ARMAGEDDON'S SONG (Volume 3) 'Fight Through'

by FARMAN, ANDY

  Pulling on the piton’s quickdraw with one hand he drew himself closer to the overhang, giving himself enough slack at that end to unclip himself from it with his free hand. It was that moment of truth which always made life interesting whilst climbing, discovering if the single SLCD was up to the task of supporting him above the abyss. Letting go of the piton’s quickdraw he swung away from the vertical face to hang suspended below the overhang, 400 feet above the valley floor.

  Lt Garfield Brooks and six of the soldiers were still far below on the valley floor, forming a perimeter and guarding the kit that would be hauled up, pitch by pitch. They were the only ones still wearing white camouflage clothing; the remainder had stuffed them inside camouflage jackets that more easily blended with the buff tones of the rock face until the snow line five hundred feet above.

  Garfield lay on his back peering up at Richard Dewar through his binoculars, admiring the almost effortless ease with which the Royal Marine repeated the high trapeze act a further six times to reach the lip of the overhang. No records existed of any climbs here and in all probability no one had ever scaled the rock face before them. It seemed to Garfield however, that Dewar had climbed it a dozen times, so confident and assured were his moves. The climber’s term for such a skilful climb up a virgin face is ‘A Vue’, a clean ascent first try, with no prior knowledge of the route.

  The American lieutenant from Florida had never climbed anything more challenging than the trees in the family’s backyard, before joining the service. Like every one of the Americans he had since gone through the courses run by the US Army Northern Warfare Training Centre at Fort Wainwright, Alaska. He’d frozen his butt off on the Black Rapids training area completing his CWLC, the Cold Weather Leaders Course, but it was nowhere close to the – 40° he was currently working in. He had performed assault climbs in Alaska on the Gulkana Glacier, in Vermont and the Rockies, but Dewar on the other hand had hiked to both the north and south poles, climbed Everest three times, once without oxygen, and had two tries at K2, amongst other less well known expeditions to his credit. Any doubts Garfield felt about a Brit leading this operation had been dispelled within hours of their landing in China, the Royal Marine Commando wasn’t just competent, he was quite expert at working in sub-zero climes and on rock faces.

  Garfield remembered the first time he had come up against an overhang of similar proportions; he had shaken his head in a very negative manner as his brain took in the near impossibility of negotiating it. His instructor, a Ranger of many years’ experience had climbed up beside him.

  “Mr Brooks, sir…you ever hear of a guy called Winston Spencer Churchill?” and Garfield had frowned at the strange question.

  “Do you mean the old wartime British PM?”

  “Yessir that’s him, he was a good soldier before he was a politician, and he had a saying that the three hardest things to do in life are to climb a wall leaning towards you, kiss a girl leaning away from you, and to make an after dinner speech…now I know you got a girlfriend and as an officer you know how to make speeches, which just leaves the leaning wall thing for you to do…now git your butt in gear and get it done before I kick your pansy ass off my mountain, sir!”

  The advice had been absolutely useless in helping him conquer the problem, but it served to remind him that defeatism was not acceptable in the eyes of the army.

  He now shifted his gaze upwards, looking at the eighty or so feet of chimney that ended abruptly where snow and ice capped it sixty feet from the top. They had been socked in for two days by the storm that had blown straight across the valley, coating the rock face, which they had descended that morning with snow that had been wind blasted into ice. Rappelling, or abseiling as the Brits called it, down from the top of the ridge in four pitches had seen them all safely down on the canyon floor, before crossing the exposed area in groups, one group moving whilst the remainder covered them

  The route the major had chosen, initially went straight up for about a hundred feet of un-technical climbing, that is to say without the need for pitons and artificial aids. From there came a traverse, up and to the left for another hundred and fifty, rounding a corner two thirds of the way along. From the traverse it once more went vertical until reaching a narrow ledge, which varied in depth from a foot and a half to mere inches. Above the ledge, the rock was as smooth and seamless as if a team of giant plasterers had prepared it for painting, and below it to the top of the traverse was as equally unhelpful. The major had used pitons to secure runners to the face from the traverse to the ledge, and then along the ledge to below the overhang. Theoretically they could simply have gone straight up, in a technical climb all the way to the top, but they did not have the time to spare to hammer in pitons every few feet, even if they had that many with them, which they did not. They had lost time due to the storm and could not afford to hang about any longer.

  Garfield lifted his over-white top and undid his ‘yukes’ jacket or extreme cold weather clothing system, in storeman speak, and replaced the binoculars before rolling back onto his front. In the entire time they had been on the ground in China they had seen no trace of another human being, it was as if they were on another planet. He checked that his small mix of troops from two countries and three different units, were still alert and on the ball, covering their assigned arcs. It was odd, he thought, that whereas his guys mixed well with the Brits of both units, there was coolness between the M&AW Cadre, Royal Marines and the SAS Mountain Troop guys. ‘The Cadre’ didn’t consider themselves to be ‘special forces’ but they definitely looked down on the mountain troop soldiers.

  To Garfield’s mind this frosty attitude was entirely due to the media’s love affair with the SAS. The Cadre were all instructors, in their peacetime role they taught the members of 3 Commando Brigade how to fight and survive in arctic conditions, how to climb, and how to operate far above the snow line where the air is thin. The Cadre did not wear any insignia or embellishments on their working or ceremonial dress, and even the Royal Marines own Special Forces, the little known Special Boat Service who received much of their training from the Cadre only wore a quaint little ‘Swimmer Canoeist’ badge, the letters SC and laurel leaves in gold on the right arm of their dress uniforms to set them apart. The American had seen nothing to make him doubt the Mountain Troop soldiers abilities, they were all very professional and good climbers, but the Cadre were very, very good. The levels of fitness were impressive in terms of stamina. He could beat the M&AWC’s ‘granddad’, the forty-something Glaswegian, Sergeant McCormack, by several minutes on a five mile dash but he struggled to stay up with the man when they each carried their own weight in kit on route marches.

  The parting of the ways would occur once the force reached an east/west running ridge above them, at that point Mountain Troop would go east seven miles to place remote laser designators, targeted on the vehicle assembly buildings, launch towers and satellite communications dishes of the space centre.

  The Cadre and Garfield’s men would turn west for the ICBM field where their designators would be sighted on the hardened silos. If all went to plan the troops would RV back at this spot before beginning the long hike to a disused mining strip, for a night extraction by the C-130 Hercules of 47 Squadron, Royal Air Force.

  The extraction was totally dependent on the success of the F117As and B1-B Lancers accompanying the B2 bombers. Their job was to clear away enemy air defence radar from the target, and all the way back to the borders of India and Nepal.

  Richard placed another camm into the crack running through the overhang, reaching across and upwards to position it six inches from the overhangs lip and attached his harness to it with a pair of linked quickdraw’s. When he released the quickdraw to the previous camm though, there was a screech like fingernails being drawn down a slate blackboard, as the camm near the lip shifted several inches downwards and outwards. Corporal Alladay was belayed on to a large boulder at the last pitch and immediately took up the slack, feeding rope back ar
ound his body and bracing, locking his arms in toward his torso.

  The tight rope stopped the pendulum movement of the major’s body, and Richard held his breath, staring at the camm which had half emerged from the crack but had now taken a firm hold against a protruding nub. As satisfied as he could be that the camm was now secure he singled up on the quickdraw's securing him to the camm before reaching up beyond the lip of the overhang, his fingers feeling for a hold. Below him Corporal Alladay let out some rope, again allowing the major some freedom of movement.

  Richard first found a finger hold, and then discarded it for a fracture coming off the crack, which afforded a better grip. To the left of the crack an angle of rock would afford him some purchase for his left foot. With his right hand in the fracture Richard wedged the fingers of his left into the crack and heaved, bringing up his left foot and planting the sole of the boot firmly before transferring his right hand to the crack. Bracing himself there he let go with his left hand and unscrewed himself from the remaining quickdraw, allowing it to fall way to hang from the stem. He was now out of sight of Alladay and tugged on the rope, signalling for more slack before working his body higher, hand over hand up the crack until he was able to jam the toe of his right boot into the fracture hold. With feet splayed and the fingers of one hand wedged into the crack and the other gripping the underside of an inverse lip.

  Richard craned his neck to look for the next hold. Having got himself to this spot Richard now found that the next possible hand hold was a good seven or eight inches beyond his grasp, but after that the face promised easier going. It’s not a problem, he thought, I’ll use a camm in the crack to pull myself up. Reaching around to the back of his harness though he found that he had none left that would fit. His largest monolith was too narrow and he had used his last piton below the overhang, all he had left were ice screws, the hollow, rifled tubes for affixing runners once they reached the snowline. It was time to consider alternatives, and he unclipped his ice axe from his harness.

  Through the eye on the helve’s butt end he threaded a length of line, tying it off on his harness with six feet of line connecting the two. As if about to try and lever off the inverse lip of rock Richard jabbed the picks business end upwards into the space previously occupied by his fingers. Without weight being applied to the picks helve the ice pick would simply fall away, so holding the pick in place with his left hand he brought up his left foot onto the moulded handgrip before shifting his weight to rest upon it. It was a variation on the Stein Pull and gave the commando a somewhat perilous perch on which he now placed his other foot also, and twisted his body at the waist to face the rock with the palms of his hands flat against the rock face. There wasn’t any way he could warn Alladay about what he was about to attempt, so if he screwed it up he would fall until the runner on the last camm caught him, and his momentum would then swing him into the rock face below the overhang with bone breaking force. Bending at the knees Richard steadied him before leaping, his arms outstretched and fingers already half hooked. As soon as his weight left the ice pick it came loose, tumbling way to dangle from the line tied to his harness. The fingers of both hands found the same lip of rock, but it was only deep enough for the tips. With his hands side by side Richard gritted his teeth and pulled, doing a chin-up until his eyes came level with his fingertips. He groaned with the effort and then let go his left hand, shooting it up into a narrow horizontal fracture. Gritting his teeth and with his biceps trembling the Royal Marine worked himself up hand by hand until eventually he could find purchase for his feet.

  Garfield heard the beat of rotor blades first, echoing off the canyon walls in a way that made it impossible to judge the direction of the source of the sound. He had two men take up position with Stingers, finding spots where they could engage in either direction along the wide canyon, and where they would avoid causing friendly injuries with the weapons back-blast.

  The FIM-96A had a maximum range of eight kilometres and a minimum range of one, the distance the missile would travel before it had armed itself. That minimum range could be a real hamper in the confined depths of the mountain canyon if they did have to engage, but that would be a very last resort, as it would announce their presence here.

  Over four hundred feet up, Major Dewar felt the vibrations through the rock before he actually heard the sound of a helicopter, and breathed a savage

  “Oh shit!” The only cover around was that of the chimney above him.

  Up and down the rock face the troops pulled themselves into the cover of shadows and undulations in the rock before going very still, their camouflage clothing assisting in the deception. The men anchored to belay points tied off the ropes, before releasing themselves from their restraints and getting themselves concealed

  Corporal Alladay however was stuck out on a protruding shelf in plain view until Major Dewar could signal he was safe to untie himself from his anchor point. Richard hauled his axe back up and clipped it to his harness before climbing as fast as he safely could toward the crack where it suddenly yawned to become a chimney.

  Back on the ground Lt Brooks used his binoculars to check that everyone on the face was as near invisible as possible, but the major and Alladay were still in clear view.

  The sound of the helicopter was growing louder and his Stinger men were looking over their shoulders at him for permission to activate the weapons infrared seekers. If the aircraft happened to be equipped with a sensor suite the super-cooled ‘eyes’ could register upon it, giving away their presence as surely as actually loosing off a missile at them, so he shook his head emphatically before again raising his binos. Richard had gained the lower reaches of the chimney and was squeezing himself inside, hollering down the face

  “OFF BELAY...FREESTYLE IT, ALLADAY!” informing the NCO that he was safe to release himself but that he himself was not belayed-on, so putting weight on the rope that connected them would result in Richard being pulled bodily from the rock face. Alladay untied himself and went up the face, moving as quickly and surely as had his officer.

  Appearing at first as a small dot, the Chinese helicopter gradually grew in size as it flew toward them between towering rock walls. Garfield looked desperately up at the Royal Marine Commando, willing him to climb even faster than he presently was.

  Garfield had to make a decision, the aircraft was fast approaching minimum engagement range and the Stingers needed a few moments to acquire their target. He could stand down the Stingers and trust that Alladay would be able to get into cover by the time it arrived. Otherwise Garfield would probably blow the entire operation by ordering the men holding the weapons to engage and destroy.

  “Sir?” one of the men asked, wanting to know what they were to do.

  Now I know why they pay me more than a trooper, Garfield thought.

  “Stand down and get into cover.”

  The approaching light helicopter looked remarkably similar to a French Aerospatiale AS355 Twin Ecureuil, the military version of the ‘Squirrel’, but was in fact a Chinese copy, the Z-11.

  Until a couple of weeks before, the main natural hazard of operating helicopters in the region had been the dust and heat. The aircraft were all equipped for those conditions, with dust filters for the intakes and hot weather lubricants for the engines. The snow and plummeting temperatures had brought to a halt the increased patrolling that had become the norm since the start of the war. The sub-zero temperatures turned the lightweight lubricants into heavy treacle and the dust filters iced over, starving the engines of oxygen.

  The Z-11s pilot was not ecstatic about being a guinea pig, flying the first sortie since the arrival of arctic standard lubricants. The dust filters had been replaced and a crew chosen to carry out a test flight, which proved to be the ones least in favour with their commander.

  Two hundred feet up the face the commander of the SAS Mountain Troop detachment pressed himself as close to the rock as he could. Lt Shippey-Romhead could not see the Z-11; he had left the traverse to
climb into shadow around a corner of rock, away from the approaching helicopter. The only holds here were widely spaced and his rope, tied off at the belay point below did not allow him sufficient slack to accomplish it easily, it was pulling him sideways. The young officer was spread eagled across the rock, uncomfortably overstretched and silently urging the PLA aircraft to hurry up and bugger off. The involuntary tremors began in his right leg, a phenomenon known to climbers as ‘Elvis leg’, where tired or over-stressed leg muscles display disquiet at the treatment demanded of them. The SAS officer cursed the rope that was contributing to his discomfort and concentrated on stilling the tremors in his limb, willing it to behave but his left leg came out in sympathy, trembling in unison to the right limb. Removing his right hand from its hold he eased it between his body and the rock, his fingers unscrewing the locking carabiner at his waist and releasing the rope. Breathing a sigh of relief he replaced his hand back into the fracture it had left, and noted with satisfaction that the tremors were already abating.

  Corporal Alladay reached the shadow beneath the overhang and clipped himself onto a runner before assuming an attitude of absolute stillness. The helicopter was almost upon them, the beating of its rotors a physical thing that buffeted the senses. The British and American troops held their breath lest the fog of their breathing catch the eye of an alert crewman, but on board an aircraft never equipped with heating the door gunners sat behind closed side doors, peering disinterestedly through Perspex windows as they shivered in the cold and drafts of freezing air that streamed through the joints of the side door.

  A clod of snow struck Richard on the shoulder, loosened by the vibration of the helicopters passing it fell down the chimney from the mass of wind-blown snow and ice that overhung the face, a fore runner of the tons that were to follow. He had just enough time to brace his arms and legs against the side of the chimney, pressing his back against the opposite side with all his strength before he was engulfed.