Spider Shepherd: SAS: #2 (27 page)

When he saw the Landrover, Todd let out a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a cry and began to stumble towards it. ‘Freeze!’ Shepherd barked. Todd stopped dead, his gaze still fixed on the Landrover. ‘There may be an IED or a booby-trap,’ Shepherd said. ‘We wait while the REs clear the area.’ He nodded to the engineers and they fanned out into a line and began inching their way forward, some sweeping mine detectors in arcs over the ground ahead of them, while others probed with thin steel prodders.

‘They’re not probing for mines are they?’ Todd said, nervously. ‘If they hit a mine with one of those rods, they’ll blow themselves to pieces.’

‘They’re looking for command wires,’ said Shepherd.  ‘Our AWACs and Nimrods can suppress the wireless initiation of devices but the Taliban usually prefer the old-fashioned methods.’ They watched in silence as the REs continued the search, moving steadily away from them and towards the Landrover. Suddenly there was a “Pop” sound in the distance.

Shepherd recognised the sound immediately. ‘Mortar!’ he shouted. 

‘Take cover,’ Todd yelled, throwing himself flat and worming towards the ditch at the side of the road. Up ahead the REs searching for command wires had also flattened themselves to the ground.

Shepherd smiled despite the seriousness of the situation. ‘No rush,’ he said, strolling over to the ditch and squatting down alongside Todd. ‘Time of flight for a mortar is a good thirty seconds and after that all you can do is hope for the best.’

The seconds ticked by with agonising slowness. There was no way of predicting where the mortar shell would fall nor, if it landed close by, any way of avoiding its murderous shrapnel. The jagged fragments of steel, white hot from the furnace of the explosion, would blast outwards with devastating force and if it landed on top you it was game over.  After half a minute of stomach churning tension, there was a loud “crump!” sound that Shepherd felt in the pit of his stomach as dirt and smoke erupted into the air. The mortar round had exploded about fifty feet away from the engineers. ‘They’re not after us,’ Shepherd said. ‘They’re after the Search Team.’

A cloud of smoke and dust dispersed slowly on the breeze and the REs got to their feet, unhurt, and resumed their slow, methodical search.

Shepherd spoke into his throat mic. ‘Pickets, keep your eyes peeled for that mortar crew.’

Again there was the double-click of acknowledgement from Jimbo and Geordie. Shepherd glanced up towards the ridgelines on either side, and saw a faint movement as the pickets moved further up the valley, hunting for a position from which they could spot the hidden mortar crew.

At random intervals a handful of mortar rounds dropped into the valley, bracketing the search team as they moved towards the Landrover.

‘Any sign of them?’ called Jock.

‘They’re well hidden,’ said Shepherd.

‘Why can’t the pickets spot them?’ Todd asked.

‘Because the Taliban are being very cautious,’ Shepherd said. ‘Weapons are ten a penny but good mortar crews are precious. Takes a long time to train a crew so they make sure they’re protected.’

There was another popping sound off in the distance and half a minute later another mortar round exploded. This time it was much closer to the Search Team and one of the REs, lying prone in the dirt, was picked up and flung sideways by the blast. He lay on the ground screaming in pain and fear as a Paratrooper medic ran to him. The medic crouched over him and pressed a trauma pad onto a wound on his thigh.

‘This is a bloody nightmare,’ said Todd.

‘He’s probably all right,’ Shepherd said. ‘Geordie always reckons that if they’re making that much noise, they’re going to be okay. It’s the ones who make no sound at all who have serious trauma.’ Shepherd didn’t feel half as calm as he sounded. The mortar strikes were ranging in on the Search Team, and though that round might not have been fatal, the next one might well be.

A moment later, Geordie’s voice crackled in Shepherd’s earpiece. ‘Spotted them - three muj with a mortar.’

‘Bingo,’ Shepherd said. ‘Mark them with the LTD.’

‘Laying LTD now.’

Once Geordie had aimed his laser at the mortar crew the bombers would be able to take it out with pinpoint accuracy.

‘LTD laid,’ said Geordie. An instant later, Shepherd heard the Forward Air Controller on the net to the AWACs, calling in an airstrike.

‘How will we know when it’s going to happen?‘ asked Todd.

Shepherd shrugged. ‘We won’t. The first news we’ll get is “Bang!” You ever seen a five hundred pound bomb go off? It’s quite a show. The LTD doesn’t have to be anywhere near the target; as long as it’s in line of sight with it, that’s enough. We’ll not see or hear the jet. The pilot doesn’t even aim, he just drops it blind and the detector in the nose cone homes in along the laser light track emitted from the LTD, and steers itself onto the target with the fins on its tail.’

‘Sounds like a video game,’ said Todd.

‘It pretty much is,’ said Shepherd. ‘Except you only get the one life.’

The minutes ticked by in a silence broken only by the now muted cries of the wounded RE when suddenly there was vivid flash from the ridge to the north-east. Red-orange flame and oily black smoke boiled upwards while fragments that might have been rock, metal - or body parts - were flung out, black against the sky. A moment later the sound of the blast rolled over them like a clap of thunder, and the shock wave swept through in a storm of fine dust and debris. As Shepherd dusted himself down he heard Geordie’s laconic voice in his earpiece: ‘Target neutralised’.

The REs showed less signs of nerves as they resumed their work and five minutes later there was an excited shout as one of them reached down into the dirt and held up a length of a command wire.  ‘Got it!’ he shouted.  He used a pair of wire cutters to sever the wire before moving towards the Landrover with the rest of the REs. Lex and a group of Paras tracked the wire in the other direction, weapons at the ready. The wire extended to a clump of wind-stunted acacia trees that had provided cover for the bombers, but they had already fled and the Paras returned empty-handed.

The REs had followed the command wire to a device buried by the wrecked Landrover.  It contained enough explosive to blow up the Landrover and anyone near it.

‘It’s safe!’ shouted one of the Res.

Shepherd, Jock and Todd walked over to the Landrover. Jock checked the bodies for life signs one by one, even though there was no doubt that they were all stone dead.

They had all been shot at close range with a semi-automatic weapon. None of their weapons had been fired. Two of the men were still in their seats. The one who had been sitting behind the driver had a bullet hole above his left ear and a much larger exit wound on the other side of his head. The front-seat passenger had been shot in the back of the head; his blood and brains covered the windscreen. The driver had had time to jump from his seat, but had then been cut down by a burst of fire in the back before he had gone a yard. There was no sign of Ahmad Khan and no blood on the seat he had been occupying, but the floor around it was littered with ejected 5.45 cases.

The Captain stared at the cases.

‘That’s right, they’re from an AK74,’ said Shepherd.

‘Khan shot them, is that what you’re saying?’

‘What do you think, Captain? Seriously?’

Todd put a hand up to his face, covering his eyes. ‘I had no idea.’

‘We warned you,’ said Jock. ‘You can’t trust these ragheads.’

Todd’s face had gone white. He began to shake and then he threw up over the offside front wheel. Jock shook his head in disgust.

Shepherd waved over at the Paras and they came over and began to load the bodies of their dead comrades into the truck.

Todd walked away from the Landrover and stood staring at the ground, cradling his carbine.

‘Part of me wants to give him a piece of my mind, part of me wants to tell him that we all make mistakes,’ Shepherd said to Jock.

‘Yeah, but not all mistakes end up with three dead Paras,’ said Jock. He cursed under his breath. ‘I should’ve stopped them going. I knew it was a mistake. I should have told the Boss to stop them.’

‘Could have, would have, should have,’ said Shepherd.

‘I’m just saying, this is partly my fault.’

‘Don’t be a prick, Jock. You told them it was a bad idea and you were overruled by a Captain and a Major.’

‘Ours not to reason why, eh?’

‘Something like that.’ Shepherd spat at the ground. ‘We do our best, it’s just sometimes our best isn’t good enough.’ He nodded over at the Captain. ‘He knows what he did was wrong and he’ll never make that mistake again.  What we need to do is find the murdering bastard and sort him out.’

Jock nodded. ‘Amen to that.’

* * *

The body bags containing the dead Paras were heli-ed out later that day, beginning the long journey home that would end, not with a silent procession through the streets of the Para Support Group’s base at St Asaph, but in near-anonymous funerals attended only by their family and close friends. In common with other Special Forces deaths, the casualties would be acknowledged but the regimental affiliations of the dead men would be concealed to preserve the secrecy of SAS operations.

Anyone who bothered to study the small print of combat deaths would have been surprised at how many men from the Royal Anglian Regiment had apparently lost their lives in Afghanistan. It had become so noticeable that in recent months the Mercian and Yorkshire Regiments had also been used as cover for the deaths of Special Forces soldiers.

Todd kept a very low profile over the next few days, but though he was censured, he was allowed to remain with the SAS Squadron, to Jock’s undisguised disgust. ‘If we’d pulled that kind of fuck up, we’d have been RTU’d toot sweet,’ he said in his trademark Glaswegian growl. ‘But as it’s a Rupert, they just put it down to the learning curve and let him carry on.’

Shepherd nodded. ‘I know, but look, he knows how badly he fucked up and to be honest when we were young and keen most of us caused cock-ups that could have been just as disastrous. I don’t know about you, but I certainly thought I knew it all when I passed Selection.’

‘You’ve got that right,’ Jock said. ‘I’ve never seen such a cocky bugger.’

Shepherd grinned. ‘I had my moments, didn’t I? Anyway, we’re stuck with Todd for now, and however hard we are on him about it, I’m sure he’ll be a hell of a sight harder on himself, so let’s give him a break, okay?’

You’re too soft sometimes, you know that?’

‘Yeah, so I’ve been told.’

* * *

For the next week Spider was engaged on routine surveillance, intelligence gathering and their trademark hearts and minds work, with Geordie dispensing drugs and dressings and carrying out minor operations on the local villagers. It was work that had won the SAS local allies in every campaign in which they’d fought but it was hard going in Afghanistan as Geordie ruefully remarked as they made their way back to the FOB after another long, tiring day in the field. ‘Hearts and Minds is fine when we’re operating on our own. But it only takes the Yanks to fire one Hellfire missile into the middle of an Afghan wedding party to fuck up six months of patient work.’

Shepherd enjoyed meeting the local Afghans and he got some satisfaction from actually being able to help.  Antibiotics were in short supply and infections often went untreated. It was amazing to see the difference that a few tablets could make.

After seven days in the field, they were recalled to the main base at Bagram. As the heli landed on the sprawling base, shared with U.S. forces and awash with American personnel, vehicles and kit, they could see that the mountains of military equipment were still being added to, as forklift trucks shuttled between giant C5 transports on the concrete hard standing and the supply dumps ringing the base. It was clear that the Americans were in Afghanistan to stay – for the foreseeable future at least.

As the heli came to a stand and the rotors wound down, Shepherd jumped down and glanced around. ‘Do you know what?’ he said. ‘After a few weeks in that fly-blown dust-bowl we laughingly call an FOB, even Bagram is beginning to look quite civilised.’

‘Don’t get too excited,’ Jock said. ‘The Boss has set up a briefing for seventeen hundred hours today. So we may not be here for long.’

The briefing room was a windowless, air-conditioned room, set below ground in a building shielded by concrete blast walls and berms bulldozed out of the sandy Afghan soil. As Shepherd, Jock, Jimbo and Geordie and the other members of the Squadron filed into the briefing room, they found Todd already there, adjusting a laptop projector and spreading a series of maps and documents on the table.  He waited until they had all seated themselves before speaking. ‘Before we get the briefing under way, I have something I need to say.‘  He took a deep breath, then turned to face Shepherd and Jock directly. ‘I owe you all an apology. I screwed up badly over Ahmad Khan. I was an idiot and three men paid the ultimate price for my stupidity. I know nothing can bring those men back, but I want to make what amends I can, and to do so I’m claiming “Droit de Seigneur”. I want to be in at the kill.’

Shepherds eyebrows shot skywards and he could see several of the troopers frowning in confusion.