Ed Macy - Hellfire

We moved overhead. It looked well set up, but there was no perimeter fence. These guys were either genuine nomads, or the Taliban. Nomads were curious tribesmen that were always fascinated by our helicopters. I didn’t see why they would have done a runner; they knew they had nothing to fear. If they had left the camp, they would be around the top with goats. There were no goats in the area, no indicators telling me this was friendly. But nor was there anything to suggest otherwise; no big vehicle tracks, nothing. We could have dropped to ten feet and flown an arc around them, peeping under their tarpaulin, but that wasn’t our job. We were there to protect the convoy and the ground troops. If there were Taliban hiding here, their day would have to wait.

‘Wildman Five Four, Wildman Five Five,’ I reported back to Jake. ‘Looked into that area. All I can see is a deserted camp 1,200 metres north-north-east of our convoy. I can’t see if it’s enemy or not. I’m going to search the convoy route.’

The first thing we did was over-fly the route our convoy would take, looking for any likely IEDs or mined areas, in case the Taliban, indicated by intelligence had left.

‘Wildman Five Four, Wildman Five Five and Top Man. Both guns and mortars finished and the troops are shortly going to move off. Stand by.’

‘Wildman Five Four, acknowledged.’

‘Wildman Five Five, acknowledged.’

‘Top Man, acknowledged.’ I looked at my black brain for the sync-matrix. The British Harrier would soon be replaced by a US B1 bomber.

The boys were about to face their first real threat, about to stand up and move down a forward-facing slope into what could be an enemy position.

My pulse started to race. The pressure was up. If something was going to go bang, this was the time and place. I imagined the enemy looking up the long slope to their west, hidden behind little portholes they’d poked through walls. For them, it was about to become a target-rich environment. A swarm of Paratroopers was about to walk towards them in extended line.

If the Taliban had been told to fight, they were going to start hitting our boys early. I had visions of World War One squaddies being mercilessly mowed down by the most technologically advanced weapon of the day, the machine gun. If they hadn’t been told to fight, then they would be legging it backwards. Either way, our job was to find them – and then to nail them. We couldn’t have them reappearing from around another corner later that day.

We were over the Green Zone now and I was looking at the urban area north of the east-west track the convoy would take through the choke point. It was from here that the community lived and farmed the Green Zone.

There were three long tracks running north-south between compound walls fifteen feet high and, in places, four feet wide. The main tracks all paralleled the Green Zone; the right-hand one separated the Green Zone and the first row of compounds.

Each compound was a walled garden that backed onto the next without break. They all ran into each other as they sprawled northwards from the choke point. Seven compounds north there was a break: an east-west alleyway connecting the right-hand and centre tracks. The alleyways between them were just wide enough to take a small vehicle.

On the left of the centre track was another set of sprawling compounds. Each walled garden bordered the next, with the odd alleyway connecting to the final north-south track.

Each compound had been given a number on the satellite imagery. When the troops were moving through, they could tell their commanding officer which had been cleared. The guys were going to have to enter each and every one of them. Ideally, it would be completely methodical, one compound after the other. But CO 3 Para didn’t have the time; he instructed them to get through there at warp speed. This was a close-quarter-battle area, he said, and they’d have to clear them as fast as they could.

Tootal had taken the brave and unusual decision to tell his men they didn’t have to wear body armour. He’d suffered more injuries through heat exhaustion than he had from bullets and shrapnel. A lot of the lads decided to risk it, because it was roasting out there and they were going to be doing this for hours.

We divided up the compounds between us. I’d take everything from the choke point next to Compound 1 northwards to Compound 35, and Jake from 36 to 70. Billy and Jon would maintain a watchful eye on the advancing troops and on each other.

My blood pressure had risen; I could feel my temples pumping against my helmet. Something was about to go horribly wrong. I knew I could take out anyone that fired at them and smash their hideaways, but if they did open up I was only going to be killing the killers who’d just killed a fuck lot of Paratroopers.

I was tired and needed to stay focused.

I started searching the western side of the built-up area first, the side facing the slope, compound by compound. There was no one hiding behind any of the walls, just livestock.

‘B Company are up, Ed,’ Billy said. ‘They’re beginning to move east towards the compounds. They’re not hanging around. Mind you, neither would I in the wide open.’

I flicked in and out of FLIR to look for heat sources. All I could see were cows, goats, chickens and more cows, goats and chickens. Most of the compounds contained between three and five terraced buildings, mostly against the northern wall, opposite the compound entrance, where the meagre sunlight could still warm them in winter. They usually had one or two in another corner for the livestock, and a low square shelter in the centre where the locals kept their chickens and the Taliban hid their weapons. This was quite an affluent area. They had solid roofs.

We normally expected to see civilians. The men would be in the Green Zone tending their crops, the women around the cooking pot and the children playing. There were no schools. The Taliban had destroyed them all.

There were no men today, and no women, children or cooking pots. The whole place looked deserted. It gave me the heebiejeebies. Had they fled? Or were they in there, too afraid to come out?

You didn’t have to be Stephen Hawking to figure it out. The residual heat from the fire pits and fire places should have been white hot on FLIR. They hadn’t had a sudden attack of the collywobbles. They’d been tipped off nice and early; that was why the place was stone cold dead, and why there were relatively few civilians still fleeing north. They must even have known it was going to be a one day op, because they’d left all their livestock behind.

We’d seen men walking back towards the area. We hadn’t seen any of fighting age leaving. I was feeling more uncomfortable by the minute.

Jake was covering the northern part of B Company’s urban area. I worked my way south through the village until I got to the buildings by the choke point.

I spotted thirty or so barrels stacked against the southern wall of Compound 1, where the track the convoy would take was at its narrowest.

I flicked on the radio. ‘Widow Seven Zero, this is Wildman Five Five – I’ve got a potential IED at Compound Zero One.’

‘Stand by.’

He’d be telling the CO.

‘Widow Seven Zero, copied.’

‘It’s at the narrowest part of the choke point, on the northern side of the track. Copy so far?’ I pictured Tootal sitting in the dirt, his finger tracing the relevant section of the map.

‘Copied.’

‘I can see about thirty barrels neatly stacked against the southern wall of this compound, right next to the track. It’s the perfect IED spot. If you had to hit the convoy as it passed through the built up area, this would be the place to do it.’

‘Stand by.’