Commando

by Chris Terrill

  We head back to base but on the way Rick calls in to see Abdul Raziq, the district commissioner of Kijaki. There, of course, we have to stay for a cup of tea, just as we do when we pop in to say hello to Mullar Atar, the Kijaki jailer, and after that, Sha Wali, the Helmand Militia commander. Eventually, full to the brim with hot, sweet tea, we arrive back at HQ, whereupon I go straight to the 'heads' as my bladder is about ready to burst. As I'm standing there considering what a quiet day it's been, all hell suddenly lets loose outside. The sound of thunderous gunfire rocks the buildings and I hear men running for cover as well as Tanghei and Asbo barking their heads off. I rush outside to find Dave looking for me.

  'Grab your helmet, mate,' he shouts. 'And your body armour. We're getting incoming.'

  Normandy has opened up with all guns and is blasting a target in the middle distance – it looks like the Shrine. A vicious mortar barrage continues for the best part of an hour, but eventually all falls silent.

  'Well, that was a bit of excitement,' says Dave.

  'Certainly was,' I reply. 'Looks like the Shrine is the place to be.'

  'Hmmm . . . or not,' says Dave thoughtfully.

  Minutes later Bertie comes to find us. 'It's on for tomorrow. We leave at 1400 hours to patrol an area we've not been to before about two or three miles north of here. There are a whole load of compounds that we think the Taliban have been firing mortars and rockets from. We need to investigate.'

  27 December

  14.00

  Our patrol heads out along a potholed road leading to a dilapidated bridge that crosses the river. Once on the other side we proceed carefully through the deserted ghost town of Tanghei and then head north along a small, snaking valley. We stretch out in two parallel lines and I follow immediately behind Bertie and his radio operator. Dave follows immediately behind me. Every member of the troop is on full alert, constantly scanning the desert landscape with weapons at the ready.

  After an hour we reach the first compound enclosed by massive dried mud walls. Four of the troop go on ahead to investigate as the rest of us squat low ready to provide cover. Vinders, with his massive bulk, bursts through an open gate in one of the walls and disappears inside. Moments later he shouts out 'Clear!' and we all move forward to follow him in. The enclosed compound is deserted but Bertie orders a complete search of the small buildings and rooms within it. Soon it becomes apparent that the Taliban have been here. Spent cartridge cases are spread around the compound and in three of the rooms we find live shells and rockets.

  For the next three hours we go from compound to compound – always ready to respond to enemy fire – but it seems the Taliban have fled. We continue to find abandoned weapons but the entire area seems completely deserted.

  'The Taliban come and go like ghosts,' says Bertie. 'That is their great talent. They're incredibly mobile. One moment they're here and then they're there or there or there!'

  We head south and begin to make our way back home along the same valley route we took to get here. It is then we hear gunfire. At first it's a few distant shots being aimed at us from the high ground to our right. But then we hear Normandy and Athens open up with their heavy machine guns shooting right over the top of us. Clearly, they have spotted the enemy probably preparing to ambush us somewhere along the valley. We crouch low and find what cover we can as a mammoth firefight unfolds – both sides shooting over our heads.

  The loud reports of gunfire echo repeatedly off the valley sides, providing a natural surround sound that the Odeon in Leicester Square would be proud of. That aside, we are clearly not in the safest of places and Bertie gives the order to move. We make a break for a dry river valley about half a mile away. It's hard going running over the rough ground and not helped by the weight we're carrying or the high altitude, but we keep up a good pace. This is speed marching for real. Thank God I trained for this at Lympstone, I think to myself. Eventually, we reach cover but the rate of firing on both sides seems to have increased. We stay low, watch and wait.

  'What film shall we watch tonight?' says one of the troop to his mates crouched around him. 'We've got Kill Bill Vol 2,' says another, shouting over the gunfire. 'Oh yes, let's watch that. Uma Thurman is essence!'

  An hour later the firing stops – or at least becomes intermittent. We move out and head south for the river and home.

  It is dark before we reach Tanghei and the bridge over the river back to the HQ. Bertie immediately goes to debrief Marty Collins while the rest of 11 Troop grab some boil-in-the-bag supper.

  When Bertie returns from the ops room he has a determined smile on his face. 'OK, lads, J Company reinforcements start arriving later tonight. Operation Sparrow Hawk will happen on New Year's Day.'

  'Hoofing!' shout a number of the troop in unison.

  'The night before that we go on a covert night patrol to recce a suspected enemy position to check on what they're up to. I'll tell you more about that in due course.'

  'Ah, will the fun never cease?' says Sergeant McGinley as he pulls out a packet of Golden Virginia to make another roll-up.

  Later, we all congregate in the projector room and settle back to enjoy Uma Thurman and her attempts to 'Kill Bill'. As we watch the unfolding bloodlust we start to hear the unmistakable sound of Chinooks approaching the compound and one by one coming in to land on the newly cleared helicopter landing site. It's the long-awaited reinforcements from Camp Bastion – a dedicated quick reaction force – who will strengthen M Company's military muscle on New Year's Day when it launches Operation Sparrow Hawk.

  As the downdraught of the powerful Chinooks blows sand and dust against the windows of the projector room, Dave leans over and whispers in my ear, 'It's true, you know.'

  'What is?' I say.

  'Uma Thurman. She is essence!'

  29 December

  14.00

  Marty Collins greets Abdul Raziq, the district commissioner, and some of his officers. After giving them tea he escorts them down to the briefing room where a large model of the immediate area has been built on the floor. The visiting Afghani notables are seated in front of the model and Marty addresses them with the help of an interpreter.

  'Gentlemen, I need to tell you that in a couple of days there will be a major action here,' says Marty, pointing at a mound of earth representing Sparrow Hawk Mountain. 'This will be followed by various actions designed to push the Taliban back from the dam and its surroundings. Once we have Sparrow Hawk we plan to assault and take the Shrine. If that is successful my hope, ultimately, is to establish a vehicle checkpoint on the bend of the river, here, which means we and not the Taliban will control the traffic coming into the area.'

  The black-bearded Afghanis nod and mumble their approval.

  'You need to take shelter over the next few days and please tell anyone else in the area to do the same. We hope the enemy will retreat but if they choose to stay and fight we will hit them as hard as we can.'

  This time the Afghanis nod and applaud.

  'Gentlemen,' says Marty in conclusion, 'the action will start this afternoon with a bombing run on and around the Shrine.'

  16.00

  A group of us gather outside the ops room and, shading our eyes against the afternoon sun, peer into a cloudless blue sky. We focus on a white shard of light moving from east to west at very high altitude. The shard of light starts to descend at first slowly but then faster. Soon we can see the shard of light for what it is – a Dutch fighter bomber hurtling down towards the raised plateau that is the Shrine. It pulls up at about five thousand feet having, we assume, released its deadly ordnance – at this distance invisible to the eye.

  We shift our gaze to the Shrine. Suddenly, the earth around the feature erupts in eerie silence, throwing dark clouds of sand, smoke and flames high into the sky. Seconds later the sound reaches us – a massive explosion that reverberates around the valley. 'That's a thousand-pound bomb,' someone says from behind me. Five minutes later the bomber comes in again and releases another thousa
nd-pounder.

  It's impossible to tell what damage the bombs have done to the Shrine or those that might have been hiding there. 'Either they're all brown bread now,' says Dave, 'or they're well dug in deep underground and just got their fingers in their ears. We'll find out in a couple of days . . .'

  8

  Operation Sparrow Hawk

  31 December

  12.00

  It is New Year's Eve and there is an air of nervous excitement about the Royal Marines HQ at Kijaki. Everyone is in earnest preparation for tomorrow's action on Sparrow Hawk. With the arrival of one hundred extra fully equipped commandos, everything is now in place for an advance on the mountain itself and a subsequent full-scale assault on the Shrine a day later.

  Over the last week Marty Collins has had to rethink the details of his original strategy and tactics several times – that is the way of military planning out here in the remote vastness of Helmand. Logistical problems of supply, shifting reinforcement priorities 'in theatre' and the continual need to adapt to received intelligence of enemy movements mean all plans have to be fluid and reactive. A team of signallers working closely with Afghani interpreters listen round the clock to any radio frequencies that might be used by the Taliban to talk to each other. This intercepted 'chatter', as it is called, can often provide vital clues to enemy intentions, movements and numbers, so right now the marines are listening in very carefully indeed. It is pretty difficult to keep an accurate tab on the strength of the enemy in any one place and at any one time – precisely because they are so mobile. That is also why Bertie will be leading 11 Troop out tonight on a covert operation to spy on a suspect enemy stronghold. The intention will not be to attack – just to watch and gain what the military call 'ground truth'.

  I have an early lunch (boil-in-the-bag lamb curry – again) and then head down to the Kijaki gym for a workout. I use the term 'gym' loosely for it is in fact no more than a piece of rubble-strewn ground down by the north-west 'sangar' (sentry post). The gym 'equipment' is a perfect example of the famous Bootneck talent for adapting to overcome. The two barbells are constructed with iron poles connecting concrete-filled shell cases. A heavier weight with which to squat and exercise the quads, buttocks and back is simply a thumping great lump of tree that, somehow, you have to wrestle on to your shoulders. The parallel bars are two pieces of scaffolding lashed up on a wooden frame and the chin-up bar is a piece of scaffolding placed across the two uprights of an old door frame.

  I 'beast' myself through several circuits. Sit-ups, press-ups, pull-ups, dips, upright rowing and bicep curls get the heart thumping before I manhandle the tree trunk in place for a set of squats. I am well aware that I have to keep up my fitness levels for when I get back to Lympstone. Even out here, a world away from the day-to-day routine of commando training, the need for me to pass the Bottom Field assault course on my return weighs heavily on my mind. Almost as heavily as this bloody tree trunk is weighing on my shoulders! I manage twenty squats and then slide the rough-barked lump of wood to the ground – taking off a couple of layers of upper back skin in the process. I move to the barbells for a final set of bicep curls. As I do them I turn to the west and look up to the object of everyone's current preoccupation – Sparrow Hawk Mountain. It is a dry, craggy but beautiful mass of brown limestone with a classically pointed peak. In another place or at another time it would provide some splendid recreational climbing for enthusiasts, but tomorrow the climbers will be heavily armed commandos and their purpose far from recreational.

  17.00

  Bertie and the other troop commanders have been at a meeting with Marty Collins to get an update on tomorrow's action on Sparrow Hawk. Bertie, just returned from the ops room, gathers 11 Troop around the model of Kijaki in the briefing room. 'OK, lads. Listen in. Tonight, as you know, we are out on the ground. We will leave at 2100 and head for this locality here.' Pointing at the model, he indicates a place towards the very northern boundary of the area it represents. 'We've never been here before but the suspicion is that a compound or compounds is being used by a local warlord to hide enemy forces. We just want to get eyes on and see what we can see.' He then proceeds to give a detailed set of orders explaining minutely just how the patrol will operate and what everyone's responsibilities will be. He also warns everybody to wear plenty of layers as it is going to be bitterly cold.

  Half an hour later Bertie turns his attention to Operation Sparrow Hawk and the part 11 Troop will play in it. 'Tomorrow at dawn we're going to take position on Roshan Hill north of the river and dig in there. We are to protect the northern flank while Sparrow Hawk is being taken.'

  'That means everybody else gets all the fun, boss,' somebody says amid a collective groan from the troop.

  'Sorry . . .' says Bertie. 'But you never know what's going to happen on the northern flank, so let's just wait and see.'

  'What about the Shrine, boss? Are we involved in that?'

  'We will be, yes. But that's the day after so I don't know exactly what we'll be doing yet. I'll give orders on that tomorrow night. But first things first. Let's just concentrate on tonight's patrol, shall we? Kick-off at 2100 hours. Synchronise watches please ... in ten seconds it will be 17.39.'

  21.00

  Bertie and 11 Troop prepare to leave HQ and, under cover of night, head towards the suspect compound. We all carry military night-sights which will afford us vision in the darkness. I also carry an infrared camera which will allow me to film in the dark. This is not a military camera, however, so I've had to adapt it to make it tactically safe. Normally, it has various lights that illuminate on the body of the camera when the power is turned on – a red recording light on the front as well as another on the back, and a couple of white lights along the side to indicate various controls. As we're patrolling covertly in the dark any light would immediately compromise our safety. I have cancelled out the recording lights via the camera's internal computer and I have carefully covered the area of the white lights with layers of black gaffer tape. Most critical of all, though, is the eyepiece when the infrared facility is turned on. It throws back a penetrating blue light as bright as a torch beam, so I've had to tape up the entire eyepiece – leaving just a tiny pinhole for me to see through. I have packed the camera in my daysack and will wait till we're en route before starting to film as I don't want to waste valuable tape.

  Bertie gives the order to move out. The troop advances in two parallel lines out of the barricaded gates of the HQ. Minutes later, and in complete silence, we cross the bridge over the river using only hand signals to communicate. Taking my place behind Bertie and in front of Dave I follow the line of commandos through the empty, dark streets of Tanghei – lightly brushed by the pale beams of a three-quarter moon. We then turn sharply right and head up the lower slopes of a hill that goes by the unlikely name of 'Unknown Left'. Halfway up the scree-covered hillside I suddenly hear Bertie curse through his headset very much in the style of Victor Meldrew at his most incredulous: 'I don't believe it! I simply don't believe it.' I look round and see Bertie standing next to two bouncing black shadows. I turn on my night-sight and see what Bertie cannot believe: it is Tanghei and Asbo jumping up and down excitedly, clearly wanting to play. They must have followed us out of the HQ compound thinking, no doubt, that if we were going for a nice moonlit walk they would like to come as well.

  'That's all we need,' says Bertie to Pete McGinley.

  'Yup. Not good, boss. And they won't even bite the Taliban. Just lick 'em.'

  'Well, we can't go back now,' says Bertie firmly. 'We'll leave them at the police outpost at the top of Unknown Left.'

  'OK, boss. We need to keep them close now though. There could be mines off the track and if they start running all over the shop they're going to set 'em off- and then the game's up for everyone.'

  We continue up the hill, pulling Tanghei and Asbo by the scruffs of their necks, until we reach the tumbledown shack that is the police outpost. There Bertie explains to a couple of bemused Afgh
an policemen that we're going to leave our dogs with them while we go on patrol and that we'll pick them up later.

  The policemen immediately tie up the hapless animals to an outside wall and then return to the warmth and shelter of their shack. We head into the night once again – now pitch black as the moon has disappeared behind the mountains.

  As we proceed I pull out the infrared camera from my daysack to get some shots of the patrol on the move. I turn it on and press the 'record' button but to my horror flashing red lights illuminate brightly on the front and back of the camera, so do the white indicator lights along the side and, worst of all, a piercing blue beam emanates from the eyepiece on to my face. I am lit up like a Christmas tree. Instantly, I hear the angry voice of Sergeant McGinley in my earpiece: 'Switch that fuckin' camera off before we all get shot!'

  I turn it off and curse myself because I immediately realise I picked up the wrong camera when I left HQ. This one is a spare and tactically completely unsafe. The one I had taped up is still sitting on my bed back at base.

  In a panic and in the darkness I reach into one of the pouches of my webbing and pull out a small reel of gaffer tape. As we walk I do my best to tape up the camera but without turning it on I can't tell exactly where the offending lights are. This is a delicate and precise operation best done on a well-lit worktop so trying to do it blind at the same time as walking over rough terrain is a virtual impossibility. I feel impotent. I am here to film but I cannot. Without a camera I am dead weight so I have to get the camera working – safely. Tripping over rocks and swearing under my breath, I push the camera inside my combat jacket to conceal it. I then switch it on and frantically try to tape up the lights that now seem more powerful than ever. At the same time I have to keep an eye on the man in front of me as it would be easy to wander out of the line and get lost in the desert. Dave comes up behind me and taps me on the shoulder.