The lead man held his SA80 rifle by the pistol grip with the stock resting on his left arm, which was extended and a long thin twig grasped lightly between his middle and forefingers near the thick end. He moved slowly forwards moving his left arm side to side. If a trip wire were laid across his path even obliquely then he would feel the twig touch against it. At that point the patrol would stop and very quietly take up prone firing positions covering assigned arcs whilst the patrol commander decided how best to proceed, follow the wire to the flare pot and make it safe with a matchstick through the safety pin aperture? Or merely have another patrol member and the lead man hold a rifle by its muzzle and butt lengthways a couple of inches above the wire whilst the patrol high stepped over in safety to take up all round defence on the far side. If the young lance corporal leading tonight's reconnaissance, or 'recce' patrol had his 'sneaky head' on then he would check for anything untoward on the far side of the wire. If he didn't then it was going to get very noisy pretty bleeding swiftly thought Colin because the first man over would step directly onto the second trip wire.
On detecting the trip wire the lead man stopped and raised his rifle one handed up and away from his body in a signal to 'Stop', the man behind repeated the signal and added 'Down' with his other. The signal passed man to man until quietly groaning under their 70lb loads they sank to the ground facing outwards with Tail-End-Charlie covering the '6'. Colin cannot help but grin maliciously, when he was a recruit the dress for recce's was very different, combat cap, elastic bands around legs and sleeves preventing baggy clothes brushing against undergrowth. No webbing or bulky equipment, just a toggle rope around the waist to assist in crossing obstacles and a couple of spare 'mags' in separate breast pockets. It made for ease of movement until one day someone woke up to the fact that in a manoeuvre war there was no guarantee that your unit would still be were you left it. By the time you got back they could be miles away and you could be behind enemy lines. These days you take all of your kit, ammunition, rations, spare clothing, luxuries and essentials. Brecon teaches "Survive out of your smock, fight out of your webbing and administrate from your Bergen". In the voluminous pockets of the soldiers camouflage smocks are carried as much food as possible navigation aids, along with tobacco tin size first aid and escape kits. Every soldier on the course had enough experience of field cuisine to be carrying their own supply of curry powder about their person, to inject flavour into an otherwise bland, though nutritious fare.
Wives and industrious bachelors had sown black knicker elastic onto smocks and trousers, facilitating the easy addition of foliage to ones attempted invisibility act. Those more competent with needle and thread also had sown into their trouser and boot seams, short sections of hacksaw blades to facilitate escape and evasion. Ironic how these men’s chances of survival could stand or fall on the simple ability to master a so-called ‘girlie’ skill.
Webbing contains ammunition, smoke and fragmentation grenades (inside of pouches rather than Hollywood style) and water. A ‘Noddy suit’ or Nuclear Biological and Chemical warfare suit, plus a respirator are attached. Also within the pouches were small folding solid fuel stoves with fuel ‘tabs’, storm matches, cleaning kits and folding entrenching tools. The soldiers here also wore old privately acquired’58 pattern ‘bum rolls’ clipped to their PLCE webbing, containing a poncho for shelter and ‘bungee cords’, (the elasticated hooks used to attach recalcitrant children to the roof racks of cars) small ground spikes and a narrow folding, privately acquired saw. It is far quieter to saw away foliage for camouflage and branches for construction, than to noisily hack away with issue machetes and pangas. Avoiding unwanted attention equals living longer.
Most also wore non-regulation fighting knives, because the Army does not have any regulation ones in the inventory to issue anyway, in varying positions of preference. The main use being that of construction and the cutting of turf for camouflage, rather than hand-to-hand combat. Should it come to hand to hand most would choose the folding picks and shovels as far more suited to close-in mayhem than Mr Bowies famous invention. However, despite all man’s inventions, all his high tech machines of war, the only guaranteed, quiet way, to take out a sentry was still a sharp, narrow bladed object, piercing the throat just above or below the Adams Apple. So knives are still carried. Furthermore, until tanks or aircraft carriers are built that can tippy-toe unobtrusively up behind an alert man to deliver that blow, the infantrymen will continue to train in how it is done.
The knives also contained within their handles, small compasses, and lines for snares and fishing plus hooks. Illegal Dexedrine pep pills, antibiotics, water purification, or ‘puri tabs’ and fire lighting flints. The Bergen holds spare clothing, sock’s, an arctic standard sleeping bag, Gore-Tex ‘bivi’ bag, foam sleeping mat, washing and shaving kit and extra rations for up to three days are in the main body of the Bergen. Detachable side pouches with individual carrying straps hold a claymore mine, extra water, a trip flare and picquet stakes (which also doubled as corner posts for the soldiers’ shelter). More rifle ammunition, ‘Shermulee’ para-illumination tubes, spare batteries for electrical kit and an IPK, Individual Protection Kit, for constructing overhead protection in trenches. Had a mortar section been attached to these troops then an additional load of 81mm mortar rounds would have been crammed in adding to their loads. When it 'goes tits up', the 'shit-hits-the-fan' or 'it all goes pear shaped', (soldier speak for a Bad Day in anyone’s language), the squaddies hit the Bergen’s quick release buckles, grab the side pouches, abandoning the luxuries, and fight. If it’s not possible to later retrieve their main packs then that’s just tough.
The man with the 'command appointment' for the patrol was a good-looking Scot from 1st Battalion Scots Guards. So impressed were his platoon and company commanders back home at his battalion that after barely 18 months as a L/Cpl, Andy Cameron had kissed his wife of six months on the lips and hopped aboard a Brecon bound 4 tonner. He'd told her he'd ring each Friday unless out in the 'Ulu', any place that civilisation wasn't, in soldier' terms. Cameron had breezed his battalion's five-week Pre- Brecon 'toughener', designed to bring his fitness level up and ensure he could read a map amongst other infantry skills. Thus far Cameron had done quite well on this course and CSM Probert had his fingers crossed he wouldn't get cocky.
Colin Probert watched closely as he joined the lead man. Cameron was smart enough to know it for what it was and didn't waste time pissing about. From a smock pocket he produced a small canister and Colin heard a brief hiss of compressed air followed by some cautious movements by Cameron and then the Patrol was up and continuing on its way. Colin and Nikoli moved up and quickly scanned the ground; Cameron had used a can of 'Crazy String', squirted along the track so that the string had draped itself over both trip wires. With the positions of the wires indicated it had taken moments to discover the first was a dummy and cut both wires after disarming the pot on the second. Of the many maxims’ that Brecon spawned, the patrol members had displayed two aplenty.
‘Sod the manual, if it works … do it’ and
‘If its practical… wear it’.
If the non-issue additions to their personal kit had been examined then a third would have been apparent,
‘Anyone can be uncomfortable’.
Colin made a few notes on his 'crit sheet' before stuffing it into his smock, Nikoli smiled in approval at the embryo leaders methods and both men followed on behind the patrol.