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

by Kailash Limbu

  The sound of the heli changed to thunder as it headed in towards us. At less than 50 metres’ range and practically overhead, he opened up with his 30 mm cannon.

  BRRRRB BRRRRB BRRRRB

  Cautiously, I poked my head up to see where the rounds were falling. He was about 20 metres too far to the right, the rounds falling harmlessly on open ground.

  ‘Did he get them, guruji? Was it a target?’ the bhais all wanted to know.

  ‘He was twenty metres off.’

  ‘Aaye!’

  ‘So now what?’

  They were bitterly disappointed. It was so frustrating, but you couldn’t blame the pilot. The helicopter had come under heavy fire itself.

  ‘Quiet, you guys! I need to send a target indication,’ I shouted, pressing the Send button on my PRR. ‘Zero, this is Sangar Three. Rounds fell approximately twenty metres to right of target.’

  ‘Zero, roger. He’s coming round again. HEADS DOWN! HEADS DOWN!’

  Again came the thunder of blades and the deep burble of the cannon.

  BRRRRB BRRRRB BRRRRB

  Aaye jatha! This time he was on target OK, but now several rounds fell just a few metres short and the whole sangar shook.

  ‘WOW, guruji! That was too close, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Listen, bhai haru, this guy’s taking serious risks for us, OK? Now be quiet a moment. Zero, this is Sangar Three. That was a target. But a bit close to my position.’

  ‘Did he hit you?’

  ‘Not quite.’

  ‘OK. This time he’s going to come in at right angles. HEADS DOWN! HEADS DOWN!’

  A third time, we heard the clatter of blades and the roar of the engine as the helicopter swept down towards us. There followed a loud crackle of small-arms fire as the enemy switched their attention away from us and onto the chopper. But the next thing we knew, the helicopter’s cannon fire was actually striking the corner of the DC and the sangar was vibrating violently.

  ‘CHECK FIRE! CHECK FIRE!’ I yelled over the PRR.

  Thankfully the pilot must have seen what was happening and his gun went silent.

  ‘Hernuhos, guruji! He’s trying to kill us!’ exclaimed one of the riflemen.

  ‘Look out, you stupid man!’ yelled another.

  We were all a bit shaken, I have to admit.

  ‘At least he didn’t hit the sangar,’ I said. ‘Be thankful he’s here. Now come on, let’s keep at it.’

  The truth of the matter was, the enemy was in a very good position. It was going to be almost impossible to hit him where he was. The only thing likely to cause him serious trouble would be a Hellfire missile, but that would have been way too risky in these circumstances.

  We continued engaging the clinic while the Apache adjusted his line of attack.

  Swinging round low, the helicopter came in for another run. This time his rounds slammed into the southern corner, exactly where I expected the enemy to be.

  BRRRRB BRRRRB BRRRRB

  ‘That’ll teach you for shooting at me!’ yelled Baren.

  Yet again, the Apache banked steeply round with a clatter of blades, dust and smoke partially screening him. This time he flew off towards the north, and as the sound of the machine faded, it gave way to the sound of loud cries coming from the clinic.

  ‘Listen! Did you hear that, guruji?’ said Lal.

  The screams got louder.

  ‘Got the jatha!’ cried one of the other riflemen.

  ‘That sounds like a target all right,’ I said

  I picked up the field telephone.

  ‘Zero, this is Sangar Three. That was a target. Screams coming from inside clinic area.’

  ‘Zero, roger. Will relay to pilot. But don’t take your eyes off the place, OK? They might try to reinforce it.’

  ‘Sangar Three, roger out.’

  Grabbing some bottles of water, I threw one to each of the bhais. We’d been in contact on and off for nearly two hours now and we were all badly in need of a drink.

  ‘Drink all of it, bhai haru. You don’t know when we’ll get time for another one.’

  Shortly after, the OC was on the air to say that the ANP convoy that had been ambushed earlier in the morning was still on the far side of the bazaar near the graveyard, and reporting squirters (suspected enemy) running between the clinic and the petrol station.

  ‘It looks as though they are withdrawing from the bazaar area. The MFC will try to cut them off,’ he announced.

  Not long after, the 81 mm tube burst into action, and we watched as the impact of successive rounds erupted in cascades of white smoke.

  ‘Wow! Take a look at that!’ said one of the bhais.

  ‘I bet they weren’t expecting mortar!’ said another.

  But we were continuing to take accurate fire on the sangar position. Although it wasn’t coming from the clinic any more, the enemy still hadn’t given up.

  Suddenly a shout went up from Baren.

  ‘Need more link, guruji!’

  Oh no! This was something I’d been dreading hearing. I knew we must be getting low, but right now there was no way we could get anybody up onto the position to resupply us. They’d just have to try and throw it up.

  ‘How much have you got left?’ I demanded, looking over at him. To my horror I saw that the barrel of the GPMG was glowing a deep red. He urgently needed a barrel change too.

  ‘Less than half a box.’

  Roger.

  ‘Zero, this is Sangar Three. We need more link for the GPMG, but it’s too dangerous to come onto the position. They’ll have to try and throw it up.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll get some over to you right away.’

  Less than a minute later a cry came from down below.

  ‘RESUPP!’

  I knew Gaaz’s voice at once.

  ‘OK. LET’S HAVE IT,’ I replied, scrambling out onto the roof.

  Gaaz’s first two attempts failed, but eventually he got the measure of it and first one, then another, then three, then four boxes skidded towards me.

  ‘LET ME KNOW IF YOU NEED MORE.’

  ‘OK. SHOULD BE ENOUGH FOR NOW.’

  At least, I hoped so. I was just focused on keeping the enemy from getting any closer.

  ‘OK, guruji bhai haru, we’ve got to try to work out where these positions are,’ I said. ‘So I need for you all to be looking, looking. There’s still half an hour of daylight left. That’s time enough for the enemy to launch another assault.’

  I said this because I didn’t want the bhais to give up, just because we had air support. Besides, it was true.

  The likely places were the same today as the other days. The treeline to the east, Smuggler’s House and just about anywhere in between. Every so often, I would hear the OC on the PRR acknowledge one or other of the sangars giving the grid of another fire position. But it was one thing to identify them and quite another to knock them out, even with a helicopter on station. One big problem was that if they thought the helicopter was on to them, all they had to do was put down their weapons and walk away. They knew they wouldn’t get attacked. The pilot wouldn’t just hit random people. He had to be sure they were enemy. So although it was great to have air support, we still needed to find the enemy positions in order to give the pilot targets to engage.

  The other thing we had to be alert to was the possibility of the enemy regrouping and having another go at turning us over. It was clear that he had routes in and out that enabled him to get very close to us without exposing himself. We never discovered what or where these were. My own conclusion was that there must have been some sort of tunnel system. But I doubted they could have been dug recently. More likely they went in long before the present conflict – maybe back when the Russians occupied Afghanistan during the 1980s.

  In any case, our attention was soon back on the clinic when there was a sudden shout from one of the bhais.

  ‘CONTACT! IN THE CLINIC AGAIN!’

  This was followed with an immediate burst of fire from Baren on the GPMG.
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  Just at that moment, Mathers sahib sent out a call on the PRR.

  ‘Charlie Charlie One, A-10 on task.’

  Thank the god.

  ‘A-10, guruji bhai haru. A-10!’ I said to the riflemen.

  Normally they would cheer, but this time things were so close they didn’t even look up.

  I looked down into the street below, half-expecting to see a ladder. But there was nothing.

  ‘A-10 approaching ten seconds.’ Mathers sahib now began the countdown over the PRR.

  ‘A-10 in ten seconds!’ I repeated.

  ‘Now see what happens, you jatha!’ said Baren, only now looking up from the GPMG.

  ‘Hey! Keep your eyes on the clinic and the sniper holes!’ I shouted.

  The A-10 roared in low overhead. I have heard that the American air force makes jokes about the type as being the only aircraft capable of suffering birdstrike at both ends – a reference to its relatively slow speed. I know some people call it ugly too. All I can say is that to us, it was the most beautiful flying machine ever built. The enemy seemed also to have strong opinions about the A-10, as from the moment of its arrival, things quietened down dramatically. It seems they didn’t quite dare to close with us and instead withdrew the way they’d come.

  We watched as the aircraft took on targets around the town. When you are as busy as we were, it is easy to lose a sense of the bigger picture, but while we were fighting our own bit of the war, the other sangars had been fighting theirs and relaying contacts to the CT. As a result, the OC was able to give the pilot multiple target indications, and it was these he began to engage. We watched with huge satisfaction as the A-10’s cannon ripped into successive positions.

  After some time, the A-10 departed, and suddenly I noticed how quiet it was. For the next half-hour, the only sound came from the five of us moving round inside the sangar, interspersed with the occasional radio transmission. After another half-hour, I called for some food to be brought. We were all really hungry by now. It was still too dangerous for anyone to come up, so I told the bhais they should throw it. But after several attempts, we realised it just wasn’t going to work. Even though the riflemen on the ground secured the mess tins by putting two together and tying them, the contents spilled everywhere.

  ‘FORGET IT!’ I shouted. ‘Just bring some biscuits, OK?’

  We would just have to wait until after dark for a proper meal. That would be soon now, though there was still plenty to do. The ANP convoy that had been ambushed in the morning was still stuck on the other side of town. They hadn’t taken any casualties, but they needed extracting. The OC’s plan, delivered individually over the field telephone, was to provide them with an escort of the two WMIKS after a resupp he had arranged which would be brought in by Chinook.

  ‘Be advised, the 2 i/c will take the WMIKs down to the HLS. He’ll resupply ANP Hill and then escort the stranded vehicles back to the DC. Meanwhile the sangars are to remain on high alert. Radio intercepts suggest the enemy has not left the area. Also be advised we have another Apache due in figures five. He will be clearing the route to the HLS.’

  ‘Sangar Three, roger out.’

  With Mathers sahib and the two vehicles out of the DC while ANP Hill was resupplied, and with the ANP themselves still not back, we were going to be seriously short of manpower in the event of more big contacts, so it was another anxious twenty minutes.

  The muezzin’s call to evening prayer was drowned out by the sound of the helicopter arriving. The pilot then proceeded to loiter overhead while he waited for the arrival of the Chinook. In the sangar, now that it was getting dark, I took the opportunity to stand Baren down so that he could at last be examined by the medics.

  ‘I’m fine, guruji. I’ll stay,’ he said. But I insisted. Gaaz could take his place.

  ‘You need to get those wounds dressed. We don’t want you to get an infection.’

  Reluctantly, Baren left the position just as the two WMIKs burst out of the compound and headed down to the HLS. Gaaz then came up, and soon after we heard the sound of helicopters in the near distance. It turned out there were not one but two Chinooks, and they were accompanied by another two Apaches.

  ‘Namaste, guruji bhai haru!’ exclaimed Gaaz on entering. ‘It feels like Christmas! But instead of Santa and his reindeer, our presents are coming by helicopter.’

  We all laughed. It was so good to have Gaaz back with us. He had been resting and was full of energy.

  My main concern now was for the stores. With the light fading fast, the vehicles were going to be even more vulnerable than usual. It would be harder than ever to spot the enemy.

  I needn’t have worried. Within less than ten minutes of the drop, the OC came up on the PRR.

  ‘Charlie Charlie One, this is Zero. Zero Bravo reports all stores accounted for.’ That was a big relief. ‘But be aware,’ he went on, ‘there are reports of suspected enemy observed two kilometres east.’

  ‘Did you get that, bhai haru? It’s not over yet.’

  Even though we still had air support in the form of an Apache helicopter, it wasn’t many minutes before we saw flashes of tracer and heard the familiar sound of rounds thudding into the sangar position.

  ‘Zero, Sangar Three, CONTACT, wait out!’

  ‘Zero, roger.’

  Seconds later, an arc of tracer lit the sky as the helicopter itself came under attack.

  ‘Aaye! Did you see that, guruji?’ demanded one of the riflemen.

  ‘Looks like they must have got hold of an anti-aircraft gun from somewhere!’ said Gaaz.

  There followed an immediate burst of cannon fire from the helicopter. Then another, and another.

  BRRRRB … BRRRRB … BRRRRB

  Several flashes lit up the sky as the rounds found their way onto the target.

  ‘Charlie Charlie One, this is Zero. For your information, pilot confirms that as a kill.’

  ‘That’ll teach you, jatha!’ came Gaaz’s voice through the gathering dark.

  Five minutes later, there was a loud explosion as a Hellfire missile tore into a building on the southern side of town, while almost immediately afterwards the ANP convoy, escorted by the two WMIKS, burst back into the compound.

  ‘Look! It’s Father Christmas!’ exclaimed Gaaz.

  15

  Night Attack

  We all agreed that the enemy had given us a good fight that day.

  ‘I just wish the jatha would come out and show themselves occasionally,’ said Nagen, as we sat down to our first full meal in almost twenty-four hours.

  ‘And it would be good if the Afghans here joined in sometimes,’ said one of the other riflemen.

  Actually, this was a bit unfair. The ANP had twice been ambushed patrolling. It was the local police who did nothing.

  ‘What I’d like is if the Taliban just came round and we could fight it out hand to hand,’ said someone else.

  ‘They know we’d beat them. That’s exactly why they wouldn’t,’ replied Nagen.

  After eating, those of us who had been on duty all day went for rest, though I can’t say I got much sleep, and I don’t suppose the others did either. There was too much adrenalin in our veins. But the night was a quiet one.

  Sometime the following morning, I had a strange conversation with some of the local police. When the Apache was firing into the old clinic, one of the rounds that had almost taken us out must have struck the ground near to the police pick-up. Some shrapnel had smashed the windscreen and one of the wing mirrors and the police were all really frustrated and angry. The leader came up to me and started shouting threateningly as if it was somehow my fault their vehicle was damaged. But, speaking in Urdu, I tried to convince them it was a Taliban mortar that had done it. I thought that might encourage them to fight.

  ‘Look, brother,’ I said. ‘Taliban nikya hal kyi. The Taliban have done this. O Taliban marna porega. We have to kill the Taliban.’

  Although I did finally manage to persuade him that what we were loo
king at was the effects of enemy action, I still had the uneasy feeling the local police blamed the Gurkhas for what had happened. To their way of thinking, if we hadn’t been there, there would have been no attacks and they could have had a nice quiet life.

  Because of the resupp the night before, we spent part of that morning sorting out the stores. We’d been getting low on ammo and water, so it was reassuring to have got our supplies back up to full strength. We had also taken delivery of more ILAWs, so that was good for morale too. Plus there was a letter for Gaaz which I took to him later.

  I found him lying on his bed, gaming and singing a song I’d often heard him sing to himself. I can’t remember what it was, though he did once tell me who it was by. Somebody Adams, I think. But I don’t take much interest in modern music. I prefer traditional Nepalese folk songs.

  ‘Gaaz! There’s a letter for you.’

  ‘Oh thanks, guruji!’ he exclaimed, jumping up. ‘I wonder who it’s from …’

  I think it must have been from his parents, as he wasn’t too excited when he saw the envelope.

  ‘Gaaz, I don’t mind you reading it straight away,’ I said. ‘But when you’ve finished, I want to see your bedspace tidied up, OK?’

  ‘Yes, guruji,’ he replied, a bit embarrassed.

  The one area that I could always find fault with Gaaz was his personal admin. You could tell him to tidy his things up and he’d do it. But less than twenty-four hours later, it would be just as bad or even worse than before. I didn’t really mind, but I pointed out to him he would need to get a grip at some point.

  ‘Just remember that when you’re an NCO, you’ll have to lead by example.’

  ‘Yes, guruji.’

  He looked at me as if to say he was sorry I’d said that. He knew it was his one weakness and he didn’t like to be confronted with it. But after a moment, he brightened up.

  ‘Hey guruji! When I’ve done it, will you give me a game of bagh chal? You can be the tiger.’

  ‘Sure,’ I replied, knowing full well that his strongest game was when he played the goats. I made sure I won all the same.

  At the O-group later that day, Rex sahib gave us a heads-up on the general situation. 3 PARA were back in Bastion, and we shouldn’t now expect to be relieved for at least another ten days, possibly two weeks.