Hard Rain , livre ebook

H ard R ain
David Brown
Austin Macauley Publishers
2022-01-04
Hard Rain About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgement Prologue Chapter 1: Hard Rain Chapter 2: Containment Chapter 3: Haunted Chapter 4: The Mountains of Mourne Chapter 5: Man Down Chapter 6: Promotion Chapter 7: Orange, the Colour of Hate, 1970 Chapter 8: Working the Streets, Belfast, 1970 Chapter 9: The Lift, June 1970 Chapter 10: Paddy Bashing Chapter 11: Set Up! Chapter 12: South Chapter 13: The Chasm, August 1970 Chapter 14: Blue on Blue Chapter 15: Money Chapter 16: On a Bomb and a Prayer Chapter 17: King Chapter 18: Getting the Willies Chapter 19: Watch and Wait, December 1970 Chapter 20: Old Friend, New Enemy and Christmas Chapter 21: Honey and Death, January 1971 Chapter 22: People Power and Fertiliser, March 1971 Chapter 23: Murder Farm Chapter 24: Death and Flight Chapter 25: Beautiful Eyes Epilogue The Darkness
About the Author
David Brown served in the British army for almost forty years and between 1969 and 1976 spent a good deal of time in Northern Ireland serving with a top infantry regiment as both a platoon sergeant and later as a platoon commander. He eventually left the infantry for the elite Army Physical Training Corp and received a commission, eventually reaching the rank of Major.
Dedication
For Carole.
In memory of Lt Col HBJ Phillips, MBE Soldier, mentor and true gentleman.
Copyright Information ©
David Brown 2022
The right of David Brown to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528900560 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528902281 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published 2022
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd ®
1 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5AA
Acknowledgement
My thanks to Jane White for all her help and support and Lynda Sweet for her help with the final proof reading.
Prologue
Bomber’s story is based on the conflict in Northern Ireland, which, for the British Army, started in 1969 when the Royal Ulster Constabulary lost control of the civil unrest and the violence between the Protestant and Catholic communities became a terrorist war.
The government of the time called in the army to restore control and for a few precious weeks, both communities calmed down and welcomed the army as protectors. This was the politicians’ chance to establish an answer to the troubles and the genuine grievances of the Catholics and the fears of the Protestant community. This they failed to do but to be fair they were not going to dispel over two hundred years of bias and bigotry in such a short time.
The Irish border between the north and south is over three hundred miles long which does not include the coastline where boats could and still do move with ease. The option of placing a Cordon Sanitaire was so distasteful to everyone that in the end it was just left alone, allowing easy movement from both sides of the border for any terrorist group or just plain old smugglers. Interestingly, the Rhodesians did place a cordon along their somewhat longer border during the period of UDI. They were not afraid of world opinion.
Bomber’s story is based on the events in Northern Ireland between the years 1969 to 1972. I continued with tours of duty after this until the middle of 1976. Not a continuous seven years, but as with many other soldiers, short and long tours as the situation demanded. The events related in this book are fictionalised events, based on my experiences as a soldier, stories heard and my imagination, not necessarily government or army facts.
During this period, I grew to admire the people of Northern Ireland, both Catholic and Protestant, for their courage and resilience in the face of the most appalling destruction and death. In the middle was the British soldier soaking it all up and who can blame him if at times when he suffered being stoned, petrol bombed and nail bombed, along with road side bombings and shootings, he became a little angry and used what force he had at his disposal to control the situation. I never saw any of the politicians on the streets, politicians who have since given immunity to prosecution to known murderers, but who are now happy to allow witch hunts of the security forces. If they had been required to stand up to a rioting crowd, a bomber or a gunman, perhaps they would think differently and hold the security forces in higher regard. If what I have written stirs the resolve not to let this happen again, then I will be a happy man.
For peace.
David Brown
Chapter 1 Hard Rain
The rain had finally found its way through the flak vest and the fabric of his combat jacket. As the dampness chilled his body, he resisted the temptation to move and generate some body heat. Instead, he cradled his rifle closer to his chest, drawing comfort from its weight. This was his insurance against the hate-filled street he found himself standing on.
He had been in the shadows for over two hours waiting. Waiting was part of the game, staying still in the shadows, hoping to get lucky. The army had left alone the illegal drinking den on the Ardoyne near Flax Street Mill. They could have gone in mob handed and demolished it. However, it was considered better to have the so-called targets drinking in the place that the Int (intelligence) boys knew rather than having to waste time tracking them down to some other godforsaken den.
Suddenly, a shaft of light flooded the pavement, like a beacon in the otherwise dark street. Voices, loud voices, fuelled by cheap booze could be heard, then a figure stepped out of the doorway into the light before slamming the door shut.
The figure stood still for a few minutes, allowing eyes to adjust to the darkness, unaware that seven pairs of eyes were watching him from the shadows—eyes that could unleash death should the figure make any hostile movement. Then the figure moved, purposely striding to the end of the road. He was a big man in his thirties but running to fat. His right arm was held loosely by his side, something heavy held in his hand.
At the end of the street, he stopped. On the opposite side of the road, a single street lamp shone, bathing a small radius of pavement in light. How this had remained intact after the last riot was a mystery. Its pale light shimmered in the rain, marking the dividing line between the two communities. The man stood facing the houses on the opposite side of the road and he too waited and watched, seemingly oblivious to the heavy rain.
Bomber eased the safety catch off his rifle. He knew he could bring it into his shoulder, fire, killing the man opposite in less than a blink of an eye but that was not his job tonight. He shivered, not because of what he knew was about to unfold but because the rain was coming down even harder than before. It was almost as if it was trying to wash them and the hate from the street.
The man fidgeted as if he was not sure about standing in the rain any longer. Then a door on the opposite side of the street opened and the man raised his arm pointing towards the door. In his hand was a heavy .44 semi-automatic pistol.
Bomber shouted the routine chant, “Army, drop the weapon or I fire.”
The man spun round in the direction of Bomber’s voice and fired blindly. Bomber heard the rounds hit the wall to the left of him but didn’t move. The lighter " crack, crack" of the pistol was echoed by the heavy deadly crack of a 7.62 high velocity round. The sniper on top of Flax Street Mill hit the man squarely in the chest. He crumpled to the ground, almost in slow motion, ending facedown in the gutter, his pistol falling from his hand.
Bomber shouted, “Go,” and he and five others charged from the shadows. Four of them grabbed a limb each and dragged the body towards the Land Rover that had raced out from the mill.
Bomber scooped up the pistol and ran after the Land Rover that was already half way back to the mill. The ops officer had emphasised speed for the recovery of the body and the weapon. ‘Rent a Crowd’ could be there in minutes, making recovery of the body and weapon impossible.
Bomber looked over his shoulder, people were already spilling out of the drinking den and shouting. Several doors had opened and heads peered out. Bomber felt safe enough knowing the sniper was still in position, covering their withdrawal.
Back inside the mill, the ops officer was jubilant that finally they had got ‘Paddy the Pistol’, a nickname given to him by the lads.
Paddy would turn up at riots, take a couple of shots at the police or security forces, then disappear back behind the rioters. His favourite pastime though was waiting on the Catholic side of the Ardoyne and shooting at Protestants leaving their houses at night.
This reign of Paddy the Pistol had been going on for months and the company commander had been ordered to put a stop to it when the company took over the mill three weeks ago.
Now it was done.
Chapter 2 Containment
Bomber could hear the sound of a riot gearing up in the street. The shooting of ‘Paddy the Pistol’ was bound to spark a well-orchestrated response. He could hear the shouting, the crump of nail bom