Stinger

by Stinger (retail) (epub)

  I was oozing with sweat and alternately cursing and praying as I tried to get the Hydra into a stable hover. Even a straight and level flight proved beyond me at first, but as I eventually began to get a feel for the controls, the bounces off the tarmac and the drunkard’s lurches from side to side became less and less frequent.

  Finally I was able to settle it into the hover slightly nose-up. I held it close to the ground, while I checked the instruments and tested the attitude and stability, then I raised the collective, holding us level with the cyclic as the extra power sent us soaring skywards. The vibrations through the airframe diminished as we rose out of the ground effect from the downwash.

  ‘Not bad for Warsaw Pact shite,’ Jeff said.

  We flew for two hours, testing the Hydra’s performance at different heights and angles of climb and descent, soaring up into the clouds and then dropping to skim the waves offshore.

  Finally, low on fuel, we turned back towards the airfield. I brought the Hydra in close to the hangar and put it into the hover. Jeff checked below and then talked me down, metre by metre, as I slowly lowered the collective, adjusting the cyclic to trim the heli as it descended. The rear wheels touched down first, the front a moment later. I taxied back into the darkness of the hangar and shut down the engines. For the first time in an hour, I became aware of the heat. My flying suit was soaked with sweat but I had been concentrating so hard that I had barely registered it.

  As soon as we had clambered down and taken off our helmets and flying suits, Dave led us back to the briefing room. The doors were closed and locked behind us. We sat down on the battered canvas chairs. Dexy joined Dave, Rami and Amica on the platform. ‘Before we start,’ Dave said, ‘a message came in from Washington earlier this morning. A fragment of titanium found embedded in a bulkhead from BZ169 has been identified as part of a Stinger missile. If there was even the slightest trace of doubt before, there is none now.’

  He signalled to the back of the room, and as the lights dimmed an air-navigation map was replaced by a series of satellite images flashing up on the screen. They revealed the familiar, harsh and unyielding landscape of north-eastern Afghanistan.

  The images became tighter and tighter, zeroing in on one area, the mid-section of a single valley. Its corkscrewing, precipitous walls made it inaccessible even by the standards of those that surrounded it. In the centre of the image the rock walls of the valley pressed together so close that they formed a black gorge running roughly east to west and so narrow that it was hard to imagine any light had entered since its creation.

  Around the cliffs at either end of the gorge was a series of rough curves and geometric lines. Dave tapped the screen with a pointer. ‘There are sangars on the cliffs above the gorge. Supplies are raised and lowered from the floor of the valley, using a basket and rope. The only other access is up a track that a goat would look twice at.

  ‘There are two other store caves where we believe Stingers are held which we hope Raiders One and Two will be taking out, but we think this is the principal store used by the Taliban, selected precisely because of its inaccessibility. We have no reliable intelligence on the internal layout, but we believe it is a natural cave which was extended and fortified by the Mujahedeen during the war with the Soviets.

  ‘That, gentlemen, is your target. All you have to do is decide how to attack it, but here are some of the ways you can’t.

  ‘First of all, just to get it out of the way, an air or cruise missile attack is not a viable option. When President Clinton wanted to target Osama bin Laden’s training camps it took fifty cruise missiles to destroy an encampment of tents in open desert. Quite apart from the unacceptable political consequences, in this case the nature of the terrain makes it impossible.’

  Tank, another soldier assigned to Raider Three, glanced up. ‘Even using laser target designators?’

  ‘Even using LTDs.’

  ‘What about using the Hydra as an attack heli?’ Dexy said. ‘We could fake it up in Afghan markings, fly in from Russia or Pakistan, and rocket the caves.’ He clocked Dave’s sceptical expression. ‘It worked in the Gulf War. We borrowed a Russian helicopter from the Egyptians, painted it in Iraqi colours and flew it most of the way to Baghdad.’

  ‘But it wouldn’t work here,’ I said. ‘The height of the passes surrounding it to the north, south and east is over sixteen thousand feet. Even an empty helicopter can’t fly that high, let alone one carrying a full weapons load or an attack force.’

  Dexy was checking a map on his knee. ‘There’s an airport marked on the map just over the border to the south-east. If the Pakistanis can fly into it, surely we can.’

  Dave shook his head. ‘They don’t fly into Afghanistan from there. There are no scheduled services from it. It’s used for freight and charter traffic mainly – pilgrimages to Mecca and that sort of thing. Jets take off from there, but they just bank around and follow the southern slopes of the mountains all the way west. You could wave to the Taliban from the windows – they’d be on the mountaintops looking down on you, but you couldn’t fly over them.

  ‘The only viable approach to the target by helicopter is from the south-west, following the course of the river, but that would almost certainly result in the shooting down of the helicopter by people armed with the very Stingers we’re charged with destroying.

  ‘The Taliban are also armed with heavy machine guns and rocket-propelled grenades. They have been trained’ – he smiled at Dexy – ‘by the best in the business, to shoot down helis and aircraft by catching them in a crossfire from the walls of these narrow-sided valleys.

  ‘Even if, by a miracle, you weren’t shot down on the approach, the gorge is too narrow and serpentine to fly through. You can’t even sight the caves until you’ve entered the ravine.

  ‘We believe that the only possible approach is on foot. You will be inserted by helicopter, but your drop-off point will be well to the east of your target, and you will make your way there overland.’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Survival brief.’

  Dexy stepped up to the platform. He sat on the edge of the desk and spoke without glancing at his notes. ‘If Escape and Evasion becomes necessary, drinking water is plentiful everywhere except the south-western deserts, but even in the mountains it is likely to be contaminated and Puritabs must be used. In the foothills and plains, food should be no problem: there are rice paddies, wheat fields, nuts and fruit. Afghanistan is famed for its grapes; there are – or were before the fighting started – seventeen different varieties, plus pomegranates, mulberries, stone fruit like apricots and walnuts and almonds.

  ‘If everything goes to ratshit and we have to E & E overland, however, Afghanistan is probably the worst country in the world to leave. There is desert in the south and west, and every other frontier is mountainous. All the surrounding countries are Muslim, and most have at least some sympathy for the Taliban. In Pakistan’s case, there is overt support.

  ‘Iran is hostile to the Taliban – no surprises there, it’s the old Shia versus Sunni hatred – but the degree of warmth towards British and American Special Forces in Iran should not be overestimated.’ He paused. ‘The Muslim former Soviet republics are equally tricky, and the Chinese frontier is not only beyond the highest and most difficult mountain ranges, but the western border areas are also populated by Muslims with strong sympathy for the Taliban – and questionable loyalty to the government in Beijing.

  ‘Pakistan is probably the best of a bad bunch; the government supports the Taliban, but can’t afford to antagonise Washington too openly, and the border guards and police may well be – how can I put it tactfully? – pragmatic individuals with capacious pockets.’

  Dave took Dexy’s place. ‘We’ve given you the broad outlines, but the detailed planning is down to you.’ He looked slowly round the room. ‘You have already heard what happens to prisoners. It’s an individual decision obviously, but I wouldn’t want to wait until I had been captured.’ He turned
and strode out of the door.

  Dexy was already on his feet. ‘Right. I want every map and satellite image we’ve got of the area from the proposed drop-off to the target. Have proposals ready to put before a Chinese parliament twelve noon tomorrow. Anybody with nothing useful to contribute, fuck off out of the way. That’s it.’ He checked and turned to Rami. ‘Unless you’ve got anything to add?’

  Rami shook his head, but a fleeting look of irritation showed on his face.

  ‘Our man doesn’t seem to realise there are co-leaders, does?’ Jeff said as we walked out of the room. ‘And Rami doesn’t look too thrilled about it.’

  I nodded, distracted, my eyes following Amica as she walked slowly down the corridor ahead of us, deep in conversation with Dexy.

  Dave had come up behind us. ‘There’s no such thing as a co-leader,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to do a political balancing act, but it doesn’t matter whether the leader is American or British.’

  Jeff interrupted him. ‘Or Iranian.’

  ‘Or Iranian. Whoever’s got the skills, the personality and the respect of the rest of the group, will lead.’

  ‘Looks like Rami’s out of a job then.’

  ‘One team, remember, Jeff? One team.’

  ‘Sure. I’m just hoping we get the right captain, that’s all.’

  ‘And if that turns out to be Rami?’

  ‘It won’t,’ Jeff said, ‘but if it did, I wouldn’t have a problem with that.’

  While the rest of the guys began the detailed planning of the assault on the target, Jeff and I worked on the routeing for the mission.

  ‘How do we know the Taliban won’t want to inspect the heli when we’re bringing in the assault team’s kit?’ Jeff said. ‘Surely we’re better trying a low-level covert entry than landing openly outside their front door carrying enough explosives and arms to wipe out half of Kabul?’

  Dave shook his head. ‘Even if they do inspect it, they won’t find anything.’ He acknowledged my unspoken question. ‘Sorry, that’s all I can tell you for the moment. You’ll be given more information when there’s a need for you to know.’

  ‘But we’re already in quarantine now,’ Jeff said. ‘Who are we going to tell?’

  Dave’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes had a hardness I hadn’t seen before. ‘The Taliban, if they break your cover and start torturing you.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Now, unless there’s anything more I can tell you, I suggest you spend the rest of the day on the detailed route-planning to Kabul and the landing zone for the operation. Once that’s complete, any spare time you have left can be spent in the language labs. Any questions? Then I’ll see you for the briefing at noon tomorrow.’

  Jeff waited until the door closed behind him. ‘I’d like to punch that smug bastard’s lights out. He’s treating us like a pair of new recruits.’

  ‘Easy, Champ,’ I said. ‘Dave’s all right. He’s just trying to keep us up to the mark.’

  ‘Bollocks. He’s just playing power games with us. “You’ll be given more information when there’s a need for you to know,” for Christ’s sake! If they don’t trust us, why choose us?’

  ‘If they didn’t, they wouldn’t have.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Listen, Jeff, try not to take everything so personally. Dave and Rami and everyone else are trying to do their part of the job the best way they know – just like us. Like the man said, it’s a team job.’

  ‘And when this part of the team’s risking our arse in Afghanistan, Dave’ll be sitting back here safe and sound.’

  ‘That’s below the belt. I don’t know the guy, but the respect he gets from the others shows he’s not just a back-room hero. He’s been there and done it himself.’

  * * *

  I got up before dawn, but found the ground crew already tinkering with the heli’s engines. The crew-boss, Janks, a dour mid-westerner with an oil-stained baseball hat pulled down so tight on his bald head that it looked as if it was stitched to his scalp, nodded to us as we walked over.

  ‘How’s it look?’ I asked.

  He shrugged. ‘It’s Russian and it’s fifteen years old. How good could it be? Still, we’ve done the best we can with it. It should get you where you’re going.’

  ‘It would be nice if it got us back as well.’

  He cracked a smile, showing a mouthful of tobacco-stained teeth. ‘So long as you treat it right, it’ll do that too.’

  ‘We’re close to maximum range for it, even with the extra fuel tanks, and we’re going to have to fit some rollers to shift cargo, so we need to get the rest of the weight down as low as possible. I want everything stripped out of there that doesn’t have a reason to be there.’

  Janks glanced at Jeff. ‘A few pounds off your co-pilot might help.’

  ‘We’ve already got that in hand; you can concentrate on the heli. Lose the insulation, strip out any panels and struts that aren’t load-bearing, and take out the guns and the spent cartridge buckets.’

  Jeff stared at me. ‘You’re kidding, aren’t you?’

  I took him to one side, out of earshot of the ground crew. ‘There’s no point in carrying guns unless we have the ammo to fire them. If the Taliban see loaded guns on a supposedly civilian aircraft, they’re going to be mighty suspicious. If the guns have been removed, it’ll support our cover story that we’re just harmless friendly folks helping them clean up their minefields.’

  ‘And if we get shot at?’

  ‘If it’s on the way in, we’ll just have to evade.’

  ‘And on the way out?’

  ‘We’ll probably be at minimum low-level and too busy avoiding the ground to worry about firing the guns. Anyway, we’ll have a cab-load of Special Forces in the back, blasting off through the doorway at anything that moves.’

  ‘Okay.’ He looked unconvinced.

  I walked back over to where Janks was standing and pointed to the Herc drawn up at the end of the dirt airstrip. ‘Could we cannibalise the roller-conveyor out of that?’

  ‘We could, if we were authorised to.’

  ‘There’s no problem about authorisation. See Dave Regan if you like, but on this operation, anything we want, we get.’

  ‘My Lord, that makes a change,’ he said. ‘In that case, put me down for a widescreen TV and a case of Jack Daniels.’

  I left Jeff and the rest of the ground crew ripping out the insulation from the heli, while Janks and I walked over to the Herc. He took a look inside. ‘It’s too big as it is. We’ll have to cut a length off it with an oxy-arc. You want it welded into the Hydra?’

  ‘No. We need to be able to dump it when the job’s done. Can you fix it so it can be swung up out of the way and secured against the far side of the cab when it’s not in use?’

  ‘Sure, though we may have to lash it with wire.’

  ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t break during the landing then.’

  ‘It won’t, if you don’t make a horse’s ass of the landing.’ He paused to wipe the sweat from his brow. ‘We’ll use bolts to secure the back end of it. When you want to ditch it, all you’ve got to do is pull the bolts and kick it out the door.’

  ‘No problem. Let’s do it.’

  He gave the standard ground crewman’s salute, just this side of an insult, and strode away yelling orders to his men.

  Jeff was standing by the heli, swatting irritably at the cloud of flies around his head. ‘All right with you if we break for breakfast now?’

  I gave him my best smile. ‘Sure. Want to bring your friends?’

  * * *

  Dexy briefed the mission later that morning, laying down the infiltration route, the detailed attack plan and the timings and RV points for getting out again. He might have been discussing a walk in the park for all the emotion he showed. ‘There’s no casevac on this operation, no air support, nothing but one heli and your mates to rely on. We trained the Muj; we know what they can do. They’re good long-range shots and they’re brave as hell, but they’re not that well organised. We’re no br
aver than them, but we are more professional. That’s what will get us through.’ His expression darkened. ‘This is a covert cross-border op. You all know what that means: we cannot take bodies out with us; they will be left behind and can never be claimed. The families will never know exactly where they died.’ There was complete stillness in the room. ‘If we take casualties, the only promise we can make to each other is that – one way or the other – they will not be left for the Taliban to capture. That’s all.’ I was the first to break the oppressive silence that followed. I stood up and made for the door.

  Jeff followed me outside into the burning midday heat. His hand gripped my arm. ‘Did you see their faces?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Although I already knew what he was going to say, I kept my tone even.

  ‘They know they’re not coming back from this.’

  I looked behind me, then led him further away from the building, out of earshot.

  ‘No one’s going to die, Jeff. The guys are going to do the mission, just like all the others they’ve carried out, and we’re going to be the taxi service that drops them off and picks them up again afterwards.’

  I saw anger in his eyes. ‘Don’t lie to me and don’t patronise me. You know it as well as I do.’ He stared at me. ‘What is it with you? You nearly get yourself killed half a dozen times in the Falklands, but that still isn’t enough?’

  ‘You know that’s not why,’ I began.

  ‘What is it?’ He came close to shouting. ‘Do you want to die?’

  I shrugged. ‘There are people who are dead who had a lot more right to life – but I’m not looking to die. All this is just part of the job, Jeff, it goes with the turf. If you don’t want it any more, give it away. You told me you were only in it for the money. You’ve got nothing to prove. You’ve done the flying hours and the operational missions; you’ve got the campaign medals. Let someone else take the risks.