When asked, ‘How was your day?’ people frequently respond with ‘oh, just like yesterday’ or ‘like any other day’. Well if that was the case for me then I should be wary of today. If all my days were to start as yesterday started, then I doubt that I would have lived for as long as I have.
So how did yesterday start for me? Well, in truth it was a day like any other. I woke, shaved, grabbed some scoff and then settled down with a book to watch the sun rise over the Green Zone. And that, when the first ray of sunlight cleared the tips of the distant mountains, when that first orange beam cut through the sky, that was when my day turned ugly...and if I could dare say...slightly odd. Maybe slightly isn’t quite the word, maybe distinctly odd or even just plain crazy. Either way the day went south, and in a hurry at that.
It started with a mortar strike on the other side of the compound. The blast sent dirt and shrapnel flying hither and thither. Other mortar rounds followed that first one and soon the entire platoon was running for cover, slipping on Osprey armoured vests and donning helmets. Over the blasts and zinging debris our commanders could be heard shouting orders that mostly consisted of; get to cover, put on your vests and grab your helmets. Officers always seem to be one step behind what the ranks are actually doing.
So there I was, in my fox hole with my vest and helmet and with the inevitable afghan sweat rolling down my spine. I looked at the guy next to me. He laughed and commented that the Tali Tubbies couldn’t hit a thing.
He’s right. They can’t. But you never know, so we hid.
So, so far my day was ugly but hardly odd or weird. I mean the Tali Tubbies attack us every day. It wasn’t odd; in fact it was the norm.
The oddity came a little later. Now, we had two tanks from the Danish army sitting in an elevated position on a ridge above us. The man I was crouching next to happened to be the radio operator for our FOO, that’s Forward Observation Observer, to the laymen. He was relaying information from the FOO to the tanks so the tanks started blasting away at the Taliban positions. Still all fairly normal.
The mortars stopped, again normal and we all charged to the berm of our little base with rifles and battle gear and stood there on the fire-step waiting for the enemy to start taking pot shots at us. This they now did. And the tanks still blazed away.
Normal, everyday and rather mundane.
Then the brass decided that our JTAC, forget the acronym, just so you know that he controls the planes, has to get to work. He’s on the radio and the fighter bombers start to roll in. Do you know that you can actually see a bomb as it falls from the hard point under a plane’s wing? Hardly odd, but interesting. So the Green Zone starts to turn into this big fire filled jungle of dust clouds and flame and death. A few RPG’s, you know what they are, right? RPG’s are whipping overhead and striking the wall and our world has just become this mess of noise and light.
And then everything stops and the Green Zone goes quiet. Well not quiet, when is anything ever really quiet. We could hear dogs barking in the distance and some chatter coming from the radios but the firing had stopped. So it was quiet.
That in itself isn’t really odd. The Taliban have this habit of starting up a blazing firefight and then just stopping only to start up again half an hour later. Damned confusing.
Okay, so now we’re ordered to go out on patrol and after the officers take their obligatory half an hour to get ready, remember that in the army “Hurry up and Wait” is our motto, we head off. Into grass that is over our heads and where if you can see over four feet in front of you then you’ve stepped out of the Green Zone and are looking at the desert.
So we’re hot, we’re sticky and their there’s enough sweat soaking my clothes that if I rung them out I could fill an Olympic sized pool. Once again all very normal.
Before long we step into another ambush. The RPG’s zing overhead and the AK rounds shred the grass. We dive and eat some dirt and then the tanks start up again and here come the planes. Combat, sometimes, is really predictable.
Now the ground heaves, it feels like the Earth has just taken a deep breath and then lets it out about ten feet in front of me. The ground splits, like pulling apart some really crumbly cheese and this great rush of stagnant air bursts like a geyser. It’s filled with dust and fire and strands of grass and dirt is raining down all over the place.
It feels like a 500 pound JDAM has just hit the ground in front of me and that’s what I think it is. And now my day turns odd. Because the ground cracks again, this time under me; being point man sometimes sucks. So here I am left spread eagled on the ground with my right side gripping one half of the crack and left the other and my eyes looking into an abyss. Then the right side starts to lift, the left side starts to move away from me and I flounder like a grounded fish trying to find purchase on ground that just doesn’t want me there.
Down I go.
I fall about ten feet, roll down a dusty slope for about fifteen, fall another couple of feet, roll some more and then stop on my back staring at a bunch of stalactites that look like dragon’s teeth. What an awesome day. So, now, I’m covered in dust with sand all through my uniform, itching my nether regions. When I stand I have to take off my boots and pants just to shake some of it out. I know, I should have been wary about where I was and what may have come down with me and what may have actually been down here with me but you shove half of the burning Afghan desert down your crotch and then tell me you wouldn’t do the same.
Soon after I noticed that my SA80 hadn’t followed me down. Which just so happened to be around about the time the Tali-Tubbie showed up.
I don’t know why they always shoot from the hip. They have no accuracy doing that. But thank God he did it. Thank God! Because he missed and I, showing nothing of my true British resolve, ran away. Down a tunnel. That was very dark. And I had no light. With my pants in one hand in my boots in the other.
Dammit.
Luckily for me there was a light ahead and I could see enough not to trip. I could hear my rag clad friend chasing me and screaming out all sorts of foreign tongued obscenities at me. I continued to run towards the light. I remember thinking that I should stay from the light. To not go into the light. But screw that I was being chased by some ranting insurgent and I was going to where I could see.
In the end, however, I ran past the light. Simply because I didn’t realise that I had past it. The tunnel branched out and the light was coming from another tunnel that ran off to the left. I turned when I realised my mistake but by then Mr Taliban had reached the light tunnel and in he went. I decided that now was best time to ambush him so I followed.
That tunnel actually opened up into a wide cavern that was lit by several burning pools of some liquid I couldn’t easily identify. Lying in the middle of that cavern was a dragon. An honest to god dragon. Claws, wings, scales, all curled up watching Mr Taliban. They told us a lot about coming over here; ‘don’t drink the water’, ‘stay away from the women’, ‘never go anywhere alone.’ but I couldn’t recall anything such as ‘Oh and be careful of the dragons.’
So the Tali-Tubbie burbles some nonsense and then starts shooting. From the hip. Honestly, he couldn’t hit the broad side of a dragon. Still it must have upset the beasty because it flicks its tail out at his legs and with a snap of bone he goes down; then the dragon strikes out like a snake and eats him.
Yuck.
Well as you can imagine. I’m pretty scared about now and really just waiting for the dragon to lash out and turn my half naked form into dessert. It stares at me with yellow eyes, looks me up and down and, strangely, I feel embarrassed so I cover my nakedness. Then it yawns, its breath smells like Taliban, and goes back to sleep.
It takes me the rest of the day to find my way out of those tunnels, and I come out behind the Danish tanks. About six kilometres from where I fell in. I’m dirty, dusty, my uniform is in tatters, I’ve lost my pants and I smell like...hell I don’t know what I smell like but it isn’t pretty. And the first thing my lieutenant says to me is “where’s your pants?”
