Desert or Radfan

Marie
I lay in my bed listening to the snoring coming from further down the
tent, Wally sure was on form today.
Then it started, I looked at my watch. Sure enough, seven o' clock. The
muffled explosions of mortar fire filled the silence of the mountains.
Obviously the lads knew they were not in any immediate danger. They had
gone through this now for several weeks and not a single hit. I, Mike,
or Paddy as I had been renamed, had been one of the last to join the
troop.
"The dizzies must be either blind or just playing about".
Dizzies was the name given to the tribesmen it came from
dissident.
"They want the bleedin mortars sticking up their arses," Wally Dyson, a
broad spoken Yorkshire lad answered me and woke up the rest of the
tent.
"Put a fucking sock in it Wally, we have another half-hour yet".

Before long the whole troop was awake and moving around, the sound of
mortar fire still present. One explosion came quite near.
"Bleeding hell they are getting better, another couple of mils on the
drum and he will have us"
Semi- silence broken by roar of jets, another thing the lads had to put
up with everyday. The RAF had to have a go at the dizzies just to make
sure they didn't get too close with their mortars.
" Soon be over again lads, then we can get our scran" A young Lance
Corporal spoke up.
He never looked like he shaved, had that schoolboy look about him, but
had proved himself in action so no one said anything to him about his
smooth complexion.

Dress of the day at Dhala was desert boots socks and pt shorts, oh and
shirts and berets. Nothing fancy here out in Dhala, the lads had almost
forgotten about webbing and blanco.
We had been in Aden now for about two months and most of the time at
Dhala, a little mountain outpost perched on the border , where every so
often the tribes took it into their heads to have a go at us. Things
had got worse since Egypt had supplied the rebels with arms now there
were Russian T34 tanks and artillery plus an occasional bombing run by
a couple of ageing Yaks or Beasties, the only aircraft the rebels had
been supplied with. Against Buccaneers and Hunters they were no
match.

Soon the aircraft had disappeared, the mortars silent again.
"Thank fuck for that, now we can get our scran". Wally, always thinking
about his stomach.
"Hey laa bring us a sarni back, will you?" Scouse Sherry, the troop's
intellectual spoke up.
"Get up and get your own you idle scouse git, anyway Chico will be here
soon".
Chico had been adopted by us to carry out menial little tasks such as
making the tea, tidying up the beds, and getting things from the town
of Dhala. Anything you wanted Chico would get, had even offered his
sister once.

Breakfast was over, with no further incidents and we were called out
onto parade, nicknamed the "paludrine parade" where we were given our
daily malaria tablets. Today was no exeption. Sergeant "Tug" Wilson,
troop sergeant came with his box of tablets and made sure we took our
salt tabs.
"Well lads we have got ourselves a cushy little number today".
He smiled as he said this and Tug's smile was like that of a crocodile,
not to be trusted.
"There's a little French lady coming out on patrol with us today, a
photographer for a French magazine".
Wally spoke up. " Sarge, what's our job gonna be"?
"To see she don't get her pretty little head shot off, and that means
going where she goes".

Tug looked around at us and shook his head in despair.
"OK, for a start we will look like soldiers and not bleedin tramps,
also we will act like soldiers."
He walked up and down, making a mental note of our turnout.
"I want two drivers, one for the landrover and the other for the three
tonner. We will also take one of the ferrets".
"Right then Corporal Night and your driver, Trooper Dyson, you will
take the ferret. Trooper Lynch, you will drive the Truck and I'll be in
the Landrover with an armed escort. OK got that?".
Wally and I began to move off but were shouted back.
" Right you lot, go and get into KD's and report back here in five
minutes"
"Bleeding hell, not the bleeding boys scout outfit?". Wally didn't like
dressing up in KD's, more at home in pt shorts and vest.

Back on parade, a crowd of officers and warrant officers had gathered.
This time we were all armed. and had our weapons with us and also five
magazines of ammo.
The centre of attraction was the French girl and was she bloody
gorgeous? Taking into consideration that we were going out into the
hills, she wasn't dressed for the occasion at all.
The escort and drivers stood open mouthed. They hadn't seen a European
girl for quite some time and this was some girl. She wore khaki shorts
and were they short? Her shirt only fitted where it touched. Her
breasts strained to get loose. Nine squaddies were slowly getting an
hard on.
"OK men, this is m'mselle Marie she is going to take photos for her
magazine and our job is to make sure she gets what she wants".
Wally muttered under his breath. "I'll bloody give her what she
wants".
Marie must have heard because she smiled and undid another button on
her shirt. Jaws hung open .
"Ok then haven't you lot seen a woman before?
The voice came from the troop commander . Lt Airey. " Right escort and
drivers mount up, we move off in five minutes".
Time for a quick ciggy whilst the engines warmed up.
Marie, equipped with more types of cameras than the lads had ever seen,
dashed round with a camera in each hand, taking shots of vehicles and
crew.
Since she understood English any comments were kept clean.

Soon we moved off and headed towards the forward observation posts.
Marie in the Landrover with Tug and the Lt, No one could see why she
wanted shots of the camp surrounds, but who questioned a journalist, an
internationally acclaimed one at that.
Having reached the forward observation post Marie set about filming in
earnest. The FOP was basically a centurion tank, that had been buried
until only the top of the hull and the turret was exposed. From a
distance you could not see it and the brass hoped it could not be seen
from the air.
This particular FOP was manned by a crew of three, changed every three
days. So far they had experienced no problems from the rebel
forces.
Apart from the FOP there were forts strung out along the border, manned
by the FRA or the Federal Regular Army. Occasionally the Yemeni rebels
launched attacks on these.

"Trooper lynch, over here at the double".
I ran over to Tug and the Lt.
"I want you to go along with Marie and make sure she doesn't get into
any scrapes, OK?"
All my birthdays had come at once, escorting a drop down dead, gorgeous
French bird.
"Hey Paddy, watch what you do with your slar, and don't forget to give
it a good pull through when you done". one of the corporals, Darky
Knight having his threepennorth.
I followed Marie out towards the border. She was still filming the FOP.
We got as far as the hill fort. I told her to stay put. We sat down.
She took a flask of something out of her bag and offered me a
drink.
"Merci M'mselle", the limit of my French.
She smiled and said in slow English. "What is your name".
Soon we were on first name terms. Her way of pronouncing Michael sort
of did something for me.
She let it be known she was going to film some mercenary action down in
the Congo and that she liked adventure.

Sometime later Noticing the time we set off back.
As we approached the FOP I could see the rest of the squad watching us
Marie noticed, leaned over and whispered something in my ear.
As we got within earshot of the squad she said. "Oh Michele I enjoyed
that" and started giggling.
I went a bright shade of red.
"OK then Lynch, lets get this show on the road and us back to
base".
Tug took me to one side. " I don't know what you were up to out there
with this French tart, and I don't want to know but you are back on
duty now".
On the way back Marie chose to ride in the truck with me, she was some
woman.
No opportunities to say goodbye proper, but she did blow I a kiss and
said. "Au revoir Mike".

Wally and his mates kept pestering me to tell them what Marie had
whispered to me but I refused to tell them.
We assumed Marie had gone to the Congo to look at Mike Hoare's
mercenaries until
one day the lads got hold of a Yemeni newspaper and who should be on
the front page all friendly with the enemy? Yes you guessed it, - the
luscious Marie.
Two weeks later the FOP received a direct hit. Luckily the crew were
not there. But how did the rebel forces know it was there? Everyone
formed their own conclusions . The luscious Marie was in the pay of the
Egyptians and the Yemeni.
Tug looked at me over his drink and said " You can't trust a bleedin
froggy, whether male or female but you, Paddy, you stupid wizzock, you
fell for her".