Apache (27 page)

‘I’m sure. I’ll get it right on the nose sir, don’t worry.’

‘Copied. You’re cleared hot on the tunnels.’

The A10 climbed up to 15,000 feet to set up his run, then dived. At 5,000 feet he opened up with a giant, six-second burst from his GAU-8 Gatling gun. The GAU-8 is the largest, heaviest and most powerful aircraft cannon ever built. The A10 is literally two wings, two engines and a cockpit bolted onto it. It fires 30-mm Depleted Uranium armour-piercing shells at a rate of 4,200 rounds per minute, or seventy per second. It is also highly accurate, with the ability to place 80 per cent of its shots within a ten-metre circle from 4,000 feet up. When the gun fired, you could hear its trademark roar and echo five miles away.

It didn’t miss the tunnels, either. Some 420 DU shells spanked into the tunnel system in a double sweep up. The soil erupted in flame and dust. It looked like a mini earthquake, the ground doing a Mexican wave. The dust cloud around the tunnels began to clear as the A10 pulled up, throwing off precautionary flares. The DU rounds had exploded with such heat that the earth itself was burning. The rounds lodged up to fifteen metres deep, ploughing up everything in their path.

‘That’s a Delta Hotel, Tusk. Excellent shooting.’

‘My pleasure “mate”.’ He put on a poor British accent. Tusk had a sense of humour, too.

The tunnels wouldn’t have survived that, even if they were lined with concrete. Nobody was walking out of there for a while.

‘Okay, Billy, let’s go.’

The JTAC took over with an almighty artillery barrage on the village as we departed.

Colonel Magowan’s Command Post was located in a wadi six kilo¬
metres into the desert, due west of the fort. Vikings, Pinzgauers and the
UAV detachment’s Scimitar were corralled alongside large canvas
tents from which the signallers worked. Everybody else sat around
portable desks. Loudspeakers broadcast the mission net traffic. Colonel
Magowan put down the radio handset and asked for four volunteers
.

His Ops Officer and his JTAC stepped forward immediately, but
were indispensable where they were. Captain Dave Rigg, the battlegroup’s
Royal Engineers adviser, insisted on going. He’d been watching
the Nimrod feed for the last ten hours, knew the exact location of
Lance Corporal Ford and every inch of the fort
.

The colonel called for the Landing Force Command Support
Group’s regimental sergeant major, WO1 Colin Hearn, the only
member of the command staff who hadn’t heard his radio conversation.
Nineteen-
year-old Zulu Company Marine Chris Fraser-Perry
and Magowan’s twenty-six year-old signaller, Marine Gary Robinson,
were also selected
.

When the RSM appeared, he was asked to get his weapon, body
armour and helmet, and told he was going on the side of an Apache to
retrieve Lance Corporal Ford. Colin Hearn chuckled to himself and
marched off to pick up his gear. He was well used to the CO’s sense of
humour by now
.

Magowan’s CP was the nearest place we could land out of Taliban mortar range, which was why it was there. The rolling desert sands thundering by 1,000 feet beneath us made a pleasant change from the intensity of battle at the fort.

Tusk may not have been able to hunt and kill the bad guys like we could, but he could tip in and shoot straight any time. The Desert Hawk UAV controlled by Magowan’s HQ, Predator and Nimrod were also watching Mathew like hawks. But I still didn’t like leaving Mathew Ford. I just hoped the Taliban didn’t catch up with him while we were away.

I looked at the clock: 10.16am. We’d been over Jugroom for the last hour and forty-five minutes and every second of it had been ferocious. I rubbed my eyes. I was starting to get an Apache headache. I hadn’t had one in six months.

Carl and Geordie were jabbering away, going over their fuel states again and double-checking each other’s HIDAS self-defence systems. While they talked, I tried to rehearse my brief to the four volunteers.

First, I was going to have to show them how to strap themselves onto the aircraft. I reached involuntarily for the black karabiner
that clipped mine to the front of my survival jacket. Then I was going to have to tell them what to do if they get shot on the wing. What would we do if they got shot? Just press on. What if two of them got hit? Badly hit, and before we even reached Ford? We could cope with two.

What happened if we crash-landed on the way down there, or even in the river? What if they were blinded by the dust during the flight and couldn’t see shit? What happened if they ran into the Taliban? Could we cover them from the ground? What if they got shot when they were on the ground – or if they turned around and saw their aircraft getting blown up behind them?

There were a million what ifs. I had the answers, but they weren’t going to like them one little bit. A three-day planning conference to iron out all the potential mishaps would have been nice. I only had three minutes. Bollocks. I’d just have to wing it.

Carl reared up hard as we closed on Magowan’s HQ. Our landing site 150 metres from the vehicles was marked with green smoke. Billy and Geordie came in first, turning 180 degrees to face into the wind and landing hard to limit the dust cloud. Carl put us down between them and the billowing smoke canister, fifty metres to our right.

As the dust cleared, I could make out two figures standing waiting for us, one in full battle rig and helmet, the other just in his shirt sleeves. Behind them were three more marines in full rig. I’d already unbuckled, reached for the door handle and was just about to disconnect my helmet when Carl stopped me dead.

‘The mission is off.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s off, Ed. Nick has just been on; he was given a message from Trigger. The Boss couldn’t reach us down here so he relayed it. It’s been canned.’

‘Who by?’

‘Zero Alpha.’

Zero Alpha. Our Commanding Officer in Kandahar.

That was it then. It’s was totally out of our hands. We couldn’t counteract our own CO. We didn’t even have comms with him. The regular babble between the marine units crackled away in the background as I sank back into my seat. What the hell had happened?

The disappointment welled up in me so vigorously I could almost taste it. We were out of the game. 3 Flight wouldn’t have top cover, so that ruled them out, too. There was no way Zulu Company would make it over and back without more casualties; the Tardis village would make sure of that. It looked like the Last Chance Saloon had called time on Mathew.

I looked out the window at the group of five servicemen standing there expectantly. Nobody had told them it was off. I wasn’t going to either. I couldn’t get out unless Carl shut down the rotors, a strict Apache rule. Knock the cyclic on your way, and the thing will roll itself straight over and thrash itself to pieces. Billy and I texted each other to minimise the chat on the Apache net.

UNLUCKY 4 FORD … SAD
, Billy wrote.

UNLUCKY 4 ZULU … HELL HOLE

AFFIRM

At 10.24am Nick and Charlotte checked in with the JTAC.

‘Ugly Five Two and Ugly Five Three, on station.’

That sealed it. We had been relieved.

BREAKFAST TIME … MY LEAD
, Billy texted.

But he couldn’t hear the mission net. A brand new voice had just come on it – an officer’s voice, older than the others, and extremely authoritative. Brigadier Jerry Thomas spoke slowly and clearly, so
everybody could hear. And he made sure everybody knew where this order came from.

‘All stations, from SUNRAY …

‘Option One is a recovery of Lance Corporal Ford by the Apaches. Option Two is a recovery by Zulu Company. Option One has been approved.

‘Repeat, Option One is APPROVED. Prosecute ASAP.’

It was an extraordinary message. The phone lines between Lashkar Gah and Kandahar must have been red hot. I didn’t care about that now. We’d lost five minutes of precious fuel sitting with our thumbs up our arses. It was going to be tight now. Painfully tight.

‘This isn’t funny, Ed,’ Carl muttered.

‘Buddy, do we have enough fuel to do this now?’

Carl had crunched the stats as soon as he’d heard the brigadier’s voice.

‘No, but yes.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Legally no, because we’ve only got 890 lb left. Direct to Bastion from here at endurance speed is twenty-six minutes using up 390 lb of gas. Take off the 400 lb Minimum Landing Allowance we must land with and we have 100 lb of Combat Gas – or just over six minutes’ flying time. It will take you longer than that to brief them. I’m prepared to bust the limit and land with 200 lb. That gives us twenty minutes from now and perhaps a minute or two extra when we’re on the ground. So, illegally, yes. We’ll just get away with it. But you need to be
very, VERY
quick.’

Brief, strap ’em on, fly six klicks, rescue Ford, fly back six klicks …
Twenty minutes? Jesus
… We’d have to make do.

‘You’re a genius, Carl. Grab the stick.’

The rotors were turning but I was already halfway out of the cockpit. The rules didn’t mean much now. Carl leaned out to pass me his strap.

‘Ed, I mean fucking quick. If we’re not pulling pitch for home in twenty minutes we’ll end up in the desert.’

‘Okay, relay the lot to …’

‘I have via text, while we were talking. They’re up for it. Don’t waste a second. Go.’

The first man I reached was Dave Rigg.

‘You know what’s going on?’

He nodded. ‘I’ve seen the Nimrod feed.’

Good.

He extended his hand. ‘Hi, I’m Dave Rigg, I’m the –’

‘Sorry, we’re mega low on time. Follow me.’

I grabbed Rigg and pulled him up to the right side of the aircraft while I pulled out my strap. The other three followed. I asked for their surnames. The rotors were thumping so hard I had to shout.

‘Right …’ I held up the strap. ‘You’ve got to strap yourself on because if you get shot while you’re on the wing, you need to stay on it. Lots of things might happen out there. I’m not going to go into them all.’

I pointed to the grab bar beside Carl’s door.

‘This bar here is what you’re going to strap onto.’

I demonstrated.

‘Okay, with that?’

Three of them nodded, wide-eyed and hanging on my every word. But RSM Hearn didn’t appear to be paying much attention. Instead, he just grinned. I hadn’t the time to ask what he was finding so funny. I thought that perhaps he was nervous; I would have been, in his position.

‘Right, this is what’s going to happen …’

I drew a line in the sand with my finger in front of the Apache, and put a small pebble beside it. ‘That’s the wall, and that’s Mathew Ford. Both aircraft will land in the field here, with the wall on our right. As soon as the pilots give you the thumbs up, go. Run to the wall. When you find the big hole in it, Mathew is just to the left. Grab one limb each and go to the nearest aircraft. Strap him onto the foot step in front of the right wheel with one of your straps.

‘Get back on the aircraft you got off, in the same place. If you don’t have a strap left, just hold on tight. Don’t run round the back of the aircraft or the tail rotor will chop your head off. If we go down, stay with the aircraft. The crew will guide you. If the crew are dead, make for the river. The firebase will cover you across it.’

Was there anything I’d forgotten to mention? Yes, loads; but we didn’t have the time.

‘You.’ I pointed to Rigg, the bloke nearest to me. ‘You’re going to sit on this flat side here, in front of the engine air intake. Wedge your back against the aircraft by jamming your feet against the empty Hellfire rail.’

I took the remaining three round the other side.

‘Fraser-Perry, you’re going here. Same drill. I’ll be back with some straps. You two, follow me.’

We sprinted the 100 metres to the other Apache. Billy and Geordie’s canopy doors were open, ready for me.

‘Give me your straps, guys.’

Billy threw his down. Geordie just looked embarrassed and put up his hands.

‘I haven’t got it.’

‘What?’

‘My jacket’s in for servicing. This is a spare, like. Sorry.’

Bloody hell. Geordie was the squadron’s Combat Rescue officer.
Of all the people to forget a strap
… He’d be ribbed mercilessly by the lads for this when we got back. Someone would just have to go without.

‘Geordie, you lead, we’ll follow. Make sure you stay out of the gun line; they’ll be firing all the way in to cover us.’

‘No problem mate.’

I dished out Carl and Billy’s straps to Robinson and RSM Hearn – who was still grinning at me – and ran back to my aircraft.

How the hell do I choose who gets the last strap? Shit – is this going to be a life or death decision? It had to be Rigg. He knew where Mathew was, he was marginally more mission critical. I threw it up to him then went back round to see Fraser-Perry.

‘There’s no strap for you.’

He looked at me in disbelief.

‘Put your arm through the grab bar and then force your hand in under your body armour. That way you won’t fall off if you get shot. Do you understand what I am saying?’

He took it well.

‘Yes, yes …’ He nodded frantically and cracked on.

‘Tuck it in.’

The tall marine in shirt sleeves was waiting for me at the front of the aircraft. Now I recognised him. Colonel Magowan. His brow was painfully furrowed, and intense concern was etched over every square inch of his tanned face.

‘Good luck,’ he said, and we shook hands. It sounded like he meant those words more now than he had in his whole life.

I clambered back inside and plugged in as Carl was completing his last checks.

‘Guess who didn’t bring his strap.’

‘Not the SERE officer was it, by chance?’ He grinned. ‘Who drew the short straw?’

‘Young guy, left-hand side; name’s Fraser-Perry. The one on the right’s called Rigg.’

I slammed my door, buckled up, pulled down my visor and tried to catch my breath as the air conditioning kicked back in.