Ed Macy - Hellfire

I was mostly writing requirements at the back of the Ops room in our admin area, where the Sky TV was playing next to the brew-making kit. I fired off memos about all kinds of stuff: for the rocket parameters to be lifted, in defence of using Flechettes, to justify buying a different type of warhead for the Hellfires – and a policy document for dynamic harmonisation for the gun.

When I wasn’t writing I was studying gun tapes I hadn’t caught up with from the previous day. There were a lot of battles going on, so hours and hours of tape. Every inch of it needed to be viewed so I could collate the data and send back my reports as well as advise crews on their techniques.

The four of us struggled awake again at 0700 local – 0330 GMT. I usually skipped breakfast, but these were crazy days and you never knew when you were going to eat next, so I grabbed a big bowl of porridge and a piece of fruit and washed it down with half a gallon of coffee.

I wasn’t part of Operation Daz today, so since all was quiet, a few hours later I let the Ops room know that Simon, Jon and Jake were taking the Land Rover on a laundry run and I was legging it across to the satellite phones. It was 0800 on Sunday morning back in the UK; there was a good chance of catching Emily at home. The phones were at the opposite end of the camp, just over a kilometre away, so I grabbed a radio and set off.

I’d only been chatting away with Emily for a few minutes when the Motorola chirped into life.

‘Mansell…Senna…Top Gear…Silverstone…’ Mansell was the call for the IRT, Senna was the HRF crew. Top Gear meant go fast, it’s an emergency. Silverstone was the Ops room. That’s where I needed to be. Bloody Nora: I was at the wrong end of the camp, without a vehicle – but I didn’t want to alarm her.

‘Who was that?’ she said.

Jon acknowledged the call before I got time to turn the volume down. ‘Mansell…Top Gear…Silverstone.’

‘Oh…er…some F1 advertising thing. Listen sweetie, you won’t believe it,’ I said, ‘but I’m desperate for a poo.’

I was right. She didn’t. ‘But you only just got on the phone…’

‘You know what I’m like…’

‘You’ll call me straight back?’

Oh bollocks.

‘I’m not near the toilets. If I don’t call it’ll be because the queues are that bad on a Sunday.’

I made my call the moment I put down the receiver.

‘Senna, Top Gear, Silverstone.’

It was 1145 local and as hot as an oven. Apart from my flying suit, I was in full gear with my pistol strapped to my right leg and roasting like a pig. I sprinted through the camp as fast as I could go. When I got to the end of the main boardwalk it dawned on me that Emily may have spotted that Senna was dead and Mansell hadn’t raced in years.

As I ran across the road I bumped into Jon coming from the other direction.

‘Straight to the aircraft,’ he yelled. ‘Now Zad is nearly Broken Arrow. Simon and Jake are getting the details.’

This was bad. The base was close to being overrun.

We left the Land Rover for Simon and Jake. I ran alongside Jon, up and down the berms, until we finally split between the two hangars, Jon going left and me going right.

Taff, Gifted and the boys were all over the aircraft, blitzing the blanks and covers and bunging the last few into their wooden storage boxes.

We had the Hardened Aircraft Landing Strip installed now, so we were off the engineering park and could do running takeoffs. The HALS, its taxiways, the refuel pads and arming bays were made of thick click – together corrugated steel and our boots slapped the metal against the sand as we ran across it.

An arrangement of eight-foot-high concrete bollards, open both ends, protected each Apache. You drove in one end and straight out onto the runway from the other. The bollards were just low enough for the back seaters to be able to see each other.

Finished with our two, the lads raced to clear the spare aircraft in Arming Bays Three and Four in case either of us had a problem on takeoff.

Still on the run, I scanned the back of the Apache to make sure the engine exhaust blanks were out. As I rounded the starboard wing, I checked all the covers were off the TADS.

Taff shouted, ‘Tee-fifty pin’s out!’

I clambered up and yanked open my door. One glance on the way up had told me the blanks were all off. I craned my neck out of the far window to check the other side of the fuselage.

I gave the key a twist.

‘Pylons…APU…stab clear…’ I grabbed my jacket.

They weren’t hollow warnings. The hydraulically powered pylons could cut a finger clean off when they jumped into position and the lads were always checking weapons as they powered up. The hot exhaust gas would soon be blasting out as the APU fired up and it wasn’t stifled like the main engines because it didn’t need to be: we didn’t fly with it on. When the stabilator got its hydraulic power it would bang straight down with enough force to kill anybody in the way.

‘Pylons, APU and stab are clear,’ Taff barked back.

From arriving at the side of the aircraft to being settled in my seat with my chicken plate in had taken six or seven seconds. Simon would probably be no more than fifteen or so behind. I flicked the MPDs and other settings to daylight while I put my harness on and powered up his TADS so it cooled the FLIR.

Simon ran round the side of the aircraft.

Taff had plugged his headset into the side of the starboard wing now I had my helmet on. He opened Simon’s front cockpit door. Simon climbed up beside me and shuffled forward along the IEFAB (pronounced eefab) to his cockpit. A bulky Improved Extended Forward Avionics Bay (IEFAB) sat either side of all Longbow Apaches. He jumped into his seat and pulled down the door. Mine was already closed.

He plugged in.

‘What’s the brief, mate?’ I said.

‘Now Zad are under attack. They’re trying to get into the base. Harriers are on their way from Kandahar. Soon as they turn up we’ve got to pull off, to save hours.’

‘Have we got launch authority?’

‘Yes.’

‘Brilliant.’

Mindful of Mutay, as soon as the aircraft came alive, I needed to check that the new codes hadn’t dropped out of the radios.

‘Good data,’ Jon called after the comms check.

We now knew we were talking on four radios, and we could send data between the aircraft.

The second Simon was ready I pulled forward and banged on the toe-brakes; I’d need them on landing. The nose dipped to an abrupt halt. As soon as the first aircraft was ready, it would pull forward to let the other one know. I rolled the Apache right onto the HALS runway.

I tracked down a bit and looked over my shoulder. Jon’s nose dipped. As soon as I saw him move again, I unlocked our tail wheel, spun the aircraft 180 degrees, locked the wheel up again and waited. I was slightly to the right of the centreline on the very end of the HALS, pointing towards Now Zad.

Saxon Ops gave us: ‘Hold-hold.’

Jon continued onto the runway and taxied towards me. He spun the aircraft around, ending up about ten feet forward and left of me. We both had maximum runway for takeoff.

Jake came on the radio: ‘Saxon, Wildman Five Zero, send update.’

‘They’re copying at the moment. Just stay on the APU.’

We brought both aircraft onto the refuel point, got pumped up, turned back and parked up in our bays. I was just about to switch off the main engines when Ops came back to us.

‘Don’t shut down. They’re under attack again.’

I was sure the Taliban had been studying our reactions. Aircraft hadn’t turned up after the first attack, so they knew they could give it another go.

We took off and Jake asked Saxon Ops for another update as his wheels lifted.