Ed Macy - Hellfire

No more than 500 metres north-east of where the bomb had gone off, and north of the track that ran east-west through the Green Zone, he ducked inside a small, door-less dome constructed out of four poles overlaid with grasses. It wasn’t a home, but a place to rest while working the fields, just large enough to lie down in with his feet poking out.

I told Widow Seven Zero he was no threat. I didn’t want one of the lads to pop round a corner and get spooked by a harmless old man with a stick.

A few seconds later, the Widow said B Company was going to start clearing the compounds.

They moved from building to building with incredible speed. It was as much as we could do to stay one step ahead of them. I couldn’t cover everything they were doing. They weren’t grenading. They pairs fire-and-manoeuvred through each doorway. They were treating the place with respect while aggressively clearing compound after compound.

Before we knew it, 3 Flight was back out to do a RIP with us. That was how long it had taken to get in there, clear the IED, and get B Company in.

I was very surprised B Company had got down the slope without a contact. It was a golden opportunity. The Taliban knew that the built-up area had great killing fields. Perhaps the Now Zad experience had made them think twice. We were directly overhead and if they did open up, they would die wherever they fired from. If they made a break for it, they’d just die tired.

They’d wait until the Green Zone to attack. They would ’shwhack 3 Para on their terms, in their backyard.

We had to route back around the north to avoid the gun-to-target line after briefing Pat about the roadblock and the old-timer. As we flew past the three guns, I could see they were no more than twenty metres apart.

Billy and I bypassed Camp Bastion. We went straight onto the range just to the west of the camp and fired fifty rounds to DH my cannon.

We took a suck of gas and a 30 mil ammo upload then taxied back out onto the runway just fifteen minutes later. With the gun DH, the refuel and upload we only had nineteen minutes on the end of the HALS before we roared off again.

I flicked semi-automatic onto automatic on the HIDAS and Billy power-climbed into the haze.

The artillery were firing straight in. We went north of the guns and waited for an opportunity to call Pat.

I spoke to the patrol ahead. Pat said the troops had cleared the roadblock. It was a Taliban checkpoint. We were to clear them immediately due east, and watch the boys move through the Green Zone.

We’d left them not too far short of it. They’d taken so long to get past the Taliban checkpoint they’d hardly moved. The engineers had needed to go forward first to make sure it wasn’t booby-trapped.

The old man’s crops had been immaculate when we left. They were now trampled in snaking lines. It did look as if the Taliban had been waiting in ambush.

There were also 2,000-lb bomb craters by the road and in the fields. They’d been dropped as preemptive strikes.

The old-timer was still taking refuge in his hut. I saw his head poke out every now and again.

The boys began their clearance of the Green Zone. Two Paras ran forward through an open field and put a wooden frame against a solid wall and ran back again. Mouse-hole charges. After the explosion they ran back to the wall with half of their group; the other half had their weapons up, ready to fire. They went through the freshly blown hole in pairs, then down on their belt buckles. The whole process was repeated over and over again, field after field. They weren’t prepared to go through doorways. One patrol even head butted their way through one of the flimsier walls.

We did another RIP when they were halfway through the Green Zone. That was how long this mission was taking.

The Taliban still hadn’t kicked off. They weren’t ones for shying away from a fight in the Green Zone, no matter how outnumbered they were. So they had to be biding their time. They knew about the convoy. They were deliberately avoiding any confrontation with 3 Para. They wanted the convoy: an easy target that couldn’t fight back.

If it wasn’t an IED or an ambush, what could they have planned? Whatever it was, I prayed that our boys would all still be alive and unscathed when we returned.

We parked up when we got back. We had thirty minutes or so to spare this time because we didn’t need to go on the range. While Billy sorted out the aircraft, Jon and I borrowed the lads’ ‘Mimic’ – it looked like a WMIK, but without any weapons or weapon mounts – and we drove like men possessed to the 3 Para cookhouse. It was closed. We should have guessed; every swinging dick was at Musa Qa’leh. We begged for some grub. They handed us a doggie bag of turkey mash sandwiches and wedges of cheesecake and we belted back.

Jon glanced over his shoulder and began to laugh. ‘The fuzz are after us.’ A wagonload of Royal Military Police (RMP) with flashing blue light and siren blaring were in hot pursuit because we were speeding. Still wearing our Apache helmets with visors down – helmets were mandatory in convertibles and this one didn’t have a windscreen – I kept my foot to the floor. They weren’t allowed inside the flight line, so had to stop at our barrier.

We were ravenous, but had no time to eat before we jumped in the aircraft, so we stuffed our faces as we sat waiting to taxi.

Taff plugged in and told me the RMPs were going to charge the driver of the Land Rover and his name was on the work ticket.

‘Tell them it was me and there’s a fucking war going on out there,’ I said.

He smiled. ‘Thank you, sir.’

I was chinstrapped. We’d been strapped into the Apache for nearly eleven hours and they hadn’t even got into the DC yet. I immediately felt guilty. At least I was fighting from an air-conditioned seat, while 3 Para were out there on the ground.

The radio transmissions came through sporadically as Billy threw the engine power levers forward, ready to move out again.

The vehicles were crossing the wadi and Chris had found the Taliban.

I’d spoken too soon.

SUNDAY, 6 AUGUST 2006

Musa Qa’leh

We rolled out onto the runway, took off and climbed away from the sun. It was a welcome release. My eyes burnt through lack of sleep and staring into the TADS for days on end. I felt like I needed a regular supply of ice cubes down my trousers to keep me awake.

Must focus, I kept telling myself. Must focus…

Pat and Chris were tracking Taliban so we didn’t interrupt them. We skirted north of the guns. All three fired in unison as we passed. Dust billowed around them, carried by the radial shockwave.

I was trying to get my head around what the Taliban were up to. They’d learned a thing or two over the past three months. What was I missing? There were no IEDs so far today and no mines either. It wasn’t as if they didn’t know we were coming and hadn’t had time to prepare. And they sure as hell weren’t scared. Their primary aim was to send the British infidels home in body bags, and they weren’t going to get many better chances than this.

Trying to stay one step ahead of them was what was focusing my mind, but my mind was as knackered as my increasingly emaciated body. They clearly weren’t going to take on 3 Para, but how could they take out the convoy without getting close? Their mortars, RPGs and rockets weren’t accurate enough.

‘Wildman Five Five this is Wildman Five Four.’ Jake broke through my tortured thoughts. He’d taken advantage of a lull in the radio traffic and spoken to Pat.

The convoy was in the DC and shortly to depart. B and D Companies were in position on the western side of the wadi, covering east. The Pathfinders and Danes were at the end of the Bazaar road, on the eastern side of the wadi, covering west. Pat and Tony were orbiting the track across the wadi as a deterrent. Chris and Carl were to the south, short of gas, looking for Taliban from an intelligence hit.