by Richard Kemp
Some of the camp beds had been pulled round to form a hollow square for the men to sit on during the orders. They were dressed in flip flops and shorts, sweating in the morning heat. Oliviero, wedged between Hicks and Private Sam Wills, had an irrational hatred of these O Groups. People always messed up his bedspace, and he was very particular about keeping tidy the few possessions he had with him – sleeping bag, mosquito net, daysack and personal equipment – an obsession that increased as the tour went on.
As Oliviero bickered with the other soldiers about football, women and how much they were abusing his bedspace, Sergeant Holmes shouted, ‘All right now, shut up, you lot, listen in to the boss.’
The platoon commander, Lieutenant Nick Denning, walked in. He was the only member of the platoon in uniform and had come straight from Biddick’s company O Group.
The room was silent. Everyone wanted to know what they were going to be doing. Rumours had flown around since the first mention of Operation Palk Ghar. The big one was it would be an advance all the way to Musa Qalah, to take on the Taliban stronghold there. What everyone wanted to know was how long the operation would go on. They were all thinking about Ghartse Ghar. They had been told they would be out for three days and came back two weeks later.
‘Before I begin the orders properly, I’m just going to give you an outline,’ Denning began. ‘There has been significant Taliban reinfiltration into the Green Zone north-east of here since we kicked them out in Ghartse Ghar. That’s why C Company have had so much crap up in Inkerman. We don’t know how many enemy are there, but estimates range from four to six hundred. So a lot. And from C Company’s experience, as well as other intelligence, it looks like many of them are hard-core fighters from Pakistan. Some have also come down from Musa Qalah.’
Oliviero and the other soldiers sat shaking their heads. He knew they would win the battle against the Taliban, but he also realized just how tough the fight was likely to be. And not long before the end of the tour…
Denning continued, ‘So we and C Company are going to push north into the same area as we did in Ghartse, and kill, capture or drive out all the Taliban in the Green Zone.’
Denning spent over an hour going through the details of the plan. He took questions, and finished off by saying, ‘Lads, be sure of one thing: we are going to stick it all over the Taliban again. It isn’t going to be easy, they are not going to like it and they aren’t going to be a walkover. But I am totally confident we can all do the job, no problem. This is probably going to be the last big op we do on this tour, and while we’re all together I want to wish you good luck. You’ve all done brilliantly so far, and I am really proud of everything you individually have achieved and what we have achieved as a platoon.’
When the orders were finished, the men started preparing for battle. Having painstakingly restored order to his bed space, Oliviero went through the routine he had been through a hundred times before. He cleaned his rifle and the underslung grenade launcher attached to it, carefully stripping down every working part, cleaning off the dust with a cloth and brush, lightly oiling the mechanism and the barrel.
Hornigold, who was helping Sergeant Holmes issue ammo, brought him a Claymore off-route anti-personnel mine to carry and a hundred rounds of spare 7.62mm link for the GPMG gunner. He cleaned every bullet and link and then emptied his magazines and bandoliers. He had eight magazines and two bandoliers, 540 rounds in total. He cleaned his
5.56mm ammunition with a rag. He then dismantled his magazines and cleaned the springs and the interior of the housing. He didn’t want even the most minute piece of grit to increase the possibility of a stoppage just as he came face to face with an angry AK47-wielding Taliban fighter.
He checked and repacked the rest of his ammunition – twelve UGL high-explosive grenades, two L109 high-explosive hand grenades, a red phosphorous grenade and a smoke grenade.
He checked the items in his team medic’s pack – two extra morphine syrettes, two extra field dressings and some bandages. He checked his own two morphine syrettes, two tourniquets and two first field dressings, and stowed them in the left-hand map pocket of the desert combat trousers that he had laid out on his camp-bed. He checked over and laid out on the bed his knee-pads and leather desert gloves.
He filled his two water bottles and Camelbak water pack from jerry cans – 5 litres in all. He packed the Camelbak into his daysack, along with his softee jacket, lightweight stretcher, infrared cyalume night sticks, miniflares, camera, and the 100 rounds of 7.62mm link. Somehow it all jammed in.
He cleaned and checked his infrared monocular night-viewing device and put it on top of the daysack. They would be leaving after dark that night, and he would fit it to his helmet just before they moved out. He checked over and dusted off his Osprey body armour – 20 kilograms of pain, but worth every ounce, he thought.
He changed the batteries in his PRR radio, tested it and placed it beside his daysack.
Finally he stowed his magazines into his webbing along with two boil-in-the-bag meals, a pack of biscuits, some compo sweets and some sweets his mum had sent out. He checked his notebook and pens and his ammo state card. His section commander, Corporal Chris Brooks, would make him section 2IC if anything happened to Lance Corporal Sven Chatfield, and he would need that card for section ammo checks.
He made sure his bible was in his webbing. It had been issued to him when he joined the Army. Oliviero was a Roman Catholic and, although he did not consider himself ‘overly religious’, he always had a bible with him and occasionally read from it.
He also carried a gold Saint Christopher medallion in the front plate pouch of his body armour. It had been given to him by a family member, and his mum had told him to take it with him when he went to Afghanistan and to always carry it when he was on patrol. Oliviero knew better than to disobey his mum.
While he was sorting out his kit, Oliviero didn’t speak to anyone else. All the other men were working pretty much in silence, going through the same routines. He was reflecting on what was to come, and what they had all done so far on this extraordinary tour. And he kept thinking about Private John Thrumble, and what a nightmare his poor parents must be going through now, back in their home in Essex.
3
Lieutenant George Seal-Coon’s 7 Platoon from B Company, who had suffered the F15 bombing seven days earlier, had been temporarily moved to Sangin to provide the guard force during Operation Palk Ghar. After he had finished packing his personal equipment, Oliviero bumped into Private Ronnie Barker, one of the 7 Platoon soldiers.
Barker had also been in the same training platoon at Catterick as Oliviero and Thrumble. Oliviero started to ask him what had happened. Barker said that it had been really bad, the worst thing that he had ever seen. Oliviero could see that Barker was still upset by the loss of three of his close mates and he knew he had been right there when it happened and had helped treat and evacuate them. Oliviero didn’t press for any more details. He would no doubt learn the full facts soon enough.
The rest of the day was spent loading and unloading kit for the company sergeant major and doing various administrative tasks around the base. Oliviero tried to grab a few hours’ sleep during the afternoon, but the stifling, airless heat ensured he only managed to doze off briefly once or twice.
Oliviero and Hicks went down to the front gate just before 2000 hours with the rest of the platoon, kitted up, ready to deploy. It was dark and there were no lights in the base, but there was a full moon, and a cloudless sky, crammed with bright stars. The whole company was there, all three platoons, the FSG dismounted from their vehicles, plus a platoon of the ANA that was attached to A Company for the operation.
Biddick was moving around the small gaggles of silent soldiers. He stopped at Oliviero’s group. ‘How’re you doing, lads? All ready? It’s going to be a tough few days. Keep your wits about you.’
When he had moved on, Oliviero whispered to Hicks, ‘Hicksie, did you see Biddick? He loves this. He was mad
e for war. He’d be lost doing anything else. He’s a legend. Thank God he’s leading us. If anyone can get us through this and back home safely it’s Big Dom. I’d follow him anywhere.’
Hicks nodded in agreement.
Holmes walked around the men. Hornigold was right behind him, the platoon sergeant’s runner. ‘Lads, don’t screw up. Use your skills and drills. I know it’s near the end of the tour, but no complacency.’
Oliviero’s section was leading the company north into the Green Zone, and Hicks was point man. Oliviero loaded a magazine on to his rifle, and Hicks fitted the belt of 5.56mm link to his Minimi. As they shuffled into line to move through the gate, Oliviero put his hand on Hicks’s shoulder and said, ‘Hicksie, just watch it out there. I’m keeping my eye on you, mate.’
Hicks looked back at him, grinning. Oliviero could see he was happy and really up for whatever lay ahead.
Corporal Brooks, the section commander, followed Hicks out, and Oliviero moved behind him. Brooks was navigating the whole company through the night to their start point, using his map and compass and a Garmin GPS on his wrist. As they weaved their way through compound complexes and villages there were occasional stops to check navigation, or to wait for the rear elements to catch up.
In the compounds they encountered occasional groups of young men, gathered outside the walls, chatting. They checked them for weapons and carried on. All the way dogs were barking, howling and baying, close by and in the distance. There were domestic beasts, within compound walls, and packs of filthy, disease-ridden wild dogs prowling the night.
As they patrolled deeper and deeper into Taliban country, they used tracks when they could, and they were easy going. Cutting through the vegetation, they were frequently whipped in the face by tree branches and brambles. They moved round tall fields of corn, 3 metres high, and across the endless ditches, streams and canals that criss-crossed the whole of the route.
Everyone had got soaking wet up to their knees within ten minutes of leaving the DC as they waded across the first ditch. Soldiers tripped, slipped and fell on uneven, rutted ground, rocks and stick bridges. Falling with the enormous battle loads they were carrying was always a nightmare, with everyone dreading a wrenched knee or twisted ankle.
It was not too hot, but, moving fast and carrying between 30 and 45 kilos, every man was dripping sweat and constantly wiping the stinging salt water out of their eyes, as they patrolled forward, weapons at the ready, covering arcs.
One of Biddick’s engineers was bitten by a spider soon after leaving the base. He was in pain and he had to be kept going. As they moved on, the medic monitored him to see if the bite was poisonous and whether he would go into shock. Of even greater concern to Biddick, his stand-in JTAC, who had arrived with the company just before they deployed, collapsed with heat exhaustion about 5 kilometres into the insertion march. They resuscitated him as rapidly as they could and kept him moving. Without a JTAC the company would have been combat ineffective. Finally the company went firm at 0115 hours, five hours after they had set out from the DC. They were just short of their line of departure. Ahead of time, Biddick allowed them to rest for a bit, with sentries deployed, keeping watch.
Oliviero sat down next to a compound, with Sam Hicks slumped next to him. He was soaked to the skin with ditchwater and sweat, his feet were killing him, his shoulders even worse, and he was exhausted. He swigged several mouthfuls of water, ate a biscuit and suddenly felt elated. He took off his boots, wrung out his sodden socks and put them and his boots back on. He refilled his Camelbak from his water bottle, strapped his daysack back on and dozed off sitting against a compound wall.
4
Oliviero woke up half an hour later. 2 Platoon started moving past. Rubbing his eyes, he remembered the plan. 1 Platoon would lead up to the line of departure, and then 2 Platoon would take over, and lead the company into the assault.
As he struggled to his feet, Hicks and he propping each other up, in the dark he could make out Corporal Ryan Alexander moving by, followed by Stevo and then the platoon commander, Lieutenant Graham Goodey.
Biddick’s Tac followed 2 Platoon, and then Hicks led 1 Platoon forward along the same route. Oliviero felt happier now that his platoon was no longer point. He was less tense, there was less pressure. If you were at the front, you had to deal straight away with anything that came at you. And you were more likely to take casualties. He had mates in 2 Platoon, including the men he had just seen go by, and the last thing he wanted was for anything to happen to them. But it was not the same as if it happened to his own platoon.
The company continued to move forward without incident for three more hours. At 0530 they stopped, and 1 Platoon got into all-round defence in a field just short of a major irrigation canal. They were in open ground, near a bund-line. Oliviero gulped down some more water.
It was getting light, and he looked around at the rest of the lads. He could see in everyone’s faces that they were feeling it as much as he was. They had been marching for nearly ten hours now. In a low voice he said to Hicks, ‘Hicksie, that was the hardest night ever. Now we’ve got to go and do some fighting. I hope today goes well. Remember what I said back in the DC. Be careful.’
He ate a biscuit and a couple of sweets. Corporal Brooks said, ‘Lads, 2 Platoon are leading. They are going to move in and clear this crossing point over the river. There’s likely to be Taliban here, so there could be a fight. We’ll be directly behind. 3 Platoon and the FSG are up on the west of the canal providing fire support. If anything happens, stand by for QBOs and react immediately. Well done so far. Now for the hard bit.’
A few minutes later, Oliviero was moving along beside a compound wall when suddenly, up ahead, there was a long, loud burst of machine-gun fire. He went down on one knee but couldn’t see anything. What the hell’s going on? 2 Platoon must be in contact.
Eight hundred metres forward, Private Anthony Glover, point man for 2 Platoon, moved round the corner of a compound wall. Directly in front of him, 200 metres away, in the open field, a Taliban fighter stood up, levelled a PKM machine-gun and, firing from the hip, blasted at Glover. Glover did a backward roll into cover behind the wall, as a second burst came his way.
His section commander, Corporal Ryan Alexander, pulled Glover back and crawled forward to see for himself. The fighter had disappeared. Alexander knew he wouldn’t be on his own. He thought the enemy must be in the large compound, forward right. An irrigation ditch led towards it. He ran back, with Glover, to his section. He thought, We need to act fast here, try to get them by surprise.
‘Follow me,’ he yelled to his men and led them back round the cover of the compound and into the ditch. He moved up the ditch, and was met by a blanket of fire, as several machine-guns opened up and RPGs exploded into the compound walls behind. He heard the splintering of wood as tree branches were ripped away by gunfire, several crashing on top of him. To the rear he heard shouting as one of the other sections, on the far side of the compound, came under fire.
Alexander couldn’t make out the enemy firing points but worked out roughly where they would be and opened fire into the area with his SA80. He crawled forward down the ditch, trying to get into a better position to observe. A fighter darted round the corner of one of the compounds to his front and fired an RPG straight at him. Alexander fired two quick shots at the fighter but missed, and the missile skimmed between him and Glover, a metre ahead, and exploded behind them.
Glover was firing towards the enemy compound, and enemy bullets started pouring in from the left. Alexander again couldn’t find the firing point, but directed his Minimi gunner to open up into the general area.
Further left, Alexander now heard firing coming from 3 Platoon’s area. He heard on the radio that they were engaging a group of Taliban who had been moving towards his own position. Well done, Si, he thought, I owe you one, knowing that Sergeant Si Panter, commanding the platoon, would be cutting the enemy to pieces.
On the left, in 3 Platoon’s
area, sniper Private Oliver Bailey was on a compound roof with four other soldiers. Two RPGs whizzed low over their heads. Bailey saw smoke from the firing points, 200 metres away, and directed Private Ben Roberts, a 3 Platoon GPMG gunner, and Private Jemail McLeod, a Minimi gunner, to return fire. Bailey crawled forward to get a better view and saw an RPG gunner, 200 metres away in a woodline. He was aiming towards Alexander’s platoon, off to the right. Bailey was too exposed to get into a fire position, so talked Roberts on to the fighter, directing his arc of tracer straight at the man like a hose. The fighter crumpled into the ground before he got his missile off.
Bullets started hitting the roof, heavy automatic fire. Roberts and two of the other soldiers jumped on the ground. McLeod and Bailey continued to fire. McLeod said, ‘This is getting very close.’
Bullets were licking around them, but Bailey said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll tell you when it’s close. Keep firing.’
Seconds later a bullet punched into the compound roof right between them, and Bailey said, ‘OK, that’s close, let’s go.’
The two jumped to the ground.
Forward of the compound, FSG Corporal Gav Watts and Lance Corporal David Evans were pinned down by heavy fire behind a small rut in the ground. The other men of 3 Platoon and the FSG were in firing points around the compound. They were unable to identify the enemy positions firing at the two FSG soldiers, but were firing into likely cover.
Sergeant Si Panter said to Bailey, ‘There’s only one place you can see anything from, that’s up on that roof. Get back up there with your sniper rifle, boy. I’ll give you a leg up.’
Bailey crawled across the compound roof, thick with dust. Keeping low, trying not to draw attention to himself, he laid his magazines out in front of him. Using the sniper scope on his .338 long-range rifle, Bailey scanned for enemy. He couldn’t identify any firing points, so started firing into windows and doorways, possible enemy positions.