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"Carry on like that Rankin and I'm sure I can fi
nd you some extra guard duties.
"Jeers and boos from the lads. Smiles from the silent platoon staff. "O.K. That's it. The next time you'll see
my
self
and
your section commanders will be in Crossmaglen.

"Keep your head down sir.
"

"Why bother?"

"Watch the crap-hats.
"

Random remarks tossed out by toms racing out of the door to catch the train. A minute and I'm alone with the section commanders and Jimmy my platoon Sgt.

"What do you reckon? Are they going to be all right?"

"No problems boss. A couple are a little shaky, but there's nothing like the odd round or two to get people moving."

"Let's hope it's not the odd bomb or two."

"Any problems with your sections?" This to the section commanders.

"Lancing's a bit dodgy in my crew, but he's a
good radio op
. Apart from that they're fine.
"

"Mine too. No problems.
"

"All sounds very convincing. Hope you're right. That place is a death-trap and most of these guys have never seen a riot or experienced a gun battle." My mind quickly reeling back to the Shankill in 1973. Images of darkened streets. The helicopter with its searchlight. The
O
.C. diving for cover and Hookey and I standing in the middle of the road directing gunfire.

"Sorry. What did you say?"

"I just asked if you were happy with your patrol set-up." Rueful smile at Jimmy who asked the question.

"
Fait accompli
, I think.
"

"Fate a what, boss?" he says grinning.

"At least the gunners are good. But Old and Sinclair .. . I didn't think you hated me that much. Jesus."

"Just thought they'd learn much more with you boss."

"Boy, the survival instinct is really coming out now."

"As always. Somebody needs to be around to pick up the pieces."

"Cheers you bastards." The banter continues. It has to. Resign yourself to the fact that you could be just some messy cold meat lying in a mortuary somewhere. Just don't let it hurt. That's all. If I'm going, let's go out with a bang. Get spread out all over the place. The hell with losing an arm or a leg.

"Right. That's it. Ferry leaves in two days. Time to go and fuck yourselves rotten. You may never get it again."

It's all over in a very short time and we're back to the routine of patrols, guards, searches and more patrols. One of the young R.U.C. constables we have at the base has been complaining of our treatment of suspects and so has had to be put straight about a few things. In the three months we've been here, this guy hasn't ventured outside the camp, just sits around all day collecting overtime and extra Crossmaglen allowances. Nice work if you can get it.

Standing by the back gate, rifle cocked, pack on, and face covered with smears of cam-cream, thinking of places where booby traps might be hidd
en on our route out to the L.Z.
, 600 metres to the south of the base.

"Everybody ready?" No
ds of assent, though not at all
enthusiastic.

"Let's go.
"

Whenever I'm really scared, I get light-headed and something inside takes over and moves my body round. This is one of those occasions with me seeming to be outside myself watching the goings on with more than a little apprehension.

No matter how good you are at feeling for trip-wires, there always comes the moment you dread, when you have to put the first foot through the gap in the hedge and the other, popping out on the other side, hoping they haven't gone one better and put a pressure pad on the other side. Once through, I sit there shaking in the dark, willing myself on to the next obstacle. I go first because I know that if I do hit a wire I won't realise it and will probably be killed outright instead of badly maimed. I've heard of some toms saying that if they get zapped and dismembered and are still alive, they want to be shot rather than be a cabbage. Me too!

The patrol goes quietly enough, with the darkness sneering at my fear and soon we are at the L.Z. and the welcoming sound of a chopper descending to transport us away to a safer part of the area.

0430 hrs. August 1976.

The end

Of the tour

Is just

The beginning.

"THE ROYAL MARINES are due in a couple of days . . . " The
O.
C. droning on at me. I'm tired and dirty having just got back in from a ten-day patrol. Bed. I need my bed and some sleep. There is also a pain in my gut from eating this crappy compo food. Sleep and a good meal then I'll be fine. I don't need to listen to this shit about the Marines.

"Can't it wait till later Major?"

"It needs to be gone through very thoroughly."

"I can appreciate that. But at this moment I can't concentrate on a thing. Let me have time for a sleep." It seems as if he is going to be stupid and insist on doing the briefing right now. A look, then a shrug of the shoulders.

"
O.
K. Let's have as many people as you can get together for 1000 hrs." Thank Christ for that. He saunters off to the Mess or bed. I head for the Ops. Room and a check on the patrol programme for the rest of the week.

It's strange walking round the camp at this time in the morning. Lights are on as the dawn struggles to begin another day. Toms walking around in a daze, some through exhaustion, others because they haven't woken up yet. From the Ops. Room occasional detached voices from the intercom passing routine messages. Look in through the door and there is the C.S.M. sitting dozing at the desk whilst the radio op. listens to the set and plays patience.

"Come on you lazy old wrinkled prune you," says I. He
jerks awake and stares bleary-eyed.

"Oh shit. You back already. Why don't you just stay out there and give us all a rest."

"Sgt. Major, you say the sweetest things. But who else would keep you sane."

"True. True," says he, rubbing his eyes. "Hey, you don't look so good."

"Thanks. That's all I need after the O.C. trying to give a briefing on the hand-over.

"So he's been at it again, has he? Don't worry, we've got most of the admin. side worked out."

"I thought you might have. I'm off to the pit. Got to have some sleep. " Guess I'll have food after. Right now the eyes are beginning to close and the brain doing abstract somersaults. The pit, the pit, my kingdom for the pit! The last ten days in the
O.
P. my stomach has been really bad. Now it really hurts. Perhaps the Sgt. Major was right. Maybe I'm overlooking my own health. And for what? Guess I'll take a trip to see the M.O. tomorrow.

"You back already?" The 2 I.
C. doing his bit to make me feel welcome. "Place was very peaceful for the last few days. I suppose your crazy Sgt. is back too?"

"What a welcome. I didn't know you missed us so much. What the fuck are you doing up at this time? Rather unusual to say the least. Shouldn't you be catching up on your ten hours sleep?"

"Piss off, Clarke."

"Gladly." This time I really will get to bed. Any decisions I need to make can be made in the morning. Right now I sleep.

A pain in the gut wakes me up. What the fuck's the time? Jesus! Only nine o'clock. Sod it, this pain is not too clever and I noticed some blood last night. Right. That's it. Today I see the M.O. The Major is going to be pleased! Sod the Major!

Crawl out of bed. Find something to put on over my emaciated dirty frame and stagger to the washroom. Get some of the filth off. The Major is
just coming out of his bunk. Oh
shit! Really could do without seeing him just now. "Morning Major."

"Are you going to be ready in time for the briefing at ten?" he says. No "good morning," I notice.

"Actually there i
s something I want to tell you.
" He looks at me a little coldly. "I need to see the M.O. Been having a bit of trouble with the stomach over the last patrol. I want to make sure it's cleared up for the next one."

"You'd better get yourself a helicopter ordered and get back here as soon as possible." With that he walks off.

Well. No problem there. Get washed and do as he says. Get that helicopter down here A.S.A.P. Scoot into the Mess and contact the Ops. Room by tannoy and order up the helicopter. By the time I've showered, eaten and got my kit together, the sound of a Gazelle sweeping overhead, permeates the building.

"Chopper here for you sir.
" The voice from the Ops. Room through the tannoy.

"Thanks. I'm on my way." Race down the stairs. Out of the back gate and towards the Gazelle as it settles on the helipad. Within a few seconds we are airborne as I busy myself fastening the seat belt. Crossmaglen disappears under the aircraft and we are away.

The flight to Bessbrook doesn't take very long and we are soon swinging down between the anti-rocket screens onto the helipad beside the other parked helicopters. Land. A cheery wave to the pilot and it's off to roust out the M.O. No mean feat in this rambling place they call Battalion Headquarters.

Up to the gate and go through the usual procedures,
then follow the signs to the M.
I. Room.

"Morning sir!" Greetings from a cheery medical orderly.

"Morning. Is the M.O. around? He knows I'm coming."

"Up in the Mess, sir. I'll give him a buzz. Won't be long." With that he disappears into the office and I sit down. Mind
into neutral and stare at the cream and brown walls. Must have

dozed off, because the next thing I know, John, the M.O., is
staring into my face.

"Well, Tony. What can we do for you?" I go through the problem feeling slightly emba
rrassed and then feel a nagging
doubt as I catch the look on his face.

Five minutes and a check-up later.

"I think I'm going to send you to hospital. I don't like the
look of that."

"Well!" Intelligent as ever. "What do you think the
problem is?"

"That's what I want the hospital to find out. I'll get some
transport laid on to take you up to Belfast."

"You'd also better tell the
O.
C. He's expecting me back for

a patrol tonight."

"No chance! You're finished for the rest of the tour.

Anyway it's only a week."

"Fine. You can talk to him. I'll just tell my platoon Sgt." Just like that. Tour finished. No more Crossmaglen. Shit; I left my great big china mug in the camp. Bet that vanishes!

Captain A. F. N. Clarke joined the Parachute Regiment as a Private soldier in June 1971. He was commissioned in August the following year and joined 3 Para in Cyprus as part of the United Nations peacekeeping force. The first tour of Northern Ireland began in Belfast in March 1973. On his return he was posted to the Depot in Aldershot as a Recruit Training Officer, returning to 3 Para in 1975. Prior to the second tour in Northern Ireland he served in France, gaining French parachute wings, and with his Company in Norway on NATO exercise. He was recommended for Staff College but decided to leave the Army in August 1978 at the end of his contract.