Sabre Six : File 51 by Jamie Fineran

sign. We were taught how to use the radio frequencies, emergency procedures etc. The training team gave us an hour off for a break. We got the brews on and chatted amongst ourselves for a while. Stan got his head down for ten minutes: he loved a little nap!
     
    At 22:00hrs our night exercise started. Our job was to patrol to a grid reference on our 1:25000 maps, locate our position, and set up an observation post. We had been given just twenty-four hours to gather as much Intel as possible and escape to higher ground. There was an allied force tasked with helping us to evade capture, and which would meet us at the extraction point. It sounded easy to me. We tabbed six kilometres North-West to our first Rendezvous point, or as we like to call it, RV1. Keith was Point Man, Stan was Second, I was Third Man and Nig was at the rear. We carried around seventy pounds worth of kit each, sharing the radio batteries between us, as they were heavy. We had one twenty-four hour ration pack and plenty of drinking water to keep us going. Nig had brought along his fags; he knew he would not be able to smoke any, but they were there for medicinal purposes! It was his weakness.
    We rested up at RV1, Stan drank from his canteen bottle with everyone else soon following suit. I looked about. The ground was solid, just sand and rock with the occasional piece of vegetation dotted here and there. A carcass of a goat lay just in front of me and a colony of ants walked past. The wind began to pick up.
    “Come on, let’s go.”
    We stood up, placed our bergans on our backs and set off to RV2, which was a further seven kilometres away. The wind was picking up something horrible, blowing sand into my face, which was somewhat annoying.
    “I real ly feel like having a fag now, boys,” said Nig.
    “Bugger off , Nig, you twat!” He continued to grunt. (I snapped!)
    We arrived at our next RV on time with the wind still bashing down on us. It was pitch-black outside, the moon hidden by clouds. The occasional star presented itself now and again, but only sporadically.
    “Right, let’s do it then, men! You know the score, lads: let’s get it cracked!”
    We found our observation point, a small hollow plantation about five hundred metres above a small barn. The place was empty, for now anyway. I looked at my watch; it was my turn to stag on (take my position to observe and protect my team). I put my weapon down by m y side and took control of the binos. The daytime picture was somewhat different from what I imagined last night. Last night I’d pictured just one barn surrounded by rock and dust in the middle of nowhere: I was wrong, bloody wrong. We should never judge a book by its cover. In fact, it was quite the opposite. There were two barns, one small and one large. A fence surrounded the entire estate. The fields were green in certain areas and the buildings were occupied. At night in the field is the best time for a soldier, you are more aware and alert; it also gives the soldier on the ground more cover to manoeuvre. In the day light he must go to ground, and mentally consolidate what he has learnt in daylight so he can use it in the evening!
     
    A car came up the track. A disgusting shit-tip of a motor. One driver and a passenger. We continued to observe our front until the sun went down.
    “Write the lot down , Stan.” He got out his notebook and jotted away. I decided enough was enough and packed up. We walked out after clearing up and destroying all evidence at around 23:30hrs that night. We patrolled down to the bridge, which took us as least thirty minutes. A vehicle was closing in, getting faster and faster. We were very lucky that we had rocks and debris to get in amongst; the rest of the area was plain. The truck turned to face us and the driver put on his full beam and tooted his horn six times. Two masked men let lose two dogs. They started running our way, and were picking up speed. One soldier let lose a couple of rounds and, this