At this point, Mathers sahib took over the O-group to give us detailed instructions on where each section was to go and what their duties were. The most important information from my point of view was his decision to run both my section of seven men (eight including myself) and Corporal Santos’s section of another seven as a single unit. It made better sense that way, given the shortage of manpower. The upshot of this was that Corporal Santos and I would be responsible for the two main sangars, 1 and 3.
Mathers sahib then gave orders for my section’s .50-cal to be placed in Sangar 3. That was where its fire looked likely to be most effective. The other .50 was left on top of a vehicle in case of a need to go out – on resupp for example – while the remaining three corner sangars were to have one GPMG each. The WMIK itself would form part of Sangar 5, one of the temporary sangars, while Sangar 6, the other, would be manned by the QRF – the Quick Reaction Force – together with the ANP and their local counterparts. Next, Mathers sahib gave the immediate actions we were to take on engagement by the enemy. Finally he did a walk-through, talk-through of the compound, which included showing us our stand-to positions.
‘So commanders, I want you to go away now and organise a sentry rota. We’ll have three men for each of the main sangars, that is, One and Three, and two each for the other two. The Quick Reaction Force will be under Corporal Ramesh and HQ will be under command of myself. Are there any questions?’
We all had several – the role of the ANP and that of the local police prominent among them. Mathers sahib repeated what he said about the ANP manning Sangar 6 while the local police would join the QRF and provide reinforcements as necessary. But he added that we should not expect too much from them. I glanced at my fellow NCOs. We both understood from this that we would be lucky to get any help from them. In fact, quite likely kohi pani hoina – none at all.
With the O-group complete, and after passing on the relevant information to the bhais and gurujis, the first thing to do was to draw up the list of sentry duties. That done, I took my riflemen up to our sangars to relieve the remaining members of 10 Platoon, i.e. the Signallers, who were due to be picked up and flown out when our reinforcements came in. I took special care to go over arcs of fire with my section and to point out the likely enemy firing positions we’d been told about.
‘We’ll get some posts up as soon as possible, so you don’t go out of arc, but for now you need to be really careful. Have you got that, Gaaz? Nabin? Nagen?’
‘Yes, guruji,’ they all answered in turn.
‘And report anything suspicious, OK, bhai haru? Anything at all,’ I said as I left.
‘OK, guruji. We’ll let you know right away,’ they replied, getting themselves into a comfortable position behind the sandbags.
I could tell they were all excited. They were longing for an opportunity to prove themselves.
After that, I showed the remaining members of my section quickly round the rest of the compound, including the building along the eastern wall that Mathers sahib had decided was to be our accommodation. They immediately started making jokes about where they were going to sleep. Of course, everyone wanted the best room, or if not the best room, to sleep in a corner. I had to remind them that the best places belonged to the section commanders. After all, we were going to be up in the night longer than they were. So after that they tried to persuade me to let them sleep next to their best friends. In some cases this meant bhais from the other section. I reminded them that they didn’t have a choice. They would go where I put them according to my assessment.
But before we could actually occupy the accommodation block, we would have to give it a good sweep out. Not only was the building full of sand and all kinds of rubbish, part of it had obviously been used as a latrine as well. It stank of urine.
The most urgent task, however, was to repair the sangars and make them as secure as possible. This meant filling the sandbags we’d brought with us and putting them round each position. Our platoon sergeant, Corporal Ramesh, told us he wanted each sangar to be protected to a height of six sandbags by nightfall, so there was plenty to do in the next few hours before it got dark. Accordingly, I gave the bhais and gurujis orders to take it in turns to clean out the buildings and fill sandbags.
We quickly realised that the sandbag filling was a much bigger job than we at first thought. Although it looked easy work, the sand was so compacted that it was like digging into solid rock. It was at least as bad as Salisbury Plain, where it can take four men all night to sink a trench four feet deep.
‘It’s worse than digging into the mountainside back home!’ exclaimed Gaaz with a weary smile after twenty minutes of solid hacking.
But morale was high and the bhais all laughed and joked. In typical Gurkha style, it had immediately been decided that the one who filled the least number of sandbags should be the one who cooked the evening meal.
Stripped to the waist, they all put their backs into the task at hand. Even so, it wasn’t long before the bhais started to slow down. It had been a long day already.
‘Guruji, this is too hard. Maybe we could try digging somewhere else?’ said one.
‘What about going outside? It’s got to be easier there,’ said another.
‘Let’s do three more bags,’ I replied, grabbing a spade. ‘Then we’ll stop and take a break.’
The Afghans meanwhile stood or sat around watching as we worked.
‘Kalli, bhai?’ they asked, every so often coming up and patting us on the back. ‘How are you?’
‘Tik hai, dost,’ we replied. ‘Fine thanks, friend.’
‘Za pora murkar maanche,’ said Gaaz under his breath. Roughly translated this means: ‘Now shuffle off and go away.’
It soon became obvious that we weren’t going to be able to get all the sandbags filled before night time, and that worried me. Already the temperature was starting to drop and soon it would be dark. When night comes, it falls fast in this part of the world. The sangars were in a bad state, and if the enemy could give us a reception like the one they gave us in the HLS, the sentries were going to be very vulnerable. But there was nothing to be done except keep on going as long as possible.
At approximately 5 p.m., we stood-to. This involved everyone turning out and taking up positions as directed at the O-group. There were three riflemen in sangars 1 and 3, two each in sangars 4, 5 and 6. Three more were posted on the roof of the Control Tower, or CT – the name we had already given to the central building – together with the OC. There were another four or five men in the QRF posted outside one of the buildings along the perimeter wall, with the balance of the platoon – the command group – remaining inside the Control Tower. This included the 2 i/c, Lieutenant Mathers, the Platoon Sergeant, Corporal Ramesh, the FOO (Forward Observation Officer), two signallers and the two medics.
After we had stood-to for fifteen to twenty minutes, night routine began. The sentries were to change at two-hourly intervals, so that meant that at any one time, half the combined section would be off duty. Until it was actually dark, we would carry on filling sandbags. In the event that meant until around 7 p.m., after which there just wasn’t enough ambient light. There was no proper electrical power at this stage, and anyway we kept use of light after dark to an absolute minimum. This was for reasons of field discipline – we did not want to give the enemy any help whatsoever. We used battery-powered lanterns just enough to let us do our evening routine of cooking and weapon cleaning, which was what we now got on with. It was the job of those not in the sangars to prepare the evening meal – the loser of the sandbag-filling contest was the one to actually cook it.
Truthfully, it wasn’t the cooking that was the issue. Gurkhas are keen cooks – we like to try to outdo each other in making the best of what’s available. It was the knowledge, unspoken but not forgotten, that that person had filled one less sandbag than anyone else. It might not even have been quite fair. It might have been that the rifleman in question had hit a particularly hard bit of
ground. That wasn’t the point either. The point was that we like to compete with each other. It’s how you build a team. You might get the hard patch today, but hopefully it will be your turn to be lucky tomorrow.
The prospect of our first food at the end of a long day was a real morale boost for us all, and we began to relax a bit.
‘Wow, guruji! That was really something, hunza?’ said Gaaz as we waited for the rice to cook. Hunza is Gorkhali for ‘isn’t it?’ or ‘wasn’t it?’ The proper way to spell it is hunchha, but I think for English-speaking readers it is better to write it like it sounds.
‘Yeah, our first contact! Really exciting!’ said one of the other riflemen.
‘Amazing,’ agreed Nagen. ‘Achamma bhayo.’
‘But now we have to fight them,’ said Gaaz. ‘We should go after them, I reckon. Hey, guruji!’ he went on. ‘Why don’t we go and find them? They must be out there somewhere. We should volunteer to go on patrol at first light.’
We spoke in low voices, but there was a lot of laughter and sometimes I had to tell the gurujis and bhais to keep their voices down. There was no need, really – the enemy knew exactly where we were – but it’s standard procedure to keep noise to a minimum at night. When we laughed – and, it’s true, Gurkhas are always laughing – I told the bhais it had to be tactical laughter. Soundless, in other words.
The talk turned to our equipment. Gaaz was desperate to fire the .50-cal.
‘Reckon I could take out any of these buildings with the Browning, guruji.’
I wasn’t so sure. I’d been in Afghanistan before and knew how much punishment these mud walls could take.
‘So what do you think, guruji?’ he went on. ‘Do think we’ll see some Talibs tomorrow? Do you think we’ll get to kill some?’
He was just so enthusiastic, Gaaz. He was really disappointed not to have been able to do anything during the contact in the HLS. If he’d had his way, we would have put in an immediate section attack. But as we had learned, if you can’t see the enemy, you can’t engage them.
The talk turned to Osprey, the new body armour we had just been issued. It was heavy and quite uncomfortable, but although not nearly as good as the stuff we have nowadays, it was a huge advance in personal protection, and the bhais and gurujis were convinced it was going to make them indestructible.
‘You need to make sure you present it to the enemy, though,’ said someone. ‘It’s not going to save you if he can get a shot behind it.’
We all agreed to this, though I wondered if it would really be any more effective than the talisman my mother had given me when I was last on leave in Nepal – a simple one-paise coin with a hole in it, minted in India in 1947. She’d had it blessed by one of our priests to deflect any bullets that came my way.
We were still pretty keyed up from having been shot at on arrival, but it all seemed quiet enough now. We carried on chatting for a while as we finished eating, mainly wondering about when the enemy was going to attack next. I suppose by the standards of a good restaurant, our food that night wasn’t up to much, but I have to say it was one of the best meals I have ever eaten in my life.
Soon after we’d finished, I was called to another O-group. The OC explained the latest developments in the general situation. It was beginning to look as though we were going to be in Now Zad longer than we had at first thought: the Para battlegroup on its way to relieve us had been held up by unexpectedly stiff resistance. So there were clearly a lot of Taliban in this part of Helmand. Even so, he reminded us that our main priority was hearts and minds and that we would have to be extremely disciplined regarding ROE (Rules of Engagement).
‘What we must avoid at all costs is causing any civilian casualties,’ he explained before reminding us that we were only to engage when we ourselves were engaged or in obvious danger.
‘If someone’s carrying a weapon, that’s not sufficient reason. A lot of people carry weapons in this part of the world. It doesn’t mean they’re Taliban. Of course, if they’re pointing it at you, that’s another matter. But even so, unless you are actually under fire, you are to clear it with myself or the 2 i/c first. Is that clearly understood?’
Everyone present nodded in agreement.
‘So you are going to need to impress this on your sections. They are to be vigilant at all times, but also disciplined at all times.’
Thinking about what the OC said as I left the CT, it really hit me for the first time how difficult our situation was. We were here to support the locals, but at the same time we had to be on the lookout for insurgents who had shown themselves very capable in battle. The hardest thing of all was going to be telling who was who. It wasn’t as if the enemy wore a distinctive uniform or anything.
When I got back to the bhais and gurujis, I spent a lot of time checking over their equipment and making certain they fully understood both the ROE and all the drills if we did come under attack. I had given the order to those who hadn’t already had the opportunity to do so to clean their bunduk – their weapons – while I was on the O-group. So now I made it my business to make sure they had done it properly. In these sandy conditions you had to be extra careful to make sure everything was in good order, with plenty of oil to protect the working parts. At the same time, because of the situation, we couldn’t strip them down fully and lay the parts out for individual cleaning as we did normally. It would take too long to put everything back together if we suddenly got bumped. Instead we did battle cleaning. That is to say, we only cleaned one weapon at a time, just taking out each individual part, inspecting it and cleaning it then putting it straight back.
The situation was complicated by the fact that it was dark now, so the riflemen had to take it in turns to hold a torch while their buddy got to work.
Gaaz in particular wanted to show me how well he had done the GPMG.
‘What do you think, guruji? Good job, hunza?’
‘Yes, good job, Gaaz,’ I said, shining the light on the gas plug. ‘Just make sure you keep your oil handy. You could be firing a lot of rounds when those Talibs come back.’
‘You think so, guruji? I hope you’re right.’
After checking everybody’s weapons on the ground, I went up into the sangar positions to check theirs too. Obviously it’s harder to clean weapons when you are in a confined space, but in fact they’d done a good job.
‘Well done, Lance Corporal Shree,’ I said. ‘Excellent work.’
I find it’s better to encourage and inspire the bhais and gurujis under my command. That is how we Gurkhas operate. It’s hardly ever necessary to give a telling-off. Of course, if there’s need, I know how to give a good bollocking, but Gurkhas respond best to inspiration and leadership. For this reason, I make it my business to know everything about each of the men under my command. If they have any problems at home, with their family or girlfriend or something, they need to be able to come to me and I will help them sort it. They should look on me as they would look on their own brother.
After satisfying myself that everyone’s weapons were in good order, I went back down to check on the ammunition. Again I had to use my torch tactically, even though there was quite good ambient light that night. I’d told my bhais and gurujis to make sure that everything was ready to go. We’d already got as much into the sangars as was practical, but we had to be ready to resupply at a moment’s notice. That meant cutting the locking wire on each box, and in the case of the 7.62 for the GPMG, and the belts of Minimi machine gun ammo, looking inside to make sure the links were all in good order. What you don’t want is a stoppage due to a link being in the wrong place, which sometimes happens during the packing process.
Another thing that was really important was water. We’d amalgamated the whole platoon’s supply in one place where it was readily accessible – a corner of a room where we laid the bottles floor to ceiling. In fact, it turned out that there was a well in the compound, but the police told us it wasn’t working. I knew that Major Rex had it as a priority to fix it.
He hoped to avoid needing it for drinking purposes, but it would be good for morale if we could take a field shower occasionally. And you never knew, we might need it for drinking if the enemy landed a lucky shot on our stores or we couldn’t get a resupply.
By now, the off-duty bhais and gurujis had swept out our quarters, which were an L-shaped building built up against the eastern perimeter of the compound. The rooms themselves had no windows, so I decided earlier we would sleep in the corridor outside because of the heat. As I went over to my bedspace, I noticed my kit had been moved as far away as possible from where the others were sleeping. Gurkhas always like to make their bed space really nice, a little home away from home. But that wasn’t the real reason for this rearrangement, I knew. The actual reason, I understood perfectly well, was because I am a really bad snorer. My bhais and gurujis try never to sleep near me for that reason. Instead, they do their best to isolate me They can’t say anything, of course, because I am the guruji, but I know this is the real reason.
I don’t know why I snore so much. It runs in my family. My dad is a terrible snorer, as was my grandfather. Now my son is too. In a way, though, it is a good thing. For five years, I was in Recce Platoon. That means you are always up ahead of the main body of troops when you are out on exercise, or on operations. So my snoring was a real problem at first. Most of the time, I didn’t dare to sleep in case I gave away our position. As a result, I learned to hardly sleep at all. I learned to go without. This was to prove a big advantage in Now Zad.
Before turning in myself, I climbed up into the sangars one last time to make sure the bhais were OK. I reminded them that they were to call me on the PRR the moment they saw anything suspicious, and I made sure that they understood exactly what their arcs of fire were.
‘Remember, the Cyalumes aren’t just decorations,’ I said.
Gurkha Page 5