Chapter 17: BATUS Redux

I took Big Ben's advice and got more involved with the section and platoon. Since returning from my abortive leave I had retreated into a bubble of self-pity, guilt and anger, but now that I was interacting with the boys, and discussing with them how we felt about what we had seen in Bosnia, I began to sleep better at nights, and the incidence of flashbacks fell. I remembered the psychiatrist at the sniper school held the theory that PTSD sufferers began to be affected when they were away from their unit, his rationale being that physical closeness with comrades, and the inherent cohesion of belonging to a unit, delayed the onset of PTSD.

Although I knew I didn't have PTSD I had been having flashbacks, with the occasional nightmare filled night, which were symptomatic of the disease, although I was in daily contact with my section and platoon. Obviously Captain Stanley Livingstone's theory was flawed. At least that is what I first thought, until one evening in the NAAFI.

I'd had a few pints, and a game of darts, with some of the lads from the section, and was watching them playing snooker when Rumpole Stilkins clapped me on the back, and said. "It's good to have you back with us, Dewey."

The penny then dropped. Of course! I had been physically with my fellow Erbs but really I had been separated from them by the self-imposed barriers I had put between me and the rest of the world.

I might have been interacting with Karen several times a week, but that had just been fucking, and there hadn't been much talking. Anyway I doubt any civvy would be able to understand what a squaddie goes through in a combat situation. It needs someone who has been there and done it, and got the Tee shirt, to be able to relate to the sufferer, who then is able to unburden himself to a person with the same experiences.

All Erbs had been affected by what they had seen in Bosnia, and by talking it out between ourselves the terrors were shared, and therefore diminished. Captain Livingstone was right about unit cohesion alleviating the symptoms of PTSD, but it also needed the sufferers to be able to discuss their problems with blokes who knew what they were going through, and had also 'seen the elephant'. Once I got a handle on my feelings of 'guilt ', the flashbacks and nightmares ceased, and things also started to look up in my career.

Domby Anson failed his BFT, for the third time of asking, and was given his discharge from HM forces – bad luck for him, but good luck for me. Consequently I was made up to Acting Corporal, and took over command of #4 section. Added to this bounty was the news that ERB were to be deployed to Canada as 'enemy' for the forthcoming season of Operation Medicine Man, at British Army Training Unit Suffield (BATUS), the huge military training area on the Alberta prairie. This was something of a reward for our work in Bosnia, as it was a highly prized posting. ERB would be at BATUS for the whole 6 months of the exercises, and would also be given at least 3 weeks local leave, allowing us to experience all manner of activities, including climbing in the Rockies, sightseeing in Vancouver or Toronto, or even visiting the USA. In fact, the whole of North America was open for us to explore and have fun, all at government expense.

A week before flying out to Calgary I rang home. It was doubtful if any of my female relatives would speak to me. I knew Miriam certainly wouldn't, and it was touch and go whether my mother would either. My informing on Hodge had put her in a something of a dilemma. In her lexicon grassing someone up was the eighth deadly sin, however grassing up Martin Hodge was something she couldn't argue with, especially as Vivian had needed several stitches after Hodge had punched him.

It seems her hatred of Hodge overcame her hatred of a grass, and she deigned to talk to me. I told her that I was going to be out of the country for 6 months and that I would contact her when I could – there not being many telephone kiosks out on the Alberta prairie.

"At least all that aggro' you give 'Odge 'as made 'im sling 'is 'ook an' disappear ... good riddance to the evil sod."

"How is Miriam?"

"She's much calmer now that that scumbag of a brother has buggered off. At the moment she's down in Guildford for a week, sorting out some trouble at the local supermarket. That girl is a diamond, but I wish she'd spend as much time on sorting out her marriage." I heard my mother give a sniff of disapproval before continuing. "I know that she's really sorry she smashed your mug. I don't fink she done it on purpose."

"Yeah, I realise she just picked up of the nearest thing at hand to chuck at me. Tell her not to worry ... it's only a mug, and I will probably get another."

"It's your marriage you want to get fixed, not some bloody silly mug."

My mother must be really upset about the state of Miriam and my marriage to call the Hammer's Cup Winning commemorative mug 'bloody silly'.

"I 'ope you're going to keep in touch wiv 'er; sending 'er post cards an' that, when you're in America."

"Of course I will – and it's Canada I'm going to."

"Same difference – anyway they talk the same as Yanks."

I apologise to all Canadians for my mother's remarks.

As the ERB were permanent enemy, or Opposing Force (OPFOR), to give the correct terminology, we were not accommodated at Camp Crowfoot at Ralston, where the Battle Groups (BGs) taking part in Exercise Medicine Man were quartered. I suspect that this separation was done so that no fraternization took place between us and the men of the visiting BGs, either to pass on information to aid them, or, which is probably the main reason, to avoid conflict, i.e. punch ups, between the members of OPFOR and the BGs, especially in the bars of Ralston and the CANEX canteen on camp.

OPFOR was based about 10 miles north of Ralston on Route 884, at the control centre – or center, as spelled in Canada – of the whole training complex, which went by the name of the Control Center Complex (CCC). It did what it said on the tin, and monitored every vehicle on the training area, besides evaluating the accuracy of the Tactical Effects Simulation laser equipment fitted to every man and fighting vehicle (TESSEX). The operators of all this electronic equipment were Canadian Army personnel, although the Directing Staff (DS), who acted as observers, and arbitrators during the TESSEX phase of the exercise between the BGs and OPFOR, were officers from both the Canadian and British armies. Captain Greasy Spooner earned a stern rebuke when he referred to one of these DS officers as 'an umpire'.

"We are not at Wimbledon, Captain."

Although it was seven years since I had last been at BATUS I hoped that Eddy Two Bears, the Pikani brave who had become my blood brother, was still working as a Tribal Policeman in the area, and would soon make contact. However it was Thunder Face – or to give him his correct name, Face like a Thunder Cloud – who had been a fellow Sweat Lodge Ritual participant, who showed up in the cook house one breakfast time, about a week after our arrival. He was well named, as even among the Pikani he was thought to be grim of face and gloomy. He greeted me with my sweat lodge ritual name, and I returned his greeting, using his secret, ritual name, before he switched to my tribal name.

"Des Flying Horse, I have a message from Eddy Two Bears." He handed me an envelope, then gave me the briefest of smiles – in fact it might only have been wind – before leaving.

The letter from Eddy explained why he wasn't here. He was now a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) and was based at Edmonton. How on earth he knew I was at BATUS, and at the Control Center Complex and not Camp Crowfoot, amazed me. There was a telephone number to ring, which I did just as soon as I could. It must have been Eddy's mobile, or I suppose I should say cell phone, as I got him straight away.

We exchanged brief greetings, but I think he must have been in his patrol car as I could hear background radio chatter.

"Call me again when you know when your leave period is, Des, then I will arrange a trip into the mountains. Keep well brother." With that he hung up.

I won't go into the minutiae of the day to day operations at BATUS, although it was a different perspective from that when I had attended with 3RGJ, as part of a BG, seven years ago. This time it was a slightly easier duty, as the OPFOR knew what tasks the BG was programmed to perform, and all their positional information. You may think that this gave OPFOR an unfair advantage, and you would be absolutely right; the whole purpose of OPFOR was to throw as many fucks into each BG as could be delivered when they came out onto the prairie for the 2 weeks TESSEX training phase.

Each Battle Group was given a series of assignments, and the DS monitored how effectively, or not, these tasks were carried out. Not all of the missions given to a BG had the OPFOR attempting to disrupt them, and the daily replenishment, of water fuel and food, was only obstructed occasionally by the OPFOR as part of a planned 'task', when the BG was warned that the supply column would be attacked.

We chased them from arse hole to breakfast time. Striking when least expected, at any time of the night or day. By the end of the TESSEX phase of the training every element of a BG had been tested to the limit, and any aspect found wanting was noted, leading to heads rolling in the command structure, and more strenuous training for the members of the battle group, when back in the UK or Germany.

Before the arrival of the first Battle Group the OPFOR went out onto the training area and reconnoitred the locations where we would be operating. By the time the BG had finished their live firing and came onto the training area for the TESSEX phase we had a good idea of where the bad going areas were, and the areas where we would set ambushes, and generally give the BG a really strenuous work out.

It brought it home to me how large the training area was, for although the prairie hasn't many distinguishing features I could see that the area being used for this season of Medicine Man was a completely different area to the one I had been with 3RGJ in 1987. The terrain was also quite different from that of my previous visit; then we had operated over a semi-arid terrain, with outcrops of rocks and areas of soft sand. This time we were in a more verdant setting, with undulating grassland, dotted with small lakes, and a medium sized, sluggish shallow river meandering through the landscape. I knew the whole of the prairie was under a thick blanket of snow during the winter months so supposed that these lakes were the last vestiges of that snow.

As the year progressed the land would dry out, and indeed in late July and during most of August the Canadian army provided helicopter-borne fire suppression teams, as fires started from any incendiary, be it a discarded cigarette end, a badly maintained campfire or lightning strikes, would devastate hectares of tinder dry prairie in short order.

OPFOR was equipped mainly with Long Wheel Base (LWB) Land Rovers, which literally ran rings around the Warrior Armoured personnel carriers (APCs) that the infantry of the BGs operated from, and were perfect for the hit and run raids we were tasked with. We were like bands of Apaches swooping down on a wagon train, shooting up the transports and then disappearing in a cloud of dust, while the Warriors tried to pin us down – no contest. There was also a squadron of Chieftain tanks attached to OPFOR, and they went head to head with the tankies' of the BG, but as OPFOR had superior knowledge of the terrain, and could pick better 'hull down' positions, the OPFOR tanks usually 'killed' more of them than the BG did of ours.