The Jungle of Fear : Part 4 - Destruction of the Daleks!

'This is Firebird 1, all systems check, ready for take-off'
'clear to go Firebird 1'



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'Kangaroos to UNIT - landing zone prepared, perimeter secured'



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'Whirlybird, ready on your call Firebird 1'



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Events had spiralled since I contacted the Brigadier, who reported to the General, who reported to the Minister, who reported to the Prime Minister.
In tense meetings, top brass, ministers & advisors weighed the diplomatic implications of launching an attack within South Aviana:



South Aviana was a sovereign state, with their brattish President happy both to take aid and dish insults out to his benefactors. The Communist bloc both fermented the insurgency, and scratched for excuses to escalate.
Any action was likely to aggravate both problems. But the Prime Minister was resolute - the Daleks must be dealt with.
Reversing his famous hand gesture, he declared 'This to el Presidente, and <subtracting one finger> this to the reds'.



Reinforcements began to arrive in North Aviana very quickly. In the interests of discretion, Captain Farrell’s men had dressed in civilian clothing for the flight in. Somewhat less discretely,
they had commandeered the islands only bus to drive them from the airport. They stumbled out of the bus, singing football chants, dropping bottles and cigarettes from their haul of duty free:



'Yates!' a loud voice boomed 'There y'are, got you something', as he considered a squished carton of B&H, then changed his mind and proffered me a bottle of Brut. 'Make you smell all manly'.
Of all the squads they could have sent, it had to be the Thetford Irregulars. A raucous militia of assorted international madmen - and their Thetford ringleader. I was not impressed. 'Captain Farrell how soon can you have these men looking like soldiers?
I will be giving an briefing in the hall, and training commences immediately'.

To be fair, they trained hard. We were practising flanking manoeuvres, using smoke grenades and covering fire to exploit the Ogrons vulnerable posterior zone*.
It worked against cardboard dummies - how would it be with 7ft tall alien brutes?



The Thetford squad had brought heavy weapons (how they got their luggage through customs, I'll never know) - and demonstrated the latest anti-tank missile launcher on the Aussies Land Rover.
Obviously, it would have been better if they'd asked permission first.



As plans became more solid, the Aussies were sent into South Aviana. Their objectives were to establish a landing zone, and secure the area from any communist attention.
They infiltrated by their usual means, hiked near to the pyramid and set to work.

Waiting here in North Aviana, mine was the attack group - to raid the pyramid itself. Prepared and ready, we waited for the call.

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Far away over the ocean, Firebird 1 detached after slurping fuel from a tanker. Estimating time to target 90 minutes, they sent the signal:
'Whirlybird you are GO'

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The camp leapt to action. Men grabbed their packs and assembled for final inspection before boarding the helicopter. I noticed one, the Canadian they called 'The Yukoner', out of uniform:



'You, where is your uniform?'
'This is how I fight' he answered.
Calling over to Captain Farrell, in the hope of getting some sense, I repeated 'Why is this man out of uniform?'.
To which, Farrell craned down and spoke slowly, in a manner of explaining the obvious to a ninny - 'That is how he fights'. I rolled my eyes. At least the wily Uruguayan behind was taking things seriously:



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To evade radar detection, Firebird 1 cunningly shadowed a domestic flight into Avianan air space:



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90 minutes allowed Whirlybird time to fly over the jungle, to make the bold incursion into South Aviana:



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Losing their decoy, Firebird 1 vectored its wings, and with an earth shaking sonic boom accelerated for the attack run:



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From the hills around the pyramid, we heard the F-111 roar before we saw it. Into the valley, smoke trailing from the jets, bomb doors open. We felt the heat and the shockwave as bombs pounded the alien enclave.
Against all instinct, we stood and advanced towards the burning wreckage.



Ogrons were the first challenge. Many had survived, being on patrol outside the building. Using tactics we had practised, a covering pair would engage them, while flankers moved to their rear.



With the Ogrons dealt with, we came to the building itself. Bizarre and awe-inspiring, even with the damage inflicted by the F-111.






We took every step with caution, fearing traps - and Daleks. They lived.







In hard fighting, we lost several men. Our best advantage was in climbing on top of the rubble, to aim anti-tank weapons at the deadly pepperpots. Room by room, floor by floor, we inched up the building.



And this was the laboratory. Thinking it empty, I began to take photos for intelligence analysis, when a giant belting smelly hairy arm walloped across my chest. 'Help! Help!' I cried. Up stepped the Canadian: 'this for me' he declared.



Ripping the mutant from my neck, man and gorilla wrestled, rolling around on the floor in a grunting blur - till at last, with a stranglehold around its neck, the Canadian wild man gave mercy. Looking the beast in the eye, he commanded 'You! Return to the jungle' - and away it scampered, cowed. I gave it a kick in the bottom, just to restore some dignity.

'thank you' I rasped weakly. No time to dwell - as Captain Farrell called us to a rent torn in the wall, where looking down to the ground, we could see the Dalek leader escaping!
'No you don’t matey!' the Captain snarled - throwing ropes down the wreckage, Farrell and men rappelled in hot pursuit of the runaway cadre.

A chase along a path through the jungle led to circular pad - where the Dalek leader and escapees were visible yet distorted in a bubble of red light. I recalled reports from eye witnesses in Tomerton,
this was how Daleks had materialised in our village. Here they were de-materialising, escaping to who knows where or when!



Farrells men fired into the bubble - to no effect. The evil leader smirked at us, laughing -
prompting Captain Farrell, in a brave but doomed move, to charge into the light - where with a flash, he and the Daleks were gone!

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We had succeeded for the moment. Captain Farrells dictum had been, in all situations, 'drink up and don’t be soft' - which his men took to with gusto (starting on the helicopter back).
The helicopter made a second trip, to collect the Aussies, who had fought small skirmishes with curious communists (according to Jeff '100s of them', while Mike admitted '1 or 2').

While Farrells men ran riot, some wearing their underpants on their heads, I sat with the Aussies for a more sedate beverage. They uncovered their drum of Coopers - the beer Australians actually drink.
We talked about the war, our homes, and what we might do when we leave the service:
'Thing is Yatesy' said Jeff, tapping his nose - 'the natives have let us into a little secret. Somewhere, out in the jungle, there is a tribe, a whole tribe, of 7 foot tall warrior women'
'We're gonna find em'
'And liberate them!'

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And me? Well, after all this action, on my return to Tomerton, the Medical Officer ordered that I spend the entire week in bed. Orders which I planned to follow - to the letter.



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