Desert Raiders. Shaun Clarke

cover the same needs, great attention was also given to the M1 Thompson sub-machine-gun, better known as the ‘tommy-gun’ and immortalized by the Hollywood gangster movies of the 1930s and early 40s. A heavier, more accurate and powerful weapon, the tommy-gun had a solid wooden stock and grip, a longer barrel, and could fire 11.43 rounds at the rate of 700 per minute from 30-round box magazines, with an effective range of 60 yards.

      Everyone was also retrained in the use of the 0.5-inch Browning heavy machine-gun, which could fire 400–500 rounds per minute from a belt feed, and was effective up to 1600 yards; the beloved Bren gun, the finest light machine-gun in existence, which could fire 520 rounds per minute from 30-round box magazines and was effective up to 650 yards; and finally the lethal Vickers ‘K’ .303-inch machine-gun, actually an aircraft weapon, which fired 500 rounds per minute from 100-round magazines filled with a mixture of tracer, armour-piercing incendiary and ball bullets.

      This stage of the training was undertaken on a primitive firing range that was really no more than a flat stretch of desert, baked by a fierce sun, often covered in wind-blown dust, forever filled with buzzing flies and whining mosquitoes, and with crudely painted targets raised on wooden stakes at the far end, overlooking the glittering Great Bitter Lake. The firing range was also used for training in the use of 500g and 1kg hand-grenades, including the pineapple-shaped ‘36’ grenade and captured German ‘potato mashers’, which had a screw-on canister at one end, a screw cap at the other and a wooden handle.

      ‘These Kraut grenades are better than ours,’ Frankie observed, ‘because this nice long wooden handle makes them easier to throw.’

      In fact, most of the men, once over their initial nervousness, enjoyed throwing all kind of grenades and watching the great mushrooms of sand, soil and gravel boiling up from the desert floor with a deafening roar. It made them feel powerful.

      ‘I can’t imagine any fucker surviving that,’ Jimbo said with satisfaction after a particularly good throw that had blown away a whole strip of the escarpment on which they were training.

      ‘They do survive, Private,’ Lorrimer corrected him. ‘You’d be amazed at what those Krauts can survive, so don’t get too cocky. You throw a grenade, think it’s blown the target to hell, so stand up feeling good…and you get your balls shot off by the Jerries you thought you’d killed. Take nothing for granted, lad.’

      ‘Thanks for the encouragement, Sarge. I feel really good now.’

      ‘NEXT!’ Lorrimer bawled.

      Training in demolition, which also took place on the firing range, was given by Sergeant Derek Leak, former Royal Engineer sapper and ammunition technician with the Royal Army Ordnance Corps. A watchful, humourless man who had been burnt and scarred by the many accidents of his profession, he demanded their full attention when he taught them about low explosives, such as gunpowder, and high explosives, such as RDX or PETN, requiring initiators or time fuses and firing caps. Lessons were given not only in the handling of such explosives, but in precisely how they should be placed in a variety of circumstances, such as the blowing up of aircraft, bridges, roads or buildings, as well as the setting of booby-traps.

      ‘I hate this shit,’ Jimbo complained to his mates as he nervously connected a time fuse to a nonelectric firing cap. ‘It gives me the willies.’

      ‘Yeah,’ Frankie said sardonically, ‘we can see that by the shaking of your hands.’

      ‘This stuff is dangerous, lads,’ Jimbo reminded them, trying to steady his hands. ‘One mistake and it’ll blow you to hell and back.’

      ‘It isn’t that bad,’ Taff said, not handling it himself and therefore able to be more objective. ‘It isn’t really as dangerous as people think…if you handle it properly.’

      ‘Is that so?’ Neil asked morosely. ‘Have you noticed Leak’s face? He’s got more scars than fucking Frankenstein – and they all came from accidental explosions.’

      ‘And he’s a former sapper,’ Jimbo said. ‘An explosives specialist! So don’t tell me it’s safe.’

      ‘For fuck’s sake, Jimbo,’ Taff exclaimed, suddenly nervous, ‘keep those bleedin’ hands steady! You almost dropped that bloody stuff then.’

      Jimbo managed to insert the fuse into the firing cap, then sat back and smirked. ‘Piece of piss,’ he said. ‘I believe you’re the next to try this, Taff. I just hope you’ve got steady hands.’

      As the training continued, with radio, first aid, nocturnal navigation, and enemy vehicle and aircraft recognition added to the growing list of skills to be learned by the men, it became apparent to them all that they were in a combat unit like no other, with no distinction in rank and everyone, including the officers, compelled to meet the same exacting standards.

      The informality went beyond that. The word ‘boss’, first used, perhaps accidentally, by Sergeant Lorrimer, gradually replaced ‘sir’ and so-called ‘Chinese parliaments’, in which decisions were agreed between officers and other ranks after informal discussion, became commonplace. This in turn increased the mutual trust between the men and greatly enhanced the feasibility of the four-man patrol. Also, as each of the four men had a specialist skill – driver/mechanic, navigator, explosives and first aid – but all had been cross-trained to do the other men’s jobs if required, this made them uniquely interdependent.