Operation Mayhem Read online

  STEVE HEANEY MC

  WITH DAMIEN LEWIS

  OPERATION

  MAYHEM

  THE TARGET: ONE VILLAGE.

  THE DEFENDERS: 26 ELITE BRITISH SOLDIERS.

  THE ENEMY: 2000 DRUG- AND BLOOD-CRAZED REBELS.

  To the Findermen who have paid the ultimate price, we raise

  a glass in your honour. To those of you who find yourselves once

  again in harm’s way on active operations across the globe …

  be safe and remember always,

  ‘Stay low and move fast’.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  List of Illustrations

  Author’s Note

  Foreword

  Prologue: Man Hunt

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Postscript to the Paperback Edition

  Where are they Now?

  Acknowledgements

  About the Authors

  Photos, Image And Quote Credits

  Index

  Illustrations

  Copyright

  List of Illustrations

  The Fan Dance. Pathfinder selection is a tough five-week trial, culminating in Endurance, a 64-kilometre forced march under extremely heavy loads over the notorious Pen-y-Fan, in the Brecon Beacons – terrain known to test many a man.

  Pathfinders deploy deep behind enemy lines with the kind of specialist light weaponry – like sniper rifles – to take out strategic enemy targets.

  Riding the tube. As one of the British military’s most experienced Tandem Masters, I got to jump with a massive canister of heavy equipment strapped to my person. Landing it was spine-crushing work.

  Once you pull the chute, your world goes from the adrenaline-pumping rush of the freefall to one of comparative silence and stillness, as you drift under silk towards the landing zone below.

  Bergen first. Just prior to landing, you let your Bergen drop on the extension rope, so it lands ahead of you, taking the impact of its own weight and saving your legs.

  Touchdown. Gathering in the silk after a monster freefall to earth, in a HALO – high-altitude low-opening – jump.

  HALO. Diving off a Hercules ramp into the howling void as a four-man patrol, in a HALO – high-altitude low-opening – parachute jump, with yours truly leading the stick.

  In formation. Seconds later in the freefall on the same jump, myself in centre of photo. Note the M16s strapped to our left sides, in case the landing proves ‘hot’ – occupied by the enemy. You stick together close in the freefall, so that when you pull the chutes you can follow the lead jumper – me – into the drop zone.

  Freefall. Same HALO jump as opposite, from above 25,000 feet, in full oxygen-breathing, parachute, survival and combat gear.

  Solo. A different HALO jump, with yours truly flying high, with a General Purpose Machine Gun (GPMG) strapped to my left side, barrel downwards.

  Desert rats. Pathfinders are tasked to go deep behind enemy lines in all kinds of terrain. On desert operations, shemaghs – traditional Arab headscarves – are vital for keeping sun and sand out of mouth, nose and hair. They’re also great for anonymity. I’m in the vehicle commander’s seat, so left of driver.

  Sandy wanderers. Pathfinders in the North African desert, operating a mixed bag of Pinkies – desert-adapted, open-topped Land Rovers – and Armstrong 500cc motorbikes. I’m on the far right of the photo, leaning against the vehicle. All the others in this photo are now serving with Special Forces, hence faces being obscured.

  Two wheels good. Yours truly, deep in the North African desert where we used Armstrong 500cc off-road motorbikes to act as an outrider force, scouting the route ahead and searching for the enemy.

  The jungle is neutral. It’s neither inherently hostile nor friendly, but only by becoming as one with it will you defeat an enemy. Wag is standing on the far left of photo, yours truly is far right, also standing.

  Down ‘n’ dirty. The ‘briefing room’ for jungle training and ops in Belize, in the Central American rainforest. Wag’s ever-friendly mug is in the centre of the photo, front row, with me peeping out from behind him on far left of the back row.

  Home sweet home. A basha – a jungle sleeping platform made from cut bamboo and wood, with A-frame supports at either end, and a waterproof poncho thrown over, and tethered to nearby trees.

  Jungle ops. Pathfinders taking a breather, in the heart of the Central American rainforest. Even in virgin jungle like this, remarkably little sunlight filters through the forest canopy, making dark and dirtied-up uniforms and blackened-up faces the best camouflage.

  Kaboom. Moving deep into enemy territory, small lightly-armed elite forces such as ourselves are bound to come up against far larger and better armed enemies. The one advantage we normally have is the ability to call in air-power, using lasers to mark targets and steer in precision-guided air-strikes.

  Smoking hot. Deployed on small-unit actions behind enemy lines, Pathfinders are trained to return fire with maximum aggression and speed, then to break contact as soon as possible, so as to avoid being overrun, killed or captured.

  Graham ‘Wag’ Wardle, trusty GPMG in hand, carrying a crushing load. We were best of mates: I was always twisting his arm about being the Brigade’s ugliest man, while he would hit back about the size of my ears.

  Captain Grant Harris, then second-in-command of the Pathfinders. A young but very capable officer, he did a sterling job when the shit hit the proverbial fan in Sierra Leone.

  Jacko. In spite of not being able to get his swearing right, Jacko was a top operator, and there was no one better to take over command in Sierra Leone.

  Nathe. He had somehow made it from turnip farming in Lincolnshire into the Pathfinders – and a better patrol commander I couldn’t have wished for. He was also the king of bush tucker: if it moved Nathe would eat it.

  Taff Saunders. Like many a Welshman, Taff believed that England was a carbuncle attached to Mother Wales. But never a better bloke in a punch-up. Here he is flanked by two of the Nigerian United Nations troops, who joined forces with us in Sierra Leone.

  Tricky. In action on the ranges putting down intense fire during live contact drills training.

  The architect of evil. Foday Sankoh, a former sergeant from the Sierra Leone Army turned founder and guru of the Revolutionary United Front (RUF) rebels – known as ‘Africa’s Khmer Rouge’. By the time our operation was finished, Sankoh had been captured and the rebel resistance broken. Sadly, he died in custody before he could stand trial for mass war crimes.

  The bad guys. Rebel fighters of the Revolutionary United Front – those who had declared they were launching ‘Operation Kill British’, to force us out of the country. We were outnumbered 100-1 and heavily outgunned.

  Battle Group. With hundreds of British citizens about to be kidnapped, tortured and slaughtered by the rebels in Sierra Leone, 1 PARA jetted in to Lungi Airport to evacuate them, and halt the rebel advance. As luck would have it, we were to be placed at the tip of the spear.

  A pair of CH47 Chinooks from the RAF heading low and fast over t
he Sierra Leone capital, Freetown – the means via which we would deploy on operations deep into the jungle.

  Going in. You could cut the atmosphere with a knife as 26 Pathfinders flew into the teeth of the rebel advance, and with no idea what we’d meet on the ground in the jungle.

  Going in hot. Sweeping across the jungle at tree-top level, the Chinooks put us down in Lungi Lol village with no idea where the enemy might be. It was a case of poke the hornet’s nest, and see what response we might get.

  Armed and dangerous. Gripping a six-barrelled Gatling-type mini-gun, a door gunner scans the jungle below for rebel fighters, as the Chinook flies in low and fast.

  A mixed bag of Nigerian and Jordanian United Nations peace-keeping troops, plus villagers. Trouble was, in Sierra Leone there was no peace to keep – as our mission was about to prove.

  By strength and guile. The SBS – Special Boat Service – were out patrolling the rivers and estuaries that criss-cross the jungle, and our first escape and evasion plan had us getting picked up by their boats.

  The SAS and the SBS deployed alongside us in Sierra Leone, but as luck would have it we would get to see the real action.

  Long-sleeve style. The rebels’ speciality was lopping off the hands of women and children, using axes or machetes, to spread a dark reign of terror. They gave their victims the choice of long- or short-sleeve style – amputation above or below the elbow. How could we do anything else but fight to the last man to stop them?

  Mango, anyone? Barefoot angels – that’s how the kids in the village of Lungi Lol struck us. No rebels were kidnapping them, lopping off their hands, or forcing them to be child soldiers – not on our watch.

  The kids are all right. We were 26 Pathfinders facing 2,000 rebels. But with smiles like these from the local kids, how could we do anything other than smash the rebel advance and stop them butchering the village?

  Having decided we were their heaven-sent saviours, the locals scavenged food from the jungle for us and fetched our daily water – as we waited in our trenches, poised to kick seven bales of shit out of the rebels.

  Village people. This is why it mattered. We flew into the jungle to smash the rebel advance, and stop them wreaking carnage in the capital city and at the airport. We ended up in the fight of our lives to save an entire village.

  Bush tucker. When it rained in the jungle, snails as big as your fist came slurping out of their tunnels to munch on the wet vegetation. Nathe being Nathe, he decided they were for the pot, and so his legendary Lungi Lol Snail baltis were born.

  The bunker. The forward battle trench manned by ‘H’ – ‘The Death Dealer’ – with his tried and trusted GPMG. No rebels were sneaking past when ‘H’ was on duty.

  Front toward enemy. A factory-made Claymore – a convex wad of plastic explosives, primed to blast out a wall of ball-bearings at the enemy. We were forced to manufacture our own from old food tins and ‘shipyard confetti’ – any make-do ‘shrapnel’ we could scavenge around the village.

  With a 51mm mortar like this, I was able to crawl far forward and put up illume rounds – flares that drift under a parachute – so lighting up the entire night-dark battlefield. Light for the lads to see and to kill by.

  Digging for victory. Pretty quickly, we realized that unless we recruited the locals to help us defend the village we were all going to end up butchered by the rebels. Young village kids dug our battle trenches, made beds and shelters for us to sleep on, and cut bamboo to make sharpened punji sticks.

  Brigadier Richards, our overall force commander, sent us in to stop the rebels in their tracks. This we had done. Here villagers gather up the rebel dead, after the first night’s combat.

  Calling prayers. Prior to sending out Pathfinder patrols to go after the rebels, we got a collective heads-up with all patrol commanders, to work out how best to track, find and kill them.

  Ready for anything. 1 PARA mortar crews load up the 81mm rounds, to beat back the rebel forces massing in the jungle.

  Fire! Once we got the 1 PARA mortar teams in, with their 81mm mortar tubes, we could really take the fight to the rebels.

  Hunter-killer. After the initial massive firefight, we knew we’d given the rebels a bloody nose. Next we did the utterly unexpected: we left our battle trenches and went into the jungle on a hot pursuit to track them down.

  X Platoon at end of Lungi Lol Op: The A-team. The 26 Pathfinders at Lungi Lol, plus5 support staff from Lungi Airport. Rear row, from left: 4th, Taff Saunders (33 Delta); 9th, Ginge Wilson (33 Charlie). Middle row, from left: 4th, Eddie The White Rabbit Newell; 5th, Grant Harris (Sunray); 6th, Mark ‘Jacko’ Jackson; 7th, Graham ‘Wag’ Wardle; 8th, Neil ‘Tricky’ Dick; 9th, Nathan ‘Nathe’ Bell (33 Alpha); 10th, Sam ‘Dolly’ Parton (33 Delta). Front row, from left: 5th, yours truly; 6th, Joe ‘H’ Harrison; 10th, Bryan ‘Bri’ Budd VC.

  ‘What makes the grass grow? Blood! Blood! Blood!’

  RUF rebel chant, prior to battle

  ‘Good men sleep soundly in their beds at night, only because

  there are rough men willing to do violence on their behalf.’

  George Orwell

  What Manner of Men Are These

  Who Wear the Maroon Beret?

  They are firstly all volunteers and are toughened by physical training. As a result they have infectious optimism and that offensive eagerness which comes from well-being. They have ‘jumped’ from the air and by doing so have conquered fear.

  Their duty lies in the van of the battle. They are proud of this honour. They have the highest standards in all things whether it be skill in battle or smartness in the execution of all peacetime duties. They are in fact – men apart – every man an emperor.

  Of all the factors, which make for success in battle, the spirit of the warrior is the most decisive. That spirit will be found in full measure in the men who wear the maroon beret.

  Field Marshal The Viscount Montgomery

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  I have used soldiers’ real names in this book when they have been published in the press, or whenever individual soldiers have indicated to me that they were happy for me to do so. I have been asked to use pseudonyms for those serving with Special Forces and other elite units, or for operators who are still involved, or who were involved, in sensitive operations. Otherwise, all aspects of this story remain as they took place on the ground.

  I have done my utmost to ensure the accuracy of all the events portrayed herein. Few written records exist covering the events described in this book. Accordingly, I have recreated conversations from how I remember them and in discussions with the others who were involved. No doubt my memory and that of my fellow operators is fallible, and I will be happy to correct any inadvertent mistakes in future editions.

  To all other units in the British armed forces – and those of our foremost allies – the Pathfinders’ call-sign is Mayhem. That is how the unit is addressed over the radio net. The Sierra Leone mission related in this book remains one of the most highlydecorated in modern Pathfinder history. Accordingly, and because it seems to suit the actions portrayed in these pages, I have chosen to call this book Operation Mayhem.

  FOREWORD

  by General Sir David Richards GCB CBE DSO

  former Chief of the Defence Staff

  In January 1999 I led a small team of officers and marines to Sierra Leone. Our task was to assess whether the once proud little army of that tragic but spirited country had any hope of pushing back the brutal rebels of the Revolutionary United Front. I had to assess whether there was anything we could do to help them and present the case to Tony Blair’s government in London.

  The RUF’s signature atrocity was the amputation of the limbs of young and old alike. Designed to intimidate the population, in their warped often drug-crazed minds this also had the advantage of preventing those they ‘cut’ from casting a vote in any future elections. We watched the Sierra Leonian army, their local Kamajor militia allies and a small contingent of Nigerian troops
fight valiantly to push the RUF back out of Freetown. We departed after about 10 days but not before we had successfully persuaded the British government that these plucky people should be helped, financially and militarily.

  That experience left a real mark on me and my team. We had been witness to some horrific sights, things we all hoped never to see again. We certainly never thought we would return to Sierra Leone. Little did we know.

  By early May 2000, the RUF had reneged on a peace treaty they had signed the previous summer and were once again rampaging their brutal way towards Freetown. This time my ever-ready Joint Force HQ, with 1st Battalion Parachute Regiment group including the Regiment’s renowned Pathfinder Platoon and some others under command, were rushed out to Sierra Leone to evacuate British and other entitled people from the country for fear that they would be butchered by the RUF. It was a race against time. And it was vital that the RUF suffered an early blow to their morale, something that would make them pause and think twice about taking on my limited forces.

  This invigorating book tells the tale of the hugely professional and courageous group of men who inflicted that blow on the RUF for me and their inspirational commanding officer Lt-Col Paul Gibson. Deliberately exposed to lure the RUF onto their positions, the Pathfinders lived up to their unrivalled reputation for toughness and professionalism of the highest order. Without a shadow of doubt, their heroic actions that memorable night was the key tactical event in what has been held up as a model intervention operation. It enabled us not only to complete the evacuation in relative security but, more importantly, allowed us to push the RUF out of Freetown and away from the vital airfield without which no operation was tenable. It buoyed up the Sierra Leonean people and crucially bought time for the United Nations forces to recover and rebuild.

  Six weeks later, with the RUF essentially defeated and hugely demoralised, we were able to hand over to the UN and wend our way back to the UK. We felt good about ourselves. We had chanced our arm and more than achieved the aim. The generous-hearted people of Sierra Leone had been given their country back and could once again hope for a better future. The Pathfinders had written another stirring chapter in their short but illustrious history and Sergeant Steve Heaney was at the very centre of that story. To great acclaim he was rightly awarded the Military Cross; none can have been better earned.