Operation Lavivrus. John Wiseman

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СКАЧАТЬ is going to be critical,’ stated Peter, who got the ball rolling. ‘We can’t afford to get involved in a firefight.’ The mission was covert, so stealth was their best bet. If they were compromised at any stage, a rapid withdrawal was the strategy –what they called ‘shoot and scoot’.

      ‘What about silenced weapons?’ asked Chalky.

      ‘What do you think, Tony?’ Peter handed the question to Tony.

      ‘It’s so windy down there that I think they’ll be useless.’

      Silenced weapons fire sub-sonic ammunition, which is slow, leaving them at the mercy of the wind. Range is also limited, and the stronger the wind, the less accurate they become. In a confined area they are noisy, much louder than the dull thud you hear in movies.

      ‘If the wind is that strong we’ll probably get away with the odd shot,’ offered Phil.

      ‘Maybe, but I definitely want some night sights in the patrol,’ countered Peter.

      After further discussion and much deliberation Tony issued the following orders. ‘OK, lads. Every man an Armalite; Chalky, Fred, night sights. Grab some ammo and I’ll see you on the range.’

      The AR15 had all the credentials needed to make it a first-class weapon. It was light, reliable, with a good rate of fire. The only modification that the lads would make was to cover the magazine release catch with a strip of tape to prevent accidental release.

      Close to the camp was the 50-metre range. This had a railway line running past on one side and open fields on the other. There was a gypsy camp nearby, and sometimes they grazed their ponies on the range. Local kids, especially from the married quarters, used to glean the ranges frequently, picking up empty cases and the occasional live round. The MOD police patrolled the area regularly after strong complaints were made by the local school from teachers who had caught their pupils with some interesting souvenirs. These patrols were ineffective; they just tested the inbred skills of the kids, making it more of a challenge, raising the price of the bounty they found.

      ‘Let’s make it interesting and have a kitty, winner takes all. Are you all in favour?’ asked Tony. A show of hands confirmed this, and got the banter going.

      ‘You may as well give me the money now,’ insisted Ron. He was the youngest member of the troop.

      ‘If you shoot like you did last week you’ll do better with a bayonet,’ replied Fred.

      To the side of the retaining wall, which was heaped with sand, there was a scoreboard reading, ’Moles 0 – Brummie 4’. Brummie was the range warden, a retired soldier, who waged a constant war on the moles that were responsible for the unsightly mounds of earth that spoilt the appearance of the well-kept grass. He nagged the lads, constantly telling them to pick up all their empties, burn the rubbish and repair the targets with paste when they finished.

      Tony was talking to the warden when Peter butted in. ‘Come on, let’s get started,’ he said in a brusque voice.

      ‘What’s wrong with him?’ asked Brummie. ‘Wrong time of the month? And what’s happened to his eye?’

      Breathing control is the secret to accurate shooting. Inhaling strongly through the nose, taking up the first pressure on the trigger while focusing on the target, is the first stage. Holding the breath when the aim is confirmed is the second stage. Squeezing the trigger is the final phase. This eliminates any wavering of the weapon.

      The only disturbance they had was the 10.30 from Cardiff. A few excited passengers were seen starring out the windows as the train sped by. This did not stop the lads shooting. Once they started they finished the practice; only a fault with a weapon would prevent this. When all the detail had stopped firing they were checked by Tony and Peter before getting the ‘guns clear’, which allowed them to dress forward and check their targets.

      Corporal Phil Jones was the best shot of the day. His group of ten rounds could all be covered by a single patch. His MPI (main point of impact) was one inch above dead centre.

      ‘Well done, Phil. Here’s the loot.’ Peter handed over the kitty to an outstretched hand the size of a dinner plate. ‘Don’t spend it all at once.’

      ‘I’m slightly high, but at 100 yards I will be spot on,’ the tall corporal commented, stuffing the handful of loose change in his pocket. Phil was a country lad from Somerset, a powerful six-footer. At thirty years of age he was in prime condition, and was one of those men who seemed to have been around for ever; in fact he was in his tenth year with the regiment. He played second row with Tony, forming a solid partnership.

      ‘Tony, can you cover for me till two?’ asked Pete.

      ‘Sure, Pete. Give her my love. Tell her you cut your eye shaving,’ replied Tony as he carried on cleaning up the range.

      Back in camp the lads cleaned their weapons sitting around Trooper Ron Evans’s bed space.

      ‘What’s wrong with the boss, Tony? He don’t seem too happy,’ enquired Fred.

      ‘I think he is in love again,’ replied Tony, ‘and he’s not too pleased with his eye.’

      ‘Serve him right. It might slow him down a bit,’ grumbled Phil.

      ‘What will, the girl or the eye?’ asked Tony. They carried on discussing the captain’s love life as they cleaned and oiled their weapons.

      ‘Tony, can I get away? The eldest ain’t too well. The missus was up all night with her.’ Trooper Andy Swingler was the troop signaller. He was the only member of the troop with children, and was a devoted father. He was never short of babysitters, as the troop volunteered when he wanted a night out with his wife Jane. It was a good place to take girlfriends, especially when funds were low.

      Andy’s five foot eight inch frame was packed with sinewy muscles. He was a keep-fit fanatic and could run all day. He still had his raw Brummy accent after ten years in the army.

      ‘No problem, Andy. Hand your weapon in and be back here at two. We’ve got a briefing about tomorrow,’ said Tony.

      Peter added, ‘Listen in, everyone. Tomorrow we have an early start. Parade at the guardroom 0200, arrive Lyneham 0400, fit parachutes for take-off at 0430, with P hour at 0530. Staff, will you take over? The Colonel wants to see me.’

      Tony was taken aback by Peter’s formal attitude, which did not go unnoticed by the men. He tried to maintain the same expression, continuing the briefing in fine detail.

      ‘Chalky, you will be pleased to know the DZ is Foxtrot Charlie on Sennybridge. Try not to break your leg this time.’

      Keen eyes studied the map displayed before them, following the pointer as Tony explained the run in and release points. These were determined by the wind, and the long-range forecast was favourable.

      ‘Draw and fit parachutes this afternoon, and pack your containers. Keep the weight down to sixty pounds. Three Troop are acting as enemy and have challenged us to a speed march afterwards. I’m trying to get the colonel to put up a case of beer for the winners. It’s like trying to get blood out of a stone, so I hope Pete reminds him.’

      Rendezvous points (RVs) were given so they could all meet up and clear the drop zone as a troop as quickly as possible. Emergency RVs and grid references СКАЧАТЬ