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our unit with one was Vince, who had brought it with him from 'A' Squadron. We also asked for silenced pistols, and in particular for the make invented during the Second World War for Special Operations Executive. Although fairly primitive, these have never been surpassed for sheer quietness. They come in two parts � the silenced barrel (a fat tube) and the pistol grip, which is also the magazine � and part of their secret is that they have so few working parts. They fire single shots only, and have to be reloaded manually, by undoing and pulling back a screw, which lifts the next round into the breech; but the quietness of the re�port is uncanny� no more than pffft � and at close range the 9mm. slug is deadly. The other two squadrons had such weapons and as things turned out, there were several moments during my escape when I could have done with one; but again, we were told that none were available. People started getting a bit pissed off with all these short�ages, and one day in the hangar someone challenged the OC about them, saying, 'Look � we've got no pistols, we've got no grenades, we've got no claymores. You're expecting us to make claymores out of ammunition boxes, and it's bloody stupid, because they're not effective.' The OC, who was doing the best he could, blew his top, and said, 'Listen, you're about to go to war. You'll take whatever you can get. You're not in Northern Ireland, where you can ask for any kind of asset. You've got to im�provise. That's what makes the Regiment so good �improvisation.' In fact the things we were missing were basic equipment which we should have had. Take the maps, for instance. The only maps we had were really poor and designed for air-crews; their scale (1:250,000) was so small that they showed few details, and although they might have helped navigators they were no good to people on the ground. To back them up, we badly needed satellite-derived informa�tion � but again, we were told that no satellite imagery was available. Our first escape-maps were also as old as the hills. Incredibly, they had first been printed in 1928, then updated 22The One That Got Away for the Second World War; but at the last minute we were issued with newer ones, printed on silk, which we worked into the waistbands of our trousers. Each of us was given a photostated indemnity note, in Arabic and English, promising �5,000 to anyone who handed over a coalition serviceman to a friendly power. Deciding the document was rubbish, I threw mine away. Later, however, I changed my mind; because I couldn't speak Arabic, I thought I'd better have a note after all. So I got another member of the patrol, Bob Consiglio, to photos�tat a copy of his (with the serial number 075 in the top right-hand corner), and took that with me. We also signed for twenty gold sovereigns apiece, in case we had to bribe somebody or buy our way out of trouble. Of course we were supposed to return these after the conflict, but not every�body did. At Christmas, back in Hereford, we'd had what was known as Cross-brief Studies, the formal review of what the Regiment had done during the past year, and a forecast of what it would be doing the next. Proceedings had finished with an address from the CO, who asked everybody except `A' and `D' Squadron to leave, and then made some pretty sombre comments. 'Look, guys,' he'd said. 'There's a good chance we're going to be at war, and it may escalate into something big. But if any of you look like getting caught, you certainly want to consider saving the last round for yourself.' Basically he'd been saying: 'Shoot yourself rather than get caught.' Now, out at Victor, those words began to spread around. The Regiment didn't want anyone else to know that the' SAS had been deployed, and we were supposed to be in iso-lation � not only within the camp as a whole, but also within squadrons. As soon as we were tasked, we should have been separated from everyone else and put into