The OC looked a bit fed up as he said this, as if he felt that we’d all done enough. I was even a bit concerned for him. He took his command so seriously, and cared for the men in his charge so much. But he must know that we Gurkhas would carry on fighting right down to the last man. And even if we ran out of ammunition we wouldn’t give up. We’d use our kukris. And if we lost our kukris, we’d fight with our bare hands.
When I got back to the accommodation block afterwards, I told the bhais they were to take extra care to look after the OC.
‘Make sure you give him plenty to eat,’ I said.
I had maximum admiration for Rex sahib and the way he was leading us and I wanted to make sure the bhais didn’t take him for granted. We should be grateful we had such a fine officer commanding us. The reality of it was that these were tough times. We’d been in major contacts now for four out of the past five days, and there was no indication that the enemy had run out of either manpower or energy for the task. It had become clear that we had landed up right in the heart of a Taliban stronghold and our presence here was unbearable to them. They were going to get rid of us if they possibly could. No price was too high to pay.
That night there was another good moon, and back up in Sangar 3 again, the atmosphere was pretty tense. We were just waiting for things to kick off.
‘So what do you reckon, guruji?’ demanded Gaaz. ‘Before midnight or after?’
‘Same as usual,’ I replied.
‘You mean before?’
‘No. I mean just when you think he’s stayed in bed.’
Gaaz laughed.
‘Good one, guruji.’
As it turned out, we had a wait of several hours, and after the usual chat about how things had gone the day before and what we could expect tonight, we got round to talking some more about our training days at Pokhara.
For the next two weeks after selection, we worked unbelievably hard – mainly at drill. I found this really difficult. I just couldn’t get my arms and legs to do what they were supposed to. Every night when I went to bed I had the words ‘Right arm, left leg! Left arm, right leg!’ ringing in my ears. But because there was so much shouting and confusion on the parade ground I hardly knew what was going on and my mind was all over the place.
‘COME HERE! DO THIS! DO THAT!’
‘GET DOWN AND GIVE ME TEN!’
It only came back to me when I said my prayers in the evening.
We even had to shout ourselves. Every day during our drill sessions, one of the gurujis made us march up to a tree and shout. He said he wouldn’t let us go until we had shouted so loud that a leaf fell off the tree! Of course, we were never successful.
We had to learn new things all the time. On one occasion early on, the CSM (Company Sergeant Major) came down to give us a lesson in how to eat the British way.
‘You use the knife like this. For cutting. Do you understand? You don’t pull your food apart like a monkey. And this is how you use a fork.’
After this introduction, he demonstrated how to use the knife and fork together to eat rice.
‘So from now on I don’t want to see anyone using their hands to eat.’ We all nodded in agreement.
‘The next thing,’ he announced, ‘is toilet training. From now on you are going to be using one of these.’
At this point, a Western-style toilet was solemnly brought in to the classroom.
‘That means, when you have a piss, you have to lift up the seat. And make sure you aim it in properly.’
Next, he demonstrated how to sit on the thing. Up until then, not many people had even seen a modern toilet. We just used to squat down.
‘And I don’t want to catch anyone with their feet on the seat!’ said the CSM. ‘If I catch anyone squatting with their feet on the toilet, you will get such a rifting your toes won’t even touch the ground! Does everyone understand?’
Again, we nodded furiously.
‘And don’t think this doesn’t matter. You will be responsible for keeping the toilet block clean. I want to be able to eat my breakfast off the floor in there. So if I find it’s a mess, that’s where you will be eating your breakfast. Do you understand?’
There followed several more days of drill, before we were taken down to the pay office for our first pay. This was another new experience for us. We were told we must march in and halt correctly in front of the pay clerk and salute him.
‘Kailash Khebang Limbu, ready for pay, SIR!’
You had to say ‘sir’ to the pay clerk, and salute him even though he was not an officer. This, we were told, is the tradition, and in fact if you go to the Gurkha Welfare offices in Nepal, you will see even some really old soldiers doing exactly the same when they come in to collect their pension, even though they are no longer in the Army and even though they may be far senior to the clerk handing out their money.
I will always remember my first pay. It was the first money I had ever earned and it gave me such a good feeling. The ten thousand rupees handed over seemed like an enormous fortune to me. At the time, it was probably worth about £120 – enough to keep a family living in a remote village like Khebang for many months. But although I was going to send most of it to my family, I also wanted to give some money to the galla, the recruiter, who had come down from Taplejung and was still waiting to see if any of his candidates had been successful. I gave him two thousand rupees and told him to go off and have a good drink at my expense. I asked him to take the rest of the money back to my family. In a note accompanying it, I explained that two thousand should go as a present to my grandfather and grandmother, while the rest was for my parents.
This galla was a retired Gurkha from a village near to Khebang – at least, near on our terms: it was maybe four or five hours’ walk between the two. He had been the one responsible for taking me down to the first selection in Telog and then for sponsoring me, along with several others, as a candidate in Taplejung. It was the galla who was the person who told us where we had to be at what time on which day. He was also the one who told us what we needed to bring in the way of boots, clothes and so on. There were no formal joining instructions, just the verbal ones he gave us. He had travelled down to keep an eye on his candidates at Pokhara, the tradition being that if you are successful, you will reward him. There was also a prize from the Brigade itself for the one who brings the largest number of successful candidates, so it could be quite a lucrative position.
The final event of our time at Pokhara was the khosm khane parade. This was when we finally passed out of Pokhara, after which we would be taken to Kathmandu, and from there by aeroplane to England to start our basic training at Church Crookham.
On this final parade, we all had to place our hand on the British flag and swear the oath of allegiance to the British crown.
Swearing the oath was the easy part, of course. The hard part was doing the drill. It was our first-ever formal parade and we were all in our best uniform. But although we were all very nervous, somehow we got through without any major disasters. This was just as well, as there were a lot of spectators. Many people’s families had come to see them, and beside all these family members, a lot of the locals from the town also turned out to watch, either through the fence or standing on their balconies nearby.
It was a great occasion and I was sad that my own parents weren’t there to watch, though I wasn’t the only one on their own. There were one or two others from really remote areas like mine whose families couldn’t make it. In fact, it is quite possible that my parents still didn’t know that I had passed. The galla might not have reached my home with my letter yet.
Fortunately, the parents of one of my friends were very kind to me and, as well as offering their congratulations, asked me to join them for the show that was taking place on the evening after the parade. This was one of the most memorable events I have ever experienced. There was singing and dancing and fireworks and a lot of beautiful girls in amazing costumes. It felt like a really good reward after such a
hard month and I loved every minute of it. My dream had come true and this was the final, wonderful climax.
The next day, we all had to parade in travelling uniform. This consisted of a blazer and a shirt with collar and tie. Naturally, I had no idea how to tie a tie, but a few people – the ones who came from the cities – did, and they helped the rest of us. When we were all lined up, I was so proud as I thought back to my village. As a child, my uniform had been just a T-shirt and shorts, with flip-flops on my feet. But now I was a member of the British Army and looking as smart as ever could be. It was an incredible feeling to have come so far.
Many parents came back on this final morning to say a last goodbye to their sons. Lots were crying, and again I felt quite sad to be on my own. But before we knew it, we were on the bus and on our way to Kathmandu, with hundreds and hundreds of people lining the streets to wave.
As soon as we reached Kathmandu, we started attracting attention there too. A lot of people came up to us, asking where we were from. They saw our uniform and thought we must be from some school or college. When they heard we were Gurkha recruits, they became even more interested. We became very popular with the girls. Some of them even came up and handed us letters proposing marriage.
For myself, I was actually rather scared of these girls. I liked the idea of girls, of course, but I never knew what to say to them. Even at school, there were some who used to come up and try to talk to me, but when I saw them head in my direction, I always used to divert. It seemed to me they were much more advanced than I was. Besides, I didn’t really have any interest in love and marriage at that age. I wasn’t yet eighteen after all. In fact, rather than spend my time with these girls in Kathmandu, what I wanted more than anything was to get some sleep.
At about 10.30 p.m., the field telephone rang.
‘Kailash, be advised that int has picked up threat of imminent attack. Be on high alert.’ Mathers sahib’s voice was calm and reassuring, despite the news. ‘Everything OK with you?’
‘Everything’s fine. We’re ready.’
‘Well done.’
The ‘int’ the 2 i/c was referring to was intelligence picked up by scanning the radio waves. I subsequently heard that the Taliban’s code for action was ‘Cooking meat now’. We change our codewords on a regular basis, but because they hadn’t bothered to change theirs, our interpreter must have realised immediately what was about to happen.
Almost as soon as I had put the receiver down, Nagen called out to me:
‘Guruji! Do you see those lights over there?’
I looked out in the direction of the wadi – the dry river course that ran to the east of the town – and saw several vehicle lights.
‘Got them,’ I said, switching on my night-vision sight. ‘That was the 2 i/c by the way – saying there’s been int of imminent attack.’
‘Hunza, guruji,’ said Gaaz.
‘So it must be the enemy,’ said Nagen.
We watched as the vehicles parked up together. I could see several people getting out, but it was impossible at this stage to say whether they were definitely fighters or not, and until we had confirmation we would have to hold off engaging them. After a few minutes, however, their headlights were switched off, and almost immediately there were three explosions in the distance. We quickly discovered this was the mortar base plate up on ANP Hill firing the 81 mm tube. It turned out they’d got sufficient evidence that it was indeed the enemy and had opened up. The first round landed some distance from where the vehicles were, but the second was closer and the third was just a few metres away.
‘Looks like the MFC’s creeping rounds onto them!’ I exclaimed as we waited to see if there was going to be a fourth explosion. Sure enough, after a short delay, another round detonated right on top of them.
‘Well that makes a nice change!’ said Gaaz happily. ‘I reckon that’s the first time we’ve had the initiative of the jatha haru. I bet that gave them a surprise.’
The OC came up on the PRR.
‘Charlie Charlie One, be advised that we’ve got positive ident of enemy in those vehicles. MFC will fire for effect.’
I heard afterwards that the ANP really earned their stripes that evening. They were the ones who had picked up the Taliban signals and, by speaking on their own frequency, had tricked the Taliban into identifying themselves to us. The ANP had discussed the position of the headlights with the local police on the radio, fairly certain that the enemy would be listening in on the local police frequency. As soon as the enemy realised the ANP were on to him, the vehicle lights all switched off simultaneously – proving that it was him. Of course, this also shows the treachery of the local police who must have told the enemy what frequency they would be operating.
Five more explosions went off in the distance.
For the next hour, the MFC harassed the enemy as the Taliban tried to get his vehicles into town. It was clear that even if some had been damaged in the first barrage, several had survived and more were heading towards us using a different route. Meanwhile, the OC kept us informed of what was going on by a mixture of PRR and field telephone.
‘The MFC will be engaging vehicles in the vicinity of the Coliseum. Let me know if you see any squirters.’
The Coliseum was another AOI where the enemy had been sighted during previous contacts, and several more explosions followed soon after this broadcast.
‘Looks like the vehicles are withdrawing, guruji!’ said one of the riflemen.
‘That doesn’t mean we’ve heard the last of them,’ I warned. ‘Could be he was just dropping people off.’
Sure enough, just a couple of minutes later Gaaz shouted excitedly, ‘Guruji! Quick! Two of them! In the bazaar! Looks like they’re carrying RPG. Can I engage?’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Definitely.’
‘OK, but hold your fire.’
I relayed the information back to the CT immediately.
‘Zero, this is Sangar Three. Contact. Two pax with RPG in bazaar area. Am I clear to engage?’
‘Zero, roger. You’re quite sure they’re armed and threatening?’
‘Yes, definitely armed. And threatening.’
‘OK, you are clear to engage.’
I turned to Gaaz.
‘Which way did they go?’
‘East. Towards the burned-out building in front of Sangar One.’
Jatha! That meant they’d closed to within 50 metres.
‘Nagen. Take the Minimi over next to Gaaz and get some rounds down, OK?’
Within a few seconds, both machine guns were spitting fire. ‘Zero, this is Sangar Three. Pax observed heading for reference point two. Engaging target area.’
‘Zero, roger.’
Almost immediately, we came under sustained fire ourselves, as did both sangars 1 and 2, together with the CT. It was clear the enemy had managed to get into position, despite the best efforts of the mortars.
‘Where’s it coming from? Where’s it coming from?’ I shouted. The usual question.
‘I can’t see, guruji.’
‘No idea, guruji.’
The usual answers.
As soon as there was a slight let-up in the thud of rounds into the sandbags, I flung myself out of the main position and onto the roof outside. By scanning with my HMNVS, I gradually began to see we were being engaged from positions to the north-east, round to the south. Brief flickers of light on our left side and ahead of us, in other words – the telltale sign of muzzle flash.
‘FIRE POSITIONS AHEAD AND TO NORTH-EAST!’ I yelled to the bhais. Using short, controlled bursts, they began to engage the target area. It was hard to be certain, but it was likely the fire positions themselves were outside of town providing support for the enemy who were now inside.
‘Still can’t see anything, guruji!’ shouted Gaaz.
‘Keep engaging known positions!’ I replied. That was all we could do at this stage. Mainly this meant the treeline approximately 300 metres distant to the north
-east and the area around the football pitch to the south.
Scanning continuously, I suddenly noticed the lights of several more vehicles approximately 3 kilometres due north of the DC. Using the PRR, as I was by now on the platform outside the sangar itself, I called the CT at once.
‘Zero, this is Sangar Three. Vehicles moving approx three thousand metres to the north. Am observing, over.’
‘Zero, roger. Seen. Out to you. Mike One Zero Alpha, do you see them?’
This was one of those occasions when we could clearly hear the radio traffic between ANP Hill and the CT over the PRR. A lot of the time, you couldn’t, perhaps because of atmospheric conditions or because the aerials were not in line of sight.
‘Yes, I’ve got them too.’
Mike One Zero Alpha was the callsign of the Mortar Fire Controller up on ANP Hill.
‘Zero, roger. Keep observing. I may ask you to engage. We just need a PID.’
‘Roger, understood. Stand by mortar.’
Minutes later, the 2 i/c reported another convoy of vehicles on the same road, but further away, heading towards us. It looked as if the enemy was going to launch a serious assault. Probably those we had seen earlier had been sent to provide close support for a raiding party. I wondered how long it would be before we had air cover. I felt sure that the OC must have asked already. What I didn’t know at the time was that, due to multiple contacts elsewhere, there would be a delay in getting aircraft out to us.
After about ten minutes of heavy fire, things quietened down a bit. That didn’t mean we could afford to rest. Most likely it meant the enemy were just about to launch their attack.
‘Keep observing, bhai haru,’ I said. ‘They’re out there somewhere.’
Another burst of fire came streaking in at us almost before I’d finished speaking, again from the direction of the treeline. It was almost as if the enemy had heard me and wanted me to keep my head down because of what was about to happen. Several more minutes passed in an agony of expectation.
Suddenly a shout went up from the CT.
Gurkha Page 25