Ed Macy - Hellfire

I forced myself to concentrate. The IntO had come to the bit about hearts and minds – how we’d be helping the people of southern Afghanistan get back on their feet. Perhaps some of this might come in useful during the awkward silences that we’d try to fill tonight.

‘Our mission – 16 Brigade’s mission – is to support the Helmand Provincial Reconstruction Teams. The PRTs will be operating in a triangular area between Camp Bastion, Gereshk and Lashkar Gah.’ He pointed to a section of the map that covered about 150 square miles, 70 per cent of which was open desert.

He went on to give us the big picture. From Camp Bastion our boys would support the PRTs as they went out into the surrounding countryside, establishing contact with the local village elders. The Afghan government wanted us to help them rebuild the infra-structure and become self-sufficient. The job of 16 Brigade was to provide the muscle to stop the Taliban killing the PRTs as they waltzed around the place promising all the good things Tony Blair had to offer.

Most villages had a police station that could act as a focal point for resistance. Part of the British mission was to train Afghan National Army (ANA) recruits and to work with those in the Afghan National Police (ANP) who hadn’t been totally corrupted by the Taliban until they could take over responsibility for the protection of the surrounding landscape.

‘The upshot,’ he said, ‘will be that the neighbouring villages will see how these guys are living the good life and they’ll want to join the party. The Taliban won’t be welcome. Our goodwill will spread like an ink spot on blotting paper; eventually it’ll turn the whole map blue.’

He didn’t mention narcotics once. I was gobsmacked.

I knew that we were part of a UN mandated programme, the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF), to reinstate a democratic government that could sort out the entire country, not just Kabul, properly train the ANA and ANP, rid the place of terrorists – and halt opium production.

While the US was tasked with destroying the Taliban, HIG and Al Qaeda, the other NATO participants had been given different roles in the reconstruction process. The UK was tasked with ridding Afghanistan of the poppies that made the heroin that accounted for between 90 and 95 per cent of the UK’s smack market, the majority of which were grown along the banks of the Helmand River.

Weaning the farmers off this most lucrative of crops was not going to be easy; the lion’s share of the profits ended up lining Taliban pockets, but their very survival was at stake. It didn’t matter how many bridges, hospitals and schools the PRTs built; the Taliban, HIG and Al-Qaeda didn’t want anything to get in the way of the drugs trade. In Helmand, the farmers were under increasing pressure to scale up heroin production and any village elder dim-witted enough to turn down Mullah Omar and his cronies would be beheaded in front of the very people he sought to protect.

As things stood, there was no one around to stop them. The ANA and ANP seemed to be completely incompetent (and smacked out of their heads) or in the pay of the Taliban. Not unsurprisingly, this was just how the Taliban liked it. In recent weeks it had sent a message to Tony Blair: if he sent British troops to Helmand, we’d come back in body bags.

I stuck up my hand. ‘I’m sorry, sir; I must be missing something here. What is our objective exactly?’

I wanted to know if I was on a UN reconstruction mission, a NATO anti-terrorism mission or the unstated anti-narcotics mission.

‘Our objective?’ The IntO looked surprised.

‘Our role, sir.’

‘We are not in a warfighting role. We’re going to support the Afghan national government – to help the place function as a normal country again.’

‘But would I be right in thinking that the Americans are there in a warfighting role and the UK has signed up for the anti-narcotics role?’

‘I can assure you we… er… 16 Brigade… are not there to rid the country of narcotics, and the Americans…’ He paused. ‘Well… the Americans are the Americans I suppose, but that won’t affect our mission.’

Won’t affect us? The Americans are part of the NATO force and the Taliban had said they’ll send us home in body bags; I could hardly see them making a fine distinction between us.

I sat back in my chair. The whole thing sounded totally fucked-up, but that wasn’t my problem. All we had to do was support our troops on the ground – pretty much what I used to do in my Gazelle in Northern Ireland – and the odd Chinook escort flight.

The IntO – and we’d heard a lot like him before – made it all sound breathtakingly simple. But, of course, everyone knew that it wasn’t.

The thing we needed to cling to – the thing to tell Emily – was that we were there to help. This wasn’t Iraq, where our military presence was based on a dodgy premise and false intelligence. In Afghanistan, we’d be bringing peace and security to a people who badly needed it, we’d be ridding the world of some seriously bad hombres, and we’d be stopping the drugs trade in its tracks.

When I got home, we both managed to put on our brave faces. I’d been on deployment enough times to know the signs: the small talk, the thin smiles, the succession of reassuring glances…

We’d decided to go to Emily’s favourite restaurant, a quiet French one with subdued lighting. I’d called the manager, a friend of ours, to secretly lay on a birthday cake.

God, I thought, let’s get this torture over with.

We were standing by the door, poised to step out into the spring evening, when the house phone rang. I checked the display.

‘KEOGH’.

Captain Andy Keogh was the squadron’s Ops Officer, the guy who was tasked with getting us out to Afghanistan. He was a universally popular workaholic.

‘Hi buddy,’ I said. It was typical of Andy to wish me well on the tour, and to let Emily know he was there if she needed anything.

‘I’ve got some bad news, Ed. You’re not going, I’m afraid.’

I looked up. Emily must have seen the expression on my face. She was watching me expectantly. ‘We’re not going?’

‘No,’ Andy said. ‘The squadron’s going. But you and Jon are staying behind.’ Jon was part of my flight, and a SupFAC – a Supervisory Forward Air Controller. My stomach felt like lead.

‘Why?’ I still hadn’t taken it in.

‘Not enough places, apparently. Two people are going to have to stay behind.’

‘For how long?’

‘I don’t know. A few days, perhaps. Probably something to do with Jake, but I don’t have all the details. We’ll sort it, Ed. I’m sorry. I know it’s the last thing you need right now. I’ll call you in the morning when I know more.’

I put down the phone. Jake was my flight commander; his wife Chloe was about to have a baby and he was going to join us after the birth.

I tried not to look disappointed. It was Emily’s birthday. This was her day. I’d be able to spend more time with her. I did my best to make it look like good news.

She started to clap her hands. ‘You’re not going?’

‘Jon and me are staying back for a few days.’

‘Why?’ She was beaming from ear to ear.

‘I don’t know. I’ll find out in the morning. Andy said it was something to do with Jake.’

Emily’s expression reminded me that there are some birthday presents money can’t buy. But there was something else there too; something just behind her eyes.

I smiled and took her hand. She put her arms around me and gave me a squeeze.

‘Still want to go out?’ she asked me.

I nodded and smiled back. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ I meant it too. I had never known a woman like her and not a day went by when I didn’t thank God she’d walked into my life. But we knew what that look meant. We were just delaying the evil moment. In a few days we’d have to go through the same process all over again.