ACV's 1 Operation Black Gold (52 page)

CHAPTER 54

We were all still fast asleep when General Lamb turned up bright and early with a small entourage.

‘Whit time is it?’  I mumbled.

‘Eight o’clock, rise and shine, we’ve a busy day ahead.’

‘What time is it?’  Asked another voice from the settee.

Ah the lovely Miss Bryce, eight o’clock my dear.’

‘Oh I must have fallen asleep.’

Boy came stretching across the floor, jumped onto the bed and gave me one of those big cheesy cat grins.  ‘Aw right, aw right, dinna rub it in.’

‘Yours?’  Mr. Lamb eyed Boy sceptically.

‘Until she turns up.’  Samantha seemed to find that amusing.  I plucked a set of keys from my bedside locker.  ‘Who are that lot?’

‘Colleagues of mine.’

‘Here go and amuse them for an hour.’

‘An hour!’

‘I’m on leave,’ but he didn’t seem too perturbed, in actual fact, he seemed rather pleased with himself as he left jangling the keys.

I turned my attention to the reclining lady, ‘good morning dear, sleep well?’

‘I did actually.’

‘Forget to go home?’

She shrugged.  ‘I stopped for some company, Davie and Amanda are away for a dirty week, my family’s abroad on holiday and Sylvia’s away to Rome, so I’ve nowhere else to go.’

‘Want some breakfast?’

‘No, I’m going home for a shower; I’ll be back later though.’

‘OK.’

By the time she got back, I was half-demented.  My head was ringing from a thousand questions I couldn’t answer.  ‘Sam, help!’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘They’re firing a hundred questions a minute at me and I can't keep up at all.’

She looked stunning in a simple dress.  ‘Gentlemen, please,’ but she already had their attention.  ‘Why don’t we all go to the canteen for something to drink, you can ask me your questions and I’ll write them all down.  Then you can help me prioritize them.’

Peace at last, they spent the rest of the day falling over themselves in a bid to try and charm her.  It gave me the time I needed to finish upgrading the machine with technicians from the factory.  We had already spent the whole of Sunday afternoon at it, but I wasn’t satisfied, so they’d come back today.  By the time they left, Samantha had about three notebooks full of possible uses.

‘Wow, they’re not going to be here all week are they?’  Samantha asked me.

‘No they’ve had their day in court.  Mr. Lamb’s insisting we move to Glasgow, to an accident and Emergency unit there.’

‘When?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘How long for?’

‘As long as it takes.’

‘That doesn’t sound too good.’

‘I’m no looking forward to it.’

‘You look tired?’

‘Only mentally.’

She stood behind me and started massaging my neck.  ‘Is that relaxing?’

‘It would be if those lovely tits of yours didn’t keep banging me on the back of the head.  I’m sitting here with a raging hard on.’

‘You’re absolutely terrible,’ she scolded.

‘Can’t help it.’

‘Well you can’t get a raging hard on, not today anyway.’

‘Oh why not?’

‘Well you know.’

‘Oh really, does that mean there is still hope for me?’

‘I don’t know; I’ll have to think about it.’

I was about to turn and grab her when Andrew came storming in through the door.  ‘Samantha, what luck, how would you two like to join Flora and myself for dinner.’

A look passed between us.  ‘That would be lovely,’ she accepted for both of us.

I had to phone Buff and Marie on Friday to tell them I couldn’t make it.  On Sunday thanks to the help of the doctors and nurses at the hospital, we were finished, but I was exhausted having only been able to grab the odd forty winks here and there.  The remarkable thing was the old General had been able to keep up with the pace.

We had even assisted in numerous operations, one to note was a gunshot wound to the chest, which gave us invaluable data.  We could now analyse anything from a splinter in the finger to a cancerous growth and had turned the machine into a diagnostic tool.  Twice I had to call in the technicians to beef up the processing power.  I had also kept strict notes to save myself time writing out an operator’s manual.  One of the last things I had done was to make it distinguish between red and white blood cells and count them.  It had been a nightmare and I had binary codes flashing behind my eyelids every time I closed my eyes.  I saved the completed programme onto a gold disc and phoned the company who had an executive standing by.

He arrived shortly and placed it into a padded briefcase.  My notes went into another.  Then he gave me a receipt for both.  I knew for a fact that they were waiting to go into full production.  The army had already ordered a thousand units and we had guaranteed a lot of interest in the medical community this past week, especially amongst the surgeons.  My cut was 10% of the final price of £30,000 as the unit only cost just over a thousand to build they were going to make a tidy profit.

There was a letter waiting for me from the war office.  They had approved my official statement but had given the reporter permission to use my name, there was a small note stapled to it.  It read.  ‘This might teach you to dabble in politics.’  It was initialled PG.

I was too tired to care; I was barely able to feed the cat before I fell into an unconscious state.  On Monday, we were put on full operational status, but not a lot happened, we did a few days helicopter familiarization and were all impressed by the new machine’s speed and killing potential.  A couple of days were spent on familiarization with the new weapons I had requested.

Another was spent with the Royal Marine Commando’s on assault craft.  At the end of the day, we were told to put in a quick attack on some dunes.  On our approach, I noticed the twinkle of light from a pair of binoculars.  It looked like there was a reception committee waiting to mince us as we landed.  A quick look through my rifle sight brought to mind an old trick we’d learned in the jungle.  ‘What are your orders?’  I asked the helmsman.

‘Pull up onto the beach and let you out.’

‘Do you see the high-water mark there, how fast do you think you can hit it?’

‘I’m not supposed to.’

‘I don’t give a shit about what you’re supposed to do, if you don’t do what I tell you, you’ll be swimming home.’

He grinned, ‘How fast would you like to hit it sir?’  I waved Buff’s craft over and shouted out orders.  We grabbed a few toggle ropes, stripped off our life jackets and braced ourselves in the bow.  The assault craft raced up the beach as it struck the high-water mark and bounced, we were catapulted up and over the small dunes.  As we struck the far side, we turned and fired into the gawping marines.

We rolled up their positions in seconds, all except Abie, who had mistimed the jump and slammed headfirst into the soft dunes.  He was dragged out by a laughing helmsman wearing half the beach and spitting sand.  Apart from being a little winded, he was none the worse for wear.  Of course the officer in charge hit the roof at our unorthodox tactics and words like ‘reckless,’ and ‘dangerous,’ flew about our heads. 

When we got back to base, it wasn’t long before his senior officers got in on the act.  Needless to say it didn’t take me long to get pissed off with it and bite back.  Maybe I shouldn’t have called him a dickhead and his junior officer a gutless prick, but hey, it kept my lot laughing all the way home.

Mr. D’Ord turned up with a crate of beer to rollick me, which he did in a perfunctory manner with a smile on his face.  ‘Cheers.’  He handed me a bottle of beer, which I of course dutifully drank.  He had brought other goodies as well, a unit citation for saving the lives of the civilians and a personal one for Davie for an outstanding piece of surgery.  That’s what the beer had been brought for.  All were promoted to Cpl, which started a pantomime of yes Cpl, no Cpl or address me as Cpl when you talk to me.  They managed to keep it up for a week and only the threat of making them call me Sir chilled them out.

Davie Whitton was made a Major and Fritz a Sergeant.  Buff and I remained the way we were, which suited us fine, but that wasn’t the only present he had brought.  He had also brought the new unit insignia, which caused the biggest fight we’d had to date.  I sat with Mr. D’Ord drinking beer and cheering them on, it was left to Samantha and Reginald to break it up.

‘Jim, which arm do you want it on?’  She asked a little breathless from the struggle.

‘I don’t fucking know, if you had left them alone they would have decided by now.  You choose!’

One look at their faces was enough for her.  ‘Oh no, they’re not hating me for this one.’

‘Mr. D’Ord?’  I asked hopefully.

‘Nope.’

I took a sip of beer for inspiration.  ‘How many are there Buff?’

‘Fucking great box full.’

‘Alright, OK, one on each arm, an inch below the shoulders, how’s that?’

‘That was very diplomatic of you.’  Mr D’Ord stated.

‘How nice of you to say so Sir,’ I replied ignoring the sarcasm on his voice.

‘Where’s yours?’  I asked Samantha.

‘Oh but.’

‘But what, you and Reginald are as much a part of this unit as anybody else, Kenny?’

‘I’m no in the unit Jim, I’m going back to the SAS next week.’

‘I see, not good enough for ye then?’

‘Aw come on.’

‘Keep your hat on - I’m only joking.  You’re allowed to wear wings; marksmanship badges and that kind ó stuff aren’t yé?’

‘Aye but I’ve nae mair room on my right sleeve.’

‘Then put it on your left, Mr. D’Ord?’

‘Me!’

‘Well you are the Boss, I am sure if Monty could wear a pile of cap badges you can wear one of these.’

‘I suppose I’d better then.  Yes, I will wear it on my left sleeve the same as Mr. Barron.  As a matter of fact, anyone who hasn’t completed the training and become an active part of the unit will do the same.  Oh, you’d better give me a few for Ivan.’  And that settled that.

CHAPTER 55

The storms in the Atlantic began to abate and the long-range weather forecast had declared May to be a mild month, so we waited.  In quiet moments, I could hear the blood pound inside my head but we weren’t alone the whole country waited with us.  For now, the war drums could be heard quite clearly across the great pond.  So we waited and waited until finally they struck.

They came in behind a heavy weather front that had lashed the British Isles for a week.  The great American fleet had strung itself out waiting for dawn and the sea to settle.  At a prearranged time, their assault teams lifted from their mother ships, their objectives, Scotland’s rigs.  They expected no resistance, but they were wrong, very few would ever return home.

Colonel Tom Hall stood in the control room of Osprey one, the command rig for the whole field.

‘Here they come Sir.’

‘Send this, all units standby.’  He turned to another of his men.  ‘Put it on screen.’

‘Yes sir.’

His computer was collating the information from all the rigs radars and was plugged into a projector.  A touch of a button projected the image on his terminal onto the back wall.  It resembled a mad spider’s web.

‘Sort that shit out Cpl’

‘Sorry sir.’

The lines disappeared and the dots rearranged themselves into two separate lines one of which was moving.

‘That’s better, what I want now is the composition of the attacking force and time to their targets and I want the information relayed to all units.’

It only took a few key-ins, and every unit knew what was coming their way and when it would arrive.

‘Sir.’

‘Yes Cpl.’

‘Our inbounds are two minutes behind the rest.’

‘Damn it, OK, thank you Cpl.’ He pulled down his personal mike and activated it.  ‘Listen in Gentlemen, we have eight inbound, they will arrive two minutes behind the rest of their force.  By that time, they’re going to know the shits hit the fan and come in hot, so dump the oil skins and get all non-military personnel under cover.  Keep the anti-aircraft battery’s under wraps for the moment.  There’s no point in giving them a long-range target.’

‘Sir.’

‘Yes Mr. Ogg.’

‘They’re even targeting non production rigs.’

‘Good, Sergeant Mac, did you hear that?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Very well, they are your babies make sure no one leaves them to reinforce anyone else.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Five minutes, seven for us.’

‘Sir they’re jamming the airwaves asking to land.’

‘Mr. Murray you’re in charge of the oilfield, do your stuff.’

The paleface civilian picked up the microphone.  ‘To all unidentified incoming aircraft, permission to land denied, I repeat permission denied, do not come any closer to our rigs do not enter our airspace over.’

Again the radio was drowned, request to visit or land.  ‘Reel them in Mr. Murray.’

‘To all unidentified aircraft, you need permission from the Scottish resources department to visit the rigs, when you receive permission, you must then liaise with our head office in Aberdeen, they will give you a time and a date over.’

‘Two minutes, four for us.’

A mocking quality began to creep into the voices.  ‘All aircraft please veer off you have now violated restricted airspace, veer off or I will be forced to inform my government, over.’  Static burst from the radio.

‘They’re jamming us Sir.’

‘Switch that noise off and tune into the underwater sets, send in a sit rep, contact imminent, situation green alpha and stand by to relay all contact reports to the mainland.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Thirty seconds Sir.’

‘Sir, we have visual on 3 - 7 - 15 on all unarmed rigs now, one troopship, and one gunship per platform.’

‘Thank you Mac, remember I want simultaneous execution of both craft.’

‘Awa and teach your granny to blaw eggs sir.’

Tom Hall couldn’t prevent himself from grinning, trust Mac to find a way of relieving the mounting tension.  ‘Thank you for your assistance Mr. Murray, would you like to go below and join your men?’

‘Could, could I stay?’

‘If you want to fight Mr. Murray join up, for now go below.’

‘Yes, yes, thank you, all of you, good luck.’  The senior oilman left the control room, with more than a little relief, ‘they’re all mad’, he thought.  They could all be dead in a few minutes but they were all grinning at one another like a bunch of lunatics.

‘Thirty seconds.’

‘Contact 15% - 27%.’

‘Contact,’ broke in Mac.

‘50%-75%--- just us left Sir.’

*

As the American Sikorsky troop ships landed, specially designed blast shields sprang up into place and the dummy landing mats detonated.  Simultaneously, fake drums were pulled away to reveal batteries of surface to air missiles, which tracked and fired at the circulating gunship.  On R12, the blast shields failed and the debarking troop dealt with in a short firefight.  The American troop carrying helicopters were able to take off with a few survivors but was brought down almost immediately by a couple of missiles.  On R27, the mat failed to detonate but a few grenades tossed into the trapped enclosure remedied that.

*

‘Sir.’

‘Yes Mac.’

‘I have a complete failure on 13 believe it or not and the automatic firing system for the ground to air on 31 has failed as well.  We have two gunships running loose out there and the one on 13.’

‘OK, keep an eye on the gunship, is 13 sterile?’

‘Aye.’

‘Then sink it.’

He depressed a button and the ring charges on the legs of 13 blew in spectacular fashion.  Three fountains of water flew into the air.  As the spray began to settle, the rig began to topple into the sea.  Some of the men inside were flung to their deaths; others were crushed by falling debris.  The rest drowned.  The horrified crew of the gunship flew in helpless circles until the boiling sea settled; all that was left was one solitary life jacket bobbing up and down in a sea of foam.  At no little risk to themselves, they were able to rescue their fellow countryman and rushed him back to their carrier.

‘Look out here I have them on visual off the port side.  They’re holding formation, no wait; they’ve stopped.  They’ve broken formation the troop ships are beginning to circle, here come the gunships; they’ve dropped height and picked up speed.’

‘That’s confirmed sir their coming in at wave top height at almost 200 knots,’ added another operator.

‘Brave bastards.’

‘There never was any doubt about that Mac.  All stations prepare to engage the enemy.’

‘Fifteen seconds sir, ten, five.’

A heavy probing fire lashed the rig.  ‘No tracer,’ commented Mac over the racket.

‘Umm.’

‘They haven’t hit us yet Sir.’

‘No Cpl, this room controls the flow of oil for the whole field; they can’t risk taking it out.  Their targets would have been pre-programmed into their on board firing systems.’

George Macintosh had joined the army late in life, having worked alongside his game-keeping father on a large Highland estate for years after leaving school.  At the age of 22, an argument with his employer’s son persuaded him to leave.  Now ten years later as one of the older members of the SBS he stood waiting on a sub walkway on the south side of the rig listening to the heavy calibre gunfire wash across the deck above like a murderous hail.  A gunship swung wide, he selected spot and automatic slow rate.  He realised if he fired at this angle he would only hit the rotors.  He leaned forward raising an index finger, the door gunner saw him immediately and spoke into his mike.

The gunship changed its direction slightly and tilted to give him a clear shot.  It was all George needed.  From the age of ten, he could hit a grouse on the wing and this was a lot bigger than a grouse.  He snap fired three shots and the door gunner was slammed backwards out of sight.  As the sleek killing machine flashed past, George cocked a leg over the rail cranked her up to full auto and let rip.  The remaining 37 rounds in the magazine were discharged in under 2 seconds, smashing into the gun ship’s port engine.

It bucked as the pilot fought for control.  Pieces of damaged machinery blew out of the exhaust as he desperately fought for height.  A rifle discharged anti-aircraft missile, fired by a companion above him, flashed overhead and straight up the exhaust of the remaining engine.  George ducked instinctively as the whole craft exploded into a ball of flames and fell into the sea.  ‘Well those both work,’ he told himself as he untangled himself from the rail.

‘Sir the gunship from 31 is heading this way.’

‘What about 13?’

‘They’re still hovering over the site, no hold on, they’re moving away now.’

‘Which direction?’

‘Towards their carriers.’  There was a whoosh and one of the larger anti-aircraft missiles streaked away overhead.

‘Mr. Ogg, find out who uncovered that battery, I want his balls.’

‘Sir.’

A gunship came into view desperately trying to avoid the missile, its countermeasures falling harmlessly into the sea.  They managed to turn inside it, but the missile followed them round and blew it out of the sky.  The staff in the control room cheered spontaneously.

‘Watch your screens,’ Mac barked.

Lt Ogg ran back in a few minutes later.  ‘The battery was uncovered by the Americans sir; the operator reports all but one missile was destroyed.  So he decided to use it before it fell victim too.’

‘Thank you Mr. Ogg, now go back and convey my congratulations to him, I also want the names of the men who shot down that other ship.’

‘Yes sir.’

*

The Ops room aboard the USS Clinton was chaotic.  Men were screaming into radios trying to regain contact with their lost units.  The Admiral called for silence but only received it after a short display of temper.  A set of speakers crackled into life.

‘Clinton this is Grey Hawk 2.  Inbound with one casualty request immediate clearance to land, e.t.a. 2 minutes over.’

‘Roger Grey Hawk 2, you have immediate clearance to land on pad 3.  The medics are waiting over.’

‘Roger out.’

‘Move over son I want to speak to that pilot.’

‘Yes sir.’

The operator moved with alacrity to let the Admiral sit.  ‘Grey Hawk 2, this is Boomer are you hearing me?’

‘Loud and clear Boomer.’

‘What happened out there?’  There was a pause.  ‘I need to know now son.’

‘Well sir, the team landed and dispersed into the rig, then, well, then it blew sir.  Charges on the legs toppled it right into the sea, we were able to fish out the only survivor and he’s in a bad way.’

‘You’re positive it was explosive charges on the legs Grey Hawk 2.’

‘100%-sir.’

‘Thank you, I want to see you the moment you land.  Out.  Captain I want that other survivor brought home for a full debrief now.’

‘Yes sir, it seems they were waiting for us.’

‘That’s stating the bloody obvious Captain Sheller, can’t you think of anything useful to say?’

‘We could call off the attack sir.’

‘No we couldn’t Captain.  We’ll be lucky to keep our jobs after this fiasco, so we’d better take home some bacon.  I want that Osprey rig; turn all our resources onto it now.’

‘Yes Sir.’