B Company was preparing to go out on patrol and the FSG was to support it. Deano and Scotty were to be deployed while I was to take on all sniper duties in the FOB as I was now the only one left in the base because Teddy was still in the UK on his NCOs Cadre. If anyone saw anything suspicious I would have to leg it over to their position as quickly as possible.
We had received information, through various cast iron intelligence reports, that we were being watched at all times. The reports made us realise that the hills and valley of Sangin literally did have eyes. One night Sergeant Chris Canepa appeared in my room saying, ‘Sniper needed at Sanger 8!’ I sat up and was told that there were two Afghans digging next to a compound after last light and that it was suspected they could be planting a mine. All the locals around the FOB had been warned that would be considered a threat if seen digging after last light; in fact they had assured us that they do not farm at night. This meant that, under Rule 429 Alpha, we could engage if we thought they were Taliban or considered there was a possibility they had weapons or maybe were planting a mine.
I said, ‘Okay, I’ll be there in two!’ I put my boots on, grabbed my kit and ran around to Sangar 8. One of the blokes, ‘H’ Holdenby, was in there with one of the other lads as I came in with a huge grin on my face. I was excited because this was my first opportunity to put into practice all my training, and to score my first hit. This may sound somewhat perverse, but it must be remembered that we were up against people trying to kill us and, if I was required to kill someone in the line of duty, I would not hesitate.
I switched on my night vision aid that clipped on to my rifle’s telescopic sight. I remember the moon was not out, so visibility was poor. I had a target indication from ‘H’, but could not see the two targets. ‘H’ grabbed his 51mm light mortar and fired up a flare into the dark sky; as he did so I located the two Afghans with my laser rangefinder that gave me a bearing and range. They were standing in the gloom 460 metres away, so I dialled in 560 metres in to my scope elevation drum. I knew they were up to no good and was aware that someone had actually seen them digging, but they were now doing nothing. I realized that there was no way I could justify a kill, but I could and would give them a warning shot. I double-checked that I had dialled up the sight the extra 100 metres so the trajectory would take the bullet high, making an ear-splitting crack as it flew over their heads.
‘H’ launched a second flare and I aimed at the left-hand Afghan’s face and fired, the bullet smashing into the wall behind him about three feet above his head. The man dropped to the ground and then both men ran off into the night, terrified out of their wits. I laughed, ‘They won’t be bothering you any more.’ Gathering up my kit, I left the sangar and walked back up to the tower.
War tends to bring a mix of many emotions, sadness not least among them. The Battalion’s first casualty was Private Chris Gray who died on 13 April 2007. I did not know him because he was from A Company with which I had never worked. Nevertheless, I was saddened because he looked like he was a young lad who had just recently joined the Army, and because he was a fellow soldier in the same regiment. Captain Robinson, the second-in-command of B Company, broke the news to us down in the Snake Pit.
A Company was deployed in the Green Zone in Nowzad, which was a bit of a ghost town with nothing of note there, but the problem it faced in the District Centre (DC) was that the Taliban were in strength there. The company could not move without being seen but, despite this, it had to push out and conduct patrols, knowing that the Taliban were everywhere. The Taliban used Nowzad as a rest area, using it to regroup after an operation before redeploying.
The company’s task was to patrol, gain control of the ground and show the Taliban that it was in the area and would not tolerate any trouble. As it pushed into the Green Zone, the leading platoon had come under heavy fire and so Chris Gray’s platoon moved around to execute a flanking manoeuvre to draw off some of the enemy fire. Chris Gray, as the lead man of the platoon, moved to within 20 metres of the Taliban position and engaged the enemy. A fierce fire fight ensued during which he was sadly hit in the chest. He was evacuated out of there, but died of his wounds later. Unfortunately, this is all I really knew of the incident, but it was a terrible shame and we all remembered this as the first casualty from our tour. Our thoughts went out to his family as we considered our own and the danger we were in during these moments of combat. It hit home to us that people would die out here, and we would be very naïve to think that we were somehow invincible. Each unit that had completed operational tours in this area had suffered casualties, but nevertheless we had to ‘crack on’ regardless.
Life at FOB Robinson continued, and I remember on one occasion being on stag up on the main FST tower, checking the area with binoculars. I noticed the Americans were there and that they also had their snipers up on the roofs. I observed an American patrol moving between some of the buildings below the snipers’ positions and then suddenly saw and heard a massive explosion next to them, with dust and debris being thrown up high in to the air. I got on to the field telephone to the Ops Room, describing what I had seen in the American area. It transpired that one of their number had stepped on a mine, in all probability an old Russian mine replanted by the Taliban.
Amongst these hills there was an ancient old fort that reputedly dated back to Alexander the Great’s time. It was on a small hill and you can see it was obviously man-made, but it had melted into the terrain over time. The Taliban reportedly used to fire from it so I always used to keep an eye on the area of the fort when on stag. The FOB had not come under serious attack from small arms, just mortars and 107mm Chinese rockets, but a couple of mortar bombs came towards us, although we were only there for a few weeks. So, apart from a few mortar bombs, not a great deal happened during the few weeks we were there. Generally speaking, life in FOB Robinson was actually pretty boring. It would become the epitome of luxury in comparison to what we would experience in due course. The main source of annoyance was the Canadian artillery that had a habit of loosing off salvoes while I was in bed, the noise rendering sleep impossible.
Otherwise, we did have the satellite phones that were like big mobile phones with large antennas that worked on the same card that you could use on the landlines in Camp Bastion. This gave me the opportunity of speaking to Annie, which was great, because she always sounded so excited and really glad to hear my voice. This, coupled with receiving letters was really good for morale and always boosted mine a hell of a lot. I also sent text messages to her through the text link often and this also helped keep her in the loop.
Eventually, the time came for us to leave FOB Robinson. Teddy had arrived and was waiting for us in Camp Bastion, having passed his lance corporal cadre. While the FSG drove back in the WMIKs it had acquired from FOB Robinson, the snipers were flown back by Chinook along with Nos. 5 and 7 Platoons.
CHAPTER 8
Operation SILICONE and HBK
On arriving back at Camp Bastion, we found that we were based in Pod B, Camp 501, within the main camp itself. 6 Platoon was already in action and was still in Gereshk manning FOB Price and carrying out patrols around the area. B Company was equipped with Viking vehicles, which were absolutely fantastic and without doubt the best vehicles for crossing desert terrain. Modular in design, they could be coupled together like a train. The forward or ‘cab’ element of the vehicle was equipped to accommodate four men, together with a platform for a gunner armed with a 7.62mm with a GPMG mounted in a rotating turret.
The ultimate all-terrain high mobility vehicle, the Viking runs on rubber tracks which do not sink into the sand. It is also very fast and, equally importantly, very good when coming into contact with mines. If it runs over a standard type of anti-tank mine, everyone inside would be shaken up but would survive up while the vehicle would still be capable of being driven away. The Taliban employed a tactic to try to counter this by stacking two or three mines on top of each other but, although this would immobilise the Viking, th
ose inside still stood a good chance emerging unscathed. The modular aspect of the vehicles afforded a lot of space and you could fire out of the back from a top-cover hatch. Inside the vehicle, it would be incredibly hot, with the temperature sometimes approaching 40 or 50 degrees. Some of the Vikings were equipped with air conditioning which was a godsend when it worked.
On arriving at Camp Bastion, I called my mum and Annie to tell them to post everything to me there as the move from FOB Robinson was complete. At about this time I began receiving parcels from everyone, which was really good and excellent for morale. In addition to this, Teddy turned up and it was great to see him and there was a lot of smiles and backslapping. Deano had been trying to get us issued with pistols as he was in command, but it was just not happening. I guess someone did not want the snipers swaggering around with pistols, but in fact we really did need them. If, for example, we went into the Green Zone and encountered a group of Taliban with AK-47’s at close range, we would have been in serious trouble as we only had bolt action .338 sniper rifles that only hold five rounds in the magazine. We were eventually successful, our argument being that if we were moving through alleyways or around buildings, we needed to have our pistols drawn so that we could react quickly and effectively to a threat at close quarters.
We came across the sniper team for A Company that consisted of Jock who was in command, with Donny as second-in-command, and JL and OB as the two shooters. It was great to see them, especially considering the snipers had not been together as a platoon since February. OB told us about the big contact in Nowzad, which I think was the same one in which Chris Gray unfortunately got killed. He said that they had been in amongst the buildings when it happened, and had to climb up on to the roofs to enable them to observe. As they did so, they came under heavy fire. Realising they were needed to give fire support and would have to push forward, they decided to split up into pairs. Running through a series of seemingly endless alleyways OB, with Jock behind him, turned a corner and came face to face with a Taliban fighter. Fortunately, he had his pistol in his hand and reacted swiftly, firing the entire magazine of thirteen rounds into the fighter who opened fire at the same time with his AK-47. OB hit him three times around the shoulder area while fortunately escaping completely unscathed. The fighter disappeared around a corner out of sight, so OB threw a grenade after him. Later, he discovered that his pistol had a groove exactly 7.62mm wide along the length of the top slide. When he told us this, there was a chorus of, ‘You lucky bastard!’ and he had indeed been extremely fortunate. The fighter was hit three times but still managed to run off. It was widely rumoured at the time that quite a few of the Taliban were high on heroin, which would have helped to numb pain. This was never proven, but there were several of us who experienced Taliban running at us wildly and continuing to move despite sustaining serious injury.
We spent most of the following week on the range or in the Skills House, which was a mock-up of the type of compound you would find in the Afghan desert, Green Zone or any other occupied area. In the western world you would typically have a detached house with a white picket fence and driveway, but an Afghan house was normally a walled compound with iron gates, usually painted green or blue, that were wide enough for a car to pass through. In the middle of most compounds, you would normally have a patch of dirt with various plants such as poppies growing, but the buildings themselves were just square and built out of mud and straw with flat roofs. Unlike in the UK, they had stairs on the outside but basically were square boxes attached to each other.
Bizarrely, these constructions, ancient in their design and simplicity, were actually better at stopping our bullets or grenades than modern brick houses and, although solid, could also flex and move. For example, if we tried firing a 40mm grenade from an underbarrel grenade launcher (UGL) fitted to an SA80, it would hit and either bounce off or simply embed itself in the wall and fail to explode. So we had to adapt our tactics accordingly, firing to hit the ground in front of them instead.
The Skills House was an accurate mock-up, albeit made from wood and hessian, and we would use it to practise tactics such as room clearance, with the positions of the twelve or so targets inside being changed each time. We would then have a debrief where we would go through any mistakes. It was fantastic training which gave you a hell of an adrenalin rush, because you forgot that it was not for real and took it dead seriously. We needed to change and adapt our fighting style to counter the enemy effectively and we had to learn fast. This was where we did it, in the Skills House and on the ranges.
Snipers were usually being deployed with the FSG on the flanks, but both Deano and I realised that this would be no good if the company went into the Green Zone, which is where the Helmand River runs down from Kajaki to the south of the province. Along either side of the river, to a depth of one kilometre, are areas populated by the local people who grow poppies for opium or crops such as maize or corn. We knew that we could not hang back and clinically remove targets at long range; we had no choice but to go in with the rifle platoons.
During this period of training, Teddy and I were very nearly wiped out by friendly fire. In the Skills House, the guys were reacting to some machine gun fire and we decided that we would not actually enter the compound, but move to the right flank and observe for any enemy in depth or running away from the compound. So, while the guys were firing and manoeuvring forward, we had moved from behind them and on to the right hand flank of the compound, taking up our new position as quickly as possible.
At this point there were no proper targets set out, so we had to make do with random piles of dirt and blocks of Hesco-Bastion which comprises steel cages lined with canvas and filled with dirt, a very easy and effective way of building walls or structures. We went through the normal procedure, with me using my laser rangefinders to ‘zap’ a target and thereafter giving Teddy the range and wind details for him to engage it. We would both observe the target and then he would fire. We repeated this process with between five and ten targets. It was invaluable practice in understanding each other and being able to second guess what we were both thinking all the time. Using the invaluable data the Marines had given us, coupled with using the rangefinders along with the fantastic .338 rifle, Teddy scored ten out of ten, which boosted our confidence enormously.
The only problem was that, as we were engaging our targets, we suddenly heard a whistling sound followed by a thud about ten metres behind us. I spun around to see a white smouldering plume of smoke. We then heard a thump in the distance, followed again by the whistling sound and another smoking plume about 30 metres away on the ground to our left.
The mortar man – OUR OWN mortar man – was firing live smoke behind us! I grabbed the radio and called him up, ‘51 mortar, you are engaging friendly snipers with your smoke. Check your fire! Check fire! Friendly snipers in smoked area.’ To our relief, we received the immediate response, ‘Roger, checking fire.’ The reason it was so critical for us to make contact was that the mortars always fired smoke first to gauge the fall of shot before firing high explosive (HE) bombs. If I had not heard or noticed the smoke bombs landing around us, the mortars would have switched to HE and Teddy and I would have been dead. At least we now knew the sound of an incoming friendly mortar!
Shortly afterwards, Snowy briefed us on Operation SILICONE which would begin on 29 April and continue until 8 May. It seemed fairly straightforward, with us being split into two groups, one sniper team north and one south. Teddy and I would be in the north while Deano and Scotty deployed in the south.
The area in which it would take place was called Habibollah Kalay, known to all of us as HBK. One rifle company was to sweep from west to east through HBK with the northern FSG mounted in Vikings. Mick and a guy called OD, a Territorial who had joined us for the tour, would go in on foot with a man-packed Javelin missile system together with the FST which would control all the air and mortar support were also there.
SILICONE’s objective was the clearing
of a known stronghold of the Taliban north east of Gereshk. With eleven sub-units under command, including our A and B Companies, it was an ambitious, large scale operation and the first time a clearance of this scale had been attempted within the Green Zone. B Company would lead the way with A Company in support. Once the area had been cleared of Taliban, three patrol bases would be sited and constructed from which patrolling would be conducted to deny the area to the enemy.
A change was made to our order of battle (Orbat). This irritated me because Teddy was put in command of a WMIK and there was no room for us in the Viking with the FST. So, for the first day of the operation, I would basically be redundant because the WMIKs provided vehicle-mounted fire support and so there would not be much scope for me to dismount and do anything. This meant that I was relegated to sitting in the back of the vehicle on top of a load of boxes of ammunition, which was the most uncomfortable journey of my life.
On the day the operation began, we left Camp Bastion and drove off into the desert with me in the back of the WMIK being bounced around, cursing every time my shins got smashed against the metal ammunition boxes. Eventually we halted for the night, the vehicles forming a circle facing outwards in ‘all round defence’, ready to push on before first light on the following day. I remember looking out in to the pitch darkness and hearing the sound of the wind increasing, almost like a shock wave growing in its intensity and pitch. Suddenly, we all realized that we were caught in the middle of a sandstorm. I grabbed my sleeping bag with all my might, holding on to it with both hands as sand flew around us. I tried to peer out through slitted eyes but received an eyeful of sand, so squeezed them tight shut and turned my back on the brunt of the storm. It felt as though someone was playing a power washer hose on it, but using sand instead of water. The sandstorm lasted for only around thirty seconds, and then everything was still. Once it stopped, we opened our eyes to see people chasing after sleeping bags and roll mats. At around 3.00 or 4.00 am, this was a somewhat bizarre sight in the middle of the desert.
Sniper in Helmand: Six Months on the Frontline Page 5