Fire Strike 7/9

overhead, and they were taking cover.

‘Sixty seconds out,’ came the pilot’s voice. ‘Call for clearance.’

‘No change friendlies,’ I replied. ‘I’m not visual your attack. Repeat: not visual. Clear hot.’

‘In hot,’ the pilot radioed. ‘Stores.’

In the JDAM came, a low whistle from the direction of the Helmand River, rising over several seconds to a horrible, howling scream. It sounded like nothing else on this earth. It was like a B-1B pilot had gone kamikaze, and was flying his giant, supersonic bomber on a suicide mission into the heart of the Green Zone.

As it hit, there was the violent, white-hot flash of the detonation, and the Rover screen broke up into a thousand shards of light. I lifted my head from the terminal, and the massive roar of the blast hit us. In the heart of the darkened bowl a fountain of fire erupted. It was like a volcano was vomiting red-hot lava and smoke into the night sky, flinging out burning rock and debris far and wide. For several seconds the entire scene was lit up an unearthly red, as the explosion plumed and boiled. Woodstrips, ridges, the trees lining Routes Crow and Buzzard — all were picked out in angry silhouette, giving me a rough idea where the JDAM had hit. I radioed the Harrier. It looked as if the strike was bang on target, but I had to be sure.

‘Recoil Five Five, Widow Seven Nine. BDA.’

‘BDA: direct hit on compound roof. Enemy position destroyed.’

As the explosion died down to a scatter of angry fires, the image on the Rover screen stabilised. All that remained of the target was a smear of shattered rubble scattered in a funnel some five hundred metres north-east of the JDAM’s impact point. The attack run had thrown the blast and the debris away from Alpha Xray, just as I’d intended.

There was a cry from Naji, our terp. The radio chatter was going crazy. The enemy were screaming for ‘Commander Jamali’ to check in, but no voice was answering. All the enemy were getting in response to their calls was an echoing void of silence.

I locked eyes with Chris, and the OC. ‘Fucking hell. Are you thinking what I’m thinking? D’you reckon we got him?’

‘Could be,’ Butsy remarked. ‘Maybe that was his “hardened bunker”.’

I nodded. ‘Not hard enough for a JDAM, though, eh?’

The battlefield had fallen strangely, eerily silent. The Harrier had come to my aid from another firefight and was low on fuel. I got on the TACSAT and requested air, and I got an A-10 Warthog ripped to me from another contact. He was fifteen minutes out.

As we waited for the jet, the platoon commander at Alpha Xray reported that they could see figures in the treelines with torches. The enemy were out searching for their injured and their dead. I got the call from the Warthog and gave him an AO update.

‘Hog One One, Widow Seven Nine: we’ve got enemy pax in the treelines all around our position at Alpha Xray. They’re out with torches picking up casualties. They’re not in contact, so do not engage. Repeat: do not engage.’

I talked the pilot around all the contact points, and then he had this for me: ‘Visual with two enemy pax crawling through the treeline from the site of your JDAM strike towards your friendlies. One has an AK-47 on his back, one has an RPG.’

The A-10 had no downlink capability, so I had nothing on the Rover screen. But they were clearly moving into positions where they could re-attack Alpha Xray, and they were armed: that made them fair game. The OC told me to hit them.

‘Hog One One, Widow Seven Nine: I want you to attack using CRV7 rockets, on a north to south attack run. Friendlies two-fifty metres to the south-west.’

‘Roger. Two minutes out.’

I couldn’t ask for a strafe, for the A-10’s 30mm Gatling gun would tear up the entire treeline, and I knew the enemy were out collecting their dead and wounded. The CRV7s would make a direct, targeted strike, and were as big a hit as I was willing to risk danger-close to friendlies.

I cleared the A-10 in, the pilot diving hard and fast, aiming his jet and the rockets directly on to target. The flash of the CRV7s flared beneath the A-10’s wings, then: boom–boom! The double-crack of the rocket’s impact rumbled through the darkness.

‘BDA: direct hit on one of ’em,’ the pilot reported. ‘The other’s set off like a bat out of hell. I lost him.’

I got the A-10 flying low and noisy orbits over Alpha Xray for the next twenty minutes. Nothing else was seen. Hog One One was ripped by Hog One Five, but the Green Zone was totally dead by now. At 2215 Hog One Five had to bug out, low on fuel.

I had no more air, it was all quiet down at Alpha Xray, so we decided to get the kettle on. Chris, Throp and I sat having a brew, with our head torches casting a warm glow over the chill-out area. I’d hardly wetted my lips when Sticky yelled over that I was wanted on the radio. I had an Ugly call sign trying to raise me on the air.

I grabbed my TACSAT and headed on to the roof, being careful not to spill my cuppa.

‘Ugly call sign, this is Widow Seven Nine.’

‘Widow Seven Nine, Ugly Five Two. I’m en route back from Sangin, and I can offer you thirty minutes’ playtime. I hear you’ve been busy down there.’

‘Fuck, aye we have.’ I gave him an AO update, being sure to mention the JDAM strike. ‘I want you flying air recces over all points of recent contact around Alpha Xray.’

‘Roger. Commencing air recces now.’ As the pilot got the Apache’s nose-pod scanning, the two of us got chatting. ‘So how’s it been down there? Good?’

‘Aye. It’s been a top job,’ I told him. ‘What’s the graft down at Sangin?’

‘Not a lot. Sounds like you’re getting all the action up here. Hold on, I’ve seen something. Stand by.’ A beat. ‘I’m visual three pax hiding in the woods directly to the east of Golf Bravo Nine Zero. They’ve got eyes on your friendlies at Alpha Xray.’

‘Can you see any weapons?’ I asked.

‘Negative.’

‘Keep an eye on them.’

For ten minutes the Apache kept his pod zoomed in on those three males of fighting age. I had no downlink from the Apache, but the pilot was giving me a running commentary.

‘Visual those three pax, two of whom are now showing weapons.’

‘Hit them with 30mm,’ I told him. ‘Nearest friendlies Alpha Xray two hundred metres south-west.’

‘Roger. Engaging.’

Thump-thump-thump… The dark heartbeat of the Apache’s cannon rumbled out across the night, as the single-barrelled 30mm gun spat out a ten-round burst.

‘Two direct hits,’ came the pilot’s voice. ‘The third guy’s on his heels with a weapon running for cover. Engaging.’

The Apache spat fire again, a second ten-round burst of 30mm cannon fire chasing the lone fighter up the treeline. The pilot played cat-and-mouse with him for a further two, ten-round bursts, before finally he ceased firing.

‘Third enemy killed,’ the pilot confirmed. ‘Widow Seven Nine, I’m low on fuel and returning to base. You stay safe down there.’

The rotor blades faded away on the warm night air. I glanced at the dial of my watch. It was just past midnight. I’d been controlling jets for little short of twenty-four hours, with just a few hours’ kip in between. As the adrenaline drained out of my system, I realised that I was dog-tired.

I was also starving hungry. I couldn’t remember when I’d last eaten. I stumbled down from the roof, ripped the top off a sausage-and-beans meal and spooned the lot down. It was lukewarm and gloopy, but it sure as hell did the job. I rinsed my spoon off in my cold tea, glugged it down, and headed for Sticky and my ‘bedroom’. I hit the camp bed fully clothed and was out like a light.

The following morning we had an after-action briefing. Between the airstrikes and the fire put down by the lads at Alpha Xray, we reckoned the enemy had suffered serious losses. The jets and the Apache had accounted for fifteen confirmed kills, not to mention the unseen and the uncounted. And the lads at AX had smashed a shedload more.

The enemy were still going spare, calling for Commander Jamali to check in. He wasn’t responding. A little