Chapter 42

Catterick, North Yorkshire. February the same year

“Fuck me it’s cold,” came a whispered voice.

“Shut up,” hissed a second.

The two speakers were lying, partially covered, in a ditch alongside a road a few miles from Catterick Garrison in North Yorkshire. Spread out along the ditch were Delta fireteam, 1st section, 2nd platoon, A Company, 1st battalion The Regiment of Rifles. The battalion had finally been given permission to take its revenge on the Security patrol for the murder and kidnap of most of B company two years earlier.

Across the road, and in a ditch about twenty yards away, lay Charlie fireteam. 2nd section was about thirty yards beyond them. 3rd section were somewhere beyond them again. Corporal MacKay, the second speaker, neither knew nor particularly cared where the rest of the company were. He just knew what he had to do. In the cold, moonless night, no one would be able to see the wisps of steam as the men breathed, but MacKay still worried they weren’t concealed enough. Part of his worry was the fact that the platoon serjeant was only a few yards behind him, with the platoon’s mortar man. The lieutenant and his radio operator were fifty yards away, somewhere near 3rd section. MacKay had only been a corporal for six weeks, and while he was proud and pleased for his promotion, was also, deep inside himself, still a touch nervous. He had been eighteen and little more than a raw recruit when the Battalion had had to escape from Beachley, twenty-eight months earlier and now nearly 250 miles away; but living in the field for much of the time since had certainly made a man of him. He had been one of the nineteen men who had walked into Chepstow just before the training deployment to Warcop. The partial break to his arm he had suffered in the fight on the walk back to barracks had kept him off the deployment, to his initial disappointment, but it had saved his life. The other eighteen were all dead or missing.

Ten feet away, Serjeant Stewkley was also worried. Despite the fact that the battalion was at full strength, indeed somewhat over, that was still only some seven hundred men and women. And they were attacking a full garrison. Not just a single barracks, but a full garrison that only a few years earlier had housed upwards of twenty thousand troops.

Observers from the battalion, and from elsewhere, had been monitoring the garrison closely for some months now, and over the last three weeks had seen many of the Patrollers based there ship out to other places. Rumour had it that there were now ‘only’ seven thousand Security Patrollers still on the base and that two of the more outlying barracks blocks had been temporarily closed down.

The plan was not, however, a frontal assault. Everyone recognised that would be suicidal. Instead it was to be an infiltration and sabotage mission, with, many of the men hoped, a good deal of retribution on the way out.

There was a barely audible chirp from the MacKay’s watch. Anyone not knowing what it was would have sworn he heard a grass-hopper. The fact that grass-hoppers would not be around to make a noise at midnight in February had not occurred to him, but there was no-one else near enough to hear it.

“One minute,” whispered MacKay.

There was a slight stirring as the four men got ready for action, stamped on nerves, checked their weapons were ready one last time, and began to strain their eyes and ears. Moments later, almost exactly on schedule, and bringing private sighs of relief to both the corporal and the serjeant, the noise of an approaching vehicle could be heard.

“Stingers only,” MacKay whispered. “Remember, sixth vehicle, if there is one.”

No one answered. They were all ready.

The small convoy was expected to be no more than four Land Rovers, though it had, on occasions, been five. The convoy would reach him first, and go past him before reaching the other sections. Each vehicle had been assigned one fire-team, with Corporal MacKay’s 1st section the backup in case the other sections got into more trouble than they were expecting.

Stingers wouldn’t harm the vehicles, nor would they hurt anyone inside, but what they would do is interrupt the vehicle’s electrics and, hopefully, bring the vehicle to a halt. In testing it had sometimes worked, about one in three times. It was a risk, but it was hoped that 4 stingers per vehicle would be enough. The expectation was that the crew would exit the stalled vehicle to try and work out what was at fault, and as soon as they did, the stingers would come into play once more and incapacitate the crew. These were all relatively old vehicles, with no advanced engine management electronics, so getting the vehicle started again should, it was hoped, be very straightforwards.

Four vehicles went past, their headlights momentarily blinding many of the men, but they had practiced and practiced this, and ten minutes later, with no casualties, and little noise, the convoy was back on the road again, the twenty eight men of 2nd platoon crammed into the four ancient snatch Land Rovers.

In the front vehicle, a terrified young safety patrolman tried to assure his captors that he could get them through the front gates unharmed. “They would know if I weren’t drivin’” he told them.

“Why?” asked the Lieutenant.

“Cos I’m friendly like wiv ‘em.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Cos I can get stuff for ‘em. An’ they pay me wiv stuff.”

“Stuff?” queried the lieutenant, then waved it away before he got an answer. Black marketeering. “Never mind. If you get us in, we’ll see you safe. You make any sort of sign or signal that anything is wrong, and you won’t see the dawn. Understand?”

The Patrolman nodded.

“And you’re sure there’s just three on the gate tonight?”

“Yeah, maybe only two on that gate. Normally eight, but less tonight on account of all the fightin’ down south.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” growled the platoon serjeant.

“Oh yeah. There’s almost no one left on the base now. Our company is now guarding the whole of the base, not just this bit.”

The lieutenant stared at him, his jaw dropping. He quickly recovered himself. “You are seriously trying to tell me that a single company is guarding the whole of Catterick Garrison?”

“Yeah. Well. A single company at a time. We’re in three shifts. Red company comes on at eight am. Blue company at four pm, and white company at midnight.” The driver was babbling somewhat, genuinely terrified. Nineteen of the twenty men who had been in the Land Rovers were all now trussed up in a ditch, but he genuinely believed most of them were dead.

“That’s...” The lieutenant grabbed his signaller. “Get me the colonel.”

It took a few seconds, then the mic was passed over.

“Lieutenant?”

“Ma’am. I’ve just been talking to one of the drivers we captured. Seems the gate guards have been massively reduced. There’s a single company guarding the entire garrison.”

There was a moments silence before Lieutenant-Colonel Fjeld’s voice came back. “Are you sure of this?”

“I’ve had no independent verification Ma’am. This is just what I’ve been told.”

“Very well. Continue your assignment as given. Let me know what you find as soon as you can.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

Back at the Battalion HQ post, Fjeld looked at her second-in-command. “It’s just possible this will go easier than I thought.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Major Paul Quinnell answered. “On the other hand, that could mean there’s a lot less people in there than we understood, which could also mean a much smaller overall impact.”

Fjeld nodded, her face tensed. “We’ll carry on,” she said after a few moments thought. “Assume the lieutenant is wrong and that the guard is at full strength.”

“Yes Ma’am. If he’s wrong, there won’t be any additional damage done, if he’s right, then we’ll get in much easier.”

Fjeld just nodded. That had been her thinking too.

“On the other hand,” Quinnell said slowly, “what if it’s a trap?”

“Shit,” muttered Fjeld. “Yeah. It could very well be.” She pointed at her comms man. “General broadcast. All units. Advise them what we’ve been told, but then tell them to be prepared for a possible stronger gate force than originally expected.”

“Yes Ma’am,” the communications corporal answered, but before he could busy himself with his radios, Fjeld cancelled the order.

“No! Cancel that! No message, remain on radio silence.” She looked at Quinnell. “We can’t second guess. We’ll go in as originally planned. If the defence is lighter than expected, that’s to the good. If it’s heavier,” She just shrugged.

Quinnell nodded his understanding and acceptance.

Fjeld glanced at her watch. Seven minutes. There was nothing more she could do now but wait.

“Glasses,” she said a few moments later. She didn’t see who passed her her binoculars, but took them with a nodded thanks, and left the hide. She was vaguely aware of two people following her out into the night. She knew one would be the communications corporal, she’d given him instructions some hours earlier to stick to her at all costs. Putting the glasses to her eyes, she studied the scene before her. The hide had had a dim red light, enough to see by, but the red light would not hurt the occupants’ night vision. She could see nothing, but these weren’t light enhancing binoculars, the few they had managed to keep and maintain were all with the platoon leaders.

There was a sharp crack in the distance off to her left. She glanced at her watch.

“Too early,” came the voice of Quinnell. Fjeld just nodded but said nothing. There were no more shots, maybe they had got away with it. She resisted the temptation to grab the radio mic and demand to know who had shot at whom.

Near gate 11, where 2nd platoon, A company were just approaching, two gate guards were bending over the body of a small deer. “Well,” said one, “it’ll add a bit of extra meat to dinner. There’s never fuckin’ enough.”

The other man nodded. “If we ever get to see it. That’s venison. That’ll go to the bleedin’ officers. Can’t imagine we’ll ever see any.”

“Don’t tell them then,” said the first. “Just lug it into the cookhouse and order ‘em to cook it fer us.”

“Huh. When number 17 squad got them rabbits last week, they tried to hang on to ‘em. Now they’re out on shit patrol,” said the second voice. “Nah. Best bet is to let the brass have it, and hope they’ll condescend to let us have the stuff they were gonna have.”

“Hmm. maybe. Come on, help me shift it. There’s a patrol due back any moment.”

The two men picked up the small animal and carried it awkwardly the hundred yards towards the gate. As they approached, they could see the headlights of the approaching patrol vehicles.

“Shit,” they dropped the deer carcass and ran as fast as they could to the gate, arriving just moments before the first Land Rover pulled to a halt.

“Hey Giggsy,” the gate guard said to the driver.

“Er, er, er, oh, er, hey Deaver.”

“You okay man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Oh, yeah, er, yeah. I’m fine. Look, er, can you let me through, I’ve got a bit of the squits.”

Deaver laughed. “Dinner that good today then?” But even as he was speaking, he was opening the heavy metal gate.

The four Land Rovers rolled through the gate, and Deaver closed it.

“Something odd there,” said his companion.

“Huh?” asked Deaver.

“Giggsy has an iron stomach. We’ve always joked over it. You know what he’s like for eating.”

Deaver finished closing the gate then turned and looked after the Land Rovers with a slight frown. “Yeah. Maybe. But then, he was eating a goats meat phaal today. Maybe that was just a step too far.”

“Hmm. Maybe.” The two men, the only two on this gate, noted down the time of the patrol’s arrival, then went back out to retrieve the deer which they had abandoned some thirty feet away.

As such, they had their backs to the base and didn’t see Corporal MacKay or his section approaching the gate from the inside. MacKay however had seen the two men hurry out of the camp. The four Land Rovers had been parked beside a building about thirty yards away, the driver of the first Land Rover now unconscious, but very much alive, in the back.

“What the fuck?” MacKay murmured to himself. He and his men approached the main gate house carefully and looked in. It was empty. He pointed at his lance-corporal. “Lance, take your men t’other side o’ the road,” he whispered. “Make sure there’s no one else hanging around over there somewhere.” Lance-Corporal Sanderson just nodded and waved his fire team forward.

Two Riflemen entered the dimly lit gate house, hiding to one side, while MacKay and one other waited outside.

Deaver and his companion were completely surprised. Dragging the deer carcass back, they were through the gatehouse door before they even thought to look up.

They stared in horror at the two grim faced men with blacked out faces who were pointing weapons at them.

Deaver just stood, his jaw dropping, staring in bemusement and fright. His companion however was faster off the mark, and before either of the two Riflemen could say anything, he had grabbed a heavy object off the table and was drawing his arm back to throw it. There was a noise like bacon frying on a hot griddle pan, and both Patrollers went down like sacks of potatoes.

Sanderson and his team returned just as the two Patrollers were being trussed up. Looking in the gate house, he saw the deer. “Get that animal out of here,” he told two of his men. “Dump it by the fence out of the way. If we’ve got time, we’ll take it with us.”

MacKay looked up from his task of going through the gate logs. “Thanks Malc. All clear?”

Lance-Corporal Malcolm Sanderson nodded. “Yep. Me and my men’ll do outside patrol for now.”

“Can you grab the driver and dump him here as well?”

“Aye, will do.”

MacKay again nodded his thanks and went back to his task. He was checking to see whether any other patrols were currently out - there weren’t - and whether any more patrols were due to leave in the next hour or so. Again, there weren’t. At least, nothing was in the logs, but that didn’t really mean much with the Patrol.

Two minutes later, Sanderson put his head through the door. “John, they’re here, and I’ve had word from the lieutenant. Sections two and three have taken out the next gates over.

Corporal John MacKay nodded. “Thanks.” He turned to the three Riflemen still in the gatehouse with him, all of whom were eying the two tied up Patrollers the way a hungry cat might eye up a field mouse it had just caught.

They were safe, he thought to himself, and went to the door.

1st platoon ‘B’ Company, recruited from recently retired and sacked soldiers from many different regiments, were streaming quickly through the gate and fanning out. At the next gates over, the rest of the battalion would be coming in through the various gates all captured and held by A company.

Around a big chunk of the western perimeter of Catterick Garrison, gates that had been guarded by just two or three Patrollers were now guarded by a complete section of eight men. ‘A’ company now controlled the access in and out of seven of the garrison’s gates, chosen because they were all grouped relatively close together, with big gaps to the next gates on either side. ‘C’ company and the newly recruited ‘B’ and ‘D’ companies, as well as elements of the Battalion’s support company were all now inside the base.

‘A’ company would man the gates to ensure that the Battalion could get out again when they had finished their tasks, while one of the heavy weapons sections of the support company remained outside to give both early warning of, and early protection against, anyone else arriving from elsewhere.

Up on the hill, Lieutenant-Colonel Fjeld got the notification that entry had proceeded without a hitch, and she and her command staff hurried down towards the gates.

“No hitches Corporal?” Quinnell asked MacKay as Fjeld and the rest of her staff went past.

“No sir.”

“How many gate guards?”

“Just two sir. And I believe the next gate over was the same.”

Quinnell nodded. “Thank you Corporal.” He gave MacKay a faint grin. “Make sure we can still get out eh?”

MacKay smiled slightly in return. “Yes sir.”

“What the hell do you think I’m gonna do?” MacKay murmured to himself after Quinell was well out of earshot. Quinell wasn’t a bad officer, but he could be a little condescending at times.

Serjeant Stewkley came past some five minutes later, just to check on MacKay and that everything was fine. “As you’re at the end of the line, holding the flank, I’m assigning another section here. They’ll patrol along the perimeter fence for another couple of hundred yards or so.”

MacKay nodded. Stewkley left, and shortly afterwards 8 men from number 3 platoon hurried swiftly past, giving MacKay a wave to inform him of their presence as they did so.

Although they kept their eyes and ears alert, none of MacKay’s men heard or saw anything, inside or outside the camp. Not until, some ten minutes later, a truck rolled slowly towards them from deeper inside the base showing no lights at all. It pulled up ten yards away and paused, waiting. MacKay and his men watched as a second, then a third truck rolled up behind the first. He frowned, then walked towards the lead truck, one of his men following him, but keeping slightly back and to one side. Arriving at the driver’s window, he found it open, and the driver looking down at him with a grin.

MacKay recognised the driver, though wasn’t sure of his name. He was one of the regular truck drivers from the support company. “What’s happening?” asked MacKay. “Why’re you stationary here? You’re a bit obvious you know.”

“Yeah, well. Waiting for the RQMS to say go. We’re borrowing these trucks, and their contents. And the additional, er, extras we’ve added on top.”

“Oh?”

The driver was almost laughing fit to bust now. “There’s a complete mobile field kitchen in these trucks, along with enough food to keep the whole battalion going for a month. We’ve found a mobile wash unit for some proper showers.” MacKay groaned in envy at that, he hadn’t had a shower, a proper shower, in well over a year. “We’ve found a fully equipped REME mobile vehicle workshop,” MacKay nodded, watching as a fourth and fifth truck joined the back of the queue. The driver was going on ecstatically about what they had found already. MacKay didn’t pay a great deal of attention until he spotted one of his men sprinting towards him from along the perimeter fence.

“Corp, there’s some Security Patrol officers heading this way.”

MacKay glanced quickly around. There was no way he would be able to get these trucks out and clear before the Patrol officers arrived. He pointed at the driver. “Keep yer ‘ead down an’ don’t move until I tell yer, then shift yer arses.”

The driver just looked startled, but MacKay didn’t wait for a reply. Along with his two men, he sprinted back to the gate to await the unwelcome arrival of the Patrol officers. These officers had obviously been off base for some reason, and were only just returning. Local brothel maybe? MacKay knew there were a couple locally, maybe just a pub or restaurant. He glanced quickly at the clock. To late for those. Almost had to be a brothel. That gave him an idea. He’d have to mention it to the serjeant later.

MacKay knew all the Patrol rank insignia up to the equivalent of major. Two of the men approaching were assault unit leaders, majors, but he didn’t recognise the rank of the third, the eldest and obviously the most senior of the three.

Since he was only supposed to have two men on the gate, Sanderson and his people were out of sight across the roadway, while two of his own riflemen were hidden behind the gatehouse with their prisoners. They would work themselves around until they were behind the three incoming officers.

In addition to his corporal’s stripes, which he quickly removed, MacKay also had on the rank slides of a junior squad leader. Everyone on the operation was wearing both their own rankslides, where appropriate, and the equivalent Patrol insignia. At this time of night, in the dark, no one should notice that the uniforms were not quite right, but they would see and recognise the rank insignia.

The three men approached the gate. MacKay and his rifleman stood to attention as the officers approached them.

“Junior Squad Leader?” asked one. “Why are you wearing face paint?”

“Orders sir,”

“Whose orders?”

“Don’t know sir. Got given them by my,” he nearly said serjeant, but managed to mangle it to squad leader and hoped the officer wouldn’t notice.

“Oh? Why?”

“Don’t know sir. Just doing what I was told.”

One of the other officers was staring at the row of trucks, there were eight now, and a ninth one was rolling into position at the back. “There’s something wrong here.” He turned to the senior man. “Senior Leader? I think we need to call an alert.”

He nodded slowly. “Agreed. See to it.”

MacKay took a few moments to remember, then translated ‘senior leader’ to ‘brigadier’ in his own mind, but otherwise did nothing.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” the officer addressing MacKay barked.

“Sir?”

“Sound the alarm, Trooper.” If he had really been a Junior Squad Leader, MacKay knew he had just been demoted.

Mackay nodded, turned, and as he did so deliberately dropped his clipboard, ‘accidentally’ kicking it forwards.

“Careless buffoon,” the Assault Unit Leader spat. “Watch what you’re doing, and get a move on.”

MacKay bent to pick it up. This was a signal to the rest of his fire team who quickly ran forwards.

“What the hell?” asked the second Assault Unit Leader. “What’s going on here?” He raised a pistol and fired it at one of the riflemen, but missed. All the men, including those from delta fire team who now sprinted back to join MacKay, fired their stingers at the shooter.

It had long been realised that more than about six stinger in close succession, was an almost sure fire way of killing the target, and this was no exception. The Assault Unit Leader gave a groan, a sigh, and slowly, spasmodically, folded to the ground, his eyes open and staring. Everyone could see he was dead.

MacKay whipped his own stinger to point at the Senior Leader. “I think, ‘sir’, you two had better pick up your colleague and get inside.” With a great degree of reluctance, the two patrol officers did so. The Senior Leader appeared to be quite squeamish about touching a dead body, but the other, MacKay kept a close eye on, he looked to be dangerous. “Give them space,” he told his men. “Don’t get too close.”

The two survivors carried their colleague into the gate house. “Now what?” asked the Assault Unit Leader. “You think you can get away with stealing from the Patrol?”

“This ain’t stealing,” MacKay said softly. “This is revenge.” He opened his camouflage smock to reveal a regimental insignia on the jersey underneath. He pointed to it. “First Battalion, the Regiment of Rifles. Two years ago your men killed or kidnapped virtually the whole of ‘B’ company and brought them here. There were eleven survivors.” MacKay wasn’t counting himself in that number, though he often considered himself a survivor of the massacre. “We are now going to do more, and worse, to you scum and traitors.”

Both prisoners now looked shocked and scared.

He looked up. “Immobilise them, but keep them alive,” MacKay told two of his men. He looked back at the Assault Unit Leader. “Temporarily at least.”

A stinger shot to the back of the neck rendered both men instantly unconscious.

MacKay ran out of the gatehouse and quickly opened the gate. He beckoned the first of the trucks forward. “Out and head straight on,” he told the driver. “If you have to wait, the road bends slightly to the right just after those trees,” he pointed, “and there’s a layby just beyond that. Pull in there.”

The driver, who had seen everything and heard some of it, just nodded and let out the clutch. The truck rumbled off up the road, the others, now ten of them, following. It didn’t take long for them to disappear, and MacKay and one of his Riflemen quickly closed the gate again.

“Stand by the gate,” he told Sanderson. “We may need to open it in a hurry, but keep an eye out for more officers coming from that direction,” he pointed. Lance-Corporal Sanderson nodded.

MacKay grabbed his radio. He looked at it for a moment, indecision on his face. Complete radio silence had been ordered, but he needed to get hold of his own officers. In his mind he worked out what he would say, then realised he could shorten it a bit, in the end almost laughed as he realised he could get away with a transmission of just three words. “Red one assist” he broadcast.

His section was Red-one and the only person he would normally be contacting would be red zero, the platoon command post, so that could be assumed. He wasn’t expecting a reply, so why say ‘over’ and the single word ‘assist’ should get enough of a message across to get someone moving. In fact, now he came to think about it, he might even have got away without the ‘assist’.

It did work. Just a minute later the Company Serjeant Major, plus Serjeant Stewkley and eight other men, number 3 section of 3rd platoon, hurried up.

“What’s going on?” asked the CSM. Stewkley stood behind him, listening intently.

MacKay quickly filled them in, showing him the dead and unconscious senior Patrol officers. He also explained his theory of why the officers were out like that, pointing out that they had come from the direction of a group of buildings visible not far away, outside the perimeter fence.

Another truck rolled up to the gate and Sanderson gave the driver the instructions that MacKay had given the first driver. Almost immediately behind it, an old snatch Land Rover raced up and the Regimental Quartermaster Serjeant hopped out. “Where are my trucks?” he demanded. “I told them to wait there.”

Serjeant Stewkley quickly filled in the RQMS on the situation, who just nodded and headed off back the way he had come.

Stewkley looked at MacKay. “Nice one.”

The CSM also turned to MacKay. “Good call. I’ll get someone to take these men off your hands. In the mean time I’m assigning you a third fire team.” He turned to the section of men with him. “Lance? Get your men. You are now temporarily Alpha fire team reporting to MacKay here.”

“Sir,” said the Lance-Corporal and quickly detailed his men to one side.

“There’s another section from number 3 platoon farther up,” Stewkley told the CSM.

The CSM nodded. “Okay. Leave them there for the moment We’ll collect them on the way back.”

Another truck rolled slowly up, and again Sanderson directed it out of the gate, and told it where to go. The CSM and the remaining fire team hurried back the way they had come.

Stewkley paused to talk to MacKay for a moment before following the CSM. “We reckon there’s almost no one on the base. A few hundred maybe. A thousand tops. Barrack blocks we thought full are empty.” He grinned. “And oh my god the supplies! Looks like the Quartermaster is using this gate and the next one down. But there they are waiting. It’s not as open as it is here.” He paused. “Twenty minutes. Half hour at most, then we’ll be gone.” He clapped MacKay on the shoulder and hurried off after the CSM.

MacKay nodded absently after his rapidly vanishing serjeant, then turned to the waiting Lance-Corporal and raised his eyebrows.

“Lance-Corporal Daniels reporting as ordered.”

“Cheers Lance. I’m MacKay. Can you and your guys go over there and direct the trucks as they come around that corner please.” He quickly explained what the drivers were expecting, and what he needed them to do instead. “Sorry it’s only a traffic job,” he finished, “but we daren’t split up in case more blasted Patrol officers head this way.”

Daniels nodded his understanding. “And if someone is coming your way?”

“Hang onto the trucks where they can’t be seen. I’ll wave them forwards again as soon as the coast is clear. The last lot started to get suspicious because the trucks were just lining up with their engines running.”

“Ah. If we have to wait, I’ll get em to switch their engines off then.”

“They’re noisy to start, someone might hear them.” MacKay indicated the building that the trucks would be waiting beside if they had to wait.

“Um. I’ll think of something.”

MacKay just nodded. “Okay.”

Daniels and his men trotted over to where MacKay had indicated, just as yet another truck edged slowly around the corner.

“Fuck me Corp,” one of his men breathed slowly. “How much are we stealin?”

MacKay chuckled. “Heaven knows. But however much it is, it’ll hurt ‘em bad.”

“I fuckin’ hope so.”

With Daniels and alpha fire team manning the traffic control point where the trucks were appearing from, and Sanderson and delta fire team manning the gate most efficiently, MacKay suddenly felt like a spare thumb. He went back into the gatehouse to find the junior of the two surviving officers starting to revive. He stung him and then suddenly remembered the first three prisoners, now behind the gate house.