Bloody Heroes

by Damien Lewis

  ‘What the fuck did he do that for?’ Mat said, incredulously. ‘First any of us have heard he had trouble back home, and we’re his bloody mates.’

  ‘Well, you know that old joke, don’t you, mate?’ Geoff replied, with an evil grin. ‘You know – the one about the Canadian chicken farmer?’

  ‘Never heard of it – and what the fuck’s it got to do with Mucker, anyways?’

  ‘Well, there’s this chicken farm in Canada. One day the chickens start producing these huge, one-pound eggs. Now they’re the biggest fucking eggs in the world a chicken’s ever produced and the Canadian egg marketing board won’t sell them, cos they don’t meet with their strict rules. You know, size, how many they pack to a box, that sort of thing. So the guy who runs the chicken farm is going spare. Anyhow, he calls in this expert on chickens to try to sort it out. This expert can speak chicken language, so he goes in and starts speaking to the hens. “Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck,” he goes. Sure enough the chickens reply, and so the chicken expert tells the farmer: “Well, the chickens aren’t much help – they say it’s a secret. I’m gonna have to go talk to the rooster.”’

  ‘Yeah, all right, bloody ha ha,’ Mat interrupted. ‘Just tell us what the bloody score is with Mucker.’

  ‘I haven’t finished yet,’ Geoff retorted. He was relishing the fact that he was dragging out the joke and keeping Mat and the rest of them on tenterhooks as he did so. ‘So – “Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, squawk,” goes the chicken expert as he talks to the rooster. And sure enough the rooster replies to him. The chicken expert shakes his head, smiles then turns to the chicken farmer. “Think I may have found your problem,” he says. “The rooster just told me: ‘I dunno why the hens are producing one-pound eggs,’ he said, ‘but can you help me find that fuckin’ ostrich that’s been shagging my hens?’”’

  ‘Yeah, cracking joke, mate,’ Mat snorted. ‘Nowt funnier. Mucker’s gettin’ sent back home cos he told a joke about chickens to his missus on his bloody mobile, is that it?’

  ‘Don’t you get it?’ Geoff shot back at him. ‘Mucker’s missus has started fucking with some local ostrich back home so he wants to go and pan the guy’s head in, doesn’t he? So he calls up his missus on his mobile threatening to go and do the guy in. Doesn’t see that it’s his missus who’s got hooked on shagging the local playboy that’s the problem, and that he ought to dump her.’

  ‘Holy fuck, Mucker’s got problems with her indoors?’ Mat said. ‘I never knew nowt about it. How the hell did you get all the sordid details, anyway?’

  ‘Well, Mucker was just hauled before the OC, wasn’t he? Straight away he knows that he’s been rumbled, so he tells the OC everything, I guess to try to stop himself being RTU’d. Just blurts it all out. A couple of the lads overheard it. But you know the score – it doesn’t matter a fuck to the OC what’s going on back at home. Ever known an officer make allowances for that sort of thing?’

  ‘Domestics? They don’t give a shit,’ Mat said. ‘So what’s the bottom line, mate – what’s happenin’ to Mucker?’

  ‘Well, they’re paranoid about opsec and I reckon he’s on his way out of here. Which’ll leave you guys one man short. Fucks your team right up. Bit of a bummer, what with a shitload of juicy ops just about to be allocated.’

  ‘Thanks for all the sympathy, mate,’ Mat retorted. ‘Bloody arseholes. Mucker! What a dumb time to pull a stunt like that.’

  Sure enough that evening Mucker was put on a C-130 flight back to the UK. He’d escaped being RTU’d (returned to unit – in effect being kicked out of the SBS and returned to his parent unit, the Royal Marines) only by the skin of his teeth, on compassionate grounds. But with Mucker gone that left Mat’s fire team down to three men – at the very moment when they were hoping to get deployed on active missions. Not only that, but Mucker was one of their team’s forward air control (FAC) specialists, and Mat had a strong suspicion that calling in air strikes was going to make up the lion’s share of how they would fight this war. Mat went to sleep that night cursing Mucker’s stupidity. He feared that it might just end up costing the rest of them a happy war.

  The following morning C Squadron were called together for their second briefing. This time, the atmosphere in the giant hangar was completely different and very businesslike. One corner of the cavernous building had been turned into the SBS’s briefing area. It was covered in maps of Afghanistan with coloured pins stuck in them and noticeboards full of high-resolution satellite photos showing specific target areas. As Mat filed into the hangar he could see the US special forces teams setting up their multigyms and plasma TV screens over on their side. If only the British forces had the same sort of resources as the Yanks, he thought to himself, ruefully.

  As Mat waited for the briefing to begin, he knew that he ought to be feeling some degree of sympathy for Mucker, as it must have been a bloody awful situation to find himself in, stuck out in the Stan with his wife getting it on with some local boy back at home. But even so, it was the dumbest of ways to have reacted – to have called home on his bloody mobile phone. It was just the sort of thing that he should have expected from the Hobbit. As the OC of C Squadron, Major Peter Griffin, stood up to address the men, Mat feared that his fire team was going to be the one left out of the action. Thanks to Mucker and his stupidity they were down to three men, which meant that they were no longer an operational unit in the eyes of the SBS commanders.

  ‘R-r-right, we’ve finally got some m-mission taskings, and some j-juicy ones they are too,’ Major Griffin began. The major was known as ‘Grizzly’ to his men, because he talked with an unfortunate ‘grrrrr’-like stutter. ‘So l-l-listen up, l-l-lads. First half a dozen of you will be deploying north to Mazar-e-Sharif, transiting via Uzbekistan. As you all know Mazar is in this region.’ The OC indicated an area on one of the maps close to the north-western border of Afghanistan. ‘This is where US air power is giving the enemy a right good pounding, so you’ll be in the h-heart of the action. Fire Team 4, you’ll be h-heading up that way shortly. Now, Mat, because you’re down to three men, we’re splitting up your team: Tom and Jamie, you will accompany Fire Team 4 to Mazar. The six of you will d-deploy via the US special forces base in Uzbekistan – low p-profile, in civvies, not showing any w-weapons. On arrival at Mazar you’re to co-locate with US special forces and get stuck in. As you all know, our arrival here didn’t exactly go down a bundle w-with the Afghans. So, w-we now need to show them that we have teeth.’

  The OC paused for a second to let his words sink in. ‘R-right, mission two: a s-similar sized unit will be d-deploying south of Shah-i-Khot, here, to the Naka Valley. You’ll be co-locating with US special forces as part of their Task Force 11 – otherwise known as “Task Force Dagger”. You’ve all heard what Task Force Dagger are up to, and it’s s-some pretty s-serious s-stuff. They’re joint units of Delta Force and the CIA, and they’re going after some of al-Qaeda’s top people. The CSM will give you a m-mission specific briefing, but suffice to say intel has identified what must be the biggest terrorist training facility ever in the Naka Valley. US air intends to obliterate the place. Mat, you’ll be heading up there, along with our SEAL guest, Sam Brown, and the guys from Fire Team 6. You’re to go in and get eyes on the target and guide in the air strikes. This is one of the biggest hits of the war so far, so I don’t need to impress upon you the importance of your m-mission. You’re going into the lion’s den, and I have every confidence you’ll be up to the job.’

  Major Griffin then went on to outline the other operations allocated to the remaining men of C Squadron. But as far as Mat was concerned none of them sounded anything like as dramatic or dangerous as theirs – the Naka Valley mission.

  ‘Now, if there are no questions,’ the OC said, as he rounded of the briefing, ‘you’ll break down into your units and the task-specific briefings w-will begin. Of one thing I want you to be absolutely certain: you are going in there as the vanguard of UK armed forces, and I want you to draw blood quickly.’r />
  ‘Just one question, boss,’ Mat piped up. ‘Who’s the team leader on our op – the Naka Valley?’

  ‘You are, Mat. You are to head up your six-man team, and then w-work very closely with your US counterparts.’

  ‘Sure thing, boss.’

  ‘Any more questions?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve got one, boss,’ Tom said, barely able to disguise his frustration. ‘What exactly are we tasked with up around Mazar? Sounds like we’re going to be a talking shop and not much else.’

  ‘You’re chiefly on an advisory role,’ the major replied. ‘The main w-warlord up there is one General Dostum, a key ally in our war effort. Your r-role is to get close to him and act as his eyes and ears on the ground. The General’s land f-forces are well-equipped and capable f-fighters – but tactically, they’re lacking in knowledge and experience of how to engage the AQT f-forces dug in around Mazar. Your r-role is to help them work all of that through – and coordinate all of that with allied air strikes.’

  ‘So, basically it’s a non-combat mission, like?’

  ‘Yes. But make no mistake, it’s no less important because of that.’

  ‘So just how exactly are we supposed to “draw blood quickly”, if we’re on a non-combat mission?’

  ‘You’re s-supposed to enable the Northern Alliance f-forces better to draw blood, that’s how. Now, if there’s no more q-questions, we’ll break down into individual unit briefings. And, gentlemen, good luck. I want to wish you every s-success with your missions.’

  ‘F-f-fucking d-d-deploying in c-c-civvies on a n-n-non-c-c-combat m-m-mission,’ Tom said, once the briefing was over. ‘Ain’t exactly w-w-what I c-c-came out t-t-to the f-f-fuckin’ S-S-Stan f-f-for.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Jamie responded, morosely. ‘Sounds like we’ll be up there miles back from the front line holding the General’s hand. “Draw blood quickly” – what a load of bollocks that is.’

  As Jamie, Tom and the Team 4 lads tasked with the Mazar deployment bitched among themselves, the rest of the SBS troops broke down into their operational units. Mat, Sam Brown and the others slated for the Naka Valley mission went into their own little huddle in one corner of the hangar.

  ‘Holy fuck, mate, look what we’ve just landed,’ Mat said to Sam, as they settled down to listen to the CSM. ‘Looks like we’re going into the heart of the action. Christmas has come early this year, eh, mate?’

  ‘Just awesome, bro, awesome,’ Sam replied, in his laconic East Coast drawl. Sam was a US SEAL – the nearest US equivalent to the SBS. He was on a two-year secondment to the SBS. ‘Like the man there said, bro, looks like we’ll be headin’ right into the lion’s den.’

  On the one hand, Mat was disappointed to be splitting from Jamie and Tom. But on the other, he was chuffed to be teaming up with Sam, an operator for whom he had masses of respect. In his early thirties, Sam had sandy hair and thin, chiselled features. He had been based with the SBS for the best part of eighteen months. He was a combat veteran, having proven himself in the Balkans conflict when deployed there with US forces. Mat had heard the rumours that had done the rounds of the SBS – that Sam Brown came from a seriously rich landowning family. But the American was a man of few words and he certainly never bragged about being mega-wealthy. When he’d moved over from the States to Poole, all Sam had brought with him were his two favourite things in life: his wife, and his Harley-Davidson.

  During his time with the SBS Sam had earned a reputation of being a genuinely decent guy who would do anything for his buddies. He held strong Christian beliefs, but he didn’t talk about them that much. He was far from being the archetypal American soldier, and had quickly cottoned on to the unique sense of humour common to Britain’s special forces. Quiet he might’ve been, but Sam had rapidly acquired a proficiency in sarcasm and piss-taking, which meant that he could hold his own with even the sharpest-tongued guys in the SBS. In short, he was considered by the men of C Squadron – Mat included – to be very much one of the boys.

  Mat and Sam had hit it off immediately when they’d met back in Poole. They’d been on several training exercises together, and Mat had been impressed by Sam’s combat abilities. The two men shared a maverick outlook on soldiering: they’d try anything once if it might just offer them an advantage over the enemy. Sam called all his fellow special forces soldiers ‘bro’. But for those that he really warmed to he reserved the ultimate term of affection – which was ‘bitch’. On several occasions Sam had introduced Mat to some of the other American soldiers based in the UK with: ‘So, this here Brit’s called Mat … He’s ma bitch.’

  Sam was especially keen to get blooded in Afghanistan. He felt the 9/11 attacks had been an assault on America, on his own way of life and beliefs. Sam knew from experience that the SBS were the elite of the elite – as good as any special forces that they had in the US. He loved their way of doing things – their can-do attitude that was second to none. Too often US special forces seemed wedded to technology and their logistical support. The emphasis in the SBS was on operating independently wherever and whenever required, on using physical strength, stamina and ingenuity to get the job done. Sam felt honoured to be in Afghanistan with the SBS. With them he felt sure that he’d be at the heart of the action.

  CSM Gav Tinker came over to brief Mat, Sam and the Team 6 lads on the Naka Valley mission. ‘OK, as you know you’re co-locating with Task Force Dagger. What that means is you’ll be teaming up with their people and using US vehicles, air and intelligence assets, and working very closely with their commanders. Sam, you’re going cos you’re an American and you understand the way the US military thinks. Mat, you’re lucky to be on this op and you can largely thank Sam for that. Seems he asked that you go with him, and the Americans are happy to have you cos of your photography skills. You’re going to have a CIA bloke joining you – probably at a safe house somewhere en route. We’re still working on the detail. He’ll be gathering intel and reporting back what you find. Your photos, Mat, are going to play a big part in those intel briefs. As for the rest of you, this is your lucky day. You’ve been chosen cos you’re good operators, and you’re basically a protection force for that CIA dude. Make sure you bring him back alive.

  ‘You’ll be deploying at first light tomorrow morning by Chinook,’ the CSM continued. ‘As much as possible we want you to deploy in civvies. No green army kit where you can avoid it. You’ll be operating at altitudes of 12,000 feet plus. At that height it’ll be twenty degrees below, maybe more. If there’s a wind blowing it’ll be more like sixty below – cold enough to freeze your bollocks off. Plus it’s winter right now, so the weather’s unusually dry and cold. You’ll need to take your full allotment of alpine equipment from stores. Take enough food and water for a week-long deployment. And remember you’re going to need to carry all this kit, plus weapons and ammo, on your backs. Don’t ask me how you’re going to manage it, cos buggered if I know. Work it out for yourselves. Don’t underestimate your enemy: there’s some five hundred hard-core al-Qaeda and Taliban in that valley, according to our intel. They’re carrying out early-morning combat and PT-type exercises in the afternoon. The USAF is preparing for the largest bombardment of the war, and the Naka Valley is going to be obliterated. Is everyone clear?’

  ‘Sure thing, boss,’ Sam replied.

  ‘Yeah – clear as mud, mate,’ Mat added, sarcastically. ‘Don’t s’pose you’ve got a few packhorses you could lend us? No chance you’ll be volunteering to come with us, then?’

  ‘I would if I could, lad,’ the CSM said. ‘These old bones could still out-climb and out-fight you, any day of the week. Trouble is, I’m needed back ’ere to help steer the ship. So, you’ll just have to manage without me. It’s a tough one, this Naka Valley op, but it’s a beauty of a mission if ever there was one.’

  ‘Any idea who’s in there, then?’ Mat asked. ‘Any of our Most Wanted, like?’

  ‘There’s a good possibility any one of ’em could be. There’s been no specific name
s mentioned, but even Mullah Omer or bin Laden’s possible. Back when I was your age, lad, I’d have given me eyeteeth to be on this mission. So don’t go letting us down, will you, lads?’

  After the CSM’s briefing, there followed one from the Green Slime presenting all the intelligence they had on the Naka Valley. Then, an Aussie NCO came over to give a final briefing. He’d recently joined the SBS and was an expert in escape and evasion (E&E) procedures. He proceeded to rip Mat, Sam and the Team 6 lads to shreds on their E&E procedures, repeatedly going over the emergency rendezvous (ERV) measures to be used if the mission got compromised. Mat was scribbling madly in his notebook as the Aussie NCO spoke, but with the full knowledge that he’d have to destroy all the notes he was making before he left the briefing.

  SBS standard operating procedures meant that no one was allowed to take anything away from a briefing that might compromise them if it fell into enemy hands. All written details of a mission, even pencil marks on maps, were strictly forbidden on an active combat mission. They weren’t even supposed to fold their maps in a way that might emphasise any specific areas. So all details of the mission, intelligence, communications and E&E briefings had to be committed to memory. That was why the men would run through the briefings over and over and over again, until they had everything fixed in their minds.

  ‘As usual, we’ll work out our special codes – in case we’re under duress or captured,’ the Aussie NCO said. ‘If you slip that code into your oral comms we’ll know you’re in trouble, right? If you quote the emergency code at any stage, air cover will know that you blokes’re fucked. That’s your last resort if it’s all going to rat shit and you need to let us know. Remember: the codes. Only use them if you’re captured or on your own and heading for the ERV.’

  ‘Got it,’ Mat, Sam and the Team 6 lads replied.