Wilf stopped, checked his compass and looked about him. The trees, a mix of coniferous and deciduous, were plentiful, but not too close together for their needs. He scanned the area in front of him, a green shimmer from the image intensifier he was holding up to his eyes as it electronically amplified the ambient light available. He soon picked out the marker he was looking for: a particularly gnarled tree. He lowered the device, left it hanging on the strap around his neck, hoisted his weapon and moved forward again. Once he was alongside the tree, he marched fifty paces to the south until he found what he was looking for. Signalling the men behind him, they all came to a halt. Hacker, immediately behind him, stood watch while he checked out the mexe-hide. The other two, Tag and Badger, continued past them, their task to conduct a full 360-degree circuit of the site, checking that they hadn’t been followed. Unlikely as it was, they had to be sure.
Wilf undid his belt and shrugged off his heavy 100-pound Bergen and lowered it gently to the ground before opening up the entrance to the hide. Turning to Hacker, he indicated he was going inside. He placed his weapon on top of the Bergen and clambered down the aluminium ladder, entering through the less than a metre-wide prefabricated entrance, over two-metres below. He remembered digging it out last year as part of a three-week squadron exercise, practising then what they were about to do now for real. At that time though, they were aided by engineers under the guise of building temporary tank-berms, as a lot of spoil had to be removed from the site. He switched on his red-filtered torch and shone it around the interior, checking it for damage and to identify if someone had paid a visit. A dank and musty aroma wafted towards him, disturbed by the opening of the entrance. They had sweated for days, in secret, preparing the hide for operational use, living in it for a week during their squadron exercise, never imagining for one minute that a year later they would be back. This time for real.
Wilf shuffled forward. Although a substantial size as observation posts go, spending any length of time in this with three other men could become quite claustrophobic. It was T-shaped, the bar of the T measuring over five-metres long, by one-metre wide, with a missile trap and an Elsan chemical toilet at the far end. The offset stalk of the T-bar, three quarters of the way along was much bigger. Measuring two-metres wide by three-metres long, measured from the back of the T-bar, it would be their home until further notice. The key components of the mexe-hide were quite simple: pickets, spacers and arches to provide the frame and a flexible revetting material to cover the assembled framework. The revetting material was speciaclass="underline" a layer of PVC coated in jute fabric, reinforced with half-millimetre thick galvanised wire, coated with a layer of soil up to metre thick on the roof. The frame had been sunk down two-and-a-half-metres into the ground. It would even provide some protection against a nuclear blast, providing the detonation was not in the immediate vicinity. The vast amount of thermal radiation would, should any of the material be exposed to it, simply destroy the layer of jute, leaving the wire that had been woven into the fabric to act as a mesh which would continue to support the hide. A direct hit would be another matter altogether.
At five-foot-nine, even wearing a helmet, Wilf could just about walk around the hide in an upright position. Badger, at six-one, would have to stoop slightly whenever he moved around inside. Wilf moved into the main compartmentt, seven by six, and checked it was serviceable.
Returning to the entrance at the western end, he clambered up and poked his head outside and hissed to Hacker, “pass the Bergens.”
Hacker had been expecting the call and picked up Wilf’s Bergen to lower it down into the entrance, followed shortly after by his own. As if on cue, Tag and Badger returned from their recce, giving the all-clear, their Bergens also swallowed up in the ever shrinking space below. Eventually, all four were ensconced in the now cramped space, taking it in turns to empty their bags of those items that would be needed in the immediate future. They had two collapsible camp beds and two maggots (army sleeping bags). These would be positioned along the length of the T-bar. They only needed two, as two would always be on watch while the other two slept or carried out their ablutions or other duties necessary for their comfort and survival. During the day, they would operate a periscope in the roof of the hide and, at night, they would need to use one of the two image intensifiers. At times, they would have to patrol outside, tracking down Soviet headquarters to report back on, or even sabotaging their communications equipment.
“Home from home already, eh, Wilfy?”
“Will be when you get a brew on, Tag,” grumbled Badger. “You know you make the best.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Right,” interrupted Wilf. “Tag, you make a brew. Badger, you and Hacker do one more circuit before we settle down for the rest of the night. I’ll sort out the periscope and radio.”
“Fuck, Wilfy, there’s no one out there,” exclaimed Badger.
“Get on with it, you moaning old sod. There’ll be a brew waiting for you when you get back. Then we sort out weapons and kit. Now bugger off.”
The two SAS troopers picked up their weapons: Badger his C7 carbine with its C79 optical sight and Hacker his favoured M-16 A2, with an underslung M203 grenade launcher. They headed out and would probably be gone for up to an hour. Badger complained about everything, that was his way, but he knew the importance of securing their position. In a matter of days they could be surrounded by an entire Soviet Army. Ensuring they remained unseen was paramount.
“Whinging git,” muttered Tag.
“I didn’t hear you volunteering to go in his place…”
“Yeah, well I make the best tea, don’t I?”
“I suppose.”
“Wilfy, this is going to kick off, isn’t it.”
Wilf joined his comrade, and friend, at the junction of the T-bar and crouched down, the blue light of the flame powered by the roaring gas from the camping gas canister they had brought with them, destroying his night vision. It was Hexi-tablets when those ran out. He also recognised that they needed to be more disciplined going forward if they were to survive. Hot food and drink during daylight hours only, and quite possibly no hot meals or the luxury of tea if circumstances warranted it.
“It does sound like it’s for real this time, Tag. The Prime Minister came out with some pretty frightening words on the BBC broadcast. Troops have started pouring across the Channel.”
“Our briefing gave it less than forty-eight hours. I hope to Christ we get up to full strength by then or we are in some serious shit.”
“There’s not much a chance of that. There won’t be enough ships or planes to get them over that quickly. It’s not just Two Div, but all the supporting units for the RAF.”
“Have we deployed yet?”
“Still in barracks, Tag, as far as I know. Don’t want to go and upset the Soviets when we’re supposed to be having peace talks with them.”
“Load of bollocks. They could be preparing to attack while we’re sat on our arses.”
“Very succinctly put, Tag.” Wilf chuckled. “Maybe the politicians can earn their pay for a change and come up with something. But, for now, I need to get the radio sorted so we can check in. I’ll leave you to get that brew going.”