Chapter 6
David Brian Williams was bright, not only academically, but practically as well. Upon leaving his local Sixth Form College he joined the Army, having first attained the requisite number of ‘A’ levels for direct entry into the Army Air Corp as an acting Sergeant (provisional), much to his father’s disgust; he was supposed to go into the family business. After first completing his basic ‘square bashing’ as a lowly private he picked up his sergeants stripes.
‘Better put them on with Velcro luv’ the rather jealous young stores WRAC muttered, ‘You’ve got to pass the flying bit yet’, and he did. After soloing in a ‘conventional’ aircraft at ‘Basic’ Flying School, he moved quickly on to the ‘Rotary Wing’ (helicopters) ‘Advanced’ Flying School and was promptly told to ‘forget what you have just learned, you now have an extra pole in the cockpit to contend with’. He found the pole down by his left hand side, and quickly came to terms with how to push, shove and lift the ‘collective’ (the new pole), ‘cyclic stick’ (the control column) and ‘rudder pedals’ (minus the brakes as he now had skids instead of wheels) until the spritely little ‘Gazelle’ did exactly what he wanted it to do. Sometimes however he wanted it to grow a set of doors; he didn’t like it one little bit when they were occasionally removed - for ‘operational’ reasons. As he ‘passed out’, with his Father (now proudly) looking on, along with his Mother, Sisters and it seemed like Uncle Tom Cobbly and all, he daydreamed of moving on to ‘Operational’ Training on the new Westland Lynx. Not quite, after some well-deserved leave the by now Acting Sergeant Pilot Williams DB AAC, his stripes and wings now very securely sewn on, found himself flying around the sky’s in a Westland Scout, an even older type of helicopter, but at least it could be fitted with a multitude of guns, rockets and other assorted military paraphernalia. His first operational unit was based not in Germany, or one of the exotic hot spots around the World, but Middle Wallop, Stockbridge, Hampshire, in the sunny UK, where he fitted in well. He spent many a happy hour polishing the Perspex, both inside and out (with the special cleaner provided) on the aircraft that he normally flew, the Staff Sergeant in charge of flight maintenance insisted on it, ‘you fly it, you clean it, and if you make any of your passengers puke, you clean that up as well’. He would never forget the smell of that cleaning polish, each time he used it the smell would linger on his fingers for days.
As he was only a Sergeant Pilot he picked up more than his fair share of routine assignments. ‘Routine’ usually involved Bodmin Moor, rain, Royal Navy Wessex and Wasp’s (the Navy’s version of his Scout), the odd Lynx, occasionally a Chinook, and umpteen numbers of ‘Squaddies’ (Army) and ‘Hairy Fairies’ (Royal Navy maintenance crews), dressed in their new camouflage ‘you can’t see me suits’, all learning how to become ‘Booties’ (Royal Marines). As a fully trained Pilot ‘they’, for the most part, left him to his own devices, only calling on him when absolutely necessary, and this was especially true when it was one of the Navy Commando Support Squadrons working up, all their Pilots were Officers so he didn’t really fit in, so he would usually set up his ‘office’ in the small boiler room attached to the field kitchen. It was lovely and warm, even in the depths of winter, and it was definitely better than a tent. He usually shared it with his ‘duel trade’ REME fitter and a couple of other NCO’s that weren’t under training. Most mornings, after his early morning run, he would go up for an ‘air test’ with his fitter, or one of his other sleeping companions, fly down to the local village, park in a handy field and collect the newspapers, cigarettes and ‘nutty’ (that was what the Navy quaintly called sweets), and return in time for a well-earned mid-morning brew. This went on regularly for almost two years, and he quite enjoyed it, just as long as they kept the doors on his machine he was a very happy ‘Waffoo’ (Navy slang for the collective name of aeronautical gentlemen’). One day however, towards the end of a particularly wet detachment, the powers that be decided, at very short notice, to convert his perfectly watertight Scout into a gun ship, so off came the doors, and along came a Navy ordnance ‘tiffy’ to fit a GPMG (machine gun) mount, very ‘Heath Robinson-ish’ to one of his machines skids, as it was obvious that they didn’t have the correct fittings to hand. Apparently his fitter didn’t have the right ‘dual trade’ in his repertoire either, as he was very conspicuous by his absence, and so off they went, David in the driving seat and one ‘very reluctant’ volunteer ‘bomb head’ (armourer), with a big black machine gun and several boxes of blank ammunition in the back. To say the least, their mission wasn’t a total success. While shooting up the guest Pongo’s (another name for Army types) as they jumped in and out of a ‘Wezzy’ 5, (Wessex mk5 helicopter), in the mud below, first the bag catching the ejected shells split, causing vast quantities of used brass cartridge cases to roll around the cockpit floor, then the GPMG, with all the vibration, shook itself loose and vacated the aircraft. Fortunately the ‘bomb head’ had the sense to let it go, after all it wasn’t his, and luckily it didn’t hit anyone on arrival on terra firma, only a big rock that was quite innocently lying there minding its own business. They obviously had to land and pick the thing up; you can’t just leave something like that lying around in the mud, so as gently as he could he set the now unarmed gunship down into the mud, but unfortunately not that gently. With the assistance of the ‘down wash’ from the main rotor blades they were covered; him, his ‘bomb head’, and the entire aircraft (both inside and out), in mud, glorious mud. Things did not improve very much after that either. His passenger, for that was what he now was, retrieved the rather bent weapon, tied it down in the cargo bay (ten minutes earlier it had been the weapons bay) and he lifted off; enter more mud. On his way back to ‘the line’, the place where he could ‘park’ his Scout, the passenger, or rather the contents of his stomach decided it had had enough, and with all that wide open space beside him, he let it arrive on the cargo bay floor. Just to put the final touch to a perfect flight it then started to rain. After they landed, and with the help of his very reluctant fitter they cleaned the beast, inside and out, after all he ‘out ranked’ them both and R.H.I.P (‘rank has its privileges’), but just before his by now ‘thoroughly hacked off’ matelot departed, with a machine gun that could now fire round corners over his shoulder, David asked him to explain one thing, ‘what on earth is a tiffy?’
Spitting at a passing frog the sailor explained that at the utterance of ‘that’ word you had to spit, not only at a frog, anything would do, and then went on to explain that they (tiff’s - spit) were direct entry whiz kids who after 4 or 5 years in the classroom, and with perhaps just a smidging of ‘hands on’ training, passed out as ‘Senior Rates’. ‘They can tell you the square root of a jar of pickles - but can’t actually open one’.
David looked at the machine gun and nodded. What ‘quaint old nautical expressions’ and ‘customs’ one came across on these wonderful little adventures, and they came complete with their own language. To be fair they had ‘Artificers’ in the REME (the Army’s mechanics), so he knew they were really highly skilled technicians, but as he always liked to say, ‘mustn’t let the truth get in the way of a good story’, and in future he most certainly wouldn’t forget to spit.
On return to his Squadron the next day, tired, dirty, and ‘thoroughly hacked off’, he had a long luxurious shower in the Aircrew rest room and then sat down to watch ‘live’ on television the SAS storming the Iranian Embassy. Remembering that he had recently seen a memo on the bulletin board saying ‘if you are fed up with life, come and join us, you may not live long but you will certainly enjoy it while it lasts’ (perhaps not a literal translation, but close enough), he grabbed his beret and marched smartly into the Adjutant’s Office, requesting a transfer to the SAS, and apparently the SAS had, at that time, priority when it came to the allocation of ‘available resources’, and he was an ‘available resource’. Despite being a Pilot, and a rather ‘valuable’ one at that, according to his Squadron Commander (that was news to him)
, he was still only an ‘available resource’ so his CO had no option but to pass on his request. That evening he rang his parents, they were mortified. He then rang his friend Charlie, he was much more enthusiastic.
David first came across Charlie Watkins when, on a fine summers day, he saw the usual gaggle of playground bullies picking on a new boy, the boy was quite short for his age but fairly stocky. He appeared to be riding out the verbal abuse so far, but David correctly assumed that things were going to get a lot worse. Remembering what his father always said, ‘right is right, wrong is wrong, and always stick up for the underdog’ (what that had to do with the price of cod he didn’t know) he went to the new boy’s aid and what quickly ensued was a playground scrap of epic proportions, two second years against four third years, the outcome was a foregone conclusion, they massacred them, and as the Headmaster was handing out ‘six of the best’ to all and sundry, a friendship was born that no one could put asunder, a few tried but they usually ended up with a visit to the Headmaster as well. Away from school they became almost inseparable. As they re-enacted the usual things that boys of their age re-enacted David would lead the charge over the parapet, with Charlie close behind, covering his back. That was what Charlie did best; not a born leader but everybody wanted him on their side.
When David moved on to the Sixth Form College to do his ‘A’ levels, Charlie went off and joined the Army as a ‘boy soldier’, and by the time David joined the Air Corp several years later Charlie was by then a ‘real’ soldier in the Royal Tank Regiment, where his lack of height stood him in good stead; he could actually fit into the driving seat of a Main Battle Tank and not bang his head on the hatch above him. Charlie quite enjoyed driving around Salisbury Plain in his new ‘super toy’, but what he didn’t enjoy were the ‘live’ firings at high speed, over rough terrain. When he wasn’t trying to knock himself senseless on the hatch, the gunner was trying to deafen him with the 105mm gun, just inches above him, so when David, sorry Sergeant Williams, rang him to tell him his news, the by now Lance Bombardier Watkins CF decided that enough was enough, and it was time to join his friend, so he did, on the next ‘Induction Course’.
The specially designed three week long course was to find out if they had the right ‘intestinal fortitude’ to start the ‘proper’ training. They both expected a hard time but it was a nightmare. Both thought they were ‘above average’ when it came to physical fitness, wrong, it was horrendous; the SAS only wanted the ‘best of the best’ so the course was deliberately designed to be both physically and mentally draining, with an overdose of sleep deprivation thrown in. One of their ‘favourite’ recollections was that on returning exhausted from a midnight cross-country run, with only a rock filled haversack on their backs to keep them company, they were herded (by this time only ten out of the original sixteen) into a dimly lit shed. Scattered around the floor were an assortment of parts, some of which, they were reliably informed, would make up fully functioning AK47’s. None of them had ever seen a complete Soviet AK47 Assault Rifle close up, never mind in bits.
‘Right’, screamed a sweet and gentle natured Corporal, at the top of his oversized lung’s, ‘the first one to assemble a weapon, double down to the indoor range (about a mile away) with it, and get five bulls will get to lie in until oh six ‘undred tomorrow. The rest of you lot will be up at oh five ‘undred for some invigorating PT’. As six o’clock was the normal time that they were aroused from their exhausted slumber, that is if they weren’t already out and about doing some inane act of insanity, it wasn’t so much that the winner won, it was that the rest lost. ‘If any of you, god forbid, ever manage to pass out from ‘real’ training you will be able to do this in under a minute, blindfolded’. David and Charlie joined forces, ‘team work - ten extra points’, and with more luck than judgement they managed to assemble two weapons in less than ten minutes; both weapons seemed to look right, butt at one end, hole at the other to let the rounds come out, and a slot in the middle for the magazine. It was now time to show all and sundry that they had faith in their own workmanship. They were ‘joint first’ as they arrived at the range and stumbled inside; and on a table they found an assorted pile of loaded magazines. They found the right ones, and were about to snap them into place when both weapons were wrenched from their hands, and quickly the waiting Instructors checked them over. While it would seem that the Instructors didn’t mind them ‘half’ killing’ themselves outside (after all they were all volunteers), in here they didn’t want them to ‘actually’ kill themselves with an exploding, incorrectly assembled weapon, much too much paperwork. With magazines now firmly clipped into place they stepped up to the firing line and whilst David would do almost anything for his best friend, an extra hour’s kip was something else, so five quick pulls on the trigger and he was the proud owner of an extra hours sleep. Sweet dreams.
They kept their substantive ranks and three weeks later, as ‘just plain’ Sergeant Williams and equally plain Lance Corporal Watkins they reported to the Stirling Lines for the first time, and they both had their heads held high. Only seven had finally finished the Course, and out of them only five were finally accepted. That was about average. They survived basic training and received their converted ‘who dares wins’ beret badges. David then going on to sub specialise as a sniper, Charlie as a medic. It really didn’t seem right for a person with Charlie’s skill with a K-Bar (a US Marines fighting knife) to choose to be a medic, but he was to make a fine one, even using his razor sharp knife on more than one occasion to help save lives, then they both joined a troop that had been involved in the ‘Embassy’ siege, so as the new boys on the block they had a lot to live up too, and they did, both quickly becoming indispensable members of their team.
During the Falklands Conflict David collected the first of his Distinguished Conduct Medals. He and his spotter were well camouflaged on the side of a hill covering his colleagues with his hand built sniper’s rifle, as they reconnoitred ‘up close’ a coastal installation that the Argentineans had constructed after they had occupied South Georgia earlier that month. Plans to retake the Island were well advanced, but a great deal of intelligence was still required - and quickly, so they were ‘quickly’ bundled into a Special Duties Hercules at the Ascension Islands and carried out a halo parachute decent (high altitude departure from the aircraft, low altitude opening of their parachutes) over the Island. Their landing was so accurate that David almost landed on top of the SBS (Special Boats Service) Corporal who was awaiting their arrival. These men were the Royal Marines equivalent of the SAS (their motto being ‘Not by Strength, by Guile’) and the Corporal’s small three man team had been inserted from a submarine a few days earlier, for a ‘quickie’ recon. They had then been diverted just as they were about to return to the submarine to join up with their Army compatriots’. The now joint service ‘recon’ went well, until it was time for them to exit the area. As the team were stealthily making their way back along the floor of the valley below, David, high above, spotted a large contingent of Argentinean soldiers heading their way, so his spotter radioed the patrol, which immediately went to ground. The team were in a very precarious position but fortunately for them it must have been an Argentinean training exercise, with hastily assembled conscripts, rather than a serious patrol. There were an awful lot of them but most of them seemed to be more interested in some football result or other rather than looking for insurgents, but unfortunately it then suddenly seemed to be about time for their comfort break. The Argentineans really didn’t seem to be in any hurry to move on, and it would only be a matter of time before his patrol was compromised so David, despite being well concealed high above, deliberately exposed his position to the conscripts below, hoping to distract their attention away from his friends, and praying that this was the first time that any of the conscripts had actually pulled a trigger, he opened up, clearing a much needed escape route for his comrades. All the team got out, with most of them in one piece, but there must have been at
least one regular soldier below because three rifle rounds found their marks, two in David, one in his shoulder and the other in his side - breaking a couple of his ribs, and another giving his spotter a very nasty graze on the side of his head, knocking him unconscious. He continued firing despite the agonising pain, not even pausing to self-inject morphine, there just wasn’t time, until finally, just as his team below made good their escape, a fourth round shattered the scope on his rifle, blinding him in one eye. Now really was the time to think of his and his spotter’s safety. Somehow, half dragging his now semi-conscious colleague they made their way up over the top of the hill and around the enemy, with only his side arm (and one usable arm and eye) for protection. Fortunately they avoided detection and about three hours later they staggered into their now safe colleagues’ camp. He was about to go into shock, and was suffering from loss of blood so Charlie, now a full Corporal grabbed his medical kit and prepared to give his friend an emergency blood transfusion. He connected the tube directly onto the intravenous cannula already in David’s arm, they all had a cannula inserted into their arm before each operation, and then it was taped over, just in case such a situation as this arose. Charlie patched David up as well as he could, which under the circumstances was ‘way above his pay grade’ but it was enough so that they could all reach the pre-arranged rendezvous point where a long range ‘Chinook’ swiftly lifted them off the Island and onto SS Uganda’s waiting flight deck. Surgeon’s then completed Charlie’s handy work. Major Jake, their leader on that raid, who would very soon be ending up as ‘the Colonel’ of 22nd Regiment SAS, had no hesitation in recommending his Staff Sergeant for a medal, and Charlie was also ‘Mentioned in Dispatches’. Apparently he’d had a busy few minutes as well, when the exiting troops had come across a small group of conscripts foolishly taking a quick cigarette break. They couldn’t go around them so Charlie had quietly gone through, ensuring that they all gave up smoking - permanently, then a few minutes later, when they were all relatively safe, he had continued using his knife, but this time on his injured mates. Medical supplies may have been running low but not his new found skills.
The tri-service medical team, which had been hastily embarked on SS Uganda in the UK, included the QARANC’s (Queen Alexandra’s Royal Army Nursing Corp) prettiest Nurse; well David thought she was when he opened his good eye following surgery. Her name was Caroline she told him, he wasn’t really interested in her surname; the Padre back at Base would soon be changing that. They quickly became inseparable, and as he slowly recovered (although his eye was still a particular worry) Caroline became his ‘personal’ Nurse, only leaving his side when other duties called. After the Sir Galahad tragedy David, who was by now on the mend and classified as ‘walking wounded’, was moved to an empty first class cabin and didn’t see her for four days. It was an interminably long period of time, and although he understood that what she was doing was important he just wasn’t used to this new feeling inside him, so when she finally managed to get the time to visit him, the first thing that he said to her, as she stood exhausted in the doorway was - ‘will you please marry me?’ Later, when she had been suitably ‘relaxed’ they went to find a Padre. David didn’t have to wait until they returned to England too change her surname.
When the RAF finally got the Stanley Airfield open for none ‘active service’ aircraft, he was first flown by a medevac VC10 to a BMH (British Military Hospital) in Germany. There, with specialist equipment they sorted his eye out, as there was no requirement for a one eyed sniper in the Regiment, then by a noisy old Hercules to England. They may be married but Caroline was still doing her job on the Uganda, so when it sailed majestically into harbour with Caroline still on board, David was waiting proudly on the dockyard jetty with a smile on his face, and a leave chit and the keys to their newly rented flat in his pocket. A sympathetic Appointment’s Clerk had even arranged for Caroline to be transferred to his base’s hospital, after a belated honeymoon of course, and David and Caroline quickly settled down to military life as a married couple.
David did the ‘long’ Spanish language course and then expected to be sent on a quick rest tour to some friendly, Spanish speaking Country, as an adviser to their Special Forces. He did, but to many Countries, and for a very long time. He was still operational, but more and more of his time was soon being spent training others, and he was very good at it. He was a natural in fact; 6 weeks here, 3 months there, it was the perfect life for them. When he was at base, when not honing his skills on his new rifle, or passing on his knowledge to a younger generation, he was getting himself a name as a marksman of renown. Of course a member of the SAS could not be seen shooting at International Competitions, but he was there, in the background giving invaluable support.
As time marched on both David and Caroline progressed well through the ranks, so when a young sniper fell off his motorcycle Caroline’s Nurses treated him, and David replaced him, and found himself, at very short notice, lying behind a sand dune watching a group of Saddam’s Republican Guard bivouacking around their tanks. He was by now a Warrant Officer 2nd class, and starting to feel his age, he was not that old; he was just ‘experienced’, having more ‘experience’ than the rest of his patrol, and instead of his trusty rifle he held a high tech laser designator in his hands, and it was sighted on what he estimated was the ‘middle of the pack’ tank. Not that it really mattered too much to the majority of the bombs that were heading in the tanks general direction at that very moment; they were ‘dumb’ bombs. As the Armourer in charge of loading the bombs into one venerable old B52 bomber had told its pilot (who was younger than his aircraft), ‘If you manage to get this thing airborne (by the grace of the curvature of the Earth), and you find the target, I will give you a 100% guarantee that every bomb that releases will hit the ground, where, I haven’t got a clue, but somewhere’. When a B52 ‘carpet bombs’, be assured it requires an awfully large ‘carpet’, but some of the aircraft though were loaded with the newer ‘smart’ bombs; they had the ability to ‘home in’ where David’s designator was pointing, and this verily enhanced the Bombardiers’ chance of actually hitting something, but unfortunately it was one of the ‘dumber’ variety of bombs that arrived in their vicinity, its tail cone had either detached itself, or been knocked off by another bomb on exiting the aircraft, either way it took on the flying characteristics of a house brick and decided on a route of its own. After tumbling through the sky it chose to land on a conveniently placed camouflage net, unfortunately the conveniently placed camouflage net in question was inconveniently placed over the top of one of David’s patrol wagons, and the canvas didn’t seem to slow down the 500 lb. armour piercing bomb in the slightest. The bomb itself had not armed, as its arming vane was still fluttering to earth somewhere else, but that did not matter in the slightest, anything of that weight and at terminal velocity was going to wreak havoc anyhow. It passed through the canvas and the wagon in a milli-second, causing the wagon, which held spare fuel and enough explosives to start a small war of its own, to erupt, and it didn’t help matters that one of the other wagons was in its ‘exploding circle’, and so were seven of David’s team. David was fortunately close to neither vehicle, so leaving the designator pointing at the tanks he clambered into his own vehicle and returned to the scene of devastation. There is absolutely nothing ‘friendly’ about ‘friendly fire’, three of his team were dead, four others were very badly injured, and he had to assume that their position had been compromised, after all there were clouds of smoke now billowing up into the sky from the wrecked vehicles. He quickly had the team’s medic, who was fortunately only slightly injured, and the two remaining uninjured members of his team load the dead and injured into two of the surviving vehicles, and topping the vehicles up with all the remaining medical supplies, and most of the water, he sent them post haste back to safety, but David remained behind with his own truck, a small amount of water, a considerable amount of weapons and ammunition, and an even larger supply of explosives
of every description. He knew that it would take time for the Iraqis’ to get organised, but they would eventually come and investigate (and seek revenge) so he set as many booby traps as he could around the wreckage site, and then slowly moved out after his men, every now and then planting more land mines and claymores in, and to the sides of their track, and despite being fairly well occupied with the remainder of the bombs raining down around him, one vigilant soldier had indeed noticed their predicament, and when the bombing had run its course, and some semblance of order was regained, he reported his observation to the surviving Senior (but very junior) Officer who was ‘well out of his depth’. Panicking, the Officer dispatched a sizable force to exact retribution, but unfortunately most the men he sent were relatively inexperienced, only a couple of the NCOs having ever seen any action before, in Iraq, and they were woefully inadequately supplied, so when they finally caught up with David a day and a half later, there were considerably less of them than when they had started out, due to his handiwork. He was waiting for them in a place of his choosing, and he was surrounded by weapons and ammunition; if he was going to go down he would take as many of them as he could with him, but he didn’t go down, in fact he didn’t even get a scratch, but a lot of Sadam’s elite did. In the half-light he put up a barrage of withering fire, changing weapons often, and sometimes firing two at once, and quickly the opposition decided that they’d had enough; they had lost their Officer and one of their NCO’s earlier that day, so thinking that they had come upon a sizable force they made a tactical decision - ‘RUN’. David was convinced that they wouldn’t have stopped until they reached Baghdad.
Distinguished Conduct Medal number two, or more correctly a bar to his existing one was pinned onto his chest by a ‘very’ Senior Royal (the same one that had pinned on his first one) a little while later, although his proudest moment came later in the year when Caroline presented him with his new daughter Cindy, and life again settled back down. Caroline left the QARANC to become a full time housewife and mother, she had been convinced that she would hate it but as it turned out she took to it like the proverbial duck to water, and with more time on her hands she became more and more involved in the welfare side of the Regiment. As the wife of a Warrant Officer it was expected of her. David, after consulting with her chose to extend his time in the Army, and as less and less of it was spent on the operational side, more and more of it was spent on planning and advising, until Afghanistan became a hot spot.
David had actually met Hamid Shah several times in his travels, when Hamid was a good guy, but now he was the right hand man of Osama Bin Laden, with a lucrative side line in killing and maiming British soldiers with his own versions of road side IED’s (improvised explosive devices), so he was now a bad guy, a very very bad guy, so David was obviously the person of choice to be in Kabul, the Capital of Afghanistan, co-ordinating the hunt for him, and was on hand when they heard a rumour that Shah was to have an important high level meeting in the Compound of a prominent Warlord in 4 days’ time. An SAS Team was already on standby, all their gear packed, so a plan was quickly devised and they were ready for the off. At the last minute briefing inside the helicopter hangar just prior to their departure, the ‘Rupert’ (Officer) in charge (a young Lieutenant from one of the Cavalry Regiments on his first tour with the SAS) arbitrarily decided that David was too near his retirement (too old) to go on the actual mission. David of course was just a tad upset, and they then had a ‘full, frank and meaningful’ discussion. David explaining that he was the only one who had actually met Hamid Shah face to face, but the Rupert’s reply was to wave a handful of blurred photos in his face, this continued on for several minutes until David asked for a ‘word in private’. The remainder of the team left to finish loading their personal gear into the Chinook Special Forces helicopter, and they then continued, but now with even more colourful language. David quickly realised that not only was he getting nowhere fast, but also that British Soldiers lives were at stake, so when the Rupert stated adamantly that David would only go ‘over his dead body’, the statement was slightly inaccurate, what he should have said was ‘over my unconscious body’. David hit him with a perfect right cross to the chin, and the Officer went down like a sack of potatoes; this was too important an issue to pamper to some young kids wish to glory hunt, then he grabbed his rifle and satchel and ran after the rest of the team.
Staff Sergeant Charlie Watkins gave his friend a quizzical look as he ran up the ramp of the ‘burning and turning’ aircraft.
‘Changed his mind’ David shouted above the noise.
Charlie was not going to argue, after all he agreed whole heartedly with David, and so with a curt nod to the RAF Load Master they were airborne, but not very high, just high enough to slide over the top of a pallet that had something ‘large’ under a securely tied down canvas tarpaulin, on it. When the pallet was safely hooked on, the Pilots climbed their aircraft away, setting course for a very desolate place. Once safely en route at low level (to keep away from the prying eyes of the Taliban) David called the team together and briefly related to them what had just transpired. He had been thinking, and unfortunately the situation was too serious to be kept from them, after all he was now technically a criminal, and there was still time, just, to return to base and pick up the Lieutenant, so he left them to discuss the matter and went to the rear of the Chinook, and looked out over the shoulder of a gunner who was scanning the area behind them. As he watched Kabul disappear into the distance he thought that the Lieutenant wasn’t such a bad lad, in fact he had the makings of a good leader. The only real problem that he had was that he was always seeking the glory for himself, and perhaps he was just a little intimidated by David’s decorations and reputation. When David turned round he saw Charlie and the rest of the team organising their equipment and this verily confused him, they should still have been discussing his situation, so he went up to Charlie and shouted over the noise ‘What is the decision?’
‘What decision?’ Charlie shouted back.
‘The Rupert’ David shouted in exasperation.
‘Sorry’ Charlie replied, ‘Never heard a word you said, bloody noisy chopper’.
Slung under the aircraft, under a tarpaulin, was a very old and battered Toyota pickup truck. Well it looked old and battered but it was anything but. It was fitted with extra fuel tanks, and under its load of Castor Beans was a space for two of the team to slide into, along with their ‘non civilian’ equipment. The team themselves were dressed, and smelled, like normal everyday farmers off to find a market for their beans, but underneath their outer garments it was a different matter, Kevlar vests, small arms, personal radios and other assorted military paraphernalia, including of course their fighting knives.
When the Pilots arrived at their pre-designated spot on the desolate landscape they circled, checking that they were not being observed, and then set the pallet down on a dirt track that was the only excuse for a road for miles around. After releasing the load they then touched the rear wheels of the Chinook down to allow David and his team, plus the Load Master and his team to disembark and then quickly lifted it off again. When the Toyota had been unloaded the Load Master called the Chinook back in and quickly re-embarked, and once airborne the now empty pallet was re-slung by Charlie and one of the team, and the Pilots flew off into the distance. A few miles away, finding a suitably deserted spot they jettisoned the now redundant pallet; it was to be a one way trip for the Toyota. During the tiring and very boring drive over barren and desolate terrain they hardly saw a soul, but finally at dawn on the third day they were under camouflage netting and looking up at the compound. The Warlord had selected it well, it was impossible to look down into it, and the only gate into the place was around the other side, facing flat, open, and totally barren waste-land. During the day they rested and then that evening David, Charlie and one of his troopers went on a scouting mission to find a spot for him to lie up and observe who went through the gate. They found a suitab
le dip in the ground about a kilometre out from the gate, and by dawn David had himself well camouflaged, with only his sniper’s scope and the laser designator in front of him, and Charlie and he were in contact by means of their new ‘burst’ portable radios. As they talked the radios automatically compressed their words and then at short intervals fired them off in quick bursts, on different frequencies, being expanded on arrival at the intended recipients’ radio into understandable language. It took a little getting used to but once mastered it was worth it, the system was completely undetectable by any ‘would be’ eavesdroppers, they could chat away to their hearts content.
About an hour after the sun had cleared the horizon, and the ground was nicely heating up, David felt a stirring, not in his stomach, but beside him. He then felt a stabbing pain in his side, and it took him a few moments to fully understand what was happening. What he had done was pick the only dip in the area that was home to a nest of Vipers. A female Adder had found a hole in the side of his dip and given birth to her young. As the air temperature rose, the by now fledgling Adders sensed David and slowly came out to investigate, and then, one by one they sank their fangs into his torso. Whilst one bite from an adult viper might only be fatal to a child or an elderly person - even without the antidote, a fit and healthy adult would most likely survive, just. They would be incapacitated for several days, and feel like death for a week or so, but usually they pulled through, but unfortunately for David it wasn’t just one, it was a whole nest of them, and slowly they continued to take turns to inject him with their venom. After the first two or three strikes David seriously considered vacating the hollow, he knew that with his skills he had a better than even chance of making it to safety, even in the open countryside. There were patrols of sorts out and about - but nothing to serious - and he knew that there was a phial of antidote in the Toyota, so he should be ok, so quickly he took one final scan of the area through his scope before he made his escape, but to his horror he saw a cloud of dust in the distance, then another, and another. The final total was eight vehicles, all coming in from different directions. It looked as though the meeting was on, but even if he could call up an air strike before making his escape, which one should he tell them to target? After the first hit, the occupants of the remaining vehicles would be out of them and hot footing it in all directions across the scrubland, a one in eight chance of hitting Hamid Shah, good odds, for him, if he was indeed out there at all. David knew that he had to be absolutely certain it was Shah; he couldn’t afford to make a mistake and call in the jets to kill innocent farmers; whose only crime was having a council meeting. He knew then that he had to remain where he was and wait for them to arrive. Contacting Charlie he explained his predicament, and of course Charlie wanted to come and get him out, but David insisted that he had to stay put. It would most likely cost him his life but he knew that it would be worth it if he succeeded, Shah was an evil person. In the end David had to give Charlie a ‘direct order’ to remain where he was, and then order the other two members of the team to restrain him if he refused. He hoped that Caroline would understand. Injecting himself with pain relief he continued to lay there, alone, unable to move, just watching as the Land Cruisers slowly came closer, and being bitten, time after time after time. About an hour later the vehicles started to arrive at regular intervals. He scoped the occupants of each wagon, no sign of Hamid Shah - until around noon. Just as he was about to slip into oblivion the penultimate Cruiser pulled up and the VIP occupant exited from the wrong door, right into any waiting snipers sights. It was a very basic mistake to make for a supposedly Senior Taliban leader, so David slowly started to scan the men in his vicinity, but he was slipping fast. A breath of wind blew the Ghutra that covered most of the heads and faces away from the face of one of his ‘escorts’, just for a second but that was enough, it was definitely Hamid, he was one hundred percent certain, and David watched him as he ‘escorted’ the decoy into a building that was fortunately in his line of sight, and disappear behind its stout wooden door. With virtually the last of his energy David sighted the target designator on the door, locked it on, and then keyed his microphone. ‘Target confirmed - designator set’ and then he drifted off into oblivion.
It was planned that two Royal Air Force Tornados would then target the compound with their ‘smart’ bombs, and then ‘Plan A’ was that if possible David would exit his position unnoticed in all the confusion. ‘Plan B’ was that if that was not possible he would remain in place until after nightfall, and then make his escape under cover of darkness. As any combat veteran knows the best of plans only last until the first gun is fired, or as in this case, the first viper strikes. Six bomb laden Tornado’s swept in and they flattened the place, using practically every bomb in the dump, and even as the last of the bombs were falling Charlie was dragging David out into the open, as the other two team members crouched down, weapons pointed at the compound, searching vainly for targets. Hamid Shah, the Warlord, and most of their compatriots were already on their way to a better World. Suddenly two Apache assault helicopters, coming out of nowhere, came to the hover just in front of the two crouched team members, making them feel somewhat redundant. The Apaches, ‘that had just happened to be passing’, hosed anything that they thought might move with their 30mm chain guns, and reducing to scrap any vehicle or building left recognisable with their Hellfire missiles and Hydra 70 rockets. Charlie and the rest of the team then cut David’s clothing away, Charlie getting bitten by an Adder that had taken up residence in David’s under garments for his troubles, but ignoring his own pain he injected their only ampoule of antidote into his friend’s Cannula. It was completely ineffectual of course, he knew that but he had to try, then suddenly a dust storm arrived, caused fortunately by ‘their’ Chinook. It thumped down only feet away from them, and it seemed to Charlie that from every one of its many orifices it was pouring streams of lead at the compound, just in case there was a survivor in there who was feeling lucky, and they dragged David on board and were swiftly on their way to Kabul at ‘military emergency’ power settings (flat out). While David had been lying there being bitten, Charlie’s screams for assistance, to anyone that would listen, were rewarded. All military personnel recognise outstanding bravery when they come across it, and everyone that could, willingly leapt to his aid. Even a detachment of 23 Regiment SAS (Territorial’s) on exercise in the Welsh Black Mountains sent their moral support.
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Lt. Fitzpatrick slowly regained consciousness in the deserted office and staggered to the hangar door, just in time to see his helicopter disappearing into the distance, and cast his mind back to the punch, he had been middleweight champion of his Regiment for two years running so he knew a good punch when he felt one, and that was a good one, and he hadn’t seen it coming. Perhaps it had been a little unwise of him to take on the Senior Warrant Officer in that way, and it reminded him of one of those pearls of wisdom that his Instructors at Sandhurst used to pass on, ‘a junior Officer takes on the RSM or a Warrant Officer at his peril, unless he has thought long and hard about it beforehand. Gerald knew that he had thought neither long, nor hard, before he had tried to take on WO David Williams (and he now had an aching jaw to prove it) but although the SAS was a very unconventional service, striking an Officer was still a serious offence, or so he thought. A few minutes later when he returned to their Headquarters Block (and much to the surprise of the occupants as they all thought that he was travelling at 140 knots in a south westerly direction) he learned a lesson that would stay with him for the rest of his distinguished career, ‘you do not take on David Williams, or his ilk, lightly’. He was shown into the Senior Officers office and the door was firmly closed behind him. Half an hour later he came out, grasping his hastily hand written orders returning him to Credenhill, Hereford, their new Regimental Headquarters, for ‘de-briefing’.
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By the time they got David to some serious medical help, most of the dam
age had been done. The venom from the fledgling vipers, although nowhere near as potent as a fully grown adult, had been flowing through his system for too long. Everywhere his blood travelled, the poison was taken, and did its worst. His internal systems started to fail, but the medical staff worked miracles, spurred on to greater levels by the reports of his valour, and somehow they kept him alive.
When it was safe to do so David was transferred back to a specialist hospital in the UK, and Caroline and Cindy were constantly at his bed side. It was a civilian hospital in central London so apart from his friends, and a few colleagues who ‘just happened to be passing so they thought that would pop in for a quick chat’, he saw no one in authority. He wasn’t arrested or punished in anyway, and if he hadn’t known better the incident might never have happened, and Lt. Fitzpatrick was, according to his mates, last seen heading off to somewhere in Iraq, as a ‘Liaison Officer’. Of course he had to tell Caroline what had really happened, and she was behind him one hundred per-cent, she was so proud of him. If he lost his pension - so what, they would survive.
After two months in the hospital he was deemed stable enough to be released into the care of the Military Medical Services. He was expecting to be moved to Credenhill but he was wrong, he was transferred instead by Sea King helicopter to a Royal Naval Air Station in Cornwall. HMS Seahawk has no connection with the Special Forces whatsoever, it is an anti-submarine helicopter base, miles from anywhere, at the bottom end of Cornwall, and that seemed to be the main reason why the ‘powers that be’ had him sent there. Secondary for them, but fortunately extremely lucky for David was the fact that the Stations SMO (Senior Medical Officer), a Surgeon Commander, had extensive knowledge of exotic diseases and ‘other related subjects’, and one of his ‘other related subjects’ was snake venoms and their effects. Surgeon Commander Beatty was in his element when David arrived, he hadn’t really had a chance to practice his specialities on anyone since arriving at the base just over a year ago. He’d only had one case of an infected mosquito bite on a returning sailor. She had received the bite on her elbow whilst on deployment with her squadron in the Far East, and the ships M.O. was having trouble getting it to respond to treatment. It had then been decided to send her back to the cooler climes of Cornwall where her Squadron (and boyfriend) were based when not at sea.
Caroline (Cindy had reluctantly returned to her Army sponsored boarding school) moved temporarily into a guest house in the nearby town of Helston (famous for its furry {flora} dance), and assisted when she could as Commander Beatty worked tirelessly on David, and he slowly made headway, improving David’s quality of life, eventually getting him onto a drugs regime that didn’t require constant drips. It meant that David was more mobile, but there was only so much that the SMO could do, what David really needed was his blood drained from him, filtered, and before being returned, all his vital organs thoroughly flushed through. It sounded easy, after all mechanics do that all the time to car engines, the problem was that if they (Surgeons, not car mechanics) tried it on a human being then that person would most likely die, unless they happened to be in a VERY expensive specialist hospital in New York. Cmdr. Beatty had requested that David be sent there as a matter of urgency, and usually in these sorts of cases it was a distinct possibility; but every time he raised the subject with the Army he met a brick wall. Something was afoot, and he found out that it was more than twelve inches when he submitted his final report. He had stabilised David, he was out of danger and had a quality of life of sorts, if he took a fistful of pills and potions every day for the rest of his life, but Cmdr. Beatty could do no more, so again he requested the funding to send him to America, with an implied threat that ‘he would take it further’ if necessary. The following Saturday, as he was mowing the lawn of his Married Quarter he received a visit from a very Senior Army Officer in civilian clothes.
‘Out of deference to his rank’, after all he did have ‘scrambled egg’ (Senior Officers Braiding) on the peak of his cap, ‘they were bringing him into the loop’. He explained that the official reason that they would not be sending WO Williams to America was that funding was being withheld because in the current financial climate, it was deemed not to be ‘cost effective’, in other words David was too near retirement, and if the SMO was to force the issue one of two things would happen. Usually in these situations WO Williams would be transferred back to his base where they would find him a ‘cushy little number’ to see out his time, and then he would retire on a normal pension, OR (better still) he could be medically retired immediately, on the recommendation of a Senior Medical Officer. He would then be on a full Medical Pension (Tax Free), making him financially more secure, but unfortunately in David’s particular case if he were to go the first route, and released back to his unit, he would face a Court Martial for striking an Officer.
By now Cmdr. Beatty knew most of the details of David’s military history and his time in Afghanistan (although nothing about him striking an Officer), and also knew that such bravery would normally go well rewarded, he had even overheard several of David’s friends going on about him deserving the ‘VC’, and when he raised this point with the Officer (he wouldn’t call him a gentleman), he was told in no uncertain terms that the ‘hierarchy’ would insist that the Officer involved would be pressing charges, so no medal. It then slowly dawned on him that they would never let David return to mainstream military life, behind all this blustering was the fact that there was no way that a ‘mere’ Warrant Officer would be allowed to become the most highly decorated person in the Army, or any other Service for that matter, and as he sat there dazed, Cmdr. Beatty felt ashamed to be in the Military; how could the system treat such a brave a man like this - out of pure jealousy? He guessed that there would never be a Court Martial, David and his colleagues would never be allowed their day in court, but he knew that they had him over a barrel. If he made any trouble, David (and perhaps his own service career) would suffer, so he signed the forms that the stranger handed him - and David quietly left the Army.
David did not settle down well into civilian life, he had always been fit and active, and now he couldn’t even put on his shoes without help from Caroline. He also had nothing to occupy himself with; he really wasn’t a jigsaw’ry type of person. Caroline and he had purchased their own home several years previously, it was a detached 4 bed-roomed bungalow in a ‘quieter’ part of Hereford, and the mortgage was now manageable, but they could still not afford to keep Cindy at the private school in the long term without the help of the Army grant, and that had unfortunately ceased on his ‘retirement’. They could keep her at the school until the end of the current term but when the new one started she would have to go to the local Comprehensive, and Cindy was not a happy little bunny, she was only eleven but with the lower class sizes in the private sector she was streets ahead of her peers, she would have nothing at all in common with them.
The Regiment of course hadn’t forgotten David, it would be a long time before his exploits were forgotten, and about a month after his medical discharge, at a special ceremony at Credenhill they presented him with his faithful hand built rifle. It was a hand crafted .50 calibre BMG McMillan TAC-50 bolt action rifle, which had a ‘proven’ effective range of over 1½ miles, and it was the last thing that Charlie had grabbed as they boarded the helicopter in Afghanistan. It was now residing in a beautifully polished presentation case, and was presented to him by the Officer Commanding 22 Regiment SAS. He then promptly accepted it back from David, as it was to be given pride of place in the Regimental Museum, also it was doubted that the local constabulary would look favourably on his ‘small memento’ of his time in the Service, and after the ceremony ‘The Colonel’ (also a guest) made David an offer that he could not refuse, so he didn’t, hoping that the extra money would be the solution to Cindy’s problems. He of course realised that he was being ‘looked after’ but it didn’t matter, it gave him back some of his dignity. His body might be letting him down but his brain was just
fine, a little rusty perhaps but all it needed was a purpose in life to get it ticking again.
The Colonel, realising that David’s on-going treatment must take priority, kept him close to the office. On a good day David would put in a full day’s work, but on a bad day it would be a couple of hours at the most, and slowly the bad days were increasing, although he didn’t mind, he knew exactly what he was taking on when he made David the offer. David had once saved his life, now he was going to save his (metaphorically speaking), after all he could now well afford it. The Colonel reckoned that what David really needed was a large dose of sun, so as he spoke to Andrew, that first time, an idea gelled in the back of his mind, then it burst forth -‘David’ he growled, as he slammed the phone down, ‘go and get your bags packed, you are off for about a month, pack for the sun and be back here in an hour’. It was make or break time for David, he was having one of his fairly bad days but if he could just pull this off the Colonel hoped it would boost David’s self-esteem no end, and perhaps be the turning point for him, and as David drove home to collect his bags the Colonel rang Caroline at work, she was now working full time for the Army Welfare Service. He explained his idea and ‘suggested’ that if things didn’t perhaps go as well as he hoped, then she might like to take a spot of holiday entitlement and have a short break in the sun to support her husband.
Sat at her desk Caroline burst into tears, she hadn’t realised just how well thought of her husband was. Total strangers were coming up to her on the street, or in the supermarket, asking her how he was, and offering their help, several with the added proviso of ‘anything, anytime, anywhere’, but David really had only one genuine Guardian Angel, the Colonel, he was her husband’s life saver. He had started to become quite depressed before the Colonel’s offer but now he was a different person, mentally if not physically, but unfortunately he was now becoming a little bored with just working in the office; he needed to be stretched further, mentally and maybe also a little physically. Perhaps this indeed was just what the doctor ordered, and the Colonel’s parting comments to her had been the final decider,
‘If anything does go wrong, at least he will be working in a hospital, and Charlie will be there to look after him’.
Caroline used up some of her ‘flexi time’ and left to help her husband pack, and to say goodbye, just like the good old days.
The Regiment had not been the same without David around, who seemed to be seeing out his time in the Army with the Royal Navy in Cornwall, so when his time was up Charlie didn’t re-enlist. He left the Army, and after visiting his friend in Cornwall he got a job in Personal Protection - with the Colonel.
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