I also attended a meeting I had been called to with General Freakly and some of the UKTF staff in Lashkar Gah. Governor Daud was also present. Due to delays with the helicopter I arrived late and caught the tail end of Daud’s complaints that we were not doing enough to counter the Taliban threat. Freakly then followed with a diatribe in which he demanded to know what we were doing to help the governor and accused the ‘Brits’ of sitting on our butts, while his troops were out fighting the Taliban. He also made the point that even his artillerymen were acting as infantry to take the fight to the enemy. I thought about the gunners of I Battery who until recently had been patrolling the streets of Musa Qaleh. He went on to criticize holding the district centres in Now Zad, Musa Qaleh and Sangin, maintaining that we had become fixed and now lacked the freedom to manoeuvre forces elsewhere to fight the Taliban. I glanced at Daud and thought of the battles we were fighting in these locations, his decisions to send us to them and the ANP reinforcements he had never sent. I also thought about the risks my men had taken on Operation Augustus and the reception we had received on the LZ.
There was a perceptible tension in the air. I paused before I spoke. I mentioned that we too had artillery patrolling in the dismounted combat role. I told him that we were in the district centres because that was where the governor wanted us to be, that we were killing the Taliban in these locations and that we were losing men there doing it. I said that if he wanted us to conduct more manoeuvre operations he needed to tell me which of the district centres he wanted the Battle Group to give up. Major Dave Eastman, a staff officer from the headquarters of UKTF, pitched in to inform him that the UK force was stretched to breaking point meeting all the commitments that the Task Force had undertaken.
There was a brief uneasy silence. Though Dave and I had been respectful of his rank, I suspected that Freakly was not used to dealing with forthright subordinate officers telling him how it was in such a robust fashion. I pressed him for a decision on giving up an outstation. Freakly avoided the question and gave a muted general response about the need to do more. As the meeting broke up, I returned to Bastion reflecting on how doing more with less had become a recurring theme. I also wondered how on earth we were going to sustain what we were already doing.
The arrival of a company from the Fusiliers was a welcome addition, but they would not enable us to do any more. By taking the Gurkhas away from guarding Bastion to garrison Now Zad, our main base was in danger of becoming vulnerable to attack. The gaps in the guard force had been filled temporarily by support personnel, but they were needed to meet the increasing logistical strain of supporting the troops in the field. Equipment needed to be serviced, tonnes of ammunition and stores needed to be loaded forward and medics were required to work in the field hospital, which was now receiving a steady stream of casualties. In short, we needed to pull the Gurkhas back to guard Bastion and we would have to use the Fusilier company to replace them. On 30 July we launched another Battle Group operation using B and C companies to conduct a relief in place between the Fusiliers and the Gurkhas. The operation would include the tracked Scimitar armoured cars and Spartan personnel carriers of D Squadron of the Household Cavalry that had finally arrived in Helmand. They would escort a large resupply convoy up to Now Zad. Once in place they would secure an LZ for B and C companies to air-assault into the empty desert behind the district centre. The Household Cavalry would then conduct a clearance of the town with the companies providing close infantry support to their vehicles as they moved through the close confines of the town’s narrow streets. This would then set the conditions for bringing the Fusiliers in and taking the Gurkhas out.
The initial move through Now Zad was uneventful but there was more evidence of the impact of the fighting on the town than there had been in Sangin. The streets were devoid of civilians and the shops were closed. Several had been destroyed by bombs as aircraft sought out the Taliban in their rat runs that they had tunnelled through the interconnecting walls. One of the schools that had already been burnt by the insurgents was now a bombed-out wreck. It consisted of two storeys which made it an obvious point from which to bring the district centre under fire, but it also made it a target for the A-10s.
I was impressed by the length of Dan Rex’s beard when he met me at the front gates to the compound. His company having spent the last few weeks largely on their own, he was extremely pleased to see us. I went round the sangars and talked to his Gurkhas. They broke out in broad smiles as I told them how well they had done and kept mentioning the word shabash, which is a common Nepali plaudit. They pointed out the strike marks and the near misses of where rounds had struck helmets and weapons systems. But they were glad to be returning to Bastion, as I congratulated them on their bravery. The presence of two companies of Paras and the light armour of D Squadron had flushed the Taliban out of the town and the Gurkha Company was able to move to the pick-up helicopters without incident. Probing attacks began later in the day, but were kept at bay by B Company and the accurate fire of the 30mm Rarden cannons mounted on the Scimitars. C Company and Tac spent the next day rebuilding and improving the damaged sangars as we waited for the Fusiliers to arrive. Again I thought of what could be achieved with the bulk of the Battle Group in one place.
The fly-in of the Fusilier Company and their subsequent take-over of the district centre was uneventful. They brought three full-strength platoons compared to the two the Gurkhas had available to hold the compound. They were also allocated a troop of Scimitars from D Squadron that would stay with them in Now Zad. The four armoured cars were tasked with protecting the LZ and providing fire support with their Rarden cannons from positions around ANP Hill. The insurgents hated the Scimitars, as they could engage their fighters over long distances, often before they could get within range to fire at the compound. ‘They were equipped with thermal imaging sights which allowed their crews to pick up heat sources of anyone moving in the darkness around them. One night an unsuspecting insurgent was cut in half by a 3omm high-explosive cannon shell as he moved into a firing position over 1,000 metres away from ANP Hill. With the arrival of more men and the addition of light armour, the frequency and intensity of attacks against Now Zad dropped off considerably for the rest of the tour. It had been a more attractive target when it was only lightly garrisoned by the Gurkhas. But once reinforced, it meant that the Taliban would redouble their efforts elsewhere.
The significance of the growing threat against Musa Qaleh resulted in the remaining three troops of D Squadron being ordered away from the Battle Group halfway through the operation in Now Zad. We were due to conduct a Battle Group operation in Musa Qaleh in a few days’ time, to get the Pathfinders out and send in British reinforcements to stiffen the resolve of the Danes. But the operation could not be launched until current Battle Group operations had finished in Now Zad. In the interregnum, UKTF directed the Household Cavalry commander to take the rest of his squadron and conduct probing patrols towards the western outskirts of Musa Qaleh. It was felt that the presence of his light armour would relieve some of the pressure the Taliban were applying to the Danes. When Huw Williams informed me of UKTF’s decision over the Tac Sat radio I raised my concern that they would be operating without infantry, which would make them vulnerable to attack in close country. I told Huw to tell them to watch themselves. The plumes of dust kicked up by their tracks drifted in the wind as Major Alex Dick’s Scimitars and Spartans headed east. I regretted losing them, as their departure would deprive us of the ability to push further into the outskirts of Now Zad to clear any remaining Taliban who were skulking on the fringes of the town. But I also accepted that there was now a greater need to support Musa Qaleh.
Forty-eight hours later swirling pillars of sand were kicked up by the rotor blades of the two Chinooks that also carried us east. As we flew fast and low over the desert I ran through what I knew of the situation we were flying into. One Spartan destroyed by a roadside bomb, a second Scimitar damaged and abandoned in the ambush site, two
soldiers reported dead, one severely burnt and one crewman missing. With another suspected MIA, time was against us. The aircraft were flying at their maximum speed of 140 knots, but I willed them to fly faster. A billowing cloud of green smoke marked our LZ next to the squadron’s vehicles. We landed on desert tracks to minimize the risk of mines that had already destroyed another Spartan the day before. But that had been an unlucky strike from an old Soviet mine and the crew had managed to walk away from the wreckage unscathed. Alex Dick was waiting to meet us and filled me in on the details of what had happened.
The squadron’s move away from Now Zad towards Musa Qaleh had not gone undetected by the enemy. They were lying in wait for them as the lead vehicles pushed into a piece of low ground on the edge of a village. The depression funnelled into a narrow track which was then channelled between two long compound walls that ran for ‘so metres before it reached open desert again. The front Scimitar, commanded by Corporal of Horse Flynn, had almost reached the end of the canalized route when he came under RPG and small-arms fire. Returning fire as best he could, he drove out of the ambush to the open desert beyond, hearing a large explosion behind him as he did so. On reaching the relative safety of the open ground he looked back to see the sickening sight of the Spartan that had been following him. It was stationary and burning fiercely.
Flynn turned his vehicle around and headed back into the ambush site. His action attracted another volley of RPG fire which blasted off pieces of the external anti-RPG bar armour that shrouded his vehicle. It protected him and his two crewmen from the impact of the warheads, but the vehicle was forced into a ditch on the side of the track where it became stuck. Still under fire, he ordered his men to dismount and they grabbed their weapons and webbing as they scrambled from the hatches of their disabled Scimitar. They then fought their way back through the ambush site on foot, passing the destroyed wreckage of the Spartan. Flynn saw one of the crew lying in the back of the vehicle and two others lying motionless by its side. All appeared to be dead, but he couldn’t see the fourth crew member. Taliban bullets were whipping the desert at his feet and he pushed on to get back to the rest of the squadron who had stopped short of the ambush site on the higher ground. The vehicles of the rest of the squadron were firing at the Taliban to cover Flynn and his crew as they fought their way back to them.
From the hatch of his vehicle, Lance Corporal of Horse Radford spotted movement behind Flynn and his men: one of the bodies they had just passed was still moving. It was the Spartan’s driver, Trooper Martyn Compton. Compton had survived the blast that destroyed his vehicle when he saw an RPG heading in his direction. It detonated against the engine next to him and covered him with burning diesel fuel which set his hair and clothing alight. He managed to get out of the wrecked remains of the vehicle, but was shot through the leg as he rolled in the dirt in an attempt to put out the flames before he lost consciousness. Radford jumped from his vehicle and shouted at Flynn as he ran past him to reach Compton. - Flynn turned and followed him back to where Compton lay. The two men then picked him up and carried their gravely wounded comrade back to safety as rifle and cannon fire continued to crack and thump around them.
Compton had already been lifted out on a casualty evacuation helicopter by the time I arrived with B Company. I spoke to Flynn and he stated that he was convinced that the other two men were dead, but he could not confirm the location of the third soldier who had been in the back of the Spartan before the ambush. My immediate concern was that he might have survived the blast only to be taken by the Taliban. I gave a set of quick battle orders and ten minutes later we mounted up on the remaining Scimitars and Spartans and headed for the ambush area while artillery suppressed the close country ahead of us. B Company dismounted and cleared either side of the compound walls as the Scimitars covered them in from the high ground. I wanted Giles Timms and his men to secure the area, confirm the location of the missing man and extract the two dead soldiers. I waited with the Scimitars and pressed Timms for information about the MIA. I became impatient; it was taking too long and the Taliban were beginning to probe back into the area of the ambush. I looked at John Hardy and said, ‘Let’s get down there and see what’s happening.’ We checked that our weapons were ready and patrolled into the ambush site.
The scene that greeted us was one of complete carnage. The Spartan had been split open and was a mangled wreckage of twisted blackened metal. There was no doubt that the men inside would have died instantly in the blast without knowing what had hit them. One soldier lay on the ground at the back of the vehicle. Another lay inside towards the rear of the troop-carrying compartment. There was no sign of the third. I needed to know whether he might be lying inside, his presence possibly obscured by the collapsed steel plates and burnt-out debris that prevented me from seeing into the forward section of the Spartan. We had to find out; if he wasn’t there then we would be into the process of searching every compound and calling in reinforcements to cordon the surrounding area. I heard the crackle of rifle fire in the near distance as we received intelligence reports indicating that the Taliban were reorganizing to attack us. Darkness was only a few hours away and we needed to get moving. I asked a young cavalry officer to head back to his squadron commander. Although keen to get his men out he was understandably shaken and too closely involved. With sporadic fire to our front, Giles Timms had enough to do keeping the area secure and I asked Sergeant Major Willets to go and support him and make sure the blokes were okay. Several were suffering from the heat and I doubted that being so close to the macabre site was doing them much good either.
I looked at John Hardy and we set to work shifting the body of the trapped dead soldier so I could squeeze past him and work my way under the steel plates to get to the front of the vehicle. I pushed my way in, sliding between the contorted metal and the motionless crewman. I heaved against a crumpled armoured hatch and found the remains of the missing soldier. I shouted for Tariq Ahmed, the doctor accompanying us. I wanted him to confirm my assessment that we had accounted for all three crew members. Tariq concurred and we began extracting them. I noted my own sense of clinical detachment as we worked at our grisly task. The firing in the distance and the need to get the job done were uppermost in my mind. I told, myself that I could reflect on it later once we had got all our people back to Bastion.
A few hours later I lay on my camp cot unable to blot out the vivid images of what we had seen and done. The sense of clinical detachment I had felt disturbed me as it made me feel like a callous and inhuman bastard. I got up and went to search out John Hardy. We sat and smoked. As the sun dipped towards the distant horizon we talked about the day’s events. I told him what was bothering me. John listened, looking at the ground as I spoke. Then he fixed me with his eyes. ‘You are the boss, sir, what you did was leading by example. You had responsibility for everyone on the ground today. There were too many people too closely involved. Someone had to step in and get it sorted. Someone needed to be detached and get the job done. That’s what you did and it was the right thing to do.’ What my RSM said helped me get it straight in my mind. Coming from someone I trusted and who was there at the time, his words made a difference and I felt better for them.
His words also helped me make up my mind about another decision I knew I had to make. I had noticed how people were beginning to suffer increasingly in the heat. Weeks of fighting and living off composite rations were having a debilitating effect. It was not helped by wearing body armour when operating dismounted; troops became fatigued and their situational awareness dropped soon after stepping off the tailgate of a helicopter. They would be fresher and more alert without body armour, so I decided that we wouldn’t wear it on the next deliberate operation, although we would continue to wear it for routine patrols round the district centres. I believed that the physical protection that would be lost would be more than made up for by the ability to move faster and remain alert for longer. It also meant that we would use less water, reduce the risk of hea
t casualties and the subsequent risk to helicopters having to come and pick them up. I talked it through with my commanders and they concurred with my rationale. I got Ed Butler to buy in to my decision and he agreed to keep the heat off me from PJHQ who we knew would be averse to the risk that I had decided to take.
The burden of combat command responsibility weighed heavily on me throughout the tour and virtually everything we did entailed a beltful of risk and uncertainty. It was always there and never went away. It was not something I begrudged, as it came with the turf of being a commanding officer. I occasionally talked to John Hardy about it, as I did after the Household Cavalry ambush. But otherwise I kept the subject largely to myself. My biggest concern was the impact the decisions I took, and the orders I gave, had on the lives of my soldiers. After an incident where someone had been killed or injured, I often asked myself ‘Did we plan it right, could we have done more and what could we have done differently?’
One night I stayed up late smoking with Colonel Matt Maer who had come out to visit from PJHQ. He was a straight-talking individual with an incredibly sharp mind. He combined these qualities with an infectious sense of humour that made it very difficult not to like him. He also had a great deal of relevant combat experience. Matt had commanded his own battalion in Iraq during the Mandi Army uprising in 2004. His unit had seen some pretty intense fighting for which he was awarded the Distinguished Service Order. His own experiences meant that he knew what command and risk were about. He said some extraordinarily complimentary things about how well the soldiers of the Battle Group were performing under challenging circumstances. Then he stopped and told me there was one thing that I needed to know about my people. As he paused, I wondered what the hell he was about to say. He told me that several members of the Battle Group had come up to him to tell him that they all knew that I took the lives of my men seriously and although I often sent them on dangerous missions, they knew that I never did it lightly. I was aware that Matt was telling me this because it was a ghost he must have grappled with in Iraq, but it was probably the most heartening thing anyone said to me during the whole tour.
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