by Andy McNab
I am loving it [the tour]. Some parts are harder than others, but I enjoy it – or I wouldn't be here after thirty years. My decision to become a pilot was conceived by an incident in 1982. I was in a minefield at night getting 'artilleried' and shot at. I decided I was never ever going to be in another minefield for the rest of my life. The only way of doing that was by being a pilot and you could fly over the top of them. So I went through pilot selection and training with the Army Air Corps at Middle Wallop [Hampshire] and, after many years of flying the Gazelle, here I am now as a Sea King helicopter pilot.
The helicopter is absolutely crucial in a conflict like this. It's the same as in Ireland in the seventies and eighties: nobody ever moved around South Armagh on the road. We are in the same sort of position here, even more so. Every road and track has a proliferation of IEDs, which can be laid quite quickly. The baddie locals, the Taliban, bury the IEDs months in advance sometimes, before they are used [detonated]. So to move anywhere on the ground at all, which is the only way you can dominate an area, is very dangerous. The proliferation of IEDs is such at the moment that there isn't a day goes by when we don't have five or six explosions, and people get hurt and killed. So to use the Sea Kings to carry the troops in makes it much safer for them to move around.
The Sea King is a support helicopter, now some forty years old, which cruises at 120 knots. It normally has a crew of three: an aircraft commander, a pilot [effectively the co-pilot working to the commander] and a crewman. The commander and the pilot sit side by side with the commander in the left-hand seat and his pilot in the right-hand seat. The pilot normally flies the aircraft but the commander takes charge of the situation, doing the map reading, the radios, and he flies it if he wants to. In its original days, the Sea King could lift twenty personnel. It has been updated over the years – including a special update to go to Afghanistan – and it is now Sea King Mark IV Plus. It can carry up to sixteen men – less than before because men now have their body armour and so much kit – and it has less performance in high temperatures. The crewman also acts as door gunner, firing a GPMG.
A military life can be tough on families. Maybe that was why my wife divorced me fifteen years ago – although we got married again. It's hard on her. Being on operations is a bit like having an illness. If you've got the illness you know what's going on and how it feels and how you feel physically. For the person who has got it, it's not so difficult. It's more difficult for those you love. It's certainly the same for us. When we're out here, we know how safe or unsafe we feel. But at least we know. And we can feel it within our own being and we can cope with it. For those at home who love you and miss you, it's a much harder situation because they don't know what's going on. It's difficult to try to explain how you feel about things.
I only joined up for three years. And here I am ten times that later. Anyone who decides on a military career has to expect that the job is going to be different from that of somebody who works in a pub, or on a newspaper or anywhere else. With the job, you have some danger, which for some people is the attraction, even why they joined up in the first place. But for most of us, once you get in the system, the greatest pull is the camaraderie, the friendships you make, the work ethos that you come across and the like-minded people you work with. It's a common enough saying – when we're out there in an aircraft, or on the ground, or making an assault or whatever, we're not really doing it for the Queen, we're not really doing it for the country, but we're doing it for our comrades: the bloke beside you, the guy who joined up, the bloke who's been my mate for the last ten years, the guy you met two minutes ago who seems like a really good bloke. You're doing it for him, whether that involves you doing something a little bit more dangerous than you would normally do, or it goes to the point of some of the extraordinary examples of courage from people out here. You've had people out here storming Taliban positions to save wounded comrades. And the reason they do it is because of the extreme feeling of friendship, camaraderie, brotherhood, whatever you want to call it, for somebody who has a similar life to you.
June 2008
Colour Sergeant Simon Panter, The Royal Anglian Regiment
The initial incident happened back in the summer of 2007. I was on an op and I lost my footing crossing a ditch and did my ankle in. We had been out in the Green Zone for two weeks. To start the op, we had to march from Sangin in the dead of night, eighteen Ks into the Green Zone. There had been quite a few fire-fights on the way with the Taliban. We had taken over some compounds and we were watching the area. Our supplies had run low. We were getting the odd helicopter drop in but there was one time they did not drop in because they got RPGed as they were coming in. So we had to do a march to FOB Inkerman, which was about six Ks away. We left at 1 a.m. We got there about 3 a.m. to do a resupply of food, water and ammo. Then at 5 a.m. we marched back into the Green Zone.
The remainder of the platoon had just got out of the gate and I was the last man out. I crossed over the 611 [a notoriously dangerous main road], then a ditch, lost my footing and fell over in it. As I lost my footing I thought: Ow, that bloody hurt. It really did. I felt my ankle click three times. I actually thought I'd broken the bloody thing. I was lying on my back wincing and one of the corporals was laughing at me, as you do in the Army. I was like: 'Don't tell anybody. Just give me two minutes and I'll get up.' I started to walk, but the pain was getting worse and worse. At one point I almost wanted to give myself morphine: we always have morphine on us. I got back to the compound – having hobbled six Ks in severe pain – at about 7 a.m.
Because the sergeant major was still in Inkerman, I was acting sergeant major, being the senior platoon sergeant. I was with the OC and he was taking the piss out of me for being weak. But when I got back I took my boot off and got the medic. It was a total mess: my left ankle was all black and blue and swollen. The medic was saying: 'You need to go back to Bastion.'
The helicopters wouldn't come out and get me because they were worried about getting fired at in the Green Zone. I was not an emergency case. And so the CO's rover group came down to pick me up instead. I got the piss taken out of me a hell of a lot because I came out on this makeshift crutch and the RSM thought it would be funny to pick me up and put me on his shoulders and carry me out of the Green Zone. And people were taking photos too. So, of course, I didn't get the piss taken much!
They took me back to Inkerman in a WMIK [armed Land Rover] and then I was casevaced back to Bastion the same day in a Chinook. I got there, had the ankle X-rayed. They said, 'You have got a severely sprained ankle,' and that was that. Then I spent two or three weeks in Bastion trying to get myself back out on the ground with my boys. I didn't want to miss anything so I pleaded with them not to send me back to Britain because I wanted to be at Sangin. The colonel in charge of me in Bastion said: 'You can go back to Sangin as long as you don't go out on the ground.' I went on a routine Chinook flight. Over the next few weeks I sort of cracked on. My ankle really never recovered. I went out on patrol and did it in again.
When I got back to the UK in October, I was still having a lot of problems and I went to rehab. I had an MRI scan and then I had an operation. It wasn't until I had the first operation that I found out the bloody thing was fractured, after all. It was not until they cut me open that they found the fracture. So they repaired it by drilling sixty-two holes in the bone and sorted bits of cartilage and ligaments. But I'm still suffering from it now. I have my own bottle of morphine on tap when I want it. I'm getting an ankle reconstruction next. I hope I'll be able to continue to serve. My surgeon said I might have to think about a career change if the ops don't work. They talk about fusing it, but if that doesn't work, they're even talking about having it lopped off. Hopefully it won't get that far. But it hasn't helped walking around on it for a year not knowing it was fractured.
24 June 2008
McNab: The Chief of the Defence Staff delivered a tough warning. He said that Britain could not carry on fighting two wars, in Afg
hanistan and Iraq. Air Chief Marshal Sir Jock Stirrup said that military operations had left the forces 'stretched beyond the capabilities we have' and that Britain could face decades' more involvement in Afghanistan, which he described as a 'medieval state', lacking even basic government structure. He added: 'We are very stretched at the moment. Until we get down to one operation at this scale, we are always going to be stretched.' His warning came at a time when there were 4,000 British servicemen in Iraq and the total of troops in Afghanistan was about to top 8,000. His comments followed the announcement that another British serviceman had been killed in Afghanistan.
24/25 June 2008 [diary/interview]
Ranger Jordan Armstrong, The Royal Irish Regiment
We knew a couple of days in advance that we were taking part in a big air assault on the Taliban in the Upper Sangin Valley. It was a big compound with 200-plus enemy. It was a stronghold. We were briefed about what we had to do. We knew from the brief that something was going to kick off and it was going to be really bad. None of us had done this sort of op before. It was due to last for two days. We were up early – at 0100 hours. We were up, fed and ready to go. The Chinook picked us up at 0230 hours to be at our target at 0300. The chopper arrived on time. I was a bit nervous as I knew it was going to be hard. As you sit in the back of the chopper, from the way you have been briefed, you think: There is a strong chance I might not be coming back.
I couldn't see anything while we were in the air because I was right at the back, sitting down. As soon as we landed – in the dark – we started taking incoming and I thought: It's going to be a long two days. Even as we were getting out of the back of the chopper, they [the Taliban] fired a massive Chinese rocket at us. It seemed really close because it landed next to us and just went 'bang'. It was difficult to say exactly how close because there was so much noise from the Chinooks. But it seemed really close – landing perhaps fifty or sixty metres away.
As soon as we landed, we were on this big, flat airfield. There was no cover whatsoever. We tabbed away and then we started running, taking rounds. I had twenty-four hours of rations, five or six litres of water, an 800 minimi [small machine-gun], med kit, body armour and a helmet. It must have all weighed eighty to a hundred pounds. And we were boiling because it was so hot – even at night it was hot – but later that day it apparently reached 57°C. We kept going in the darkness and then pushed up to the top of a hill, which made things worse because we were sitting targets and they were firing at us from the Green Zone.
Soon it was breaking into first light. Then we were told that our platoon had to give protection for the Paras' FSG [fire support group]. They had Javelins [anti-tank missiles]. But we couldn't give support because we were being fired at. We were pinned down and getting shot at. Then, as we pushed up, the FSG section commander, from 2 Para, got hit in the side. He [Warrant Officer Class 2 Michael Williams] was killed. For a long time, we were just lying flat in the open ground, in the star-shaped position, with bullets whizzing over our heads and cracking with green tracer. After a bit, it went quiet for a few minutes. Then I heard a shot whizzing over my head but couldn't identify the firing point. Seconds later another fired. I quickly got off the high ground. I was snaking away. I went weak at the knees, as the shots were too close. As soon as I got off the high ground, they stopped firing.
At this point we had roughly over a K and a half until we were where we were supposed to be. It was very slow progress as every time we moved we were shot at. As we moved, they [the Taliban] were able to engage us with RPGs. There was a constant flow of these. We had an airburst right over our heads, which was really close. This continued for at least another two hours as we were still trying to get to our compound. We couldn't really identify the Taliban because it [fire] was just coming from everywhere. Because the Paras were in the Green Zone, it was too dangerous for us to fire. I never fired one round. We couldn't. As much as we got shot at all day, we could not fire a round. That was frustrating.
We went 'firm' behind a compound up on the high ground and we could see the Apache fire its Hellfire. It was amazing and followed with a really loud explosion. The Apache hadn't stopped firing since we landed. It was rattling away with its 30mm cannon at the firing points. You would hear it firing as we were taking rounds – it could identify the firing points from the air. It was a great feeling to hear it opening up.
At this stage, we were just a couple of hundred metres from our compound so we did our best to keep moving forward. We were having difficulty, as there was a sniper about and he had us pinned for a while and made movement very hard and dangerous. Every time we moved, we could see the splashes of the rounds hitting the compounds and the mountains to the left of us. But we moved one section at a time and the FSG from 2 Para was still with us. We all got across [from one compound to another], luckily without getting hit. All we could hear were the crackles of the rounds going past and hitting just beside us. The adrenalin just kept us going and we didn't feel the weight on our back. We got to our [target] compound around nine or ten in the morning. We stayed 'firm' there for a couple of hours. RPGs were still firing overhead and we could see where they were landing. The sniper was still going and so were the small arms. What a sound it made. Exactly as you hear it in the movies. But they [the Apache and friendly forces] still couldn't get the sniper.
It was pushing on after twelve and things were starting to die down bar the sniper. Near 1500 hours, one section had to push on the high ground to secure an HLS. This was for a replen [fresh ammunition and supplies] and to take the body of the 2 Para section commander back. As soon as the Chinook landed, it took a high rate of small arms but was still flyable. We later found out all the aviation stuff had been damaged and put it out for a month until repaired.
We got replenned with water and were told to hold firm in the compound and wait it out. We had all wanted to head back that night but knew we had another day ahead of us and were to push through the Green Zone, which we knew was very dangerous and we had never been there before. As the hours went on and it was getting dark, we had still heard nothing, until 2100. Then we got the news we wanted to hear: we were bugging out.
Around midnight we prepared to move out. By this stage there was no firing and the Taliban had fled. As we couldn't get up the road to the high ground, we had to go on to the 611. The Green Zone was directly on the left. That is where we were getting hit all day and the CO was taking a big risk by bringing the whole battle group up the 611.
We tabbed as quick as we could but some boys were hanging back. We made it safely to the desert and we just about had a K to go to the HLS. The choppers were inbound for about 2 or 3 a.m. We were never so glad to get back to Sangin safe and alive as that was one mad op. We were lucky: none of the [Royal Irish] boys got hit. That was my worst day but it was also amazing. In a way, one of the best [days], one of the scariest. Nearly every bit of fire-power was used: artillery, fast air, Apache. It was amazing. And you could hear all the sounds and the explosions. It was seventeen and a half hours of battle. Just madness. We were met by our OC and CSM [company sergeant major] to say 'well done' and 'welcome back'. Joey [a comrade] had tins of cold Pepsi laid on, which was great. We went to bed around 4 a.m. and lay in until the afternoon, only to find out we were on guard from 1800 to midnight. The boys weren't happy about that as they were still tired from the op.
14 July 2008
Sergeant Hughie Benson, The Royal Irish Regiment
The fighting season didn't really start until all the poppy crops had been harvested and we moved to Musa Qa'leh. We had massive contacts there. It got to a point when you were out on patrol and you were getting hit on patrol or you would hit them, either way, just about every day. Then you would come back and they would hit the base, sometimes with mortars, or indirect fire or Chinese rockets, or whatever they had. Sometimes you would have a small-arms shoot and a couple of times we had full proper co-ordinated attacks on to the PB: Satellite Station North in Musa Qa'leh – it's
the most northern patrol base.
The contact that still sticks out most in my mind is when we were caught in a big ambush. It was during the day – early morning, about half past eight. We had been out for about two hours. Bear in mind that it gets light about five o'clock in the summer. We were with sixty ANA: two teams of thirty. And there were twelve OMLT. We were in the Green Zone and at that stage the corn was waist to chest high. The team that was caught by an IED was on the right flank, close to a canal. We were patrolling north. The team on the right-hand side had gone 'firm': they had stopped and provided cover for us. They told us to move forward, past them. We started pushing up so we were about 200 metres ahead. They moved off, then went 'firm' again – and then the ambush began.