Ed Macy - Hellfire

The sudden escalation in hostilities at the time they were due off-station might not have been a coincidence. The Taliban listened to coalition transmissions on the Common Tactical Air Frequency. The Combined Air Ground (CAG) frequencies were also insecure; anyone on the ground could use them to talk to any air asset – or vice versa – in an emergency. They hadn’t ever been changed, as far as we knew.

SUNDAY, 4 JUNE 2006

As we flew through the hills twelve miles to the south of Now Zad, the distinctive bowl around it materialised through the dust and heat haze.

‘Holy smoke, look twelve o’clock, Billy.’

‘Oh my God.’

Columns of black smoke towered into the sky, spreading to the east as they met the winds above the ridgeline. The town was aflame. A fast jet sent out a series of orange flashes, each one higher than the last, as it broke off its attack and pumped out flares as it climbed back to the safety of the ether.

The fight or flight instinct kicked in and the metallic taste of adrenalin flooded my mouth. I fought the urge to urinate. My body was preparing itself for battle. My grip tightened on the controls. This was my first proper mission in an Apache, not just my first in Afghanistan.

Time to rock and roll.

Bring it on.

With Nick’s mission radio down, we had taken the lead. It was not something we’d discussed in the air. It had been briefed during the planning phase and kicked in when necessary.

I was the JTAC in our aircraft, and until Billy got used to FAC speak, I would be the one in communication with the JTAC on the ground.

FAC speak was used to portray the ground, circumstances and type of attack required. Although not coded, it employed vernacular protocols with definitive meanings. Our training in Canada and the Oman had enabled me to get the best out of even the worst JTAC and with a bit of luck I could now show Billy the ropes.

Widow Seven Two, in the main body of the attack, should have been alongside the attacking commander Major Pike and the CO Lieutenant Colonel Tootal. All I could hear between the hoarse breathing and the loud ruffling of the mic were the words, ‘Wait out.’

I switched to Widow Seven Zero. Judging by Pat’s calls, they had been in the thick of it. I couldn’t raise them on the secure radios, but eventually managed to on the insecure CTAF. Now I understood why we’d heard so much earlier. Widow Seven Zero was breathless, too, as he told us they’d called in a US A10. It must have been the one I’d seen climbing away from the battle, coming in now on its next run.

The jet screamed towards the ground, waiting for final clearance. The Taliban were firing out of the woods; despite their proximity, Widow Seven Zero decided to prosecute the target. They ordered the A10 ‘hot’ – the executive command to fire live munitions – turned around and sprinted.

The JTAC still had his mic on; my earpieces filled with the rippling, ground-shaking blast of the wood line exploding behind them. I felt my blood pulsing through my veins and every one of my senses on hyper-alert.

We were still a couple of miles south of Now Zad when Widow Seven Zero finally caught his breath. ‘Wildman Five One, this is Widow Seven Zero, how do you read?’

‘Wildman Five One, Lima Charlie,’ I replied. Lima Charlie was FAC speak for Loud and Clear. I whacked the holds in so I could go hands free and grabbed my pencil.

‘We are receiving heavy fire from our south-east and need you to suppress the buildings at…standby for grid…’ He kept his mic open and I could hear someone reading it out as he relayed it to us. ‘Grid Forty-One-Sierra Papa-Romeo Three-Nine-Six Eight-Five-Two, copy?’

Billy punched the coordinates into his non-qwerty keyboard as I scribbled. ‘Wildman Five One, Forty-One-Sierra Papa-Romeo Three-Nine-Six Eight-Five-Two.’

Widow Seven Zero was asking for us to engage the buildings beside the smoke. I was pretty sure what he meant but Now Zad was now full of the bloody stuff. My training had drilled into me: never assume; assumption is the mother of all fuck-ups. I needed more information.

‘We need to positively identify your location. Confirm you’re on the west side of the Green Zone, over.’

I guided the Apache into an orbit over the western edge of the Green Zone and began to search north-west.

We flew through a shaft of incredibly bright sunlight into the shadow of the biggest smoke column. Our world dimmed and I banked too tightly, taking us into absolute darkness. For a moment I felt as though we’d been swallowed whole; then we emerged from the belly of the beast once more, into the blinding sunlight.

The stroboscopic progression of light and shade made it almost impossible to operate the TADS, but within a couple of seconds I found friendly vehicles with the naked eye, about a klick west of the grid.

Billy confirmed and drove the TADS to the tower of smoke east of the vehicles, in an attempt to ID Taliban.

Widow Seven Zero wasn’t with the vehicles – I’d gathered as much from his breathless running – and I couldn’t ID him anywhere near where the A10 had laid down its fire.

The Widow attempted to describe his position but neither of us could identify it. My cueing dots led my gaze back towards the smoke; the acquisition source crosshair hovered over the burning building. Open fields stretched to the north-west; empty fields bathed in sunshine and criss-crossed by irrigation ditches.

I asked if they had a mirror and, if so, to signal to me with it.

A flicker of light immediately glinted in one of the ditches 250 metres away.

‘Visual standby.’

The ditch ran north-south between two fields, one of which was black and smouldering from an earlier fire.

I called, ‘Confirm that you are in a north-south irrigation ditch, in the middle of fields with a triangular compound to your west containing friendly vehicles.’

‘That’s correct. We’re pinned down, taking heavy fire from an area to the south and south-east of us. I need you to fire into a compound to the south-east of me by a couple of hundred metres.’

I was in no doubt that they were in receipt of some heavy fire. I could hear the crack of the bullets flying over their heads on the radio, above the sound of their own fire. I relayed the Widow’s position to Nick and Jon and instructed them to watch out for the troops while we attempted to ID and prosecute the enemy.

I walked the Widow onto the target I thought he meant. ‘Right in front of you I can see a burnt field…’ pause ‘…in the far corner of the burnt field is a compound with a smoking building in it…’ pause ‘…confirm that is the compound you want us to fire into.’

‘Negative. It’s south of there; it’s south by fifty metres.’

The next compound down was the last to have line-of-sight with them before a densely wooded area. Another plume of smoke drifted slowly upwards from one of its buildings.

I was flying an odd orbit just to keep eyes on the area. Jon was flying a much larger elliptical pattern below us, in the opposite direction.

‘Reference the compound just beyond the burnt field… directly on its southern edge… is one row of east-west trees…’ I paused long enough for Widow Seven Zero to get his head up out of the ditch and process my information.

‘To the south of the row of trees is a high-walled compound… it has a raised wall on the northern edge… there’s a building behind it… this building-which may look like a high wall to you-is smoking… confirm that is the target.’

The Widow responded in an instant. ‘Correct.’

‘Where’s the target, Ed?’ Billy wanted to be 100 per cent sure. We were both keen not to fuck up our very first offensive action.