Alex Duncan - Sweating the Metal

The biggest frustration of coming under RC South and its much bigger command structure was that we couldn’t just go. It was the worst feeling for us – we knew that our boys were bleeding somewhere on the ground; they were suffering and they needed us. We had aircraft and crews ready to go, and we knew that sometimes we were the thin line between living and dying. Every second counts – it’s that simple, and when you’re that close to it, you think, ‘Fuck it, let’s just go and get them.’ If it was down to us, we’d lift every time as soon as the call came, so we couldn’t always understand why it took the higher-ups so long to make a decision.

As if things weren’t tense enough, suddenly we heard that The Royal Anglians’ control centre had received an emergency signal from Private Rob Foster’s Bowman radio. Private Foster was one of the three missing guys, so they’re thinking that at least one of the guys was still alive; maybe he was alone and had the Taliban running after him? You can imagine the pandemonium. The wheel had come off and it was all hands to the pump.

While we were waiting, we noticed a Squadron Leader who we knew. He was working as Air Liaison officer to some of our forces in theatre who were mentoring the ANA.

While waiting for the order to lift, Rich and I had been looking at the plot ahead; we were quite close to the end of Det and had some concerns about being able to get a flight out of Bastion so we could get back to KAF and on to a TriStar home. The Squadron Leader overheard us talking and said to us, ‘Listen boys, if you are worried about missing your transport back to KAF we might be able to help you out if our Herc is operating in the area and has the time to do a detour.’

I looked at Rich; Rich looked at me and we said, ‘Er… thanks.’ I was hoping we’d never have to call in this favour because I knew there had to be a quid pro quo; the guy must have some kind of an agenda. We didn’t have to wait long.

‘Look, I’ve got a tasking for my boys in our Herc but it looks like we’re not going to get supported by the Chinook force on this op. I need to insert 54 ANA soldiers to a location near Lashkar Gah.’

Rich and I had originally been tasked to help out on that mission, but events had since moved on and our priority had to be the rescue of Robert Foster. I didn’t have a problem helping the Squadron Leader out and I didn’t like the way the mission had been planned so that would have to be changed but – personal Herc to KAF or not – the missing soldier had to take precedence.

One of my concerns about the plan was that the Squadron Leader wanted to use two Chinooks to insert his 54 troops into Lash late at night but that was never going to happen – do two moves and you might tell the enemy you’re coming. So I suggested that we move the whole lot in a single cab. He didn’t think it was possible so I said we’d look at the figures. Rich and I worked the numbers and logistically, it was possible – we’d have to have some of them standing, but I felt more confident about it because we wouldn’t be flying into fire. The lift was into a ‘safe’ HLS so I thought if we fuelled light – about 800kgs – it might be a goer.

The Squadron Leader’s Herc was supposed to be flying down from Kabul to land on a dust strip alongside FOB Phoenix – an ANA base – pick up the troops and bring them to Bastion where we’d be waiting with our rotors turning ready to pick them up and fly them to Lash. 800kgs of fuel gave us enough for 15 minutes of loiter and the flight there and back so I went to work out how we could slot this in.

By now, the order to lift had been cleared by RC South and the plan was for us to fly to FOB Robinson at Sangin, collect two companies’ worth of troops and drop them in Kajaki to look for Private Foster and return them all to Bastion. By the time we got back, the sun would be coming up so I told the Squadron Leader that we’d drop the troops at Kajaki and instead of waiting for them, we’d fly back to Bastion to refuel to 800kgs, do his job, refuel again at Bastion and then fly up to Kajaki for the extraction. It would be tight, but we’d get everything done.

The best laid plans of mice and men eh? As it was, there were so many people for us to move when we got to FOB Rob that the night flew past in a miasma of lifts: Bastion to Sangin to Kajaki to Sangin to Kajaki to Bastion to FOB Rob to Kajaki to FOB Rob to Kajaki and back to Bastion. In the end, we’d dropped over 200 troops at Kajaki, and they were fanning out in the search for Private Foster. Everything would be done to find and rescue him; no man left behind.

When I’m on HRF or IRT, I always make a point of briefing the engineers on what we’ve done – as well as keeping the guys enthused, it also boosts morale when they know that what they’re doing is worthwhile. There’s nothing worse than being in the dark and I think it’s vital that whenever they take the ropes off an aircraft, or refuel it in double-quick time while the rotors are turning, they know that they’re helping someone else to live because they’re doing their job so quickly. We landed back at Bastion with about 5-600kgs of fuel left so I stressed to the engineers that I wanted 800kgs total – no more – and I did it three times because you tell one guy who tells someone else it’s 800 and he tells someone else and suddenly, you’ve got 1,800kgs and that extra ton of fuel translates to 5% less power available.

Rich and I then strolled back to the tent to see what was going on and as we walked in I could see the Squadron Leader sat in a chair looking pretty gloomy. German and I walked past him and went to talk to one of the radio guys.

‘Any news on the Herc for the next mission?’ I asked him. ‘Is it still on time?’

Then another guy walked past us and in a completely matter of fact tone, said, ‘The Herc crashed’ and carried on walking.

There was a moment where time sort of stopped. Rich and I were stood there trying to process this but it just wasn’t computing – it’s not exactly the sort of thing that happens every day.

‘Come back here! What do you mean the fucking Herc crashed?’ I said.

And he said, ‘Yes sir, it crashed.’

We were firing questions at him like there was no tomorrow. ‘Crashed? How? What, did it fall out of the sky, was it shot down, any casualties, what the fuck’s going on?’

‘There are no casualties sir,’ he said. ‘We think it landed a bit too heavily as they were going to pick up your passengers.’

‘So the mission’s off, then?’ we said together.

Maybe it was the stress of the evening, the worry over Private Foster and the other missing lads but Rich and I had to walk outside the tent; after everything that had happened I think we both just needed a breath of fresh air. Those ten minutes outside made a world of difference though and we both felt better for the break.

We went back into the JOC. JP was talking about waking up the IRT crew if they found Private Foster, so I told him, ‘Look, we’re not that tired. I know we’re going to push the limit, but if you wake up the IRT crew, you’re starting their clock now which means they’ll have to go into rest earlier and then you’ll have to bring in another crew, which doesn’t make sense. Just keep us on and we’ll see it through. Hopefully they’ll find him and then we can move all the troops back in.’ As it was, we’d been on duty since 07:00 the previous morning, although we hadn’t been called out – we’d spent most of the day lazing around, so we weren’t inside-out with tiredness. JP considered it and agreed, so we stayed on.

Sadly, a short time later the news came in that everyone was dreading. They’d found Private Foster’s body with those of his dead colleagues, Privates McClure and Thrumble, under the rubble of the building they’d been taking cover in when the JDAM hit. They wouldn’t have known anything about it.