Chapter 1: Training Team Kilo - July 1992-December 1992

It had been a rough, a very rough, crossing of the English Channel from Ostend to Dover. I am not the best of sailors and decided to stay overnight to recuperate at my mother's house in Plaistow, before continuingon to Colchester; it is only about fifty miles from Plaistow to Colchester.

This would be my first visit 'home' since the deaths of Miriam's parents, and I hadn't spoken to Miriam since that terrible row over the 'phone the previous November. I had sent her a present, and we had exchanged cards at Christmas; I also sent a present with her birthday card in January.

All very polite and civilized, but I wondered how we would cope with a face-to-face meeting. As it happened we were spared any unpleasant confrontation as she was on a seminar in Manchester when I arrived home. That was probably just as well because my mother, after learning of my new posting, and my new rank, gave voice to her disapproval at my demotion, which I'm sure Miriam would have echoed.

"I see you've lost yer stripes–because of some tart I expect? You're just like yer Old Man. 'E kept 'is brains in 'is Y fronts, just the same as what you do!"

This was the first time she had ever spoken to me about my father, and it seems that he might have put himself about a bit.

"It's about time you an' Miriam made it up; she's walking round the 'ouse wiv a face like a slapped arse, an' you're getting yourself into trouble with tarts. Time you got back together an' made a proper go of yer marriage, not that I'm best suited to give advice on that subject."

More revelations; maybe my mother had also put herself about a bit, even before my father died?

I hadn't been posted to Colchester before, but it appeared to be much the same as any other British garrison town, with several barracks in the area, and a military prison, known as The Glasshouse. However, Colchester had good reason to call itself the oldest garrison town in Britain as it had been 'host' to Legio XX Valeria Victrix since 43 AD. Over the years many time-expired legionnaires had settled in the town, marrying local girls and producing Romano-British children. Unfortunately for the citizens of Colchester, or Camulodunum as it was known then, the XX Legion was away in the north of Wales, having a ruck with the druids, when in 61 AD Boadicea and her Iceni tribe came rampaging through, destroying the place and slaughtering the inhabitants, before continuing on to London to do the same thing there.

Boadicea would have been proud of what the present council has achieved in continuing her work, destroying what was left of the town centre, and building a frustrating and badly designed one-way traffic system.

From the guardroom of Kirkee Barracks I was directed to a three storied Victorian building, tucked away behind the Motor Transport yard. I assumed that the building had been built in the 1860's, and was a relic of the original barracks. It was an uncompromising, sturdy, red brick edifice, and could have been a school, hospital, prison, asylum or barracks. One Victorian design fits all.

As I stood in the entrance hall, wondering where to report, I heard the sound of a keyboard being used: by an expert judging by the speed of the keystrokes. I knocked at a room off to the side of the entrance hall, and a voice told me to enter. Sitting at a desk, her fingers flying over the keyboard of a computer, was a female corporal. The badges - collar dogs as they are known - on the lapels of her tunic indicated she was in the Intelligence Corps, which gave me food for thought. The Int. Corps was a mysterious unit, whose members were usually employed at the Ministry of Defence (MoD) in Whitehall, or at the Government communications headquarters (GCHQ) in Cheltenham —why would a training team have a 'spook' on strength?

She was a well-built girl. Her bosom swelled her tunic so that the buttons must have been under extreme strain. She glanced up and gave me an open and friendly smile. "Hello," she said, in the local accent, "who are you?"

Her face was round and attractive, with a dimpled chin. Her hair, pulled back into a regulation bun, was dark brown, and her large, limpid eyes were a n attractive shade of hazel.

I put my joining instructions on the desk in front of her and she quickly read them. "Rifleman Desmond. Right, I'll get your paperwork."

She got out of her chair and made her way over to a filing cabinet. Her skirt was stretched tightly across her haunches and over a large, but well rounded, bum, which didn't wobble but oscillated when she walked. For the life of me I couldn't recall who she reminded me of. I must have been staring at her for when she glanced up from the filing cabinet she gave me a hard look.

"What's the matter, haven't you seen a fat girl before?" There was a sharp edge to her voice.

I suddenly remembered who she reminded me of:it was Carole, Pippa's lesbian friend.

"Not fat," I said, "more like Rubenesque."

She laughed, a delightful sound.

"You'll be OK; you've got a silver tongue." She came back to the desk with a sheaf of papers, which she put down before holding out her hand. "I'm Mel, Mel Brookes." She saw the look on my face. "The other, not so famous, Mel Brookes. My maiden name was Gibson, so I'm quite used to people taking the piss."

I shook her hand. "Des Desmond; pleased to meet you."

"You've been posted in as driver, batman and general factotum to the second in command (2i/c). His office is on the next floor up - room six. You had better report to him first, and then come back down here and I'll sort you out."

I went upstairs and knocked on the door of room 6; then heard a voice say 'Come in'. I walked in to find Harry Ledbetter sat behind a desk.

I was gob smacked. "Wha... !"

Harry got up and came around the desk to shake my hand.

"Hello Dave, good to see you." He could see I was astounded to find him in Colchester; the last I heard he was up in London at MoD.

He waved me into a chair and told me what he, and now I, was doing at Training Team Kilo 92.

The team had initially been formed to go out to Kenya – hence Kilo – to mentor the Kenyan army in logistics and support techniques.

"I've been more or less thrust on them, and the Colonel in charge is not best pleased."

"I thought you were in a department at MoD. What's that have to do with training the Kenyan army?"

Harry spoke quietly. "I can't really go into much detail, but basically the Kenyans want some instruction in mortar firing technique and usage. It's not something that our political masters want bruited abroad. Our military help in logistics and support are OK, but anything that might smack of keeping their own people down is soon picked up by the anti-militarists in Opposition, so a mortar training element has been bolted onto the logistic mentoring, and hopefully will slip under the radar."

"Why did you choose me to join the team?"

"If you hadn't been reduced to the ranks you would have been selected in any case. You've done the instructor course, and a mortar course, as well as the combat medic's course."

I looked at him sharply. "Are we going into a combat situation?"

"No, but the Kenyans don't have a too well developed field medical system in place, and a trained medic will be indispensable. Then there's the fact that you're a linguist; we will need to acquire a basic understanding of Swahili before we leave..." He looked at a calendar on the wall, " ... in four weeks' time, so all in all you are a natural shoo- in. When I found out that you had been demoted I called in some favours and had you posted onto the team." He looked at me anxiously. "You don't mind acting as my batman for a while, at least until we get to Kenya?"

I shook my head. " Not at all; as usual, Harry, you've saved my bacon; it would have been very awkward for me, wherever I got posted to in the regiment, but in Kenya no one will know why I got busted, or care."

He smiled his appreciation, and continued. "There are only five mortar instructors on the team, so it's quite likely that you will be co-opted as an extra instructor. I might be able to get you made up to acting sergeant if that happens. We intend to train about twenty Kenyan SNCOs as mortar instructors over a four-week period. They will then go back to their battalions and train up the mortar platoons."

I suddenly realised that Harry was wearing Major's crowns on his epaulettes.

"Congratulations," I said, indicating his new rank badges.

"It's only temporary, but at least it will give me some clout in Kenya. The team is led by a Lieutenant Colonel Jones, from the Royal Logistics Corps (RLC). He is giving a briefing to the whole team the day after tomorrow, but I'm going to tell you something that he doesn't know. I know I can trust you, which is probably the best reason for having you on the team."

He picked up the telephone on his desk. "Mel, no calls for the next ten minutes, OK?"

He started talking, and this is a brief resume of what he said.

Ever since the Shifta War of 1963–67 between Kenya and Somalia – shifta is Swahili for bandit – Kenya has been concerned with its Northern Frontier District (NFD), which not only has a border with Somalia but the majority of the inhabitants of the region are ethnic Somalis, who are closer to Mogadishu than to Nairobi, both geographically, ethnically, and religiously. The current problems in Somalia – the on-going, severe, famine and the internecine warfare between the differing clan warlords – have been exacerbated by the appearance of bands of Islamic militants. These Mujahideen, equipped, funded and trained by Iran, are now controlling land along the border with the NFD.

This has led to Kenya fearing that a more radical form of Islam could be stirring in Somalia, leading to their annexation of the Northern Frontier District, which historically was part of Somalia.

The Kenyans have a well-trained army, and are currently upgrading their supply and transport assets, which is why Training Team Kilo 92 was formed. Until recently the Kenyan Army had been mainly concerned with rural internal security. However, the threat of a large scale incursion, of well-armed, well trained insurgents, including the possibility of units of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard, from across the border, has galvanised the Kenyans in improving the effectiveness of their infantry battalions, notably the mortar platoons. The Kenyan Army has recently re-equipped with the L16 81mm mortar, and, as a member of the Commonwealth, has requested that a training team be dispatched from the UK to instruct the SNCOs who will command the mortar platoons. Given the sensitivity of the region, and the fact that the UK is not willing to be seen helping governments with weapons that could be used against their own people, it was decided that the mortar training team would be 'infiltrated' into Training Team Kilo 92. The mortar team will spend four months training the Kenyan Army, simultaneously with, but separate from, the logistics training team.

Harry paused after his briefing. "Now this is the section of the briefing that only you and I, and Mel, know about." He smiled at my look of surprise that Mel should also share this secret stuff.

"After Training Team Kilo 92 returns to the UK, at the end of November, you and I will monitor the mortar platoons in action, and assess how effective they, and our training, have been."

"So we will be going into a combat situation? You said we will monitor the mortars in action. I don't suppose you meant watching them on a firing range?"

Harry rubbed his chin and looked reflectively at me. "There are people at GCHQ monitoring the build-up of the Mujahideen and Shifta groups, and the estimate as to when the incursions will start is mid-December. Consequently our training schedule is rigged to get as many SNCO's as possible trained up, ready to lead their mortar platoons, by late November. If the situation alters we may have to increase the training rate. MoD gets reports from GCHQ, and then passes them on to me, which is why Mel and I will have to report to MoD quite often. When the balloon goes up you and I will accompany the force sent in to deal with the incursion."

Harry gazed at me with a serious and earnest look on his face. "I must stress this fact, Dave. We are only to act as observers; we mustn't get involved in any fighting. Officially we won't be there, and there will be hell to play if we make waves." He gave a slight smile. "And getting killed could put quite a damper on our careers!"

After Harry had finished the briefing I went back down stairs to Mel.

"You're a bit of a problem, Des. All the other team members are sergeants and are billeted in the Sergeants' Mess. You don't want to bed down in the transit billet: it's like a barn, and right next to the RSM's office, and he's always popping in. The place gets polished more often than a Household Cavalry saddle."