Attack State Red Read online

  Attack State Red

  COLONEL RICHARD KEMP AND CHRIS HUGHES

  MICHAEL JOSEPH

  an imprint of

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  MICHAEL JOSEPH

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road,

  Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)

  Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre,

  Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue,

  Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  www.penguin.com

  First published 2009

  Copyright © Richard Kemp and Chris Hughes, 2009

  The moral right of the authors has been asserted

  All rights reserved

  Without limiting the rights under copyright

  reserved above, no part of this publication may be

  reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system,

  or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical,

  photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior

  written permission of both the copyright owner and

  the above publisher of this book

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN: 978–0–141–92436–6

  To all of the soldiers and marines of The 1st Battalion The Royal Anglian Regiment Battle Group who took the fight to the enemy in Afghanistan in 2007; in salute to the sacrifices of those who were wounded in action; and in memory of the nine Royal Anglian soldiers who laid down their lives for their comrades and their country.

  Killed in Action

  Corporal Darren Bonner

  Lance Corporal George Davey

  Private Robert Foster

  Private Chris Gray

  Lance Corporal Alex Hawkins

  Captain David Hicks MC

  Private Aaron McLure

  Private Tony Rawson

  Private John Thrumble

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Map of Helmand Province

  Structure of the Battle Group

  Friday the Thirteenth: 13 April 2007

  The Longest Day: 21–27 April 2007

  The Raid: 3–4 May 2007

  A Bridge Too Far: 6–16 May 2007

  Ambush: 17 May 2007

  Feat of Endurance: 29 May–5 July 2007

  Turning Point: 7–12 July 2007

  The Battle of Inkerman: 17 July–16 August 2007

  Darkest Day: 23–24 August 2007

  Snipers: 24–28 August 2007

  Final Assault: 29 August–1 September 2007

  After Action Review

  Honours and Awards

  Order of Battle

  Glossary of Military Terms

  Main Characters

  Index

  Acknowledgements

  This book would not have been possible without the frankness and forbearance of the soldiers who fought as members of the Royal Anglian Battle Group in Helmand in 2007, who voluntarily gave up so much of their time in more than 300 interviews. Those who were interviewed are included in the list of battle group members at the back of this book. Without exception they told their stories willingly, in graphic detail, with great candour. And often with much emotion. The modesty of every person interviewed, and their determination to give credit to others rather than themselves, was humbling. This is their story.

  Special thanks to Lieutenant Colonel Stuart Carver DSO, the Royal Anglian Battle Group Commander, who enthusiastically embraced this project from its earliest stages. He and his successor as Commanding Officer of The 1st Battalion, The Royal Anglian Regiment, Lieutenant Colonel James Woodham MC, provided the strongest support throughout the research and writing of this book, making their soldiers and battalion facilities freely available.

  Thanks also for practical assistance and guidance, as well as for their interviews, to Brigadier John Lorimer DSO, Commander of Task Force Helmand, and to Lieutenant Colonel Charlie Calder, Major Mick Aston MC, Major Dominic Biddick MC, Major Tony Borgnis, Major Phil Messenger, Major Dean Stefanetti MBE, Captain Andy Buxton, Captain Tom Coleman, Captain Graham Goodey, Captain Phil Moxey, Captain Mark Nicholas, Captain Ian Robinson MBE, Captain George Seal-Coon, Captain Andy Wilde, Regimental Sergeant Major Tim Newton, Colour Sergeant Keith Nieves, Sergeant Steve Armon, Sergeant Nathan Love, Sergeant Matt Waters, Sergeant Mark Willsher, Corporal Joel Adlington, Corporal Darren Farrugia, Corporal Richard Jones, Corporal Stuart Parker, Corporal Gav Watts, Lance Corporal Tom Mann, Private Josh Hills, Private Josh Lee and Private Kenny Meighan.

  The encouragement and enthusiasm of the literary professionals involved with this book has made writing it a thoroughly rewarding, edifying and above all enjoyable experience. Particular thanks to Mark Lucas, whose expertise and guidance was absolutely invaluable in transforming the ghost of an idea into a living volume; and to his colleagues at LAW, especially Julian Alexander and Alice Saunders. Particular thanks also to Rowland White at Penguin for his vision, flexibility, understanding and guidance; to David Watson, who edited the manuscript with the most admirable skill and patience; to Alan Gilliland who also deployed great skill and patience in producing the maps; to Tom Chicken, Ana-Maria Rivera and Katya Shipster for their imagination and vigour in driving the sales and marketing process; and to Sarah Hulbert and Paulette Hearn for their unflagging energy in tying everything together and simply making it happen!

  Thanks for their invaluable advice and assistance to Nick Gurr, Director General of Corporate Communications at the Ministry of Defence, and his team, including Steve Beamont and Colonel Ben Bathurst; and to the corporate communications staff at HQ Land Command.

  Thanks to Ryan Alexander for his specialist advice and critical eye, and for his exceptional practical assistance; to Monica Kemp for her wise guidance and encouragement; to Lucy Christie for her outstanding interview transcriptions; to Colonel Patrick Mercer OBE and Major Chris Hunter QGM for sharing their authorial experience as well as their deep military knowledge; to Heather Millican, Colonel Nigel Burrell and Lieutenant Colonel Richard Clements for their practical assistance and encouragement. Finally, thanks to Anna and Lucy – they know why.

  A special word of thanks to George Davies. Although not involved with this book, his quiet generosity did a tremendous amount to ease the terrible suffering of many wounded British and Allied soldiers, including all of the Royal Anglians described in the pages that follow who were seriously wounded in action, as well as their families, and the families of Royal Anglians killed in action.

  Map 1. Helmand Province

  Map 2. Friday the Thirteenth

  Friday the Thirteenth: 13 April 2007

  1

  Sergeant Larry Holmes was exposed, isolated and alone. He knew he would soon be dead. But the intense, numbing fear he couldn’t shake off was tempered by a deep feeling of frustration. He wa
s a tough, aggressive infantryman and he wanted to hit back at his attackers – shoot them with his rifle, blow them apart with his grenades, get up close and thrust his bayonet into them.

  But he couldn’t. He couldn’t move.

  It could only be a matter of seconds before one of the machine-gun bullets tore him apart. When the gunfire started, moments before, Holmes threw himself straight down on to his belt buckle. He tried to force his whole body through the ground. His face was buried in the dirt and he was digging in with his eyelids. Bullets scythed past, chopping up the rocky earth next to him. Above, volley after volley of rocket-propelled grenades exploded in the air, with their deadly shrapnel scorching into the earth near by.

  He’d left the section behind him, in and around a small mud hut, 30 metres back across the open field. He thought, What the hell has happened to my lads? Are they still alive? Slowly, carefully, he turned his head, keeping it against the ground, trying not to get it blown off.

  The hut was steadily disintegrating under the endless blasting from gunfire and anti-tank rockets. I hope to God they had the sense to get out of there, or they’re probably dead already.

  Trying not to move too much, he shouted, ‘Corporal Colby, can you hear me? Are you OK? Are – you – OK?’

  He heard muffled yells coming from behind the low wall that ran away from the devastated hut. At least some of them are still alive, he thought.

  He yelled back, ‘Get some fire down! Get some fire going down!’

  But the wall they were crouching behind was also getting hit by burst after burst of gunfire, and he doubted that any of them would be able to put their heads up to give covering fire without getting killed before they got a shot off.

  What the hell am I going to do?

  Thoughts of his family flashed through his mind: I’ll never see Sally or the kids again. I’m going to die here in Afghanistan. And my baby will never see her dad. Jordan and Chloe will grow up without a father and probably won’t even remember me. You hear about that sort of thing, but I never for one minute thought it would happen to me or my family.

  He loved his wife and children more than anything in the world and he was overcome by sadness.

  Then he got a grip of himself. Stop thinking like that. It’s not going to help. You’ve got to do something, get out of this – somehow.

  Mortar bombs were exploding near by, and some landed very close, lashing out jagged shards of red-hot steel in every direction. Bullets sliced through the air, and he could hear the constant short zipping noise the rounds made as they passed right by him. Just one random shot, just one out of the thousands they are firing, and that’ll be me. That’s all it will take. Just one.

  His arms and face were bleeding from rocks and debris thrown up as the bullet heads hit the ground. He needed help. He hadn’t been paying any attention to his radio for the last few seconds, but it had come alive with traffic. Everyone talking, cutting in, sending reports. He waited for a break and pushed down the pressel switch. ‘Hello, Bronze Zero Alpha, this is Bronze One Zero Bravo. Contact. I am pinned down. I can’t move. I need fire support. I cannot move. I need fire.’

  He was speaking very fast, trying hard to sound calm but not succeeding, and his face was still pushed into the dirt with his radio mike in his mouth. His words were indecipherable.

  ‘Bronze Zero Alpha, say again, say again, over.’

  He took a breath, raised his face slightly and repeated his transmission.

  From within the compounds of Sorkhani, 200 metres back, Major Dominic Biddick, the company group commander, spoke slowly and calmly. ‘This is Bronze Zero Alpha. I need a full contact report. I need your precise location.’

  ‘I am pinned down!’ yelled Holmes, then calmed slightly and said, ‘I cannot move. I cannot look up. I cannot see where I am. I am pinned down by highly effective enemy fire. I need support now. Over.’

  Biddick’s words angered him. How the hell can I send him a full contact report? I am about to get killed. At the same time the sound of his commander’s voice gave him a glimmer of hope. With the astonishingly capable Major Biddick, the military machine, on the case, maybe – just maybe – he would get out of here. He knew that at this moment Biddick would be marshalling every conceivable resource to help him.

  ‘Hello, Bronze One Zero Bravo, this is Bronze Zero Alpha. Stay calm. You must give me your location. Where are you? Where is the enemy? I need a target indication.’

  Holmes moved his hand slowly towards his face, desperate not to move his arm a millimetre higher than he needed to. He looked at the dial of the Garmin GPS strapped to his wrist. The sweat that was stinging his eyes blurred his vision and he had to rub them to get a clear view of the numbers. He waited a couple of moments for another gap in the furious radio traffic, then read out the ten-figure grid to Biddick.

  ‘Zero Alpha, roger, got that. What is the grid of the enemy location? Over.’

  ‘I estimate enemy two hundred metres… bearing sixteen hundred mils from my grid. Not confirmed. I cannot see their position. I say again, that is an estimate. Over.’

  Biddick responded with a clipped but calm ‘Roger, understood. I will engage with mortars. Wait out.’

  As the bullets and rockets continued to send chips of rock smacking into his face and arms another thought came to Holmes. He remembered that, on the way here, he had picked up Taliban chatter on his radio scanner. They had said they wanted to capture one of the soldiers advancing towards their position. And I’ve got no idea where they are! He didn’t just have the bullets to worry about, but the thought that, out of a fold in the ground, enemy fighters could suddenly appear and grab him. Then what?

  He shuddered as he remembered being told, ‘If you get caught by the Taliban you’ve had it – you’ll wish you were dead. They’ll skin you alive and cut you up slowly.’ Popular legend had it that hundreds of Russian soldiers captured by the mujahideen in the 1980s had been skinned alive, the skin of their stomachs pulled over their heads. Afghan soldiers caught by the Taliban had been tortured for days, then dragged around villages screaming for mercy.

  Major Biddick was on the radio again: ‘Bronze One Zero Bravo, Zero Alpha. Are you able to mark your forward position with smoke? Over.’

  Slowly, very slowly, so as not to attract attention to himself, Holmes reached into his pouch with his left hand and pulled out a smoke grenade. He called into the radio, ‘Throwing green smoke now, over.’

  He pulled the pin, reached back, then lobbed the grenade as far forward as he could. The second he threw it he thought: Mistake! Mistake!

  As the smoke started to billow, the enemy aimed straight at it. The fire intensified, growing closer and closer.

  Then he just about made out Private Ian Rolph’s muffled shouting from behind the wall. It sounded like: ‘Firing fifty-one.’

  Good lad, thought Holmes. If he can get some 51mm mortar bombs into the enemy, I might just get a chance to pull back.

  He took out another smoke grenade, swung back his arm and launched it as far off to the left, away from him, as he could. As the smoke started to spread, again the gunfire increased, but this time directed in the area where the grenade had landed.

  Holmes immediately started to edge backwards, still on his belt buckle, body pressed into the ground. He didn’t dare turn round. He moved as fast as he could. Bullets flew all around him. He looked back from time to time to get his bearings. Once he saw Private Matthew Slater come up from behind the wall and fire a machine-gun burst straight over his head. Almost instantaneously, ten times as many bullets flew back at Slater, and he dropped down, avoiding certain death by a split second. Brave lad, thought Holmes, not many people would try that.

  Minutes later, his arms and legs torn up on the rocky ground, he reached the wall. How the hell am I going to get over this?

  Bullets were cutting through the air, just above his body, and just about at the height of the wall. He moved gradually down to a slight dip, where the smoking top of
the wall had been torn away by a rocket-propelled grenade. He didn’t know whether to slide over, keeping his body pressed against the wall, or try a dive.

  He launched himself across and felt a massive jolt as a bullet thudded into the daysack on his back.

  He found himself next to Slater, general-purpose machine-gun (GPMG) beside him. He sat down with his back against the wall, pouring sweat and gasping for breath. Slater reached across and put his hand on Holmes’s shoulder. ‘Sarge, it’s really good to see you. I thought you were dead out there.’

  Holmes pressed his back up against the wall, pouring sweat, heart pounding at his rib cage, mouth dry as a rock. He thought for a second. How the hell did I get out of that? I guess it just wasn’t my time to die. Wasn’t my time. There is no other reason. I should be dead ten times over. Then he grinned at Slater. ‘Come on, mate, you know me better than that. It’s going to take more than a bunch of spaced-out Taliban with crappy Russian machine-guns to kill the platoon sergeant.’

  He looked around. Private Norman Pozo, Rolph and the other lads were spread out along the wall. He was so pleased to see they were all alive, to be back with them. He was safer now, a bit safer. At least he had some cover. And he was with his men.

  But bullets were still smacking into the wall and the building beside them, which was now all but destroyed. RPG rockets were still exploding overhead. They were still isolated and cut off. And there was no way of getting back to the relative safety of the village without crossing a long stretch of very open and exposed ground – which was still under intense enemy fire.

  Holmes started laughing, almost uncontrollably. Pozo and the others joined in. Nothing was funny right now, and Holmes realized it must be a nervous reaction to the horrific situation they were in.

  He was jolted back to reality when he heard a radio message in his earpiece that made his blood run cold. Corporal Daz Bonner, the company signaller, said, ‘All stations, this is Bronze Two One Alpha. Radio intercept from enemy forward of callsign Bronze One Zero’s location as follows. Quote. Stop firing. I want them alive. We are going forward to cut them off. Unquote. Bronze One Zero Bravo, acknowledge, over.’