Sweating the Metal
Page 13
‘Matt talked them on to the compound. The Spectre completely annihilated all the different positions with 40mm grenades and 105mm shells. One of the Apaches took care of a position with a Hellfire missile and all the firing stopped.
‘By the time we returned to the HLS it was completely cold and the Apache cleared both of us straight in. Watching the forty-four Paras we had in the back run off the ramp was a sight to see – they were all off in something like fourteen seconds, which was amazing when you consider they were all kitted up and weapons ready. I’d never seen anything like it!
‘With all the Taliban killed, the Paras regained the initiative and were able to search all the compounds and complete the mission. When we landed back at Bastion the atmosphere was incredible. It could all have worked out so differently but in the end, aside from the Para who’d taken a round through his shoulder and a few breaks and sprains, there were no serious injuries and no dead on our side. A huge number of Taliban were killed and a quantity of weapons and rockets recovered, although there was no sign of the Taliban commander.
‘That was a real red-letter day for us, because it was the first time that the Chinook Force had ever done anything like that. I mean, we’d flown kinetic ops in Iraq but it was nothing like this where we were being opposed at the HLS. It was also the first time a Chinook had taken rounds in theatre. All things considered, I think we got away very lightly. I have to admit though, it was pretty exciting!’
By the time the end of the year rolled around, the tempo of ops in Afghanistan had increased significantly. Thirty-nine British servicemen had lost their lives with scores more severely injured. Corporal Bryan Budd of ‘A’ Company, 3 Para was posthumously awarded the Victoria Cross for bravery displayed in a firefight with the Taliban at Sangin. His colleague, Corporal Mark Wright, was posthumously awarded the George Cross for his actions in trying to save the lives of injured colleagues after they entered a minefield.
Closer to home, the Chinook Force at RAF Odiham hadn’t gone unnoticed. Three of 18 Squadron’s pilots received the DFC – Chris Hasler, Craig Wilson and Royal Marine Major Mark Hammond, who was attached to 18 Squadron on an exchange. Woodsy and Nichol Benzie both received a Mention in Despatches, as did two crewmen – Sergeant Daniel Baxter and Sergeant Graham Jones. Joint Commander’s Commendations (JCC) were awarded to Sergeant Samuel Hannant and Sergeant Darrell Harding, both of 18 Squadron, and Flight Sergeant Andrew Welham-Jones and Flight Lieutenant Glen Militis, both of 27 Squadron.
16
EUROTRASH
One of my best friends on ‘C’ Flight, 27 Squadron is Rich Hallows. He’s from Essex, but his sparkling blue eyes and blonde hair mark him out as the epitome of the Aryan dream. Thus he was known to all and sundry as ‘German’. We’ve got similar taste in music and cars and a similar outlook on life, so we did quite a bit together back at Odiham. I’d bought myself a 5.0 litre V8 TVR Chimaera, and Rich had a BMW M3, so track days were a regular diversion for us and we’d often swap cars. Basically, he’s a good bloke.
Our OC on ‘C’ Flight was a Squadron Leader known by all as ‘JP’. He’s a brilliant leader, one of the most impressive pilots I’ve ever met and a good man to be around; I learned so much about flying from JP. He is also a good mate.
I guess it was inevitable with German and me working together that it wouldn’t be long before JP christened us; the opportunity was just too good for him to ignore. There was a mission coming up and he just said, ‘I think we’ll send Eurotrash on that one,’ and the name stuck.
Much had changed by the time we returned to Kandahar in early July 2007. The Royal Marines’ 3 Commando Brigade had taken over from 16 Air Assault Brigade who I’d deployed with the previous year, and they in turn had handed over the lead to 12 Mechanised Brigade in April. The principal infantry units were the Royal Anglians and the Grenadier Guards, who we would be supporting on operations.
The Platoon House strategy that saw so much of 3 Para tied down in remote bases across Helmand had been abandoned in favour of more Forward Operating Bases, which meant that ISAF forces could exert an influence over larger areas through regular patrols. A good illustration of the limitations of the Platoon House strategy is the siege of Sangin. Just after I left theatre in June 2006, ‘A’ Company, 3 Para was deployed to secure Sangin following increased Taliban activity in the area. The operation was only supposed to last a few hours but the troops ended up staying until the end of their tour after the Taliban effectively laid siege to their District Centre base. Daily attacks – sometimes up to seven times a day – punctuated a tour that saw a number of losses to the Paras, who also ran low on food, water and ammo.
On April 5th 2007, a major operation involving some 1,000 ISAF troops was launched to take control of the town. Advance warning was given and they advanced into Sangin almost unopposed after it was abandoned by most of the insurgents. The British built two new FOBs a few miles away in a move that drew most of the Taliban attacks away from the town itself, allowing some degree of governance and normality to return.
Also in April, the number of British troops deployed in southern Afghanistan was increased from 3,300 to 5,800 men, indicating a longer-term commitment by the UK Government. Heavier equipment was also deployed including Warrior and Mastiff armoured infantry fighting vehicles and GMLRS multiple rocket launchers. The new task force was commanded by Brigadier John Lorimer.
A permanent force had been based at Kajaki Dam after 42 Commando launched Operation Volcano in February 2007, clearing a safe zone around the dam and driving the Taliban out of mortar range. The Taliban’s main fortified position in the village of Barikju was cleared without casualties.
Musa Qala, which had been held by the Paras in 2006, had been ceded to local tribal elders in a negotiated truce. The deal was intended to see neither British nor Taliban forces in the town in an effort to reduce conflict and civilian casualties, but the Taliban reneged on the agreement, overrunning the town with as many as 300 troops in February 2007. When we arrived in Helmand it was still under Taliban control. They imposed their own extreme fundamentalist interpretation of Islam, closing down schools, restricting women’s movements, levying heavy taxes, and hanging those inhabitants they suspected of being spies. Men were attacked for not having beards, music was banned and women were beaten for not wearing the burqa.
This was the background against which we arrived; although, aside from being a little bigger and busier, KAF was the same old dusty and annoyingly anal place it had always been. One of the first things I did was head over to the Survival Equipment Specialists to pick up my Mk61 LCJ. In addition to the plate armour on the front of the jacket, it also features a series of horizontal webbing tape loops to which you can attach various items of equipment. Having flown with my sidearm in a thigh holster on my previous Det, I realised it was too restrictive and uncomfortable. With the Mk61, I could strap my weapon and magazines to the front. Our admin and TQs were quickly dispensed with and we were up to speed and flying ops in no time.
My first few sorties were pretty routine admin runs, which are about as ‘everyday’ as life gets in theatre. I was flying with Squadron Leader Morris Oxford, a great guy who’s been on the squadron for years and has a wealth of experience. For someone so seasoned, this was his first Det as a pilot, so he was limited combat ready. That said, he wasn’t exactly green – he’d previously been a Chinook navigator and had been the Qualified Navigation Instructor at the OCF, so he was a safe pair of hands and a great guy to fly with. I liked flying with him because, as the captain, I could concentrate on what I needed, secure in the knowledge that there was nobody better qualified to handle the nav side. For all that, he was a cracking pilot too.
We were blessed with our two rear crewmen who had a lifetime of experience between them: Jim Warner, an affable guy who’s good to have around and knows what he’s doing, and Bob Ruffles. Bob is like everyone’s dad and he’s got over 5,000 hours on Chinooks, so is as useful a crewman as you could ask for.
If the ambient temperature had been hot on my previous Det, this one was off the scale. It’s around 09:00, July 25th and we’re at KAF preparing for the day’s sorties – admin taskings, flying people and cargo all around Helmand Province. We have a series of sorties to fly that will see me add another seven hours flying time to my logbook by the time I shut down the airframe at Bastion this evening, our starting point for the next day’s flying.
Morris has got one of those all-singing, all-dancing Breitling Pilot watches with a thermometer built in. When we get to the cab to do our pre-flight checks, he takes it off and leaves it on the centre console.
‘And today’s forecast for Kandahar is it’s going to be hot!’ I say to Morris, as I walk down the cab and off the ramp to do my walk-around. I pick up my Mk61 jacket and strap it on to me as I’m walking. It’s early but the temperature is already insufferable, a good sign that things can only get more uncomfortable. It takes an average three weeks to acclimatise, so I know it’s going to get a lot worse before it starts getting better.
Back on the cab, I slot a fresh magazine into my SA80 short carbine and strap it to the side of my seat in its allotted place. I’m flying from the right seat today, so I stow my CamelBak on the right side of the cockpit.
It’s a tight cockpit, which makes for some interesting contortions to reach the seats. To access it from the cab, you stoop and walk through what is essentially a narrow corridor, about 2ft long. I stretch my right leg across the seat, behind the cyclic, and find the floor. Then I bend my head so I miss the overhead console and push my body forwards, dragging my left leg and swinging it over the centre console. Hunched over, I can now slide my body down and I’m in the seat.
I grab the centrepiece of the five-point harness, find and connect the two straps that attach to the bottom – one either side – then reach over my shoulders for the top ones. Attach those and I search for the pigtail – the cable that I’ll plug into my helmet that will connect me to the aircraft’s intercom and radio system. I’ll leave my helmet on the centre console for now. I adjust the pedals – there are four settings – I always take the second one from the top. Move my seat forward a notch and then set its height. I adjust it so that I have the perfect picture for a three-degree glide path on the approach, which means that the 120kts marker on the airspeed indicator is just disappearing under the lip at the top of the dial.
I look in the mirror and I can see the crewmen in the back sorting out the cabin. They’re making sure all the equipment is secured and in place, and our personal kit is stored properly. They start putting on their helmets and attaching their pigtails. At that point, I shout, ‘Helmets!’ and reach across to the centre console to pick mine up, securing the chin strap and connecting the pigtail. All conversation from now until the end of the sortie will be via the intercom.
It’s then that I notice Morris’ watch, which is still on the centre console. It’s reading 68°C! Obviously, the vast expanse of glass – there are windows above, in front, to the sides and under our feet in the cockpit – mean we’re in direct sunlight and there’s the greenhouse effect, but even so. There’s no acclimatising to that sort of extreme heat, but you just have to get on with it.
It’s difficult to describe what it feels like. What’s hot? 30°C is enough to make the news during an average English summer; 40–45°C is the average daytime temperature in the UAE during summer and is the reason that all sensible Emiratis abandon the state for cooler climes until autumn. 80°C is the temperature of the average sauna – and you strip naked to sit in one of those. Most people sit in a sauna for five to ten minutes and then take a cold shower. We sit in uniform shirt, trousers and boots, body armour that weighs 15kg, sidearm and spare magazines, helmets and flying gloves. Nothing is easy in Afghanistan; there’s a reason it’s called a ‘hostile environment’ and it’s not all about the bullets.
We run through start-up. Battery on, pressurise and start the Auxiliary Power Unit and then start the number one engine; set the engine control lever to ‘Ground Idle’.
Time to engage the rotors. ‘Clear rotate,’ I say and the reply comes back from Bob, ‘Clear all round.’ The blades start moving and I start counting them to ensure they are at the same interval. One-two-three; all good. They speed up until they’re a blur, beating out their loud, hypnotic rhythm. I advance the throttles and the blades mesh together, working their magic. I bring the generator online and start the number two engine.
Watch the Ts and Ps (Temperatures and Pressures) build. Ts and Ps on both sides are looking good – I’m looking for 100% NR, all good, no captions on the CAP (Caution Advisory Panel) that I can see. Check the gearboxes, fuel pumps are working correctly. That’s after start checks complete. Morris reaches across to the centre console and arms up the self-defence kit, nav kit and radios while I carry out the pre-taxi checks.
‘Swivel switch for the wheels at the back is at lock, parking brake is on.’
‘RadAlt: 50 on the right with a light, 40 on the left with the noise.’
‘Altimeters: 1,016 (that day’s pressure) set; I’ve got 2,920ft on the pilot side, 2,940ft on the co-pilot side, within limits.’
‘Instruments: instruments are all set and correct with no undue flags. Morris, you’ve crosschecked them, putting the director for the GPS live, selecting TACAN (tactical air navigation system) on the HSI needle. You have command of both HSIs.’
‘Light: master on. Normal. We’ve got steady, bright, top red, searchlight is normal, searchlight is coming on and bright star IR is off.’
‘Fuel: we have 2,850. Four on four flow cross feed off.’
‘Radios: we’re on stud one on the ground, we’ll go to stud two for the taxi. VHF is back up 1,221 for the tower on the victor, 51.4s on the Fox Mike.’
There’s one more thing to do before I call the tower for clearance. I address the guys in the back. ‘Right fellas, usual brief. On my cab, it’s first names only. I’m not sir – I’m Alex or Frenchie, this is Morris, you’re Jim and Bob. All clear?’
‘Clear Frenchie.’
‘Okay. If we are engaged, there are two calls. “Tracer” and “Contact”. Tracer is ineffective enemy fire, Contact is effective. My rules are if it’s tracer or contact, call it, identify it and get the guns on it. As soon as either of you identify rounds coming towards the aircraft – that is, we’re under contact – and you can identify firing points, you are clear to engage. You have my authority to engage without reference to me first if we come under fire. Clear?’
‘Clear, Frenchie.’
So long as it’s an aimed shot, I have no problem with that. The responsibility rests with me, but what I don’t want to happen is for us to come under fire and for a crewman to ask me, ‘Am I clear to engage?’ In the three seconds or so that it takes to ask and for me to reply, any aimed rounds could have taken out a critical system, one of us or the entire cab. Equally, in that time, the crewmen could have missed a window to take out the threat. To me, it’s a no-brainer.
I make the call for departure: ‘KAF Tower, Splinter Two Four. Four on board, holding at Mike Ramp. Request taxi to Foxtrot for a westerly, low-level departure.’
‘Good morning Splinter Two Four. Clear taxi to Foxtrot. Visibility is five kilometres, wind two-five-zero at ten knots.’
‘Taxi Foxtrot.’
I ground-taxi and reposition us to Foxtrot, a taxiway that’s parallel to the main runway at KAF, and then make the call for take-off clearance: ‘KAF Tower, Splinter Two Four ready for departure, Sector Hotel Low.’
‘Splinter Two Four, clear take-off.’
I run through the pre-take-off checks:
‘100% torque NR, torques are matched; LCTs are ground, auto; AFCs coming on.’ Morris selects both AFCs ON for me.
‘One good; two good,’ he says.
‘CAP, all clear. Ts and Ps are all looking good. Fuel, we have got 2,750kgs. Brakes, holding on the toes; swivel switch at lock and both whites. Okay, clear to lift?’ I ask.
‘Pulling pitch,’ I say as my left hand raises the collective. Feedback comes via two senses; I feel the aircraft shake as sixteen tonnes of metal are lifted skywards, and I hear the note of the two Lycoming engines increase as they respond to my demand for power.
‘We have two good engines, 55% torque, 100% NR maintained, CAP is clear. Ts and Ps are all looking good,’ says Morris.
‘Transitioning,’ I call as I accelerate away. Then, ‘Above the light and noise,’ and I’m finally free to settle into the cruise, flying at 50ft as we head towards Lashkar Gah, our first pick-up point.
And so begins another day in paradise.
17
ANY TIME, ANY PLACE, ANYWHERE
The following morning saw me waking up in Camp Bastion for some more tasking on the HRF. Bastion, like KAF, is a work in progress, and while still recognisably the same place that I remembered from last year, it’s significantly bigger. More troops, more tented buildings, more phones provided by Paradigm for us to call home on – conveniently situated in private booths in air-conditioned ISO containers. Work is under way to build an 8,000ft-long concrete runway in place of the dirt landing-strip that existed previously. Sadly, one of the biggest changes is to the simple yet poignant war memorial erected by the Paras in 2006; too many names have been added to the brass plates that adorn its base since my last visit.
It’s a pretty routine day for us – I’m flying the Helmand Triangle with German so we are Eurotrash once again. After lunch, we do a run-up to Kajaki and are routed to Gereshk by Bastion Ops on the way back to pick up a British soldier who’s been shot. He’s categorised T2 and we make contact with the Apache that is in orbit near the HLS, providing ongoing fire support to troops involved in a contact.