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4
The men began their proving patrol the following evening, loading up the Bedfords just before last light with their individual kit and support weapons. For their personal weapons, old Borneo hands like Ken Brooke and Les Moody still favoured the M16 5.56mm assault rifle, which accepted a bayonet and could fire a variety of grenades although it was not so good in desert conditions because of its poor long-range accuracy and tendency to jam up with sand.
Dead-eye, said to be the best shot in the Regiment, preferred the L42A1 7.62mm bolt-action sniper rifle, which had a telescopic sight, was robust and reliable, and had good stopping power at long range, making it ideal for sniping from high mountain ridges. While some of the other men likewise favoured this weapon, most of them had been issued with the L1A1 SLR, which had a twenty-round box magazine, could be used on single shot or automatic, and was notable for its long-range accuracy.
The support weapons included the 7.62mm GPMG; the L4A4 LMG, which was actually a Bren gun modified to accommodate the 7.62mm round; the 51mm mortar with base plate, its ammunition distributed among the men; and a couple of US M79 grenade-launchers, which could be fired from the shoulder. All of these weapons were hauled up into the back of the Bedfords, then followed in by the men, making for very cramped conditions.
‘Here we go again,’ Larry said, moving his head to avoid the A41 tactical radio set being swung into a more comfortable position on the shoulders of the operator, Lance-Corporal Derek Dickerson. ‘Another luxurious journey on the Orient Express!’
‘It’s nice to have these paid holidays,’ Ben said, twisting sideways to avoid being hit by Larry’s shoulder-slung wooden medical box. ‘It makes me feel so important.’
As the men tried to find comfortable positions on the benches along the sides of the lorries, the sun was sinking low over the distant mountains, casting a blood-red light through the shadows. At the same time, a Sikorski S-55 Whirlwind was roaring into life on the nearby landing pad, whipping up billowing clouds of dust as it prepared to lift off.
‘Where the fuck is he going?’ Les asked in his usual peevish way as he settled into his bench seat in the back of the Bedford.
‘The RAF airstrip at Habilayn,’ answered Ken. ‘It’s only a couple of minutes by chopper from here.’
‘If it’s so close,’ Taff asked, ‘why couldn’t we be flown to the drop zone instead of going by lorry, which will take a lot longer?’
‘And make you throw up,’ Larry chuckled.
‘Ha, ha,’ Taff retorted, now used to their bullshit and also determined never to throw up again.
‘Because the DZ overlooks an Arab village,’ Ken explained, ‘and an insertion by chopper would be seen by every rebel in the area.’
‘Besides,’ Larry added sardonically, ‘an insertion by chopper would be too easy
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