Sniper Elite

by Rob Maylor

  I decided since I wasn’t doing any good with the .338 sniper rifle I might as well stick with him and keep him out of trouble. He was controlling a lifeline that we desperately needed. If he was knocked over there was no-one else able to handle it. I thought, ‘Let’s get him out of the open and into cover.’

  There were boys shouting target indications at Evan not really knowing how much he was trying to do all at once. So we ended up bouncing from car to car all the time being chased by small arms fire and RPGs. We were running up and down the line of these cars which was spread out close to 170 metres at one stage. Evan would get a target indication, and I had a quick chat with the blokes to get more targets and then we moved on. When we noticed the rounds getting too close, I grabbed hold of him and said, ‘Let’s move!’ and we’d find a new position.

  But there were times when Evan was relatively safe in cover, so that freed me slightly to work away from the car to try to identify a target to shoot…no luck! At one point I saw Donno doing the same. Evan organised a 500-pound airburst bomb to be dropped onto a mortar location. He gave the pilot a ‘clear hot’. The pilot replied, ‘Thirty seconds.’ But because Evan was so wrapped up in what he was doing–talking to the other plane and lining it up for another run–he forgot the time and to warn us what was coming. Suddenly he shouted, ‘Oh shit, incoming!’ and as soon as he said it there was an almighty boom about 600 metres away. We heard the whiz of the shrapnel going over our heads and thought, ‘Shit, that was bloody close.’ But it neutralised the mortars and we were quite thankful for that.

  He organised to drop another into the creek line in the green where some fighters were massing. I think one of the pilots had originally given him the heads up about them. Evan plotted the grid reference and relayed it to the pilot, and shortly another 500-pounder was sent steaming towards the ground. This time the bomb was set to explode on impact, neutralising the Taliban as they formed up to attack us. But we were still copping a flogging from the high ground, so Evan switched his focus.

  By now we were about 90 minutes into the battle and as we reached SG’s car one more time I saw a stretcher. PF had been shot through both legs and he was in a critical condition. Then I saw that SG had been shot. He was in a bad way; a round had entered his chest underneath his armpit as he surveyed the ground through his binoculars, and exited above his hip on the opposite side. His binoculars had copped a round also. The American medic–a champion of a guy–was frantically working on him. SG started developing breathing problems, which the medic diagnosed as a tension pneumothorax. This meant there was a lot of air inside his rib cage that was collapsing his right lung and pushing it to one side. So he relieved the pressure by pushing a 12-gauge canula–a very large needle–between the ribs above the lungs and into the top part of his chest cavity. Once that happened you could hear the whoosh of air escaping. SG could breathe a lot easier. They put a little tap on the canula so every now and again when the pressure built up they could release the tap, relieving the pressure.

  One of the Afghan interpreters had been hit in the face, but the bullet travelled through his cheeks; it might have broken a tooth or two but otherwise he was bloody lucky.

  We stopped off at the car where Donno was when suddenly a big burst of machine-gun fire came in from the high ground. It hit the car and small fragments of bullets peppered us. The PC of our other patrol got nicked on the wrist. He was holding it tightly with his right hand and screaming, ‘I’ve been hit. I’ve been hit!’

  I originally thought, ‘Shit this bloke’s in a bad way.’ He screamed, ‘Get me in that car.’ So I moved out of the way and Donno opened the door for him. He got in and the car started to move again. I was walking hunched over beside the vehicle trying to present a smaller target when the left rear window wound down. The windows are nearly 5 centimetres thick, and the PC who had just got in cranked it down and put his hand out. ‘Hey Rob; put a field dressing on this will ya.’

  I stopped for a bit as I was still unsure of how bad his wound was. ‘Oh, okay,’ I said, like a dumb-ass. I should have told him to put it on himself. I had a couple in my day sack, but that was in another car, so I went round the back of his vehicle and pulled one off someone else’s pack. The car stopped, so I knelt down beside the door with my back to the enemy and ripped the packet open. The field dressing fell down and rolled towards the road. I ran down and picked it up but by the time I got it back to the car all the ribbons had come loose and were flapping around in the wind. The PC then said, ‘Let me get out and I’ll fix it,’ but I had started to put it on as best I could. It was an absolute mess. And when I did the knot up on the ribbons I did it up right over his injury. His injury to me didn’t look too bad, but the round could have hit a nerve, which made it feel worse than it was.

  Rounds were still hitting the car as he wound the window up and reluctantly dragged himself out. He thanked me then started to bark a few orders at his guys.

  The valley was now beginning to bottleneck. I figured it would be a good place for the Taliban to be waiting to start a ground assault. Had they done that they would’ve rolled us up because we were starting to run out of ammunition. I had 20 rounds in my pocket of 252-grain .338 and three rounds in my rifle.

  Still shepherding Evan, I found my way back to the vehicle I’d been in initially. Several bullets had hit the windows creating a spider-web effect on the heavily armoured glass, but not penetrated. I moved around to the right side of the vehicle to talk to TS, who was trying his best to liaise between the American troop commander and our troop boss. I was amazed when the driver of the Humvee casually got out and came round to us. ‘Hey fellas, you guys get in the car. One of you drive and there’s a spare seat in the back. I’ll get out and start fighting.’ We both said, ‘No mate, you get back in the car–you know it–so you drive.’ And as rounds were hitting the car, he just casually walked around and got back into the driver’s seat. What a champion.

  We had to use the cars as cover because there wasn’t anything else, and as they crept forward we had to continually change sides every time the weight of fire became too intense. Finding a depression in the ground was also good when the vehicles went static but as you got singled out the amount of rounds you began to attract increased, and it was time to leave.

  The F18s did a couple of gun runs onto the high ground using their 30 mm canons. It was all very spectacular–a long stretch of dust suddenly appeared followed by the Buurrpp of the rounds hitting rock; a split-second later you heard the whizz from the gun as it expelled its rounds. But this action had minimal effect on the Taliban up in the hills. When the aircraft went off station, we had to wait for other planes that had already been activated and taken off from an aircraft carrier in the Gulf. At this point Evan came over and squatted down next to me during a lull and said, ‘Hey, thanks for that, man.’ He put his hand up for a high five but I was a bit distracted and just grabbed his hand and shook it. ‘No worries mate.’ The cars started rolling again and we stood up.

  Next thing, a volley of four RPGs from the high ground came in and straddled our car. One went long, one short, one landed underneath the car and the other one landed a metre beside me. It lifted us all off our feet. In an instant I felt the heat of the explosion from the RPG and couldn’t see anything for dust. All seemed quite calm and quiet, and all motion slowed right down for a split second. I remember seeing two .338 sniper rifles falling to the ground slowly; one was mine and one was Hoady’s. Then I hit the ground. It took me a second to work out what had just happened. ‘Oh shit, I’ve been hit.’ I was hesitant to look at the injuries because I didn’t want to know how bad the wounds were. I still wanted to keep on fighting, even though I hadn’t fired a shot. As I lay on the deck I could see the bomb dog Sabi through the dust. She was yelping and limping. Lucky for her I had been between her and the blast.

  Donno said later when I got out of hospital that he saw the RPGs strike and watched us get blown about a metre off the ground. He thought we w
ere dead.

  The blast injured four of us. Evan got some shrapnel in his calf, Hoady got a bit of frag in his arse and TS took a piece in the calf. I took most of it. The shrapnel hit my foot, my calf, the back of my left leg, my arse and lower back. A couple of minutes after the RPGs hit I grabbed Hoady on the shoulder and shouted over the top of the battle, ‘Mate there’s too many people around this car. It’s a fucking bullet magnet.’ I saw the ANA car up ahead all by itself. It wasn’t really getting engaged and there was no-one standing around it, so I said pointing ahead. ‘We’ve got to get to that car and get this fuckin’ thing moving!’ He nodded and said, ‘Okay, I’m with you.’

  The fire was beginning to intensify again, and an RPG that was fired from the green zoomed centimetres away from four of us. How no-one was hit I’ll never know, but we all caught a glimpse of the dark, round object as it passed through. At that stage TS had just moved round to the right-hand side of the car to talk to the American captain again, and that’s when a big burst of machine-gun fire hit the car and the immediate surroundings. I was okay, but Hoady copped one right across the arse. We didn’t realise, but TS had been hit also. One round had struck his M4 on the bolt rendering it inoperable, the other drilled itself through his right buttock and came to rest directly in front of his coccyx.

  Just as Hoady and I had begun our dash to the front car another volley of RPG fire came in. One burst above the back of the car, wounding an Australian engineer, Sabi’s handler. His wounds weren’t serious, but the explosion was close enough to injure the ANA interpreter in the face and blow him out the back of the car. He couldn’t see due to the blood in his eyes and a few bits of steel. That’s when Donno would have run out there to pick him up and carry him back to the car. I did see Donno on the odd occasion as Evan and I were moving between cars, but I didn’t actually see the action for which he was awarded the Victoria Cross. Hoady and I were well on our way to the front car by that stage.

  It was about a 40–50-metre stretch in front of us, and we got absolutely hammered by fire. I got clocked by a round on the elbow, which felt like I had been hit with a steel rod. Luckily as I was running the elbow was bent and it skimmed off. Had it been straight it would have gone right through the joint and I could have have lost my lower arm. I could see rounds striking in front of me creating small clouds of dust, and as I got to the car I saw several rounds strike the side of it. I decided to keep going as the car was now getting hammered by enemy fire, but as I moved off I was suddenly the magnet. Hoady was still behind me but had stopped at the car.

  The driver of our original car was watching us and later said, ‘Man, that was awesome. The bullets were chasing you everywhere; we thought you guys were history.’

  I saw a ditch–a washout–about 20 metres in front of the car, slightly off to the left flank and on the edge of the road. I ran down towards it and dived into it. It was probably about half a metre deep, just enough for my body to move around in. I still had my weapon so I got down behind it and started to observe for enemy targets.

  We started to take rounds from a small knoll slightly right of us. It was almost 360-degree fire. I could tell that I’d been targeted. There were rounds cracking above me and hitting the edge of the washout from every side. It was at that point that I looked down at the ground and shook my head and wondered whether we were ever going to get out of this.

  I was now hurting and covered in blood. As I was running between the cars I could really feel my wounds starting to stiffen up. Hoady was still taking cover beside the ANA car–six Afghans were in it. One guy was in the turret with the 7.62 mm machine gun. He was getting a few rounds off but it wasn’t anything spectacular. Hoady saw how much fire was coming my way and did the right thing by me. He guided the Humvee to approximately 10 metres to my right, which protected me from the fire that was coming from the high ground. ‘Rob, Rob, get up here!’ I looked up and without hesitation ran for the car.

  I looked in the window; five ANA soldiers were looking back at me with eyes like dinner plates. Hoady banged on the windows and tried to open the door but they’d locked it. Finally, one of the blokes unlocked the doors, and that was it. Hoady pulled the driver out and jumped in his seat in an attempt to get the small convey moving. I pushed my way into the back seat of the Humvee with the help of an ANA guy, and made sure Hoady knew I was in. Hoady drove from then on.

  ‘There’s a compound about 200 metres in front of us,’ I pointed out to Hoady. ‘We need to use that as cover.’ We also needed to get our wounded guys out of there. By now we didn’t have any communications. Comms had shat itself, which is what usually happens. Hoady agreed, and said, ‘Once we get to the compound and secure it at least we’ll have a bit of a stronghold we can fight from, and then maybe at night we can get the injured away.’

  The ANA driver who pushed me into the car was still holding onto the door as we took off. The car was so heavily armoured it made the doors extremely heavy and he was such a small bloke that he couldn’t close it. And that’s when he looked at his leg with a very worried expression on his face. He saw it had blood all over it. I looked at him and said, ‘Don’t worry mate, that’s my blood; you’re okay. Now close the fuckin’ door!’

  I tried to help him but it wasn’t until the car was on the flat that we managed to close the door. We started to get some momentum going and the other cars followed. One of them came screaming past us followed by a second, and now the Americans were leading so we just followed on.

  As we drove towards the compound we exited the valley and came up on the back end of the small knoll where we’d been copping a lot of fire from. Hoady turned the car slightly and stopped, hoping that our gunner would engage it. I don’t think he understood what we were trying to do so I tugged on his leg trying to get him out of the turret. He was still attempting to rectify a stoppage and wouldn’t budge. The Americans turned and stopped too and started firing up into the high ground. Still this fella wouldn’t let his machine gun go, so I gave up and started handing up ammunition to him when he’d cleared the stoppage.

  We were now quite close to the compound we saw as a stronghold, but we quickly realised that it was not suitable. At least we now had a chance to regroup, still under heavy fire. There was no way we could call in the medivac team. We’d have to head back to the FOB. Once we got out of the valley we had covered 3.5 kilometres, but we still had about 2.5 kilometres to negotiate over the home stretch. That took about 45 minutes. JB was doing a great job of wheeling and dealing the .50-calibre as we were still copping sporadic small arms fire, and remained in contact until we reached the FOB.

  We were in contact for over four hours. Estimates vary about the number of Taliban fighters, but my guess is between 100 and 150. There were also foreign fighters–Chechen snipers–involved as well. This was confirmed by the Americans six weeks later. We had an indication of it the previous year in the same area when we received a bit of chatter from one of the Taliban on radio who said inadvertently, ‘I’ve got some fighters here. What do you want me to do with them? I can’t speak to them because they don’t speak our language.’ His commander then came on the radio and warned him not to ever speak of them again.

  As we pulled in, the medics were waiting for us. Hoady and Donno helped me out of the vehicle. By that stage my legs had gone really stiff and sore, so Hoady helped me across to the front of the regimental aid post. He put me on the ground next to all the other wounded. I remember thinking to myself, ‘Christ, how many blokes got hurt?’

  Donno came over and cut my uniform off. That’s when I saw holes in my clothes where I didn’t have any injuries, except one on my upper leg where a round had come through my trousers and just grazed my thigh. He was telling me I had to get some morphine into me. I was saying, ‘No, I’m all right, don’t do it just yet. Save it for the other fellas.’

  ‘Mate, you need morphine.’

  ‘No, I’m good. I’m hurting but I’m still all there.’

  As he was patc
hing me up he said, ‘Sorry mate, I’m not a medic, I’m a signaller, I’m not doing too good at covering your wounds.’

  ‘You’re doing fine, mate; I’m a medic, and you’re doing fine.’

  He had blood all over his face. So I asked, ‘What happened to you, mate?’

  He said, ‘Oh nothing, nothing.’

  ‘Did you get hit?

  ‘No, no. I’m all right. Don’t worry about me, I’m good.’

  ‘Then why is your head covered in blood? That’s not dye running from your hair, mate, that’s blood.’ (Donno has ginger hair.)

  ‘One of the Americans was shot in the head so I took his helmet because I didn’t have one, and when I put it on it was full of blood and it leaked over my face.’ The American had been killed instantly.

  Then I remembered–my helmet was still strapped to the back of the Humvee. I didn’t have the time to put it on. There were more important things to do.

  One of our interpreters, who we rated highly, didn’t come out with us that day, and when he saw the carnage and how many of his friends were injured he broke down in tears. He was asking people how he could help. He was a fantastic fella.

  Nine out of 13 Australian soldiers had been wounded during that contact. Of the 11 SAS guys in the battle, seven were wounded; the other two casualties were engineers from the Incident Response Regiment (IRR). One of them got an armour piercing (AP) round through the kneecap, but all it did was make a neat 7.62 mm hole straight through his leg. He was very lucky. If it had been a ball round instead of AP the projectile would have spread on impact and he would have been in all sorts of trouble. The Taliban were using a lot of AP because they knew the Americans’ cars were armoured. That’s probably what saved SG’s life, it was an AP round that hit him in the side which dived down under his heart then changed course slightly to exit above his hip.