by Alex Duncan
‘Three miles to run,’ calls Waldo as I descend over the wadi on the eastern bank of the Helmand River.
‘How can somewhere so pretty be so shit?’ I ask myself.
We cross the river. ‘Two miles to go, 12 o’clock, you should be visual with the grid on the nose.’ Good, I’m on target. My spine is tingling for some reason. I remember this feeling . . .
‘One and a half miles to go,’ calls Waldo, as we start to cross the Green Zone with its abundant crops, trees and compounds – all of which provide boundless cover for Taliban forces.
Straight ahead, I see a motorbike. It’s stationary and I see two fighting-age males dressed all in black looking at us; no sign of weapons though. The tingling sensation increases; all my senses are on overdrive. I put my thumb over the USL release switch on the cyclic just in case. We fly over the motorbike.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
‘Fucking hell,’ shouts Waldo.
‘What the fuck was that?’ asks Mick, sticking his head in the cockpit.
BANG!
Almost simultaneously, there’s a huge explosion just outside the port door, which caves in under the force of some kind of blast, shards of paint and metal hitting Waldo and Mick in the face. The aircraft lurches to the right.
‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’ I think. ‘Not again.’
I throw the cyclic hard left and hit the USL release button; immediately, the load pings away and becomes a dumb bomb, falling to earth and who gives a fuck where it lands. My only priority is the cab and my crew; I need lightness and manoeuvrability.
I hear Waldo on the radio: ‘CONTACT, CONTACT, Ultimate Two One, small arms hit 3km south-east of PB3. Turning east. Wait out.’ Good lad, I didn’t even have to prompt him. In fact, I couldn’t have done it myself – I have problems of my own to deal with.
‘Shit, we’ve lost an engine!’ I say as I watch the N2 drop like a stone. I look at the torque. ‘What the fuck? Shit, we’ve lost both . . .’ This all happens in a millisecond. ‘Hang on, we’re still flying, we still have power. Fuck it, turning left,’ I say, manoeuvring out of the engagement zone and shrinking in my seat to make myself as small a target as possible. The lead’s flying and I don’t want to get hit.
We take another round in the engine.
I get the aircraft to the eastern edge of the Helmand River and we’re still flying. I pull power to get further away from the enemy. Height is safety. ‘Right, time to assess what’s going on,’ I say to myself.
I’m struggling. Nothing makes sense. We’ve taken rounds, that much I know; an RPG has exploded outside the port door; we have no torque on either engine, which indicates how hard the engine transmission is working. I scan the engine instruments checking the Ts and Ps. We’ve got an N1 reading for both engines, meaning there’s power going in, but the N2, which measures power coming out, reads zero for the No.1 engine, meaning its turbine isn’t turning. What the fuck? It doesn’t make sense.
All the pressures on the five gearboxes are showing zero PSI, but the caution advisory panel is clear; there are no warnings for low pressure in any of the gearboxes. The fuel gauge is showing 9,900 – the needle’s spinning like my bedroom after a night on the lash. Bollocks! I can’t even tell if we have a fuel leak. The list goes on . . .
I need to get a grip; first things first. ‘Guys, check yourselves. Are we all ok?’ They all check in with no injuries reported. ‘Okay, let’s have a look outside to ensure we’re not pissing fuel.’ Both Mick and Dave look and confirm we’re not. I explain what we’ve got at the front. Everyone is baffled, but we all concur that some of the malfunctions must be gauges or sensors affected by whatever hit us.
‘All the forward hatches have been blown open by something,’ says Mick.
‘There’s an increase in vibration in the back,’ Dave reports.
I make a decision. ‘Okay guys, I’m going to fly us north so we pass FOB Price and if the aircraft’s still flying nicely, we’ll push on to Bastion. I’m loath to land at Price because the logistics for repairing the cab are going to be a nightmare. If it comes to it, the area between Price and Bastion is benign enough for us to land on. Happy?’ They are.
We’re still flying level so I decide against calling ‘Mayday!’ I make the next call: ‘Pan Pan, Pan Pan, Pan Pan, Bastion Tower, Ultimate Two One, Pan Pan.’
‘Ultimate Two One, Bastion Tower, Pan acknowledged, pass your message.’
‘Pan, Ultimate Two One, CH47 with four POB eight miles east. We have taken multiple hits with multiple system failures. She seems to fly okay but many of our instruments have been knocked out. Request HALS 19 and Runway 19 if we can’t make it to the HALS. Request emergency services.’
‘Ultimate Two One, Bastion Tower, all copied. Let us know if we can be of further assistance.’ How nice to deal with somebody who understands not to ask too many questions; someone who isn’t trying to get in our cockpit, who knows implicitly we are running at maximum capacity.
‘Ultimate Two One, Bastion Tower. All air traffic held; you have priority on the approach. Good luck.’
Despite the vibration, the lack of functioning instruments and the damage and destruction caused in the attack, ZH891 holds out and responds to my every input as I fly us to the HALS, performing a precautionary running landing. As in any Hollywood airport disaster movie, fire engines follow us until we come to a halt. I taxi the aircraft to the nearest parking slot and stop.
‘Ultimate Two One, Bastion Tower. For your information, there is a suspected IED at the PHF, request you move further up.’
I look to my left and see a line of Hesco blast walls, another Chinook, another blast wall and then the PHF.
‘Bastion Tower, Ultimate Two One. Passed the point of caring, shutting down. Thanks for your help.’
And we shut down. We are flying in the same area again tomorrow – at night! I can hardly contain my enthusiasm.
EPILOGUE
We were supposed to be flying home on the 17th, but the weather in the UK that saw Heathrow, Gatwick and countless other airports buried under a mountain of snow, and the coldest December for 300 years, also affected those of us stuck in the sandbox. The TriStar that was supposed to fly out from Brize Norton to pick us up stayed where it was, with the knock-on effect that we also stayed where we were. The homecoming curse that had somehow managed to blight every single one of my previous Dets returned with a vengeance!
Eventually, the greatest minds in the MoD and RAF conferred and a way was found for them to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory – instead of arriving back in England on the 18th, we got back to a wintery white RAF Odiham late in the afternoon of the 22nd – just in time for Christmas, but minus our luggage. I don’t think I’ve ever been so pleased to see Ali and the kids.
Not long after Christmas, I called into work and found a report on my desk detailing the conclusions from the inspection of ZH891. Among its findings, I learned that we’d taken a 7.62mm round through the nose of the aircraft, which narrowly missed Waldo’s leg and lodged itself in the instrument panel. On its way, it severed thirty-six wires leading from various instruments, hence the bizarre and inexplicable readings we received.
The round that missed Waldo’s leg was to prove lucky for us all; although it severed the wires leading to the engine instruments and others, they proved its undoing, as the loom stopped the round in its tracks. When the trajectory was worked out, it was discovered that had it carried on travelling, the round would have lodged itself in the control closet where all the aircraft controls are situated. I prefer not to think about the implications of that particular scenario.
Another round hit the area where Dave Wray should have been sitting, had he not been busy looking at the USL. And as I manoeuvred away, another one went through the engine mount from behind, embedding itself in the mouth of the engine. I’ve no idea how, but – miraculously – it wasn’t ingested into the engine itself. Had it been, it would more than likely have resulted in a fire. Ordinarily, that wouldn
’t necessarily prove particularly troubling, except for the fact that among the thirty-six wires severed by the round hitting the wiring loom were those controlling the fire extinguisher and fuel shut-off valve.
Several other rounds hit the cab, but none of them caused anything more than holes in the fuselage.
Luck seemed to be with all of us that day, but none more so than Mick Fry. The RPG that detonated next to the aircraft caused the port door to cave in, burn marks to the side of the aircraft and shrapnel that tore through the root of one of the blades on the aft head. It exploded at the precise moment Mick stuck his head into the cockpit. Had he stayed where he was, he’d have taken the full impact of the explosion and would almost certainly have died.
The aphorism ‘lightning never strikes twice’ isn’t meant to be interpreted literally and I guess I’m living proof of the phrase’s fallibility. For me, lightning did strike twice. Am I charmed? I don’t know. I have my superstitions, but I’m smart enough to be a pilot, so I know at a fundamental level that they make no difference. Is life trying to tell me something? Or have I simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time too many times now? Whatever the reasons, I feel like the luckiest man on earth because, against the odds, I’m still alive. I’m still able to be a husband to Alison, and a loving dad to Guy and Max, our two gorgeous sons. I’m still able to walk my two dogs. And I’m still here to tell my story, which has hopefully shone a light on the valuable work done by the Support Helicopter Force.
I know that everyone reading this book will have their own opinions on the war in Afghanistan, but whether you’re for it, against it, or you simply don’t know, never doubt that every serving member of the Forces engaged in the war is putting their life on the line every day and you’ve no idea how proud I am to say that I’m one of them.
All of us who serve in theatre have our own reasons for doing so, and while some people might regard what those of us in the Chinook Force do as dangerous, it pales into insignificance compared with what the guys and girls living in the FOBs and PBs face every minute of every day. For me, and for all my fellow pilots at RAF Odiham, however much we enjoy flying and feel privileged to do what we do, those on the front line are the reason we take risks.
On my last deployment, there was one two-week period where eleven British troops survived who, given their injuries, should be dead. The fact they survived is down to two things – the existence of the MERT and the ability of front line medics. It’s thought that in total, we’ve rescued well over 1,500 casualties in Afghanistan. The fact we’re prepared to fly in under fire to get the wounded out, and the fact that the MERT’s surgeons, paramedics and nurses take the risks they do, means all those soldiers we’ve recovered are still able to be dads to their kids, husbands to their wives, and sons to their mothers and fathers. What more reason do we need?
None of us knows what the future holds, but as long as I have the ability to do so, I’ll be flying and living my dream. Sadly, I’ve learned the hard way not to look too far ahead, because we never know what tomorrow brings. My philosophy now is just to get on with today and let tomorrow take care of itself.
Finally, this is from all of us in the Chinook Force to the guys and girls on the ground in one of the most hostile environments on this planet. In your hour of need, however desperate you may be, fear not because we will come and get you.
GLOSSARY OF TERMS
2i/c: Second in command.
50 Cal: British L1A1 Heavy Machine Gun, .50 inch (12.7mm) calibre. Usually vehicle-mounted to provide top cover.
Apache AH1: British Army Apache Attack Helicopter fitted with Longbow Radar.
Bingo: Nominated fuel amount sufficent to make it back and land with the minimum fuel allowance.
Bowman: The latest generation tactical communications system used by the British Armed Forces.
CAS: Chief of the Air Staff or Close Air Support, depending on context.
CDS: Chief of the Defence Staff.
CGS: Chief of the General Staff – the head of the Army.
Carbine: Short barrelled SA80 5.56mm used by Chinook and Apache pilots.
Casevac: Casualty Evacuation.
CRM: Crew or Cockpit Resource Management focuses on interpersonal communication, leadership, and decision making in the cockpit. Simply put, it’s a management system that ensures optimum use of all available resources, whether procedures, equipment or people, to enhance the safety and efficiency of operations.
D&V: Diarrhoea and Vomiting is a perennial problem on deployment and no matter where you go in any base, you’re never standing far away from a bottle of disinfectant hand gel or a sign drumming into you how serious and debilitating a bout of D&V is. It spreads like wildfire with predictably debilitating results for operations.
Danger Close: Proximity to a weapon’s effect considered to be the minimum safe point when wearing body armour and combat helmet. The term is used by Forward Air Controllers to indicate that friendly forces are within close proximity of the target. The close proximity distance is determined by the weapon and munitions fired.
DC: District Centre. Commercial/military/political centre of a particular area.
Decompression: Project launched by the MoD in 2006 to act as a buffer between fighting on the front line and being at home. Front line personnel deployed to Afghanistan for four months or longer fly from theatre to Cyprus, where they spend two weeks ‘getting things out of their system’.
Det: Detachment.
DFC: Distinguished Flying Cross, awarded in recognition of exemplary gallantry while flying during active operations against enemy forces.
Dicking: A term coined by British soldiers in Northern Ireland during the 1970s referring to terrorist surveillance of location and movements of military forces or assets.
Dushka: Nickname of the DShK, a Soviet heavy anti-aircraft machine-gun firing .50 cal (12.7mm) rounds. Nickname ‘Dushka’ (lit. ‘sweetie’, ‘dear’), from the abbreviation.
Fast Air: Offensive military jet aircraft such as the Harrier GR-7/9, Tornado GR-4 or F-16.
Flechette: Eighty five-inch tungsten darts fired from a rocket travelling above Mach 3.
FOB: Forward Operating Base.
Force protection: Military term given to a range of measures designed to preserve and protect the combat power of our own forces.
GAPAN: Guild of Air Pilots and Navigators, established in 1929, and a Livery Company of the City of London. The Guild advises the Government on air safety and aeronautics. The Guild presents trophies and other awards for outstanding performance in aviation by individuals or organisations.
Green Zone: Lush habitation of irrigated fields, hedgerows, trees and small woods on either side of the Helmand River, bordered by arid desert. Most of Helmand’s population lives here and the natural cover means a high concentration of Taliban forces.
HALS: Hardened Aircraft Landing-Strip. Small runway.
HEAT: High Explosive Anti-Tank. An explosive-shaped charge that on impact creates a very high-velocity jet of metal in a state of superplasticity that can punch through solid armour.
HEDP rounds: High Explosive Dual Purpose 30mm cannon rounds.
Hellfire AGM-114N: Enhanced blast version of Hellfire air-to-surface missiles carried by Apache AH-1.
Hesco Bastion: Square wire mesh cubes lined with hessian. Filled with sand and/or rubble and used as defensive ramparts to protect bases from fire.
HLS: Helicopter Landing Site.
HRF: Helmand Reaction Force.
ICOM: Radio scanner used by Coalition and Taliban forces to monitor one another’s radio transmissions.
ICOM chatter: Intelligence Communication. Term for intercepts of Taliban radio chatter.
IED: Improvised Explosive Device.
Illume: Term given to light conditions for night flying in theatre. Green illume signifies good vision using NVGs; red illume signifies no vision, even with NVGs.
Intel: Intelligence.
IR: Infrared.
&nb
sp; IRT: Incident Response Team consisting of aircrew, medical team, EOD (bomb disposal) team and fire rescue team. The medical team is made up of a surgeon/anaesthetist, paramedics and emergency-care specialist nurses. Protected on the ground by Quick Reaction Force.
ISAF: International Security Assistance Force. NATO multinational military force in Afghanistan.
ISTAR: Intelligence, Surveillance, Target Acquisition and Reconnaissance – a practice that links several battlefield functions together to assist a combat force in employing its sensors and managing the information they gather.
JDAM: Joint Direct Attack Munition. Guidance system bolted on to 500lb or 2,000lb bomb to make it an accurate, all-weather weapon.
JHC: Joint Helicopter Command. UK-based command for all British military helicopters in the UK and overseas.
JHF (A): Joint Helicopter Force (Afghanistan). Main at KAF, ‘Forward’ at Bastion. Afghanistan helicopter HQ operating under authority of JHC.
JOC: Joint Operations Centre. The control centre of operations in Helmand Province.
JTAC: Joint Terminal Attack Controller, also known as FAC, or Forward Air Controller. A soldier responsible for the delivery of air ordnance on to a target by combat aircraft. Call sign normally ‘Widow’.