Apache

Fifteen minutes into the flight, the casevac Chinook shot right under us on the way back to Bastion. It was a mighty quick turn around and they were bombing it, flying low and straight – route one. It meant the casualties were in a bad way. We’d heard over the net that they’d then be loaded up to the gunnels with ammunition for the 105-mm guns which needed an emergency replen.

At fifteen miles to go, I checked in with the JTAC. ‘Widow Seven One, this is Ugly Five One, how do you read?’

‘Widow Seven One, Lima Charlie.’

‘Ugly Five One are two Apaches, Ugly Five One and Ugly Five Zero. We have 600 rounds of thirty Mike Mike, forty-eight rockets and eight Hellfire missiles. We have the usual amount of playtime.’

‘Widow Seven One copies your last. You’ll need to route west around the gun line as they’re firing onto the target.’

‘Is there any way we stop the guns and route direct?’ A big loop into the desert to go behind the guns would lose us a few minutes and we’d miss the RIP time.

The reply was firm and impatient. ‘NEGATIVE. We have a situation here. Wait out.’

The JTAC was obviously having a bad day; we didn’t want to compound it. We didn’t subscribe to the ‘large sky, small round theory’ and didn’t fancy testing our armour plating with a 105-calibre shell. We would comply. Then everything changed.

‘Ugly Five One, this is Widow Seven One. No longer five casualties. Now four casualties and one MIA.’

I felt the rush of adrenalin and the all too familiar taste of metal flooded into my mouth. It was preparing me for fear.

‘All other troops have withdrawn, but the MIA is still on the objective. Repeat, the MIA is STILL on the objective.’

My mind flashed back to Sangin in June – our search across the fields for the two SBS lads. Looking down onto the desert floor I pictured what I had seen that day and remembered what the Taliban had done to them. Acid leaked into the hollow space in my lower abdomen. I could have put it down to missing breakfast, but I knew myself too well. Christ, not again.

Carl was on the ball immediately. He relayed the news to Billy and Geordie and shoved his cyclic forward. The aircraft’s nose dipped and the rotors growled as we accelerated to full speed.

‘Fucking hell,’ Billy said. ‘What the hell is going on down there?’

I tried to think it through. How the hell had they lost someone at the fort, and then all withdrawn without him? The Taliban were clearly still holding the place. Now they might have one of our guys, too.

There was a silence as the four of us shared the same thought. The memory of Sangin wasn’t the only thing disturbing me. There was also the fresh intelligence about the bastards’ plan for a TV skinning.

Geordie broke it. ‘Check Data.’

A text from Billy was waiting for us. It read MIA… NOT ON OUR WATCH.

I radioed in our reply. ‘Good Data. Affirm.’

Widow Seven One checked back in. ‘Ugly Five One, be aware Ugly Five Two Flight are chicken. They’ve only got enough fuel left for a direct flight back to base. They’re going off station now. We need you on station immediately to help locate the MIA. Send ETA.’

The bright green number in my monocle dropped from 11 to 10.

‘Ugly will be with you in ten minutes.’

‘We had to bug out without being able to look for him…’ Nick’s voice sounded tired and despondent. ‘We’re both completely out of gas and low on ammo too. We’ve been fighting solidly for an hour and a half. Stand by…’

Nick checked out with the JTAC before continuing.

‘We were held over the desert to the south-west for the initial bombardment then cleared in to look for leakers as Zulu Company prepared to cross the river. We saw a few Taliban, dispatched them with cannon. The place was devastated, apart from the north-east watchtower and main building. Five Three took out the watchtower and we both destroyed the building, all with Hellfire. We continued to observe but nothing moved. The place looked like Monte Casino.

‘It all started to go wrong just before H-hour. Zulu Company weren’t ready to move. The ground assault was put back so we went back to rearm and refuel. When we returned they still weren’t ready. They didn’t end up going in until just before 0700. The lost time must have given the Taliban a chance to reinfiltrate. We don’t know how they got back in.’

The marines’ twelve-strong column of Viking tracked armoured vehicles had crossed the river at an especially shallow point but dawn was already breaking. Their vehicles stopped in a line adjacent to the point one of the 2,000-lb bombs had blown a gaping hole in the fort’s southern outer wall.

The marines had debussed into the poppy field and pepper potted forward towards the wall. As soon as they got there, five of them were hit by a volley of machine-gun fire. A hail of small arms and RPG fire cascaded down the canal and from the village to the west. It was mayhem.