by Richard Kemp
Company Tac followed 6 Platoon out, and then Parker’s section led 7 Platoon from the base. Parker waved at the Afghan soldiers guarding the outer gates and got barely a flicker of interest in return.
They were heading back into enemy territory. Across the river they entered a sort of no-man’s-land between COP Zeebrugge and the Taliban. As if the heat wasn’t bad enough, Foster was having real problems settling into his prized new Lowe Seeker desert boots.
‘Just because you’ve got the same boots as me, Fozzie old mate, don’t think you’re going to step into my shoes,’ said Parker, ‘especially with a daft walk like that. You look like one of those gangly teenagers whose legs are too long for their body.’
Despite their difference in rank and age, Foster always gave back as good as he got, sometimes retaliating with a joke about how his commander had taken some years out as a civvie and perhaps, at thirty, should have stayed that way.
‘You’re getting a bit too old for this game, Parky. Want a hand with your kit?’
Parker liked and admired the nineteen-year-old. Foster had developed an excellent sense for the ground and the enemy threat, so was always point man, leading the section on patrol.
Fifteen minutes later the company emerged from Tangye and immediately became more alert, even though they were overwatched by the company’s observation posts, armed with .50 cal machine-guns and GPMGs, and could call for fire at any time from the three-barrel 81mm mortar section back in Zeebrugge.
Parker took a break from the ongoing exchange with Foster to watch as Sergeant Major Ivan Snow’s FSG drove their four WMIKs on to the high ground a few metres away. With the FSG were Lance Corporals Teddy Ruecker and Jamie Carter, the sniper pair. Their task was to scan ahead, looking for the enemy sniper.
By now everyone was pouring sweat but trying hard to conserve water, something they had got used to in the three months of relentless patrolling in the Green Zone.
Parker’s section halted in the dirt of a familiar wadi. Six metres deep in parts, and flanked with covering foliage, it had been specified by the company commander as the FUP for the thrust into Mazdurak. The company was now deep into enemy territory. 7 Platoon were to secure the FUP to enable 6 Platoon to attack. Parker deployed his men into fire positions to observe for enemy activity.
Lieutenant Seal-Coon moved forward to join Parker’s section and took up a position beside McLure. Although they hadn’t walked far, the oppressive heat was taking it out of them. Seal-Coon looked across at McLure. ‘How’s it going, Troy, you OK?’
McLure grinned back. ‘Great, boss, no problem.’
Seal-Coon was amazed that McLure barely seemed to have broken into a sweat. He was one of the few who weren’t breathless. He was super-fit and someone you could depend on, no matter what. One of the younger soldiers in the company, he had performed brilliantly in Helmand, and Seal-Coon considered him to be a man with great potential.
Though this was a place of relative safety, there was the constant fear of mines. Private Matt Woollard of C Company had lost a leg close by when he stepped on a mine four months earlier.
And somewhere in the relentless grey of the Afghan landscape was that sniper.
Parker and his section watched 6 Platoon move through the wadi, closely followed by Borgnis and the half dozen men of Company Tac HQ. As they moved up on to the high gound, they hard-targeted towards Mazdurak, running across 500 metres of deadly open terrain.
‘Three Zero Alpha, this is Zero Alpha.’ After so long Seal-Coon found it hard to get used to the callsign Zero Alpha being used by anyone but Mick Aston with his Antipodean drawl. But he and the other men in B Company had immediately gained confidence in their new OC’s leadership. Borgnis was just as aggressive as Aston and had already proved himself to be every bit as competent a commander.
‘Three Zero Alpha, send, over,’ he replied.
‘As soon as Two Zero get into the first compounds in Mazdurak, start moving your callsign forward and push in right behind them.’
Seal-Coon acknowledged and then called across to Parker, ‘OK, Parky, you heard that from the OC. Get your lads ready to move.’
A couple of minutes later, Parker said, ‘Fozzie, up you get, you know where you’re going. As soon as you get over the lip of the wadi, start running.’
Foster wasn’t too concerned about this move over the open ground. 6 Platoon and Company Tac had pushed across without a problem, and he knew the FSG was watching carefully from Essex Ridge, scrutinizing the surrounding area for enemy and ready to fire a devastating volley should any fighters appear. But although he was very fit, running 500 metres across this terrain, in this heat, with this kit, was still a nightmare.
It was now 1800 hours. Still broad daylight. As the section, blowing hard and sweating heavily, got within a couple of hundred metres of the compounds, a long burst of AK47 fire shattered the early-evening calm.
They kept running. It wasn’t aimed at them. It was 6 Platoon that were in contact – from Khvolehabad Compound 469. Within seconds shells slammed into the forward enemy positions as Sergeant Ben Browning, acting as 6 Platoon commander, called in a mortar fire mission.
At the same time, Snow’s fire support group started taking incoming RPG air-bursts up on Essex Ridge. Seven had exploded in rapid succession, and Snow and his men were returning fire with their GPMGs and heavy machine-guns. The RPG fire was followed immediately by rifle and machine-gun bullets, landing accurately in and around the FSG’s position.
Snow’s group was being outgunned, and it wouldn’t be long before they started taking casualties.
4
Sergeant Major Snow radioed Major Borgnis. ‘Heavy fire from Rizaji. Have identified at least four separate firing points. Am returning fire, but we need some compounds hit by air.’
‘Roger,’ said Borgnis, ‘I’m on to that. Keep putting down fire, and I’ll sort it out soonest.’
Borgnis and his Tac were in a compound on the outskirts of Mazdurak, just behind 6 Platoon. With Borgnis were his signaller Corporal Jimmy Naylor, Corporal Wilsher, the MFC, Captain Hay, the FST commander, the OC of the UAV detachment, a soldier from the company intelligence section and a visiting captain from the Operational Training and Advisory Group who was out from the UK to update himself on current ops. A key member of the team was the company JTAC, Royal Artillery Sergeant ‘Reggie’ Perrin. Borgnis and Perrin were confirming on their maps the enemy compounds that needed to be hit from the air.
From the time the company had left Zeebrugge, Perrin, using callsign Widow Seven Six, had been talking to Dude Zero Five, giving constant updates on the ground situation as the F15 Eagle circled 6,000 metres above the troops, standing by for target details. The minute the Taliban attacked, Perrin contacted the F15 commander to confirm they were still in comms.
The JTAC transmitted the ‘nine liner’, a standard NATO instruction giving details of enemy strengths and locations and the exact positions of friendly forces.
As 6 Platoon and the FSG continued to exchange fire with the enemy to the south, Seal-Coon’s 7 Platoon cleared through the northern half of Mazdurak. They moved fast, but knew the Taliban well enough to be wary of their likely efforts to outflank them and get in behind, using the rat-runs that criss-crossed between the compounds. In a few minutes they reached the western edge of the village, overlooking Khvolehabad.
Seal-Coon had been moving with Parker’s section. Parker said, ‘Sir, there’s a compound just down there that I’ve been on before. Compound 248. From the roof you get excellent fields of fire across into Khvolehabad and Chinah.’
They would be exposed to enemy fire as they ran through a narrow alleyway and down a slope. Seal-Coon called Browning on the company net. ‘Hello, Two Zero Alpha, this is Three Zero Alpha. Be aware I’m moving into compound 248 to your left. Can you give me covering fire as I move in?’
6 Platoon opened up with a series of heavy blasts of machine-gun and rifle fire, and Parker led the way to the compound. Seal-Coon
deployed the rest of the platoon around the area to provide protection against Taliban infiltration.
Parker positioned Private Sloane at the entrance to compound 248 to act as link-man. The rest of the section moved in and dashed towards the single-storey building inside. As the others raced up an exposed set of steps to the roof, Foster took up a fire position in the lower part of the building, immediately putting down several bursts of covering fire.
Parker pulled his men back to the rear of the roof, where there was some cover from the massive corrugated bumps on top of the building. He positioned the two machine-gunners, McClure with his Minimi and Thrumble with his GPMG, on either side of the firing line, leaving himself and Lee in the centre with their rifles.
Thrumble opened up with a long, lethally accurate burst of fire from Mary, his machine-gun. Within minutes he had fired 600 rounds at the enemy positions in Khvolehabad. McLure was keeping pace with his Minimi, firing streams of tracer towards the Taliban’s treeline. Lee wanted to engage with the UGL attached to his SA80 rifle, but the enemy were out of range. Lee and Parker decided to improvise by ‘lobbing’ the grenades at a higher angle than usual and dropping them on to the enemy position, mortar style. Lee fired the grenades with Parker, using binoculars, correcting the elevation to get him on target. After four rounds they were hitting the enemy 800 metres away. Lee then let loose ten rounds in succession, pounding the target area with the 40mm high-explosive grenades.
Thousands of metres above Dude Zero Five prepared to release a 500-pound bomb.
As he blasted away with his Minimi, McClure shouted, ‘This is awesome, this is awesome.’
Seal-Coon climbed on to the roof and lay down beside Parker, who immediately briefed him. ‘The enemy is forward left 800 metres in the edge of the compounds. I reckon ten to twelve of them.’
Seal-Coon looked through his binoculars. Mortar rounds, called in by Browning, were still exploding in the area, but they were landing beyond the enemy positions. Seal-Coon radioed the MFC, giving adjustments to bring the fire in more accurately.
‘Well done, Corporal P.’ He clapped Parker on the shoulder and crawled back to the rear edge of the roof, where he could keep an eye on the rest of the 7 Platoon, as well as Parker’s section. He leant over and called down to Barker in the adjacent compound, ‘Ronnie, get your section to check out the rat-runs coming into this compound and get eyes on the approaches into here from Rizaji. That’s where they’ll be coming from if they try to flank us.’
The voice of company signaller Corporal Jimmy Naylor came on the radio. ‘Charlie Charlie One. This is Two One Alpha. Bomb on the ground figures four zero. Out.’
Parker switched on his headcam to record the explosion and shouted to his men, ‘Bomb on ground forty seconds.’
Seal-Coon checked his map. He knew where the bomb would be landing – compound 8 in Rizaji, about 1,000 metres away from their position. He had seen plenty of bombs drop before, but it was always spectacular. And it gave a certain satisfaction to know that the people that were trying to kill you and your mates were being dealt a deadly blow from above.
Just over a minute earlier and hundreds of metres away Lance Corporal Jason Tower, attached to Snow’s FSG, was engaging the Taliban with his GPMG. Bullets were chopping up the ground feet away from him, and when another soldier said, ‘Air’s being dropped on the enemy,’ Tower was too busy to acknowledge.
In the WMIKs the .50 cal gunners were putting down heavy fire, beginning to hit the enemy. An RPG hit the hillside a few feet away.
Somebody shouted, ‘Air dropping on them in two minutes.’
Then, ‘Sixty seconds…’
Then, ‘Thirty…’
Tower and the other members of the FSG continued to engage but began looking for the bomb. Some had their cameras out. Tower saw the aircraft overhead.
He saw a flash and heard an enormous explosion. A huge mushroom cloud started to form.
‘That’s landed in the wrong place,’ he yelled. ‘That’s where our guys are…’
The radio crackled. ‘There’s casualties…’
5
The 500-pound bomb exploded at 1828 hours, less than 3 metres from Parker’s section. The end wall of the compound collapsed, reduced to a fine dust. The shock wave from the explosion could be felt by the men of the fire support group 100 metres higher and a kilometre away from the point of impact.
Parker did not hear the bomb fall through the air or the explosion as it detonated. He felt an immense force closing in on him, then lost consciousness.
When he came round the atmosphere was black. He fought to get air into his lungs. He couldn’t see anything and he couldn’t breathe. His eyes and throat were filled with dust and thick acrid smoke. It felt as if his head had been hit by a sledgehammer. He had a high-pitched whine in his ears. He tried to move and felt bone grating on bone in his right leg. His thumb was flapping about. All of his clothes had been blown off, along with his body armour and helmet. He had shrapnel in his foot.
He had landed on top of Josh Lee. Lee never lost consciousness. He didn’t see the bomb but he heard it come in – a loud whoosh – then it landed just in front of him.
Lee shouted, ‘Troy was there…’ He started pointing and shouting ‘Troy was there, Troy was there…’
Everything had gone quiet; he’d been deafened by the bomb. He could hardly see anything. He put his hand up to his eye; it felt as if it wasn’t there. It felt as if his entire face wasn’t there. Parker was lying on top of him. He started shouting, ‘Find my eye! Where’s my eye?’
Parker was dripping blood into his one working eye. His arms looked like freshly planed wood. His shirt was hanging off, and he lay there in his boots and boxer shorts. His body armour and helmet had disappeared. Enemy machine-gun fire raked across what was left of their rooftop position.
Lee folded his arms around Parker and started trying to pull them both off the roof. It was better than getting shot.
As the bomb landed Seal-Coon heard a whoosh and a terrifying explosion. There was a red flash, and he felt an intense heat surge over him. The shock wave slammed into his back, knocked the air out of him and smashed him into the roof. Everything went black.
The next thing he knew there was light again, but smoke and dust were everywhere, so thick he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face.
Disorientated, his immediate thought was that one of the company’s mortar bombs had landed on the building. He tried to get on the net to order the mortars to check firing, but the radio, which had been on his back, no longer worked. Looking around at the way the dust and smoke was moving he thought the mortar had hit Ronnie Barker’s section below. He called down and asked if they were OK. Barker, dazed, shouted something back. At least he was alive.
Seal-Coon picked up his own crushed body and looked to see if his arms and legs were still there. He wasn’t sure. He staggered forward to where Parker’s section had been. Through the dust and smoke he saw Parker, and Lee holding on to him, clothes blasted away or shredded, both groaning. He shouted, ‘Medic! Medic!’
Thrumble, motionless, was hanging half over the edge of the partially destroyed building.
McLure also lay still, the chest plate from his body armour blown away and his kit strewn about.
He went over to McLure and shook his shoulder, desperate for a response. ‘Troy, Troy, Troy.’
He looked up and saw Sergeant Woodrow, on the ground, reach up to check Thrumble’s pulse. Woodrow shook his head and then he and Private O’Dell lowered him down to them.
‘Medic, medic. Four casualties. Two responsive. Two non-responsive,’ Seal-Coon yelled as loudly as he could.
Bullets were still landing around them, but, still dazed, he only half registered them. He went back to Parker and Lee and pulled them apart. Lee’s legs were black, covered in blood, dust and dirt, and he was bleeding from the left eye. Seal-Coon dragged him across the roof, hands under his armpits, and passed him down to Sergeant Woodrow below.
He went back for Parker and dragged him across. He was dead weight, unconscious and immobile. As Seal-Coon pulled him, he banged Parker’s leg, and the corporal moaned loudly. It really hurt him. Seal-Coon cursed himself for inflicting even more pain on one of his soldiers who was so terribly wounded but at the same time thought to himself, At least I know he’s alive.
Private Barker, who had been close to the explosion and had been knocked to the ground by its force, checked Parker’s wounds. He was bleeding from the mouth. Barker realized he had bitten through his tongue and ignored that. He was having difficulty breathing. His ribs were black and looked broken. His arms and legs were badly burnt, and his leg seemed to be broken. Barker placed him carefully on a lightweight stretcher and, using bandages, tied his bad leg to his good one, to act as a splint.
Having sorted him out as best he could, Barker and three other soldiers carried him to the sergeant major’s quad.
Seal-Coon had returned to the rooftop, still under fire, for McLure. His lower arm was gone. There was no arterial bleeding, and no sign of consciousness, but he quickly put on a tourniquet anyway. Just in case. And in hope.
He carried McLure across the roof and, as he got towards the edge, it collapsed under him. He tried to push McLure back on to the roof as he fell, but McLure landed on top of him in the rubble, knocking the air out of him.
A soldier was staring at McLure in horror. Seal-Coon shouted, ‘Grab his legs,’ and they carried him clear of the building and laid him on the ground.
6
Some men from 6 Platoon had moved in to help. Team medics from both platoons were hard at work moving the casualties away from the line of fire and getting them ready for evacuation. Someone said to Seal-Coon, ‘Thrumble’s dead.’