Sniper Fire in Belfast. Shaun Clarke

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      ‘Settle down, men,’ Lieutenant Cranfield said when he had taken his place on the small platform in the briefing room, beside Captain Dubois and an Army sergeant seated at a desk piled high with manila folders. When his new arrivals had quietened down, Cranfield continued: ‘You men are here on attachment to 14 Intelligence Company, an intelligence unit that replaced the Military Reconnaissance Force, or MRF, of Brigadier Kitson, who was Commander of Land Forces, Northern Ireland, from 1970 to 1972. A little background information is therefore necessary.’

      Some of the men groaned mockingly; others rolled their eyes. Grinning, Cranfield let them grumble for a moment, meanwhile letting his gaze settle briefly on familiar faces: Sergeants Lampton, Ricketts and Parker, as well as Corporal Jock McGregor and Troopers ‘Gumboot’ Gillis and Danny ‘Baby Face’ Porter, all of whom had fought bravely in Oman, before returning to act as Directing Staff at 22 SAS Training Wing, Hereford. There were also some recently badged new men whom he would check out later.

      ‘In March 1972,’ Cranfield at last began, ‘shortly after the Stormont Parliament was discontinued and direct rule from Westminster substituted, selected members of the SAS, mainly officers, were posted here as individuals to sensitive jobs in Military Intelligence, attached to units already serving in the province. Invariably, they found themselves in a world of petty, often lethal jealousies and division among conflicting agencies – a world of dirty tricks instigated by Military Intelligence officers and their superiors. The MRF was just one of those agencies, causing its own share of problems.’

      Now Cranfield glanced at the newcomer, Martin Renshaw, who had endured Sergeant Lampton’s perfect impersonation of an Irish terrorist during the horrendous final hours of the RTI exercises during Continuation Training. What was more, he had done so without forgetting that it was only an exercise, unlike so many others, who were RTU’d as a result. According to his report, Renshaw was a serious young man with good technological training, pedantic tendencies, and heady ambitions.

      ‘As some of you have come straight from Oman,’ Cranfield continued, ‘it’s perhaps worth pointing out that certain members of the MRF were, like the firqats of Dhofar, former enemies who had been turned. Occasionally using these IRA renegades – known as “Freds” – as spotters, the MRF’s Q-car patrols identified many active IRA men and women, sometimes photographing them with cameras concealed in the boot of the car. Too often, however, MRF operations went over the top, achieving nothing but propaganda for the IRA.’

      ‘Just like the green slime,’ Gumboot said, copping some laughs from his mates and, as Cranfield noticed, a stony glance from his uneasy associate, the Army intelligence officer Captain Dubois.

      ‘Very funny, Trooper Gillis,’ Cranfield said. ‘Perhaps you’d like to step up here and take over.’

      ‘No, thanks, boss. Please continue.’

      Cranfield nodded, secretly admiring Gumboot’s impertinence, which he viewed as a virtue not possessed by soldiers of the regular Army. ‘In 1972 a couple of embarrassing episodes led to the disbandment of Kitson’s organization. Number one was when a two-man team opened fire with a Thompson sub-machine-gun from a moving car on men standing at a Belfast bus stop. Though both soldiers were prosecuted, they claimed they’d been fired at first. The second was when the IRA assassinated the driver of an apparently innocuous laundry van in Belfast. This led to the revelation that the company that owned the van, the so-called Four Square Laundry, was actually an MRF front, collecting clothing in suspect districts for forensic examination.’

      ‘Proper dirty laundry,’ Jock McGregor said, winning a few more laughs.

      ‘Yes,’ Cranfield said, ‘it was that all right. Anyway, those two incidents caused a stir and brought an end to the MRF, which was disbanded early in 1973. But it soon became apparent that as the police, whether in or out of uniform, were soft targets for gunmen, a viable substitute for the MRF was required. This would require men who could penetrate the republican ghettos unnoticed, and who possessed keen powers of observation, quick wits, and even quicker trigger fingers.’

      ‘That’s us!’ the normally quiet Danny Porter, ‘Baby Face’, said with a shy grin.

      ‘Not at that time,’ Cranfield replied, ‘though certainly the training officer for the new team was then serving with 22 SAS. In fact, the new unit, formed at the end of 1973, was 14 Intelligence Company. While it was the job of that company to watch and gather information about the IRA, the SAS’s function was to act on the intelligence supplied by them and take action when necessary.’

      ‘Excuse me, boss,’ Taff Burgess asked, putting his hand in the air like an eager schoolboy. ‘Are you saying that 14 Intelligence Company never gets involved in overt action against the IRA? That they’ve never had, or caused, casualties?’

      ‘No. They have suffered, and have caused, casualties – but only when spotted and usually only when the terrorist has fired first. Their function is to gather intelligence – not to physically engage the enemy. That’s our job. To do it within the law, however, we have to know exactly who and what we’re involved with here in the province.’

      Cranfield nodded at the Army sergeant standing beside the intelligence officer. The sergeant started distributing his manila folders to the SAS troopers sitting in the chairs. ‘The information I’m about to give you,’ Cranfield said, ‘is contained in more detail in those folders. I want you to read it later and memorize it. For now, I’ll just summarize the main points.’

      He paused until his assistant, Sergeant Lovelock, had given out the last of the folders and returned to his desk.

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