‘ENEMY STRAIGHT AHEAD! IN ALLEYWAY!’
This was followed by a long burst of 7.62 as the GPMG opened up.
‘Sangar Three, this is Zero. Not sure if you saw that but pax seen in alleyway are on direct axis to CT. Keep your eyes peeled, OK?’
Mathers sahib’s voice was as clear as ever, but I could tell he was seriously pumped up.
‘Sangar Three, roger out.’
I strained my eyes searching for movement, but there was nothing. Everything had gone eerily quiet. If you didn’t know the circumstances, you would have said it was a beautiful night. The moon was bright and the stars sparkled with an intensity you just don’t get in England. As I lay in my forward position on the roof, I allowed myself a moment to think about my wife and family back in Nepal. It was hard to imagine I should be joining them in less than twenty days from now, and I asked God to look after them for me until I could get home – whenever that turned out to be. And yet, almost as soon as the thought came, I banished it. I couldn’t afford the luxury of even five seconds’ dreaming. This was the time to be switched on. If you give in to thoughts about home when you’re as exhausted as we were, there’s a danger you’re going to fall asleep, and that’s the single worst thing you could ever do. If that happens, someone’s going to die for sure, and when they do, it’ll be your fault. I reminded myself there were enemy out there. They could be just a few metres away, getting ready to lob a grenade up onto the roof.
‘You OK in there, bhai haru?’ I wanted to know.
‘Fine, guruji.’
‘Just thinking about what a nice place this would be to come on holiday, guruji.’ That was Gaaz, of course.
Satisfied they were fully alert, I was just about to send a sitrep to the tower when something flashed in a blaze of intense white light across the corner of my field of vision.
RPG!
A split second later, it exploded against the wall directly below me.
‘I’ve got him! I’ve got him!’ cried Nagen, opening up with the Minimi. He was quickly joined by Gaaz on the GPMG while I reached immediately for the UGL. An instant later there were two more explosions as first one then another RPG round exploded behind us somewhere in the compound. Straight away both Sangar 1 and platoon HQ’S GPMGs burst into life as the two positions erupted in fury.
Above the clatter of small-arms fire, I heard the 2 i/c come up on the PRR. It seemed the mortar team had spotted the contact.
‘MFC will engage with both systems,’ he announced. That meant he’d be deploying both mortar and sustained-fire GPMG. I lay watching – a bit nervously, I admit – as his tracer arced through the air towards us. The target area was less than 100 metres from the sangar position, so there was very little margin for error.
To start with, the rounds landed a good distance away, but successive bursts came closer and closer.
‘Aaye guruji! You’d better look out!’ yelled Gaaz from inside the sangar.
He was right. Although the rounds were not actually striking the sangar, the ricochets were, and in a way that was even more dangerous. At least when you are being engaged directly, the rounds fall reasonably predictably, but a ricochet has a completely random trajectory. You could easily lose an eye if you were trying to watch the fall of shot.
‘Zero, this is Sangar Three, CHECK FIRE!’ I shouted. ‘I say again, CHECK FIRE!’
‘Zero, roger. GPMG to check fire. Was he getting close?’
‘No but his ricochets were.’
‘Roger.’
‘Good call, guruji,’ said Gaaz. ‘I don’t mind dying, but I’d rather not be taken out by our own side.’
Not long after, Rex sahib’s voice came up on the PRR. He reported that he had instructed the MFC to prepare to target the area of the football pitch and be ready to creep rounds back onto the DC in the event of a major attack developing.
The words sound quite ordinary, but I could tell at once what was being said. If a serious action developed, the OC wanted the mortars to fire right up to the DC. And if the enemy got over the walls, they were to drop rounds inside. You don’t call for indirect fire on your own position unless you think you are in danger of complete disaster. It looked as if we were going to have to face the possibility of blue on blue whether we liked it or not.
‘Roger so far, over.’
Each of the sangar positions acknowledged the call in turn.
‘Zero, also be advised we are getting reports of enemy mobile mortar base plate being moved up. So all of you keep a good eye for any further vehicle activity and let me know.’
How the OC knew this, I’m not sure, but it could possibly be int from a high-flying spy plane. This was one big advantage we had – the ability to get intelligence from the air.
‘Charlie Charlie One,’ the OC continued, ‘Emerald Thirty-Three confirms air support en route. Should be overhead within the hour.’
Emerald 33 was the callsign of the 3 PARA Battlegroup commander. Well, that was good news. But it was bad news too. It meant that we had another sixty minutes without air support. Air int was great, but what we needed was weapons delivery systems – A-10 or Apache or even B-52. If they were delayed, this must also mean there were other major contacts going on which prevented them getting here sooner. Where could these other contacts be? Probably 3 PARA themselves were having a rough time of it too.
It was around 3.30 a.m. when the Apache finally arrived but, strange to say, there were no further contacts before it did so. And apart from one brief sighting of movement at the end of the alleyway opposite Sangar 1, there weren’t any more afterwards either. I heard later that our interpreter had been listening to the enemy radio broadcasts throughout the night and it seemed they had taken some casualties. Maybe that was why they hadn’t in the end come in with a full-scale attack on the DC.
The sound of the muezzin’s loudspeaker calling people to morning prayer coincided with a realisation that the enemy had almost certainly dispersed.
‘Allaaahu akbar … Allah is most great …
‘I testify that there is no God but Allah …
‘I testify that Muhammad is the prophet of Allah …
‘Come to prayer. Come to salvation …
‘Allaaahu akbar … There is no God but Allah.’
‘That’s so wrong!’ exclaimed Gaaz. ‘If there’s one god, there’s hundreds of them. If not thousands. You know what, guruji, that jatha is really starting to annoy me. I swear I’m going to accidentally drop a UGL on him one of these days.’
I knew he was joking and I knew what he was getting at, but I couldn’t let this go unchallenged.
‘If you did, I’d have to charge you,’ I replied. A charge, in this case, meaning to bring a charge for behaviour unbecoming of a British soldier, leading to a court martial.
‘You would too, wouldn’t you, guruji?’
‘Definitely.’
‘You’re a hard man, guruji. But that’s why we look up to you and all the other gurujis. You’re completely honest.’
I shrugged. The point is, as an NCO you have to show the riflemen how to behave. You have to lead by example, and they have to know exactly where they stand. They have to know that you would be willing to give up your life for them. That way they can trust you. But it is also important for them to know that you would not hesitate to punish them severely for wrongdoing – most especially if it brought the Brigade of Gurkhas into disrepute in any way.
In this we are perhaps a little bit different from other parts of the Army. As I have said, for us, to be a member of the Brigade of Gurkhas is like being a member of a family. We look out for each other as if we were all members of the same family. So if somebody does something that could harm the good name of the Brigade, it is as if they did something bad to their own brother. More importantly, this is also the way we fight. We fight as members of a family. If someone gets hurt, it’s like you yourself get hurt.
Our attitude is also what makes us different from other Nepalese too. Back in Nep
al, this kind of deep feeling extends beyond your own immediate family to other members of the same caste. But it doesn’t go further than that. In Nepal, whether you are a Rai or a Limbu, a Gurung or a Sherpa, it really matters. On the other hand, once you are a Gurkha, there is no caste or even class distinction at all. The only distinctions we make are based on rank and experience.
The sound of the muezzin gave way to silence. The eerie silence of a graveyard. What we didn’t know at the time was that that night’s contacts were the last serious action we were to see in Now Zad. From this time onwards, our main problem would be just sniper and occasional mortar fire.
We remained stood-to well into the next day, however, and it was not until around noon that I was called down off the position for a resupp of ANP Hill. They were getting low on ammo and water.
As before, it was really nerve-racking to go out of the compound so soon after a major engagement. We couldn’t be sure there wasn’t a stay-behind party lying in wait for us, knowing there must be a good chance we’d be going out at some point. On average, we went out of the DC once every forty-eight hours either to collect stores or to take stores up to ANP Hill. The Taliban knew this perfectly well by now, and it wouldn’t have been at all difficult for them to ambush us just as they had ambushed the ANP twice already. In fact, thinking back, it seems strange they never did.
16
Extraction
The next real excitement the enemy had in store for us was a return to indirect fire. Last night’s intelligence about a new base plate was obviously spot on. This time he aimed at the DC instead of ANP Hill and several rounds fell just outside the compound to the north-east and south-west. The shout went up around the compound.
‘IDF! I-D-F! TAKE COVERRRR!’
I was on duty in Sangar 1 when the rounds landed and immediately started looking with my binos for the tell-tale smoke and dust of the round being fired. There was a pause before the next rounds came, and this time they fell within a few metres of the CT.
‘Aaye, guruji!’ exclaimed Gaaz. ‘The next one’s gonna be right on top! Jatha!’
By that time, of course, everybody on the roof of the CT was safely inside, but even so a direct hit would have been a big nuisance. It would definitely destroy the HF (high frequency) and satellite radio antennae. If that happened it would massively disrupt our ability to communicate with the outside world, and we’d be in a really bad way. No outside comms would mean no air support.
But at that point the enemy stopped.
‘What was that all about?’ demanded Gaaz. ‘Just when he’d got us bracketed, he stopped. D’you reckon he just ran out of ammo?’
‘Unlikely,’ I replied. ‘More likely he was just setting up his base plate. As soon as he saw what the final correction was to get on target, he stopped. Any more and there was a chance he’d give his position away.’
‘So what you’re saying is he’ll be back. And next time he won’t miss.’
‘That’s my guess.’
‘You know what, guruji? You have a really good military brain. I am impressed.’
‘Thanks, but it doesn’t take genius. I’d say the Taliban have a good military brain. They saw what happened last time when they attacked us with mortar. They might not realise it was the bomber that picked up the heat source. They might think it was just luck in spotting the base plate. Either way, they know they daren’t risk identifying their position to us. Besides, by doing this, they keep us guessing. We don’t know when they’re going to hit us next.’
‘You mean they’re trying to make us afraid?’
‘Of course! And they hope they can wear us down by keeping us always on the lookout. They want us to have to be extra careful as we move round the compound. Never to walk, but always to run. Never to leave your helmet off. We’d do exactly the same.’
‘You’re right, guruji. You have to give the jatha some credit, don’t you?’
Our other big problem from now on was highly accurate sniper fire. As I knew from my previous stay in the country, there was still a good supply of Dragunov rifles in Afghanistan, and we assumed that this is what the enemy were using. Luckily, we managed to identify several of his fire positions, and by patiently waiting in his own pre-prepared position, Corporal Im Ghale, who was universally recognised as the best shot in the whole company, was able to take out a number of them.
A nervous calm descended on the DC and we began to notice other things more. The heat, the dust, our exhaustion. Strangely, it was during these periods of inaction that it became more important than ever to keep morale up among the bhais. I did this by a combination of attention to detail as to SOPs and drills, and taking advantage of the opportunity to get everyone properly rested. I even took up smoking as a way of relaxing myself. A lot of the gurujis and bhais also smoked, and I must say that I found it very enjoyable to chat and puff away as the sun went down in the evenings and the heat began to get a little less intense.
Although I never slept very much, it was good, too, to go and lie down. Sometimes I used to carry on thinking about the conversations about basic training I’d been having with Gaaz. They were hard, but they were such happy days.
*
From Pokhara and Kathmandu, we flew to Church Crookham. Arriving after a twelve-hour flight, it was snowing and really cold. Even though it was only late January, I did not expect this. I expected weather something like it was in Pokhara – warm by day and cooler in the evening. The other unexpected thing was the attitude of the gurujis. I thought that now we were starting basic training, they would be kinder. In fact, as soon as we arrived the first thing they did was to advertise each other’s bad qualities.
‘You want to watch out for So-and-So. The man’s a tiger.’
‘Don’t mess the short one around. He’s a karate black belt. Last year he knocked down six recruits in a single day.’ Of course, they weren’t being quite serious. They just wanted to put us on our guard.
As at Pokhara, there was a lot of drill, but here it was even harder. Every morning there would be a parade with lots of shouting as we were taken through the different routines, first with no weapons, then with wooden ones to familiarise us with the movements, finally with actual rifles. We all hated it. Luckily for me, because of my height I was always put in the back row, usually at the end to act as anchor.
One difference from Pokhara was that at Church Crookham the gurujis expected 100 per cent respect for authority at all times.
‘Yes, guruji. No, guruji.’
Whenever we spoke to them, we had better be sure to remember our manners. The result was that I hardly ever opened my mouth without using the word ‘guruji’ to everyone except my intake – including, to her surprise, one rather stern aunt I had! After a few weeks in England we were allowed to phone our families back in Nepal. When she answered, I found I couldn’t stop myself.
One other big difference from Pokhara was the frequent kit inspections. Every morning and every evening, as well as after practically every activity, we had to stand to attention while our stuff was examined by one of the gurujis. I swear they could smell it if anything was out of place. Occasionally you might try to hide an unironed shirt underneath a pile of ironed ones. But somehow they would always sniff it out.
‘You can’t fool me,’ they’d say as they handed out a punishment – an extra duty, say, or twenty press-ups on the spot.
Another big difference – and, as it turned out, a big help in Afghanistan – was the lack of sleep. Every day we were woken early and then kept up very late. And as in Now Zad, when we did get to bed at the end of the day I was often so keyed up that it took me ages to get to sleep. I used to lie there thinking about my home and my mum and dad and my sister. I remember feeling sorry for the times I had told little Gudiya off, and I regretted my hard words.
We slept twenty to each block. Every morning it would be the same. The alarm sounded and someone switched it off. Nobody moved. Then one of the gurujis would march in with a stick and
start poking our feet with it.
‘Get up you lazy w*nk*rs!’
While in Pokhara, whenever the gurujis swore at us, it was in Gorkhali, but at Church Crookham it was generally in English, so this was one way we expanded our vocabulary.
‘If you jathas aren’t out of your lazy beds in the next five seconds there’s going to be trouble.’
Fortunately for me, my place was at the end of the room, furthest from where the guruji came in. If I was really quick, I could get up as soon as he entered and be dressed before he reached my bed.
One result of having so little sleep at night was that we were always falling asleep by day. Given the smallest opportunity, at least one person was bound to be caught out. Never during drill or PT or sports or on parade, of course. But in any classroom activity, even weapon training or first aid, there was always the danger. English classes were the biggest problem of all, with guys falling asleep the whole time. Luckily the lessons were given by civilian teachers, and they weren’t so strict. There would even be occasions, if a lot of people were struggling, when they actually stopped the class.
‘Right, everyone. Five minutes’ sleep!’
Then we would all collapse on our desks. These teachers were really nice, though sometimes they did lose patience.
‘Come on, guys, if you don’t pay attention I’m going to have to report you.’
This meant trouble, so we really tried hard. As a result, you’d see people running out of class every few minutes to splash their faces with water. Another technique we had was, as soon as we felt ourselves going, to start chewing the chillis we always carried round in our pockets. Unfortunately, this only worked for about the first ten minutes.
If you did actually drop off, the first thing that happened was the person next to you would be told to give you a slap. When you had come-to, the gurujis would have a few choice words to say before making you do some press-ups or a run round the block outside.
‘Kailash. If you don’t pay attention, I’m going to rip your arms off and beat you round the head with the wet end.’
Gurkha Page 26
