Free Contact by A. F. N. Clarke Page A

be anything left for us to have to patrol around, to watch, to live in fear of. Go ahead, and if you need any help give us a shout, we'll help you bury the place.
    Midnight on the Shankill, with toms kneeling and lying in corners, crouched into doorways, S.L.R.s pulled into the shoulder, barrels pointing in the direction of sight, minds going through the number of possible sniper positions; the number of possible positions for a booby trap. If you really did as the book says and think of every permutation you'd soon go stark, staring mad with the fear of the number of possibilities there are. Be selective and stay sane. Trust in the second sense you have acquired since you've been here. Trust in your built-in survival kit, the gut feeling. Trust your men and hope that they trust you. Trust in whatever else is there, and hope that the remainder of the tour goes past quickly. But above all trust in yourself and your ability to do the job! If you don't, put on a front and make sure it's convincing.
    Midnight on the Shankill and you are the only people in the world, and to everyone else you cease to exist, become part of the obscene graffiti, a mobile sculpture in the museum of what is Belfast.
    For days now, my platoon has been hounding the locals without mercy, making sure that in every second of every day they are well aware of our presence.
    We circle the clubs constantly, frisking the sentries until they eventually grow tired and retire inside. Stand for long moments staring up at the U.D.A . H.Q., which we are not allowed to touch but would dearly love to. At night, we're getting really good at digging out all the flotsam and jetsam and assembling them on the street in long rows with hands against the wall, legs spread, waiting for long minutes whilst I carry out lengthy P. Checks and detailed questions, just waiting for someone to say something out of place to provide the excuse for a bit of physical intimidation.
    "You Prots. have had it far too easy. We're going to change that. "
    "Youse making a mistake, sir."
    "Really. What mistake is that?"
    "The boys is not going to take it lying down."
    "Is that a threat?"
    "No sir, just a friendly warning."
    "Just try it, sunshine. Just fucking try it."
    The friendly communication of two total strangers. Tonight we really are having fun, with about fifty guys lining the walls of the Shankill Road, their kidneys taking a Pounding from batons whenever the mistake of making a protest is made. I'm walking slowly along the line asking questions, any that don't reply are taken quickly round the corner and the muffled thud and grunts can be heard clearly by the others still with their fingers on the wall. The message soon gets through and all sorts of useless information comes spilling out of their mouths. Mostly of no value but now and again a confirmation of a face or a name. At this stage though, we really are not interested in any Intelligence sources, we want some action. We want to know where all the heavies are, where the arms caches are, not the fact that Sean O'Faherty has been robbing post offices for the past month.
    "I don't know of any arms in the Shankill, sir, honest."
    "How come we've turned up the biggest haul in any area for years right in this street then?"
    "Oh, I wouldn't know anything about that sir."
    "Sure you don't."
    It goes on for an age and the more people that come down the street, the more we have adorning the walls. After an hour and a half of questioning, the ranks are thinning, and most People walking the streets have been warned off by those we have released and are taking detours down back alleys and side streets. However, we have another patrol circling the area who are busy picking up those that escape our net.
    The women are being subjected to abuse, and the men to a little physical contact. It's beginn ing to get a little out of hand so I call it off and move the patrol off to let feelings cool a little. We want them to have a go at us, not have loads