by Andy McNab
1 Platoon was outside and ready by the wagons at 0330. The world was still dark but light threatened. You could see the red line of dawn waiting to disperse far away in the east.The men had checked and re-checked their kit and now they sat quietly. There was little conversation. They were thinking about the day ahead and the possibilities it would offer, for both bravery and for death.Sol looked 1 Section up and down. As usual, he stopped by Jack Binns. He made it his business to keep an eye on this lad and just yesterday had discovered that his heels were cracked. He spoke sharply, breaking the group’s silence.‘Did you remember to put that cream on, Binman?’‘Yeah, but they don’t hurt much.’‘That’s because I gripped you in time.’Mal said: ‘They’ll hurt when you’ve been on your feet all day, Binman. I let my heels get cracked and every step was like treading on fucking knives.’‘Is that why you lost the shotgun?’ asked Finn. ‘Because your heels hurt?’‘Fuck off,’ said Mal, lighting a cigarette and handing Finn one.‘All right, Mr Angry?’ Finn asked Angus, who was sitting leaning on his Bergen with his eyes closed. ‘Want one of Mal’s ciggies?’Angus did not open his eyes. ‘Nah.’Sol had been watching Angus too.‘What’s up with you?’‘Nothing.’‘Had anything to eat this morning?’‘Nah.’‘Not scared of a fight, are you?’ asked Finn.‘Course not. I just don’t want to fuck up in front of the Paras.’Sol’s face creased into a frown. ‘Who cares about the Paras?’‘I do.’‘Thinking of doing P Company, Angry?’ asked Mal. ‘Is that what it is? Scared you’ll let yourself down?’Angus opened his eyes. ‘I’m not good enough to do P Company.’‘Bollocks,’ said Mal.‘You’re the right size. Toms are mostly gorilla-shaped people,’ said Jamie.‘Toms are mostly gorillas,’ said Finn. ‘Forget the people bit.’‘You’ve got to think you’re God’s gift to the British Army,’ said Sol. ‘Or you can’t join the Paras.’Finn drew on his cigarette: ‘I thought of doing P Company.’‘Why don’t you, then?’ Binman asked.‘Because he’d miss us,’ said Mal.‘What’s the point? Just so I can wear a red beret and jump out of aeroplanes? I thought: Finn, you already have enough women chasing you, so forget it.’‘You said your old man was in the Jedi, right?’ said Bacon to Angus, who had closed his eyes again now. Angus did not reply. But Streaky continued.‘Well, why join the Paras? Why don’t you follow in your dad’s footsteps and go straight for the Jedi?’‘Selection,’ said Finn. ‘Now that really is a killer. Have a go at joining the Jedi, Mr Angry.’‘I wouldn’t be good enough.’‘Your dad could give you a few tips about Selection,’ said Mal.‘He never talks about it.’Jamie said: ‘Are you sure he was in the Regiment?’Finn narrowed his eyes. ‘In the Regiment? In it? Angry’s dad fucking ran it. And I mean he almost couldn’t find the time because he was so busy walking on water. He walked right across the fucking South Atlantic and single-handedly took back the Falkland Islands.’Angus jumped up, like a sleeping animal suddenly woken, and grabbed Finn.Sol roared: ‘Get off him, McCall, NOW!’‘Don’t you insult my dad, you fucking diddicoy, you fucking piece of thieving shit from a caravan, you fucking . . .’Two people grabbed Finn’s right arm just before the knuckles came into contact with Angus’s face. Four people dragged Angus away.Dave appeared.‘What the hell is going on here?’‘This piece of shit insulted my dad!’ yelled Angus.‘For Chrissake, McCall, anyone who doesn’t get insulted by Billy Finn isn’t worth knowing.’Finn’s eyes were narrowed but between the lids they glittered dangerously. His face had thinned with fury.‘Show a bit of respect,’ said Sol, letting go of Finn’s arm. ‘And you, Angry. Save your fighting for the Taliban.’The pair melted back into the group, shoulders still squared.It was almost 0400. Sol took Finn and Angus aside as the others climbed into the Vectors.‘A section with its own fight is no good at fighting the Taliban. Put it behind you. Both of you. Now. And I don’t mean: snarl at each other across the wagon. I mean put it right behind you so you can fight alongside each other as mates.’They both nodded at Sol and then at each other. It wasn’t much but it was enough. They jumped on board and sat at opposite ends of the wagon.Asma had climbed up beside the boss at the front and this had put Gordon Weeks in a very good mood despite the day that lay ahead. He had barely slept but now he felt wide awake and alert.‘I hope you won’t have to fire one at the Taliban this time,’ he said. ‘They won’t be more lenient on you because you’re a woman.’Asma sighed and yawned. ‘You don’t understand the Taliban.’‘Does anyone? Do you?’‘It’s not like being in the army. It’s not one bloody great organization. It’s a bunch of smaller groups all arguing among themselves. A few are fundamentalists, most aren’t. Some are part of a big machine, some aren’t. Some people hedge their bets and join because they think the Taliban will be here for ever and the British will go. Or they join because they’re made to. Or paid to. Or because they’re angry at civilian deaths. Or because they think the British are bad for the opium crop . . .’Her voice disappeared inside another yawn and she closed her eyes. Weeks sneaked a long look at her. She was beautiful in the early morning, too, but it was a different beauty from the Asma who smoked under the stars every evening. In this light she looked more fragile. He started to imagine waking up next to her and then remembered abruptly that he was supposed to be discussing the Taliban.‘Today the enemy isn’t disaffected local farmers. We know that a lot of the men in the compound are committed international fighters who want to control Afghanistan.’She shrugged. ‘We’ll never eradicate the Taliban or drive them out.’‘Are you telling me we can’t win today?’‘What’s to win? All this fighting won’t bring peace. But I’m sure we’ll clear the compound and kill a lot of them.’Too soon they reached the edge of the Green Zone. The boss told his platoon to debus and then jumped out himself. Asma was to be driven forward behind the inner cordon fighting and he smiled at her before he slammed the door.‘Be careful today,’ he said softly.
Chapter Thirty-five
DAVE STOOD COUNTING THE MEN BY EACH VECTOR AS THEY JUMPED out into the dawn.‘Two hands on your weapon, McKinley!‘For Chrissake, Gayle, how many times do I have to tell you to unhook your sling clip?‘Do your pouches up, Bacon! Get a grip.‘Two hands on your weapon, Mara! Get a grip.‘Sling clip, Broom. Get a grip.‘I hope there’s water in that fucking Camelbak, Binns.‘Two hands on your weapon, you. And you! Get your finger out of your arse.‘Switch on, O’Sullivan, your pouches are a mess, sort yourself out.’Maybe he should count the number of times he told lads to get two hands on their weapon and, when he reached a million, leave the army the way Jenny wanted him to. Jenny. He watched the section commanders lead their men off and then followed them into the orchard. Jenny. He hadn’t told her he loved her. He had just talked about Steve and Leanne, his mind on his ammo. And then he had put the phone down with a sense of loss.They proceeded in silence, waiting for the enemy to know they were there, waiting for the first shots. Within five minutes, the shots came, peppering the silence. But they sounded far enough to the right to allow the men to continue without changing direction. No one fired. They continued to stumble into the half-dark along a field’s edge, against the cover of a treeline, listening for the next shots.After a long pause there was more firing. It was still to their right and this time it was much closer. 2 Platoon reported that they would take cover and open fire.Dave and the boss had a brief conversation and decided to keep going. As the shots got louder, Dave wondered if they were moving towards the enemy or the enemy was closing in on them.‘We’d better take cover,’ he told the boss as they emerged from the field and reached some crumbling walls, pink with age. Previous fighting, perhaps with the Russians or maybe more recently, had turned this building, whatever it had once been, into a ruin. You could see the holes of previous explosions.The lads seized the chance to get down with their weapons and fire back. There had been rumours about today’s operation long before it was confirmed. It was a relief to end the long period of anticipation by firing at last.‘Keep something back for later, lads,’ Dave said.He looked along the ruined walls at his men. Angus and Finn were so intent on their jobs that their
argument was forgotten. Streaky and Mal were focused too but they were both giggling insanely. Men sometimes heard laughter in contacts but they seldom guessed it was coming out of their own mouths. Just nerves, thought Dave, as the first contact of the many they expected today kicked off.‘Tell your boys to slow their rate of fire,’ he told Sol, ‘or we’ll be low on ammo before we get to the big fight.’In the distance was the unmistakable thump of helicopters. Chinooks. Bringing Paras. At the sound, enemy fire eased. 1 Platoon seized the chance to advance.Corporal Baker, the commander of 2 Section, asked to take his men further out than originally agreed. He had identified an enemy position and wanted to outflank them.Boss Weeks agreed to this. 3 Section, which was nearest to the target compound, pressed forward with 1 Section to join the Paras, who could be heard landing now. The helicopters were attracting not just light arms and heavier machine-gun fire but RPGs as well. As if the Taliban had been expecting them.Apaches must be guarding the Chinooks: Dave could hear their chain guns putting down some 40mm cannon rounds to help the Paras get out. From the deeper thud of the Chinook rotor blades Dave estimated that they were on the ground for less than thirty seconds, just long enough for platoons of Paras to stream out of the back. And then they took off into their own dust. They flew right over Dave’s head towards the desert, an Apache hovering high on either side. He knew the Chinooks were scheduled to return to base while the Apaches were staying around for this operation but the sound of the disappearing rotor blades left a deadly silence. It was broken only by distant fire.Maybe the enemy had moved now, converging on the newly arrived Paras. Which would trap them nicely in the cordon. Except that Dave knew better than to underestimate the Taliban.They crossed a ditch and then a field of dried-out poppies, their pods cracking and dry stalks breaking as the men passed. The fighting continued but it still seemed far away. 1 Platoon was wrapped up in a local silence which was broken suddenly by the sound of an explosion nearby. A loud, dull thump. Dave barely had time to recognize it before the screaming started. He could hear it in his earpiece, a hideous backing to the voice of 2 Section’s Corporal Baker reporting, breathless with horror, that there was a man down. And he could hear it in his other ear, more faintly but for real: deep, primal roars of pain just a few hundred metres away.‘Fuck, it sounded like a mine . . .’ Dave was saying as he turned towards the explosion, his heart sounding louder in his ear than the far-off contact.He was point man now: the boss had pulled 1 and 3 Sections around behind him. He moved rapidly, stumbling sometimes, once nearly falling into a ditch, his Bergen banging on his back. All the time he was getting garbled reports in his ear from Corporal Baker that they were under mortar attack. Then someone else was shouting: ‘Keep back!’ In the confusion, it became clear that the man screaming was Broom.Dave was breathless now but he kept running, following a drainage ditch half-filled with dirty water. His mind was focused on getting to his men but he could not help remembering a dark Afghan night and Ben Broom stealing away with the satellite phone: ‘I like to keep an eye on my bird, Sarge. If I don’t keep calling her, she might fly . . .’Dave, his breath short and his heart thudding, reached 2 Section just in time to see the second explosion. He saw the smoke go up with bits of debris inside it. Shrapnel. Or – and he tried to keep his mind from going there but the thought kept coming anyway – the body parts of a victim. He could hear more screams of agony.‘Another man down.’ Shock had leached all expression from Corporal Baker’s voice.Another voice, the boss’s: ‘Are you under mortar fire, Baker?’‘Don’t know. It could be mortars . . .’Dave was still gasping for breath. ‘It’s a fucking minefield!’The men were clustered at the edge of a large weed-infested clearing in the woods. It might once have been a field but no one had farmed it for a long time.‘Freeze!’ ordered Dave. ‘Everyone freeze! And don’t anyone try to get near the casualties, however much they scream.’The boss organized 1 Section and 3 Section to cover the clearing as Dave reached the group. Most were at the side of the field and those who were close enough now leaped to the edge. Lying about fifteen metres into the clearing was the body of Rifleman Ryan Connor. About five metres beyond him was Ben Broom. They were both screaming, shouting, roaring for help, which no one could bring them.‘Don’t anyone go near!’ yelled Dave as he saw their mates wavering, faces contorted with agony for their friends. Two had frozen in positions halfway towards them. They looked ready to try to bolt the rest of the way.‘Kirk, O’Sullivan, stop!’ shouted Dave. ‘I said freeze! Don’t move a foot, don’t move a fucking inch.’He worked his way through the trees around the edge of the field, over dense undergrowth.‘My leg, my leg, I’ve lost my fucking leg, I looked down and my fucking, fucking leg was gone!’ shrieked Broom.‘Help, God help me, holy Jesus,’ screamed Connor in a voice that sounded full of Afghan earth.2 Section stood at the edge of the clearing, watching hopelessly and helplessly, longing to run to their mates, faces blanched. A few tried to call encouragement to their friends but their voices were robbed of strength and depth so they sounded like a voicemail message.Dave looked at the casualties and saw that Broom had certainly lost his lower leg and maybe an arm. Blood was pouring from his body. Connor was surrounded by blood too, but it was hard to see from here where he had been damaged.‘Mine strike. Two tango one casualties. Out,’ the boss reported.Dave could guess what had happened but he let Corporal Baker tell him anyway: ‘Ben was cutting across the field and suddenly, bang! He was lying there screaming so Ryan ran over to him and, bang! I thought it was a mortar attack. I didn’t stop Ryan because I thought it was a mortar . . .’Dave said: ‘It’ll be a legacy minefield. Soviet. The Russians picked a spot and scattered them everywhere. That’s why this place isn’t cultivated, the locals all know about them.’‘I’ve lost a fucking leg, my fucking leg’s gone, my leg, my leg, my leg . . . fuck it, fuck it . . .’ shouted Ben Broom.‘Can you get some morphine into yourselves?’ called Dave but neither Broom nor Connor could hear him over their own roars of pain.‘Heeeelp, fucking heeeelp, I’m dying . . .’ screamed Ryan Connor.The men, faces ashen, waited for Dave to tell them what to do.‘Chinook’s coming,’ came the boss’s voice.‘No room for it to land here,’ said Corporal Curtis of 3 Section.‘The Chinook can’t land in a minefield,’ snapped Dave. ‘And let’s hope it’s got a very long winch. Because the downdraught could set the whole fucking field off.’The boss said: ‘There aren’t any winches on the Chinooks.’‘What! Someone nicked them all?’‘They had a design fault. So they all got packed off back to the UK and the replacements haven’t arrived yet.’ The boss’s voice was small and miserable.‘Well, what good to us is a fucking Chinook without a winch?’ demanded Dave.‘We’ve asked the Americans for a Black Hawk.’‘Will that have a winch?’‘Yes.’‘How long will it take?’‘They’re waiting for clearance now.’‘How long?’ It was unbearable to hear the agony of the men in the minefield. You just wanted them to stop. And you knew that if they did it would be worse.‘The Americans can’t operate without high-level clearance.’‘Oh, fuck, do we have to wait for the President of the United States to find time to OK it?’ yelled Dave.‘We’re doing our best.’ The boss did not sound defensive. He sounded deflated. ‘We’re going to locate the nearest helicopter landing site for a MERT team, because getting the casualties out and away to a Chinook may be quicker than waiting for the Americans.’Getting the casualties out may be quicker.‘Fuuuuuuuuuuck!’ roared Broom. He looked as though he was floating on an island of blood. He was only fifteen metres away and he was as unreachable as a man a thousand miles offshore. He would die from his blood loss unless help reached him soon.Knowing his voice had to be both strong and severe to check Broom’s yells, Dave bellowed: ‘Stop shouting and start helping yourself, Broom.’Broom fell abruptly silent.‘There’s a bloody mess around your right leg so get your morphine out and shove it in at the top of your left. Come on, go for it! Now!’Broom began to fiddle with his pouches.‘Get on with it!’ bawled Dave mercilessly. ‘It’s in your left thigh pocket. Do it! Do it now! What about you, Connor?�
�Connor responded with an awful cry. It was both the whimper of a small child and the roar of a large, injured animal that knows it is about to die, but it was not the cry of a man.Dave tried the same tone on him. Connor, however, was past responding to commands.‘Shit, shit, what can we do?’ Corporal Baker’s face was ashen. His tone picked up the misery of the injured.Dave looked around him at the nearest men. Shocked faces, shaking hands, a few tears.‘2 Section doesn’t look safe for this job.’1 Section, covering the field, were closest.‘I’m looking for mine-clearance men in 1 Section. I’ll take you, Dermott . . .’He sent Mara from 2 Section to replace Jamie’s position.‘Me, Sarge!’ Angus was already leaving his position in anticipation.Dave sighed.‘All right, McCall. But just stay behind Jamie.’ He was sending another man up to replace Angus when Finn shouted: ‘That should be me, Sarge.’Angus turned to glare at him.‘I’m not taking a section commander or a 2 i/c.’‘But Angry’s too big and clumsy!’Dave ignored him. ‘Jamie, you start over here and work your way towards Connor. McCall behind you. Then I need two men to start from over there and work towards Broom. I’ll have you, Binman. And Mal follows.’The men he had chosen blinked at him as if they had just woken up.‘Right, Dermott and McCall here, Binns and Bilaal there. Bergens off, bayonets ready, GET GOING.’The men began to struggle out of their Bergens.‘Make sure you’ve got water, man behind must have a stretcher, carry only what you need, something to eat but not much. Of course, trauma kit. Give them some extra field dressings, someone. OK, then down on your belt buckles and it’s look, feel, prod with your bayonets before you move forward. Remember that one? Look, feel, prod. Got mine markers? Got mine tape?’They were taking off their pouches now, rummaging through them at the same time for mine tape, grabbing their bayonets. Binns looked skinnier and skinnier as the pouches came off. Finn moved in to help him.The two front men got into position and eased down onto their stomachs at the edge of the minefield.‘Gently! DON’T HURRY!’ roared Dave. ‘Or you’ll be lying there too.’At a double moan from both casualties Jamie and Binman from their separate positions began to scrape urgently at the surface of the soil with their bayonets.‘GENTLY! This is your new-born baby. It’s a bag of fucking eggs. It’s a MINE and it’s going to explode!’‘They’re coming,’ lads called to the casualties. ‘They’ll soon be getting you out of there.’Broom was moaning more quietly now he had a shot of morphine inside him. Connor had fallen ominously silent.‘Ryan’s still breathing,’ shouted Kirk. ‘I can see that.’Kirk and O’Sullivan were the two members of 2 Section who had been stuck in the minefield when Dave had ordered them to freeze.‘If I go forward on my stomach from here,’ called Kirk. ‘I can get to Ryan faster than Dermott and McCall.’‘No,’ shouted Dave. ‘I want you two back safely, not bumping around the casualties in your Bergens in a minefield.’Kirk started to argue.‘Shut the fuck up and tell me what you can see from there,’ ordered Dave. ‘How much leg has Broom lost?’‘About half. Maybe a bit more.’‘Connor?’‘Dunno. Can’t see what’s wrong with him.’‘Shrapnel, maybe. But he’s got two legs, two arms?’‘I think so, Sarge, but there’s so much blood . . . he could be missing a foot.’‘All right, Kirk. Now, you and O’Sullivan get your bayonets out, mine markers ready.’ They reached carefully for their bayonets, wobbling dangerously because they could not move their feet.‘Sarge, I don’t have mine markers,’ called O’Sullivan miserably.No matter how many times you did kit inspection, no matter how often you reminded men, they were guaranteed not to have the vital bit of kit when they needed it.‘Why the fuck not, O’Sullivan?’‘Erm . . . I used them for something else . . .’‘What else can you do with mine markers? For Chrissake?’O’Sullivan stood helplessly in the minefield, his face gawping.‘Oh don’t bother to tell me now. Got anything else you could use?’‘There’s markers here, Sarge,’ said McKinley. ‘Can I try throwing them over to him?’‘Can you fuck! We’re trying to get him out alive, shithead.’‘Use your peanuts!’ shouted Corporal Baker to O’Sullivan.‘His peanuts? His peanuts?’‘Yeah, Sarge. O’Sullivan buys up the peanuts from everyone else’s rations, he loves them, his Bergen’s full of bags.’‘We need something that will stick in the ground.’‘He could anchor them with stones. Run a bit of mine tape between them.’‘It’s better than nothing.’ Dave shouted to O’Sullivan: ‘Got your mine tape?’‘Yes, Sarge.’‘Right then, you two. Remember, no hurry. Go slow and live. Now crouch down. Take a look at the ground all around you and then feel it with your fingers. That includes the ground between your feet. Go behind you, go in front, go to the side. Then use your bayonet to prod. Do that until you’ve got a box around you big enough to lie in. So after that it’s down on your belt buckles, sort yourselves out and start moving this way. SLOWLY.’There was an urgent voice at his side.‘Sarge, I could start this end and make a path towards—’‘No, McKinley. I’ve already got eight men out there. I don’t want to lose a ninth.’On the radio the boss’s voice said: ‘I’ve been trying to get EOD but they’re all tied up. Thought an engineer with mine-detecting equipment would help but we haven’t managed to extract them yet . . . there should be some on their way soon . . .’‘Yeah,’ said Dave. ‘Yeah. Soon. OK.’No helicopter, no winch, no mine detectors and no fucking EOD. Just two men bleeding to death and six more in danger.‘The casualties seem to have gone rather quiet,’ said the boss.‘Yeah.’Dave was tired of shouting. He was tired of talking. He was wet with sweat. And he felt powerless. The screams and moans of the wounded had worn him down, as though he had been the one screaming and moaning. Now that the men he had sent were out there doing their jobs, their lives were in their own hands.His eyes swept across the minefield. The two casualties, baking in their own blood like cookies under the strengthening morning sun. Jamie, making painfully slow progress on his belly across the field, the large shape of McCall behind him. 1 Platoon, stretched out around the clearing, many backs to the action, searching the woodland for enemy movement. A collection of drawn, anxious faces, chiefly those of the shocked 2 Section, fixed on the two rescue teams. And, most surprisingly, the small, skinny shape of Jack Binns, followed by Mal, ootching with skilful speed towards the body of Ben Broom.
