Ed Macy - Apache

Was there anything I’d forgotten to mention? Yes, loads; but we didn’t have the time.

‘You.’ I pointed to Rigg, the bloke nearest to me. ‘You’re going to sit on this flat side here, in front of the engine air intake. Wedge your back against the aircraft by jamming your feet against the empty Hellfire rail.’

I took the remaining three round the other side.

‘Fraser-Perry, you’re going here. Same drill. I’ll be back with some straps. You two, follow me.’

We sprinted the 100 metres to the other Apache. Billy and Geordie’s canopy doors were open, ready for me.

‘Give me your straps, guys.’

Billy threw his down. Geordie just looked embarrassed and put up his hands.

‘I haven’t got it.’

‘What?’

‘My jacket’s in for servicing. This is a spare, like. Sorry.’

Bloody hell. Geordie was the squadron’s Combat Rescue officer. Of all the people to forget a strap … He’d be ribbed mercilessly by the lads for this when we got back. Someone would just have to go without.

‘Geordie, you lead, we’ll follow. Make sure you stay out of the gun line; they’ll be firing all the way in to cover us.’

‘No problem mate.’

I dished out Carl and Billy’s straps to Robinson and RSM Hearn – who was still grinning at me – and ran back to my aircraft.

How the hell do I choose who gets the last strap? Shit – is this going to be a life or death decision? It had to be Rigg. He knew where Mathew was, he was marginally more mission critical. I threw it up to him then went back round to see Fraser-Perry.

‘There’s no strap for you.’

He looked at me in disbelief.

‘Put your arm through the grab bar and then force your hand in under your body armour. That way you won’t fall off if you get shot. Do you understand what I am saying?’

He took it well.

‘Yes, yes…’ He nodded frantically and cracked on.

‘Tuck it in.’

The tall marine in shirt sleeves was waiting for me at the front of the aircraft. Now I recognised him. Colonel Magowan. His brow was painfully furrowed, and intense concern was etched over every square inch of his tanned face.

‘Good luck,’ he said, and we shook hands. It sounded like he meant those words more now than he had in his whole life.

I clambered back inside and plugged in as Carl was completing his last checks.

‘Guess who didn’t bring his strap.’

‘Not the SERE officer was it, by chance?’ He grinned. ‘Who drew the short straw?’

‘Young guy, left-hand side; name’s Fraser-Perry. The one on the right’s called Rigg.’

I slammed my door, buckled up, pulled down my visor and tried to catch my breath as the air conditioning kicked back in.

‘I gave them the fullest brief we had time for. At least they all know exactly what to do when we get there.’

‘Good.’

‘Okay, Geordie, your lead.’

‘My lead,’ Geordie replied.

Carl pulled on the collective and we began to lift steadily into our own swirling dust cloud.

Magowan looked up. The loneliness of command was stamped onto his troubled face. I felt for him; whatever the outcome, he would be judged. I wanted to shout, ‘ Fortune favours the brave! ’ but I didn’t want to count my chickens yet either.

It was not for some hours that I found out that our four passengers had barely heard a word I’d said.

We flew directly east, and very low – just ten feet off the desert floor. Only the odd opium runner’s tyre tracks punctured the sea of sand beneath us.

‘We’ll be over the ridgeline at 10.38, Ed.’

‘Copied, buddy.’

The ridge was our cover. As long as we kept low, the enemy wouldn’t see us until the precise moment we crossed it. And by then they’d have other things to think about, if Widow Seven One had done his job. I needed to know that everything was set up right for us.

‘What’s happening with the fire plan, Carl?’

‘The JTAC was sorting it while you were out of the aircraft. We’ve got a B1 on station now; callsign: Bone One One. He’s been tasked to drop a 2,000-pounder bang in the middle of the village at 10.37, just as we approach the berm.’

That was good news. It would give us a far bigger dust cloud to hide behind than the A10’s 500-pounder.

‘So he’s called off the A10.’

‘What?’

‘Tusk said they had to deconflict. Otherwise the B1 could drop on him. We’ve got to go with the B1 mate. They say they’ll be there.’

‘They’d better be.’

The B1s were good but their equipment took an age to get bombs on target.

The rest of the fire plan was simple. Nick and FOG would suppress the enemy to the north of our landing position, the main body of the fort, and Charlotte and Tony would hit them in the east – the treeline that ran down to the river. The A10 Thunderbolt had already strafed the tunnels to the south of us.

That just left the west – and all those lunatics in the village that just wouldn’t die. The B1’s 2,000-pounder should kill most of them, and stun the rest. More importantly, the mess it made would block the Taliban’s view of us just long enough for our smash and grab.

In any fire plan there is always one critical moment. Bone’s drop was it for us. And even if he dropped on time, we’d have no more than two minutes on the ground.

I tried to visualise the marines unclipping the straps, hitting the dirt; how quickly they could shift Mathew. Thirty seconds to get to him, a minute to get him back, and thirty seconds to tie him onto the aircraft.

Yes, it was doable – but in two minutes, tops. Any more than that, and the Taliban would be onto us big time, and not just from the west. They’d go ape-shit from every point of the compass.

What about Fraser-Perry?

Shit .

My stomach lurched. I twisted as far as the confines of the cockpit would allow, and craned over my left shoulder. The young marine was exactly where I’d left him, one leg jammed hard against the weapons pylon forward of the wing, the other against the Hellfire rail. I could see his teeth clench and his knuckles white against the grab handle. If he gets hit, he’ll fall off; his hand should be tucked into his body armour.

‘Just remember to keep it at fifty knots, buddy.’

Carl hadn’t forgotten. But I was sure Fraser-Perry would have thanked me for reminding him. Fifty knots was a pain in the arse; this low it made us sitting ducks. Our normal attack run was three times that. But these boys had a job to do when we got to the fort, and they had to be firing on all cylinders if we were to come out alive. The thump of the rotors and whine of the jet engines would already have half deafened them. Any faster and we’d have blinded them as well, with all the dust and shit in the air.

I focused my TV camera on Billy and Geordie’s Apache, 500 metres to our left and just ahead, to check on their two marines. They were both there, one perched either side of the cockpit. I wondered if Hearn had lost that grin.

Jesus. Were we really doing this ?

I just knew there was going to be something about this tour… All those promises I’d made Emily… I couldn’t bear to think about them. I couldn’t bear to think about her and the children. My hand moved to my pocket. I could feel my angel under my survival jacket.

It’ll be okay. Just as long as the B1 drops on time …

Billy and I had agreed we’d loop south of the firebase so we wouldn’t obstruct the marines’ arcs onto the fort. We’d duck down over the river and swing up north when we hit the sandbanks on the far side. Then we’d charge the final 200 metres and wheels down right in front of the fort’s ten-foot outer wall, where we’d last seen Mathew. I prayed he’d still be there.