Alex Duncan - Sweating the Metal

‘I looked to my right and I said to JP, “I’ve got some Afghan troops just under the disc on my side.” As I said it I looked past JP and I could see the same thing on his side. “Ah, it appears you’ve got some on your side too. Er… your guys seem to be firing JP,” and I looked down at my side again and sort of did a double take as it dawned on me. We’d landed right in the middle of the firefight – literally. And suddenly we were doing that “shrink down in your seat” thing where you try and make yourself into as small a package as possible – not ideal seeing as neither JP or myself are the smallest of people. We ended up doing that cockpit bullet-dodging dance, where you start moving and bobbing your head around, trying not to keep it in the same place in case somebody is aiming at you!

‘Talk about wrong place, wrong time, do you know what I mean? Of all the places we could have put down, we’ve landed on right in the middle of the ANA and the Taliban having a pop at one another. Vulnerable? It felt like we were sat there with a huge fuck-off target painted on us and the words “Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough” written alongside the cab. I hate that feeling – all you can do is sit and wait for the guys to get on and give you the “Clear above and behind” so you can raise the collective and get the hell out.

‘After what seemed like an age, although I’m sure it was no more than about two minutes in reality, they found the T2 and walked him on to the back of the ramp. He was bandaged across his left shoulder – I think he’d taken a through-and-through. That was the first time I’d seen the troops fighting in mufti. Most of the British troops were shirtless, in helmet, shorts and flip-flops, wearing their body armour over bare skin; it was that hot. Poor guys, it must be unbearable for them living and fighting in those conditions. I have the utmost respect for them.

‘Once we got the guy on board and got the all clear, I don’t think we’ve ever lifted so fast; JP did an over-the-shoulder departure away from the firing line and we got back to Bastion with no further incident. What really made this one stand out was their JTAC, an elderly RAF officer. He was a Flying Officer – I guess given his age, he’d come up the ranks and taken a commission. He arrived back at Bastion earlier this evening and came and found us.

‘“Are you the guys who flew in to pick up the T2 at Gereshk earlier?” he asked, and I nodded.“I’ve got to tell you, the boys thought that was fantastic, utterly brilliant. You’ve got their eternal respect now, do you know that?”

‘I was like, “What do you mean?”

‘“Well, you know that field that you landed in? It’s just in front of where the Sergeant Major had been driving his quad bike with a trailer on the back. The trailer had gone over an IED which blew it to pieces and that woke the Taliban up and they launched the firefight that you landed in the middle of. I was trying to raise you on the radio to tell you to hold off as it was too hot but the next thing we know, you’ve arrived in the middle of the firefight, picked this guy up and disappeared. Well as far as the troops are concerned, the guys think you’re brilliant; they reckon you’re going to come in regardless of what’s going on and pick them up – any time, any place, anywhere! You’ve no idea what a morale boost that was for them!”

‘With that, he made his excuses and left. I have to say Frenchie, I know that the guys on the ground value the service the IRT delivers, but I had no idea how much. It might have been more by accident than design, but I think that little error with us landing when the LS was hot has raised our stock with the boys on the ground.’

‘Fucking hell, Morris!’ I say. ‘Bet you were glad to get out of there! Kind of makes you appreciate the simple and bizarre calls we get, doesn’t it?’

‘Yeah, always interesting those, although not for the casualties obviously! We’ve had some really weird ones. I know Elle Lodge on “A” Flight got a shout to pick up a guy from a FOB who’d been doing press-ups in his tent and a dog ran in and head-butted him really hard. How weird is that? Similarly, JP and I picked up an Afghan kid that had been kicked in the head by a donkey – the boy survived but he was in a really bad way.’

‘Yeah,’ I reply. ‘I picked up a T1 from one of the FOBs, a British soldier who’d been stung by a hornet. He’d gone into anaphylactic shock and it was really touch and go.’

‘Can’t remember who it was, but one of the IRT crews was recently scrambled to pick up one of the Army’s sniffer dogs that had fallen ill. That really gives some indication of just how important they are to the overall mission here,’ offers German. ‘Also, Alex Townsend had one that really fucked every one off; you hear about it?’

‘Don’t know. What’s the story?’ Morris asks.

‘Fucking outrageous. You know how we had that spate last year of the ANA and the ANP shooting themselves in the foot? I think it was an update on that. Guy had swallowed some caustic soda or something. It came over as a T1 and when they got there, the guy just walked on to the ramp. He’d drunk the caustic soda the night before, didn’t say anything at the time and then mentioned it in the morning so he could get off the front line for a while.’

‘Those ones really piss me off mate,’ Morris says. ‘You’re risking the cab and twelve people at least – the MERT, the QRF team and obviously all the crew – and you break your neck and it’s all for nothing.’

There’s nothing like a good moaning session to get everyone going; we’re really cooking on gas now! I throw something else into the conversation.

‘The ones that really get me are those that fuck with your head. I had a T2 that I picked up from Now Zad, a Taliban IED maker. Quite ironic really; he’d blown himself up making a bomb. What really bothered me about this one was that when he’d blown himself up, some of the shrapnel hit a little girl who was nearby, severely wounding her. We couldn’t pick her up due to the rules that only allow us to pick up ISAF troops, the Taliban and civilians hit by crossfire between us and the Taliban. We had no remit and no authorisation or responsibility to pick her up.’

‘Fuck man, that’s just wrong,’ German offers.

‘Personally,’ says Morris, ‘I’d have left the Taliban guy to die and taken her instead.’

‘Me too mate,’ I say. ‘Me too. But it’s one of the realities of war I guess; the Taliban was of immense value from an intelligence perspective. She was “only” a little girl so he was hooked up and she wasn’t. It’s an impossible decision to make because, either way, the outcome would have been potentially bad.’

‘That’s realpolitik in action my friend,’ adds Morris. ‘It ain’t pretty, but it’s the way it is. I’m just glad it’s not our call. It’s way above our pay grade. Did Hannah tell you about the Taliban gunman she was called out for on the IRT?’

‘Dunno. What’s the story?’ I ask.

‘It was somewhere near Gereshk. He’d been captured after he’d been wounded in a firefight and he absolutely did not want to get on board. He was trying to fight the stretcher-bearers even though he was restrained. They found a razor blade on him when they searched him. He’d obviously wanted to hurt them even though they were trying to help him.’

‘Is it just me that feels more of an affinity for the Brits we pick up?’ I ask. ‘I always felt a greater level of concern when it’s a UK national or British soldier that we pick up.’

‘No, it’s not just you mate,’ say German and Morris. Morris goes on, ‘I guess it just hits closer to home – you can identify with them more, you have some sort of picture of their existence and their life back home so it has greater gravitas, more meaning.’