Mike Lynch remembers the Aden campaign of the sixties.

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 Yorkshireman answered me and woke up the rest of the tent.

"Put a fucking sock in it Wally, w’ve 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.

The troop 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 the troop. 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 the troop 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 the troop was called out onto parade, nicknamed the "paludrine parade" where the troop was given their daily malaria tablets. Today was no exeption. Sergeant "Tug" Wilson, the troop sergeant came with his box of tablets and made sure the troop took their 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 the troop

"OK, for a start we will look like soldiers and not bleedin tramps, also we will act like soldiers."

He walked up and down the ranks, making a mental note of the troop’s 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?".

Dyson 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 the squad was armed. They had their weapons with them and also five magazines of ammo.

The centre of attraction was the French girl and was she bloody gorgeous? Taking into consideration that the troop was 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 were 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, all the way shooting film. 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 borde. 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 laternNoticing 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".

written by Michael Lynch

© October 2000 Michael Lynch Part of the Silver Surfers' Project

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