Fire Strike 7/9

separate JTAC.

I got the job of being the HIDACZ commander. Under me were Widow Eight Seven, across at PH Arnhem, the guy I’d kept nicking air from. Then there was Sergeant Dave Greenland, a fellow JTAC and a bit of a living legend, who’d be embedded with the Afghan National Army (ANA) troops. My old mentor — the guy who’d been all teared up after overhearing my first live drops — Grant ‘Cuff’ Cuthbertson, would be with the C Company 2 MERCIAN lads. Plus Sergeant ‘Bes’ Berry, the guy who’d nicked my boots to replace the broken pair, was going in with the Estonian force. It was going to be a busy old party.

At 0400 the assault force broke into the Green Zone and began its advance. I had two A-10s in the overhead, with a downlink to my Rover screen. From up on JTAC Central I had eyes on the battlefield. Before the lads had pushed two hundred metres forwards it kicked off big time, with the roar of RPGs and the answering thump of our 50-cals echoing across the valley.

Rounds started slamming into the roof at JTAC Central, as the enemy in the Triangle woke up to the assault against Qada Kalay. But no way was I about to leave. I needed eyes on the battlefield to orchestrate the HIDACZ. I passed the A-10s to Dave Greenland, who was in the heart of the battle, so he could start smashing the enemy.

Next I got allocated a new platform, Green Eyes, a drone similar to a Predator. It was brand spanking new in theatre. It proved to have an excellent downlink facility, giving me eyes on the firefight in close-up detail. Via Green Eyes I spotted three males of fighting age exiting a compound, and moving off towards C Company’s position at the top of a ravine. They were carrying heavy, blanketwrapped bundles, but even with Green Eye’s super-optics I couldn’t make out exactly what they were.

I got on to Cuff and described to him exactly what I could see. A couple of minutes later there was the thumping great roar of a 50-cal opening up, and C Company reported three enemy fighters killed in the ravine. Top news. Whatever it was the enemy were carrying, they’d not been able to hit the lads before the lads had hit them.

But the battle wasn’t going all our own way. Sadly, two 2 MERCIAN lads were reported Killed in Action (KIA) in the very first stages of the operation. Although they weren’t from the company that we were embedded with, we felt their loss acutely. Having two KIAs this early in the battle cast a dark cloud over things.

After a day’s rock-hard fighting Qada Kalay was still in enemy hands. We were told that the Danes were coming out to relieve us in the Triangle. We would then loop south via FOB Price, re-bomb and rearm, and join the push past PB Arnhem into the enemy stronghold.

The Danes arrived in a massive, overland convoy, and pushed down Route Crow to Alpha Xray. I had a Predator in the overhead, and I got it flying search transects above the enemy firing points to the east of Golf Bravo Nine One. Nothing was seen, other than one deserted cooking fire.

The Taliban fighters were in there but well hidden, as the intercepts kept confirming. There was a lull in the fighting south of the river, so we reckoned the enemy were planning to have a go against us. Most likely, they were going to hit Alpha Xray, having seen us handing over to the Danes.

At 1300 I got allocated an F-15, Dude Zero One. I brought it over the top of Alpha Xray at thirty metres altitude, firing off flares. Just as soon as he’d done his low-level pass the airwaves were hot about ‘the jet being over us, but we’re in our attack positions’. Our lads were still down at the Alamo, finishing off a very cramped handover with the Danes.

At 2100 it all booted off. Under cover of darkness the enemy had sneaked in right to the very walls, and they hit Alpha Xray with a massive barrage. From up on JTAC Central the base looked like it was the core of a volcano ringed with fire. The Danes’ response was immediate and savage: they were very well equipped, and they weren’t fucking around.

As the Danish troops smashed the enemy back as good as our lads ever had done, we felt certain that we were leaving the Triangle in good hands. I got on the air. Cuff told me he had two Ugly call signs over him, and that I should take one of the Apaches. I got Ugly Five One, talked him around the battle and got him searching. A couple of minutes later I got the call.

‘Widow Seven Nine, Ugly Five One: visual enemy pax with weapons east of Golf Bravo Nine One. They’re in a deep ditch in the treeline.’

I checked the grid that he’d given me. It turned out they were just to the north of the bunker we’d destroyed during Jason’s mad mission. I passed it up to the OC, and he told me to hit them. Throp was getting very excited: just one more enemy kill would take us to an official two hundred.

‘Ugly Five One, Widow Seven Nine: engage target with 30mm.’

‘Roger. Engaging now.’

The lone Apache spat fire into the darkness. The gunship did six 30mm strafes, but still the enemy hadn’t been hit. The hole they were hiding in was providing too good a cover.

‘Ugly Five One, Widow Seven Nine: switch to rockets.’

‘Yeah, no dramas,’ replied the pilot. ‘I’m going to fire four times HISAP CRV7s.’

‘Roger. You’re clear hot.’

HISAP stands for High Incendiary Semi-Armour Piercing — or in layman’s terms, the business. They should be more than capable of wasting that enemy ditch position. A burst of violent yellow flame bloomed on the Apache’s rocket pods, as the missiles fired. They streaked in towards the target, detonating with four sharp cracks in amongst the treeline.

‘BDA,’ I requested.

‘BDA: third and fourth rockets scored direct hits. Four enemy fighters in that ditch have just been nailed across the trees.’

The battle died to nothing, and I handed back the Apache to Cuff.

That was it: 203 kills.

After stand-to the following morning the platoon at Alpha Xray tabbed up Route Crow to join us. AX was now fully in Danish hands. The platoon at Monkey One Echo came across the high ground, leaving a Danish contingent there too. We did a company photo at PB Sandford, and then we mounted up for the road move back to FOB Price.

As we did so, I had very mixed feelings. I’d been with 2 MERCIAN for five and a half months now, and for five of those we’d been fighting to seize and hold the Triangle. During that time Alpha Xray had been smashed to pieces; PB Sandford had been given a right good pounding; and as for Monkey One Echo, there was nothing much there to smash up anyway.

But for better or for worse, the Triangle had become like home. This shitty little patch of the Green Zone had become the front line in the war the British Army were fighting in Helmand. Dozens of times we’d had the enemy at our very walls, especially down at AX. They’d sent in repeated mass assaults to overrun and rout us, but we’d given no quarter.

Sadly, they’d killed a couple of our lads in the Triangle — Sandy and Guardsman Hickey — and we’d suffered a dozen or more seriously wounded. But the enemy losses had to run into the many hundreds: my JTAC log testified to 203 that they’d lost to airstrikes alone. We could feel justifiably proud of what one company of British infantrymen had done here.

We left the Triangle a bunch of scraggy, bearded, shaggy-maned fighters with eyes like saucers, addicted to the adrenaline rush of day after day of full-on combat. During the last two months, it was only the adrenaline that had kept us going. But whilst our leaving was long overdue, we left with nagging regrets.

Somehow, we would all miss the Triangle. Somehow, it still felt like we were abandoning our posts. We’d grown roots here. We’d demonstrated the best of the British Army’s fighting spirit — how with a brew and a cricket-off and the will to fight and win we could take the battle to the enemy, and smash them every time. Now it was all over.

I’d grown closer to my fellow soldiers than ever before, especially those on my FST. To a man we left the Triangle with our heads held high. No one had fucked us out of here: we were leaving of our own free will, at a time of our choosing. And we were handing over to a kick-arse bunch of Viking warriors in the Danes.

Perhaps the feeling was best summed up by Sticky. As Throp got the Vector under way, Sticky and I had our heads thrust out of the turrets, having one last look around the Triangle. Sticky pulled something out of his pocket, and sat it on the turret rim. It was his Snoopy dog key ring, with knobs on, and he got it waving a last goodbye.