Gurkha: Better to Die than Live a Coward: My Life in the Gurkhas

by Kailash Limbu

  ‘Listen in, guruji bhai haru. The resupp is on,’ I said to Gaaz and Nani. ‘We move in five minutes, OK?’

  ‘I’m ready, Kailash bhai,’ said Nani, picking up his helmet.

  ‘Me too,’ said Gaaz, turning to the other riflemen sitting outside the accommodation block. ‘Hey guys, this is just what I like. A resupp means there’s a chance of a letter from my girlfriend AND the possibility of firing the Browning. It doesn’t get much better than that.’

  ‘Just make sure you aren’t trying to fire it at the same time as you’re reading the letter,’ said one of the riflemen as Gaaz stood up. ‘You might find you’ve got too much elevation!’

  We all had a good laugh at this, including Gaaz.

  ‘You’re just jealous!’

  Even now, because of the security considerations already mentioned, we had to make sure we didn’t draw attention to ourselves as we prepared to leave the compound. The Afghans weren’t much in evidence. Quite a few had gone out into the bazaar earlier. But it would only take a phone call from one of them to the right person and life could suddenly become very difficult for us. We did our best to appear as unconcerned as possible.

  One last time, I was going over drills with Gaaz and Nani guruji outside the CT when Mathers sahib came out.

  ‘OK, everyone, let’s go! The chopper is on the approach.’

  Straight away, we mounted up. Within thirty seconds of his order, the crews of both WMIKs were in place and the engines running. We did a quick radio check.

  ‘Zero, Two One Charlie, radio check, over.’

  ‘Two One Charlie, OK out.’

  He then gave the order to move.

  ‘Charlie Charlie One. Move now.’

  At thirty-five seconds, the gate was open and our wheels were spinning.

  We were very vulnerable going out like this, and the thought of someone lobbing a grenade or firing an RPG made me very nervous. At the same time, it was a good feeling to be getting out of the compound after almost a week inside, good too to get a close look at our surroundings from a different perspective. On the way in, there’d been too much to take in to offer a really good grasp of the layout of the town. Now, I was able to see up alleyways and through windows as we passed, and I made a mental note of several places I could see would make good fire positions for the enemy. I’d mark them on a chart to make sure we got fire down there next time we came under attack.

  ‘Charlie Charlie One, this is Sunray. Chinook inbound. Will be on HLS in figures two. Out.’

  That was the 2 i/c.

  If the helicopter was that close, we should be able to see it. I looked in the distance and there it was, at no more than a hundred feet now, the familiar – and comforting – sight of the twin-propped workhorse. The Chinook was the mainstay of troop movements in and around Afghanistan, and my heart always lifted when I saw one – though I have to say it lifted even more when I saw its escort. There was an American A-10 high above, providing air-to-ground support in case of difficulty. Although originally designed as a tank-buster, the A-10’s Gatling gun had proved very effective against ground troops as well.

  ‘Good news, guruji bhai haru,’ I said. ‘There’s an A-10 up there too.’

  ‘So long as it doesn’t mistake us for the enemy!’ said Gaaz. He was referring to an unfortunate incident a few weeks back when the pilot had accidentally engaged friendly forces – luckily with no harm done. The air liaison officer had immediately spotted what was going on.

  Our timings were coordinated so that we would reach the site just a minute or two before the helicopter arrived. You didn’t want to get there much sooner, as you didn’t want the enemy alerted. Our first action on arrival was to clear the ground out to 5 metres from the centre, using a metal detector to check for mines and unexploded munitions. If we were satisfied it was safe out to 5 metres, we would then go out to a distance of 20 metres, again sweeping with the metal detector, before dropping down and taking up a defensive position. The idea was to spend as little time static as possible. In our case, there was both small-arms and indirect fire to think about.

  There was a great roar of its engine and a beating of blades as the bird touched down, completely enveloped in its protective dust cloud. Then sixty seconds. That was the maximum time the pilot would ever stay on the ground. If he could get away in less, he would. On this occasion, I’d say it was no more than twenty seconds before the engine note changed to a whine as the pilot opened the throttle wide and took off again. The helicopter was already 200 feet up and starting to manoeuvre by the time I’d finished loading the first crate of ammo. Moments later he had disappeared into the distance, a dark shape swallowed up in the shimmering heat of the desert.

  Because of the need to work as fast as possible, we had put just two riflemen out in a defensive cordon around the vehicles while the rest of us got everything loaded up at top speed.

  As me and Nagen were busy piling the supplies into the back of the WMIK, Nani revved the engine while Gaaz swung the Browning round through 360 degrees on the lookout for enemy. Because we knew they must be somewhere close by, I was expecting us to be engaged at any moment. Even if they only had a few minutes’ notice, it seemed highly likely they could at least get a machine gun or two in place.

  I don’t know exactly how long it took to get everything on board, but definitely not more than five minutes. We’d agreed beforehand that as soon as our vehicle was fully loaded, Nagen and I would go and load the quad-bike trailer. Or if Mathers sahib and his crew finished first, they would go. It was whoever finished first.

  ‘OK, Nagen,’ I shouted when we were done. ‘You come with me.’

  We ran over just in time to help the quad-bike driver heave the last few crates of water on board the trailer. If we’d been in the mood for talking, we might have said something about how heavy they were. But the fact is, when you’re straining with every nerve in fear of the TAKTAKTAK that tells you you’re under fire, you forget the weight of water.

  ‘OK, guruji haru, bhai haru, well done. That’s everything. Let’s get going before anyone decides to have a pop at us,’ said the 2 i/c, taking one last look round.

  We ran back to our vehicle 20 metres away and scrambled on board. A second later, I heard Mathers sahib come up on the PRR.

  ‘Ready, Zero Charlie?’

  ‘Yes ready,’ I replied.

  ‘OK, go!’

  And with that I gave Nani the thumbs up. He released the clutch, the wheels spun and we raced off back towards Now Zad. Less than five minutes later, we were back at the compound. The QRF were out in the street covering us and the gates were open as we roared inside. The whole sortie could hardly have taken more than fifteen minutes from start to finish. Nothing bad had happened. Maybe in reality the Taliban were busy preparing for the campaign of the following weeks.

  Back inside, we quickly got the stores unloaded and distributed. In strict order of priority, we dealt with the ammo first, then the water, then the food. Things like spares for the radios, an extra nightsight or two and the mail came after. And while we did so, the Afghans stood looking on – enviously, I thought – and holding hands.

  This was one of the strangest things we had noticed about the Afghans. They seemed to be very friendly with each other. What was more, on Thursdays – which was their day off – they put on make-up. Most surprising of all was that leaders of both the ANP and the local police had young boys – teenagers or less – known as tea boys, who they took with them everywhere, even into their rooms at night. The first time I saw one of these boys, I was amazed to see his fingernails were painted red. Later I heard that because of the huge cost of getting married in Afghanistan, there are a lot of men who never do so. To pay the dowry costs a minimum of ten to fifteen thousand dollars, which many are never able to earn in their whole life. So it seems they take satisfaction in other ways. We found this very shocking. In our villages, if boys were good friends, they would sometimes walk round with their arms over each other’s sh
oulders. But sex between men was completely unheard of.

  ‘It’s just as well we got more water in,’ I remarked to the platoon sergeant, as we both stood surveying the small room it was stored in. ‘At the rate we’re going that’s not going to last more than two or three days at most.’

  ‘At least the well’s working again if we need it,’ replied Corporal Santos.

  ‘Is it? That’s good. I hadn’t realised. Mind you, we want to avoid using it if we don’t have to. We don’t want to start going down sick with stomach problems.’

  ‘That’s right. That would be a big setback,’ he agreed.

  With the resupp out of the way, the afternoon dragged slowly on into the evening. It was another blisteringly hot day and we couldn’t wait for the sun to go down – even if it did mean we were liable to come under attack again.

  The one thing that did cheer everyone up was Gaaz’s letter from his girlfriend.

  ‘So, Gaaz, what does she say? Is she gonna marry you?’

  ‘C’mon guys. It’s not like that. I’m only nineteen, you know. And she’s only eighteen.’

  ‘Well if it isn’t like that, what is it like? You tell us!’ said one of the other riflemen.

  ‘We’re just friends, that’s all.’

  ‘Just friends? What’s the point of that? So what do you do when you’re together? Walk round holding hands like the ANP?’

  There was a burst of laughter from all present.

  ‘Well if you really want to know, the last time I saw her I got such a bad back I couldn’t walk for three days.’

  ‘You mean you were practising the kama sutras?’

  ‘No, I was trying to climb up into her bedroom window when the gutter gave way and I fell down!’

  This was one of the things I liked best about Gaaz. He could tell a joke about himself. We all had a good laugh at this.

  In fact I think this really is one of the reasons we Gurkhas make such good warriors. Even when the going is really tough, we keep our sense of humour. Except when we were in contact or performing a specific task, a lot of the conversation was based on humour. Whenever I walked past the bhais off duty there would always be someone making a joke.

  I don’t know how much later it was, but not long before sundown the air was suddenly torn apart by the sound of a sustained burst of fire from an automatic weapon.

  ‘STAND-TO! STAND-TO!’ the platoon sergeant’s voice rang out a moment later as those of us not already wearing their helmets grabbed them.

  ‘SANGAR THREE CONTACT!’ Lance Corporal Shree’s voice came up over the PRR. ‘OBSERVING!’

  The 2 i/c’s voice replying was drowned by the answering sound of machine-gun fire from the CT.

  Grabbing my rifle, I burst out of the accommodation block and, taking a quick look round, ran over to the sangar, ready to climb up. As I did so, I was surprised to see one of the Afghans standing outside their block talking on a mobile phone. Each time there had been gunfire before, the Afghans had been nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Guruji bhai haru! Are you OK in there?’ I shouted up. ‘Any idea where it’s coming from?’

  ‘Not sure, but it could be Smuggler’s House.’ This was the name we’d given to the old two-storey school building.

  The bloody school building. I always knew it was going to give us trouble. Not that I blamed the enemy. It was exactly where I would put my weapons if I was in their position.

  The exchange continued for about five minutes, not more. Lance Corporal Shree and the rest of the section joined with the bhais on the roof of the CT in returning fire. But then it stopped.

  I pressed the Send button on my PRR.

  ‘Seen anything?’

  ‘Nothing, guruji.’

  ‘OK, I’m coming up.’

  Before I did so, however, I looked back towards the CT and was just in time to see the OC emerging from the hatch on top of the CT roof. What you had to do was climb through this and then crawl or dash the short distance to the sandbags that had been put up to provide cover. But no sooner had the OC appeared than there was another long burst of enemy fire. They must have seen him! Maybe they’d even planned this. They’d engage the CT and then stop in the hope that he would come out to see what was going on, then try to hit him as he climbed up!

  And it was at that moment I realised what was going on. Looking back towards the Afghan accommodation block, the same person was still standing there with his mobile phone held to his ear. The dirty jatha! He was directing the enemy fire! He had to be. I wanted to kill him there and then, but by this time the OC was safe behind the protection of the sandbags. Meanwhile, with my heart full of murder, I climbed into the sangar.

  ‘Seen anything?’ I demanded.

  ‘Nothing, guruji.’

  This made me even more frustrated, so after spending a few minutes straining my eyes scanning possible fire positions, I told the bhais what I’d just seen. They all erupted at once.

  ‘What! What are you gonna do, guruji?’

  ‘Kill the jatha!’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  Looking down into the compound I could see that the local policeman had now disappeared inside. He obviously thought there was nothing more he could do.

  ‘Well I’m not going to say anything over the radio. You don’t know who’s listening. But I’ll tell the OC in person, as soon as I get the chance.’

  After about an hour, we were stood down, and I went straight over to the CT to speak to Mathers sahib.

  ‘Are you completely sure?’ he wanted to know, when I finished telling him all I’d seen.

  ‘Absolutely sure, sir. Not a question.’

  ‘Right, well I think I’d better have a word with the torjeman. We’ll see whether we can’t confiscate the man’s phone if that’s what he’s up to. I had an idea something like that was going on. He’s the head man of the local police.’

  ‘Confiscate his phone!’ I put my hand on my kukri. Didn’t he want me to kill him?

  The 2 i/c must have seen how angry I was.

  ‘It’s all right, Kailash. Let me deal with this.’

  I left the CT feeling bad for Rex sahib. He had enough on his plate without traitors in the house. I knew it was wrong, but in my heart I would have liked to put the little jatha’s head on a stick right outside the police quarters. Instead, all that happened was the OC persuaded him on some pretext to hand over his phone.

  Of course, I now see that what the OC did was exactly right. If he’d given the order to kill, there’s a good chance the Afghans would have turned against us completely. By taking the man’s phone, Major Rex got the result he needed without loss of life and without causing a rebellion. But I must say that even now I would like to have killed that man for doing what he did. And I wouldn’t be losing any sleep if I had.

  8

  A Change of Atmosphere

  At that night’s O-group, the OC announced that he was concerned about the safety of people getting on and off the sangars during daytime.

  ‘It’s quite clear that our friends in here are talking to their friends out there,’ he began. ‘We’ve now had several contacts clearly aimed at people going on and off their position. If this carries on, someone’s going to get hit.’

  We all nodded in agreement.

  ‘So from now on,’ he continued, ‘I only want duties to change after dark – with all that that implies, I’m afraid. What is more, we are going to have to change duties at different times. We don’t want a set pattern, OK?’

  I looked at Corporal Santos. This was a serious development, but the OC was definitely right. They had obviously cottoned on to our movements, and even if one mobile phone could be confiscated, there was nothing to stop them acquiring another. They were still able to go in and out of the compound quite freely. But this meant that life was going to get considerably harder from now on. We would have to take rations up with us. We would have to organise ourselves so that we got rest while up in the sangar. And of course we would have to
be careful not to need to defecate during the day, if we could help it.

  The OC’s change of tactics coincided with a change in the enemy’s tactics too. The next morning, having gone on duty just before first light, I was up in Sangar 3 when a sound caught my ears that had me instantly on full alert. An explosion, maybe half a kilometre away, close to the base of ANP Hill, where there was a small graveyard.

  ‘WOW! Did you hear that, guruji?’

  What was going on? It was quite far away – too far to be dangerous – but it couldn’t be friendly fire.

  ‘It came from over there!’ said Nagen, pointing.

  ‘What do you think it was, guruji?’

  I was busy looking through my binoculars for tell-tale signs of smoke when there was another crump – this time considerably closer.

  A moment later a shout went up from Sangar 6 and the PRR crackled into life.

  ‘IDF! I-D-F!’

  Another voice joined in.

  ‘TAKE COVERRRR!’

  Mortars! A moment later there was a third explosion, this time less than 100 metres away. IDF, by the way, stands for indirect fire. The enemy was clearly creeping rounds onto us.

  Another shout came over the radio. It was the section up on ANP Hill.

  ‘CONTACT! SUSPECTED BASE PLATE IN REGION OF AOI SEVEN!’ This was followed a second later by the sound of ANP Hill’s sustained fire, their GPMG and Minimi being fired in anger. But it didn’t come quite soon enough to prevent the enemy firing a fourth round, followed quickly by a fifth – both of which landed right inside the compound. I turned to see where they impacted. The damage was not great and it occurred to me that you would have to be very unlucky to get taken out by mortar fire. It’s not very accurate. On the other hand, it’s an excellent way of forcing people under cover while you launch an assault. And with that thought, I re doubled my efforts with my binoculars.

  ‘Keep a good lookout, bhai haru. Could be this is the start of something.’