Deep Behind Enemy Lines, page 13
‘My list of equipment and general requirements will be very much like yours. My guys are working on it now,’ he replied. ‘The Gemini inflatables will be loaded and strapped onto the respective trailers ready for hook-up and departure on the Sunday. By the way, Bill, the OC informed me from 1200 hours tomorrow the teams could stand down and relax until mid-morning Monday. By that time, we should have returned from the forced march and the loading tell-off will have been completed.’
‘That’s good news, and very accommodating of the boss. They’ll certainly need it! We also need to arrange armed guards to be posted around the MT compound where the loaded transport will stand from Thursday until we move out. I think the guards should be from base camp and not from our operational teams,’ commented Bill.
‘Agreed. I’ll contact the Garrison RSM to arrange it.’
‘I’ll also need to get four members from base camp to assist in transporting all my air team requirements across the road to a safe enclosure in an AAC Air Wing hanger on Saturday. I’ll discuss it with the Senior NCO in charge of REME. Since you’ll be speaking to the Garrison RSM, perhaps you’d do a mate a favour at the same time regarding that,’ said Bill, looking hopefully at Josh.
‘Sure. It’ll give you extra time for your pre-boarding O-Group discussion on the Sunday, since it’ll all be on hand for double quick loading.’
‘Much appreciated. Yep, I’m aiming to do the pep talk at 1630 hours with take-off, hopefully, at 1700 hours.’
He gave Josh a friendly slap on the back.
Josh made the promised call to the Garrison RSM with the requests and received favourable agreement, which he relayed back to Bill.
Early next morning Josh and Bill met for breakfast. ‘Morning, Bill, you feeling fit for the fray? The men will be mustered ready for roll-call in forty-five minutes and then we can take off.’
‘Morning, Josh. Yep I’m ready to do battle. As for roll-call it takes second place to sustenance, I’m ravenous.’
Having assuaged their appetites, they made roll-call outside the office and led the men to the equipment stores to kit up with Rucksack Bergen’s and hand generators, to provide marching weight.
Bill was invigorated with his usual get up and go approach to physical activity, to say nothing of the healthy size breakfast he had on board.
‘With luck, we should be back around midday.’
‘OK men let’s get this show on the road’ Josh announced cheerfully. They marched through the camp gates in formation, initially travelling north from the Kahawa Cantonment on the A2 road and through the local Kikuyu Township heading for Ruira. The round-trip would be about twenty miles, although the men hadn’t been written in on that piece of information. This was all about fitness maintenance.
As they marched along Bill became fascinated with the Kikuyu women walking straight-backed along the roadside, balancing extraordinarily large bundles of firewood on their heads, and being followed by mangy village dogs. Some of the older women with bent backs and shorn heads sported wide head-straps from which hung somewhat smaller bundles in hessian sacking.
He caught snippets of desultory conversation in what he could only assume was Swahili. These women were clothed in the traditional Kikuyu shukas tied on their left shoulder and extended all the way to their ankles. They were adorned with colourful earrings, necklaces, bracelets and anklets made from multi-coloured beads and cowrie shells. These adornments, together with the brilliant blue of the agapanthus growing in clumps along the wayside, gave sharp contrast to the overall ochre of the terrain.
They passed through or beside numerous villages where old men were sitting outside makeshift hovels, smoking or whittling. These hovels were constructed of assorted materials having obviously been scavenged and looked decidedly insubstantial. A strong wind would have them down in a puff, thought Bill. The younger men looked to be the tenders of the scant assortment of painfully thin cattle and goats. He could also see other females of differing ages squatting in front of open fires pounding grain in large bowls.
Bill thought what a sad and poor existence it was, but he got no sense of overt discontent, more resignation. He understood and felt empathy when he contrasted their lives to those of the white highlanders with their lush farms in the Limuru district. Yes, they were under the boot of a colonial regime so, on one level, he could appreciate the reasons why the more militant younger generation rebelled during the Mau Mau uprising. This was still a primitive people and killing the oppressor held no deep sentimental stirrings for their colonial enemy.
Conversely, he was appalled by the slaughter of the many white women and children at the very least during the uprising. But he knew he was here to do a job, and he was to protect British interests regardless of his own personal hang-ups. He marched on with these thoughts roiling.
The twenty-mile round trip took them almost four hours, with only a couple of brief stops to slake their thirst with refreshing, although now warm, water from their bottles. They marched back into camp just after midday, in record time. The men broke ranks and made for their billets for a well-earned shower and short rest, as did Bill and Josh. They’d collectively agreed to gather at the swimming pool later to relax, and maybe have a game of six-aside murder ball in the pool to enjoy some competition, if they could muster the energy.
Bill dozed off on a sunbed in the warmth of the day. On waking he thought about the Military Forces mobilisation next Sunday, and other aspects of Operation Night Hawk. He fervently hoped they’d covered everything from planning down to necessary equipment for a successful outcome.
He and Josh had talked about continued training and decided to utilise the next six days with physical activity. Therefore, all thirty men plus drivers and escorts, would spend the time at the outdoor gymnasium undertaking assault course practice, which would be supervised in set routines by the two PTIs.
The programme, if time permitted, would also include a couple of inter-team football matches and a trip to the local rock face area for abseil practice. A scout helicopter was also tasked from the AAC Air Wing for this activity over the campsite playing field. There included the final job of reviewing, calibrating and cleaning the equipment they’d take with them on Operation Night Hawk.
During the coming week, they’d assist in the loading of equipment in readiness for departure on Sunday. It would be an extremely tight and full-on six days.
Chapter 24
The Somali warlord, Khalid al Gurreh, had been born in a small village between Kismayu and Dadaab to the Gurreh tribe, one of those indigenous to Northern Kenya, including Dir, Isaak, Darod, Hawiye, Digil, Rhanwein and Gurreh.
Khalid was now approximately 34-years-old, and in his prime. He was tall, lean and muscular, weighed about 165lbs, had dark grey eyes, distinctive coming of age tribal scars on both cheeks, a medium length beard and short dreadlocked hair. Since the loss of his father in a skirmish with British and Kenyan GSU forces, on which he’d vowed vengeance, his adult years had been spent working to acquire seniority and respect as the future leader of his tribe. His time was rigorously devoted to recruiting young warriors both from his own and other like-minded tribal men from surrounding villages.
His planning and execution of attacks on villages considered pro-Kenyan Government labelled him as utterly ruthless in both method and approach. He was without compassion or conscience, giving no quarter. Somewhere around the age of twenty Khalid had converted to the Muslim religion and had become a fundamentalist Somali insurgent. He organised, and got agreement for, the nomination of regional Somali warlords, and called regular gatherings to discuss insurgent tactics, coordination and liaison.
During Khalid’s ascendancy, his army of insurgents invaded many of the villages near the River Tana in the NFD Province, which weren’t sympathetic to his cause. Here, literally thousands of men, women and children were slaughtered. Gradually, Khalid al Gurreh became acknowledged and listed by the Kenyan Government as one of the most wanted and infamous of the Somali Warlords in the Shifta War uprising.
On Saturday 23rd November, in the south eastern territory of the Somalia/Kenya border at Dadaab, the local bush headquarters of the regional Shifta movement, Khalid al Gurreh had brought together the other six regional warlords and his war council, to discuss insurgency progress to date, forward raiding forays, strategy, coordination, liaison and action against the Kenyan Government. Khalid called for silence and addressed the gathering.
‘First, I have to announce to you some international good news that yesterday, the President of the United States was assassinated as a leader of another country of our mortal enemies.’
A large cheer went up from all those present.
‘Nevertheless, more importantly I’ve called you all together to discuss the next action against our common enemy. I also want to take stock of our present armaments, logistics, transport, fuel and manpower. So, I call first on Ahmed Sharmar who covers the Isiolo region to advise the council on his latest update and status.’
Lying well concealed in the undergrowth nearby and unbeknown to the gathering were two warriors of the Pokomo tribe, one of who was Jojo, Chief Orango’s eldest son. The other was a fellow warrior, Mazuma. Both had lost many people in their village during Shifta raids. They’d been dispatched by their chief and been tracking the local Isiolo warlord Ahmed Sharmar for several days.
Within easy earshot, they listened carefully to the discussions and plans. From Jojo’s point of view great care had to be taken because, if discovered, they were in danger of being immediately put to death for spying. However, possession of such valuable information needed to be relayed to both Chief Orango and their brother informants working for the Tana River Irrigation Company at Hola.
Ahmed Sharmar stood. He was a tall, commanding figure, also bearded with dreadlocked hair. He had imposing features, wore very tatty European bush denims, and holstered what appeared to be a Russian-made sidearm. He spoke in an over-confident and arrogant tone.
‘Habari za asubuhi ndugu yangu. (Good morning my brothers).
First, I have to explain the disastrous outcome of the attack we launched on a Pokomo village, which sympathised with the Kenyan Government in the Isiolo area in late August. It’s with great regret I inform this meeting my warriors, who’d successfully ransacked the village, then failed miserably to take necessary precautions when the Pokomos took their revenge. My men were caught sleeping without a posted guard and, as reprisal, all fifteen sleeping dogs were killed to a man.
Of course, this was well deserved, but regrettably led to the loss of four AK47 automatic assault rifles and a large quantity of ammunition. We’ve managed to recover our transport, since the villagers were obviously unable to drive, and we’ll shortly recover the AK47s.
Regarding our current weapons and ammunition, we still have a good stock of armaments; four machine gun-mounted vehicles which, although old are still serviceable, a good stock of fuel and thirty-five fighting men out of the original fifty. I have plans for further attacks on many villages in my region near to or along the River Tana during the next two to three weeks,’ he concluded and sat down.
‘I’ll now have a report from you, Shimbir Ismail, and your progress in the Kinna region,’ said Khalid.
Shimbir gave his update together with forward battle plans. His headcount was forty fully armed men, plenty of ammunition and two machine gun-mounted Toyota off-road vehicles.
‘Warsame Yassin and the Garissa Region!’
Warsame gave a similar update to his colleagues. He reported a headcount of fifty fully armed men and gave a breakdown of his insurgency plans.
‘Guled, now you. What is the status from Bura?’
Guled’s report was virtually the same as Warsame’s, with just a few more important details relating to a significant stock of ammunition, basic grenades and three machine gun-mounted off-road Toyota vehicles.
‘You now Jama, your report from Hola.’
Jama reported activities in his region together with his manpower, logistics and weaponry. His vehicles and armaments were in an acceptable condition and plentiful. He also voiced the concern he believed there was a leak of information about their activities in his region, but was unable to specify whether there was a traitor on the inside or, as seemed more likely, emanated from the Tana River Irrigation Company.
Hearing this comment, the two Pokomo warriors in hiding glanced at each other fearfully. They were terrified their cover would be discovered. Nonetheless, this news had to be got back post-haste to the River Irrigation management as a warning.
‘I want more details concerning this issue. We must get our undercover informers to try and identify the culprits and deal with them as a matter of urgency,’ Khalid barked.
‘I’ll inform them immediately,’ Jama replied.
‘Finally, Haybe your report from Kipini including Lamu, of course.’
‘Everything’s in good order and attacks have been planned on two villages in the Tana estuary near to Lamu. These will happen in the next two weeks. You are also aware of our successful assassination recently of Two Boran senior officials, Tribal Chief Haji Galma Dida and District Commissioner Daudi Debaso Wabera the two Kenyan government representatives. Moreover, our three machine-gun-mounted vehicles are in good working order as are our other armaments. Manpower remains at forty armed men. I’ll notify you when the new attacks are ready for action.’
Khalid went on to inform the meeting, with several of his loyal team, he intended to blow up the Kenya Petroleum Refinery at Changamwe near Mombasa. The strategic advantage of this would be to cut all petroleum supplies to the Kenyan Army and its military coalition partners.
‘When do you anticipate doing this?’ asked Jama.
‘I’m planning this action for the last week in December. Any more questions? No? Then I’ll expect to receive regular status reports from you all concerning your insurgency activities. The next council meeting will take place on 21st December. I’ve noted your updates so this meeting is over. You’ll now return to your own villages and continue with activities against our Kenyan enemies.
Remember, I want to be continually informed via radio. Allahu akhbar! Oh, Ahmed I want you to stay behind and join me in my Shamba for coffee!’
‘Certainly,’ said Ahmed Sharmar, following Khalid back to his Shamba.
The two Pokomo eavesdroppers beat a cautious but hasty retreat and headed for Hola to give their report.
‘Keti chini,’ said Khalid sitting down at the table in the centre of the room opposite his subordinate.
‘I’ve asked you to join me to express my disappointment privately about your management, and the incompetence of your men in the Pokomo village disaster which resulted in the subsequent loss of valuable weapons. The loss of men is regrettable, but they can be replaced. Weapons are much harder to come by.’
‘I understand your disappointment of course, Khalid. It was an unfortunate incident.’
Khalid cut across him angrily. ‘This isn’t the type of leadership and example I expect from my regional warlords.’ He stood abruptly, knocking his chair over, drew his Russian sidearm from its holster and without further comment, fired a round into Sharmar’s chest penetrating his heart. It happened so fast that Sharmar had no time to reach for his own sidearm. He fell backwards over his chair with a look of disbelief in his eyes as arterial blood sprayed from the bullet wound. He was dead by the time he hit the floor. Punishment had been meted out and Ahmed Sharmar had paid the price.
Khalid summoned two of his lieutenants. They’d heard the shot and hastily entered the Shamba when commanded. They saw the bloodied dead body on the floor, which Khalid instructed them to dispose of and clear up the mess. Sharmar’s body was dragged out, a shallow grave was dug and the corpse was thrown in without ceremony.
After the execution of Ahmed Sharmar, Khalid al Gurreh went over to his table, picked up his radio and called Sharmar’s second in command.
‘Mohammed Hamza?’
‘Yes, speaking.’
‘There’s been an unfortunate accident here and Ahmed Sharmar is dead. You’re to take command of the Isiolo Regional Group and follow my usual orders. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, Khalid,’ he replied. ‘I’m at your command and wait to hear with your next instructions.’
Khalid al Gurreh terminated the call and prepared to return to his normal campsite at Kambooni, some miles along the coast from the town of Lamu.
Three days after the meeting of Shifta Warlords, two of warlord Jama’s undercover infiltrators identified one of four Pokomo informers in a local fruit market just outside Hola. His name was Odinga. When he stopped at a stall to make a purchase they approached him on either side, grabbed his arms, dug handguns into his ribs and frog-marched him roughly from the market, bound his hands and transported him to their village outside the Hola area. He was presented to Jama who was delighted with the capture and immediately radioed Khalid in Kambooni to give him the good news.
‘This is excellent news. Very well done to you and your men in tracking down the identity of this treacherous dog. Did you discover any other Pokomo wretch involved?’
‘Unfortunately, no; but you can be sure we’ll keep hunting.’
‘Ndiyo, bring this wretch to me at Kambooni and I’ll give him the benefit of my interrogation methods. I’ve no doubt at all he’ll tell me many interesting things with some gentle persuasion.’ He cackled loudly at his own irony.
