Marines (2)

[Gambit]

I was sitting on a poncho with the support weapon stripped to the bones, then oiled the working parts, not too much oil after the Sarge had ripped me for over oiling. Earlier, after a long burst, he had said " For F**K's sake cut down on the oil will you? You’re sending up smoke signals!" That received a laugh from the other guys and the point had been made. A Good NCO was he.

I closed the breech, cocked the weapon and took the safety off, swung the weapon towards our corporal shouting "Hey!" and pulled the trigger, there was a dull "Clack!" as the breech block struck home. I laughed as he went into a complete funk and threw his water bottle at me, calling me a "Stupid Bastard!" at the same time. Some people have absolutely no sense of humour. I didn't like him anyway.

It was a crazy place to be, a small city made up of tents, huts and steel containers. Some have been "Vented" after taking shrapnel hits. In the centre was a dusty parade ground. There were also cooking and wash-house areas.

I watched as an e-vac came in with casualties. The medicos were good, real professionals. You could have been a private or a general but received the same treatment and compassionate care. Above all they were in charge. And that was the most comforting fact of all.

Lazily we wandered down for Mid-Day rations; a signals guy ran up and spoke with the Sarge who headed for the CP at a fast trot. We all looked at each other; no one spoke for we knew the deal, we were going out again! I ran with the others heading for the rations tent at speed, for it was simply eat now or go hungry. The brits that were going out with us were already there eating fast, the e-vac casualties had been theirs. This would be their third fighting patrol within twenty-four hours, our second.

[DickZ]

You should keep all these in the same thread - don't start a new thread with each installment.

I agree with your corporal - aiming a weapon at another person is NOT funny at all.

[Gambit]

You should keep all these in the same thread - don't start a new thread with each installment.

I agree with your corporal - aiming a weapon at another person is NOT funny at all.

Ok,as you wish, no more installments.

As a rule you are perfectly correct. However, when living with them 24/7 you become blasé, even at times mighty careless. Funny thing is, since leaving the service; I have no interest in firearms whatsoever.

[DickZ]

More installments are fine - you're writing a great story and I hope it will continue. Just keep them all in the same thread. The moderators will eventually get around to moving your second thread into your first.

[bortleman]

I'm surprised the corporal didn't do more than throw a tantrum.

[Gambit]

I'm surprised the corporal didn't do more than throw a tantrum.


Oh I guess he could have, and in another time and place probably would have. He had been in a while so knew that it just wasn’t wise to overly piss-off the guy who gave him support during an action.

[Gambit]

Marines (3)

We were to operate in an area close to the border as fighting patrols in support of a local unit. We had a good relationship with these guys as we had worked together on a few missions doing "Sanitaire" on the eastern border. The brits would take one route and we another.

After several stops we eventually hit a pass in the mountains which had enormous overhangs, perfect for cover and easily defended if required .We were to spend the night there then to do our "Walk through talk through" and rehearsals come the dawns early light.

A Fire Force team passed through and gave us a wave. They were heavily laden and obviously out for a very long time. One look at these guys and we knew wherever they were heading would be “Hot”. Later that night we heard an absolutely massive small arms fire fight taking place from the direction the Fire team had taken, the noise echoing in the narrow pass as we lay there listening till it suddenly stopped. An occasional rifle round went off after the main contact had ceased. An hour later we heard the familiar “Tac-tac-tac”of a slow-firing machine gun. A flight of helicopters passed over flying low heading the same way as the Fire team did. Some would be for casualty extraction.

We were on our feet by 0400, rationed and checked weapons. We did our WTTT and rehearsals; The Skipper was not the least impressed in our efforts at break contact drills and thoroughly ripped into us, getting so red in the face with frustration I genuinely thought his head would burst with blood pressure.

We moved out at 0800, a six hour walk ahead of us to the fist RP, which was located on a razorback ridge. The Sarge set a tremendously killing pace and it was not long before we started to badly string out, which brought his wrath down upon us in the shape of some impressive bad language and well placed kicks. Pushing, driving us back into proper spacing’s for our own good. If you fell back in that type of terrain, if you lost contact with the other guys, then it was all over for you. They simply would not search until the patrol was over. By which time you would be long gone, absorbed into the mountains as if you had never existed in the first place.

[bortleman]

So who were you working with overseas

[Gambit]

So who were you working with overseas


We worked with other units and local groups in a variety of locations. One day I may try and write a book about it, and probably bore the hell out of people with its contents.

[bortleman]

Yeah but what forces were you with. I.e. us marines...

[Gambit]

Yeah but what forces were you with. I.e. us marines...


Ah, I understand. No great mystery there, but regretfully that part must remain in limbo for a time. However, I can say that Norfolk VA means a great deal to me. As for nationality, I am of dual nationality.

[bortleman]

Check

[DickZ]

We worked with other units and local groups in a variety of locations. One day I may try and write a book about it, and probably bore the hell out of people with its contents.
You should go ahead and write your book - some people will be interested and others will not. You've had experiences that only a very small percentage of the overall population have had, and it would be great to capture it on paper. You can post your stories here if you don't want to deal with all the frustrations of getting published.

And please spell out your acronyms so the rest of us don't have to guess what RP and WTTT stand for. I assume that WTTT is the Walk Through and Talk Through that you mentioned previously, but I would have to guess that RP is Reconnaissance Patrol, which could turn out to be a bad guess. And it would help if you explained what a Walk Through and Talk Through is, rather than forcing the reader to figure it out by himself.

And how about expanding a little on what the absolutely massive small arms firefight turned out to be?

[Gambit]

DickZ,my apologies I should have realised.

WTTT.= The Walk Through Talk Through. It is used to familiarise a group on the particular mission at hand.

Rehearsals. = Rehearsing the military skills deemed most likely to be required on that mission. Break Contact Drill is extremely important as it is choreographed to suit the group who will execute the manoeuvre.

For instance, FIBUA (Fighting in built-up areas) contains a mass of military skills for the tempo to be maintained, so it requires constant rehearsal to be truly effective.


RP = Rendezvous Point, not to be confused with the more loosely timed RV, the RP is very carefully timed to coincide with an action by another group. Such as flanking, support, and so on. If you fail to be at an RP on time it can, and probably will, spell disaster for the plans, even Blue casualties.

[Gambit]

As an eighteen year old, and In another life, an officer told me during a particularly gruelling 20 miler, when I asked permission to drop-out due to chronic leg cramp, “You are not that important, go on, let us all down if you wish, or bloody well get over it. Carry on!” I could have taken a huff at what I considered to be his insensibility towards me, in fact thinking back I probably had, but it sure did make me “Carry on”.

Sitting on top of the world, or so it seemed on that boulder strewn, desolate razor back ridge looking down at the panoramic view laid out before me, with lungs on fire and physically on my chinstrap, I understood exactly what he meant. The happy faces of the local group we were there to support said so. We had made the RP with two minutes in hand.

It had been uphill all the way, even down to scrambling up slopes covered in tiny sharp gravel which tore our gloves and knee pads to shreds, thus rendering them useless. In the end we just threw them away and accepted the cuts.

There was no respite for massive boulders stood in the way, the largest requiring climbing kit to be deployed; deep crevasses had to be crossed. It all ate up time, and time for us was running out fast. All ration and water stops were abandoned, if you wanted any then it was taken on the hoof. In one crevasse we spotted the wreck of a helicopter, no choice, it had to be checked out. Down went the Sarge and corporal. It turned out to be Russian and downed in circumstances unknown. They took its frame number and recorded the grid ref so that some mothers would now know where their boys lay.

The helicopter wreck was a sobering reminder to us why we were on a “Walk in”. Apart from the military thinking of; why chance knocking on the front door when you can sneak in using the back one with impunity.

[Gambit]

The local group commander laid out his plan for the skipper. We had ultimate faith in our officer for he had been at this game longer than most in many parts of the world, and had a keen eye for battle appreciation, good planning being the key. He and the Sarge had over 20 years experience between them.

With a few minor changes to our role the skipper approved the plan. It was just as we liked it to be, simple. The local commander had followed the golden rule of KISS, keep it simple stupid. Anyway, as any serviceman will tell you, once the first round is fired the best laid plans go with it.

We were to form two aggressive fighting patrols, one for each flank. The brits, now in position after swinging round in a wide sweep, would be guarding the rear to kill off any bug-outs. The local group would go straight in with a frontal assault. I was glad we wouldn’t be joining them. Once the action started we would switch roles and advance a distance on the flanks with the brits acting as stops for the local guys who would drive the enemy towards them like cattle. They would squeeze the enemy into an ever depleting area and annihilate them. It would take tremendous fire discipline to avoid Blue-on-Blue. We hoped the local guys had that discipline.

As fighting patrols we would take the battle to the enemy in any outlying positions, thus forcing them to think defensively for they would not know where we would strike next. In that type of bleak terrain it is not uncommon to make contact at over 300 metres. Therefore, the support weapon was vital to enabled us to withdraw safely under its covering fire. I set about making sure it was in prime condition for what may lie ahead. As we were going out in darkness I changed the tracer rounds in the belt to ball as there was no sense in giving the enemy a free finger pointing at us.

Despite the many sophisticated means of gaining intelligence on what the enemy is up to, such as satellite, drones and many other systems, patrolling is still the most reliable way you can obtain verifiable information for you cannot plan a successful operation without it. The set piece attack about to be undertaken relied heavily upon it.

In addition to harassment and holding the enemy in the planned killing pocket by convincing them that we were few in number, we also had to gather as much info as possible. Even though now exhausted from the ”Walk in” we had two hours to achieve as much of this as we could before the local guys left their start line for the main assault. Time was once again just ticking away.

[Gambit]

I was starting to feel cold; as the last of the daylight dropped away so did the air temperature and it would soon dip to below freezing. We were called forward for mines awareness, it always happened before an operation. It was to constantly remind everyone that they were more likely to come across a mine or IED, the hallmark of insurgent activity, than any other threat. Although they were sometimes accompanied by a small arms ambush. We had heard it so many times now it was seared into our minds, but others had been caught out so on went the lectures regardless.

The Sarge did the last kit check on us before we moved out for he never left anything to chance. The weight we carried with ammunition was easily in excess of 40 lbs. The contents were not on an official list for we compromised our own SOP’s (standard operating procedures) by personalising at our own expense. Personalised equipment takes time to tailor just right, but attention to even the smallest detail can make the difference between comfort and discomfort, and the ability to survive on your own if required.

Looking through everyone’s gear, from spare underwear to lucky charms, nodding approval, giving advice or ripping, the Sarge eventually arrived at me. “I want to see the contents of your cleaning kit”, I opened it up and instantly the hammer came down, “Where the f*ck is the oil!” The oil rants once again. “Get some, steal it, I don’t care, just do it! How many spare barrels?” I kept my mouth firmly shut and held up two fingers in a V, “Are you taking the piss?” He growled with obvious menace. I quickly shook my head in the negative and closed my fingers.

The local commander gave me a full bottle of ex-Russian military gun oil. Although of dubious quality it was better than none. After some hi-energy rations and layering-up against the cold I lifting my cargo and it made me stagger; I was carrying our standard weight plus the support weapon, its ammo and spare parts including the barrels. Normally for the type of task assigned to us we would reduce our personal load but this was going out into the unknown so everything went with us. One of our larger guys laughed and helped me out by grabbing my pack straps, steadying me until I retained balance. As the smallest guy in our team, just 5’8” in socks, I was considered to be a lightweight, a “Feather merchant,” built for speed as they say. I guess we were all literally shattered physically but as always the smaller framed guys had a harder time coping, but coping with it we had to.

This was utopia compared to what had gone before; speed-marching for 10/20 even 30 miles whilst laden like pack horses, living in stinking bat shi*ted caves with practically no light, sitting, squirming in filthy drainage channel mud for hours, even days on end when out on recce. In the end you become oblivious to exhaustion, discomfort and absolutely ruthless towards an enemy whom you will blame for everything.

My late father had fought in Vietnam, in various provinces and around Long Binh and Bien Hoa. When I joined he told me there’s no time to wonder how the enemy’s going to react. You have to do it to them before they do it to you, and do it quickly. Risking your life and those of your team as little as possible, it was sound advice from a veteran and I never forgot it. I put it into practice many a time, it never failed me. After his death I read his war diary to which he had refused my siblings and I access. In it was confirmation of what he had told me and the fact that it is not in any way modern day thinking to blame the enemy for all ills which may befall you in the fighting zone.

[MANICHAEAN]

You don't mind me asking, but is The Sarge gay?
Regards
M.

[Gambit]

You don't mind me asking, but is The Sarge gay?
Regards
M.

Not that I was aware of, he had a wife and a couple of kids. But you never can tell. Why, does it matter either way?

[Gambit]

Everyone has personal fears when moving in darkness, no matter how tough or hard they portray themselves to be. Fear of the dark and what it could bring lives within all of us, it is as natural as requiring sleep. In war the trick is to turn that natural fear to your advantage, from being an enemy into a friend. It keenly sharpens the senses, makes you alert and removes over confidence. It can even save your life.

As we headed off through a fissure in the rock face of the ridge, down a steep track leading to a plateau the night turned to pitch black, each man having to hold onto the one in front, my own night fear rose within me again, the fear of mines. I had witnessed their ability to destruct, disrupt and terrify. The mine warfare manual says “train to prevent panic”, well now, that is much easier said than done when not standing slap-bang in the middle of an unmarked mine field, at midnight, with some of your buddies lying limbless and screaming.

The whole country was, in one way or another, a giant minefield. The soviets had left behind masses of them, and not forgetting those that the mujahedeen received from us and had stashed away for a rainy day of course. The soviets left behind anti personnel and anti tank, I could make an impressive list of the types left but the most deadly for us where we were was the Green Parrot. Air-delivered, made of plastic and filled with liquid explosive. They were camouflaged green or sand and even light pressure on the body would fire it. It did not self-destruct, nor could it be neutralised. The soviets had mined many infiltration tracks with these, and the track we were using was one such route.

Another type for us to be worried about when eventually out on the plateau was the PMD series wooden anti-personnel mine activated by pressure. The local guys tended to fare better when they stepped on mines because of their footwear, normally they just lost toes or a foot, whereas our footwear guaranteed you would loose everything up to the knee, for explosives take the line of least resistance. Having said that, mines with a small charge are better stood on with a heavy boot. Leading to; “find out which mines you are facing and act accordingly”, as also stated in the mines warfare manual.

Apart from a few “Fill the pants time” when someone pointed to something out of the ordinary, we made it to the plateau in one piece with my nerves jingling away. Stretched out before us was a silent lunar style landscape bathed in low starlight, the Apollo mission guys would have felt right at home had they been there. A new moon so nothing to worry about, other than possibly tripping over the enemy in the dark.

[Gambit]

The amount of rusty burn out vehicles from the Soviet invasion just lying around in northern Afghanistan is really quite legendary. In my time you could still come across them fresh,unreported, in the most unlikely, desolate and inaccessible places. But how the hell a soviet BRDM armoured car and BMP managed to get up onto that plateau was a feat of great ingenuity, but they had died there along with their crews, taken out by the mujahedeen probably using RPG-7 anti-tank rockets. Now they were once again a possible threat, but this time to us. They had loomed out of the gloom like ghosts, and we cursed the local guys for omitting to warn us about their presence.

We spread out in line advance, walking quietly but alert we approached the burnt-outs. Now, anyone who tells you that when in this situation they were not scared sh*tless is a damn liar. Night vision equipment can’t see through armour even when it is burnt to a frazzle, so anyone peering out at us with murder in mind would have a field day. As an add-on we could not fire indiscriminately, not even tap-off a couple of probing rounds for fear of compromising our presence. There was only one thing to be done, walk on and brace ourselves against any hostile fire.

Out in the open with no cover, if we took fire, we would be fu*ked, simple as that. Break-contact drills would definitely save some but not all. It would be the ultimate lottery with the grand prize of survival being shared amongst some. Thrown into the mix was the possibility of mines. A burnt-out vehicle is like a magnet which attracts people, and where people go in a war zone placed mines are sure to follow, just as sure as bears sh*t in the woods.

BMP armour was well known to be thin so I was confident of penetrating at least one of the vehicles with my armoured piercing; the ball ammo would make one hell of a din and deafen anyone hiding in it, but it would just otherwise spark off. The BRDM, I knew nothing of its armour quality whatsoever.

[Gambit]

The first round hit the Corporal dead centre in the chest, it passed straight through his body armour and out through his pack, slicing through everything and headed for god only knew where, the second clinically removed my buddies ear lobe better than any surgeon could. Armour piercing! We instantly hit the prone position and returned fire. The third round whanged off a stone in front of me and headed off to mars. The skipper was screaming cease fire, the Corporal was crying in terrible pain, and I was pouring rounds into both vehicles until my hands blistered when I tried to change barrels, the battle din was incredible in the still air. It was so loud my ears rang as if I had a gong in my head being battered relentlessly with a club hammer. The sh*t had hid the fan with a force which sprayed it absolutely everywhere.

Gone was the local guys forward assault, gone was the killing pocket and gone was our fighting patrols. The locals would bug-out on hearing the firing, the brits, not being stupid people, would instantly wrap-it-up and piss-off back the way they came. And our other fighting patrol would head back to the original RP and wait for any of us who may have survived, but not for long. The whole shebang had been compromised. This left us two options only, advance or withdrawal. The corporal died within minutes moaning and calling for his wife. “Fu*k this!” cried the Skipper and ordered us up and forward in a frontal assault. I had only been involved in one before and it had been absolutely terrifying.

In a standard forward assault you have time to form up at a given start line with everything being subjected to careful timing, not that time, it was up and straight in using the classical style. A Highlanders charge would probably describe it best. Rounds poured into the burnt-out vehicles, grenade bursts, phosphorous set the very ground on fire. And guess what, we had killed two guys in our assault. A third we found a little distance off where he had crawled off to die, his lower jaw missing. All that, all that damn hassle for only three guys!

[MANICHAEAN]

Its just that he came across so macho, I began to wonder. As you rightly point out he could swing both ways, not that it matters.
Thank you for the clarification.
Regards
M.

[DickZ]

Everyone has personal fears when moving in darkness, no matter how tough or hard they portray themselves to be. Fear of the dark and what it could bring lives within all of us, it is as natural as requiring sleep. In war the trick is to turn that natural fear to your advantage, from being an enemy into a friend. It keenly sharpens the senses, makes you alert and removes over confidence. It can even save your life.

As we headed off through a fissure in the rock face of the ridge, down a steep track leading to a plateau the night turned to pitch black, each man having to hold onto the one in front, my own night fear rose within me again, the fear of mines. I had witnessed their ability to destruct, disrupt and terrify. The mine warfare manual says “train to prevent panic”, well now, that is much easier said than done when not standing slap-bang in the middle of an unmarked mine field, at midnight, with some of your buddies lying limbless and screaming. . . .
So who gets to use the so-called 'night-vision' equipment we always hear about in the comfort of our living rooms?

[Note: I asked this after reading #7, which didn't mention night-vision equipment. I now see that #8 does refer to it. So does this gear do anything useful, or not?]

[Gambit]

Night vision equipment is great for general scoping but has quite a few negatives stacked up against it when used in certain circumstances. For us, the ability to spot Green Parrot mines at night could only be done by our natural vision. Once our sight adjusted to the light available it was relatively easy to pick them out, something night vision equipment actually made more difficult.

A local fighter showed me a grain sack filled with soviet made night monoculars and asked if I had any batteries which would activate them. Without batteries they were just more useless war trash.

[MANICHAEAN]

Dear Gambit
Have you ever tried reading Livy's "The War with Hannibal?" I think you would enjoy it as background material perhaps for your existing characters. I would especially recommend the battles of Trebia, Lake Trasimene & Cannae. Both Napoleon & the Duke of Wellington admired Hannibal as a formidable military stratagist.
Best regards
M.

[Gambit]

I have enough material available within my service diaries, but many thanks for your kind suggestion.

[Gambit]

There are only three ways out after a compromised bump. By helicopter, vehicle, or just walk-out to a pre-arranged RV and be extracted from there. The first, by most peoples thinking, would be the fastest and safest way of extracting a team in such a situation, and correct they are. However, it is by no means without serious consequences if things do go adrift.

An insurgency enemy will attempt to deploy all sorts of tricks at their disposal to enhance their kill tally after a successful bump. A helicopter, including crew and its human cargo, is by far too good a target to pass up for it has the makings of a” Spectacular” in the eyes of their propaganda elements.

Although not an insurgent war there was a case during the Vietnam War where an NVA soldier, dressed-up in US flight coveralls, lured in a rescue HH-53C which in turn fell victim to a pre-placed lurking MIG. The only time in the entire war a MIG shot down a Jolly Green.

The soviets were victims to similar scams in their time. Russian speaking Afghans would set-up machine guns, RPGs, and heat-seekers supplied by the USA in cross-fire death traps, call in support on a captured RT after annihilating an outpost or other, and rack up their kills by downing Spetsnaz filled helicopters as they came in to land. In one such action 24 Spetsnaz were killed.

The soviets retaliated by bombing the surrounding villages so the very next day 52 soviets were killed by the Mujahedeen in an exact copy of the first action. After that debacle the soviets hardly ever sent in SF support teams by helicopter. They used BRDM and BMP vehicles instead, and found out just how more vulnerable extraction vehicles can be when used in boulder strewn, mountainous terrain. In the end they opted for the third way, they walked in…and out.

[DickZ]

I have enough material available within my service diaries, but many thanks for your kind suggestion.
It's not really a question of whether or not you have enough material. You should take MANICHAEAN's great advice more seriously, as it would give you added perspective on how and what to write. From the looks of your evolving story, you could use such perspective.

[Gambit]

It may surprise you but I do indeed take his advice seriously, and respect his opinion and his writings. Whether it is great or not I am unsure at this time, for I have had conflicting opinions from others since starting my thread.

My family have always been enthusiastic diary keepers. Other than my own, I have in my possession both of my great grandfathers First World War diaries, both of my grandfathers, and grandmothers, Second World War diaries, and my fathers Vietnam diary.

How to present them regarding publication is proving far more of a headache.

[MANICHAEAN]

Dear Gambit
I'm not quite sure how to put this, but I will try anyway. You have a great passion for what you write about, but where I think both DickZ & I are coming from is to offer friendly advice on the option you have to take it into another dimension. From the depth of what appears to be your front line experiences, you did not go through them like a robot! Explore as deep as you can the emotions of the military, whether it being broken in during boot camp, or being under fire. There is a wealth of experience there. Use it.

I know that by now I must be becoming a pain in the a-- , but let me recommend just one more book "The Years of the Sword" by Elizabeth Longford. Then you might see what I'm aiming at.

Let me just say finally how I admire the esteem in which you hold the endeavours of your military forefathers. I still have my grandfather's medals from the 1st World War & my father's from his RAF days. Unfortunately the latter lost his younger brother, who went down as a gunner on The Prince of Wales battleship.

Best regards
M.

[Mike Tevion]

I have been trawling through the short stories looking for any with a truly realistic military theme which could be considered suitable for recommended reading at Military.com. I have included yours.

Take care.

Mike.

[Mike Tevion]

Having read this again it merits a bump up.

[LongCharlieSlim]

Having read this again it merits a bump up. Yep,it surely was brother. Looks like war in Afghanistan was Vietnam without a jungle.

[Josh Drummond]

An interesting set of stories.