Fire Strike 7/9

I felt a shiver half of fear and half of excitement running up my spine. Apart from the scrunch of boot soles on gravel, and the suck and blow of our breathing, we weren’t making the slightest noise. And apart from the faint fluorescent glow thrown off by each soldier’s monocle, we were invisible to the naked eye. The enemy had to have night-vision. That was the only way they could know that we were coming.

Diamond Special Forces — that was how the enemy referred to the 2 MERCIAN lads. The B Company boys sported a distinctive shoulder badge — a triangle of green over a triangle of red, making a diamond shape. It was their regimental flash, one designed to enable rapid visual recognition, and it had to be why the enemy had named them the ‘Diamond Special Forces’.

If the Taliban had night-vision, the only real advantage we had over them was the air cover. I scanned the wall of undergrowth to either side of us. You could hide a bloody army in there. By all accounts the enemy had. And even with night-vision, you could stumble right over a well-hidden adversary before you spotted him.

We were halfway to Alpha Xray and still Ugly had detected nothing. With its state-of-the-art thermal-imaging systems the Apache could detect a mouse farting at two thousand metres. But apart from the twenty-odd soldiers of our patrol, not a thing could be seen moving.

We called a halt. The night-dark silence closed in on us, predatory and menacing. Sticky dropped to one knee right on my shoulder, his SA80 levelled at the wall of darkened vegetation. One of the 2 MERCIAN lads provided cover the other direction, with a string of lads to the front and the rear. I grabbed my TACSAT. It was time to try something different. It was time to flush the bastards out of hiding.

‘Ugly Five Zero, Widow Seven Nine.’ My whisper sounded like a scream in the crushing stillness. ‘I’m bringing the Bone call sign in. Move off to the south of the River Helmand, until advised otherwise.’

‘Roger,’ came back the Apache pilot’s reply. ‘Moving south of the river now.’

The chthwoop-chthwoop of the Apache’s rotor blades faded away above us. I dialled up the B-1B.

‘Bone One Two, Widow Seven Nine. I want you to fly a show of force with flares over our position, and all up the Green Zone.’

‘Affirm,’ came the pilot’s reply. ‘Banking around now. I’m coming in at 2,500 feet. Stand by.’

I smiled to myself. The massive stealth bomber would be coming down to around the same altitude as the one that had buzzed the camp commandant’s briefing, at FOB Price. If anything was likely to get the enemy on their feet and moving, this was it.

‘Running in now,’ the pilot announced.

A few seconds later there was a roar like a tidal wave sweeping down the valley. For an instant this massive deltoid shape loomed out of the dark sky, silhouetted against the stars. And then it flashed past above, tearing apart the darkness and the silence with an earshattering violence. As the echoes crashed over the Green Zone, the pilot fired off a trail of blinding flares in his wake. Every soldier held his breath, as we waited for the enemy to react, or to show themselves. But as the echoes rolled away, not a thing could we see moving out there.

I got the Apache back over us right away, but the Green Zone was a dead zone as far as the pilot could ascertain. A blanket of silence had descended over the terrain once again. But we knew the enemy were out there, and spitting-distance close. The air traffic was going wild with calls that they were visible with us. The discipline of the Taliban was incredible. It was spooky. It had me spooked, any road. They could see us. They knew we were here. But they were holding their fire.

I got the B-1B down even lower, flying a second show of force, but not a sausage. By 0530 we were back at the gates of PB Sandford. Not a round had been fired at us, and we’d seen not a sign of the enemy.

Back inside the base we reflected on what we’d learned. The enemy clearly had a plan of attack, and they were sticking to it. They were going to take us on at the time and place of their choosing. But like all good plans, theirs had to have a weakness, if only we could find it.

I got my bracket down and managed to doze until around midday. I woke pooled in a slick of my own sweat. I was sleeping beneath a mozzie net, one that was sown into the camp bed to make a kind of pod. It was as hot and breathless as an oven. I struggled out, went to the well and doused myself awake. Time to get a brew on.

At 1530 I got allocated air. I got a Dutch F-15, Rammit Six Three, flying recces over the Green Zone. The Dutch F-15s had no Rover downlink, but I had a pretty good view of things from up on my rooftop position — JTAC Central. The pilot had been flying search transects for twenty minutes or so when I got the call.

‘Visual with build-up of males of fighting age at Golf Bravo Nine One,’ the pilot told me. ‘Visual with male pax to the north-west of there, one-twenty metres from Alpha Xray at Golf Bravo Nine Zero. Male pax appear to have heard me, and are disappearing into the treelines. No weapons visible.’

I had the GeoCell map spread out on the roof and weighted down with my fag packet and lighter. We had one group at Golf Bravo Nine One, three hundred metres due east of Alpha Xray. Another, hidden group was a hundred and twenty metres away from our lads. At the same time we were picking up radio chatter about the enemy being ready to attack.

What did it all mean? The enemy had been harping on about being poised to attack us for days now, yet nothing much had happened. I passed what I’d learned from the F-15 to the OC, then lodged it away in the old grey matter.

At last light I lost the F-15, which was low on fuel. Nothing more had been spotted, and all was quiet in the Green Zone. I was down by the Vector having a quiet smoke, and wondering what the hell the enemy were up to, when an almighty explosion rocketed across the Green Zone. It came from the direction of Alpha Xray.

An instant later there were repeated, deafening explosions, followed by machine guns opening up on the base in a solid wall of sound. Almost immediately, there was the scything roar of the Gimpys on the rooftop position returning fire, joined by the mauling thump-thump-thump of the 50-cals.

Alpha Xray was under siege, and meeting fire with fire. This was the big one. This was what we’d been waiting for. I got on the TACSAT screaming for air.

‘Widow TOC, Widow Seven Nine,’ I yelled above the battle noise. ‘Sitrep: troops in massive contact. Requesting immediate CAS.’

‘Roger. Stand by.’

‘Sticky, get a sitrep from AX,’ I yelled at him.

‘The enemy are hitting AX from four fire points,’ Sticky relayed the update from the platoon commander. ‘They’re taking fire from all directions.’

Via Sticky, I got the platoon commander to describe those fire points. From what he told us, the enemy had to be in the woodline that the F-15 pilot had spotted earlier. They’d made a fatal mistake. They’d shown themselves too early, and revealed their location to our eye in the sky. Now I knew where to hit them.

‘Widow Seven Nine, Dude Zero Five: inbound into your ROZ two minutes.’

I had an F-15 powering in to the battle space. I radioed the pilot.

‘Dude Zero Five, Widow Seven Nine. Sitrep: troops in heavy contact at Alpha Xray. I’ll AO update once we’ve finished the attacks. Confirm you’re happy.’

I didn’t have the time to bugger about talking the guy around the battlefield. All I wanted to do was pass him the GeoCell position, and get him smashing the enemy.

‘Roger,’ the pilot confirmed. ‘Happy with that. Just tell me where you want me doing the drops.’

‘First target is W-shaped treeline running north of Golf Bravo Nine Zero,’ I told him. ‘Enemy are one-twenty metres danger-close to friendlies at Alpha Xray.’

‘Affirm: visual with treeline at Golf Bravo Nine Zero,’ the pilot replied. There was a short pause. ‘Visual with muzzle flashes plus three heat spots running around in treeline.’

‘Roger — stand by. Chris,’ I yelled. ‘Tell the OC I’m going to smash enemy positions in the woods at Golf Bravo Nine Zero, then Golf Bravo Nine One.’

Chris relayed the message to the OC, and Butsy said to hit them. The roar of the firefight was building to a climax, and I had to get the jet in. But with the airstrikes going in 120 metres, there was no way I was about to start dropping bombs.

‘Dude Zero Five, you’re clear to attack. I want you to hit the target on a south- west to north-east attack run, with a 20mm strafe. Nearest friendlies one-twenty metres west of target.’

‘Roger — ninety seconds out,’ came the pilot’s reply. A beat. ‘I’m visual more pax running around a