At 0810hrs on this rather drizzly morning, CSM Probert was making his way from the Orderly room where he had been summoned from the Warrant Officers and Sergeants Mess a half hour before. The schedule posted the previous day had changed in a way that caused him concern. The young non-commissioned officers of Section Commanders Course number 95 were already outside their accommodation block.
Having finished the ‘Patrolling’ phase of the course they were due to begin ‘Defence’ in two says time. Today was intended to be one of instruction in Field Engineering, use of explosives in the preparation of trenches. The Duty Student called the Course to properly at ease. With his millboard in his left hand Colin wheeled to face them and drove his feet in.
“Course… Course ‘shun!” Colin Probert looked along the ranks to check everyone was there rather than subject the paperwork on his millboard to the elements by formerly calling the Roll.
“Hands up anyone who wants to go home?” This was the way Colin always finished his muster parades and the students always grinned and put their hands up. Any that did not he would accuse of being “Brown nosing wankers who would fit in well in the RAF”, (Royal Air Force). Today his use of it immediately caught them all off guard.
“Tough shit people, you are all going home, as are myself, the other instructors and the schools staff included”. There were puzzled expressions amongst the students and their instructors, who were at the rear.
“I do not know what is going on so don’t bother to ask. Those of you who require travel warrants, and that will be all of the students, the Duty Student will collect them from the Orderly Room at 0930hrs and distribute them. You will return all Course equipment to the stores, clean, by 1145hrs.” He looked at the puzzled expressions on the faces of all before him, including ‘Fanny M’.
“I want all kit outside ready to go, bedding stripped, sheets, pillow cases and mattress covers laid out, lockers open, wash house and rooms cleaned, ready for inspection by 1415hrs… Do you all understand?” Pausing to look at them all for a second before reminding them there was an officer on parade, Senior Lieutenant Bordenko, and barked.
“Dis… miss!” The students turned to the right and saluted before they hurried away chattering to one another about whatever the hell was going on.
As the instructors began to approach to ask questions Colin called out to a bemused Lt Bordenko to please wait, he told the instructors to wait in the WO and Sgt's Mess where he would brief them on what he did know in ten minutes.
Colin went over to Nikoli Bordenko and saluted.
“Sir, our Ministry of Defence has ordered that you and all the other visiting Russian service personnel with British units be detained prior to repatriation back to Russia. I am to escort you to the Officers Mess where an Officer will accompany you to your room whilst you pack. He will remain with you until your escort arrives from the RMP, that won’t be for a couple of hours’ yet.” Nikoli looked bewildered.
“Does this have any connection with this facility closing, Colin?” After looking about to ensure there was no one in earshot to hear him address an Officer by first name, he led Nikoli toward the Officers Mess.
“Fanny mate, I haven’t heard much more than I told the lads, but I do know that the Queen has signed the War Order which permits the calling up of reservists, so I would have to guess that it’s all connected.” Nikoli was deep in thought for a moment.
“I have a cousin, second cousin actually and we are not too well acquainted. I believe there was bad blood between our Grandmothers” he offered in explanation.
“But he is in London, the deputy military attaché” Nikoli stopped as the Mess came into sight.
“If I could be permitted to telephone the Embassy then perhaps I could tell you more?” Colin smiled and shook his head.
“As it may well be that our countries are going to be at odds I have to say no fucking way. The lines would probably be tapped and I’d get in the shit.” Colin removed his beret before entering the Officers Mess and stood inside the entrance.
“I cannot see it coming to a shooting match, but you take care of yourself sir,” he said earnestly.
“You Para’s think the whole deal is jumping out of an aeroplane, and once you land you stand around looking butch and expecting the press to be there. That’s why Para’s are so piss easy to spot, they are the only items of ‘shrubbery’ presenting their best profile,” he added smiling. It was a favourite dig of his at the airborne brethren and had used it often on Nikoli over the past six weeks. An officer was approaching from the dining room and Nikoli told Colin.
“Fuck off and shag a sheep Sarn’t Major,” smilingly referring to the unofficial nickname other units had for Colin's regiment. They shook hands firmly as Nikoli’s new escort arrived and then went their separate ways.
As Colin made his way toward the WOs and Sgt’s Mess an unmarked car with Army index plates drove past him from the direction of the Guardroom. Inside were a uniformed Royal Military Police captain of the female variety and an RMP staff sergeant. Colin looked at his watch and hoped he would make as good time back to London as they had coming up.
The rest of the morning was a busy one. Not only had the instructors to supervise the student’s cleaning and return of kit to the stores and the hand-over of the accommodation, they had their own to do also.
Colin was having a sandwich and a mug of tea in the Mess at NAAFI break when a Mess waiter passed him a message. Going to the entrance Colin saw an RMP lieutenant and sergeant waiting. Halting at attention before the RMP lieutenant he noticed the officer was looking vexed.
“Sir, company sarn’t major Probert… you sent for me sir?”
“CSM… you escorted Lt Bordenko to the officers Mess after muster parade, is that correct?” he was asked.
“Is there a problem sir?”
The officer ignored the question.
“Did he say anything to you on the way?”
Colin immediately thought the Russian had managed to ring his cousin.
“Sir, he said he wanted to ring the Russian Embassy, his cousin is the deputy military attaché he said. I told him he couldn’t, sir.” As the RMP was still looking troubled, Colin added.
“I’m sure his escort can sort out any queries if you call them.”
“That’s just it CSM,” the lieutenant replied,
“We are his escort!”
The wash bays at Fort Hood were in constant use as the AFVs and other vehicles of the curtailed Exercise ‘Cherokee Lance’ washed away the dirt and grime collected off the Texas countryside.
The smallest self-contained unit in the present make-up of things in a modern western army is the Company or Squadron. Dual redundancy is a fairly modern buzzword that means common sense in reality. In military personnel terms it means that at least two ranks below should be capable of taking over the more senior role. This morning that was in temporary evidence as there was not an officer in sight. Whilst the commissioned officers were being briefed, the warrant and non-commissioned ranks were cracking on with the job, and as usual making a generally better job of it
Officers only stay in one job for a while before moving on, they are the jack of whatever trade they had performed. NCOs on the other hand spent longer in each role; they are the masters at knowing what needs to be done and the short cuts to get there quickest.
Sgt Rebecca Hemmings, REME, stepped back from her armoured recovery vehicle and tossed the bass broom she had been using on those hard to shift stains. Her detachment had replaced two engine packs during the exercise and she had a feeling that the defective items would be needed sooner rather than later. She wanted get the packs into their mobile workshop soonest, before everyone was fallen out to their beds. It would save a couple of hours’ in the long run. She was tightening a section of cam, camouflage net, where the wire tie securing it had come undone when a hand brushed away a lock of hair that had escaped from under her beret.