When I stepped outside the armoury again, my father was just getting out of his car. He’d come straight from his weekly game of tennis, still wearing his shorts and a polo shirt. He smiled when he saw me, then broke into tears.
“Christian. Good to see you again.”
I gave him a hug. “Hello, Dad.”
“How are you?”
“I’m fine, Dad. I’m absolutely fine.”
He drove home, telling me all his latest news: his tennis result (he won), a spat with the neighbours about a fence, Monty and Trudie’s latest antics. I was keen to hear all about it. We stayed off the subject of Afghanistan for most of the journey.
“How was it out there?” he asked eventually.
“It was fine,” I said. “Nothing bad happened.”
“Really?”
“Well, not that I saw.”
He nodded. “Good.”
We got home, pulling up on the gravel driveway. A “Welcome Home” banner hung over the front door. As I climbed out of the car, the door opened and the dogs ran out. I had been concerned that Monty would have a heart attack on seeing me – he was ten years old and showing it – but he was quite well behaved, as was Trudie (two years old, not a heart-attack risk). They both stopped in front of me and waited to be fussed over, tails wagging. I’d instructed my mother to show them home-video footage of me in the last few days so that my return wouldn’t come as such a shock. It seemed to be working.
I knelt down and petted them both, just as the rest of my family came out: my mother, brother and sister, along with my three-year-old nephew Laurie. He hurried over first, excited to see his uncle in an army uniform. I picked him up and ruffled his hair, then walked over to my mother.
“Hello, Mum.”
I had expected my mother to do some crying, but she was surprisingly composed. I began to think my father had somehow managed to shed all the tears on her behalf. She looked at me almost warily, as though she wasn’t quite sure what to expect.
“How are you?” she asked.
“I’m fine, Mum.” I put Laurie down and gave her a hug. “I’m just fine.”
“Are you sure?”
At no stage had I told my parents I’d suffered in Afghanistan, but they were still clearly concerned that a traumatized monster might have returned in my place. My phone calls home had always been scant on working detail – the insecure lines meant that actual information had to be kept to a minimum – so their imaginations had filled in the gaps.
“I’m absolutely fine,” I said. “Trust me.”
My mother seemed happy with my answer, but I gave her another hug anyway. It was a day for hugging. My sister and brother were next – they got the treatment – then my mother suggested we all go into the house.
“We’ve got bubbly in the fridge,” she said, tears filling her eyes.
“We better drink it then.”
I followed them inside for champagne and sympathy, the former somewhat more deserved than the latter.
*
The Sunday Times, 10th July 2011: ‘British Push Afghans to Keep Taliban at Bay’.
*
A young gunner from the RAF Regiment had died during decompression the previous November, after he was hit by a power boat while swimming.
Epilogue
A year has passed since I returned from Afghanistan. I’m writing this at home in Nottinghamshire, the rain hammering against the loft window. After two very dry winters, we’ve had one of the wettest summers since records began. A lot of the country has been suffering from drought, so no one is really complaining. Hard rain is much needed.
The war drifts in and out of the news, struggling to make the headlines. “Afghanistan fatigue” doesn’t just affect the troops: apparently it extends to the general public, tired of hearing about something so miserable, so far away. The appetite for tales of woe from the desert has been replaced by more domestic concerns, the Western media preferring to focus on crime, showbiz, the economy and the weather.
I haven’t seen Russ since I got back – we’re friends on Facebook, nothing more – but I saw Ali at an MOG training weekend back in November. She’d only been back a few weeks, her face still brown from the Afghan sun.
“How did the rest of it go?” I asked her.
“It was OK,” she said. “We had a bit of fun with the Rifles, but it was all good.”
I already knew about the Rifles operation. Joe had started pushing for places on the Afghan-led offensive in Nahr-e Saraj within days of his arrival. By all accounts the operation had gone well, although Joe and Ali had come under heavy fire while out on patrol.
“How was Joe?”
“Joe was good, although he changed after that contact.”
“In what way?”
“Much less gung-ho. We didn’t go out as much after that.”
We chatted for ten minutes, reminiscing about the JMOC, running through the various personalities. Eventually we got around to some of the reporters, including the big man himself.
“Ross Kemp came back out,” Ali said, “and the Taliban finally shot at him!”
I had to smile. “Thank God for that.”
“An RPG as well. So he was happy.”
I pictured Ross hurling himself into a ditch as the RPG streaked overhead. After all those weeks in the Green Zone, he’d finally got what he wanted. Not for him the second-hand war story. He had to be there, right on the receiving end.
I was very different. I didn’t want to be there, right on the receiving end. I wanted to be somewhere else, somewhere safer.
As a BBC journalist and a reservist in the Media Operations Group, my priorities are easily blurred, but at least in the JMOC I had access to lines of communication that were clear and uncompromising. I occupied a privileged position, being able to look upon the war as both a soldier and a reporter. To my mind, that brought with it an obligation – moral, if not professional – to say something about what I saw.
The field reports might be considered a lame alternative to actual war reporting, but that doesn’t bother me. As far as I’m concerned, they do the job. Whenever I was in the field, away from Ops Watch, I didn’t know what was going on, save for the dramas in our own little tactical area. We’d be sitting in a patrol base, and Op Minimize would be announced, and no one would know why.
With the field reports at least, you knew what was happening. Throughout my tour I made a note of them whenever I could, and I’ve reproduced some of them in this book. Taken individually, they’re just snapshots, offering nothing more than a glimpse into the routine miseries of war. Considered as a whole, however, they produce a more telling effect, their numbers growing all the time, their depth of field stretching into the distance. Like rows of headstones in a cemetery, their strength lies in their repetition – they do not lend themselves to desensitization, and they do not lose their power to shock.
Not that the Combat Camera Team was trying to shock anybody. Our name was always a misnomer. We weren’t there to film and photograph combat. We were there to film and photograph something resembling its exact opposite. We were there to record evidence of progress.
Prior to Afghanistan, Combat Camera Teams were known as Mobile News Teams, but that didn’t work. No fighting unit wanted to go out on the ground with a Mobile News Team – it sounded like a liability. A trio of media guys – uniform or no uniform – would just slow everybody down. Hence the name change, turning us into something more robust, something more self-sufficient; a team that could presumably handle itself in a combat environment and not get everybody else killed.
I didn’t get the chance to describe combat first-hand, and for that I’m grateful. I’ve read enough of the reports to know it’s not something I want inside my head. There’s already enough stuff jumbling around in there as it is.
My career in local radio continues at a slow, inexorable pace, only now with the occasional panic attack. For almost ten years I’ve read the news and not been remotely bothered about
any technical difficulties that might arise during the bulletin. At the BBC we read the news off a monitor using a system called Radioman, which occasionally crashes, forcing the reader to revert to a printed version of the bulletin. This has never derailed me in the past – why would it? – but now, when it happens, the attack kicks in. My pulse rate doubles in a matter of seconds: I can feel my face start to burn and, most disastrously, I start to gasp for air.
Naturally I can see the funny side – there is something inherently amusing about a newsreader having a panic attack during a bulletin – but it’s never comical at the time. When it’s actually happening, it feels like I’m having a heart attack.
It’s happened three times since I got back from Afghanistan. Mercifully, it’s always been the 6 a.m. bulletin, when perhaps Radioman is still half asleep, and when hardly anybody is listening. The first two times it happened near the end of the bulletin, and I managed to curtail the read without drawing too much attention to myself. The third time was much worse – it crashed on my first story. I practically stopped breathing, my attempts to read sounding like something out of a horror movie. Had any children been listening, it would’ve given them nightmares. After twenty seconds I couldn’t take it any more, clawing at the faders, killing my microphone. The presenter had to cut back in, mumbling something about “technical difficulties” before playing a song.
My colleagues were perfectly good about it – they asked if I was OK, and then nothing more was said – but it’s not something I can just ignore. I have no idea why it happens. I’m certainly not traumatized by my experiences in Afghanistan. As I always tell people, nothing bad happened to me out there.
I don’t know. Maybe it’s my mind’s way of telling me to leave again and do something else – although, frankly, I have no idea what that would be.
APPENDIX 1
Field Reports and Significant Acts
TWO QUIET DAYS ON THE AFGHAN FRONT (25TH–26TH JUNE 2011)
Saturday 25th June 2011
Significant acts: N/A.
Helmand, 5.50 a.m.
A foot patrol from L Company 42 Commando comes under small-arms and indirect fire from up to three insurgents in Nahr-e Saraj. The Marines positively identify the insurgents’ position and return fire with fifty mortar rounds. Two A-10s from the 74th US Expeditionary Fighter Squadron drop one GBU-38 500-lb bomb and one GBU-54 500-lb bomb. Two Apaches engage the insurgents with one AGM-114 (Hellfire) and five hundred and sixty 30-mm rounds, forcing them to withdraw. Later the patrol is re-engaged by between two and four insurgents with indirect fire. The two Apaches positively identify the insurgents inside a compound and engage them with one AGM-114 and five hundred and twenty 30-mm rounds, forcing them to break contact. The engagement results in two buildings destroyed, one building damaged, one wall damaged and two insurgents killed (unconfirmed). There are no friendly forces casualties.
Herat, 7.30 a.m.
A vehicle patrol from 207th ANA Corps strikes an IED in Adraskan District, killing three Afghan soldiers.
Ghazni, 8.05 a.m.
A US route clearance patrol strikes an IED in Wali Mohammed-E Shahid District. The explosion results in four US soldiers Cat A.
Kapisa, 8.55 a.m.
A joint foot patrol from 1st Kandak 3/201st ANA Corps, 202nd ANP Zone and 1er Régiment de Chasseurs Parachutistes (France) comes under small-arms fire in Tagab District. They positively identify the insurgent position and return fire. Forward Operating Base Kutshbach engages the insurgents with eight 120-mm rounds, forcing them to break contact. The attack results in the death of one French soldier.
Kandahar, 9.12 a.m.
A combined dismounted patrol from 1st Kandak 3/205th ANA Corps and 1st Squadron 32nd US Cavalry Regiment receives small-arms fire in Zharay District. They positively identify the insurgent firing position and return fire with small arms and 60-mm mortar rounds, forcing the insurgents to withdraw. Shortly afterwards, a 12-year-old Afghan civilian with a gunshot wound is brought to Combat Outpost Ahmed Khan and flown to Kandahar hospital, accompanied by his brother. The engagement results in two insurgents being killed (reported by village elders) and one insurgent wounded. The village elders state that they blame the insurgents for this incident and friendly forces have reported the potential use of Afghan civilians as human shields. The incident is under investigation. Friendly forces have initiated consequence management to include releasing a public-address message informing the public of insurgent use of Afghan civilians as human shields.
Khost, 10.03 a.m.
Afghan security forces at Border Security Point 1 in Terayzai District receive eleven 82-mm mortar rounds of insurgent indirect fire. The Afghan security forces positively identify a point of origin located inside Pakistan and conduct a counter-fire mission with nine 82-mm rounds. They also deploy a foot patrol to block an infiltration route from Pakistan. The patrol strikes an IED, killing three members of the Afghan security forces.
Wardak, 10.20 a.m.
A patrol from 202nd Afghan National Police Zone is engaged by an unknown number of insurgents with small-arms fire in Jalrayz District, leaving one police officer dead. Five insurgents are detained.
Logar, 10.30 a.m.
An insurgent with a vehicle-borne IED attempts to enter the Police Headquarters in Azrah District. After being denied entry, he drives to a nearby hospital and then detonates the device. This results in twenty Afghan civilians killed, twenty-three wounded and one insurgent killed. There are no ISAF forces on site. The President of Afghanistan and head of ISAF publicly condemn the attack.
Nahr-e Saraj, 1.15 p.m.
A vehicle in a mounted patrol from 215th ANA Corps strikes an IED containing around 20 kg of unknown bulk explosive charge in Nahr-e Saraj. The blast kills three ANA soldiers.
Kunar, 3.03 p.m.
A combined foot patrol from 2/201st ANA Corps and 2nd Battalion 35th US Infantry Regiment comes under small-arms and indirect fire from insurgents in Watahpur District. The patrol positively identifies the insurgents’ position and returns fire. The engagement leaves one US soldier dead, four US soldiers Cat A, one US soldier Cat B, one Afghan soldier dead, one Afghan soldier Cat A, and two insurgents dead.
Helmand, 5.09 p.m.
While conducting a security operation in Nad-e Ali, 2nd Battalion 8th US Marines come under small-arms fire from insurgents. This results in one Marine Cat A (gunshot wound to right shoulder) and one Marine Cat B (gunshot wounds to the left foot and buttock). The Marines positively identify the insurgent firing position and return fire with small arms and a 40-mm grenade launcher. One round from the grenade launcher possibly lands short, resulting in two Marines Cat A (facial injuries). The wounded are flown back to Bastion in two missions (thirty-three minutes and forty-eight minutes). One of the Marines wounded by the 40-mm grenade goes into cardiac arrest at Bastion and dies. This is an unconfirmed blue-on-blue incident and is under investigation.
Nahr-e Saraj, 6.44 p.m.
Afghan police on a routine security operation 3.2 km north-east of Main Operating Base Price are caught in the blast from a suspected motorbike IED. It kills one policeman and wounds two others.
Kunar, 6.48 p.m.
A foot patrol from 2/201st ANA Corps comes under small-arms fire in Shigal Wa Sheltan District. Friendly forces positively identify the insurgents’ position and return fire. Two A-10s from the 74th US Expeditionary Fighter Squadron drop three GBU-38 500-lb bombs on the insurgents’ position. The initial firefight results in the death of one Afghan soldier.
Kunar, 10.30 p.m.
A US CH-47 (Chinook) crashes in Watahpur District, resulting in three US soldiers Cat A and three US soldiers Cat B. All twenty-four crew and passengers are recovered. The reason for the crash is under investigation, but it was not caused by insurgents.
Sunday 26th June 2011
Significant acts: 127
Helmand, 4.33 a.m.
A combined dismounted patrol from 2nd Kandak 2/215th ANA Corps and 1st Battalion 5th
US Marines strikes an IED in Sangin. The blast results in one US Marine Cat A, one ANA soldier Cat A and one ANA soldier Cat B.
Helmand, 4.41 a.m.
A dismounted patrol from 1st Battalion 5th US Marines spends the night in a compound in Sangin after it has been swept twice – by engineers and an EOD team. They revert to 50% security for the night and remove their personal protective equipment. At first light, as they prepare to leave, one of the Marines triggers an IED, resulting in two Cat A (1 x double amputation, 1 x blown eardrum with bleeding from ears). They are flown back to Bastion in forty-seven minutes. No further casualties or damage are reported.
Paktika, 6.31 a.m.
A mounted patrol from 203rd ANA Corps strikes an IED in Bermal, killing three ANA.
Khost, 6.40 a.m.
A dismounted patrol from the Afghan security forces receives small-arms fire from an unknown number of insurgents in Tanai District. Border Security Point 4 Observation Post 2 positively identifies a point of origin located inside Pakistan and responds with an unknown number of 14.5-mm rounds, 40-mm grenades and 60-mm and 82-mm mortar rounds, forcing the insurgents to cease fire. Battle Damage Assessment is not conducted. There are no friendly casualties or damage reported. Task Force Duke (US) tries to notify the Pakistan Military Liaison Officer without success. The Khyber Border Coordination Centre is notified.
Helmand, 7.56 a.m.
A route clearance patrol from 2nd US Combat Engineer Battalion strikes an IED in Nahr-e Saraj. The blast results in one US Marine Cat A.
Helmand, 8.00 a.m.
A dismounted patrol from 3rd Battalion 4th US Marines receives small-arms fire from up to four insurgents in Nahr-e Saraj, resulting in one Marine Cat A (gunshot wound, lower back). Observation Post 22 positively identifies the insurgents’ firing position and returns fire with small arms and eight 40-mm grenades. Patrol Base Shark Tooth engages the insurgents with three 60-mm mortar rounds. While conducting the medevac mission, a HH-60 Pave Hawk helicopter receives small-arms fire but suffers no damage or injuries. An AH-1 Cobra attack helicopter fires twenty-one 2.75” rockets and five hundred 20-mm rounds on the insurgent positions, forcing them to cease fire. The wounded Marine is flown to Bastion in forty-eight minutes. Battle damage assessment is not conducted due to the tactical situation. There are no civilian casualties or damage reported.
Combat Camera Page 22