Alex Duncan - Sweating the Metal

As we got close, the AH picked up some ICOM chatter about us coming in and orders for the Taliban to ‘get the weapons ready’, but we’d learned over time that it was more often than not just a load of hot air – it was probably some idiot in Gereshk watching us and making a radio call to his mate, knowing that we were listening.

As the lead cab went in, I could hear a buzzing noise above my head. I was distinctly uncomfortable with that, because sat in the jump seat you’re directly under the forward gearbox. Noise from there never amounts to anything good, and there was a massive vibration emanating from it, which seemed to be getting worse. I got one of the crewmen to listen to it and he agreed, so I said to the guys in the front, ‘Fellas, we’ve got some vibration from the forward gearbox,’ and I thought they’d say that we’d drop the load and go straight home, except they didn’t.

The captain came straight back with, ‘Okay, but we’re going to carry on with the mission as planned,’ and I thought, ‘You’ve got to be shitting me!’

By this point we were on the eastern side of Inkerman doing the run in, and as we were descending to low level the vibration was getting worse. It started to emit a regular pulsating noise and I was just about to say something to the pilot when there was an almighty bang right above my head. I scanned the instruments; as we were levelling off, the pilot was pulling power to arrest our descent. I looked at the captions on the caution advisory panel and it was displayed right there in front of me: No.1 Hydraulic Failure.

I thought, ‘Okay, we’re already at low level, we’ve got an underslung load, what would I do? Okay, two options: ditch the load at Inkerman and put down there, or ditch the load and fly straight back to Bastion. I don’t care what he does, as long as he makes a decision and makes it now.’

He did. But it wasn’t what I expected.

‘Okay, we’re going to drop the load at Inkerman,’ he said ( Good decision! I thought) And then the flight commander, who was in the left-hand seat said, ‘Okay then we’ll carry on as we briefed – we’ll go south of the wadi at Sangin and we’ll just hold there and wait to regroup with the other cab.’

By this point, I’d had enough.

I switched my intercom to live and told him, ‘Right, this is what you’re going to do. We’re going to fly straight to Bastion right now. We’re not going to wait for mutual support from any other aircraft; you have got to land as soon as possible. We have an emergency, so secure the hydraulics and we’ll crack on. If we have to crash-land, we’ll do so in the desert and we’ll have somebody pick us up within five minutes, but we are not holding over Sangin to await the others. We’re going.’

Fortunately common sense prevailed and that’s exactly what happened. We got back without incident and after the aircraft was shut down, he asked me if I had any comments, so I said, ‘Yes. Know your SOPs. Land as soon as possible. Do not fuck around waiting for anybody else so you can go back as part of a formation. If you’re going to smack into the ground, do it in the desert halfway to Bastion, not in the wrong side of the Green Zone!’

In fairness, these guys had just touched down in Afghanistan from the UK; it highlighted the difference in thinking. You just arrive in theatre and your head’s in a different place. I’m at the end of a two-month tour, we’ve taken fire, we’re attuned to the differences of operating in a war zone and they’re second nature to us. I guess it proved the value in having an experienced captain from the outgoing Flight on board. That said though, it was the last thing I wanted on my last day in theatre!

After saying my farewells, I managed to get straight on to a Herc to KAF – JP was as good as his word. He’d sorted my main kit and put it on the wagon with the rest of the Flight’s and I joined them all at the Dutch cafe on the boardwalk. We were sat by the bar, which had wi-fi, and I was drinking a good cup of coffee so it even felt half-civilised – well, as far as it can be at KAF! Iain Cuthbertson walked over to me and said, ‘Hey Frenchie, your son is walking mate!’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I was just on the phone talking to my missus and Ali was with Guy at our house and he took his first steps!’ I couldn’t believe it – he could have waited! It’s like ten hours before I get home and I’ve missed it!

The flight home from Afghanistan was unremarkable other than for the fact it left on time, and when I got back to RAF Odiham Ali was there to meet me with Guy. She was holding him upright and he took two or three steps straight into me. Boof! The perfect welcome home.

It didn’t take long for the magic to evaporate though. It’s always the same when you get back – your head is in a different space. Nothing’s the same for you; you’re back and the contrast with what you’ve left is immense. We have to readjust; but for Ali, and I guess all the WAGs, it’s just another day. Their lives have adapted to us not being there and they have a routine, and suddenly there’s this big, hairy man invading and upending everything they’ve taken for granted.

You can just imagine – Ali’s cleaned the house, dressed up, made an effort and I come back and dump my filthy kit in the hall. She’s got her arms around me, she’s kissing me, but you can bet your life she’s got one eye open, looking over my shoulder, and she’s not thinking, ‘I love him so much, I’m so glad he’s home.’ No, she’s thinking: ‘For fuck’s sake, there’s a trail of his filthy kit all along the hallway and I’ve just cleaned it!’

In fairness, I think she lasted a week before she said, ‘Move this dirty, stinking bag and get your kit out of the way!’ She was pretty fucking threaders with me then!

I was left in no doubt the honeymoon was over.

There was something different about my deployment to Helmand in Summer 2008 that became apparent even before I arrived in theatre. I felt more apprehensive than I’d done for my previous Dets, but perhaps that was down to my son Guy, who was approaching his second birthday. He was walking and talking and there was real interaction between us, so I knew that leaving him and Ali for two-and-a-bit months was going to be a wrench.

The landscape on the ground in Afghanistan was greatly different, too. We’d be supporting 16 Air Assault Brigade again, although it had a new CO in the form of Brigadier Mark Carleton-Smith, who’d replaced Brigadier John Lorimer. 3 Para had a different personality following the appointment of its new Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Colonel Huw Williams. His predecessor, Lt Col Stuart Tootal OBE, DSO had resigned his commission in protest at what he regarded as the appalling treatment and conditions of British soldiers.

In terms of the ground picture in Helmand, a de facto border now existed east of Garmsir along the banks of the Helmand River, dividing British-held from Taliban-held territory in what was essentially a stalemate. Despite us having over 8,000 troops in theatre at this stage, only a hardcore of around 1,500 were front line infantry units, the rest being support arms to enable them to fight. Consequently, we were outnumbered by a Taliban force which was receiving reinforcements from outside Afghanistan. Our arrival in theatre was to coincide with US Marine reinforcements, who assisted 16 Air Assault Brigade in an attack to break the stalemate at Garmsir.

The Taliban might be a ragtag enemy in flip-flops and pyjamas, but they’re a formidable foe – they are tactically astute, display astonishing tenacity and are unquestionably courageous, given their propensity to fight regardless of the rate of attrition they suffer.