The next operation was going to be our last of the tour. We boarded our newly arrived Mastiff vehicles. Windowless, apart from the windscreen, they were equipped with CCTV giving 180 degrees visibility so that those inside could see what was happening outside. They were equipped with seats and harnesses similar to those used in rally cars and were armed with .50 heavy machine guns up on the roof.
We arrived at FOB Inkerman without any problems or incidents and were shown to our accommodation, which consisted of a large tent fashioned from a parachute. Our cot beds were all pushed together, so you had to clamber in and out of bed at the top rather than the side. The nights were now extremely cold and we had to zip ourselves fully into our sleeping bags but, even so, I would wake up at about 2.00 or 3.00 am shivering. Even during the day, the temperature at midday was only reaching 30 degrees, a good 20 degrees colder than a few months before, which made our job a much easier.
We were patrolling with C Company out in the Jucelay area, which we had cleared previously during Operation LASTAY KULANG. The Taliban were trying to re-infiltrate the area, so we needed to keep them out. They were attacking day after day as they knew they needed to get rid of FOB Inkerman before they could move on to Sangin.
On one occasion, as we came back in from a patrol, we were just taking our armour off and sorting our kit out when we heard the enormous crack and a whoosh of an SPG-9, the same type of weapon that had killed Captain Hicks. As I mentioned previously, you hear the whoosh as it comes towards you and then the crack. This reminded us all that we were certainly not home and dry yet and that we had to keep on top of our game to avoid being wounded or killed.
By now, we were back to working in pairs, with one of us equipped with an SA80 and the other with a sniper rifle. Mo and Kingy paired up and, once again, Teddy and I were working for C Company together, with Teddy as my shooter. We patrolled out in Jucelay and Putay, providing support for C Company.
On our next patrol, we received intelligence that the Taliban were observing and following our troops in the area. It was decided to set a trap and the Sniper Platoon moved into a wadi where there were a considerable number of overhanging trees providing a lot of shadow in which we concealed ourselves. In the dark and looking out towards the light, we could observe everything very clearly while remaining unseen. We soon identified four Afghans equipped with farm tools who appeared to be tending some crops, while all around them were bundles of poppies. We set ourselves up and zapped each of them with the rangefinder. Each was assigned as a target to a sniper, Teddy and I being given the furthest on the right, at a range of around 400 metres away with no wind at all. Once we were ready, C Company moved off and carried on patrolling normally, leaving us watching and waiting. Shortly afterwards, we received a report over the radio that the four men had reported to their Taliban commander that the British were moving and asking him for orders. They had been told to pick up their weapons and follow C Company, which was going to be ambushed.
Sure enough, the four ‘farm workers’ dropped their tools, ran over to the bundles of poppies and pulled out AK-47s and RPGs. They then began to walk towards us, following C Company in order to attack them from the rear. Our safety catches came off and Fruity ‘called’ the ambush, ‘On my count, 3 – 2 – 1. Fire!.’ As soon as he uttered the word ‘Fire!’ there were four bullets in the air and four dead Taliban. It was the perfectly executed sniper ambush, with all four rifles firing simultaneously. We could not have done it better if we tried.
With that we withdrew and caught up with C Company, thereafter occupying a couple of compounds as it carried out big loop across our front but nothing further happened that day. I remember thinking it was somewhat surreal moving past the building where Teddy and I had been forced to spoon on the roof in order to stop from freezing to death on Operation LASTAY KULANG.
The next day we were out on patrol again and moving through an open. As we approached a group of buildings, we came under contact from the front and right. We took cover, manoeuvring ourselves into position to return fire, but the Taliban moved off in another direction. We continued patrolling and pushed through a dense and dark Green Zone area that was closer to Putay this time. We began to round a corner when Tom, who was behind us, came up on his PRR and reported that he had spotted an Afghan watching us and acting suspiciously. Just as he was being told to keep a sharp eye on the suspect, he came up on the air again and reported, ‘Contact!.’ That was all he had time to say because out of nowhere a group of Taliban jumped out of a building and opened fire with AK-47s. At the same time, another building to the right of us erupted as the enemy brought heavy fire down on us and launched one RPG at us, the air being filled with bullets and explosions cracking over our heads and all around us.
Teddy and I could not engage the enemy to our rear because Tom was in our way, returning fire, so concentrated on firing into the windows of the buildings to our right from where RPGs were being launched at us. Meanwhile, C Company had crossed the canal and was now pushing up the left-hand side of the buildings. After a while we were forced to cease fire to avoid the possibility of a blue-on-blue. Fruity told Teddy and me to cross the canal and stop half-way along from where C Company was advancing and try to put down some fire from there. He shouted for Donny and Jimmy to do the same as we started to crawl on our hands and knees towards C Company’s position. The four of us waded through this canal with water up to our chests before clambering out on the other side. Bullets were zipping through trees, showering us with leaves and twigs, while the ground around us erupted in a storm of bullets. We slammed ourselves down at the forward edge of the tree line as C Company stormed into the attack. You could hear the grenades going off and the guys all shouting orders to each other as they pushed forward. We began firing at the muzzle flashes in windows and doorways while the rest of the Sniper Platoon moved in from the right, passing behind us and on towards our left. We ceased firing as C Company began clearing the buildings and by then there was further fire from the Taliban. It had been a close call, but at least we were still alive.
On the way back, we were up front and positioned ourselves up on some roofs to let C Company pass through, remaining there for a while to make sure that no Taliban was following up behind. Teddy and I had a last photograph taken of us on top of that roof, then jumped down and rejoined C Company as it headed back to FOB Inkerman. Back at base, we organised a team photograph of the entire sniper platoon. As I was standing there, a sergeant major came across and asked, ‘Is Lance Corporal Cartwright here?’ I went over to him and his words rang in my ears as he said, ‘The next Chinook that comes in, you’re on it and flying back home.’ I closed my eyes and said, ‘Thanks Sir.’ I stood there with my head back and my eyes closed, facing the sky. I just thought, ‘Thank God.’
I started to pack all my stuff away, all guys generally taking the piss as I got myself ready. We then sat around for a while. Tom had one of those Gucci little gizmos which played MP4s, so we had loads of episodes of American Dad and Family Guy which we all watched sitting inside our tent that night, which was a really good laugh and great for morale.
The next day Kingy and Mo and I were all ready to go with our kit packed when the Chinook came in. We moved down to the flight line and boarded the helicopter and, as it took off, it banked to the left and right and then, with nose dipped, flew off in the direction of Camp Bastion. We were going home. I will never ever forget that moment. I was in the rear of the aircraft, staring out of the tail gate at the ground passing below me thinking, ‘That’s it! I will never have to do this again. I made it out alive! I made it!.’ Even now, whenever I see Chinooks I always think of that moment. The Bell Huey helicopters are synonymous with the Vietnam War, and the Harriers with the Falklands – for me, the Chinook will always evoke memories of Afghanistan and Helmand Province. I cannot describe my feelings during my final flight on that Chinook because it was such an immense moment in my life for which I struggle to find the words save to say, I was going h
ome.
Epilogue
After getting cleaned up and handing in all our weapons and ammunition, it was finally time to head home. On the way though, we stopped over in Cyprus to do our compulsory decompression where we could unwind, relax in civilian clothing, drink beer and eat barbecue food. The officer in charge of the decompression was great. He had us all lined up on parade, in our fresh new uniforms with which we had been issued before flying home. He stood on a small wall and said, ‘Any man whom I catch in uniform half an hour after this parade will be charged. Is that understood?.’ We all laughed and this kind of jokey comment really set the mood for what was to come over the next 48 hours. Buses arrived to ferry us down to the beach where we stayed all day. There was a trampoline in the sea floating on a giant rubber ring, sea canoes, and ice creams. It was a world apart considering that, only three days ago, I had been caught up in an ambush with a lot of the other guys around me. That night there was a big barbecue and ice cold beer while we were entertained by four stand-up comedians. They were so funny and it was such a great relief to just be laughing non-stop for ages.
The next morning was a little bit more formal. We were still in civilian clothing but we had to sit and watch videos and listen to briefings about adjusting back into life at home. We were constantly reminded of the fact that it was normal to have nightmares, and things would seem odd and boring. We were all congratulated and a video montage was shown of various pictures and films of the tour. After this, though, it was business as usual and we put our uniforms back on and boarded the buses for Akrotiri from where we took off for the UK and RAF Brize Norton.
We landed quite late. I think it was about 11.00 pm. As usual, we were herded like sheep to collect our baggage and wander through to the outside world and the old familiar October chill in the air, and the smell of freshly fallen rain. I had not seen rain for nearly three months. I loaded my bergen and holdall into the coach’s cargo hold and presented my ID card to one of the admin clerks who ticked me off the list. Someone from the quartermaster’s store handed me a bottle of ale that had been brewed especially for our welcome home. It was called “1759, welcome home edition”. The label said it had been brewed by Red Rat brewery in Suffolk, and also had a comment on the back which read: ‘Well done…from some Bergh Apton supporters! Mrs Alison Freeman.’ It tasted great and I have kept the bottle.
On arriving at Elizabeth Barracks, the first thing I did was go to my car. Chris Worsley had asked me for a lift back to Peterborough so I waited for him outside of D Company lines. When we got back to my car I put the key in the ignition and turned but nothing happened. I could not believe it. I was absolutely livid. Mind you though, it had not been driven for three months, so I really should not have been surprised. The barrack guard Land Rover was driving about and stopped as it came by us. The driver opened the window and asked us if we needed some jump leads. The guard had anticipated this, bless him, and had spent the night driving around helping stranded soldiers. After a good zap of power my car burst into action and so Chris and I were now good to go back to Peterborough.
I had cocked up the timings when I told Annie what time I would be home. I said that I should be home around midnight. It was just after 3.00 am when I dropped Chris off and going on for 4.00 am when I pulled into my drive. She had said that she would wait up, but I doubted that she would last until that late. I opened the front door and walked into my dark flat. The living room light was on and there was Annie asleep on the sofa. I knelt down beside her and stroked her hair. As she stirred the blanket that was covering her slipped down to reveal a basque and stockings. I could not help but laugh and grin at the surprise she had planned for me. At that moment, she woke up and gave me the biggest hug I have ever had.
The next two weeks were much the same as R & R, just spent enjoying myself and seeing everybody again. In any case, I still had Teddy and the rest of the guys in the back of my mind as they were still out in Afghanistan. I drove back to barracks to welcome B Company home and to start the ball rolling on my leaving the Army. There never were one or two specific reasons why I left the Royal Anglians. There were loads of little ones really. Sergeant Major Snow called me into his office one day and said it was great having me as a soldier under his command and, if I wanted back in, then I should give him a call. The RSM, WO1 Robinson, said the same and added that he would have me back in the unit in no time. So, knowing I had the Army as my safety net, I drove out of Elizabeth Barracks for the last time to start my life as a civilian.
I proposed to Annie in Paris just like I planned. She said yes which is also what I had planned so all was going well so far. But then something we had not planned happened: Annie fell pregnant. Just as I started working as a civilian, in a suit, in an office, I was also to become a father. I embraced it and did not shy away from it. I was happy to be a Dad, I felt ready. But it started to feel like I was living someone else’s life. My life just felt it had a part missing. I was bored a lot of the time. I missed that rush of adrenaline. I used to drive at speed up to a roundabout and try my hardest not to brake but instead time the flow of traffic and slot into it just for fun. Work was interesting enough, I had never really worked within an environment with women, and so was scared and unsure as to what to say to them. I did not want to look like a weirdo, but at the same time did not wish to seem as though I was trying to pull them either.
In addition, the mentality of my colleagues was so different. In the Royal Anglians I knew that every man there would risk his life for me and I would do likewise, but I would not trust the men in the office with my biro. There was so much back stabbing, along with immaturity and over-inflated egos. I made friends with a guy called Phil Dedman who really listened to me and was genuinely interested in my tour of Helmand. However, I did not like the job that much and wanted out. I did not have to wait long because the recession kicked in, and being in sales for the first time ever was made near damn impossible for me. Even the more seasoned sales people struggled to hit targets. I was trying to sell search engine optimisation, which is basically a service that places your website on the front page of Google in response to any search phrase for which you want to be found. It is a really good form of advertising but it comes at a big cost and, with businesses tightening their belts, I was doomed. After three months of being a civilian I was now unemployed, and with a baby on the way and buying a new house I thought I would have to rejoin the Army.
A good friend of mine, Dave Phillips, managed to get me a job working as a van driver for the property maintenance firm for which he worked. I would drop a decorator off at his job, pick up the bathroom suites from the depot, deliver them to the plumbers, pick up the old suites and dispose of them at the depot. The firm had a contract with Mears who were renovating the kitchens and bathrooms of all the council houses in Peterborough so the job seemed secure. I loved being a white van man with my long hair now there was no sergeant major to tell me to get it cut. But it did not last. The boss kept increasing my workload so the pressure increased.
My baby daughter, Sophie, was born on 3 July, so the sleepless nights started. One day, whilst driving along the A47 in Peterborough, I was behind a big old articulated lorry when suddenly, out of nowhere, a stone flew off the top of the trailer in front and came crashing into my windscreen. I yelled, ‘Contact!’ at the top of my voice and once again heard the rattle of gunfire and the whooshes of RPGs. The smell of cordite burned my nose and smoke grenades clawed at my throat. I then remembered I was not in Helmand but in my van. When I arrived at the depot, I climbed out and chain-smoked about three cigarettes while my hands trembled and my stomach was in knots.
After that I could not sleep at all. I saw silhouettes of people in the corner of my eye. I felt unsafe in crowded areas and that eventually grew to whenever I was outside. Annie told me that maybe I should seek help, and that there was nothing wrong with that. I remembered the briefings at Cyprus and finally agreed to go to my GP. He diagnosed post traumatic stress disorder (
PTSD) for which I underwent six weeks of counselling, which really helped. My counsellor recommended that maybe I should write things down. However, I found it easier to talk so I recorded my voice instead. I spoke as if I was in the pub telling someone what had happened on my tour and I felt better.
But then the worst thing of all happened. After moving into our new home, irregularities started appearing in my paycheck. Some times I was not paid. This carried on through Christmas and into January. The excuse was that Mears had not processed the invoices correctly. In reality I was working for someone who played God by deciding who would be paid and who would not so they could keep our wages to clear their own personal debts. I walked out in February. I had a child and a mortgage, but no income and was owed over £2,000 in unpaid wages.
‘Welcome to civilian life,’ I thought as I stood in the dole queue, ‘What has happened to me?.’ I felt stripped of all my dignity. I had fought for this country twice, so maybe it was time to get something back from it. It took a few hours and then a few letters and telephone calls before I received any dole. The job centre could not find any record of me paying any National Insurance and initially claimed that I was not entitled to anything. I soon proved them wrong when I showed them my pay slips from the Army. I also tried to back-date my claim to when I actually left my last job but this was refused. I explained that I had tried finding a job off my own back but that apparently was not a good enough reason. I needed to find a job as soon as possible as, by this time, I was receiving letters from companies threatening legal action and bailiffs.
Sniper in Helmand: Six Months on the Frontline Page 20