Harry Flashman and the Invasion of Iraq by H.C. Tayler Page B
Authors: H.C. Tayler
Tags: Fiction
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screen to their north and west. (1)
The conversation in front of me continued with further gesticulating at the aerial photographs: “What anti-tank assets are we deploying here? We can’t claim to have deployed a blocking force if we’ve only got blokes with light weapon systems, and we can’t get our vehicle-mounted Milans in until the LCACs are functioning.” (2) (3)
This was immediately countered by someone else in the group. “Well, we can deploy man packed Milan if we have to. Or maybe we could bring in underslung vehicles by helicopter?”
This was answered by a tall, sandy-haired figure standing at the top of the planning table, whom I quickly realised was the Commanding Officer. “We could do that if we absolutely had to - although we’ll need to find out whether the American helicopters can undersling our vehicles - but I’d rather explore other alternatives first. It seems to me we can have a pretty effective block in place just by using the organic assets of our close-combat companies, plus UMST.” (4)
There was a murmuring of assent to this last remark, although clearly there was still some concern about the unknown enemy dispositions on the Al Faw. The problem was exacerbated by the date palm plantations and other greenery on the northern side of the peninsula, where fresh water from the Shat-al-Arab waterway was used to irrigate the land. I vividly remembered from my Kosovo days how easy it had been for the Serbs to hide their tanks in the wooded areas of southern Yugoslavia. All the air photographs in the world were no good if your enemy chose to position his armoured formations in woodland - and frankly they would have to be pretty stupid to do anything else. Yet here we were, about to embark on an opposed landing in country which was home to hundreds of acres of date palm plantations. I shuddered quietly at the idea and consoled myself with the thought that while 42 Commando’s fighting companies would be slugging it out on the Al Faw, the Commando headquarters would presumably not fly in from Kuwait until the area was deemed relatively safe.
The planning group broke up and, their eyes no longer fixed on the photographs and maps, they noticed there was a stranger waiting for them. I stepped forward and introduced myself.
“Ah, Harry, nice to meet you,” exclaimed the CO, holding out his hand. “Were we expecting you?” Then, looking over his shoulder at the adjutant, “Were we expecting him?”
“Yes, Colonel,” responded the adjutant. “I got a phone call this morning from Brigade to say they were sending him up.”
“Well why wasn’t I bloody told about it?” grumbled the CO. “I’m always the last person to know about our new arrivals. It’s faintly embarrassing not knowing who all these people are.” But it was all said in good humour and it seemed that he was genuinely pleased to have me on board. I guessed - correctly, as it turned out - that 42 Commando was being deluged with new arrivals in a similar way to the brigade headquarters, and I was therefore just the latest in a long line of unexpected visitors. The adjutant later made a count of them and the total was in the dozens with cap badges including the Royal Navy, RAF, Joint NBC Regiment, Royal Engineers and now, of course, the Hussars. Before I could depart the CO invited me to lunch in his tent, which turned out to be much less formal than it sounded. The tent was a scaled-down version of the standard accommodation marquees which now littered Kuwait, and the furniture was limited to four canvas camp beds. Lunch was even more meagre than the offering at Camp Commando, consisting only of mug of lukewarm tea and a disgusting American ration pack - but I was famished, so I ate the thing anyway. (5)
“Tell me a bit about yourself,” asked the CO. “Your knowledge of armoured manoeuvre will be in demand in the headquarters, so I’d like to know what experience you’ve got.”
I wasn’t expecting a job
The conversation in front of me continued with further gesticulating at the aerial photographs: “What anti-tank assets are we deploying here? We can’t claim to have deployed a blocking force if we’ve only got blokes with light weapon systems, and we can’t get our vehicle-mounted Milans in until the LCACs are functioning.” (2) (3)
This was immediately countered by someone else in the group. “Well, we can deploy man packed Milan if we have to. Or maybe we could bring in underslung vehicles by helicopter?”
This was answered by a tall, sandy-haired figure standing at the top of the planning table, whom I quickly realised was the Commanding Officer. “We could do that if we absolutely had to - although we’ll need to find out whether the American helicopters can undersling our vehicles - but I’d rather explore other alternatives first. It seems to me we can have a pretty effective block in place just by using the organic assets of our close-combat companies, plus UMST.” (4)
There was a murmuring of assent to this last remark, although clearly there was still some concern about the unknown enemy dispositions on the Al Faw. The problem was exacerbated by the date palm plantations and other greenery on the northern side of the peninsula, where fresh water from the Shat-al-Arab waterway was used to irrigate the land. I vividly remembered from my Kosovo days how easy it had been for the Serbs to hide their tanks in the wooded areas of southern Yugoslavia. All the air photographs in the world were no good if your enemy chose to position his armoured formations in woodland - and frankly they would have to be pretty stupid to do anything else. Yet here we were, about to embark on an opposed landing in country which was home to hundreds of acres of date palm plantations. I shuddered quietly at the idea and consoled myself with the thought that while 42 Commando’s fighting companies would be slugging it out on the Al Faw, the Commando headquarters would presumably not fly in from Kuwait until the area was deemed relatively safe.
The planning group broke up and, their eyes no longer fixed on the photographs and maps, they noticed there was a stranger waiting for them. I stepped forward and introduced myself.
“Ah, Harry, nice to meet you,” exclaimed the CO, holding out his hand. “Were we expecting you?” Then, looking over his shoulder at the adjutant, “Were we expecting him?”
“Yes, Colonel,” responded the adjutant. “I got a phone call this morning from Brigade to say they were sending him up.”
“Well why wasn’t I bloody told about it?” grumbled the CO. “I’m always the last person to know about our new arrivals. It’s faintly embarrassing not knowing who all these people are.” But it was all said in good humour and it seemed that he was genuinely pleased to have me on board. I guessed - correctly, as it turned out - that 42 Commando was being deluged with new arrivals in a similar way to the brigade headquarters, and I was therefore just the latest in a long line of unexpected visitors. The adjutant later made a count of them and the total was in the dozens with cap badges including the Royal Navy, RAF, Joint NBC Regiment, Royal Engineers and now, of course, the Hussars. Before I could depart the CO invited me to lunch in his tent, which turned out to be much less formal than it sounded. The tent was a scaled-down version of the standard accommodation marquees which now littered Kuwait, and the furniture was limited to four canvas camp beds. Lunch was even more meagre than the offering at Camp Commando, consisting only of mug of lukewarm tea and a disgusting American ration pack - but I was famished, so I ate the thing anyway. (5)
“Tell me a bit about yourself,” asked the CO. “Your knowledge of armoured manoeuvre will be in demand in the headquarters, so I’d like to know what experience you’ve got.”
I wasn’t expecting a job
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