by Damien Lewis
Suddenly, there were roars of ‘Allahu Akhbar! Allahu Akhbar! Allahu Akhbar!’ coming from the opposite side of the wall. As Mat bobbed up to take a look he all but had his head taken off by a barrage of machine-gun fire that slammed into the masonry all around him.
In the split second before diving down again, Mat caught sight of some thirty enemy fighters sprinting out of the gateway towards the northern end of the fort. They were breaking out – making a charge for General Dostum’s HQ building. If the enemy took this, it would give them a vantage point from which to control the whole of the northern end of the fort. Which would mean that practically all of Qala-i-Janghi would be in their hands. There was no way then that they could be prevented from breaking out. With a combined force of barely a hundred SBS, US 5th SOF and Northern Alliance troops, it would be impossible to encircle the whole fort.
Not only that, but Dostum’s HQ building was the last known location of Dave Tyson. It was from there that his last communication had been received. Mat and the other lads were well aware that it was every jihadist’s dream to be able to kill one of the cursed American, or British, ‘infidels’. If they reached Dostum’s HQ, CIA Dave was as good as dead.
Fired up by that thought, Mat swung his Diemaco up above the battlements and squeezed off a burst on automatic at the figures now charging across the fort compound. As he did so, he felt his SBS mates, and the Afghan fighters to either side of him, doing likewise. Just as he ducked back down again, he saw three of the enemy stumble, and then fall headlong on to the ground. YES! a voice was screaming inside his head with the exhilaration of the kill. Fucking got the bastards!
To the right of him the Afghan fighter he’d just befriended was putting down a whole magazine on to the running figures. But Mat just knew that he was holding the shot for far too long. As he turned to yell out a warning he saw the Afghan fighter’s head jerk backwards and then his body slump to one side, coming to rest at a grotesquely twisted angle at the base of the battlements. Mat could see that he had taken a round through the forehead, and was already stone-cold dead. A second later, another of the Afghan fighters was writhing in agony on the roof of the fort, as a bullet had smashed through his right shoulder.
Holy fuck, Mat thought to himself, two of the Afghans down and only six to go. If we keep losing blokes at this rate, then we’re fucking finished.
Crabbing his way across to the injured Afghan soldier, Mat grabbed an emergency dressing from one of his pouches and stuffed it as hard as he could into the gaping shoulder wound. Then he and Jamie together started dragging the fallen fighter back into the cover of the battlements.
‘They’re fucking breaking out,’ Jamie yelled in Mat’s ear. ‘Dostum’s HQ. We got to stop ’em. We’re fucking dead if we don’t, mate.’
‘Yeah, but with fookin’ what?’ Mat yelled back.
‘Wait one, I got me an idea.’
As soon as they had dumped the wounded Afghan soldier in the cover of the battlements, Jamie went crawling as fast as he could across the roof to Captain Lancer.
‘Boss, the fuckers are breakin’ out and we need some fucking firepower,’ Jamie yelled into the Captain’s ear. ‘There’s two GPMGs down on the trucks. I’m going to see if I can get ’em.’
‘Fine. Do it,’ the Captain yelled back. ‘But hurry. They’re going to make another run for it any time now.’
‘Let’s take as many of the fuckers with us as we can, eh, boss?’ a grinning Jamie said. ‘Cos we ain’t fucking getting out of this one alive.’
‘We are if I can help it,’ Captain Lancer replied. ‘Fuck it, I’m coming with you.’
Dodging the enemy bullets as they ran, Jamie and the SBS Captain scurried back across the fort roof and dived down the stairway. The two men charged down to the base of the tower and out into the open, whereupon Jamie vaulted into the back of the nearest Land-Rover. A second later, he had his trusty Leatherman in his hand and had started working on the mounting that held the GPMG bolted on to the truck, Captain Lancer lending a hand.
As they were feverishly working on the gun, the Captain caught sight of Sergeant Major Trent and Tom Knight hurrying down the tower stairway towards him. They had a bunch of the US 5th SOF soldiers in tow, including the CO, Major Martin.
‘Boss,’ Sergeant Major Trent yelled over, ‘you got a second?’
‘Tell me,’ Captain Lancer yelled back, as he jumped down from the vehicle and strode across to them.
‘OK, we’ve got a couple hundred enemy down in the southern half of the fort,’ the Sergeant Major began. ‘They’re holed up in a large pink building, the stables for Dostum’s cavalry, under which there’s a bunker network. There’s a dozen NA soldiers up with us on the tower, plus the ten 5th SOF boys, so we’re not doing too badly. But there’s a shedload of incoming and we got our hands full. Couple of the Afghans have been hit already.’
‘Same story our side. Tell me something I don’t know,’ the Captain replied.
‘OK, buddy, like we gotta get us a rescue team together,’ Major Martin cut in. ‘And mighty quick, too, cos our boys’re in there somewhere –’
‘I know that, Major,’ Captain Lancer interrupted. ‘So what d’you need?’
‘Well, we got myself and one of the CIA officers, plus there’s Sam, who’s volunteerin’ his services to rescue a fellow American –’
‘And they need a fuckin’ medic, boss,’ Tom cut in. ‘Stands to reason, cos either one of them CIA blokes could be injured bad in there, and as I’m the only fuckin’ medic around –’
‘Fine,’ said Captain Lancer. ‘What’s the rescue plan?’
‘Figure we gotta head for Dostum’s HQ building,’ Major Martin replied. ‘That’s the last known location of CIA Dave, so it’s all we got to go on. If we can link up with him, maybe he can lead us to Mike Spann.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ said Captain Lancer. ‘Have you got comms with CIA Dave?’
‘Right now we got nothing,’ said Major Martin. ‘’Bout an hour ago CIA Dave placed a call on a satphone. Said he was in Dostum’s HQ, and all hell was breakin’ loose. No one’s been able to raise him since. Either his battery’s dead, or the satphone’s gone down.’
‘Well, good luck then,’ Captain Lancer said. ‘We’ll give you all the supporting fire we can.’
‘You’re welcome to it, lads,’ Sergeant Major Trent added. ‘Lucky madness trip that you’re on and all.’
‘We got us some air cover comin’ over pretty fast, now,’ said Major Martin, addressing his remark to the SBS Captain.
‘Air strikes wouldn’t go amiss, Major,’ Captain Lancer replied. ‘So who’s doing the FAC?’
‘We are, boss,’ Sergeant Major Trent cut in. ‘Seems the 5th SOF boys haven’t got all their comms kit with them.’
‘Fine,’ said the SBS Captain. ‘You familiar with the US FAC procedure?’
‘No problem, boss,’ the Sergeant Major replied. ‘One thing though – the Americans want us to put up friendly coordinates to their pilots.’
‘We don’t put up friendly coordinates,’ Captain Lancer said, turning to face the 5th SOF CO. ‘It’s against our SOPs.’
‘’Fraid that’s the way it’s gotta be,’ the Major replied. ‘Our fly boys won’t put down any ordnance unless y’do.’
‘We don’t put up friendly coordinates because it’s an invitation to the pilot to drop his bombs on us,’ Captain Lancer said, acidly.
‘They gotta have ’em or they won’t do no air strikes,’ Major Martin countered. ‘An’ you guys gotta do the FAC as you got the full kit and caboodle. Way I see it, ain’t no way around it.’
‘All right, Sergeant, put up the friendly coordinates,’ the SBS Captain conceded. ‘But relocate your FAC team to my side of the tower.’
‘No problem, boss,’ Sergeant Major Trent replied.
Just then there was an ecstatic yell from one of the Land-Rovers. ‘GOT THE FUCKER!’ It was Jamie and he was holding the GPMG aloft in his hands. ‘Got the fucke
r!’
‘Right, let’s get the other,’ Captain Lancer yelled back at him, ‘and all the ammo we can carry.’
The one advantage of the GPMGs having been vehicle-mounted was that there was an almost unlimited supply of ammunition stacked up in the rear of the two Land-Rovers. Quick as they could, Jamie and Captain Lancer carried the two heavy machine guns and a couple of crates of ammo up on to the roof of the tower. But just as they were about to go back for some more ammo, frenzied cries of ‘Allahu Akhbar!’ went up from the far side of the wall. A second group of enemy fighters had broken cover and were charging towards the northern end of the fort.
Within seconds, Ruff Pouncer had grabbed one of the GPMGs and was standing braced at the battlements, the heavy weapon steadied against his thigh as he poured down fire on to the enemy. As the rounds tore into them half a dozen AQT fighters stumbled and fell. But at the same time Ruff was targeted by the enemy. In a split second he was faced with a wall of flying lead, the battlements being torn apart all around him. As Ruff dived back behind cover, Jamie was up on his feet, unleashing a further barrage of fire from the hip with the second GPMG. The hail of bullets tore into the running figures, and as it did so the enemy charge slowed, faltered and came to a stop. The survivors turned and went staggering back the way they had come. Jamie in turn dived for cover now, as the enemy fire tore into the section of wall where he’d just been standing.
‘Fuck this for a game of soldiers,’ Jamie yelled, as he lay prone on the roof cradling the still-smoking GPMG, the rounds slamming into the wall just behind him.
Jamie knew that the barrage of fire that he and Ruff were laying down was all that was stopping the enemy from breaking out en masse. If either of them got hit, or if one of the guns jammed, then the SBS soldiers were likely to get overrun. And Jamie and Ruff reckoned it was only so long before one or other of them would take a bullet. Either that, or the enemy rounds would start penetrating the mud-brick walls of the battlements, at which time it’d be pretty much game over for the small force holding out on the tower roof. The enemy were hiding in the mud-walled buildings at the base of the wall, and behind the Toyota pickups parked in the entranceway. If only they’d brought their 40mm grenade launchers with them, Jamie found himself thinking. If they had, they’d have been able to decimate the enemy with a few well-placed rounds.
Taking his GPMG with him, Jamie belly-crawled the short distance across the roof to Ruff.
‘We got to mallet those fuckers in the gateway, mate,’ Jamie yelled into Ruff’s ear. ‘Right now, they got us banged to rights. We need grenade launchers, LAWs, the whole how’s your father, and we ain’t got none.’
‘’Old on, I got me a fuckin’ idea, mate,’ Ruff yelled back, after a moment’s silence. ‘Use the fuckin’ Gimpys to mallet the fuckin’ pickups. Get the fuckin’ fuel tanks to blow – one load of fried fuckin’ ragheads coming right up.’
‘Nice one, mate,’ Jamie replied, with a grin. ‘Now why the fuck didn’t I think of that?’
Using hand signals, Jamie and Ruff indicated to Mat and Captain Lancer what they were about to do – and that the two of them, plus the Afghan fighters, should put down covering fire. Then they scuttled off to fetch a couple more crates of ammo for the GPMGs. Finally, they were ready.
‘Right. Fuckin’ on me – LET’S FUCKIN’ GO!’ Ruff yelled.
Simultaneously, the two men heaved the GPMGs over the battlements and opened fire, while Mat, Captain Lancer and the Afghan fighters started taking short, aimed bursts at the enemy positions. For three, four, five seconds, Jamie and Ruff poured fire into the three pickups parked up at the gateway, the heavy rounds from the GPMGs chewing into the vehicles. Suddenly, there was an almighty explosion, and one of the trucks burst into a ball of orange flame. As debris from the fireball flew into the air, there were two further detonations in quick succession. In a split second all three vehicles had been turned into a massive, blazing inferno. A thick mushroom cloud of oily black smoke rose above the twisted wreckage at the gateway, and for the first time since the battle had begun the enemy guns there had fallen silent.
Scattered around the burning vehicles were the blackened corpses of a dozen enemy soldiers, lying where they’d fallen. But many of the fighters at the gateway must have remained untouched by the blazing inferno. Barely thirty seconds after the vehicles had exploded, a series of RPGs streaked out of the gateway and flew the three hundred yards across the fort compound, where they slammed into Dostum’s HQ. They were followed by a barrage of machine-gun fire, as the enemy poured rounds on to the building. Within seconds, the fighting had resumed with renewed vigour, and a savage amount of firepower was unleashed across the fort. Rounds were going off everywhere and RPGs were repeatedly firing off. It looked as if the enemy remained intent on seizing the fort HQ.
Out of the corner of his eye, Mat caught a movement down below him and off to his left. As he looked over, he caught the movement again and spotted a figure with an AK47 slung over his back, attempting to scale their position. The enemy fighter was some sixty feet away, where the tower met the fort dividing wall. He was already three-quarters of the way up a wooden ladder and climbing fast. In the shadowed crook of the corner of the two walls he had been all but invisible. It was only the flash of the fighter’s movement, and some sort of indefinable sixth sense, that had alerted Mat to his presence. Below him, there was now a second figure clambering up the ladder. A third followed. All had the same, fanatical look on their faces. Mat had no doubt that if they broke into the SBS positions they’d wipe out the British and US forces, or die in the process.
The angle was so oblique to the tower wall that Mat could get a bead on the enemy fighter while still remaining in the cover of the battlements. Carefully, he took aim with his Diemaco, the magnification sight bringing the enemy into sharp focus. They looked like Chechens, these fighters, as they had the telltale Mongoloid features, and wild hair unrestrained by the black Talib turbans. As the lead figure got to the top of the ladder and reached for the battlements above, Mat squeezed his trigger gently. He watched as the forehead of the enemy fighter caved in before his very eyes. The fighter threw back his arms and in slow motion tumbled from the ladder, landing with an inaudible thud on the ground below. Without needing to waste a second round, Mat dropped his weapon to the figure below and drilled a bullet into his brain, and then on to the next one.
It was the first time that Mat had ever definitely killed. Sure, he’d called in air strikes on enemy positions before, which would have accounted for scores of enemy dead. And in previous conflicts he’d exchanged fire with enemy soldiers. But he’d never shot someone at such close range, never watched himself end the life of a fellow human being so closely. Mat had been able to make out the features of these men, the lines on their faces, the hatred in their eyes. These were fanatical fighters, of that he had no doubt. They’d seen a lot of war. And they’d had their hearts set on killing Mat and the other lads, or being killed themselves. Now their fighting days were over, and Mat felt glad that it was so. In quick succession he put half a dozen rounds into the ladder’s wooden uprights, whereupon it collapsed, toppling over on to the floor of the fort.
‘Boss,’ Mat yelled across to Captain Lancer, pointing out the fallen enemy fighters. As the Captain couldn’t hear him, Mat crawled across to have a word in his ear. ‘Boss, down there! They’re trying to scale the fookin’ tower. Get in among us.’
‘Good shooting,’ Captain Lancer yelled back at him, as he spotted the dead fighters lying at the base of the tower. ‘Need eyes in the back of your head!’
‘Boss, there’s hundreds of them and only a handful of us. And we’ve no idea where the fookers are. I got lucky with them bastards. But at this rate we’re going to get overrun. Where the fuck’re those air strikes, boss? Without air power, we’re fookin’ finished.’
‘Any moment now,’ the Captain said. ‘Just keep your eyes open. Keep the enemy pinned down in the fort.’
As Capta
in Lancer’s fire team were trying to stop the enemy from breaking out of the fort, US 5th SOF Major Martin was getting the rescue mission underway. The 5th SOF forces had been stationed at Mazar far longer than the SBS soldiers, and the Major had visited the fort before, which was one of the main reasons he’d decided to lead the rescue mission. Of all the special forces soldiers, the Major figured that he had the best chance of navigating his way through the fort. His rescue team consisted of himself and CIA Steve, together with Sam and Tom, plus a dozen Northern Alliance soldiers. These Afghan fighters had served with General Dostum for many years, and they knew the layout of the fort well. It was their job to help guide the British and American soldiers to their objective: the two missing CIA agents.
The Major’s plan was to advance some three hundred yards along the outside of the fort wall to the point where it met the north-eastern tower. Then they would climb over and advance through the fort’s interior to the General’s HQ building. The plan’s biggest weakness was that on that last leg they would be totally exposed to enemy fire. But the only way the Major knew into the building was through a small entranceway on the inside of the fort – the very place that the charging enemy fighters were now trying to get to. This put the rescue party and their enemy on a direct collision course. None of the men had any illusions as to how dangerous, if not suicidal, their mission was. But the US military’s esprit de corps has it that no man should be left behind. And so CIA Dave and Mike Spann had to be located and rescued, or if they were dead, their bodies recovered.
Creeping out of the fort entranceway the four special forces soldiers turned and headed north, keeping as close to the cover of the fort wall as possible. Moving stealthily and favouring the shadows, they aimed to advance as far as they could without being spotted. But the rescue team hadn’t covered more than half the distance to the north-eastern tower when, suddenly, there was the scream of an incoming mortar round. Tom, Sam, CIA Steve and Major Martin threw themselves flat on the deck, as the shell went crashing into the earth some eighty yards behind them. Within seconds, there was the whoosh–crump! of further incoming mortars as the enemy began to zero in on their position. The rescue team had been spotted, and if they stayed where they were the enemy would soon be dropping mortars right on top of them.
