UKSF shopping in Nairobi for milk

Fig 1. UKSF operator given shopping list by Kenyan liaison officer – “Okay, you want Frosties, Red Bull and some double-tapping?”

I’m sure I’m not alone in having a man-crush on the anonymous UKSF soldier (a ‘Senior NCO’ it was revealed, surprising absolutely nobody) who went shopping in downtown Nairobi and ended up performing a spot of live-action Call of duty cosplay. Now, we don’t know who he is or even which unit he’s from (most have claimed 22 SAS, but there are several units under the UKSF umbrella, so we’re keeping an open mind). We know it wasn’t a US Navy SEAL (there was no sponsorship deal, movie or book on the plot), despite the operator wearing a Yank morale patch.

Doing the NAAFI run

Personally, given he was doing the NAAFI run, I hope he was an attached RLC caterer who just happened to have a buckshee Diemaco in his wagon. This would make him a land-based version of Steven Seagal’s cook from ‘Under Siege’, turning an already stellar dit into something even more awesome. He’s even been christened OMNA (‘One-Man National Asset’) by some of our gnarlier American friends who admired his one-man army impression. The guys at Spotter Up have even created their own morale patch in our man’s honour!

Balls the size of Space Hoppers

What this man did was exceptional, not just because of his space-hopper sized balls, but also due to his skills & drills. At this level, it seems a select few can bend the rules and give received wisdoms the finger: war-fighting is famously a team game – even ‘lone wolf’ snipers usually work in pairs or small teams. A well-deserved medal and a fablon’d beer-chit surely awaits this bloke: genuine one-man force multipliers are rare, usually receiving awards posthumously. So, in honour of the lone UKSF soldier now known as OMNA, I present you with a punk guide to my favourite One-Man-Armies…

‘None Shall Pass’: The Viking of Stamford Bridge, 1066

Fig 2. This highly accurate diorama of the battle of Stamford Bridge was created by Int Corps-sponsored Sandhurst cadets as an after-tiffin homework project

We all love Vikings, nowadays depicted as Bon Jovi tribute artistes with rock-star hair, eye makeup and tats. And although the modern-day Viking now drives a Very Safe Car in a high-tax social democracy with excellent childcare, he was once the berserking, axe-wielding stormtrooper of the Dark Ages. No flatpack furniture or meatballs for the heroes of Stamford Bridge, just blood, steel and a spear-thrust to the goolies.

Bloody Vikings!

We all know that prior to fighting William of Normandy at Hastings, king Harold first had to leg it up North to fight a Viking horde. Had he not, he might even have beat William, technically making French supremacy over the Anglo-Saxons part of a wider Scandie / Norgie plot. (obviously). Anyhow, the Saxons surprised the Viking forces on September 25^th 1066, finding the Norsemen in rag order, unarmoured and hanging around drinking mead from skulls and singing Def Leppard songs (etc).

What a complete CNUT!

For the Vikings, the only defensible feature was a knackered Roman bridge over the River Derwent. Defending it was (as legend has it) a humungous Viking with no name – I’m going to call him Cnut, and no that wasn’t a spelling mistake. Cnut was one of the switched-on Norsemen that day, as he’d bothered to put on his armour. Standing his ground, he killed any Saxon who tried to pass (why they didn’t shoot him from a distance with an arrow or something is a mystery, but who am I to spoil a good dit?). Cnut is meant to have killed a shedload of Saxons before an early forerunner of the SBS went all Cockleshell Heroes and jumped in a barrel. He floated under the bridge and stuck a spear into Cnut’s ball-sack, taking him out of the picture. The Norsemen fled, thereafter staying at home to invent lager, Very Safe Cars and enjoy the company of their unnaturally attractive womenfolk.

 Bobby the Tank-Slayer: Major Robert Cain, VC – Arnhem 1944

 I’ve no intention of piling into the never-ending debate over Operation Market Garden, the most controversial Allied offensive of the NW Europe campaign. Suffice to say, a big part of it was dropping a force of lightly-armed airborne troops near Arnhem, which contained a couple of SS panzer divisions. And, at platoon level, the paratrooper’s primary anti-armour weapon? A Heath Robinson-esque spring-loaded novelty called the PIAT (Projector, Infantry, Anti-Tank).

A Panzer’s worst nightmare

The PIAT was, to use a technical weaponlogist term, utter wank. It fired a 2.5lb anti-tank bomb which, although effective, required the gunner to get scarily close to the target – most experts agree 40 yards was the optimal effective range. That might sound reasonable, but not if you’re face-to-face with a Panzer IV. And, across six days in September 1944, Major Robert Cain went tank-hunting with one.

Market Garden

Fig 3. The PIAT – closer Fritz… just a bit closer …

Cain dropped into Arnhem as a company commander with the glider-borne 2^nd South Staffs. It soon became apparent that his battalion were surrounded by panzer-driving boxheads, so he helped another officer crew a PIAT, blowing up a StuG assault gun. Things got a tad hairy, so the British withdrew to the soon-to-be besieged town of Oosterbeek. Cain was put in charge of an odds-and-sods unit and ordered to defend the perimeter, as by this point the offensive had gone tits-up. There, he decided to try his luck using a PIAT as an impromptu artillery piece. With an artillery officer spotting for him, he fired fifty-odd bombs over the rooftops, raining explosives down on German armour. He destroyed several, demonstrating the importance of staying awake during science lessons.

Last stand

Even when a PIAT bomb exploded in his face, perforating his eardrums, Cain kept on fighting. After he ran out of ammo for the PIAT, he crewed a six-pounder AT gun and (incredibly) even a 2-inch mortar, which he fired from the hip like the world’s most batshit crazy shotgun. By the end of the battle he’d bagged six panzers (including several Tigers) and a number of assault guns.

The greatest generation

Awarded the VC for his bravery, Cain returned to civvy street. His daughter, Frances, went on to marry none other than Jeremy Clarkson – proving insane bravery must be genetic. And to give you a measure of the man, Maj. Cain never really mentioned his medal to his family. They found his Victoria Cross towards toward the end of his life, whereupon he declared he didn’t think anyone would be wildly interested. There’s a reason they call it ‘The Greatest Generation’.

 The Reaper: Corporal Simo Häyhä, Russo-Finnish Winter War, 1939-1940

Fig. 4 Yep, the Russkis shot him in the face with an explosive round, but he survived

Famously known as ‘The White Death’, Häyhä was a diminutive Finnish national guardsman. A keen marksman and skier, by the time he’d finished military training he was able to hit a target five hundred yards away at a rate of sixteen rounds a minute – with a bolt-action rifle. He also showed a dedication to his craft that verges on OCD – religious weapon-cleaning, memorising distances like a one-man targeting computer and constantly thinking of new methods of camouflage and concealment.

Iron sights at 150 metres

When the Soviets invaded, Häyhä immediately set about killing Commies. In only 98 days, he slotted upwards of 500 Russians (some suggest the number is as high as 540). Even more incredibly, Häyhä didn’t use a scope, preferring iron sights set to a range of 150 metres. Scopes, he declared, shone in the winter sunlight and gave away his position. He’s the template for every cool-as-fuck sniper in every war movie ever… just better. Forget spotters, recce, air support or comms. Every morning, equipped with only an elk sandwich and some ammo, Häyhä would scurry off on his tod for another happy day of Commie-slaying. The sheer quantity of poorly-trained, led and equipped Russians partially explains his kill ratio – at one point he fought in a sector where less than a hundred Finns fought against 2000 Soviets, making a target-rich environment. The brutal weather probably helped too – when a Russian thinks it’s cold, it must be a bit parky.

Enemy at the Gates sniper style

The Soviets, unsurprisingly, were narked at the ‘White Death’s’ effect on morale, so began hitting sectors where he was working with large-scale artillery barrages. That didn’t work, so they sent out their own counter-snipers, ‘Enemy at the Gates’ style, to kill him. Häyhä bested them all, until the final week of the war, when he got shot in the grid by an explosive round. I’m not wildly surprised he survived, to be honest. Promoted to lieutenant and garlanded with medals, Simo Häyhä lived a quiet life after the war. He died peacefully, aged 96. Oh, and the Soviets left a million dead behind by the time they left Finland. Next time, lads, do yourself a favour and give the place a swerve.

It’s the size of the fight in the dog: Audie Murphy, The Colmar Pocket, 1945

Audie Murphy won every bravery award in the United States army, and was only 5’4” tall. There’s a bit of a theme here – Simo Häyhä was a little fella, as was Nepalese VC winner Lachhiman Gurung (see below). This seems to prove the pub-fight rule: always keep an eye on the runty little bastard, not the big old lump. The first time I saw a platoon of paratroopers I was surprised how short most of ‘em were, but then again Rosa Klebb was a midget and still dangerous as fuck.

Watch out for the little ones

Fig 5. Audie Murphy – pint-sized army-slayer and medal-winning legend

Audie Murphy was from a dirt-poor Texas family, rejected by the US Marines for being underweight. Their loss was the army’s gain – from the day he landed in Sicily in 1943 he was up for a ruck with anyone who fancied it. Between 1943 and 1944 he killed a number of Italians and Germans, and brewed up a tank with rifle grenades which won him a Bronze Star. By the time of the invasion of southern France (a sort of mini-D-Day, but with better weather and beaches), Murphy was a Staff Sergeant. He won a Distinguished Service Cross during the landings, doing textbook war-hero stuff like taking out MG nests, shooting Nazis and generally being hard as fuck. I’m not sure if he ever took out a grenade pin with his teeth, but like to think he did. Despite being wounded, he fought all the way to the German border and by early 1945 was in the Colmar Pocket, facing the German 19^th Army. This is where Murphy won the Congressional Medal of Honor. When his company was attacked by a sizeable German force, backed up by six panzers, Murphy told his men to withdraw but stayed behind to direct artillery fire. Then he jumped on top of a burning tank destroyer, crewing a .50 cal machinegun to hose down the advancing infantry (as a point of interest, a .50 is only three inches shorter than Murphy was tall). Wounded in the leg, standing on top of a burning tank, in fucking January, surrounded by Germans, for an hour? No problem. Audie killed about fifty Germans, then led a counterattack to capture another hundred or so. Unsurprisingly, he was given a field commission to lieutenant, albeit one who could read a map.

Mental Health advocate, post war

After the war, Audie Murphy became an actor, musician, poet, mental health campaigner (at a time when such issues were taboo) and all-round fucking legend. He remains one of the most decorated combat soldiers in the US army. He died in 1971, aged only 45, in an air crash.

Gurkha grenade-bowling champion: Lachhiman Gurung, VC, Burma 1945

Fig 6. Rifleman Lachhiman Gurung, VC – four feet and eleven inches of awesome

This Gurkha legend made Audie Murphy look hefty – due to childhood malnutrition Gurung Lachhiman stood only 4’11” tall. Not that it really matters, because Gurkhas, right? In May 1945, the party was over in Europe, but the Japanese were still in the game. Two rifle companies of the 4^th / 8^th Gurkha Rifles were dug in on the Irrawaddy River in Burma, waiting to cut off retreating enemy units. The Japanese arrived in the early hours in large numbers and encircled the Gurkhas, where they found Gurung staging-on. The action that followed has everything we’d expect from a One-Man Army – for starters the Japanese threw hand grenades into his trench. In the best traditions of every war movie ever, he threw two back at the enemy, before the third blew up in his hand. I’ll say that again – he was holding a hand grenade when it exploded. He lost the fingers of his right-hand and was injured in the face, torso and leg.

To the last round

Many men, at this juncture, might think fuck that. Gurung, on the other hand, merely grabbed his rifle and carried on defending his position. With his good (left) hand he managed to reload his (bolt-action) Lee-Enfield rifle and hide. Every time an enemy soldier appeared, he’d shoot him and scuttle off. Rinse and repeat, all night, until the Japanese assault broke. By morning, at least 30 enemy infantrymen lay dead around the lip of Gurung’s trench. Awarded his VC by Earl Mountbatten of Burma, Gurung served briefly in the Indian army before returning to Nepal. In his later years he wanted to move to the UK to be with his daughter. You will be utterly un-astonished to learn that the Home Office tried to stop him, citing his failure to ‘demonstrate strong ties to the UK’. Luckily Joanna Lumley arrived with a Kukri, got all lairy and his case ended up in the High Court. Common-sense prevailed, and Gurung moved to west London, where he died in 2010. Have your own nominee? Your own favourite OMNA? Please share ‘em in the comments below.