Direct Action by Johnny "Two Combs" Howard

Author:Johnny "Two Combs" Howard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: McBooks Press
Published: 2022-03-22T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

T he first rehearsals were carried out in broad daylight, very basic stuff without any air assets. It was a walk through talk through, the idea being that the troopers would get to know the layout of the target and their position in relation to the other callsigns, something that is vital for mutual support. When it came to input it was open season. Even the newest trooper was invited to and did give his opinion. All over the rehearsal area these Chinese Parliaments were in progress, both for Delta Force and the SAS. B Squadron 6 Troop had been given the northwest anti-aircraft position, dangerous if it survived because of the helos still in the air. Moreover AA guns could be used in both an air and ground role, so could give the assault teams a serious and very bloody nose if they survived the air attack.

The lucky thing for 6 Troop was that they were a Rupert-free zone. Lance Price was the troop senior and would be leading. The rest of the troop comprised Jake Steel, Pete Harris, Mike Hutton, Parsnips, Bull Bisset, Tommy ‘Whacker’ Simpson and the kid of the outfit, Gaz Mowlem.

Parsnips worried about relying too much on technology, while Jake prayed that the place would be totally mullahed before their feet touched the ground. That was, as Mike Hutton pointed out in his studious way, a sterile argument.

‘Sterile?’ said Pete ‘Chemo’ Harris.

Chemo was generally held to be the most single-minded guy on the troop. Some said he wasn’t that, just thick. He’d had his head shaved once, on the way to a jungle trip, for a bet. It was some shock to the rest of the squadron to see a fully hirsute man go into the toilet, and come out five minutes later with his head shaved, a man who then loudly called to one of his mates, ‘Jacky, you cunt, you can pay me that fifty quid, now.’

Later he went round the plane collecting for the driver, which severely pissed off the DSF who was flying out to Malaya with them as Trooper Harris insisted that the contributions match the rank – which cost each trooper a pound and the Brigadier a tenner.

Growing his hair back had made him look like he was on chemotherapy, hence the moniker. His great and only love was Premiership football and the yo-yo progress of his team Bolton Wanderers, which occupied his every waking leisure hour. That, and winding up Mike Hutton every time he used what Harris called a posh word.

‘Would you talk in bloody English?’

‘It is English, mate, it’s just not stuck on a football shirt.’

‘It’s not even long, Chemo,’ added Bull Bisset, laughing. ‘It’s about the same as Adidas.’

‘OK,’ Chemo responded, ‘the argument is Adidas. That I can live with.’

‘All I mean is, we could speculate endlessly . . .’

‘There you go again, Mike,’ hooted Chemo.

‘Somebody take this arse away and give him a brain implant.’

‘Arse. That is a word I know.’

‘Can it, fellas,’ called Lance Price.

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