An irish Affair Ch5

         
         
         
         
CHAPTER 5.

After four weeks well deserved leave, I was back to work. Having already packed my gear ready for the move, I was off on the COP course for the next few weeks. The course takes place back where I did my urban package for the Belfast tour. However, it’s in a separate compound and held well away from the normal Northern Ireland training.
The course is covered in a shroud of secrecy, and whatever happens inside the walls of this compound, is not permitted to leave the compound. They warned me that I could not divulge anything that is said or done, to anyone outside of our own platoon. No matter whom it was. Which if anyone ever asked, “what happens on that course?” Usually prompted the answer. “I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you.”

Most would laugh and say. “Who the fuck do you think you are.”

“Just call me Bond, James Bond.”  I replied.

Again, they’d laugh and say. “Get the fuck out of here.”

It was still dark, when the alarm went off. I just lay there for a few minutes staring out the window, wanting to just close my eyes and go back to sleep. I went down to the classroom where the instructor said.

“Okay guys we are going to start today with a Kim’s game.”

There was a number of objects on a table, I was given one minute to observe all the objects, and then they would cover them with a blanket. We then went on a five-mile run. On return, we were all given a pencil and paper and had one minute to list all the objects that were on the table before we went on the run. This happened every morning, and each morning there were different objects and an extra one added, so each day got harder. It is just a very good way for people to train their brains to take in and hold as much information as possible.

The rest of the course covered mainly photography, which included the use of extremely long and powerful lenses. Nighttime photography, using infrared film and video cameras. There was training in evasive driving, both with cars and with vans. Lots of time-spent shooting, usually with the use of pistols, pump action shotguns, and HK 53 machine guns. As the task of the COP platoon is covert. Usually we only used civilian vehicles. Though on occasions we attached ourselves to a normal overt patrol, in order to carry out a reconnaissance for a job that was about to come up. Even then, the patrol we had attached ourselves to, would have no idea why we were attached to them.  Usually we feed them some cock and bull story just to keep them from prying and asking awkward questions.

The whole idea behind COP is to maintain a constant surveillance of certain individuals, twenty-four hours a day, no matter where they went, or what they did. All their actions would be photographed, logged, reported, and if need be, acted upon. It was definitely a change from the normal routine of going out patrolling the streets every day. Although very tiring and at times stressful, the course went well.

I spent a couple of weeks back in Aldershot before the Battalion moved lock stock and barrel over to Northern Ireland. Our camp was Palace barracks, in a place called Holywood. Unfortunately, not the Hollywood everyone knows so well. Far from it. The barracks is situated pretty much opposite Belfast city airport, and can be seen quite plainly from the main dual carriageway running in-between. It’s quite big and self contained with a number of housing estates, and caters very well for families, with nurseries for children, shops, and a little club where they held shows or discos. This was by no means a prison, wives and families could go into Belfast city shopping, any time they pleased, and all were briefed before hand, on the areas to stay away from, and how to react in the event of an incident. At the end of the day, we were going to be here for the next two years, so we all had to make the best of it.

The journey over seemed a little weird, having women and children on the plane with us. This did however, mean I got to fly over in an RAF Tri-Star airliner instead of the normal C130. The down side of it though, was the constant bickering between parents and children through-out the flight. Which seem to make the flight a lot longer than usual. Then the confusion of baggage handling was even more hectic than normal. It was a relief when I finally got to the camp and away from the winging women and the screaming kids. Now all I had to do was get settled in, have a quick tour of the camp. Then off to the Naafi for a few bevies.

********

The next day I was taken over to the compound where the COP platoon was located. This was similar to the compound I did my training in, and was run in exactly the same way. It was sectioned off from the rest of the camp by a large fence, at the entrance there is an intercom system. Then at the main door, there’s a coded lock and a sign saying Admission to COP personnel only. Once inside there is a number of different rooms. One was a briefing room; another was the communication center, which is known as the Ops room (Operations room). An office for the platoon commander, and even a TV room. Next to that was a storeroom where all the specialist equipment was kept. All of which made us very self sufficient, and in so doing meant we didn’t need to get involved with the rest of the battalion, and vice a versa. We also have our own armory within the compound and a number of civilian covert cars and vans.

I was briefed on all the current operations being run at the time. These operations are now being manned by the unit who we are relieving. So I needed to start getting fitted out with my kit and get ready to begin taking over from these guys as soon as possible.
The operation our team was taking over was the observation of a farmhouse near a place called Forkhill, in the countryside. There was a player there, who they suspected of being a PIRA (Provisional Irish Republican Army) QM (Quarter Master). This was someone who kept arms and equipment for the Pira. The hope was we might be able to catch him moving some of this kit around, and maybe get pictures as evidence in order to prosecute him.

The guys our team are relieving are in an OP (Observation Post) in a tree line about three hundred meters from the house. The relief will be done over two nights. The first night the team commander and I will go in and two of their guys will come out. That way our team commander can get a face-to-face briefing from the team commander on the ground. Then the next night the two remaining guys from our team will go in and relieve the remaining two on the ground.

********

After being kitted out, I received a full briefing, on the operation. Then the team commander and myself, got ready to move out.
This is done by the use of a covert civilian van. With two of our guys dressed in civilian clothes driving and escorting in the front. Both were armed with 9mm pistols, with the passenger having either a pump action shotgun or a HK 53 machine gun under the passenger seat. We were sat in the back, in pitch darkness. The passenger is constantly updating us on where and how long we had to go before the drop off.

As the approach to the drop off got closer, he would begin to count down 

“Three hundred meters”

“Two hundred meters”

“One hundred meters”

Then he began to describe the area where we will be getting out.

“Left side of the road is a three foot fence with wooden posts,”

“Right side of the road is an eight foot thicket hedge, with some gaps in it”

“Fifty meters”

“Thirty meters”

“Okay stopping now.”

Once the van stopped, the driver turned out the lights and the passenger got out, quickly checking the area and quietly opening the door. We climbed out and the two guys we were relieving got in. Once we were in cover and the van had left, we met one of the guys from the OP who had been waiting for us. He introduced himself and said,
“Follow me,” and we slowly moved off  to the OP. It was a large thicket bush, with the middle cut away. Just big enough for four people to live in. Once there our commander began receiving a brief from the commander on the ground, and I began getting myself settled in. We were going to be here for at least two weeks before we got relieved.

The next night was a carbon copy of the night before until the whole team was in place. Then began the task of observing, photographing, logging and reporting. We take it in turns, one observing, another giving rear protection, and two sleeping. We stagger the routine so the person who wakes up goes on to rear sentry first. This allow’s him to wake up properly before going onto observing an hour later. We have to eat cold food because we are too close to cook. The smell from cooking would give us away. There is no smoking allowed, which was a killer for some smokers. This would be the routine for the next two weeks.

This was just one of a number of different types of operations we had running. Others included Close protection. Where a Judge had been receiving death threats. Therefore, we would have a team living in his house in case anyone tried to make good on that threat. We had a team assisting the SAS on one of their operations. So, we would certainly be kept busy while we were over here.

********

Once our two weeks were up and we had been relieved we got a few days to rest and relax before receiving a briefing for our next OP. Most of the Ops are sent down to us from either the SAS, or RUC (Royal Ulster Constabulary) Special Branch. Who deal with counter terrorism.
Not all Ops are against PIRA; we had to remember that the Loyalists also had their own terrorist organizations, like the UVF (Ulster Volunteer Force), among a few, and are treated no differently than the Republican organizations. All these organizations received exactly the same attention from us, and all were treated with contempt.

One of my favorite tasks is driving or escorting in the covert cars and vans. Some are drop offs like mentioned before, and some are what we call Live and Dead Letter box’s, These are fairly similar to the drop offs, but instead of people being involved, we are dropping off or picking up some item off equipment or intelligence. The difference between a live letterbox and a dead one, is simply a live letterbox has a guy there to receive or hand over the item. A dead letter box is a specific location where the item is hidden and picked up later.
It was whilst carrying out these tasks that a few of us began to have ideas of our own. Ideas that started as a mere fantasy, but would later, due to certain circumstances, begin to become a very real possibility.

Mac and I continued to be close friends and were soon joined by one of the guy’s from Mac's team, Patrick Gerraty. He was Northern Irish born and bred and was known to us all as Pat. He was a typical Irishman, pint sized and always joking. With a dry sense of humor, which was enhanced by his broad Irish accent. We almost always spent our time off together, and went down to places like Newtown Hamilton on the piss; it wasn’t long before we were known as the three musketeers. Pat had a real hatred of anything Republican, and didn’t give a shit who knew about it. Little did we know how invaluable this would be in the future.

Most of the first year went without incident as far as the COP was concerned. Although the rest of the battalion had a number of incidents. Whilst patrolling around Woodburn in west Belfast. Which was their AOR. Some of which resulted in casualties. Some minor, some very major, but luckily for us no fatalities. At least not yet. But things began to change, and in a way that made some of us begin to question the way we were doing things out here.

********

Three months had gone by when we heard that Pira had discovered Pat was a member of the British Army. As a result, they went round to his parent’s house in Belfast. Forced their way in, and shot his father three times. Once in the head, and twice in the chest. They then turned to his mother and said see how your British son likes that you whore, and ran out the door, into a car, and sped off into the night.

Pat was devastated, none of us knew what to say or do. He was given compassionate leave, so he could attend to his mother and sister, and arrange for the funeral. When he returned you could instantly tell he was never going to be that funny, happy go lucky Irish man ever again. He walked around with a constant look of hatred on his face, and if he hated republicans before, well god knows how he felt about them now. Luckily he was in the COP, I would hate to think what would happen if he was patrolling the streets with the rest of the battalion, and stopped a catholic in the street. At least in the COP you don’t get to come face to face with any of these bastards. At least you’re not supposed to.

All three of us were as usual sitting in the Naafi bar. “Remember that shit we were talking about?” Pat said to Mac and me as we were sipping our pints of lager.

“What shit?”  I said.

He looked around the room, and then leaned closer to us. “You know, about getting our own back on these bastards?”

“Well yes.”  Mac said hesitantly. Staring straight at me as he took a sip from his glass.

“Well I think it’s about time we made it a reality don’t you?”

“Hang on a minute,” I replied, “it's one thing to waffle about it, but to actually go out and do it.”

Pat turned his gaze to me. “You’re a good one to talk, ... didn’t your brother get wasted by these bastards.”

“Well yes, but come on.-”

“Hang on” said Mac, “maybe Pat’s right, it’s about time we gave these fuckers a taste of their own medicine.”

I gave Mac a long glare, thinking he was going to back me up. “Jesus Christ, not you as well.”

“Why not, if anyone can pull it off, it’s us. We have the know how, and we certainly have the recourses.”

“I think we should all go back and sleep on it and if we all feel the same way in the morning, well. We better sit down and work out how we are going to go about it, don’t you?”

Pat leaned back in to his chair. “That’s more like it,” he said.

It was the first time I had seen Pat smile since the death of his father. Something told me this was not just the booze talking, and that it was not going to be forgotten by the morning. God help us all, I could see my whole army career going down the toilet, and spending the rest of my life in prison. Still what the heck, you only live once, and these bastards did deserve it, that’s for sure.

********

In the morning, Pat couldn’t wait to come crashing into our room. He stood there buck naked, and started. “Well, when should we get started.”

“For God’s sake Pat, put some clothes on will you,” I said

Mac sat up wiping the sleep from his eyes. “What’s he going on about?”

“You know, what we said in the bar last night.” Pat said.

“Wow” I said, “keep it down, do you want the whole world to know about it.”

“What the fuck are we talking about,” Mac said , still half-asleep. 

“I take it you don’t remember last night’s conversation then Mac,” I replied.

“What conversation.”

“Had a few too many did we.” I said.

You could see by the anger in Pat’s face he was really getting pissed off.

“For fuck sake Mac you’re useless, you know, about getting some pay back.”

“Oh that conversation, I take it we weren’t kidding around then.”

“No we weren’t,”  Pat said

“Okay” I said, “this is not the place to be discussing this, we will have to get together a little later, where no one can possibly get any idea what were up to.”

“Where,” said Pat.

“I don’t know, give me some time to wake up properly and do some thinking, then I’ll get back to you later today.”

“Great” said Pat, and shot out of the room.

Mac just laid in bed, with a vacant look on his face, still trying to take in everything that had just happened.

“Well that’s one way to start the day,” he said, got up and headed for the washroom. And I did the same.

I started the day as normal, after having a shower and getting dressed I headed over to the compound to see what was going down. The boss (Platoon Commander) said we are having a bit of a quiet period and there isn’t a lot going on.

“Take some time to yourself, and I will get in touch if I need you.”

“No problem.” I replied.

As I couldn’t be bothered to go to breakfast this morning. I headed over to the Naafi for a coffee and a snack. I sat there drinking my coffee and began to contemplate what was discussed earlier. We need somewhere we can meet, and not be noticed. The only place I can think of is the parachute-training hanger. That is rarely used, and it was open enough, that you could hear and see anyone entering. This place isn’t locked so we wouldn’t be seen asking for, or collecting the key.

As soon as I had finished my snack break, I went looking for Pat and Mac to let them know, and arrange a time for our first meeting. There was a lot to discuss, so I spent the rest of the day in deep thought. Trying to come up with some sort of game plan. I wanted to be as prepared as I could before the meeting took place. Pat and Mac are great mates and good soldiers, but they aren’t the sharpest tools in the box when it comes to planning things. So there was no way I was going to let them two sort out the planning phase, or we would all wind up in prison before we even got started.

The meeting was planned for 1900 hours, that night, everyone would be heading out on the town and so would not be interested in what we were up to. Also, the hanger would be empty at that time and it will still be light enough, so no need to use the lights. I began feeling nervous with the meeting looming ever closer. The one thing I did know was, we had to approach this professionally if we were to have any chance of pulling it off. There was no room for stupidity or heroics; these would only get us caught. This was going to go one of two ways, either we will pull it off and get some payback, or we will all wind up in prison before we can say, “it's not what it seems.” The one thing I was worried about, was these two being able to keep their big mouths shut after they had been drinking. Both liked to brag once they had a few bevies inside them. One silly slip of the tongue and it will be over, for all of us.