Fire Strike 7/9

uniform a good scrubbing.

That night I got allocated some air. I had a French Mirage, call sign Simca Three One, flying air recces over the darkened terrain. I was up in one of the sangars chatting to the pilot, when I noticed a couple of furtive figures below. They were moving along one wall in the direction of the hydro shed — a tin shack that housed a hydroelectric generator.

I got my night-vision on to them, and it turned out to be two of our Afghan soldiers. I watched them disappear into the hydro shed. What they were up to, skulking around in the dark? Were they planting a bomb or something? I got the night-vision on to the one window, but at first I couldn’t make out a thing in there.

Finally I realised that I was spying on a couple of Afghans who’d gone for a good hump in the privacy of the tin shed. I started hurling rocks, but after several, clanging hits, I realised that there was no stopping them. So be it, I thought. Each to their own.

I opened my peepers at 0250 and got my kit packed away. The omelette boys gave me a lift to PB North, where the 2 MERCIAN lads were just stirring. We had two platoons laagered up in the desert, just short of Rahim Kalay, and two platoons here at PB North. Everyone was wired for the coming assault, and no one had slept much.

I had one ear on the TACSAT, monitoring the air and seeing if any warplanes became available. If they did, I wanted them over our lads in the desert as a protective umbrella. Whilst doing so I got chatting to a Sergeant Mikey Wallace, a Royal Artillery bloke attached to 2 MERCIAN. He asked me what I did and I explained that I was the JTAC. I asked him the same, and he told me he was the LCMR Operator.

‘What’s an LCMR?’ I asked.

‘Lightweight Counter-Mortar Radar,’ he told me. ‘Basically, I locate mortars when the enemy fires them. I’ve got a radar-like gizmo that does the business. Gets it narrowed down to a ten-figure grid.’

Mikey sounded like a pretty useful bloke to know. Prior to now he’d been stuck in Camp Bastion, and we’d got him allocated to us because of the mission to retake Adin Zai. He had a TACSAT, so we swapped frequencies and call signs.

‘This is how we’ll work it,’ I suggested. ‘If you get a mortar signal, give me a call to warn the lads. And pass me the ten-figure grid. Then I’ll take a look from the air.’

Mikey nodded. ‘Will do, mate.’

‘There’ll be a lot of traffic on my frequency between me and the jets,’ I added. ‘But if it’s a mortar grid it’s crucial, so just cut in.’

‘Right-oh,’ he confirmed. ‘I’ll be doing my stuff from PB North. I’ll keep you posted from here, mate.’

At 0500 the FST wagon pitched up. Throp, Chris and Sticky gave me a chorus of how’re you doing, Bommer, mate? The pisstaking bastards.

‘I’m all right,’ I replied. ‘Great time I’ve been having with me bum-pals here on me tod.’

I dumped all my kit beside the Vector, and the four of us started talking through the coming mission. The brief was to remove the enemy from Rahim Kalay and then Adin Zai, pushing them further east into the Green Zone. As with the previous assault, we would be on the high ground overlooking the battlefield.

‘There’s Intel coming down that the enemy know the “tank” on the high ground controls the air,’ Chris added. ‘And that it’s calling in the bombs.’

‘That’ll be us, then,’ I remarked.

‘They know what we’re doing,’ Chris continued, ‘so they’ve more than likely planted mines on the high ground.’

‘Anyone know if the wagon’s mine-proof?’ asked Sticky.

All four of us kind of shrugged

‘Only one way to find out,’ Throp grunted. ‘Drive over one.’

‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t,’ said Sticky.

‘Aye, me an’ all,’ I said.

And that was it — we were good to go. We were 1.5 clicks from the line of departure for the assault. We had to be up on the high ground before 0700, zero hour for the attack. The lads had identified a small re-entrant (a kind of cutting) on the ridge where we could position ourselves in overwatch, but still have a little cover.

With Throp helping me, I went to strap my Bergen on the outside of the Vector. There was little room in the back, what with all our gear. It was around 0640, and just as I was attaching the pack there was a series of massive explosions over towards the Green Zone. A firefight had kicked off somewhere in the direction of where we were heading.

I left Throp holding my pack, and dived in the rear of the wagon. I didn’t give a damn about that Bergen any more. I wanted air cover like yesterday.

‘Widow TOC, Widow Seven Nine. Sitrep: troops in contact, request immediate CAS.’

‘Widow Seven Nine, Widow TOC. Wait out.’

It was still thirty minutes away from my first ASR (Air Special Request) that I had booked for the mission. Widow TOC had to be checking what platforms they had available and in the air.

‘Move out,’ said Chris. ‘We need to get to the demarcation line asap, to get eyes on the contact. Fuck the mines, if there are any!’

Throp wrung the Vector’s neck, and we bounced and cannoned our way into the open desert. En route we got a sitrep from the OC. The enemy must have clocked the 2 MERCIAN lads as they moved in towards Rahim Kalay. By the time our platoons had reached the line of departure, they were well ready. From out of nowhere the enemy had opened up with a savage mortar barrage. In the time it took our wagon to hare its way across the desert, they’d got the fifth round in the air and zeroed in on our positions in the Green Zone. It was mayhem.

The lads were shit scared of those mortars. At the same time they were being hit by automatic weapons and sniper fire, and RPG rounds. The OC made it clear that he wanted us up on the high ground, so we could start smashing the enemy from the air.

Two minutes after setting out from PB North we pulled up on the ridge line. Luckily, Throp hadn’t driven over any mines — or not ones that had exploded, any road. I stuck myself out of the Vector’s turret to get eyes on the battlefield. As I did so, the first thing I noticed was the howl of an incoming mortar. Throp hadn’t even managed to find a parking space when the round smacked into the desert a hundred metres beyond us. It wasn’t bad for a first shot. From the howling of the mortar rounds there had to be more than one tube in action. And with the firefight raging right below us the battle noise was deafening.

‘Widow TOC, Widow Seven Nine, where’s my air?’ I yelled into the TACSAT.

‘Widow Seven Nine, Widow TOC. Dude One Five and Dude One Six in your overhead in eight minutes.’

I had a pair of F-15s inbound. The F-15 can achieve two and a half times the speed of sound at altitude. That was how I was getting the jets overhead only ten minutes after they’d been scrambled.

I put a call through to the jets. ‘Dude One Five, Widow Seven Nine, do you copy?’

‘Widow Seven Nine, this is Dude One Five, I have you loud and clear. Inbound your position seven, repeat seven minutes. Standard loads and ninety minutes’ playtime.’

‘Standard loads’ meant a regular ordnance package for an F-15, and I had them overhead for ninety minutes. That should be more than enough bombs and time to knock seven bales of shit out of the enemy. Now we just had to find them.

‘Sitrep: I have three platoons in the Green Zone at grid…’

BOOM! The last words were lost in the roar of an explosion as a mortar ploughed into the dirt not twenty metres short of us. Time to get moving. As Throp reversed like a lunatic across the barren terrain, Sticky was holding on to me to stop me flying out of the Vector’s turret. I tried to continue briefing the F-15s.

‘Repeat — friendly grids are 98057238…’

‘Break! Break!’ came a voice on the net. ‘Widow Seven Nine, Nine One Charlie. I have a grid for you of that mortar that just fired: 3748567389. Repeat: 3748567389. It’s