Grant’s words were met with utter silence.
It was broken finally by Nathe. ’So why aren’t the fucking Marines coming?’
Grant shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Nathe. This is all we’ve got.’
‘So who is coming, then?’ Nathe probed.
‘As I’ve said, Nathe, at the moment the message indicates that nobody is.’
A few seconds’ silence for the words to sink in; a long, heavy beat.
‘Fucking nobody is?’ Nathe snorted, in disbelief. ‘So who is going to protect the village, then? Who’s gonna fucking look after them?’
‘Well, I presume, Nathe, when we’re gone the Nigerians will stay. So, it’s over to them.’
The fucking Nigerians. Get real. What the fuck’re the Nigerians gonna do?’
‘Look, Nathe, I am just telling you what we’ve got over radio, mate. Whatever decisions have been made, it’s way above my pay grade. It’s already been decided, mate.’
‘Well, it’s total fucking bollocks.’ Nathe was so angry his two false front teeth had started to rattle about. ‘It’s utter bloody fucking bollocks that is.’
The other patrol commanders were murmuring their agreement. Nathe was right, of course. It was utter bloody fucking bollocks. But there was sod all we could do about it right now.
‘Okay, okay, guys,’ Wag tried to calm it. ‘Fully understand emotions are running fucking high. We feel the same here, but the decision’s been made, so we gotta get on with it. End of.’
There was a lot of angry muttering from the blokes. I tried to focus minds on what lay ahead – the logistics of organising the withdrawal – for none of us had had the slightest inkling this was coming.
‘Right, guys, minds on admin, ’cause we’ve got a fuck load to do before now and 0800 tomorrow. Make sure shortly after first light you bring in and dismantle the Claymores. Do not leave anything one of the villagers could hurt themselves with. Plus make sure you do a hundred per cent kit check; when you get the order tomorrow, move direct from your positions to HLS. Any questions?’
Silence.
Nothing.
Angry, dark silence.
‘Make sure you say your goodbyes before then,’ I continued. I figured Nathe needed a tasking to take his mind off the shit sandwich that was being forced down everyone’s throat right now. ‘Nathe, there’ll be no room on the Chinook for everyone plus the Pinz, so I want your team to drive it back pretty much after first light tomorrow.’
He grunted an acknowledgement.
I turned to the two mortar lads. ‘Tommo, make sure you take care of your blokes and dismantle your mortars when you see fit to do so.’
‘Okay,’ Tommo confirmed, quietly.
‘Right, guys, just before we wrap.’ I glanced around the faces before me: Nathe, Dolly, Ginge, Taff and H. I’d never seen the lads like this before. There was bitter anger and defiance seething just below the surface. ‘None of us wants this. None of us has asked for it. But, for better or worse, this is our last night. So, let’s keep everything wired tight and let’s get out of here in one piece.’
Without a word of acknowledgement the five of them turned and melted away. I knew what they faced now. They were returning to their patrols to brief their blokes that we were leaving Lungi Lol to its fate – and that meant leaving the villagers, plus the thousands more who’d come here seeking sanctuary. It wasn’t exactly how I’d ever imagined us leaving this place … or how I wanted us to go. Granted, we’d been here for days since the main attack, and still the rebels hadn’t hit the village – but that didn’t make it any easier on any of us.
No sooner were the blokes gone than the familiar figure of Mojo pitched up, tray-load of bread rolls perched on his shoulder. Grant glanced up at him, dejectedly.
‘Mojo, mate, I need a word.’
Grant was sat on the lip of the depression with a face like death. Mojo was standing. He’d never once sat down with us all the time we’d been here. He was a stand-to-attention man through and through.
Grant gestured at a spot on the ground beside him. ‘Mojo, take a seat.’
‘No, no – I stand, I stand.’
‘No, Mojo, sit down.’
Mojo sat down. He still had his Foster Grant shades on of course, but from behind them he was eyeing Grant nervously.
‘Mojo, I’ve got some bad news,’ Grant announced.
‘Huh?’
‘We have had a radio message this evening. We will all be leaving in the morning.’
‘Leaving?’
‘Yep.’
‘All?’
‘Yep.’
‘And when will you come back?’
‘We won’t be coming back, Mojo.’
Mojo shook his head, confusedly. ‘You won’t come back?’
‘We won’t be coming back, no.’
Mojo tried a hopeful smile. ‘And other British – they will come?’
Grant glanced at him. ‘I honestly don’t know – but I think not.’
‘Nobody will come? Nobody?’
‘Nobody will come. Mojo, you’ll be here on your own until you have to leave.’
It was then that Mojo took his sunglasses off. For the first time in so many days we actually got sight of his eyes. He twisted the shades around in his hands, nervously, as he tried to take in all Grant had said.
‘But what will happen now?’
‘I don’t know.’ Grant’s tone was very soft now. Wrapped in emotion. He shook his head. ‘Mojo, I don’t know.’
For several long moments we sat there, all of us enveloped in this heavy silence.
Then Grant said to Mojo: ‘Will you take me to speak to the chief?’
‘I will take you to speak to him,’ Mojo confirmed.
He got up and put his sunglasses back on. I stood up and put my hand out. ‘Mojo, thank you. And thank your men. Take care.’
As we shook hands I could tell he was still in shock. ‘Thank you,’ he replied. ‘Thank you – for everything.’
Wag and Tricky likewise said their goodbyes.
As Grant and Mojo stepped away, Wag turned after them. ‘I’ll be coming with you, mate.’
Wag hurried after Grant, leaving Tricky and me alone in the HQ depression, staring at the tray of thirty-seven bread rolls, lying white and skull-like in the moonlight. I’d happily have faced another rebel onslaught, crawling forward with 51 mm mortar and SA80 in hand, than have to do what Grant and Wag were about to do now – tell the chief we were bailing out of his village.
Their willingness to do that – to do the right thing – was the real test of a soldier. Grant could have chosen the easy path – to sneak away quietly. The decision to withdraw wasn’t his, and it would have been so much easier to melt away. But he displayed the mark of a real man and demonstrated incredible moral courage, when he chose to take the hardest road possible, and Wag had volunteered to stand with him.
They were back fifteen minutes later. I glanced up at them, guiltily. ‘Fucking hell, guys, how did that go?’
Grant shrugged. ‘Emotional.’
‘What … What did he say?’
‘Well … when we told him, it was pretty much a repeat of Mojo; “You will go and come back? You will go and new British will come?” I told him I didn’t think so: most likely no. He didn’t rant and rave. He just said; “So, no one will come?” I confirmed most likely no one. I thanked him for all that he and his people had done. Told him how we felt a part of the village … His people took us in … Grown close to them … Felt real close … At that point I had to pull away … Just leave it at that.’
‘Fucking hell. Fuck me. Heavy.’
Grant turned away. ‘Yeah, mate. A bit emotional.’
Last light was almost upon us by now, after which we slipped into our night routine. Only, tonight wasn’t like any night that had gone before. All across our positions blokes were somehow having to get their heads around the fact that we were out of here come morning, leaving the village all but defence
less.
It lay across us all, dark and heavy like a death shroud.
Grant and Tricky took first stag. I lay on the I-bed, gazing up at the heavens. It was an absolutely crystal clear night. Directly above me were fingers of wispy tree branches, and above those a skein of stars so close I felt I could reach out and touch them. A thousand villagers were bedded down on the square tonight – as they had been for so many nights before – gazing up at that same sky, feeling … secure. Secure because of us. And little did they know that tomorrow we would be gone.
I lay there with my senses on hyper-alert and praying for the rebels to hit us. If the onslaught came tonight, at least we could smash seven bales of shit out of the bastard rebels, and maybe deter them forever from trying to take this village. Or, we could use the attack to argue for a change of plan – to allow us to stay, or at least until a replacement force was flown in. But all I could hear from the forest was the rhythmic breep-breep-breep of the night-time insects and the odd animal cry.
Tonight, I couldn’t detect the barest hint of the rebels’ presence, and come daybreak no illume would have been fired. But as I lay there on the I-bed unable to sleep, I realised something. I couldn’t seem to remember coming into this village – our arrival. It was weird, but I felt like I’d always been here. As if it had always been like this. Life before Lungi Lol felt like a whole universe away.
I couldn’t seem to remember any other life before this, but tomorrow we would be gone.
At first light the Water Girls arrived. But this time it was us lot who had our eyes downcast as they made their delivery. We tried telling them we didn’t need the water, but the girls just stared at us like it didn’t compute. This was our early morning water delivery. We got it every day. What were we saying?
At around 0630 Nathe led his patrol up to the HQ ATAP. He was trying to act businesslike and soldierly, but I could tell he was having a difficult time keeping a lid on things.
‘Right, Steve, that’s us,’ he announced, gruffly. ‘That’s everything accounted for. We’re gonna head back …’
With that he led his guys over to the lone Pinzgauer, they loaded up their kit and he got the wagon under way. I could see the mortar teams dismantling their tubes, and emptying the sandbags into the pits they’d dug. By now Dolly and Ginge’s teams had collapsed their positions, so I asked them to help lug the mortars down to the LZ.
The village was a hive of soldierly activity, and all around I could see the locals pausing to stare. They had to be wondering what the hell was happening. As the mortars were manhandled towards the LZ there was a lot of serious kit on the move, and it wouldn’t take the brains of an archbishop to realise what was happening.
It came the time for the four of us to move out from the HQ ATAP. We headed onto the track. All around us people had stopped doing whatever they had been doing, and were staring at us. I paused for an instant, gazing back into our position: the I-beds, Wag’s gym, the path I’d crawled with Cantrill the night of the main battle. I tried to commit those things to memory, and then the four of us joined on the end of the long line of blokes heading south to the LZ.
We were the last guys out. Word had clearly spread like the plague, for by now we had scores of villagers lining the track, silent and watchful. I felt as if we were marching through a corridor of staring, fearful eyes. Many of the faces we knew by sight if not by name. We’d sat with them, played with their kids, shared their food and water; they’d built our beds and dug our trenches, cleared our arcs of fire and planted our punji fields.
They’d stood firm with us in the face of overwhelming enemy numbers.
And now we were just walking out of here.
I’d half expected Mojo, or Ibrahim, or the village chief to come and see us off, but there was no one. Instead, there was just a crowd of confused and bewildered villagers.
At 0820 the Chinook came in and landed. The patrols moved up the open tail ramp in two files, and Wag and me were the last to board. We walked into the helo side by side and took a pew. The turbines started to scream to a fever pitch above us, as the ramp whined closed.
As the helo took off the top half of the ramp was open, and when we turned westwards towards Lungi Airport I could see down into the village, barely fifty feet below us. My eyes traced the track leading up to the village square, and I could make out this wide sea of faces, all turned skywards and staring at us.
I glanced at Wag, who was seated opposite. Our eyes met. I could tell he was feeling as shitty as I was. His eyes said it all: this is not right.
I glanced along the row of blokes. A couple returned the look. But most had their heads leant back against the helo’s side, eyes wide shut in the comedown of it all, and the exhaustion.
As the helo levelled out for the flight to the airport, I had conflicting thoughts crashing through my head. Why were we not getting RIP’d? Why were we getting withdrawn after stirring up such a hornet’s nest? Why were we on this helo, leaving the entire village in the shit … ? I felt some relief that we’d got all the blokes out alive, but that was buried under an avalanche of fear and guilt for those we were leaving behind us.
And leaving behind, I feared, to the mercy of the rebels.
EPILOGUE
The men of the Pathfinders were flown back to the UK some forty-eight hours after withdrawing from the village of Lungi Lol. Upon returning to the UK they sought out information on the welfare of the villagers, by searching through British military post-operational reports, Sierra Leone government bulletins, local and international media reports and other intelligence sources.
Thankfully, no further rebel push came through Lungi Lol after they were withdrawn, and there was no attack on Lungi Airport. Those twenty-six Pathfinders had held Lungi Lol for sixteen days. They were not replaced by the Royal Marines, or any other troops for that matter. In the final analysis the Marines had decided they did not have a unit capable of deploying to such an isolated, deep-jungle location, one bereft of escape routes, or means of relief or back-up. Accordingly, no unit took over the Pathfinders’ positions.
The 1 PARA battle group was relieved by 42 Commando at Lungi Airport and in Freetown. The back-to-back deployments of two extremely capable fighting units had sealed the fate of the country, bringing an end to a horrific civil war that had lasted for over a decade and cost so many lives. Of course, a very large part of that success was due to a small force of Pathfinders and their extraordinary actions at Lungi Lol – the only significant military action fought against the rebels.
It was that action that broke the backbone of the rebel army in Sierra Leone. Having got the measure of the British forces at Lungi Lol, the rebels had lost the appetite for the fight. Even as the Pathfinders lasted out their final days in the besieged village, Foday Sankoh, the overall commander of the RUF, had been taken captive by British forces. He was captured in Freetown itself, and that, coupled with the crushing defeat of the rebels at Lungi Lol, left the remaining RUF commanders in hopeless disarray, and at loggerheads with each other.
The Pathfinders had been at the tip of the spear in Sierra Leone, and the action they fought at Lungi Lol was the decisive battle. In due course the mission received the recognition it deserved. Nathan Bell, the commander of 33 Alpha, received a Mention in Dispatches, and amongst other honours Steve Heaney was awarded the Military Cross, in recognition of his role in taking the initiative during the heat of battle.
His citation reads: ‘On hearing the first shots, Sgt Heaney immediately ran forward past the trenches, and against the axis of the attack, and under automatic tracer fire from the enemy machine guns. Armed with his personal weapon and 51 mm mortar, Sgt Heaney then proceeded to coordinate fire of the forward positions, while putting up illumination with the mortar, despite being out in the open and completely exposed to intense enemy fire …
‘He continued to provide light across the frontage as the enemy conducted a fighting withdrawal, before mounting three subsequent assaults. Sgt Heaney’s
quick reactions and his part in winning the firefight were crucial to the successful repulsion of the enemy attacks. With complete disregard for his own safety he moved to a position from where he could put up accurate illumination for each enemy assault. His influence over the soldiers around him during the attack was considerable, displaying immense physical courage.’
In due course the Nigerian peacekeepers in Sierra Leone were replaced by an Indian contingent, but the RUF were by then already a broken force. They were never again to mount a significant operation in the country. The British military intervention had put a stop to them, and by the end of 2000 Sierra Leone was finally at peace.
The British military campaign in Sierra Leone was one of the most successful ever. A force of less than 1000 British soldiers brought to an end a decade-long conflict that 17,000 UN peacekeepers had failed to stop. It proved that interventions in war-torn Africa did not always have to end ignominiously – as had the 1993 US intervention in Mogadishu, Somalia.
Today Sierra Leone as a nation has known peace, democracy, development and progress – at least compared to the decade-long civil war that went before – for approaching fifteen years. The rebels have been disarmed and demobilised, and many of their leaders have stood trial for war crimes. Sadly, Foday Sankoh, the RUF’s founder and overall leader, died in captivity before he could be put on trial to face his crimes.
Happily, Lungi Lol today is a peaceful, thriving village.
POSTSCRIPT TO THE PAPERBACK EDITION
Hearts and Minds
In the years following the events of May 2000, and then more recently with the publication of Operation Mayhem, I have been asked on countless occasions a raft of questions concerning the operation. Of these, one stands out more than most: ‘How did you manage to defeat the rebels?’ The answer is difficult to sum up in just a few words or sentences, but fundamentally it was down to two main reasons.
Firstly, it was because of the men who defended the village for those sixteen days. It was their daring, tenacity, selflessness and raw courage in the face of insurmountable odds that won the day. They believed so strongly and passionately in not only themselves as individuals, but also in the men to their left and right, and, moreover, in the justness of the cause, that they were willing to risk everything. Every man present made a conscious, informed decision to stay, fully accepting the very real possibility of failure. Their purpose was to defend the men, women and children of Lungi Lol from the barbaric fate that awaited them at the hands of the RUF.
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