, for the famous Iranian Embassy Siege and the rest, as they say, is history. I was proud to know that 8 Troop was at the forefront of the action that day.
Towards the end of 1977 I attended a surveillance course in London run by one of the security services. It was an excellent course and the trainers were very good. However, because they were normally working in a benign environment some of the techniques we were taught would not be successful in an environment where there was a hostile third party, as in Northern Ireland. This is an environment where the general public is hostile and information on any unusual activity would be passed directly to members of the ‘target’ community.
Following this course, I worked with Major Julian ‘Tony’ B training selected military people for serving with 14th Intelligence Detachment or the ‘Det’. This was a volunteer undercover surveillance unit specifically designed for operation in Northern Ireland from 1973. The aim was to create highly trained, highly skilled undercover, plain clothes surveillance operatives. It was open to all members of the armed forces (and later, highly unusually for a Special Forces unit, women were allowed to apply). Operatives came from all ranks of the military and the Special Boat Squadron (SBS). The Unit’s officers for NI operations were selected from suitable commissioned candidates.
‘Tony’, other selected SAS personnel and I ran a rigorous physical and psychological selection course for candidates at a secret camp in the Midlands and then continued the training in another training area. This training involved foot and vehicle surveillance, the accurate use of firearms carried covertly, advanced and aggressive driving, navigation, the use of ‘hides’ both rural and urban and photography. The selection and training was comprehensive as the operatives would be working alone in an extremely hostile environment where even a small mistake would lead to a ‘compromise’ and could get them killed. I went on a couple of visits to Northern Ireland to visit and operate with the ‘Det’ teams to ensure that our selection and training remained appropriate. Subsequently when the SAS was deployed to Northern Ireland we would work closely with the ‘Det’. They would carry out what they were really good at – surveillance – and we would carry out any ‘executive’ action that their surveillance necessitated. This was to ensure that the ‘Det’ operatives always maintained their anonymity. There was a certain amount of relatively good-natured rivalry between the two organisations. They called us ‘The Hooligans’ and we called them ‘The Walts’ or ‘Walter Mittys’. This friendly rivalry still continues between the Regiment and the ‘Det’s’ modern offspring, the Special Reconnaissance Regiment.
Throughout the 1970s and ’80s, the ‘Det’ was probably one of the most highly decorated organisations in the British Army but they also took a number of casualties. There was one individual we were training who was excellent in every way but as a left-hander in training ambush situations he often had trouble firing his handgun quickly from the car. The handgun was normally secreted under the right thigh while seated in a car. I was not happy for him to deploy and failed him on his course. I was overrruled and regretfully he was later shot and killed during an IRA vehicle hijack situation.
During my service with 22 SAS I was frequently away from my family for months at a time, but the CT team role meant that we remained based in Hereford, albeit at 15 minutes’ notice to move and always carrying a pager. So, throughout this four-month tour I was able to spend time at home with Cecilia, Juliette and our brand-new son, Andrew.
After my CT tour I was fortunate to be included in an SAS officer team that attended a seminar planning the counterterrorism responses for the 1980 US Winter Olympics. Four of us attended: Maurice T, ‘Spike’ H, Terry H and me. We worked with FBI agents from all over the United States as well as Secret Service agents. I was always amused when Secret Service agents would give me their business cards and there plain as day was their name and ‘Secret Service Agent’! We also worked with the US ‘Blue Light’ team from 5th Special Forces Group, a ‘Delta Force’ team and a team from the German Grenzschutzgruppe 9 der Bundespolizei (GSG 9) counterterrorism unit. GSG 9 had recently had experience in the aircraft hijack in Mogadishu which they had successfully concluded – with some assistance from Alastair M and Barry D, both from 22 SAS.
We had many interesting seminars comparing various tactical and shooting techniques as well as various methods of entry skills. There was more than a little testosterone flowing as each national and international group was keen to demonstrate its own particular expertise.
One lengthy discussion was about the best method of correctly selecting the right sort of man for a counterterrorism team – one who would be able to aggressively enter the enemy stronghold and be prepared to kill the terrorists and not freeze at a critical moment. The FBI agent running the seminar paused and looked at our group and asked, ‘Well, how do you Brits manage this problem?’ There was a slight pause and then our spokesman, Maurice T, in a rather over-laconic voice said, ‘Well, up until now, we didn’t know we had a problem.’
In late 1978 I was selected to take a four-man team to East Africa to train a presidential bodyguard. This was a task carried out on behalf of the British Foreign Office. My team members came from another squadron. They were Dave F, Vince M and Phil J. There was a long preparation required for the task as we needed to be totally self-sufficient including course materials, weapons, explosives and medical drugs.
It was a very challenging, but interesting task; however, once again, the SAS cover stories we were told to use were unconvincing, and it didn’t take long for the local expat community to realise that we were not the simple ‘builders’ that we said we were. In fact, I remember being met at the airport on arrival by the First Secretary from the British High Commission who asked me how long the British Army had been employing mercenaries. I had no idea what he was talking about but apparently the Ministry of Defence was charging the Foreign Office for all our pay and allowances. I thought it was a bit out of order for him to give me a hard time about it.
The previous presidential bodyguard team had been trained by the North Koreans and we were the first Western unit to be working in the country since their independence. We lived in a house in the hills about 30 minutes outside the capital. The country was interesting but in a poor state of repair and the military ranges we used for shooting and demolitions training had not been maintained since the British had left in the 1960s. The presidential bodyguard was organised on tribal lines and the key personnel in the team were certainly not the most effective ones. I thought it was quite ironic that, here we were, training Africans in how to use Soviet weapons and teaching them British tactics.
At the end of the tour we were taken on a tour of the game parks by the president’s office. We visited Arusha, the Ngorongoro Crater and Lake Manyara. It was an incredible experience. Many years later I was able to show Cecilia these amazing places too.
At the completion of this task we flew back to the UK by a commercial carrier and we were accompanied by a number of our stores and weapons that had been originally taken by an RAF C-130 Hercules. These items were in a diplomatic bag which travelled with us. On arrival at London Heathrow we went through the customs ‘To Declare’ channel. I duly declared to the HM Customs official on the desk that we were carrying both drugs and weapons. His face fell and after directing me to stay where I was he disappeared into the little spyroom that customs officials always have at airports. We could just glimpse lots of activity going on behind the glazed glass panels.
As we were waiting I casually observed the ‘Nothing to Declare’ channel and there was a brightly dressed Caribbean lady with a big bag on the counter with one large bottle of rum beside it. When I looked again there were three bottles; finally there were seven large bottles of rum beside her bag. She was looking distinctly crestfallen while the customs official was looking very triumphant. Meanwhile, in our channel a very self-important customs official came striding out to take over the situation. In a nutshell we had our personal phials of morphine which we carried around our necks and we had our personal 9mm Browning pistols – but no ammunition, as it had all been given to the host country. Eventually, after many phone calls and much discussion, we handed over the pistols and morphine which were then sent to Hereford police to be returned eventually to us. We got the pistols back, but we never saw the morphine again.
Return to Northern Ireland, 1978
In December 1978 we returned to Northern Ireland based outside South Armagh. We lived in small portacabins and were ostensibly part of a Royal Signals organisation. We carried out undercover rural and urban patrols as well as foot and mobile surveillance. We were working in conjunction with the ‘Det’ once again, with the intention that we would be the ‘executive arm’ if any IRA locations were discovered. We carried out OP tasks and mobile surveillance in most areas of Northern Ireland except Londonderry, which was too small for us and the ‘Det’ to operate in together.
On one occasion we received information that the police station at Warrenpoint near Newry was going to be attacked by the IRA. To prepare for this operation I flew back to a small airfield in the UK to collect a number of 9mm Heckler and Koch MP5 sub-machine guns including two SDs – the suppressed versions. I flew back with Jim V in an Army Air Corps Auster. We had to wear full immersion suits because we were flying over the Irish Sea in a single-engine aircraft. The flight began in a startling fashion when the super keen Army Air Corps pilot took off too soon after a commercial Boeing 737. The turbulence from the wake of the jet in front of us nearly inverted the stocky Auster. I was pretty pale whereas Jim, a Fijian, was an interesting shade of grey. The flight was thankfully uneventful after that dramatic beginning. We collected the weapons and headed back to Belfast.
We had carried out a full recce of the area around the police station which was bounded by civilian houses and a playing field. We borrowed a dog from somewhere and casually walked around the area remembering to look the part and not arouse suspicion. On the evening of the proposed attack we made a covert entry onto the flat roof of the police station. I had about six members of the troop with me. Other members of the troop were parked close by in a covert van to act as a quick reaction force. We positioned ourselves so that we could see the surrounding area and we had already identified likely approach routes. The police station was unmanned at this time. At about 1am, we were using the Starlight Scope, a single lens, early type of Night Vision Goggle (NVG) – but better over long distances than the more modern bifocal NVGs. NVGs were optics that utilised all the ambient light at night to provide a green, relatively clear view of one’s surroundings – like night binoculars. They were effective out to about 300 metres. Through this Starlight Scope we observed three to four figures approaching the police station from the playing field area. We repositioned ourselves to improve our fields of fire and awaited the approach of these individuals. As soon as we identified weapons we would challenge them. Unfortunately, we could not see any firearms or packages which could have been explosives, so I reluctantly withheld our gunfire. We remained in position throughout the night even though the visitors had left after about 30 minutes of studying the police station. It was clearly a reconnaissance mission prior to the actual attack. A few days later the individuals in question were arrested as part of a Special Branch operation.
On another operation we inserted an ambush in the driveway of the house of the General Officer Commanding (GOC), Northern Ireland. We had received information that his house on the outskirts of Belfast was to be attacked by an IRA active service unit. The local infantry battalion was the Black Watch and so we combined our ambush insertion with one of their routine patrols in the area. We were dressed in camouflage uniforms and heavily armed with M16s, MP5s and shotguns. The Black Watch patrol commander, a New Zealander called Dick P, decided to give me an update on what his patrols had or had not seen as he passed me in my ditch in the bushes. This was very helpful of him, but I did have to ask him rather sharply to speak to his patrol and not to keep talking directly to ‘my’ bush. Early the following morning a vehicle pulled up at the end of the road we were watching, and several men got out. I thought, ‘Here we go!’ and we all tensed waiting for the group to get closer. Disappointment again – this little group was obviously using the driveway as a ‘comfort stop’ on the way home after a long night at the local pub.
We deployed OPs whenever we received good intelligence. We often used old vans which had no military links. A driver and a ‘shotgun’ would take out the OP team and they would carry out a rolling debus near their selected ‘drop off’ point. When a patrol had completed its task or needed resupply or the collection of exposed film a pair would move from the OP to a pre-designated spot and a van would carry out this task.
On one return trip we had a major scare when some drunks in a car threw a beer bottle against the side of the van and it exploded in a shower of glass. For a heart-stopping second we thought it was a grenade or a bomb and that we were under attack. We operated very successfully using these vans but there were still clear risks. In a subsequent SAS tour one covert patrol had the misfortune to debus in the middle of a group of IRA setting up an ambush just beside the border with Eire. There was a firefight and sadly Al S, from 7 Troop, was mortally wounded. He was awarded a posthumous Military Medal for his actions in this contact. After my tour with the SAS Al S had been my signals NCO with A Company, 1 Para before he went to Hereford. I knew him well.
Despite the conditions and the environment there were, as always, many humorous incidents during this particular tour. Due to the numbers of OPs we were conducting our complexions had become distinctly pale. One of my troop, ‘Rusty’ F, felt he needed a bit of a tan on his face. He obtained a small infra-red lamp and in his free moments he would work on topping up his tan. Unfortunately, one day he fell asleep in front of the lamp and his face became bright red with blisters. He now had a bright red face to match his nickname. He was mocked unmercifully and ended up doing even more time in OPs because he was unable to go on the streets as he was immediately recognisable.
In the camp we would all eat with the young signallers in the camp cookhouse. This cookhouse had certificates behind the serving point detailing who had won the ‘Cook of the Month’ award – a prestigious award for the catering community. One day as the ‘Cook of the Month’ himself was ladling out the food, one of B Squadron’s old hands, Charlie C, leaned forward to liberate a chip from the serving tray. ‘Cook of the Month’ took exception to this and smartly whacked the back of Charlie’s hand with the ladle. Charlie, who is not someone to upset if one can possibly help it, immediately grasped the hand of the cook and pressed it briefly but firmly onto the hotplate!
On another occasion we had come back at dawn from a long OP and we all trooped into the cookhouse to make ourselves a ‘brew’ and possibly an egg banjo or two. Tak was exceptionally hungry, so he opened the freezer, took out a whole frozen chicken, placed it in a chip basket and plunged it into the chip fryer. This was Fijian fast food at its finest!
We were very fortunate in B Squadron to have five Fijians – all of them legends. Tak seemed to attract trouble – but successfully. He had acted with great aggression and gallantry at Mirbat, receiving a big hole in his back and earning himself a Distinguished Conduct Medal (DCM) in the process. Well over a decade later, after he had left the British Army, he was working as a member of a security patrol for a private military company (PMC) in Iraq. One day some insurgents in a passing vehicle fired at Tak’s vehicle and then pulled in front to force him to stop. This was a very foolish thing to do. Tak’s vehicle screeched to a stop beside the other vehicle, he jumped out and promptly shot two of the insurgents and proceeded to beat the remaining attacker with the butt of his MP5. This was despite receiving another bullet wound to add to his collection.
Tak’s Fijian compatriots in B Squadron in the 1970s and early 1980s were Jim V with a Military Medal; Tom M with a George Medal; Fred M with a British Empire Medal (BEM); and Laba Laba with a posthumous Mentioned in Dispatches. After leaving the British Army, Fred carved himself an amazing reputation as a door gunner on one of Executive Outcome’s Hind helicopters fighting the rebels in Sierra Leone including assisting on Operation Barras – this was a true case of the ‘old’ SAS lion assisting younger ‘Pilgrims’ and Paras. I am very proud to have known all of these warriors, except Laba Laba whom sadly I never met, and to call them my friends.
While in the SAS, and unusually for an officer, I also had the opportunity to attend a patrol medics course. I was attached to a major hospital in the Midlands which was a fascinating experience. The SAS medical training I had undergone at Hereford beforehand was extremely comprehensive and the hospital staff had every confidence in my ability. Here I was able to carry out minor medical procedures that were usually the remit of doctors.
I normally started my day in Accident and Emergency and then the Infirmary would organise for me to visit various elements of the hospital. It was a teaching hospital and so all the medical staff were extremely welcoming and helpful. This attachment had been going on for several years and the hospital staff always welcomed the presence of SAS personnel. I have always been interested in the medical side of life so I entered into this course with great enthusiasm and I also knew that I had a forthcoming tour to Belize. There I would be fully responsible for the health and operational ability of the SAS group on its tour. This was a polyglot team, of troop size, from B Squadron – called, in-country, F Troop. However, my enthusiasm did have a downside. I would be rung up at all hours if there was a major emergency or if an ‘interesting’ situation had arisen at the hospital. I was certainly not complaining but I did feel a bit like a ghoul, not to mention knackered at the end of each day. I helped deliver babies, assisted with suturing patients in surgery, fixed broken limbs and sat with sick patients. It is certainly a tough profession to be in – my life then, and still to this day, is involved with fit healthy men but a hospital has every type of unwell humanity.
Once when I was on duty in Accident and Emergency, I was suturing a lady with a scalp wound and I had injected a quantity of Novocain into the scalp area. The Novocain pooled and so when I inserted the suturing needle I was covered in bloody gore spurting from her scalp. She was unaware of this and so was I. After I had completed the suturing, I thanked her, and opened the curtain of the little booth we were in, so she could leave. The waiting patients sitting in the chairs in the surrounding area looked absolutely horrified. A nurse quickly appeared and suggested very diplomatically that I pop into the bathroom nearby. Looking into the bathroom mirror I discovered that my face and gown were covered in blood. I must have looked like one of Count Dracula’s henchmen as I came out of that booth.
Tour to Belize, 1979
In 1979 I went to Belize to command the SAS F Troop which was based there with the roulement British Battalion at Airport Camp. Belize, which was known as British Honduras until 1971, had on-going border tensions with Guatemala for some years and so there was a continual British Army and RAF presence. The RAF had some Harrier jets there and several Puma helicopters. Our task was to establish OPs on possible Guatemalan Special Forces infiltration routes. The Guatemalan Special Forces had been trained by the US Army. We also checked on caches that had been inserted by previous SAS patrols to ensure that they were still in good condition. These caches were to be used by SAS stay-behind patrols in the event of hostilities breaking out. We were never convinced about the utility of these caches because they were normally about ten days’ travel apart – bear in mind how difficult the Belize jungle is to move through – but only contained rations and equipment for five days. Work that one out! The caches were often unserviceable due to water ingress, pigs having dug them up, or sometimes locals having already found them. The locals, and the pigs, must have thought they had found manna from heaven. We also had the odd OP task on the roads in the rural areas where it was believed that small aircraft were landing to deliver drugs into the country. We never came across any aircraft landing, so we were never sure of the reliability of this ‘intelligence’.
Occasionally, we would spend a few days’ leave on one of the idyllic islands just off the coast of Belize. Our favourite was Caye Caulker which in those days was completely unspoiled and not well known. We would travel to the island on a wooden pirogue with an enormous outboard engine captained by ‘Chocolate’, a permanently smiling local boatman.
We would take our rations and sleep on hammocks beside the beach. The locals were very friendly, particularly when Fred M would take off his sweat rag, hook it around a coconut tree and shin straight up it to collect coconuts for them and us. This was obviously an old Fijian trick but even more impressive was Fred’s ability to husk a coconut in a few seconds flat! The locals were very impressed. They were less impressed when they suspected us of releasing the turtles they had lined up, upside down, on the beach with string through holes punched through their fore-flippers. We would see these turtles swimming in the ocean as we swam over the nearby reefs. Friendly, harmless creatures, but to a Belizean, they were dinner. Fred also introduced us to his specialty, ‘melon surprise’. This was a melon in which a hole had been cut and into the hole was poured the contents of at least one bottle of ‘Barrel’ rum. Belize had numerous brands of rum but the affordable ‘Barrel’ rum came in three types – ‘One Barrel’, Two Barrel’ and ‘Three Barrel’. If I recall, ‘One Barrel’ was the cheapest and most potent. At some stage, decided by Fred, the melon would be opened, and the contents drunk/eaten. This drink made Fred smile even more than his usual broad grin. I enjoyed Fred’s melon surprises – I think!
The terrain in Belize is very difficult with endless limestone mountains with no connecting ridgelines. We called it ‘egg-box’ country. Any cut or abrasion was guaranteed to become infected in 24 hours. One of the more unpleasant diseases was leishmaniasis which is caused by the bite of certain types of sandflies and leaves gaping ulcerous holes in the faces and bodies of its victims. Gurkha troops serving in Belize were particularly susceptible to this infection and it is difficult to treat.
Following a jungle patrol one of the troop, nicknamed ‘The Toad’, had noticed a small worm appearing out of the inside of his thigh. It was diagnosed as a ‘pear worm’ parasite. The eggs of this worm are laid by flies on a human host. The egg hatches while still living in the host until the host’s skin eventually erupts into a massive boil and the worm crawls out. Its lower body is the size of the tip of a little finger and is much bigger than its head. If you try to pull the worm out it will break, and the remaining parts will cause a massive infection. ‘The Toad’ was duly taken into the small operating theatre in Airport Camp and the duty military doctor, surrounded by Toad’s interested SAS colleagues, proceeded to cut this particular worm out. It was very hot and stuffy in the operating room and we all started to feel a little queasy as the doctor dug into Toad’s thigh. Toad was being extraordinarily staunch throughout the proceedings. The worm was successfully removed and placed in a metal dish and the doctor proceeded to suture the quite large wound. Suddenly there was a great shriek which immediately terminated our queasiness and Toad almost leapt off the operating bench. It seemed that the doctor had mistaken one of Toad’s pubic hairs for the black suturing thread and given it an almighty pull.
One of our tasks in Belize was to patrol the Sarstoon River which marked the southern border with Guatemala. We had three very imposing black Gemini inflatable boats with large 40-horsepower Johnson motors on the back. We also had one 9-horsepower ‘spare’ engine. At the start of the patrol we negotiated the tricky breakers at the entrance to the Sarstoon River and roared past the crew of the Guatemalan gunboat permanently moored on their side of the river. We made sure that we all looked suitably well armed and warlike. Unfortunately, some seven days later we sheepishly putted past the same gunboat with the lead Gemini powered only by the 9-horsepower motor towing the other two inflatables with their inoperative 40-horsepower Johnsons sitting silently on their sterns. This was after two replacement Johnsons had already been brought to us by helicopter when we were further up the river. We did not dare look at the Guatemalan sailors – it was too embarrassing.
There must have been some strong Ministry of Defence loyalty to Johnsons because some years later at the beginning of the Falklands War during the initial abortive South Georgia raid an SAS boat troop operation ended up with their Johnsons failing. The crews were drifting silently and freezingly towards the Antarctic before they were rescued.
Fred, who was also my troop sergeant, and I decided to take a bus from Belize City to the border with Mexico and spend a few days’ leave visiting Chetumal, an ancient Mayan capital and port at the entrance to the Hondo River, the border with Belize. We obtained the appropriate visas from the Mexican Embassy and we set off on the bus from the brilliantly named Batty Bus Company which made a regular run to the Mexican border. The Belizeans had an expression ‘No big ’ting mun, no big ’ting’ and this was how any delay or problem was managed. The bus, loaded with people, chickens, crates, baskets and you name it, took many hours to reach Mexico.
Each of the windows of the bus was held up by pieces of wood but every so often one of these bits of wood would fall out and the window would slam shut with a noise like a gunshot. All the passengers, most of whom had been dozing, would scream and jump into the air in fright. This, combined with the casual air of nonchalance affected by the driver as he hammered the bus around blind corners on the wrong side of the road, made it a somewhat traumatic journey.
We finally left the bus at the Belize border and walked across the steel bridge over the Hondo River to the Mexican border post. There two Mexican immigration and customs officials waited, complete with Zapata moustaches, tight trousers and their high Texan-style cowboy boots resting on the counter. Hung low on their hips were gunbelts encasing rows of bullets and each holding a large silver six-gun. We greeted them in our best Spanish and received a non-committal ‘Si’ in response. I showed them my passport and visa and was given the OK to proceed. But with Fred there was a problem. He was the proud holder of a Fijian passport complete with a visa for Mexico which we had obtained from their embassy in Belize City. Fiji had gained independence from Britain in 1970, but, unfortunately, our border officials could not find Fiji in their ‘book of countries’ which had obviously not been updated for many years. Fred was therefore simply not permitted into Mexico. So, we trudged back across the bridge to Belize. We then spent the next 24 hours going back and forth across this damned bridge to try to convince the officials to let us into Mexico. In the end, a sympathetic customs officer took us on a half-day tour to see the sights and grand Mexican monuments of Chetumal in his own car before returning us back to the border post and our favourite bridge.
At the completion of this Belize tour I returned to Hereford, finished my SAS posting and was then posted, on promotion to major, to command A Company 1 Para based in Aldershot. An officer in the SAS would normally do three years initially as a troop commander. The officer then returned to his parent unit. If selected he could return later as a major and command a squadron.
I was very privileged to have spent nearly four years with 22 SAS commanding 8 Troop, the mobility troop of B Squadron. I believed then, and still do to this day, that the mainstay of the SAS remains its troopers, junior NCOs and young officers. They are what makes the SAS so successful.
I had received excellent annual confidential reports throughout my tour with 22 SAS, and I was informed by a senior officer, just before I finally left to go to Aldershot, that I was ‘shortlisted’ as one of the future commanding officers of 22 SAS. However, this was not to be.