Painting the Sand

by Kim Hughes GC

  ‘Let me have your report in the next couple of hours,’ he added.

  I left the Ops Room deflated and feeling like a right twat. The SAT was right. I’d spent more than two hours working on a bomb that an experienced operator could have pulled out of the ground in half the time. I had become so focused on doing everything by the book that I had forgotten about the wider tactical picture. The threat of a Taliban attack high up on the plateau was remote, but I was still operating in a war zone, and that meant it was still possible.

  Walking through the maze of tents within the EOD Task Force village, I went through the whole operation from start to finish, wondering what I could have done better, quicker, without endangering my life or those of my team. Around me inside their tented homes soldiers laughed, slept, played music, watched films and wrote letters home, but I was oblivious to it all. The sun had dipped beneath a distant mountain range to the west and in the failing light I sat down on a makeshift bench outside my tent, listening to the banter inside. Morale was high and I wasn’t about to puncture it by announcing that the mission had taken too long.

  Next time would be faster, more expert. Despite everything I felt a special pride in what I had achieved. More importantly I had taken the first step on a journey that would change me in ways I never thought possible. The war in Afghan was changing, primarily because the Taliban had grasped the effectiveness of the IED as a weapon when used in massive numbers, and bomb disposal operators were at the sharp end.

  A year earlier in 2008, there were just two British Counter-IED teams in Helmand, one commanded by one of my best mates, WO2 Stu Dickson GM, a friend for at least fourteen years, and the other by WO2 Gary O’Donnell GM and Bar. Gary was one of the most experienced and respected High Threat Operators in the Army at the time. He was a family man, extremely popular and set the standard to which all EOD Operators hoped to aspire. For his courage and skill he’d been awarded the George Medal in Iraq. But his luck ran out in September 2008 while attempting to defuse a device near Musa Qala in northern Helmand. Gary was awarded a posthumous George Medal for his work in Helmand, which saved dozens of lives, not just British soldiers but also those of ordinary Afghans. His death served as a reminder that Afghan was different from every other environment British bomb disposal experts had ever been in.

  Stu finished the same tour as Gary having defused over 48 devices, a record in the world of British Army bomb disposal. Stu like Gary also won the George Medal and he was something of a living legend within the world of EOD.

  Never before had bomb disposal experts been so important in a conflict – this was going to be my war and it would be a dangerous and unpredictable journey, where experience or skill no longer guaranteed survival.

  7

  The Science of Explosives – the Layman’s Version

  It’s worth having a bit of knowledge about why things go bang if you’re interested in the EOD world. But easy to get a bit overly scientific about explosives so I’m going to keep it relatively simple.

  An explosive is a material that has the potential to cause an instantaneous release of heat, light, sound and pressure. The point at which the material goes bang is known as the ‘detonation’ and this is effectively a chemical reaction. Modern commercial or military grade and even some ‘home-made’ explosives are relatively stable, meaning that the explosive won’t go bang on its own. So they need something to help them on their way to initiate that chemical reaction.

  The stability of an explosive substance can alter, and often quite quickly if environmental conditions change such as temperature, humidity or even the age of the explosives (everything has a shelf life). Some of the early explosive compounds were extremely volatile and unstable and would often explode in transit or when the air temperature rose. But explosives found in most modern weapons and improvised explosive devices, if left alone, will sit there relatively happy as the world passes by them – hence why Second World War bombs buried for seventy years beneath the ground remain stable. The stability of the explosive compound is also why some IEDs found in Afghanistan may have been buried in the ground for months before being discovered.

  To get the explosive substance to initiate that ‘chemical reaction’ the material requires an energetic shock, a ‘kick’. This is achieved using what is known as a ‘detonator’. The detonator essentially provides the energy to give the kick that starts the chemical reaction and results in the explosion. High explosives are categorised into two types: ‘primary’ explosives – the detonator – and ‘secondary’ explosives – essentially the main charge.

  Primary explosives are extremely sensitive to heat and shock and should be handled with respect and care. They can be made from a number of different chemical compounds and an example of this is lead azide, a highly sensitive chemical compound composed of lead and nitrogen. The compound is so sensitive that it needs to be stored under water in insulated rubber containers and tests have shown lead azide will explode if dropped from a height of around eight inches.

  Detonators can also be made from mercury fulminate, a compound first used in the 1800s in one of the earliest detonators. Both work superbly well as primary explosives and will initiate or explode by applying energy in the form of heat. This can be from an electrical bridge wire, if electrically initiated, or by a flame if initiated using a burning fuse (like in the old Wild West films where a cowboy would light the fuse on a stick of dynamite).

  These primary explosives can also be initiated mechanically by driving, pushing or compressing the explosive, which causes friction and heat at the molecular level. The energy created will cause the compound to undergo that same chemical reaction and detonate.

  A commercial grade detonator contains a very small amount of primary explosive positioned on top of a small pellet of secondary explosive both contained within a small metal tube. The tube will either be sealed with an electrical bridge wire or left open to enable the insertion of a burning fuse. The Taliban have mastered the art of making their own detonators using containers such as a biro pen; however, the chemistry behind both factory-made and improvised is the same. They both provide that kick.

  Now we come to secondary explosives. These are relatively insensitive chemical compounds, such as military-grade plastic explosives like Semtex or C4. They can be subjected to extreme force, such as being hit with a hammer or shot with a bullet from a gun and even be set on fire, without causing detonation. Secondary explosives require the ‘kick’ I mentioned earlier, to enable the chemical reaction to take place that will result in a rapid release of energy or explosion.

  The Taliban, like the IRA, often struggled to get their hands on large quantities of commercial or military explosive and so made their own – known as home-made explosives or HME. There are various types of HME and to name them all would take forever. Ammonium nitrate and sugar (ANS) or ammonium nitrate and fuel oil (ANFO) are two common examples and both are relatively easy to produce. These compounds still require a detonator to provide that initial kick to make them explode. In some cases the HME is so insensitive they also require a small booster to ensure that the detonation wave moves from the detonator to the explosive charge.

  The Taliban got round this problem by using commercial detonating cord, known as det-cord. This consists of a powdered crush-sensitive secondary explosive known as pentaerythritol tetranitrate (PETN), a compound very similar in its molecular structure to nitroglycerine and regarded as one of the most powerful explosives ever manufactured. The explosive is tightly wound with twine and covered in plastic and looks exactly like washing line. Det-cord is used as an intermediary between the detonator and the explosive charge and has a speed of detonation of over 7,000 metres per second. So if you laid a line of it from Edinburgh to London (a distance of approximately 400 miles that would take an average of seven hours to drive) and initiated the Edinburgh end, it would take just under seven seconds for the detonation wave to reach London.

  So what happens to explosives when deto
nated? Let’s look at an ammonium nitrate-based explosive. When the detonator explodes the kick causes the ammonium nitrate within the explosive mixture to vaporise instantaneously, creating extreme heat and a large volume of gas. The heat causes the mixture to break down and release oxygen. This process kick-starts the detonation of the explosive and creates a chain reaction in which more heat, gas and oxygen is produced. This in turn fuels the burning process, resulting in more heat and gas and so on. This intense reaction takes place within a fraction of a second.

  The gas produced is what causes the instant pressure wave as the explosive detonates. It is the gas or the force of the blast, known as the over-pressure, which is so damaging. If you were to further confine those explosives, perhaps within a metal container, the confinement would increase the velocity of detonation with the added effect of high-speed fragmentation. The power of this over-pressure and fragmentation can be harnessed and directed to achieve the maximum effect. For example, if you were to suspend an explosive charge in mid-air and detonate it the explosive wave or over-pressure would be omni-directional: like throwing a stone into a puddle, the ripple effect starts in the middle and works its way out. If the bomb was buried, like IEDs in Afghanistan, the explosive force has nowhere to go but up towards the victim. The results are devastating, causing serious if not fatal injuries.

  Although differences exist in the chemical compounds found in modern, industrial explosives compared with the explosive mixture found in an IED, the science behind them is very similar. The Taliban and terrorists as a whole have been able to use the science of explosives to develop a range of very simple but effective IEDs and it’s the role of the bomb disposal expert to deal with them.

  8

  Keeping Score

  The summer of 2009 was rapidly turning into one of the bloodiest periods of the entire Afghan War. Soldiers were being killed or wounded every day, sometimes several times a day, either by a hit-and-run ambush or an IED. Those who survived being blown up by an IED often suffered terrible wounds: legs torn off, at the hip, cock and balls gone, bladder shredded, intestines perforated, wounds to hands and fingers. Nothing but months of operations, suffering and an uncertain future to look forward to. All caused by a few kilos of homemade explosive, a battery and a pressure plate put together probably by a kid, somewhere in Helmand.

  The first inkling that casualties had been taken was when an anonymous voice announced via the Camp Bastion loudspeaker system that Operation Minimise was in force. It was the first indication that there had been British casualties somewhere in Helmand. Operation Minimise was an automatic shutdown of all unofficial communications – email, Facebook, any form of social media or satellite phone – with the outside world. No details of the incident such as the number of casualties were ever provided; that was left to us to ponder on.

  Initially the announcement of Operation Minimise would stop everyone in their tracks, wondering what had happened to whom and when but as time went on the tragic reality was that we barely noticed. If anything the constant broadcasts soon grew into something of an irritation in the day-to-day running of the base.

  By 2009 Bastion had more than quadrupled in size from the base that existed three years earlier. The US Marines had grafted on Camp Leatherneck, their home in Helmand, while the Danes and the Estonians also had their areas too. Also housed within the Bastion footprint was Camp Shorabak, run by the Afghan National Army, where masses of Afghan recruits were trained and housed. Bastion had all the obvious creature comforts: gyms, coffee shops, and various stores where soldiers could spend their hard-earned cash, but it also housed several different headquarters and that meant an abundance of officers, warrant officers and bullshit. Bastion might have been the largest base in Helmand, but it was also the most claustrophobic – there was always someone more senior only too ready to bollock you for some unknown crime. Beyond the wire, in the smaller forward operating bases (FOBs), life was a lot more chilled and, crucially, we were often treated like valued guests.

  The early summer was a grim period for the British Army in Bastion with the constant drumbeat of casualties so when the opportunity came for Brimstone 42 to spend a few weeks embedded with the Royal Danish Army inside FOB Price, one of the smaller bases in Helmand, it was seized enthusiastically. Price was regarded as a five-star FOB with arguably the best cookhouse in Helmand – salads, plenty of fresh fruit, decent meat pies and puddings to keep the British squaddies happy. It also had a fully equipped gym, a fantastic coffee shop but best of all the Danish women were stunning, and, although we never quite understood why, found the British squaddie an attractive alternative to the average blond, chiselled Danish soldier. FOB Price also served as an indirect firebase capable of raining down mortars and artillery shells on the enemy if and when needed.

  The place was located on a flat desert plain, close to the main Kandahar highway, a road which rings Afghanistan and was the most important transit route in the entire country; one of the key responsibilities for the troops was to keep the highway open. Like all bases in Helmand it had a perimeter wall constructed of Hesco blocks, so that from a distance they looked like something out of a 1950s Beau Geste film, with permanently manned watchtowers positioned at each corner of the camp.

  Accommodation consisted of the standard, white air-conditioned tents, about thirty feet in length and sixteen feet wide – some were even larger. They were supported by steel poles that bent over forming an arched roof, not too dissimilar from corrugated-iron Nissen huts sometimes seen on old military bases in the UK. The floors were made of black plastic matting and hanging from the roof was a huge plastic pipe that pumped out wonderfully cool air. The tents were identical to those in Bastion but they somehow seemed more welcoming.

  The Danes were great hosts and always ensured that we had a tent to ourselves so there was more than enough room for every man and his kit. Nothing was too much trouble for them as they went out of their way to make us feel we were part of their Task Force. Likewise, I was also keen to make sure the relationship worked in the hope that whenever the Danes needed EOD support they would always ask for Brimstone 42.

  A week or so into the attachment, I learned that we would be providing EOD support for the Danish battlegroup in one of the biggest operations ever undertaken at that time. Although by June 2009 NATO had been based in Helmand for almost three years, there were still large parts of the central belt, close to Lashkar Ghar, the provincial capital, effectively controlled by the Taliban – or perhaps a better way of putting it was not under the control of the Government of the Islamic Republic of Afghanistan.

  Operation Panchai Palang – or ‘Panther’s Claw’ – was going to change all of that imbalance. The plan involved British and Danish battlegroups fighting through the Green Zone to secure a series of canal and river crossings, which would force the Taliban into a trap. Those who stood their ground and fought would be smashed. Once the ground had been cleared, more bases would be created, which in turn would increase and deepen NATO’s security footprint in the area, at least that was the theory. It was a counter-insurgency concept known as the ink blot, where the security presence of ground troops spreads out and eventually links up to other bases until the entire area is covered.

  The night before the operation, every team leader based at FOB Price attended a detailed orders briefing, involving who would be doing what and when. The orders procedure was a painstaking step-by-step process, supposedly covering every eventuality. The role of Brimstone 42 was to be attached to an engineering unit for the duration of the operation and to provide EOD support to the entire battlegroup. What this meant in reality was that as the Danes moved through the Green Zone any IED finds would be dealt with by my team.

  As the briefing drew to a close the ranking Danish officer asked me to remain behind while dismissing everyone else. When the room had emptied, he turned to me with a pained expression: ‘Kim, I want you to understand that this is going to be a dangerous operation. We are expecting casua
lties, probably more than anyone thinks. I want you to be aware of this. Your soldiers will be right at the front.’

  As he spoke I could feel the hairs standing up on the back of my neck. His look was intense and I immediately knew he meant business. By that stage in the three-year-long campaign over 170 British soldiers had died. Attacks on NATO forces within the province were running at ten a week. Helmand was a dangerous place but it almost felt as though he was warning me that I was about to lose some members of my team.

  ‘We know the risks, sir. My guys will be ready.’

  Later that evening, after another delicious meal in the base canteen, I gathered the team together in the privacy of our tent and briefed them on the operation. The mission was going to be tough, I explained, probably tougher than anything we had experienced. I ran through the outline plan of what Panchai Palang was setting out to achieve and our role within that. We could be expected to be worked hard with the operation lasting anywhere between a week and ten days, possibly longer. Everyone was enthusiastic but also anxious.

  I kept the extra detail on the threat of casualties to myself – there was nothing to be gained from telling them that there was a good chance that one of us might be killed or injured. It was lost on none of us that the last major ‘well-planned’ operation we had been involved in ended with Sam being seriously injured. But there was no mention of it. Instead everyone packed and checked their equipment and set about taking the piss out of each other.

  Just after sunset the team made its way over to the volleyball court where the Danish engineers were battling one another almost as fiercely as they attacked the Taliban. I watched the game for a few minutes before one of them broke away and headed over to me.

  ‘Hi, my name is Rom,’ said a shirtless Danish sergeant with shaven head and a small goatee beard. He was the epitome of the cool, relaxed Danish hippy. ‘You must be Kim – the ATO. You’re going to be with my team. That will be your home for the next few days,’ he said, pointing into the back of an armoured vehicle, which looked as though it had seen just a little too much action. ‘It will be cramped and hot but you’ll get used to it soon enough. Eventually. Operational kit only I’m afraid – no room for luxuries. Get your kit packed and loaded and then come and join us for a game of volleyball.’