Apache

by Ed Macy

  Fifteen minutes later, the Boss told Lashkar Gah we had everything.

  * * *

  Unsurprisingly, after Billy had awarded Trigger his DFC (Distinguished Flying Cross) via text, the graveyard humour ran riot on the flight back.

  As we passed Garmsir, the Boss said he’d check in with the incumbent JTAC to check all was still quiet with them. It was the opportunity I’d been waiting for all night. I jumped in before he could make the call.

  ‘Ugly Five Zero, Five One. I had a message passed into the cockpit during the upload. The JTAC in Garmsir has switched to the alternate frequency due to atmospheric interference on primary.’

  ‘Copied. What’s the frequency?’

  ‘Don’t know. I can’t find my comms card. Sorry.’

  Cue the Boss flicking through his Black Brain to the frequencies page. And there it was. Do you suffer from erectile dysfunction? Put the pleasure back in your life with a little blue pill … Below the headline there was a photo of a good-looking middle-aged man staring disconsolately into his Y-fronts. Geordie had torn the Viagra advert out of a magazine.

  ‘Very funny, Elton.’

  I couldn’t believe it had taken the whole night for Trigger to look up a radio frequency.

  Rocco hadn’t been seen for three weeks and we were worried that he’d been taken prisoner. The conspiracy theory had it that the Boss had hidden him because he was so alarmed by the stunt during General Dannatt’s visit, but nobody could prove it. Two days before Glacier 1 was launched, Geordie and Darwin came up with a plan to smoke Rocco out. We’d Rocco Trigger relentlessly by other means until he had the Italian Stallion released.

  We had a strong cup of coffee back at the JHF, courtesy of Billy, who’d lost Apache Triv on an excellent HIDAS question from Carl. Then it was into the debrief. The Ops Officer had crunched a few stats during our second sortie.

  ‘Well, Mr Macy, aren’t we Flash Harry this morning. Not only was that the fastest pair of Hellfires ever fired by the British Army, it’s also the first time we’ve had two in the air from one Apache at the same time in combat.’

  I was so consumed by the mission, I’d had no idea.

  ‘As for you, Boss, Kev Blundell tells me you’ve passed your £1 million of Hellfire marker. And for all of you: that’s the most Hellfires ever fired in one mission. But I imagine you don’t need me to tell you that.’

  We debated the one aspect of the mission that had puzzled us all – the identity of ‘Higher’. Maverick Zero Bravo was a new callsign on all the pilots, as well as everyone in the JHF.

  ‘I tried to look it up,’ the Ops Officer said. ‘It’s not in any of the battlegroup’s orders and it’s not on the Air Plan. It’s not Colonel Magowan; you spoke to his JTAC. And it wasn’t Brigade either; they were Widow Seven Zero. I can’t find any reference to Maverick Zero Bravo anywhere.’

  We asked discreetly around over the next few days. Nobody in Camp Bastion had heard of the callsign either. We even checked the list of all registered callsigns in theatre and couldn’t find it there either. Maverick Zero Bravo didn’t seem to exist. And yet from somewhere outside Afghanistan, he had access to excellent live optics and intelligence as well as our highly secure net. And he’d been given the authority – presumably by the brigadier – to order instant strikes. That sort of power wasn’t handed over lightly.

  There was only one explanation. Whether Maverick was in Vauxhall Cross or Langley, Virginia, there was no real clue. ‘Good arrows’ was an American military phrase, but our JTACs controlled US pilots and picked up their lingo too.

  We had already been led to believe that the Koshtay complex’s initial discovery had been made by the spooks. We couldn’t hold it against them if they wanted a ringside seat at its destruction.

  The full Battle Damage Assessment for Operation Glacier 1 arrived from Lashkar Gah forty-eight hours later. We knew it had been a good night, but it was even better than anyone could have hoped.

  The strike was estimated to have killed between eighty and 130, double the initial projection. The figure was not more precise because nobody knew how many Taliban were asleep inside the barracks when they got frazzled. Three of their senior commanders were among the dead, including a big fish by the name of Mullah Fahir Mohammed. Intercepts from across the Pakistan border in Quetta revealed urgent discussions had begun about the need to restructure their southern command. They were shitting themselves, and they didn’t know where or how hard we’d hit them next. Which was exactly what we wanted.

  The BDA also revealed that the complex had housed a jail. Thirteen Afghan prisoners may have died inside it. It was rumoured that the jail had been known about all along and that was the reason it required a Whitehall signature. Sometimes that’s the way it goes with strategic targeting. I’m glad I didn’t know that beforehand.

  A brief press release went out to the British media celebrating our brave troops’ ‘capture’ of ‘a Taliban regional headquarters’. It sounded better than saying we had stonked 100 new recruits into blazing oblivion along with their commanders without putting so much as one marine’s boot into the place.

  I was pleased to have played my part in stopping the influx of new fighters with the Corps’ first Deep Raid, but the fate of the thirteen prisoners left me empty, and I wasn’t in the mood to celebrate much after that.

  Meanwhile, the harsh realities of life on the ground in Helmand continued.

  Two days after the Koshtay raid, another twenty-one-year-old marine from 42 Commando was killed during close-quarter fighting in an enemy compound near the Kajaki Dam. Darwin and Charlotte had been out supporting the clearance patrol. I was in the JHF when they came back, waiting to scrutinise their gun tape. They looked pretty shaken up.

  ‘Everything okay, Tony?’

  ‘Not really mate. A guy got shot at point blank range right in front of us.’ He’d run round a corner as a Taliban fighter stepped out of a doorway.

  That was one of the disadvantages of our powerful surveillance system. Sometimes we saw things in graphic detail that we didn’t want to remember. There was nothing Darwin and Charlotte could have done for the boy. But that didn’t mean his death wasn’t going to haunt them. Unlike gun tapes, memories couldn’t be locked away in a safe.

  There were two new arrivals from Dishforth that week. The first was an instruction yet again upping the amount of hours we were allowed to fly the aircraft. We were now up to 415 per month, or fourteen hours a day. The Chinook and Lynx hours had gone up too, but not as steeply as the Apache’s. Needs must; and it was all the Joint Helicopter Command could do to respond to brigade’s ever greater demands on their woefully limited Afghan resources. We knew there was still no new money for the extra spares; as always, someone somewhere would be robbing Peter to pay Paul. Soon, Peter would have to declare bankruptcy.

  The second arrival was our new Commanding Officer. Lieutenant Colonel Neil Sexton had taken over the reins of 9 Regiment at the back end of the year. Now he was coming out to command the Joint Helicopter Force in Kandahar. That made him Trigger’s immediate superior in the operational chain of command.

  As the new CO, Colonel Sexton was an unknown quantity to most of us. We hadn’t had time to connect with him in the few weeks before we deployed. We knew he was unashamedly ambitious – but that was no bad thing. He wasn’t Apache trained as the previous CO had been. On the other hand, he’d done a lot of time in the simulator so he understood the machine and the demands on its aviators.

  I had liked our outgoing CO. He was hugely popular and a great extrovert. I wondered how I’d get on with the new one. It wasn’t long before I found out.

  OP GLACIER 2: THE JUGROOM FORT

  All the bigwigs were delighted with the attack on Koshtay, from the generals at PJHQ in Northwood to the brigadier in Lashkar Gah.

  Happiest of all though were the hundreds of young marines of 3 Commando Brigade out on the ground. Word about the raid had spread fast up and down the platoon houses and district centr
es of Helmand province. The guys had taken a pasting from the Taliban in the three months since they’d arrived. Now we’d given a bit of that pasting back. Not just in self-defence for once, but a really good, hard offensive kick where it hurt – right in the Taliban’s bollocks.

  The brigade were now keen to capitalise on the enemy’s disarray. For the first time – possibly in the whole Helmand campaign – the Taliban were on the defensive. The brigadier wanted to keep it that way. The order came down to launch Operation Glacier 2 as soon as possible. So the next carefully targeted attack was set for the early hours of Monday, 15 January, just four days after the Koshtay raid. Again, Attack Helicopters were heavily written into the plan.

  This time it was 3 Flight’s turn on the Deliberate Ops roster. Nick and Charlotte would fly in the gunners’ front seats with FOG and Darwin behind them; callsigns Ugly Five Two and Ugly Five Three respectively. Nick, the senior of the two front-seaters, was mission commander. A chorus of surly grunts of approval from pilots echoed around the evening brief when the Boss announced it.

  ‘Yeah, about time someone else apart from HQ Flight got a peachy job,’ was the refrain. Envy was still rife over Koshtay.

  We didn’t mind. We’d had more than our fair share of excitement down there to last us the rest of the tour. Instead, our flight were on the IRT / HRF shift – the quick reaction force to scramble for any emergency in the province. But judging by the amount of stuff they were going to be chucking at Op Glacier 2’s target before the assault, we reckoned that there was only a slimmer than slim chance that the four of us would have anything to do with it. Yes, it was going to be another whopper all right. If we’d got the cherry, 3 Flight were getting the icing.

  The second target on Op Glacier’s list of five was the second furthest away from Garmsir, nine kilometres south-west of the town, continuing the plan to funnel enemy fighters north and ever closer to our killing zone while depriving them of anywhere to retreat. It was also the largest of all five.

  Glacier 2’s mission was to destroy the Taliban’s main forward operating base in southern Helmand – their Camp Bastion. It was a giant, high-walled rectangular compound, 200 metres long by 100 wide, on the banks of the Helmand River where the Green Zone borders the GAFA desert in the west. It certainly looked the part of a sinister enemy hang-out. It was extremely well fortified, with stone and adobe walls ten feet high and three feet thick, and guard towers at each of its four corners. It was known locally as the Jugroom Fort.

  Jugroom was originally constructed centuries ago to defend the area from a river-borne invasion. Nobody knew exactly when or by whom. Alexander the Great might have had a hand in it, for all the locals could remember.

  With the river to its south and a canal running close by its western wall, the fort had lush poppy fields to its north. A deserted village stood along its eastern flank; the locals had moved out long ago, and only returned during the hours of daylight to tend the fields.

  It had been pinged as a target early on during the recce; every time ground troops passed anywhere near it they received a ferocious volley of fire. From the air, the Nimrod MR2 footage revealed that the guard towers had been recently reinforced, and were permanently well manned. It also confirmed that the place was of huge tactical importance to the Taliban. Just as we were airlifted into Camp Bastion from Kandahar air base – our initial arrival point in the country – so their fighters were moved up from Koshtay to Jugroom on the next stage of their journey to the front line. There they would be rested, fed, equipped and briefed, then pushed forward to individual battlegrounds: Garmsir, Sangin, Musa Qa’leh, Now Zad and Kajaki – wherever they were needed. Our knowledge of the base’s layout was patchier. Inside was believed to be a command centre building, several barracks blocks and a large underground weapons cache.

  Force 84 was initially offered the job of taking it out. But the SBS said it was too big for them. You didn’t hear a full squadron of Special Forces guys saying that too often. It wasn’t their type of target and they didn’t have the firepower if it turned into a big scrap. The planners were undeterred. The intelligence suggested there were no more than twenty to thirty enemy fighters inside the fort at that time. It was midwinter, so the number of new arrivals would naturally be down.

  Colonel Magowan planned the operation from deep within the Desert of Death. The plan was an excellent one. He didn’t just want the fort – he wanted to dispatch as many Taliban as possible along with it. Magowan’s Fragos – Fragmented Orders: the fragments of the operation that the pilots needed – were read eagerly by Nick, FOG, Charlotte and Tony.

  The scheme of manoeuvre was simple: first, the place would be pummelled relentlessly with a massive bombardment from fast air and artillery. It would begin at midnight and last for four hours. An incredible total of 100,000 lb of bombs dropped by B1s would test the Taliban’s resolve. If they still wanted to stay around and defend it after that, the fort would be every bit as significant as the colonel thought.

  Then, at 4am, he would launch a ground assault, move into the fort, and effectively plant an ISAF flag on its ramparts – a red flag to the Taliban’s raging bull. They would counter-attack with all available manpower – probably with their trademark encirclement manoeuvre. Zulu Company would then withdraw swiftly just before dawn – leaving the Taliban fully exposed. Magowan’s pièce de résistance would be to send in the Apaches to pick them off and identify any hidden bunkers they attempted to escape into, so fast air could close them down – for ever.

  Instead of the SBS, the assault would be done by the 120 Royal Marines of Zulu Company, 45 Commando, with supporting fire from 105-mm light-guns and the Scimitar armoured vehicles of C Squadron, the Light Dragoons.

  3 Flight got the specifics for their part in the mission from the Detailed Tasks and Timings section of the Fragos. They were to be on station at 0330 hours local. The bombardment would cease and they would be cleared into the target. Their initial mission was to destroy any Taliban seen on or attempting to escape the fort complex. Their ‘Be Prepared To’ task: to provide close-in fire support for Zulu Company as they moved into the fort. 3 Flight’s final mission: to destroy any remaining Taliban when Zulu Company withdrew back across the river. They were then to return to Bastion, rearm, refuel and be prepared to redeploy to the fort to cover the troops as they pulled back into the desert. The Annexes to the Fragos contained the usual aerial photographs and sketches of the fort, along with a list of enemy vehicles known to operate from it.

  ‘It looks like someone’s done their homework for this one,’ Nick said approvingly.

  There were no call-outs for the IRT / HRF on Sunday, the day before Glacier 2 was launched. It gave me a chance to catch up on a mountain of paperwork – as mind-numbingly boring as I always found it. Time not fighting was time wasted in my book. But the Boss had encouraged me to write a paper for a new type of thermobaric Hellfire that I was after, and I’d finally made a start on it. If Monday was quiet, too, I just might be able to finish the bloody thing.

  On Sunday night, the Boss had gone over to Kandahar for a meeting with the regiment’s new Commanding Officer. Geordie backfilled his place on HQ Flight, as he often did. The four of us woke up as usual at 6.45am on a chilly but crystal clear Monday morning. We were in the special IRT / HRF tent, fifty metres from the Ops tent. I’d had my shower and shave, and was sitting on my cot bed doing up my boot laces and ribbing Geordie about missing his hairdresser’s car when the insecure Motorola radio crackled into action. It was 7.05am.

  ‘Superman – Batcave – Roadrunner.’

  It was Comic Heroes theme week for the radio codenames. Superman was code for the IRT, Batcave meant the Joint Helicopter Force Ops Room, and Roadrunner meant as fast as your legs can carry you. Carl and I were the IRT that day. I grabbed at the radio.

  ‘Superman to the Batcave: Roadrunner.’

  In twenty seconds, we were up and over the Hesco Bastion wall on our homemade ladder and into the Ops Room. The wat
chkeeper was waiting for us.

  ‘It’s a Casevac, guys. A single Apache to protect a CH47 down to Garmsir.’

  The drill was well practised by now. Without another word, Carl ran straight out and jumped into the Land Rover. His job as the pilot was to get down to the flight line and flash up the aircraft immediately. I snatched my Black Brain from the secure locker, and with Billy now at my side, I ran onto the Joint Operations Cell tent next door to get a better idea of what was going on.

  ‘It’s a busy morning.’ The 42 Commando 2i/c looked stressed. ‘The yanks have had a serious RTA in Nimruz province. They rolled a vehicle and have got two T1s and two T2s. It’s a benign area so we’re sending two Chinooks out to them; there’s only one left here now. It’s the stand-in Casevac and it’s going to Jugroom Fort; that’s the one you’re responsible for.’

  He gave me a grid for the Chinook’s landing site.

  ‘How many casualties?’

  ‘Five.’

  That wasn’t good. They shouldn’t be taking casualties more than three hours after the ground assault was supposed to have gone in.

  ‘All gunshot wounds,’ he added. ‘Don’t know what state they’re in yet.’

  ‘Why aren’t the two Apaches down there going to protect the CH47?’

  ‘They’re busy fighting.’

  Billy and I gave each other a knowing glance – here we go again. The Taliban weren’t giving up Jugroom Fort without a proper ding dong. Things were obviously not looking too good, but whatever the problem was, I didn’t need to know about it. We just needed to get that Chinook down there sharpish.

  I ran the final 500 metres to the flight line. The air chilled my lungs as I mounted the berms and ran up out of the ditches. Carl had already got the Auxiliary Power Unit running but the Chinook 100 metres to our left was empty. The RAF guys only need five minutes to flash up a Chinook. As soon as I slammed my cockpit door shut, Carl threw forward the engine power levers and our rotors began to turn. A minute later, he radioed into the Ops Room.