Attack State Red Read online

  From his daysack Aston pulled out his diary, a lined and hard-bound notebook. He wrote: I am nervous about the operation and hope everything goes well. I have been thinking about it non-stop as this is the first big test of the company, going into the Green Zone and staying overnight. Nobody has done this. That is the bit that concerns me. Plus the intelligence. Enemy strengths and whereabouts are sketchy. We are pretty much going to have to do an advance to contact to find them. It is the uncertainty that is worse than anything. Not knowing what will happen. But soon we will know.

  4

  That night the Royal Anglian Battle Group rolled out of Bastion in two columns each of more than fifty vehicles. They drove east down the A1 highway, which had been built during the time of the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan, and occupied a battle group harbour area in the flat desert north-west of Gereshk.

  The sheer size of the convoy removed any possibility of surprise. But Carver tried to disguise their intentions by having the Afghan National Army troops conduct a large-scale patrol operation in Gereshk. He hoped this would create the impression that the Royal Anglians had arrived in the area to join a major security sweep in the town.

  Any long-distance operational move in hostile country involving large numbers of combat vehicles is subject to 1,001 frictions including vehicle break-downs, navigation errors, lost communications, traffic accidents and enemy attack. The Recce Platoon was responsible for oiling the wheels of the move, policing the route, guiding vehicle packets, providing protection and keeping commanders informed of progress.

  The Royal Anglians’ Recce Platoon was equipped with Combat Vehicle Reconnaissance (Tracked), or CVRT. They had eight of these vehicles, also known as Scimitars. Lightly armoured, and resembling small tanks, the Scimitar had a crew of three – commander, gunner and driver – and was equipped with a 30mm Rarden cannon, a 7.62mm machine-gun and two four-barrel smoke dischargers. The machine-gun was coaxially mounted, which means its aim was slaved to that of the Rarden cannon. First brought into service in 1973, the Scimitar was an elderly vehicle, but had undergone a ‘Life Extension Programme’, including installation of a Cummins BTA 5.9 diesel power-pack to replace a much less reliable six-cylinder petrol engine. Although not without its problems, the Scimitar was already proving a success in Afghanistan, with its speed, all-terrain mobility and formidable firepower.

  The Recce Platoon got to the harbour first. Their role was to make sure the area was clear of enemy, secure it against interference and guide the various elements of the battle group into position.

  In the harbour area the battle group deployed in all-round defence, forming up into the groupings it would operate in at the start of Silicon. Final vehicle, weapons and equipment checks were carried out and last-minute briefings and orders given. Other than that, the men had only to maintain security and rest as best they could before going into battle.

  The Gun Group, two troops each of three 105mm light guns from 28/143 Battery (Tombs’s Troop) Royal Artillery, set up in the harbour area and would remain there, providing indirect fire support for the battle group throughout Silicon. Each gun could fire 15.1-kilogram high-explosive shells at the rate of six rounds a minute out to 17 kilometres and could also support the Royal Anglians by laying down smoke screens and illuminating the night sky.

  The battle group was fully established in the harbour area shortly after last light. As a dust storm began to gather, Carver called his commanders and HQ staff together for a final confirmatory O Group, at the back of his Viking tracked command vehicle. He briefed them on an unexpected problem that would require a major change of plan for B Company, with just a few hours to go before the operation began. The company had planned to enter the Green Zone across a wide canal. A suitable crossing point for both troops on foot and Viking vehicles had been identified. But a short time earlier, Colour Sergeant Al Thurston, the Recce Platoon 2IC, had been to check the crossing point. He discovered a large earth berm blocking the route for vehicles – which had not been there a few days before. B Company would have no problem crossing on foot, but they needed the Vikings with them in the Green Zone to provide flank protection, ammunition and water resupply and casualty evacuation. The only solution was for the Vikings to drop off the company, drive west to Gereshk, cross the canal by the road bridge there, and then drive eastwards into the Green Zone to link up with the troops. It was risky. The Vikings would be driving several kilometres through the Green Zone without infantry support. That made them vulnerable to attack by Taliban with RPG anti-armour missiles in the close country. But there was no other choice.

  The new plan was agreed, and watches were synchronized. The company commanders confirmed that all their men, vehicles and equipment had arrived without problems and would be ready to move in time for H-Hour.

  5

  On the far side of the harbour, Second Lieutenant Ben Howes, 5 Platoon commander in B Company, was checking his men. As with every officer and soldier on the eve of his first battle, Howes was wondering how he would perform in contact with the enemy – he had been in the battalion for only three months, straight out of training. He knew that it was one thing to show your leadership ability during controlled exercises at Sandhurst or on the Platoon Commanders’ Battle Course at Brecon. It was a different matter altogether to do so with real bullets flying and perhaps with your own men getting killed around you.

  As platoon commander he did not just have to worry about how he would personally perform, he also had total responsibility for the lives of the thirty men under his command. He thought how lucky he was that he had Sergeant Keith Nieves as his platoon sergeant. Nieves had guided him since he arrived in January, and he could not have wished for a better mentor. This was the eternal role of the platoon sergeant – to turn a young platoon commander from an apprentice with little more than paper leadership qualifications and no solid military experience into a commander who could earn the respect of his men, lead them to success in battle and preferably keep them alive. Nieves was doing this in the way that only the best platoon sergeants were capable of – by always supporting the platoon commander in front of the men and never doing anything to undermine his position. And by being open, frank and forthright with him in private – but only in private.

  Howes also counted himself lucky to have a particularly strong group of NCOs in the platoon – his corporals and lance corporals, the section commanders and 2ICs. In his eyes there was not a weak link among them.

  He walked round between the four Vikings his platoon had travelled in from Bastion. Nieves had detailed off one sentry to man each of the vehicle guns, with a second sentry forward, on the ground, manning a dismounted GPMG with Viper thermal imaging night sight. Those men who were not on sentry, or ‘stag’, were resting beside the Vikings.

  As Howes walked past one of the vehicles, Private Joseph Rix stood up. The twenty-year-old sharpshooter had been sitting on his daysack, checking his ammo. ‘Sir, what time are we off?’

  ‘H-Hour is at about 0530, so we’ll be heading out of here a couple of hours before that, I should think. I’m going to an O Group with the company commander shortly, and he’ll confirm the time then.’

  ‘Why can’t we just go now, sir? I can’t wait till the morning.’

  ‘Of course we can’t go now, Rixy, what are you talking about?’ Howes laughed.

  ‘Yes, but I can’t wait to go. This is brilliant, all of this. It’s what I joined the Army for. I can’t wait to have a go at the Taliban. I just want to know what a contact is really like. I’ve seen all the films and heard all that boring stuff from the blokes that were in Northern Ireland. But I want to do it myself, for real.’

  Corporals Simon Thorne and Tom Mason had been chatting beside the vehicle and strolled over. Thorne said, ‘Rixy, I’ll tell you all about Northern Ireland sometime, and about Kabul too if you want. I’ve got so many war stories I could keep you awake till H-Hour.’

  ‘I know, Si, I’ve heard them all before, every bleeding day.
’

  Thorne said to Howes, ‘Rixy’s right though, boss: every one of my lads is up for this. One or two are a bit nervous, but they all want it. I must admit I can’t wait to get down there and get in among them. Tom and me were just talking about it. I just hope it happens the way we’re expecting. But knowing our luck, the enemy won’t even turn up. Most of Iraq was like that, nothing happening, and Kabul. It would be just our luck.’

  Mason nodded in agreement.

  ‘How about Northern Ireland, then, Si? That must’ve been rough,’ laughed Rix.

  ‘I’ll give you Northern Ireland, Rixy. Best you get your head down before I find a four-hour gap in the stag roster for you to fill.’

  Howes moved on to the next Viking. He stopped to talk to a young soldier who had just arrived in the battalion and was lying awake in his sleeping bag. ‘How’s it going? All set for tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I’ve got all my kit ready to go, fully bombed up.’

  ‘OK, well done, get some doss now because it’s going to be a blower in the morning.’

  The soldier lowered his voice. ‘Sir, I do want to do this and everything, but I feel really nervous. This is what I joined for. But I’m really worried about how I’m going to react if they start shooting at us. I just don’t want to let anybody down, sir. Do you know what I mean?’

  ‘Look, I am in the same situation as you. So are most of the platoon – and the company. Hardly anyone here has been shot at before. They’re all just as nervous as you, even if they don’t admit it. Even the guys who were in Iraq didn’t do anything like we’re going to be doing tomorrow. You’ve done well in pre-op training, I’ve seen you, and you’re a good soldier. I’m totally confident in your ability, and you should be too. All you have to do is remember to stick to the bloke next to you, and he’ll look after you as well. You just have to work together and you’ll get through this no problem. Remember your basic skills and drills and just do what you’ve been trained to do.’

  Howes moved on, wondering whether he’d bored the young soldier to sleep.

  By now the dust storm was getting increasingly ferocious and, bizarrely for Afghanistan at this time of year, it had started to rain.

  6

  Howes arrived at the back of Aston’s Viking. It was 2200 hours and pouring.

  About fifteen people were standing around, including the company 2IC, Captain Dave Robinson, the company sergeant major, WO2 Tim Newton, the mortar fire controller, Corporal Mark Willsher, the FSG commander, Sergeant Major Ivan Snow, the air and artillery controllers, the signallers and the doctor. The other two platoon commanders were there too: Lieutenant Dave Broomfield of 6 Platoon and Lieutenant George Seal-Coon of 7 Platoon.

  ‘Make way for the sprog,’ joked Aston. This was the term for a new soldier, and he reserved it for Howes, the junior subaltern in the company. ‘Glad you could join us, mate.’

  Aston became brisk. ‘Right, fellas, there is a change of plan with the Vikings.’ He explained what the CO had told him, then continued. ‘Otherwise everything else is the same. H-Hour is confirmed as 0530. Recce will clear the route from here to the Green Zone. A Company will secure the start point for us. We go in by Viking then dismount and walk the last kilometre to the line of departure, which will be marked by Sergeant Major Snow’s WMIKs. After that, we follow the plan we’ve been over time and again. Not forgetting that a plan never survives contact with the enemy. That is true in all wars, and it will be true in this one. Any questions? No? Good. In that case, I want to wish you all good luck tomorrow. We’re all ready for this. Get it done, fellas.’

  As the O Group broke up, Corporal Ashley Hill, one of the Recce Platoon section commanders, who had been standing at the back of the group, remained behind to speak to Aston. He could hardly see him it was so dark. ‘Sir, it’s Corporal Hill, Recce Platoon.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Corporal H,’ said Aston. ‘Are all the Recce section commanders called Hill nowadays?’ – a reference to Sergeant Jamie Hill, also in the Recce Platoon.

  ‘No, sir, just two of us,’ chuckled Hill.

  ‘Well I suppose it makes it easier for you ladies, doesn’t it? Now what can I do for you, Hill?’

  ‘I believe I’m leading you down in the morning, sir, I just wanted to confirm the timings when you want to move.’

  ‘We’re rolling at 0300, assuming you fellas can be up by then. I know what the routine is in D Company.’

  Hill laughed. ‘It’s going to be a rough ride down there, sir, I’ve looked at the ground, and it’s really steep and broken. Visibility will be virtually nil.’

  ‘Yeah, I know what the ground’s like. You just get me there. And I don’t want a rough ride, I want a nice smooth ride all the way down. You find me a good route. And I want to be right behind A Company, I mean right behind, I don’t want a fag paper between us. You can do that, can’t you?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Hill. ‘See you at 0300.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s the time I want to be moving by the way, not the time I’m coming round to wake you up with a nice sweet mug of tea.’

  Hill smiled as he walked off, trying to appear confident. But he was petrified. This was his first Recce Platoon job, and he was responsible for leading about thirty B Company vehicles across horrendous terrain into the battalion’s first battle for many years. It would be pitch black and there was a dust storm building. But, above all, he had heard just how fiery Major Aston could be if things didn’t go his way.

  Hill didn’t get any sleep that night. Telling his men to get their heads down, he stayed on duty in the turret of his Scimitar, monitoring the radio, poring again and again over maps and air photographs showing the route into the Green Zone, setting and resetting his compass, checking his watch. He couldn’t afford to doze off, with the possibility of missing the 0300 deadline. If he did, he suspected Aston would wake him up with something other than a nice sweet mug of tea.

  7

  A Company left the harbour at 0230, to move down and secure the start point for B Company’s assault into the Green Zone. It was rough going in darkness across the broken, rocky desert terrain with its steep re-entrants, huge ruts and hidden gulleys. Even with the overnight rain, every vehicle kicked up clouds of dust, totally obscuring the view of those moving behind.

  Traversing the steep, gravelly slopes, the drivers using ineffective night vision devices were unable to gauge the steep-sided wadi gradients, and two A Company Vectors rolled on to their sides. Biddick sent other vehicles to deal with them. He didn’t know whether soldiers lay crushed and bleeding under the vehicle axles as he pressed the remainder of the company on. His priority was to make sure the FUP, or forming-up place, was secured on time, and nothing would divert him.

  B Company’s departure from the harbour area was delayed when a soldier in Second Lieutenant Howes’s platoon couldn’t be accounted for. He had lost his way in the dark coming back from sentry duty and ended up wandering into A Company’s area. Aston was beside himself with anger. It is a crime to miss H-Hour on any operation, potentially holding up an entire battle group, and Aston made it quite clear to Howes that this was his first and last chance of the day.

  Corporal Hill managed to successfully lead B Company down to their debussing point in the wadi floor, although it took what seemed like forever to cover the 3 kilometres. Hill kept having to pause, as word came up from the company behind him that their wheeled vehicles – WMIKs and Pinzgauers – were getting bogged in and had to be laboriously pulled out. The only vehicles that had no difficulty negotiating the rough terrain were Hill’s Scimitars and the Vikings. Hill was concerned that the company commander would blame him for not getting him the ‘nice smooth ride’ he had demanded, but he heard nothing and guessed that even Aston would not be able to blame him for the rugged Afghan terrain.

  B Company dismounted from their Vikings in darkness. Sergeant Major Snow and his four FSG WMIKs, plus one of the Vikings, moved into the open, providing close protection for the company as t
hey entered the FUP.

  The FUP was a pre-designated area where the company would shake out ready to assault. At the forward edge of the FUP was the line of departure, a woodline that the company was to cross at H-Hour as they began their advance towards the enemy.

  Howes’s platoon spread out in the open ground. He pushed his men forward to a wide, fast-flowing canal. They shuffled across a narrow stick bridge and into the Green Zone. The other two platoons moved into position. It was 0500 hours – thirty minutes till H-Hour – and dawn was just beginning to break.

  As they prepared to advance, Howes heard gunfire off to the left. He ran forward through the trees to observe and saw that A Company, 600 metres to the north, was in contact. A group of six Taliban had stood up to engage the B Company platoons in the Green Zone, unaware of A Company’s presence. Lieutenant Nick Denning’s 1 Platoon cut them down before they could get more than a couple of shots off.

  As the main body of B Company moved into the FUP, Captain Will Goodman, the Royal Marines Viking Troop commander, with Company Sergeant Major Tim Newton, headed west to Gereshk with the column of Vikings. They crossed the river at the Gereshk road bridge and entered the Green Zone.

  Half an hour later, trundling back east along a track beside the canal, with thick Green Zone vegetation to the left, and open country to the right, one of the Vikings threw a track, immobilizing the vehicle. Unlike some armoured vehicles, this was rare for a Viking. But you could guarantee it would always happen at the worst time. And this was a bad time. The Vikings were moving along a predictable route, in close country, without infantry protection.

  The crews worked to get the track back on as quickly as they could, but it took nearly an hour to sort out. Both Carver and Aston had felt that this route in for the Vikings would be risky. The marines working on the vehicle heard the crack-crack-crack of gun fire and dived for cover as bullets ricocheted off the Vikings’ armour.