Apache

by Ed Macy

  Jugroom Fort was reinfiltrated, and at the time of writing, the Taliban are still there. By the spring, sporadic fighting had returned to Garmsir; killing two of the Grenadier Guardsmen who inherited the DC when the marines left in April. By late summer the hard fighting had resumed. After the guardsmen, it was the Household Cavalry Regiment’s turn – and that’s where Prince Harry earned his military spurs. He was a JTAC in Garmsir for two months, operating under the callsign Widow Six Seven. The publicity shots showed him firing a .5 calibre machine gun off JTAC Hill, which meant that by Christmas 2007 – after ten months of regrouping – the Taliban, yet again, weren’t far from the DC’s gates.

  656 Squadron went home at the end of February 2007, the day of my departure coinciding exactly with Glacier’s finale. But I couldn’t leave without having to sit down for one final ammo tally with Kev Blundell. The Boss and the CO wanted the statistical data for 9 Regiment Army Air Corps’ final tour of Afghanistan before handing over to 3 Regiment. Only by working out the cost of particular operations and how much the individuals fire, can we plan for future operations.

  Kev told me I’d personally fired more ammunition on this tour than the entire squadron had in the whole of the previous summer – some £2.5 million worth of weaponry. To be precise: twenty-six Hellfire missiles, fifty-four Flechette rockets and 4,120 cannon rounds.

  The Koshtay raid proved to be (and still is) the most expensive single British Apache sortie in history. In our thirty-two minutes over the target area, we expended £1,060,794.20 of ammunition; or £33,149.82 every minute.

  The fastest rate of fire award rightfully went to Charlotte and Tony. They put down £426,353.36 worth in six minutes over Jugroom, protecting us in and then out of the fort with Mathew Ford. They still hold that record today, and I can’t see it ever being beaten.

  When we got home, I had to confess to Emily that I had returned from the fort with my life but no angel. Emily likes to think she served her purpose and wasn’t needed any more. My daughter insists she guided Mathew on his way. I’m a realist, so know what I believe: she remains MIA.

  We got a chance to look at the newspaper coverage our families had kept for us. We found out more about Mathew and what sort of a guy he was. I think I would have really liked him.

  He was the oldest of three brothers and known to everyone as an outgoing but gentle giant. Mathew’s mother Joan initially talked him out of his lifelong ambition to join the forces; she persuaded him to become a car mechanic instead. After seven years in the local garage, he decided to sign up anyway, telling Joan: ‘I’ve done what you wanted; now it’s my turn.’ Joan gave him her complete support, and told Mathew she was hugely proud of him when he earned his green beret. Joan didn’t want him to go to Afghanistan, his first combat tour. Mathew reassured her, telling her he’d be all right.

  He was buried on 1 February – seven days after he was due to fly home from Afghanistan – with full military honours in St Andrew’s Church in Immingham, north-east Lincolnshire, the town where he’d grown up. He was thirty years old.

  On a still, cold morning beneath a blue sky, his hearse was driven through Immingham at walking pace so the hundreds of mourners who lined the route could see him as he passed. His coffin was draped in a Union Flag and decorated with flower arrangements: ‘Son’, ‘Brother’ and ‘Maff’.

  A bearer party from 45 Commando carried Mathew into the church, with Joan, Dad Bootsy Lewis and his fiancée Ina Reid following behind.

  Mathew and Ina lived together in Dundee, where Ina was studying for her degree. They had met three years before – shortly after Mathew was posted to 45 Commando, based at RM Condor in nearby Arbroath – and instantly fallen in love. After almost six years of service, Mathew was planning on getting out of the Marines to settle down and have a family with her. He wanted to be a fireman or a policeman, but most of all he wanted to be a daddy.

  The church was so full that many had to stand outside where loudspeakers relayed the service. The priest read out a message from Ina.

  Another day is gone and I am still all alone.

  We never said good-bye.

  Someone tell me why.

  You were my guiding light, without you it is dark and I am lost.

  We were supposed to be for ever and thanks to you I know how

  it feels to be loved.

  Stay close beside me. I miss you so much.

  There is no one in the world that could ever replace you.

  I dream of the day we will meet again, and for ever can begin.

  I hope you have the same dreams too.

  I love you Mathew.

  X X X X

  Mathew is buried in the new section of the graveyard and a bench has been placed opposite his grave for the many visitors that come and pay their respects for a man that made the ultimate sacrifice for us all.

  Bootsy lovingly tends the grave, a ten-minute walk from the family’s home. Joan visits it daily, and Ina comes down from Dundee every few weeks. Delivering a red rose, she often lies down beside Mathew, and tells him about her life.

  Back at Dishforth three months after our return, Billy, Geordie, Nick and I were asked to go down to 3 Commando Brigade’s HQ, Stonehouse Barracks in Plymouth, to meet Prince Philip. As Captain-General of the Royal Marines, he wanted to hear about their Helmand tour. We were told they wanted to thank us for our contribution at Jugroom Fort.

  We were met at the landing site by two staff cars and whisked off to the officers’ mess, where a plethora of majors and colonels were waiting in a line.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ Billy whispered, as confused as I was. This kind of welcoming committee was mighty unusual for a few ageing warrant officers and a junior captain.

  I shook Colonel Magowan’s hand. He just grinned at me.

  ‘Let me explain why you’re really here,’ said the brigade’s chief of staff. ‘Which one of you is which?’ He turned to me.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘WO1 Macy, Sir.’

  ‘No, you’re WO1 Macy MC. Congratulations.’ He shook my hand. He turned to Geordie.

  ‘Staff Casey, sir.’

  ‘Now it’s Staff Sgt Casey MC.’

  The chief of staff repeated the performance for Billy and Nick, who were both awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross. Billy’s DFC had arrived after all, and when he was least expecting it.

  They explained that Geordie and I had got our awards for what we did on the ground at Jugroom, while Billy and Nick got theirs for bravery in the air. Military Crosses had never been given to Army Air Corps personnel before; we weren’t supposed to fight on the ground. The champagne came out from behind the bar and flowed in true Royal Marine style.

  Finally we were ushered into a large hall along with nearly a hundred marines to meet Prince Philip. He’d come down to Stonehouse to congratulate everyone on the Operational Honours List due for publication the following day.

  ‘And these are the pilots who flew into the Jugroom Fort to rescue Lance Corporal Ford,’ the 3 Commando Brigade commander told the Prince when our turn came. The old Duke surveyed the four of us with a furrowed brow and issued his trademark grunt.

  ‘Yes …’ he said. ‘Are you all mad?’

  A week later, Emily gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

  In December, I was asked to Buckingham Palace, along with Geordie, Billy, Nick and Dave Rigg.

  I was only allowed three guests but managed to take Emily, my son and daughter – and the baby strapped to the nearest grab handle. It was the first time in my entire military career I’d worn ceremonial Blues. It would also be my last – I was getting out of the army in a few weeks and I was already on resettlement leave.

  We stood near the end of a very long investiture line in the palace’s giant ballroom, exchanging discreet banter. Dave Rigg got the biggest ribbing for leaving his rifle at the fort.

  As we shuffled forward, waiting for our turn to come, I realised I’d never stand in uniform beside Billy, Geord
ie and Nick again. I knew then what I’d miss about the army. Not the pomp and ceremony, nor the laurels if you did something right (and definitely not the bollockings when we went too far). I’d miss serving alongside my friends.

  Dave Rigg went first. Then it was my turn to approach the dark red dais. I wasn’t at all nervous, and to the disdain of the equerry I gave my family a wave before setting off.

  ‘And you must be the pilot,’ Her Majesty said, as I took the final step towards her. She was handed my Military Cross. ‘Were you very scared?’ This was a real honour. She hadn’t said more than two words to most of the folk before us.

  ‘Not really ma’am, it was all so fast …’

  She wanted to know what happened, so I told her. I tried to keep it as concise as possible as she hung the cross on my left breast pocket. The Queen patted it flat for me and stepped back slightly, lifting her eyebrows as I spoke and nodding gently. After twenty seconds I realised I was rabbiting on a bit, so I ended my story quickly.

  ‘You must have been very proud of what you tried to do,’ she said.

  ‘Today is my proudest day ever ma’am,’ I responded.

  ‘Not because I’m meeting you …’ No I didn’t mean that … ‘because I’ve been given the chance to bring my family to meet my Queen.’

  Her polite smile widened into a grin and then in to a delightful chuckle. I must stop chatting …

  ‘This is my last day in uniform ever ma’am. It’s the greatest day of my life.’ I knew I was losing it, and she did too.

  The Queen started to laugh and thankfully placed her hand in mine for the final shake. It was soft but firm and before I knew what was happening she’d thrust it forward, forcing me to take a step back – a well-practised manoeuvre to signal that the audience was over, and it was Geordie’s turn in the limelight. As I walked backwards away from her, the Queen continued to chuckle.

  Billy, Geordie, Nick and I and our families went to a hotel round the corner to celebrate.

  There was no hiding what had happened from the kids. Mine wanted to know why the Queen only spoke to the four of us and, more importantly, what I had said to make her laugh. My daughter guessed it straight away. ‘I bet she asked you a question and then regretted it. She did, didn’t she, Dad?’

  I officially left the British Army in January 2008 after twenty-three years’ service and 3,930 helicopter flying hours, 645 of them in an Apache. I was a born soldier and fighting from the cockpit of an Apache helicopter on operations was the pinnacle of my career.

  It was also the last straw. As much as I love the army, the machine and the amazing years it gave me, sooner or later, being away from your family and the worry they go through gets to us all.

  The squadron looks very different now; I wasn’t the only one to leave after that tour. Now, eighteen months on from the second tour, none of the original Apache pilots are serving with 656 Squadron.

  Very shortly, Trigger and two of the four that joined us at the end of 2006 will take thirteen new pilots back out to Camp Bastion for the squadron’s third tour of southern Afghanistan. They are lucky people: no pilot could ask for a better leader in the field than the Boss.

  Charlotte is his Ops Officer, but plans to leave the army after one final tour of the Helmand to ‘make some money’. She will.

  Nick went over to 664 Squadron as their Ops Officer and did a third Helmand tour in the summer of 2008. He plans to stay in and I hope he goes as far as we all predicted; the Army Air Corps needs heroes.

  FOG left the army at the same time as I did, to fly MD Explorers for the Police.

  Darwin, Geordie and Carl were promoted to WO2; Darwin completed his instructional courses and now teaches students to fly Apaches at Middle Wallop; and Geordie was posted to a specialist military unit to fly civilian helicopters. The two are still incorrigible whenever they are together.

  Promotion came too late for Carl and we lost him to the Australian Army. He emigrated to fly the Tiger attack helicopter for the Australian Defence Force and the shrewd Aussies promoted him to captain too.

  Billy took a commission and is now a captain, serving as the Assistant Regimental QHI of another Army Air Corps regiment. It’s one more step closer to his ultimate dream – to be the most senior pilot in the Corps. He deserves that too.

  Because of what we did in Afghanistan, we were told there would always be a threat to us back home in the UK. The more we do, the more the Taliban and their sympathisers hate us; it’s the price of success. It’s why the MoD affords Apache pilots the same protection as Special Forces; our real names or photographs are never publicly released without our signed permission.

  I take sensible but not overly paranoid precautions to protect myself and my family. All my post goes to a special PO Box, I don’t vote, and I don’t have any contracts. My name doesn’t appear on any register or bill and I don’t even own my own home – I’m pretty much invisible. To anyone who wants to find me, I’m untraceable. Which does make getting a residents’ parking permit a pain in the arse.

  But I’m not the sort of person to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder or worrying if some radical extremist will wake me up in the middle of the night with a 9-mm silenced pistol. Truth be told, I rarely give it a second thought. The one thing my service taught me is that life’s too short to worry.

  LCpl Mathew Ford, RM

  GLOSSARY OF TERMS

  105s: 105mm Light Gun – Towed Artillery used by the Paras and the Marines

  2i/c: Second in Command

  30 Mike Mike: Military slang for 30 millimetre or the Apache’s Cannon rounds

  50 Cal: British Forces L1A1 Heavy Machine Gun – 12.7 mm (.50 inch) calibre tripod-mounted or vehicle-mounted automatic

  A10: US Forces ground attack warplane nicknamed the Thunderbolt or Warthog

  AA: Anti-Aircraft – known as ‘Double A’. A large calibre gun used against low-flying aircraft

  AAA: Anti-Aircraft Artillery – known as ‘Triple A’. Very large calibre artillery pieces used to engage aircraft at higher altitudes than AA

  AAC: Army Air Corps – corps of the British Army that operates helicopters and fixed wing aircraft

  ADF: Automatic Direction Finder – Radio Navigation System

  Affirm: Affirmative – air speak for Yes

  Aircrew: People that crew the aircraft: pilots, navigators, door gunners and loadmasters

  AH64: AH64A Apache – US Army Apache Attack Helicopter with no Radar, AH64D Longbow Apache – US Army Apache Attack Helicopter with Radar

  AK47: Soviet assault rifle – 7.62 mm automatic

  Altitude: Height above sea level, rather than ground level

  ANA: Afghan National Army

  ANP: Afghan National Police

  Apache: Apache AH Mk1 – the British Army Apache Attack Helicopter – Built by Agusta Westland and all fitted with the Longbow Radar

  APC: Armoured Personnel Carrier

  APU: Auxiliary Power Unit – an engine used to power-up the main engines or to provide power to an aircraft on the ground

  Armed Helicopter: A helicopter that has had a weapon system fitted but was primarily designed as a weapons platform

  ASE: Aircraft Survivability Equipment – the HIDAS

  ATO: Ammunition Technical Officer

  Attack Helicopter: A helicopter that is designed around being a complete weapon system, rather than a weapon system designed to fit a helicopter

  B1: B1 Lancer bomber – US Air Force high altitude long range supersonic strategic bomber

  Bag, the: A blacked-out cockpit used to teach Apache pilots how to fly at night with sole reference from the monocle

  Battlegroup: A battalion-sized fighting force

  BDA: Battle Damage Assessment

  Beirut unload: A rough and ready way of firing at something without risking the life of the firer. The firer stands behind cover and places the weapon over or around a wall and fires a full magazine of ammunition in the rough direction of the intended targe
t – name derived from the methods of firing used in Beirut

  Bergen: Army slang for a rucksack

  Berm: A man-made ridge of earth, designed as an obstacle

  Bingo: A nominated fuel amount that allows the Apache patrol commander enough warning to call for a RIP or to inform the ground troops that they have limited Apache time remaining

  Bitching Betty: The Apache’s female cockpit voice warning system

  Black Brain: The black kneeboard Apache pilots fly with on their thigh that contains everything that can’t be committed to memory and may be needed instantly in flight

  Bone: The callsign for the US Air Force B1 Lancer bomber

  BRF: Brigade Recce Force – recce troops for 3 Commando Brigade

  Brigade: 3 or 4 regiments of troops with all supporting troops

  Buster: Fly at the fastest speed possible

  C130: Hercules – a 4 propped military fixed wing transport plane used by most countries to move troops and equipment

  C17: Boeing C17 Globemaster III – large US Air Force Strategic/Tactical Transport Plane

  Calibre: The inside diameter of the barrel of a weapon

  Carbine: Short barrelled SA80 with a pistol grip at the front – used by Apache pilots and tank crews – 5.56 mm automatic

  Casevac: Casualty Evacuation

  Cdo: Commando

  CDS: Chief of the Defence Staff

  CGS: Chief of the General Staff

  CH47: Chinook – a large wide-bodied helicopter with two rotors on the top. Used by many countries for carrying troops – may also carry equipment inside or underslung below

  Chicken Fuel: Just enough fuel to make it back direct line and land with the minimum fuel allowance

  Chinook: See CH47

  CIA: Central Intelligence Agency – US Government Intelligence

  CMSL: CPG (Apache Gunner) has actioned the missile system – CPG’s Missiles