The New Patrol

by Andy McNab

  As yet, the ground behind them, the route back to the compound, was clear, but Liam wondered how long it would be before they were completely cut off.

  He called over to Ade, ‘Grenades! Drop a few on them. That should keep them from thinking this is going to be a walk over. Then move left – cover!’

  They’d just passed through a dip in the ground, and the area had around it a few low bushes and fallen trees. It wasn’t much, but it would do.

  Ade loaded the UGL, aimed, pulled the trigger. The grenade bounced out of the small metal tube slung under his SA80 and a moment later crashed down into the compound. The explosion was followed quickly by two more as Ade sent a volley of three, then four grenades into them. One fell short, another blew a hole in the wall, and the final two landed inside, sending up faint mushroom clouds of dust.

  As Liam had ordered, everyone found cover behind scrub, and were up and firing. Ade had his weapon in his shoulder and was returning fire. James was next to him and they worked smoothly together, providing fire, then covering the other to change magazines. Training was taking over. Everything they were doing was automatic. The situation may have been frightening, but Liam knew he was at least fighting with the best, and that was something he knew he could depend on.

  ‘Scott?’ Miller on the PRR.

  ‘Boss?’

  ‘You got eyes on anything? Contacts? Numbers?’

  Liam scanned around, trying his best to see what they were dealing with. But there was so much coming in at them it was almost impossible to estimate. And they had no way of knowing just how many Taliban were still alive in the compound after Ade’s volley of grenades.

  ‘All I can see is one big shit storm,’ he yelled, directing as best he could his team’s rate of fire. ‘From what we’ve got coming in at us, we’re talking heavy numbers. At least twenty or thirty fighters.’

  He wanted to be more accurate, but it was impossible. All he knew was that they were outnumbered. That didn’t mean all hope was lost, because Liam knew that numbers didn’t count for much if the enemy were using knackered weapons and firing indiscriminately. And he knew he was part of the best fighting force in the world, well trained, motivated and used to working as a team – all factors that gave them a much better chance, not only at getting out of there alive, but also at giving the Taliban a fight they’d not forget in a long, long time. But being outnumbered did mean the job of getting out would be a whole lot harder.

  ‘Then they knew we were coming,’ said Miller. ‘You don’t get this many Tally just turning up for a scrap unless they know something. And we need to break out before this is a total cluster fuck.’

  Liam scanned where muzzle flash was seen. It was nearer than before. Shit . . . the bastards were moving in. Not just from the front either, but edging round their left and right flanks.

  ‘Boss, I think they’re trying to cut us off! They’re closing in on us. If we’re not careful we’ll be overrun!’

  The implications of that happening were too awful to imagine. Liam knew that when pushed, most of his lads would say they’d rather die fighting than end up in the hands of the Taliban and in front of a movie camera.

  ‘You on that radio?’

  ‘Calling it in now!’ yelled Liam, with Ade next to him, returning fire.

  ‘This is a troops-in-contact situation, Scott,’ said Miller. ‘We need air support. Fast!’

  Troops-in-contact meant that they had no organic means of getting themselves out of danger. In other words, they couldn’t do it alone. The words were chilling to hear and Liam gritted his teeth; they were going to have to fight with everything they had to get out of this alive.

  One of Cowell’s fire team was up with a LASW. The rocket shot out across the field of fire and into an area of brush out of which the heaviest fire had been coming. The rocket dug into the position and detonated, destroying everything within blast range. The firing stopped. But elsewhere it just upped in tempo.

  Liam ducked instinctively at the sound of a round zipping past him. Then Ade snapped backwards, hammering into him, knocking him down, pulling the radio away.

  ‘Sunter!’ Liam rolled Ade off his legs. He was hit, blood pooling out from a thigh wound. ‘Harper! Man down!’

  Nicky was in fast. ‘The point man is KIA,’ she said to Liam. ‘I’m sorry. We couldn’t save him.’ She turned to Ade. ‘Sunter? Sunter! Listen to me! It’s Harper!’

  Shit, thought Liam, one killed in action already. They needed to do something to turn this fight round, but what?

  Ade was yelling through gritted teeth. Liam thought about the ANA lad, blown apart by an IED. This patrol was going from bad to completely screwed in short order.

  Nicky cut open Ade’s combats where the round had hit him. Liam saw blood and little else, then Nicky washed it with water and he saw the wound, a rip torn across Ade’s flesh.

  ‘It’s a flesh wound,’ Nicky said. ‘It’s not serious. He’ll be fine. I can patch it up here, then clean it properly when we get back. We need to move!’

  Another shout came back, this time from the ANA soldiers. Another man down.

  ‘We’re getting torn apart!’ Liam hissed down his PRR.

  ‘Focus, Scott!’ Miller said, coming back. ‘This has only just started.’

  Nicky patched a field dressing over Ade’s wound. ‘It’ll hurt, but you’ll be fine. Can you move?’

  ‘Pass me my weapon, Scott,’ Ade hissed.

  ‘I said you could move, not fight,’ said Nicky.

  ‘Bollocks to that,’ said Ade. ‘Weapon, now.’

  ‘You’re injured,’ said Liam.

  ‘No, mate,’ said Ade through gritted teeth. ‘I’m seriously fucking pissed, is what I am!’

  Liam handed Ade his SA80. He was returning fire immediately. Liam could see Taliban falling, as muzzle flash went skyward or just bounced backwards, but they were always replaced by another fighter. How many of them were there?

  Liam was back on the radio, called it in, giving the coordinates of the compound.

  ‘They’re right on top of us,’ he added. ‘Take out the compound but nothing else or we’ll be hit too.’

  Liam looked up – the Taliban were even closer now: a hundred metres, if that. They were still taking fire from the compound, but if the Taliban on the ground got closer, any further air support would be completely useless.

  The call ended. Miller was next to him.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘A quick reaction force have already left, and Apache are scrambled,’ said Liam. ‘A fast jet is going to deal with the compound. But we need to make distance or we’ll be too close for them to take a shot. Can’t risk blue-on-blue.’

  Miller ordered everyone to fall back and the order was followed immediately, with everyone working their best to cover each other as they made to retreat, fire and manoeuvre all the way, back down the route they’d walked out on. Ade was partly supported by Nicky so that he could make the distance with them.

  The sound of a jet cut through the air. Then it was gone, and the compound disintegrated as the bomb shattered it – and anyone inside – into a million pieces.

  But there was no time to celebrate as Liam heard gunfire from the direction they’d just come from. Quickly, he directed Clint to return fire.

  ‘I hate to say this, boss,’ Clint said, ‘but I think more are joining in. They’re getting reinforcements.’

  They were already twenty minutes into the firefight, with one ANA KIA, and two injured, though Ade was seemingly oblivious to what had happened to his leg.

  ‘We’ve only got so much ammunition,’ said Miller. ‘We can’t just sit here spitting fire at them till we run low, then run out!’

  Another rocket blasted out, taking out a further Taliban position. They were repelling with everything they had, but the Taliban were still advancing.

  Liam glanced up and down the line. Everyone was returning fire, steely-eyed, jaws hard, making good use of any cover available, be it a tree or a
rock. Then he spotted someone slipping away from their position. It was one of the ANA soldiers. He was making a break for it, but he didn’t look scared.

  Liam’s world stalled. Was this the traitor? The man who had been feeding intelligence to the Taliban? What other reason would there be for leaving the fight? He certainly wasn’t just running because he didn’t want to die – he was heading off because he knew what was going on.

  Liam felt fury rising inside him. It was because of this man’s actions that Mascot had died, that his ANA point man had been killed, that they were in this shit storm now. He shouted out, but the soldier wasn’t listening. He tried again, but still the Afghan kept moving.

  ‘Cowell!’ he bellowed, pointing towards the man.

  Cowell was closest to the soldier but hadn’t noticed the man’s actions. The corporal turned and followed Liam’s line of sight, saw the soldier trying to slide away and moved towards him, ready to drag him back. But as he drew close, the soldier turned and opened fire and Cowell dropped backwards into the dirt.

  The soldier then turned his weapon towards Liam, but he didn’t get a chance to squeeze the trigger, as Liam and Miller opened fire simultaneously. The soldier was dead before he hit the ground.

  ‘That’ll be the bastard who was leaking information then,’ said Liam.

  Miller nodded. ‘Yesterday was probably just to see if we’d take the bait. Having us patrol that area gave his mates a chance to get dug in here without us noticing.’

  ‘Well, the fucker’s dead now!’ Liam said grimly.

  Rounds came in and they both ducked. Liam made to go check the ANA soldier over and see about Cowell.

  ‘I’ll do that,’ shouted Miller. ‘You stay here. Keep on them – don’t let them close in any further or we’ll be dancing with them, OK, Scott?’

  Liam saw Cowell sit up as the sergeant approached. The corporal was alive, probably down to the ANA being a crap shot and shooting from the hip, and his body armour doing its job.

  But as Miller helped Cowell, he went down hard too!

  Liam knew then what else they were dealing with. ‘We’ve a sniper out there too!’ he shouted. ‘Cowell and Miller are both down!’ He glanced across at them. Nicky had already crawled over there and they were both moving, so that was something.

  Liam pulled himself back into the fight. The Taliban were even closer now. The jet had done what it could, but if the Apache arrived, it would be unable to help: the Taliban were too close. He quickly radioed in their current situation. The message was relayed to the pilots to hold off until further orders.

  An RPG raced overhead, slamming into the ground behind them, covering them with dirt. Ade dropped the bloke in a breath. Liam sighted another RPG being made ready.

  ‘Ade! Left, two hundred, ten o’clock!’

  Ade swung his weapon round, fired. The fighter holding the RPG fell on his face, trigger depressed. The rocket bucked out of the tube, but instead of zipping over into Liam and his fire team, it dropped way short and into a group of Taliban. The explosion tore them to pieces.

  ‘We can’t just sit here!’ Clint yelled. ‘I’m down to my last fifty links. I’ve my SA80, but I’ve been passing my mags around. Ade’s running low. We all are!’

  ‘Grenades?’

  ‘All spent,’ said James. ‘We’re all down to our last. Then it’ll be sidearms. We need to do something now to turn this round, or—’

  James stopped speaking. What he was about to say they all knew didn’t need to be said. Getting captured by the Taliban was something they all knew was a risk, but it was the most horrifying prospect they could imagine. So they weren’t even going to entertain it.

  Liam suddenly noticed something. ‘It’s gone quiet,’ he said. The silence was eerie, doubly so after the relentless sound of gunfire. ‘I don’t like it,’ he added. ‘How close are they?’

  ‘Close enough to spit at, pretty much,’ said Ade. ‘Thirty metres, max. What are you thinking?’

  A single shot rang out. It was still enough to make them jump, keep everyone down.

  ‘I’m thinking we’re in a heap of shit and they’re just waiting for us to run out of ammo. They think they’ve already won.’

  ‘What if they’ve bugged out?’ said James.

  Liam had a look, and a round ploughed into the ground in front of him.

  ‘They’re still there,’ he said.

  Everyone fell quiet. Liam looked back at Cowell and Miller. They were both still in the care of Nicky. Neither looked fit to fight.

  At last, Liam spoke. ‘The only way out of this is to scare those fuckers into realizing just what a bunch of hard bastards we are.’

  ‘What are you thinking?’ asked Clint.

  ‘Bayonets,’ said Liam. ‘We charge them!’

  21

  ‘You’re absolutely fucking insane, Scott!’ said Ade. ‘A bayonet charge? This isn’t the trenches! We’re not in World War One!’

  Liam held a hand up to quieten him down. Shots were still coming in.

  ‘They’re closing in,’ he said. ‘We all know it. And they’re too close for the Apache to do anything without killing us in the process.’

  ‘Are they here yet?’ asked James.

  Liam said, ‘They’re holding off until we’ve made distance, then they’ll hammer them. They can’t do anything until then. There’s a quick reaction force on its way too, but that’ll take longer and could be too late.’

  ‘And until then?’ said Clint.

  ‘The way I see it,’ said Liam, ‘is that the Taliban have been running this fight since it started. We need to take control. If we overrun them first, we can turn this.’

  Meeting with silence, Liam called over the ANA officer to hear his plan. Two minutes later, it was agreed.

  The SA80 would only take a bayonet if the UGL wasn’t fitted. Because of this, Liam had Ade bin his own and swap it for Miller’s weapon. Clint took Cowell’s. Finally, the remaining rounds were shared out equally.

  ‘We go on my mark,’ said Liam to the rest of the patrol. ‘Eastwood, when I say, you empty the LMG into the Taliban line. The ANA lad with the PKM will do the same. That’ll keep their heads down. We then lob in every last smoke grenade we’ve got. Then, when I say, we up and charge and we keep firing all the way.’

  ‘What would the corporal pricks back at Catterick say?’ asked Ade. ‘Firing while on the move? Breaking the rules, mate. Fucking right we are!’

  ‘They won’t be able to look up and see us until it’s too late. By that time we’ll be into them or they’ll be dead.’

  ‘Or we will,’ said James.

  Everyone fell quiet.

  Liam was alone with his thoughts for a moment. He knew that the effectiveness of the bayonet charge wasn’t so much about the possible close-quarter fight with bayonets. That was part of it, and they’d all had their training, but no one really wanted to get that close and personal, close enough to smell the breath of the enemy as you ram a shard of metal into their gut.

  As a weapon, the bayonet itself was rugged and simple, the hollow handle slipping over the barrel of the SA80 and clipping in place. The bayonet charge itself was more about terror. It was a scare tactic, and a terrifying one at that, its only aim to crush the enemy with fear at the sight of men bearing down on them, bayonets fixed, yelling and screaming for blood.

  It was soldiering as tough and terrifying as it could ever get.

  And it was what they were about to do.

  The silence seemed to thicken, as though the stress and fear of the moment were leaching into the air around them, sending it sour.

  Liam relieved his bayonet scabbard of the deadly and silent weapon it contained. Autopilot took over and the bayonet was attached before he’d even realized. He glanced around, knew everyone was in that same frame of mind, just letting the training take over, doing the job, dealing with the fear, the sickness rising in the stomach to be pushed down.

  Now everyone was just on their PRR, waiting for the wo
rd. Liam took a breath, held it, then released.

  ‘Eastwood! Now!’

  Clint and the ANA soldier both opened up on the Taliban line. The ground was peppered with rounds. A few tracers from the ANA soldier’s weapon set some of the dry grass alight and soon small fires were burning, sending wisps of smoke into the air.

  ‘Grenades!’

  On Liam’s call, four arms launched canisters into the air, trailing grey smoke behind them. Landing, the smoke thickened and soon the whole area in front of them was gone, lost to the fog from the grenades.

  This is it, thought Liam. This is fucking it . . .

  He was on his feet. ‘Move it! Come on! MOVE!’

  As one, the soldiers were on their feet and charging, sprinting across the ground. Clint, the LMG spent, was up with his own SA80. The ANA lads were alongside, all of them raging, all of them charging. Ade, despite his wounded leg, was with them, and keeping up.

  Each rifle had a bayonet attached. The SA80s carried the clip-pointed hollow-handled L3A1 socket bayonet, which fitted over the rifle muzzle. The AK47s, used by the ANA soldiers, took the spear-pointed AK-74 bayonet. Both were deadly.

  All Liam could hear was the sound of the soldiers around him raging, baying for blood. They’d all done their bayonet training, and it was anger that enabled a bayonet charge to work. They were screaming and yelling and swearing, their voices breaking, burning their throats raw.

  Rounds were flying around them, but the fire was sporadic, the Taliban kept down by the rounds Liam and the rest were putting down as they advanced. It wasn’t accurate, but that didn’t matter. Its purpose was to keep the enemy pinned down until it was too late. And it was working.

  The Taliban were only a few metres away now and Liam called down the line, ‘This is it, lads! In at them! Let them have it! Come on, you bastards! Come on!’

  With a roar, he closed the gap and was into the Taliban position. With his rifle up and ready, all he wanted to do now was take everything out on the enemy and hammer into them with all that he had. He was ready for a fight now. Every part of him was wired for going in close and tearing someone apart. He wasn’t violent by nature. None of them were. But when faced with this, and with the training they’d all had, a switch was flicked and they were up for it, blood-and-guts style.