by Damien Lewis
‘Too right we will, mate,’ Mat replied. ‘It’s been one big eye-opener working with you, Spooky mate. We’re trained to fight, and all we want is action. The challenge of taking on the enemy. But tell you the truth, calling off them air strikes was one of the toughest things I ever done.’
‘Sure thing, buddy,’ said CIA Bob. ‘We was takin’ on the whole of the US military, the intel boys, the air force, the lot of ’em. Shit, buddy, it went right up to the goddam President. We was tellin’ ol’ George W himself to wind in his warplanes. And we was tellin’ ’em all that they didn’t know jackshit. Kinda awesome, eh, buddy?’
‘Awesome,’ Mat agreed. ‘And tell you another thing, mate, I never knew a dumb Yank could have such a wicked sense of humour. Nearest I got to death on that trip was fookin’ dying laughing at you. Just you keep telling it like it is, buddy. And you make bloody sure you tell all your spooky mates: if they’re ever in any real trouble – real trouble, that is – it’s the SBS they should call for.’
Mat, Sam and the Team 6 lads climbed aboard the Chinook and were given a royal send-off by their American brothers in arms. On arrival back at their Bagram HQ they were welcomed by Major Peter Griffin, the C Squadron OC. As they clambered off the chopper he handed each of the men a cold can of beer. Having just spent some dozen days on operations, Mat and his men were hoping for some well-earned R&R before the next mission. But once the OC had congratulated everyone on the Naka Valley op, he dismissed all the lads – except for Mat and Sam.
‘Mat, Sam, you’ve got to get your kit together, I’m afraid,’ the OC announced. ‘You’re deploying to Mazar to join some of the other lads from C Squadron – to make up a QRF around Mazar. All US forces are heading down to the siege of Kunduz, to the east of Mazar, where there’s several thousand enemy holding out. Not a lot is expected to happen up at Mazar, but we want some people on the ground to lend a hand with the Northern Alliance generals. You’ll be leaving by CH47 this evening. I’ll leave the CSM to brief you on the specifics of the Mazar op. Good luck.’
‘Holy fuck,’ Mat said to Gav Tinker, once the OC was out of earshot. ‘We’ve just come in off a major op in the middle of honkin’ nowhere, and we’re getting turned around again. There’d be nowt as good as a bit of R&R, boss. You know, time to pull the plonker, have a good hot shower and a chance to write home to the missus. Ain’t there no one else who can go?’
‘Sorry, lad, everyone’s out on ops,’ the CSM replied. ‘Anyway, like the OC said, it’s quiet as the grave up at Mazar. Nothing much is likely to kick off, so you’ll have all the time in the world for playin’ with yourself and writing your love letters home. You’ll be deploying as low profile as possible. Again it’s no uniform, only civvies. Don’t go in showing any weapons either. You need to break down your longs and pack them inside your bergens. Likewise with any ammo, pistols and the like. No big stuff either – you’re to leave behind all your LAWs, even your grenade launchers.’
‘Fat fookin’ chance of any action, then,’ said Mat, morosely. ‘Looks like we’re on a punishment op for having put the kibosh on those Naka Valley air strikes.’
‘Yeah, well, you did put a few of our American friends’ noses out of joint,’ said the CSM. ‘But we’re proud of you lads – you did the right thing up there and I don’t reckon it was easy. To tell you the truth, you’re getting the Mazar op in part cos we think you need the down time, and there’s fuck all happening up there. The Northern Alliance have got the whole area pretty much under control. Mazar airport is in allied hands and we’ll soon be getting flights in there. The enemy forces are badly demoralised from all the bombing and they’ve been surrendering by the bucketload. Pretty much safe as houses right now.’
‘Sounds wonderful,’ Mat remarked, unenthusiastically. ‘What’s the weather like? Any chance of getting a good tan?’
‘Well, anyway, ’ave a good one, lads,’ the CSM replied, ignoring Mat’s sarcasm. ‘And behave yourselves up there.’
‘Bloody hell, what are we, mate?’ Mat said to Sam, as they made their way over to the SBS quarters. ‘I mean, what are we? A bunch of bloody UN peacekeepers? Didn’t get a sniff of action in the Naka Valley, did we? Lovely scenery and all that. Great food. Wonderful company. Nice to have saved the place from total devastation, too. But we didn’t exactly get our honkin’ hands dirty, did we? Looks like there’ll be even less chance over at fookin’ Mazar, don’t it, mate?’
‘You never know, bro,’ Sam replied, trying to sound positive. ‘We were supposed to flatten the Naka Valley, an’ ended up kinda savin’ the place. So who knows what might kick off in Mazar.’
Mat wandered off grumpily to have a dump. In the ten days that they’d been away, Bagram had been transformed. It was now very much a functioning airport, with lots of the luxuries of home having been flown in by the US military. As he was enjoying his first crap for many a day in reasonably civilised conditions, Mat glanced up at the metal door of the toilet cubicle. There was a piece of graffiti scrawled in black marker pen right in front of his eyes. The spelling left a bit to be desired, but the words struck him as being particularly ironic after the Naka Valley mission.
Yee, though I walk thru the Valley of the Shadow of Death I shall fear no evil, for I am the meenest motherfucker in the Valley.
Well, that wasn’t quite how things had transpired in the Naka Valley, Mat reflected. As far as he was concerned, the ‘meanest motherfucker’ in the Naka Valley had turned out to be the Afghan village chief. After running rings around Mat the old boy had then disclosed the location of the enemy ammo dumps, so they could blow them. Which was a pretty major result for the mission, in military terms. And in a way it had proved harder not to mallet the place, to choose to call off the air strikes, than it would have been to go ahead as planned and flatten the valley. In an odd sense perhaps the meanest motherfucker in the valley had turned out to be those with balls enough to tell it like it was – and to get the air strikes cancelled. And that had been CIA Bob, Mat and his men.
‘OK, brothers, listen up,’ Ali announced, as he strode across to the trench with Ahmed at his side. ‘We’ve been given our marching orders by Mullah Fadhal. And you’re not going to like it. The enemy have agreed to give all Afghan Taliban safe passage out of here if the foreign Taliban – that’s you and me, brothers – are handed over to General Dostum. Brothers, we’ve been ordered to lay down our arms to those who have massacred our Muslim women and children on the plains and in the mountains of this pure Islamic land. We are being ordered to surrender to the kafir Americans, the cowards who have not beaten us in fair battle, brothers, who have not even been brave enough to meet us man to man on the battlefield, brothers, but have chosen instead to bomb us from the air because they fear us so much. Brothers, we have been told to surrender to them.’
‘No way, brothers!’ Ahmed yelled, from his position beside Ali. ‘No surrender, brothers! We fight to the death.’
‘Al-hamdu Lillah,’ Ali said ‘Brother Ahmed speaks true, brothers. I’m sure the rest of you are with him on this. No surrender to the American dogs or their Northern Alliance whores.’
Some several days earlier, Ali and the surviving brothers had succeeded in escaping from the Northern Alliance forces by swimming down the river. Commander Omer, Sadiq and a dozen more had died on the river bank, and they had lost three more brothers in the freezing river as they had made their escape. So now they were down to less than a dozen of their original number. After the escape, they had travelled through the mountains at night, bypassing Mazar – which had just fallen to the enemy – and heading for Kunduz, the eastern stronghold of the Taliban. With Commander Omer gone, Ali had now taken iron control over the men in his unit.
Upon their arrival in Kunduz, they had been placed in the front-line positions around the city, along with several hundred fellow foreign Taliban. That had been three days ago, and ever since then they had been subjected to fierce US bombing from the air. The besieging US and Afghan forces were now
threatening to bomb Kunduz back to the Dark Ages, unless the defending forces agreed to lay down their weapons. As there were several thousand women and children still trapped in the city, the Taliban leaders had reached a surrender deal with General Dostum’s forces. Under that deal, while the Afghan Taliban were being allowed to go free, the foreign Taliban – including Ali’s unit – were being handed over to General Dostum’s Northern Alliance troops.
‘But if we refuse to surrender, we’ll be going against the mullah’s orders. We cannot go against our brother Taliban and fight them – even thought their wish for glory and death in the battle against the kafir is less than our own. So, brothers,’ Ali continued, lowering his voice as he did so, ‘you remember the glorious battle we fought at Balkh gorge? Where we “surrendered” and the Northern Alliance whores let us keep our weapons, and then we slaughtered them like dogs at dawn? You remember the glory and bravery of the giant Ahmed as he charged through the minefield, the grace of Almighty Allah rendering him invulnerable to the mines?’
Ali paused for a second as he looked around at the assembled men. ‘None of us can ever forget the glorious battle of Balkh, brothers. We all remember the sweet taste of victory. Then let us prepare to do the same again, brothers. We will “surrender” to the kafir dogs, as the mullah has ordered, so we can save the Muslim sisters and the Muslim children. But keep your weapons close, brothers, and hide your grenades, your pistols and your knives in your clothing. And remain alert, brothers. We will await our chance. And when we are close enough to the kafir to attack, we will slaughter them like the infidel dogs they are.’
8
NO SURRENDER
IT WAS THE night of 23 November when Mat and Sam deployed by Chinook to Mazar-e-Sharif, via a short refuelling stopover at a secret US airbase in Uzbekistan. The two men slept the whole of the flight, as the physical and emotional strain of the Naka Valley mission caught up with them. The highlight of the journey was their arrival at Mazar airport, whereupon they were met by an SBS reception party including Mat’s old teammates, Jamie and Tom. The last time they had seen each other was back at Bagram, when Mat had landed the Naka Valley mission and Tom and Jamie had got Mazar. They loaded all their kit into a couple of Land-Rovers and set off on the drive into the city.
‘What’s with the paint job, mate?’ Mat asked Jamie, indicating the Land-Rover’s bright white bodywork. ‘They shipped you out an Arctic vehicle by mistake, or something?’
‘I wish, mate,’ Jamie replied. ‘It’s worse than that. Cos we’re here on an “advisory” role to the Northern Alliance, we’ve been told to make like aid workers. We’re supposed to look like we’re the UN or something.’
‘What, like we’re the UN – despite the fact there’s a great big fuck-off GPMG mounted on the back of the truck?’
‘Yeah, well, it makes no sense to me, either,’ said Jamie. ‘Something about the place crawling with press and them not wanting it known there’s Brit special forces in with the Northern Alliance.’
‘Northern Alliance – sounds like a bloody building society,’ Mat grunted. ‘So what was all that shit in the OC’s briefing about “drawing blood quickly”, if we’re to make like UN aid workers? The UN’re hardly known for kicking arse, are they?’
‘No idea, mate,’ Jamie replied. ‘This op’s been a crock of shite since day one. It’s you guys who’ve been having all the fun, calling in the mother of all air strikes down south so I heard.’
‘Calling in air strikes?’ Mat snorted. ‘Calling off air strikes more like it. Ace quad-bike drivers, us, mate.’
‘How d’you mean, mate?’
‘Tell you all about it sometime,’ Mat said, pulling his woolly hat down over his eyes. ‘I got to get some kip, mate. What’s on the menu tomorrow? Bugger all, I take it?’
‘Watching a bunch of AQT surrender, or some such shite,’ said Jamie. ‘You might just want to spend the whole day snoozing, mate.’
On arrival in Mazar city, the two Land-Rovers made for the SBS’s base at the Old Turkish Schoolhouse (once a working school, until the Taliban shut it down). The three-storey building was the US military’s combined services headquarters for the Mazar region. The top floor housed the Delta Force operators and the CIA, the first floor housed the US 5th Special Operation Forces group (5th SOF) and the Rangers, while the ground floor was for the 10th Mountain troops. The British special forces had an ill-defined place in that hierarchy. Strictly speaking, the SBS lads were co-located with the 5th SOF, as they jointly made up the Quick Reaction Force (QRF) with responsibility for the Mazar region. But they spent most of their time on the top floor of the Old Schoolhouse, where the CIA and Delta boys loved to get a brew on for their British counterparts, swapping stories about what they’d been up to in various obscure corners of the world.
The US special forces community is far larger than that in the UK, and more disparate. There are some 45,000 US active and reserve Special Operation Forces (SOFs) across all the services – comprising some 1.3 per cent of the US military. By contrast, there are less than 2,000 active and reserve SAS, SBS and related units in the UK. In the US military, SOFs are known as Tier 2 Special Forces. The level of training and specialist military skills achieved by the Tier 2 troops puts them on a par with the British Parachute Regiment’s Pathfinder Platoons or the Royal Marine’s Recce Troops. The only US units that rival the SBS and SAS are Delta Force and the SEALs, their Tier 1 Special Forces, who number no more than a few thousand.
By the time that Mat and Sam had reached Mazar, the whole of the US Delta Force contingent was away at the siege of Kunduz. So for that first night they were billeted on the top floor of the Schoolhouse in the deserted Delta Force quarters. It made no difference to Mat and Sam where they spent the night, as they were dog-tired from the Naka Valley op and could sleep just about anywhere. At 10 a.m. the following morning the eight SBS soldiers making up the Mazar mission gathered for a briefing by Captain Lancer, their OC.
‘Welcome, lads, to marvellous Mazar,’ Captain Lancer began, nodding in Mat and Sam’s direction. ‘I hope you got a good night’s sleep, as I guess you must be knackered from your last op – you lucky bastards. I trust you’ll brief us all on the Naka Valley mission later. Now, I’m not going to beat around the bush – this is a dead-end op if ever there was one. You’ve seen the Land-Rovers painted for Arctic conditions? Well, that just about says it all. That being said, we’ve got a job of sorts to do, so we may as well do it to the best of our ability. At its simplest, we’re here to hold General Dostum’s hand, not that he needs it. He’s a tough cookie if ever there was one, with a track record it’s best not to delve into too deeply. Suffice to say he commands the loyalty of all his men, some 30,000 troops and irregulars under arms.
‘Mazar fell to the Northern Alliance forces and US air power a few days back – in fact, just before we got here. So, we’ve spent most of our time getting to know our Afghan hosts and our US military counterparts and doing a bit of hearts-and-minds work. The action’s moved east of here, to Kunduz, which is the second city in Northern Afghanistan. There’s some 6–7,000 enemy forces holed up in Kunduz, and the whole of the US military machine has refocused there – as have the majority of the Northern Alliance. And that’s largely why you’re here. With all of the Delta boys and most of the 5th SOF away at Kunduz, it’s left a vacuum. We’re here to fill it.’
‘Silly question, boss,’ Mat said, ‘but why aren’t we off mixing it with the Delta boys down at Kunduz?’
‘Well, we’d like to be,’ the Captain replied, ruefully. ‘Unfortunately, we were ordered not to go – on the personal intervention of the Prime Minister, so I’m told. Seems he fears Kunduz is going to be a bloodbath. US jets are on standby to flatten the place and wipe out the AQT forces. Trouble is, there’s a whole bunch of women and children holed up in the city. That’s probably the wrong word – it’s more like they’re trapped in the city. Afghanistan is crawling with press – newspapers, TV crews, the lot. And Blair’s
paranoid that British forces are going to end up involved in some terrible human rights abuse and that it’ll be all over the papers.’
‘Makes you wonder what the fuck we are,’ Tom interjected. ‘Special forces, or some fuckin’ public relations wing of Her Majesty’s Government.’
‘Oh what a wonderful war,’ Jamie added, quietly.
‘Anyhow, here at Mazar we make up the Quick Reaction Force (QRF),’ Captain Lancer said. ‘We’re on standby in case any shit goes down, which is unlikely. Then there’s a skeleton crew of 5th SOF, most of whom are admin staff tasked with manning Boxer Base.’
‘Seems pretty much like the party’s goin’ down elsewhere, boss,’ Sam remarked. ‘I take it “Boxer Base” is the code name for this place?’
‘Yes, Boxer Base is the code name for the Schoolhouse, our HQ,’ said the captain. ‘Other than that, I can’t think of much else to brief you on. We, like you, came in low profile – so we have Diemacos and that’s about it – not that I expect we’ll be needing any heavy stuff. That’s the one saving grace about the Land-Rovers. Although they’re supposed to look like aid vehicles, we do at least have a couple of GPMGs bolted on the back of them, just in case we run into any trouble.’
‘So, what d’you want to do with us, boss?’ Mat asked.
‘We’ve made up two QRF teams, one commanded by myself and the other by Sergeant Major Trent. Now you’re here, we’ll put one of you on each of the teams. If nothing else it’ll give you the chance to tell us your war stories from the Naka Valley op. So, Mat, you’ll join my team, along with Jamie and Ruff. And Sam, you’ll join Sergeant Major Trent’s team, along with Tom Knight and Jake the Snake, OK? Your team leaders can brief you up on your individual call signs, comms and other procedures in your own time. Any questions?’
