Following a long and emotional goodbye to everyone, my mother drove me back to the barracks. I can recall the car journey being pretty quiet for the most part. I was suffering from the same sort of nerves or butterflies that you experienced at school when the bell had just rung for lunch break and you were on the way to the playground where a bully was waiting to punch you.
When we finally arrived at the barracks, I remember it being really quite a sunny and warm day and the area seemed almost deserted. All the other companies were already deployed in Afghanistan, and it was strange to see the place so quiet. We both walked through to my room, which I shared with Dan and Alex. My kit was all ready on the bed, so I did my final checks making sure all my magazines were there and that I had emptied my water bottles to ensure that there was no water in them to become stagnant by the time I arrived. Going down sick on one’s first day on operations would not have gone down very well at all.
I could see the tears welling up in my mother’s eyes as we stood by the car, saying goodbye. She held on to me as if she was resisting letting go, promising to write to me and send parcels. It was surreal feeling and, in the back of my mind, there was the thought that this could be the very last time I would see my mother. I remember trying to brush it all off by saying that everything would be fine, that there were no problems at all, and telling her to keep her chin up and stop being silly.
After my mother had gone, Deano and Scotty arrived and I quickly changed into uniform ready for the first parade. Off we then went for muster parade, dressed in our fresh, clean, perfectly pressed desert combat clothing with the badges all in the right places. Soon we were all catching up on what we had got up to during our leave. It was normal stuff, but amongst this slightly high spirited chatter we were also talking about things we had seen online about Afghanistan, similar to the video I had seen on YouTube, and saying how mad it all looked. It was a scene of mixed feelings once again.
After the parade, we went back to our rooms to chill out while we waited to leave. Later, as we went to the cookhouse for our evening meal, the trucks and coaches began to arrive. My kit weighed an absolute ton and dug in to my shoulders, but we needed to carry things for every eventuality, including being delayed and having to stay overnight somewhere en route. We all piled on to the transport and I remember it being dark by the time we left. I tried to get some sleep as we drove towards our first destination, South Cerney, where we were checked-in and handed in our bags. We were held there for around four or five hours which seemed like an eternity.
As a soldier, I always considered myself fortunate having the surname Cartwright because in the Army everything is always done in alphabetical order and so I was always one of the first to be called. As I walked around the departures area before we left for RAF Brize Norton, I noticed that people were tending to group with their closest friends. This was probably even more the case with those of us in the FSG because we were split up among the rifle companies. In some instances, this would continue throughout the whole forthcoming tour, even though many new friendships would be forged.
We finally arrived at RAF Brize Norton where we all sat around in our groups, waiting for the off. The aircraft arrived in the form of an RAF Tri-Star which took us on an eight-hour flight to Kandahar, which was one of the provinces adjoining Helmand Province in the south of Afghanistan. We were served normal airline type food, but there were no in-flight movies. During the flight, I sat next to a member of B Company whom we had got to know during the six months of training.
During that time, most of our instructors were Paras whom we had watched on YouTube. They had handed over to 42 Commando RM whom we were relieving. Despite my having failed to join the Royal Marines, I was still going to end up fighting in Helmand and so it somehow seemed like destiny. That led me to thinking perhaps I would not come back, that perhaps I would die out there. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that there was nothing I could do to control my fate, no matter how fast I ran or how low I crawled. If I was going to be wounded or killed, then it would happen.
As we approached Kandahar, I checked my kit because we needed to keep our body armour and helmets with us at all times. Although it is not mentioned on the news, Kandahar airport is attacked regularly. At that time, there were still Taliban operating in Kandahar and the Canadians were responsible for the area. The British did not see much actual fighting in Kandahar as the majority of their troops were based in Helmand. When you consider that Afghanistan is around four or five times the size of the United Kingdom and Helmand is the size of Wales, that puts it into perspective – it is a big place.
We landed at the huge air base under cover of darkness, because landings only take place at night to avoid aircraft becoming targets of ground fire. On arrival, we moved into what can only be described as one massive air conditioned tent. As I came down the stairs of the plane the overriding feeling was that, ‘There are thousands of people here that want to kill me.’ The other thing that hit me was the sheer intensity of the heat. It was so incredibly humid, similar to when you step off an air conditioned aircraft when going on holiday. The big difference was that there was no suntan lotion and cold beer waiting for us.
We climbed aboard buses which took us to a massive sand-coloured air conditioned tent that looked like a huge hollowed out bouncy castle in which you could fit two or three tennis courts. There we found massive fridge freezers with ice cold bottled water displaying large signs saying, ‘Cold bottle out – hot bottle in.’ There were strict rules on smoking, with huge bins provided for cigarette butts of which there were only three. Large quantities were scattered around the bins – typical squaddies, nothing changes.
We arrived in time for the evening meal, along with coachloads of other troops coming from the flight line into the main camp. The sheer size of the base was almost overwhelming, its facilities a whole world apart from those at British bases. We drove past floodlit American football pitches and tennis courts, as well as Burger King, Pizza Hut and Subway fast food outlets. You could buy embroidered t-shirts, Persian rugs, perfume, alcohol-free beer and all manner of things ranging from Play Station 3s through to beef jerky. All of us wanted to head for the American cookhouse as it was reputedly so much better than its British equivalent, with everything you could want. Unfortunately, it was closing as it was late so we ended up eating British food.
Having eaten, we were shown to our sleeping quarters for the night. Once again, these were massive: an area the size of two football pitches with bunk beds almost as far as the eye could see. We all crashed out for the night. I had my iPod and so listened to my music while Deano watched Casino Royale on his portable DVD player.
On the following morning, following an early breakfast, we left in coaches for the airstrip where we boarded a C-130 Hercules transport for the half-hour flight to Camp Bastion in Helmand.
Flying in a Hercules was an experience in itself. Strapped into our seats, we faced each other across the fuselage which was soon like an oven despite the crew leaving the rear ramp down a little. We had to keep all of our kit on, including our helmets, so our hair was soon clogged with sweat. The inevitable black humour soon surfaced, with one lad saying, ‘What’s the point in us wearing our helmets in this oven? It’s not going to make a great deal of difference if we get hit in mid-air, plunging thousands of feet to our deaths.’ He did have a point. In any case, our body armour was of the older type that only protected the area of the heart and, contrary to popular belief, did not stop the bullet. All it did was to ensure the exit wound would be the same size as the entry wound, so reducing the risk of the bullet creating a vacuum on impact and exiting about ten times the size, creating considerable internal damage.
In contrast, the new Osprey body armour was fantastic and we would be issued this within the first few days of arriving in Helmand. The Kevlar plates were huge and heavy but covered all of the vital organs and in ballistic tests proved that they could deflect a round from an AK-47, leaving only minor br
uising. The vests that carry the plates are totally adaptable with nylon loops sewn on to the outside so you can attach magazine and utility pouches to it and not have to wear belt kit or a chest rig. Also on the back there are clips for attaching your water bottle and looping your drinking tube under your left arm so you can drink without taking your hands off of your weapon.
We approached Camp Bastion, an escort of Apache attack helicopters guiding us in during the last stage of our journey. Built in the middle of nowhere, in an area that is not too dissimilar to the fens in the east of England, Bastion appeared to be a safe place with the surrounding terrain being entirely flat for miles around, affording no cover for any form of conventional attack.
When we arrived, we found C Company about to move out for Kajaki in the north. A Company was needed to hold Nowzad while B Company was to look after Forward Operating Base (FOB) Robinson for two weeks. FOB Robinson’s principal role was to provide artillery support for Sangin, which lay some six kilometres to the north and had seen some of the fiercest fighting in Afghanistan.
No sooner had had we arrived than we began our Reception, Staging & Onwards Integration (RSOI) package. This began with a series of briefings, studying local areas and analysing each attack that had taken place and numbers of enemy casualties, information on the Taliban and the kind of weapons they had been using and the various tactics being employed by them over the last period. We also underwent training on mines and mine clearance, and carried out a considerable amount of live firing with our weapons.
During this period, my fellow snipers and I made contact with our Royal Marine counterparts who provided us with a considerable amount of information including range data on the .338 calibre rifles we would be using. Once we had zeroed our weapons, we tested the Marines’ range data out and it proved faultless at different ranges varying from a hundred metres up to a mile, enabling us to set up our rifles and telescopic sights ready for action.
CHAPTER 7
FOB Robinson
On completion of its RSOI package B Company, less No. 6 Platoon, received its initial orders for deployment. Attached to it would be its Fire Support Team (FST) which included mortar fire controllers (MFCs) and the Forward Air Controller (FAC) and his team who would call up air support if so required.
As I mentioned previously, FOB Robinson was situated around six kilometres south of Sangin. There was some Canadian artillery based there along with some of our own gunner units. We were to relieve the last group of 42 Royal Marine Commando there. 2nd Royal Tank Regiment (2 RTR) was due to move there but had not arrived at that time, so our orders were to deploy to FOB Robinson for two weeks before being relieved by 2 RTR who would be operating in the dismounted role, having left their Challenger 2 tanks at their home base in Wiltshire. After that, we were to be a Mobile Operations Group (MOG) while 2 RTR guarded the FOB and maintained security for the artillery providing fire support for Sangin and all the other out-stations in the area.
The advance party received orders to deploy by Chinook helicopter two days before the main force. I remember being issued our ammunition along with our personal medical kits which included two first field dressings (FFDs), a tourniquet, and a syrette of morphine. We had to carry ten litres of water, because water was in short supply in the FOB, in addition to the rest of our kit that comprised only essential items. All non-essential kit was stored in an ISO container for safekeeping while we were on operations.
We moved to the helicopter flight line on the Sunday morning. I was in the second group to move out and as we approached the flight line, the sheer weight of our kit became unbelievable, to the point where I could hear the stitching on our Bergens snapping open under the weight. Eventually, the packs began to give way under the strain, and so we arranged for a truck to take them up to the flight line. On arrival there, most of us needed help to don them again and stand up because we were wearing our full Osprey body armour with the big plates, which alone weighed 30 pounds, plus carrying a rifle weighing a further 9 pounds. This was in addition to ammunition, food, water, clothing, sleeping bag and everything else. I did keep my DVD player as my one luxury; it weighed nothing in comparison.
Aboard the Chinook, I sat looking out of the window as the helicopter rose gently and then lurched forwards before banking sharply to the left and beginning to climb, its blades thumping heavily. The tailgate was down, giving us a good view and allowing in air that became colder as we climbed higher.
After about ten minutes the aircraft dipped steeply as it manoeuvred itself down low into the Sangin Valley where, as we swept lower, I could see Afghan compounds for the first time, each of them in a form of a square with a box-like building in the centre. The loadmaster signalled to us to load our rifles and at that point I began to feel the butterflies in my stomach. This was it! This was when it really began to register in my mind that we were at war and this was no exercise! I was nervous as hell as we all inserted magazines into our rifles as we came low into the valley.
At that point the Chinook released a couple of flares with a loud thump while swerving from left to right while hugging the valley walls. The words ‘Two minutes’ came down the line, signalling that it was only two minutes until we landed. It seemed a long time. I am sure it was not only my heart that was racing, as we all knew what was happening. The front end of the helicopter rose up as it slowed down and flared for landing.
On disembarking from the Chinook, we ran as fast as possible through the dust clouds engulfing the whole scene before dropping to our knees about 50 metres from the helicopter. Looking back, I saw the loadmaster sprinting along with a number of Marines towards the aircraft, which took off a few moments later. All this lasted only around two minutes, but it seemed to be a lot longer as clouds of sand and stones sprayed over us. The reality was there were no mortars or shots being fired and it was actually a world apart from the visions I had in my head as we landed.
Colour Sergeant Snow, who was in command of my fire support group, FSG Bravo, was alongside Reedy and Bernie in a WMIK (weapons mount installation kit) which is a specially equipped Land Rover armed with a 7.62mm general purpose machine gun (GPMG) mounted forward in the commander’s position and a .50 calibre heavy machine gun in the rear.
I walked over to the WMIK and dumped my kit on the back of the vehicle as Colour Sergeant Snow said, ‘All right JC? Good flight?’ My throat was dry because of the dust as I replied, ‘Yeah Colour, I’m good. Where are we staying?’ He pointed out a tower a little distance away and told me to go and find Pete Tointon who was second-in-command and, although a corporal, he was doing a sergeant’s job. ‘Go and see Pete and he’ll square you away.’
Arriving in FOB Robinson, we learned that it consisted of two main parts: the tower and Snake Pit, and what we called the Dust Bowl that ran down to the 611 road. There was high ground to the east and west, which was called the Sangin Valley. Task Force Fury, an American unit was there. It was a typical American name and they did what the Americans do best, but it is tricky for me to talk about that.
I met up with Scotty and asked where Pete was and he replied that he was in the Snake Pit. When I asked what the hell the Snake Pit was, and was told that this was where the officers were based. Scotty showed me where our room, literally right next to a small room where the text link computer and a television were located. The computer had nothing else but the actual text link on it, not even a good game of solitaire. You typed in the mobile number of the phone to which you wanted to send a message and then the message which was sent as a text. Nice and simple and absolutely fantastic because I could send a text any time. We were four hours ahead, so I could wake up in the morning and send across a message to Annie. It operated on a similar basis to our mobile phones at home, where we were given around fifty credits per week and each text took around three credits. Like the telephone credits, these could be accumulated if you did not use them.
As we entered our room, Scotty said, ‘Deano’s on stag at the moment, your be
d’s there.’ I opened a bottle of water and downed almost half of it. I noticed Scotty was wearing desert trousers and flip flops, so I stripped down to this as well, because I was absolutely soaked in sweat. Pete came in and was as cheerful as usual asking how I was, while I stood there almost out of breath from gulping the water too fast. At that point, my bergen arrived on the WMIK. Grabbing it, I brought it inside and then Scotty showed me around. It was just the four of us, Deano, Pete, Scotty and me, in this room as the rest of the FSG were in various compounds dotted around the Dust Bowl.
The whole place was somewhat gloomy, just brown everywhere, and looked as if it was basically made of mud and straw. The buildings were solid and sturdy, just like bricks and mortar, but most importantly stayed cool despite the stifling heat, the temperature inside never climbing above 10 degrees, providing much needed relief when we stepped in from over 40 degrees of heat outside.
The routine was simple. We got up, washed and cleaned our teeth, shaving not being mandatory due to the lack of water, and went on ‘stag’ when required to do so. We ‘stagged on’ with the FST up in the tower which controlled the artillery fire should it be required. There were also the FAC who controlled any air assets we had, which normally meant the Apache helicopters but every now and again US Air Force F-15 Eagles. In short, nothing happened at all in this first period of deployment. The whole area around us was mined, which meant we would not be conducting foot patrols; likewise, anyone attacking the FOB on foot would have had to tread very carefully. In the end, we organised it so snipers would stag on during the day, and the FST during the night but, at any time, twenty-four hours a day, the snipers would be on call to run to and man any of the positions needing assistance. If we needed to get ‘eyes on’ and fire a warning shot to let the enemy know we were there, or even if we needed to take a kill, we were on call whenever we were needed. Apart from us, the watchtowers were being manned by the rest of B Company, less No. 6 Platoon which was helping the Marines out with their last big operation.
Sniper in Helmand: Six Months on the Frontline Page 4
