by Richard Kemp
Newton got some of the marines and his Company HQ soldiers together and tried to identify the enemy positions so they could shoot back or call in artillery fire. But the Taliban knew how to conceal themselves, and Newton couldn’t locate them. Braving the sporadic fire, and keeping close to the ground, behind the concealment of some low vegetation, the marines eventually managed to drive the track back on, and the convoy began rumbling east again, with Newton thankful the enemy hadn’t managed to bring any RPG teams into range.
Several kilometres ahead of the Vikings, the company pushed through the Green Zone on foot, heading north-east. Howes’s 5 Platoon started on the left of the advance, with 7 Platoon, under Lieutenant George Seal-Coon, to their right. Both platoons did their best to keep level, to reduce the risk of being outflanked by the Taliban in such treacherous country. A short distance behind, in reserve, was 6 Platoon, commanded by Lieutenant Dave Broomfield.
The Green Zone was approximately 1,000 metres wide in most places. It was broken up by a grid of irrigation ditches, usually at least a metre deep, and some wider canal lines. Most ran with the grain of the land, following the river line, south-west to north-east, and connected up with a network of smaller lateral ditches. The irrigation system severely constrained and channelled movement, creating vulnerable choke points, which the enemy could predict and ambush. Almost all the ditches and canals were lined with trees, usually about 3 metres tall, with spindly branches and small green leaves. Between the irrigation ditches were fields of poppy, over a metre high and topped with green buds awaiting the extraction of sap for opium production.
The area B Company had to clear, approximately 12 kilometres long, was punctuated by groups of compounds, some quite small, others as big as 100 by 300 metres. They were complexes of buildings and outhouses surrounded by high mud walls. This was where the farmers and their livestock lived. As did the Taliban. Some of the compounds were their strongpoints. And they had such domination over the local population that they could move into any compound at will, to take refuge or to fight.
The battle group intelligence officer had identified all of the major complexes and numbered them as Objectives 1 to 14. The company’s task was to clear each of them in turn. On reaching a compound, the sections carried out a quick recce to identify anything suspicious, then entered and searched. Only if there was confirmed enemy presence was there a need to blast down the wall, lob in explosive hand grenades and charge in shooting. This was known as attacking at ‘state red’.
The platoons and sections rotated through the compounds, taking it in turn to make the entry. By 0900 hours Corporal Simon Thorne, one of Howes’s section commanders, was beginning to fear that his prediction of the night before was right – ‘Knowing our luck, the enemy won’t even turn up.’ They had been clearing through the drab, grey compounds and patrolling across the poppy fields for three and a half hours, and there was still no sign of the Taliban.
Even without the enemy, this was punishing work. The Royal Anglian soldiers were fitter than they had ever been before in their lives. But the temperature was on the rise, and most of the soldiers were burdened with between 35 and 40 kilos of kit. Knowing this was going to be a long haul, they had minimized what they were carrying. The rule was simple: take what you need to keep you and your mates alive and fighting. Weapons and ammunition first, as much ammunition as possible: you could never carry enough and you didn’t know when you would get a resupply. Then water. Then food last.
Most carried eleven magazines of ammunition plus a bandolier, two L109 high-explosive hand grenades, two smoke grenades, one red phosphorous grenade and a pack of mini-flares. There were also spare belts of GPMG and Minimi ammunition to be shared around, and most soldiers carried two 51mm mortar bombs. Some had an AT4 anti-tank missile strapped to their back. Over a metre long and weighing nearly 7 kilos, it was especially awkward to carry, particularly in compounds or close country. Every man carried a personal role radio, or PRR, and commanders and signallers carried the heavier PRC-354 or 355 radios. Then there were mine-clearing tools, a bayonet, first aid kit, morphine, a knife. Osprey body armour weighed nearly 16 kilos, and every man carried 3 litres of water in a Camelbak and 2 more litres in bottles. Next it was twenty-four hours’ worth of rations, biscuits and, if there was room, some kind of warm kit for the sometimes bitterly cold nights.
All of this would be stuffed into assault vests, webbing pouches, pockets and daysacks. They would carry it into battle, and run, march, climb hills, wade ditches, fight and evacuate casualties with it.
8
It was 0930 hours. The Vikings had caught up with the company an hour or so before, and were moving north-east along the track to the right of the troops on the ground. Suddenly machine-gun fire drummed the sides of the lead Vikings, followed rapidly by a salvo of RPGs airbursting overhead.
The Viking commanders swung their guns to the right and began to blast back at likely enemy fire positions. Captain Goodman shouted into his radio, ‘Zero Alpha, this is Mud Two Zero Alpha, contact, wait out!’
The enemy fire continued, with the Taliban firing and moving between a network of well-concealed positions. It was virtually impossible to pinpoint exact locations, so the Vikings viciously raked hedge-rows, ditches and buildings that could contain enemy.
Aston, crawling forward to the Vikings, worked out that the fire was coming from positions about 400 metres to the south. He told his JTAC, ‘Get me some air – fast! I don’t want to assault across nearly half a kilometre of open country. Let’s try and kill them from above.’
The JTAC spoke into his radio. Aston called Seal-Coon, commander of 7 Platoon, ‘Three Zero Alpha, Zero Alpha. Move your callsign forward and give close protection to the Mud callsigns. They can cover the south OK, but they’ll be exposed to RPG teams coming up through the Green Zone from the east or north. Out to you.’
Then he called Howes: ‘Hello One Zero Alpha, Zero Alpha. You are to attempt to identify enemy positions that are engaging the Mud callsigns and be prepared to mark with fifty-one smoke for air, over.’
Howes replied, ‘One Zero Alpha, roger out.’
Sergeant Nieves and his 51mm mortar man, Fijian Private Luke Nadriva, moved, crouching, along the ditch to a position clear of over-hanging trees, where they could fire and observe. With enemy fire near by, and the Vikings hosing back tracer in reply, Nieves, keeping low, scanned the open area with his binoculars. He had to keep wiping the lenses, blurred by sweat and misted up by heat from his face. He monitored the net for target identifications and descriptions from the Viking crews. Nadriva, shattered after battling his way through the undergrowth and in and out of compounds, slipped off the end cap from his mortar, and laid out four smoke bombs next to it.
The JTAC said to Aston, ‘Sir, Apache on task, should be overhead in about ten minutes.’
‘Brit or American?’
‘British.’
Aston turned to the other members of his Tac HQ. ‘OK, we’re going to move over the ditch to join 7 Platoon; we need to get eyes on so we can sort out all of the offensive support for this. Follow me.’
As he ran towards the gunfire, Aston called Broomfield, 6 Platoon commander: ‘Two Zero, Zero Alpha. Move your callsign north and clear Objective 7, then remain in that location until further orders. That will give us a foothold further forward and prevent the Taliban flanking from that direction, over.’
Aston led the men of his Tac HQ through the stinking irrigation ditch. Level with the rear elements of 7 Platoon, they clawed their way up on to the bank near the Vikings. As they ran, a call came for Aston on the company net from the FSG commander, Sergeant Major Ivan Snow: ‘Four Zero Alpha. Contact now. My callsign under enemy mortar fire. Also receiving incoming RPG and smallarms fire. Enemy believed firing from Green Zone, north-east of your location. Enemy not identified. Am engaging likely positions. Out.’
Snow and his FSG were on the left of Aston’s advance, at the Red Fort. This was the most prominent point for
miles around, high up in the desert. It was literally a fortress, red-orange in colour, a large open sand area, surrounded by massive walls, 15 metres high. Because the fort was such a good vantage point, commanding the ground in every direction, it was an obvious place to go – and therefore dangerous.
As Snow was speaking, Taliban mortar shells smacked into the sand just feet away, blasting up sand and lumps of rock and hurling out jagged shards of red-hot shrapnel, several of which struck the sides of two of the WMIKs. Then there was a few minutes’ pause, followed by another shell. After that, mortar fire continued, but just the odd round every now and again, and landing further away. Interspersed with the mortars was the occasional deafening RPG airburst and blasts of stuttering machine-gun fire. Snow’s FSG directed burst after burst of machine-gun fire back into the Taliban positions.
The enemy fire wasn’t enough to give undue worry to the calm and stoical sergeant major, although one of his WMIK commanders suggested a move might be prudent. ‘That’s OK, boy,’ chuckled Snow, whose vehicle was the most exposed of all, ‘I’ll let you know when it gets dangerous. In the meantime we’ve got our job to do supporting B Company, and we can’t do it from behind cover, now, can we?’
It was a source of amusement in the battalion that Snow had left the Army for two years to become a postman in Clacton, Essex. He was famous in the area for never delivering a bill on Fridays. Asked why he waited until Monday to post the bills, Snow, a father of three, would look nonplussed, saying, ‘I didn’t want to ruin their weekends.’
There wasn’t in fact very much Snow’s FSG could do to be of direct assistance to the dismounted elements of B Company. The rifle platoons were deep inside the Green Zone, and the enemy were using concealed positions in front of them and away to the south. The vegetation was so thick it was virtually impossible for the FSG to see where enemy or friendly forces were, and therefore they were unable to use their firepower to give effective close support. But Snow was not going to sit idle. He ordered his men to systematically scan the whole of the open area, and the fringes of the Green Zone, for any enemy movement or activity, and then to engage.
He was particularly interested in the village of Habibollah Kalay, briefed as being a likely Taliban stronghold. He considered two options. Any Taliban in the compounds there might move out into the Green Zone and attack B Company. Or by the time the battle group moved forward later in the day or the next day to strike Habibollah Kalay, the enemy might have escaped. In response to either possibility, Snow decided he would do whatever he could to keep the enemy bottled up there, and preferably kill any who showed themselves. He had assigned arcs of observation to each of his WMIK commanders, and the right-hand side of Habibollah Kalay was in Lance Corporal Oliver Ruecker’s area of responsibility.
Ruecker, at present acting as a vehicle commander, was known as Teddy within the battalion on account of his tightly curled blond hair. That was as far as any resemblance to a cuddly toy went. An imposing six feet two tall, twenty-year-old Ruecker had been in the Army for just four years. He was born in America, and his father, Scott, a Bronze Star winner, had been a master sergeant in US Air Force special operations. With a combat tour in Iraq under his belt, Teddy Ruecker was a committed and focused soldier. He had only just been promoted to lance corporal and was a battalion sniper. As a sniper, he would normally have deployed on foot with the company. But Ruecker had arrived late into theatre, having just completed a course, and was temporarily assigned as an FSG WMIK commander.
It was just 1000 hours, and the sun was getting hotter. Ruecker looked intently through his permanent focus binoculars at the south-western compounds of Habibollah Kalay. After a while he saw movement. Even though he was seated in the vehicle, under the glaring heat the sweat was stinging his eyes. He rubbed them and looked again through the binos to make sure. Men scurrying between the compounds, with weapons. Taliban! He called over to Snow, ‘Sir, enemy twelve o’clock of my gun barrel, 600 metres, forward of prominent compounds far right of HBK, left edge.’
Snow checked, said, ‘Got that, Teddy, open fire on my command,’ then shouted along the vehicle line, ‘Enemy front, 600 metres, watch Teddy’s tracer, all guns rapid – fire!’
As the WMIK gunners quickly swung their GPMGs, heavy machine-guns and grenade machine-guns towards the enemy Ruecker had identifed, they heard a sharp and rapid crack-crack-crack-crack of machine-gun bullets and the drawn-out rush of RPG missiles high over their heads. They had been beaten to the draw.
Ignoring the inaccurate enemy fire, Ruecker pressed the trigger of his vehicle-mounted GPMG, sending a long line of 7.62mm tracer – one tracer in four standard ball – into the compound. This was the first time he had ever fired a weapon in anger. Initially he got carried away, firing long bursts of thirty to forty rounds. Then he remembered his training and started firing controlled bursts of five to seven rounds in rapid succession. This enabled more accurate shooting, reduced ammunition wastage and didn’t overheat the gun barrel so quickly.
With the combined weight of four machine-guns blasting at the compounds, the enemy fire reduced, but did not stop altogether. They couldn’t go down to assault the enemy position on foot with so few infantry troops, and their job was to remain in overwatch on the high ground. But Ruecker was determined to make sure he killed as many of the enemy as possible before they could escape and kill his mates down in the Green Zone.
He shouted, ‘Allie – get that GMG firing on to those positions. Watch my tracer.’
In the back of the WMIK Private Allie McKelvie had already set the range on his GMG and was lined up on the enemy. He immediately started blasting volley after volley of high-explosive grenades into the compound. The effect at the target end looked devastating as the high-velocity grenades exploded in rapid succession, tearing up the compound walls, hurling debris in every direction and kicking up clouds of smoke and dust.
The 40mm Heckler and Koch grenade machine-gun had first been fielded in Afghanistan only a few months before. It was mounted on the WMIK Land Rovers, but could also be operated from ground-based tripods. Capable of firing either single shot or automatic, up to 340 rounds per minute and out to a range of 2 kilometres, the GMG gave a huge advantage to the Royal Anglians, who could use it to engage the Taliban on foot, in vehicles or in buildings. The weapon could be fired round the clock, using its telescopic day sight, image intensifying and thermal night sights, and laser rangefinder.
With McKelvie’s massive firepower adding to the rest, the enemy fire slowed further, but still didn’t stop. Smoke and dust caused by the devastating FSG fire prevented Ruecker from seeing where the enemy were, but he knew they would be in carefully selected positions, moving around the compound, trying to dodge bullets while keeping the pressure on.
Ruecker’s driver, Private Brian Turner, a member of the battalion’s Anti-Tank Platoon, said, ‘Teddy, I’m going to smash them with an AT4, OK?’
‘Don’t be daft, mate. They’re 600 metres away, and the AT4 isn’t effective that far out. I wouldn’t bother wasting it.’
‘Yeah, I know the range of an AT4, Teddy,’ said Turner, eager for action and annoyed that he couldn’t help in the FSG’s efforts to destroy the enemy position.
Minutes later an RPG missile exploded directly in front of Ruecker’s WMIK, flinging up debris, showering him with sand and dirt and throwing him and Turner back in the vehicle. In the rear, McKelvie was knocked off his feet by the blast.
Turner moved the vehicle into a different position, with slightly more cover. Ruecker, dust and sand clinging to his sweat-covered face and combats, fired several more bursts into the compound, then said to Turner, ‘That was close. Why don’t you give that AT4 a try, then, mate?’
‘OK,’ said Turner, jumping out of the WMIK, ‘I’ll aim high and see what happens.’
Turner put the American M136 AT4 anti-tank launcher on his right shoulder. The metre-long green fibreglass tube weighed nearly 7 kilos, and Turner was glad he didn’t have to manp
ack it around Helmand in this heat. He looked back, checking there was no one behind him – when he fired it the weapon would fling out a powerful backblast, which, although suppressed by a built-in water pack, could seriously injure and possibly kill anyone in its path. Aiming well above the target compound, Turner pressed the trigger. There was a tremendous bang, and the rocket, with its shaped charge warhead, flew towards the compound at 285 metres per second. He could see the missile’s tail flare as it shot upwards like a huge firework, kinked downward in the air and in just over two seconds blasted into the compound, hurling up fire and debris.
Ruecker smiled and gave Turner a thumbs-up. ‘Awesome shot, mate – quality.’
9
Soon after B Company moved forward from the FUP on the edge of the Green Zone at 0530 hours that morning, Carver drove his Tac HQ out of the harbour area and on to a ridge-line in the desert. From here, Carver could see all the way across the Green Zone and the desert – a grandstand view.
Tac was made up of around fifteen vehicles, including close protection WMIKs, plus two Recce Platoon Scimitars, whose role was to provide a protective screen and to guide and escort the headquarters when it moved.
Carver’s Viking and the artillery and engineer commanders’ vehicles were the hub of Tac HQ. The vehicles parked close together, and this was where Carver commanded the operation. Watchkeepers and signallers monitored the various communications systems, and the ops officer kept track of the detailed movements and actions of the companies, updating the CO’s map board, and making sure the CO was informed immediately of all significant developments.
Carver had expected the break-in to the Green Zone to be a tough fight, but with the exception of the small group of Taliban killed by Denning’s platoon at the start, there had been no opposition. He had begun to wonder whether this, the first battle group operation, was going to be easier than expected. But that had all changed when B Company’s Vikings and Snow’s fire support group came under enemy fire.