A couple more days passed, then up went a list on the Orderly Room notice board, headed ‘Operation Bluebird’. The ten-man bodyguard training team, it announced, would be commanded by Captain Peter Black; second in command would be Sergeant Geordie Sharp. Specially attached as interpreter and liaison officer would be Sergeant Tony Lopez (US SEAL, now of D Squadron). The team would deploy via RAF Brize Norton on 10 March 1992 — barely three weeks away. That meant we had to start sorting ourselves out straight away.
On the day after the announcement I had a preliminary meeting with the Rupert. I’d seen him about the camp — a tall, slim, fair-haired fellow, only twenty-five or so — but I hadn’t had any real contact with him. Rumour reported that he’d been to Eton, and that he seemed only a little the worse for the experience; certainly he’d come from the Grenadier Guards. Whatever else, he was quite a physical sort of guy, and ran like the wind; he’d played as a winger for the squadron’s Rugby XV, and had scored a good few tries. Anyone who could do that and survive had my admiration, because the methods used in those matches are horrendous — real caveman stuff. But I’d been warned about him by one of the sergeants in Training Wing, who’d described him as ‘a flaming idiot’, able to talk his way out of anything but lacking in any soldiering skills. On the range he’d proved positively dangerous. The safest place to be when he was firing a weapon was straight in front of him. Under the stress of using live rounds his command and control went out the window. On the other hand, when giving a briefing or appreciation, he could sound quite impressive. No doubt that was why he’d passed Officers’ Week on selection.
So I had severe reservations about him. My antipathy was increased by a factor of which nobody in the head-shed could possibly be aware. At a Christmas party in the officers’ mess, to which civilian staff from the camp had been invited, he’d come on strong with Tracy and tried to take her back to his room. When she refused he kept on at her, not just that evening but on several later occasions as well — so much so that I almost went round and briefed him up to keep away.
The result was that, when we met formally in the Squadron OC’s office, I was fairly cool.
‘Geordie,’ the OC said, ‘have you met Peter Black? He joined the squadron while you were away. He’s going to command Air Troop.’
‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Yeah — I’ve seen you around.’ We shook hands and sat down in front of the OC’s desk.
The boss then ran through the arrangements for the forthcoming team job. I was to be in command, and Black was to act as our liaison link between the British Embassy and the Colombians, for administrative purposes.
‘Peter,’ he said, ‘Geordie’s had plenty of experience, so if you have any problems, it’ll be best to consult him first.’
‘I expect we’ll manage,’ Black replied, but I could see the OC’s remark had pissed him off.
There were a few more general points to be settled, and when the boss had finished, Black and I went into the Squadron Interest Room to work out details.
He certainly had a posh accent, and his eyes were set rather too close together in his narrow face.
‘What do you know about Colombia?’ he asked.
‘Fuck-all, to put it bluntly.’
‘That makes two of us.’ He grinned. ‘There’s a briefing laid on for tomorrow, so we’ll start learning then. You’ve been in the Regiment more years than I have months, and you know a hell of a lot more about it. So I’m going to be leaning on you for advice.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘Now. When we get out there, the team’s going to be based at a Colombian army camp at a place called Santa Rosa, about 250 ks south of Bogotá. You’ll be there — obviously — and Tony Lopez will be helping liaise with the Colombians locally. But it looks as though I’m going to be stuck mostly in Bogotá itself, liaising with the British Embassy…’
He went on to ask my opinion of the other guys nominated for the team, and we assigned each one a particular lesson that he would teach: personal security, residential security, hotel security, vehicle anti-ambush drill, counter-attack team drill, movement by helicopter and so on — about twenty in all.
‘What about Ellis?’ he asked. ‘What’s his special strength?’
‘Johnny Ellis? His advantage is just that: strength. He’s built like a bloody gorilla; a really hard man. He’s the guy for the physical training and unarmed combat. He’ll sort out the Colombians, no bother. Him and Murdo.’
‘Is that McFarlane?’
‘Right. If Johnny’s a gorilla, Murdo’s a yeti. The only difference between them is their colour. One’s got fair hair, the other red.’
‘Is it Murdo who plays the pipes?’
‘It is, and it’s a fucking disaster. You can’t stop him.’
Gradually, we got everyone sorted. Other key members of the team were Stewart McQuarrie (also a Jock) and Mel Scott, both in their mid-twenties and fairly new to the Regiment. Stew was another very physical guy, strong and quick on his feet — a free-fall specialist who liked walking out on to the wings of biplanes and dropping off. We nominated him to take charge of the close-protection training, on which he’d done a lot of work and contributed some new ideas. Mel, who came from Liverpool, was small, and rather quiet, though given to occasional lightning repartee. He was also an excellent instructor with a gift for putting things over in a clear, amusing way — and off-duty he was one of the squadron’s leading piss-artists.
I myself opted for weapon and demolition training, at which I’d had a good deal of experience. All of us, of course, were primarily fighting men, trained to kill, but we looked forward to sharing some of our skills with other people. Closer acquaintance with Black didn’t improve my opinion of him. Just as his face was a little ferrety, with its close-set eyes and pointed nose, so there was something of the ferret in his approach to things. He kept asking quick, sharp questions, and seemed insatiable in his quest for information. Whether or not he was going to use it sensibly was another matter. I felt I was going to have to keep a close eye on him — I hoped he wouldn’t do anything stupid while he was at the embassy. Ruperts on their own, away from the guys and with a captive audience, are notorious for adopting James Bond attitudes and telling tall stories about the Regiment.
One of the most important features of team jobs overseas is discretion. The SAS quietly trains special units in countries all over the world, and our guys depend on the British embassies for liaison with foreign governments. I’d seen this in practice in Africa, when one of the lads had a car accident. Because of the good relationship between the team and the embassy, everything was quickly sorted out, and the driver escaped a dose of prison. Instead of losing a member — which would have disrupted the training programme — the team remained intact.
I think there are a lot of misconceptions about the roles of officers and men within the SAS. In most Regiments the lower ranks automatically salute an officer as a form of respect. In the SAS nobody salutes. Respect is not necessarily accorded to rank: it has to be won. This doesn’t mean that the other ranks look down on the officers. Far from it — there are plenty of first-class Ruperts. Unfortunately, there are also plenty of pricks; and now it looked as though I’d been landed with one of them.
Next day, in the evening, we had a briefing on Colombia and its problems, given by an Int officer who had come down from London. He was a good, articulate speaker, and knew his stuff, but a lot of the political complications he mentioned went over our heads. Naturally our main interest centred on drugs — to be precise, on cocaine.