OUTGUNNED BY THE JIMPY

The L7A2 GPMG (General Purpose Machine Gun), or more commonly known by British troops as the “Jimpy.” Here it’s mounted in the sustained fire role in a defensive position in Dhofar Province, Oman in the early 1970s.

I served in the British military from 1972 to 1994. The Jimpy is still serving today, having come on the shelf in the late 1950s, and into service in the early 60s. So I’ve most certainly been outgunned by the Jimpy!

What a lifespan, what a weapon.

I’ve had mates knowing that in combat the Jimpy gunner is the target of the enemy first. Yet they would still carry nothing but the Jimpy. The SAS in the “secret war” in Dhofar from the late 60s into the mid 70s found out very early that the Adoo (enemy) would almost always target the Jimpy gunner first and foremost, knowing the immense firepower that it brought to a patrol. Taking it over from the wounded gunner became a lottery. But ALL knew that the Jimpy was the one weapon on the ground that would end up ultimately winning the firefight.

From the age of 17 I was trained on the GPMG in the light and sustained fire role. I used it in early combat still at the tender age of 17, at night in the SF role from a defensive position known as a Hedgehog. We would fire at map predicted locations using the C2 sight mounted on the side of the gun with the stock removed and the gun set up on a tripod as seen in the photo. When harassed by the enemy, pre recorded “final protective fire” locations would be fired upon. Giving the enemy little chance of surviving if ever they were caught within the cone of fire. If they were lucky enough to survive and move, I’m sure they would be high tailing it back to where they came from.

Arguably the greatest machine gun in the world for a very long time, in both the light role (carried by the gunner with a strap over one shoulder), or in the sustained fire role.

I’ve carried it for miles on exercise and on ops. I’ve parachuted with it. I’ve carried it and fired it in the jungle, the desert and the Arctic. I’ve fired it from inside a car, sat on the back seat and firing through the wind screen…yes the driver and navigator were sitting in the front. I’ve fired it from a Klepper canoe, and of course I’ve fired it from a Pinkie.

The good times of carrying and firing the Jimpy over the years are just too numerous to mention.

But here are a couple of howlers:

Firstly, I was a young RAF Regiment Gunner issued the GPMG for a parachute insertion exercise in the early 1970s. When I was putting together my container to jump, a kind hearted corporal (my section commander) told me to take off the barrel and give it to him for the jump. He would put it with his rifle attached to his container, and I could pick it up at the reorg point on the DZ given that we were in the same section. That’ll lighten your load a wee bit son, he said.

Jump over, I picked myself up, broke open my container, and headed to the reorg with all my kit minus the barrel. Has anyone seen Billy I asked of my section commander to those manning the reorg point?

Billy’s injured from the jump, he was carted off in the DZ ambulance.

Nooooo!!!!!!

Yeeeees!!!!!! I was wandering around the exercise with a GPMG and no barrel. Not to get Billy in the sh***, I took it fairly and squarely on the chin…and learnt from it.

Secondly, many years later with the SAS in the first Gulf war (91), it was the coldest winter on record in the desert of Western Iraq. Many of us were ill equipped to cope with the cold freezing temperatures. Driving around in open Pinkie Land Rovers didn’t help the cause at all. And it was a bone dry cold that would eat through our skin and into our bones. My hands were getting ripped apart. I had cracks in my fingers and thumbs that I could sit a penny in. At one point I had a huge problem going through the drills on my mounted GPMG. My hands wouldn’t work the way they needed to. I was almost crying with pain…and I wasn’t alone. Many of us had the same problem. I was wearing aircrew gloves with socks over the top…aye hilarious…and sore.

Eventually we received a chopper resupply of Arab coats like three blankets thick with sleeves…and best of all, baby bum cream…tubs and tubs of it. Within hours my hands and fingers were feeling better. A couple of days later they were almost fine.

What a saviour…”hands firing OK…hands stop…apply the baby bum cream and carry on firing!”

Yet all along in the crazy weather and the dry dust of the stony Iraqi desert, the Jimpy never once failed me…I failed my Jimpy.