Книга - Ground Truth: 3 Para Return to Afghanistan

Ground Truth: 3 Para Return to Afghanistan
Patrick Bishop


Afghanistan, 2008. After their eighteen-month epic tour of Helmand Province, the troops of 3 Para are back. This time, the weight of experience weighs heavily on their shoulders.In April 2006 the elite 3 Para Battle Group was despatched to Helmand Province, Afghanistan, on a tour that has become a legend. All that summer the Paras were subjected to relentless Taliban attacks in one of the most gruelling campaigns fought by British troops in modern times.Two years later the Paras are back in the pounding heat of the Afghanistan front lines. The conflict has changed. The enemy has been forced to adopt new weaponry and tactics. But how much progress are we really making in the war against the insurgents? And is there an end in sight?In this searing account of 3 Para’s return, bestselling author Patrick Bishop combines gripping, first-person accounts of front line action with an unflinching look at the hard realities of our involvement in Afghanistan. Writing from a position of exclusive access alongside the Paras, he reveals the ‘ground truth’ of the mission our soldiers have been given. It’s a sombre picture. But shining out from it are stories of courage, comradeship and humour, as well as a gripping account of an epic humanitarian operation through Taliban-infested country to deliver a vitally needed turbine to the Kajaki Dam.Frank, action-packed and absorbing, “Ground Truth” is a timely and important book that will set the agenda for discussion of the Afghan conflict for years to come.







GROUND TRUTH

3 Para: Return to Afghanistan

PATRICK BISHOP







To Douglas and Richenda




Contents


List of Illustrations (#u76d2de45-7ab0-5344-8b5e-b194e8c60f16)

Maps (#u74fb49bb-1920-587e-a887-e99bf0f42e55)

Introduction: A Big Ask (#u64b38552-2e86-5a38-8c7f-e2c18ad0542a)

1 Going Back (#u531d8c42-ebf9-53cf-a682-d9df2515ceeb)

2 Through the Looking Glass (#uf5d20307-c16a-58a5-89ea-f074dcb3187e)

3 KAF (#u9f5669f5-3060-58c3-9779-df725b940200)

4 Hearts and Minds (#u52e56d45-5231-5b93-ad86-a48b4f4d67dc)

5 Hunting the Hobbit (#u3a48b9df-95ba-50c6-9d46-3766654110a6)

6 Green Zone (#u50a1e0f5-d9f5-5183-9de8-c2effd6b299a)

7 IED (#ud29743c2-ffc1-5934-8b6c-6ec3a3fd5cb6)

8 The Stadium (#u856ba3dd-2917-5dbf-9b09-df969d5839ae)

9 Facing the Dragon (#u82590977-624c-53a6-9b51-7183f27902d0)

10 Sangin Revisited (#u3c0548ee-ed40-577f-a62f-774b10381772)

11 The White Cliffs of Helmand (#u157c0566-696f-5ca4-a3ff-2897da24c58b)

12 Convoy (#ud81421a2-04ae-5b69-adba-9564ce7bb5cf)

13 The Enemy (#ubbda79ce-48fc-56b0-ba63-b0b5633d8858)

14 Close Quarters (#ue069b2bd-a725-570b-81bf-911daeee9041)

15 Fields of Fire (#ud7517ceb-c04e-5561-bb93-e91fc8d7e299)

16 ‘Something our Parents will Understand’ (#u22c31cd5-8224-5f32-ad23-ea517c43f181)

17 Homecoming (#u2db09de8-39c9-5f95-a76f-f811aae797ef)

Abbreviations, Acronyms and Military Terms (#ud79ea267-6f97-577c-817e-fd3df565b981)

Acknowledgments (#uc0e52105-8023-54f4-827b-ab767f98ed32)

By the Same Author (#u3bdc6045-72f3-5bc1-8fd6-95b9394f50f9)

Index (#uc84329f9-56fe-5da3-ad0e-6dce41d2d3d1)

Copyright (#ulink_99ecd758-f475-5c43-878d-62a2a501e302)

About the Publisher (#uc692d775-86f8-5e0d-8ba8-2a55f3ccce9e)


The following account is based on interviews with the soldiers of 16 Air Assault Brigade. The author has made his best endeavour to report events accurately and truthfully and any insult or injury to any of the parties described or quoted herein or to their families is unintentional. The publishers will be happy to correct any inaccuracies in later editions.

Some names have been changed or omitted to protect operational security.




List of Illustrations (#u341fac4e-8716-5611-acc5-9d3865ec293d)


Brigadier Mark Carleton-Smith © Sergeant Anthony Boocock, 16 Air Assault Brigade photographer/Crown Copyright

Major Stuart McDonald © Tina Hager



Sangin schoolroom © Patrick Bishop

A Para leads women to safety © Jason P. Howe/ConflictPics

‘A’ Company patrols a poppy field © Captain Ian McLeish



Paras patrolling in Hutal © Tina Hager

Colour Sergeant Mark Kennedy with children in Qal-e-Gaz

© Captain Ian McLeish

‘A’ Company at a Maywand Base © Marco di Lauro/Getty Images

Paras navigating Maywand ditches © Jason P. Howe/ConflictPics

6 Platoon, ‘B’ Company patrol outside Hutal © Tina Hager



‘Gungy Third’ aboard a Chinook to Inkerman © Patrick Bishop

FOB Inkerman sangar sentry © Patrick Bishop

Privates Ben Biddulph and Andy Shawcross at Inkerman © Patrick Bishop

End of patrol at FOB Inkerman © Patrick Bishop

Sergeant Major Stu Bell © Patrick Bishop

Captain Ben Harrop © Patrick Bishop



Paras tabbing along a Mizan route © Christopher Pledger

Sergeant Chris Prosser at Inkerman © Patrick Bishop



Paras run to board a Chinook © Christopher Pledger

‘A’ Company prepare to assault © Captain Ian McLeish



Tabbing back to base in Zabul © Sergeant Ian Harding, 16 Air Assault Brigade Photographer/Crown Copyright

‘B’ Company patrol in Mizan © Christopher Pledger



Corporal Marc Stott © Patrick Bishop

Lieutenant Fraser Smith in Band-e-Timor © Patrick Bishop



Arrival at Kadahar Stadium © Marco di Lauro/Getty Images

Lance Corporal Andy Lanaghan with an ANA soldier

Paras patrol Kandahar City © Sergeant Craig Allen, Parachute Regiment Photographer/Crown Copyright



Bathing in the Sangin irrigation channel © Patrick Bishop

Sangin civilian © Patrick Bishop

Taking a breather in the Sangin Green Zone © Patrick Bishop

Corporal Mike French © Patrick Bishop



Corporal Bev Cornell © Corporal Bev Baljit Kaur Cornell

Corporal Marianne Hay with her dog Deanna © Patrick Bishop

HET tractor and trailer rig © Patrick Bishop

Satellite image of Kajaki dam by kind permission of Regional Command South

Major Stuart McDonald and Brigadier Huw Williams in Kajaki Sofia © Sergeant Anthony Boocock, 16 Air Assault Brigade photographer/Crown Copyright

Kajaki District Leader Abdul Razzak announces the ceasefire is off© Patrick Bishop

Major John Boyd © Patrick Bishop

A 500-pound bomb at Kajaki Sofia © Patrick Bishop



Corporal Stu Hale © Patrick Bishop

Flying the 3 Para flag © Christopher Pledger



Endpapers

‘A’ Company regroup after an air assault in Maywand © Jason P. Howe/ConflictPics





While every effort has been made to trace the owners of copyright material reproduced herein, the publishers would like to apologise for any omissions and would be pleased to incorporate missing acknowledgments in future editions.




List of Maps (#u341fac4e-8716-5611-acc5-9d3865ec293d)






































Introduction: A Big Ask (#u341fac4e-8716-5611-acc5-9d3865ec293d)


When 3 Para arrived back in Colchester in the autumn of 2008 after their second tour of Afghanistan in three years, their commanding officer, Huw Williams, pointed out the difference between his generation of soldiers and the very young men he was leading.

‘When I joined the army we thought we would have to go Northern Ireland and might possibly have to go somewhere else to fight,’ he said. ‘But these guys knew when they joined that they would be expected to go off, more or less straight away, to a full-on war.’

A British soldier’s job today is much more difficult and dangerous than it was in the last decades of the twentieth century. Then it was easily possible to go through an entire career without hearing a shot fired in anger. Now, a new recruit to a combat unit is virtually certain to see action. Thanks to Afghanistan, before long almost everyone will have a war story to tell. Since the British Army went there in force in 2006, about 40,000 servicemen and women have come and gone. That represents more than a third of the country’s ground troops. Some of them have now been twice. Force levels are rising steadily. There is no end in sight to the conflict and no obvious short cut that would allow an early but honourable exit. A spell in ‘Afghan’, as the soldiers call it, is becoming as routine as an Ulster roulement was thirty years ago.

There are some similarities. The skills and drills honed on the terraced streets of Belfast and Londonderry and the fields of Fermanagh and Tyrone have proved surprisingly useful in the river valleys of Helmand.

The differences, though, are far bigger. Ulster was grim, but Afghanistan is harrowing. The violence is deeper, darker and more disturbing. There were no suicide bombers in Northern Ireland. Life in Afghanistan’s front-line forts is harsh, squalid, exhausting and dangerous. Soldiers know that once they step through the gates they are facing six months of knackering patrols, regular fire-fights and the constant nerve-fraying fear that the next step they take may trigger a buried bomb.

They are operating in an extreme climate in wild country among people whose culture, try as the soldiers might to understand it, remains baffling and opaque. There’s nothing in the recent memory of the British Army to draw on for help. You have to go back more than a hundred years to match the experience. Any soldier reading Winston Churchill’s account of his time with the Malakand Field Force fighting Pathan (Pashtun) tribesmen in the North West Frontier in 1897 would feel a buzz of recognition at his tales of Tommies and their native allies battling with heat, thirst, slippery local leaders and opponents steeped in a culture of violence.

‘The strong aboriginal propensity to kill, inherent in all human beings, has… been preserved in unexampled strength and vigour,’ he wrote. ‘That religion, which above all others was founded and propagated by the sword — the tenets and principles of which are instinct with incentives to slaughter and which in three continents has produced fighting breeds of men — stimulates a wild and merciless fanaticism.’


(#ulink_82e6466f-3736-54db-abd3-71e4ab8f70a2)

The strain of a tour is enormous, reflected in the number of soldiers diagnosed with mental disorders.


(#ulink_96778f4a-c44b-5d3b-bfd4-6c81f637134a) But the burden also lies heavy on the folk they leave behind. For those with families, Afghan duty means being absent from hearth and home not just for the six months of the deployment but also for lengthy pre-operational training exercises. By the end of 2010, some members of 3 Para will have done three Afghan stints in five years.

It is, as the soldiers say, ‘a big ask’. It is not as if they are going to fight in a popular cause. British public opinion remains resolutely sceptical about the value of the campaign. Most people seem unwilling to accept the government’s assertion that by fighting in Afghanistan we are defending the home front against a threat as great as that posed by the Nazis. The scepticism shows no sign of eroding. Progress, military and political, is deemed to be non-existent or far too slow to merit the cost in blood, money and effort.

At the same time, the public are full of admiration for the soldiers. The standing of the services in civilian eyes is probably higher than at any time since the Second World War. It is not difficult to see why. Their culture of stoicism and comradeship are points of light in a world of blighted materialism and egocentricity They remind us, perhaps, of the way we like to think we once were.

The soldiers are pleased to be appreciated. But they, who pay the price of Britain’s policy, do not share the civilians’ pessimism. From what I have seen and heard, there is no significant reluctance to serve in Afghanistan and if necessary to do so again and again. ‘Are we prepared to do it?’ asked 3 Para’s former regimental sergeant major John Hardy. ‘Yes we are. Every time.’ The soldiers are driven back by a number of impulses. One is professional satisfaction. Almost every soldier in a volunteer army welcomes the prospect of action. Another is their sense of duty which has stood up well to the climate of self-interest prevalent in civilian life.

But there is more to it than that. Soldiers have a refreshingly clear-cut sense of right and wrong. They sympathise with the Afghan people, caught between the cruelty of the insurgents and the venality of the authorities, and want to help them. The job is tough and dangerous and brimming with frustrations and disillusionment, but the prizes of safety at home and a better Afghanistan are considered, if they can be won, to be worth it. The soldiers’ enthusiasm, though, is finite. A military stalemate will eventually lower morale and degrade performance. If there are no signs that the Afghan government is serious about governing, that process will accelerate.

The phrase ‘ground truth’ is a military expression, meaning how things are compared with how they are imagined to be. Soldiers know the ground truth better than anyone; yet, it seems to me, their voices have not been given the attention they deserve. They have some extraordinary tales to tell. This book reveals some of their stories as well as their thoughts, fears and anxieties about a conflict that, for good or for bad, is shaping both them and us.

* (#ulink_29902772-68a9-58b3-8983-ff29345e161e) Winston S. Churchill, The Story of the Malakand Field Force: An Episode of Frontier War, Project Gutenberg, E-Book #9404.

* (#ulink_d67bf342-e943-5f6c-92e0-9ffb4735e217) In 2007, according to the Ministry of Defence, 375 Armed Forces personnel who had previously served in Afghanistan were assessed as having a mental disorder.




1 Going Back (#u341fac4e-8716-5611-acc5-9d3865ec293d)


He had imagined this moment often during the last two years. Now, after an hour-long climb along a rocky, sun-baked ridge line, it had arrived. Corporal Stuart Hale shielded his eyes from the mid-morning glare and looked down at the corrugated hillside. The slope was the colour of khaki, bare apart from a scattering of rocks. It was just like a thousand others that undulated across Helmand. There was nothing to show that it was here that his life, and the lives of several of his comrades, had been swept so traumatically off course.

His mates left him alone to enjoy the satisfaction of having made it up unaided. It was cool up here after the baking heat of the valley, quiet too, the silence disturbed only by the occasional boom of mortars in Kajaki camp and the rustling noise the bombs made as they flew past.

Eventually he spoke. ‘I was up there when I spotted them,’ he said, pointing to a crag above. ‘They looked like Taliban, and they seemed to be setting up a checkpoint to stop people on the road down there.’ That morning, 6 September 2006, he had grabbed his rifle and bounded down the hill to get a better look. When he reached a dried-up stream bed he hopped across without thinking. ‘Normally I jump with a two-footed landing’ cause that’s how you’re supposed to do it. A good paratrooper lands feet and knees together. But this time I got a bit lazy and just jumped with one foot.’ The lapse was a stroke of luck. It meant that only his right foot was blown off when he landed on the mine. The detonation was the start of a long ordeal for him and the men who went to his rescue. Four more soldiers were injured and two lost limbs. Corporal Mark Wright was killed.

Hale was rescued after hours of muddle and delay. Back in hospital in Britain he was plunged into a new trauma. Recovering from surgery, he suffered vivid paranoid hallucinations. He believed the doctors were plotting to kill him and that his girlfriend was so horrified by his injuries that she was frozen with fear on the other side of the ward door, unable to face him.

Eventually the nightmares passed. Hale did everything the doctors and physiotherapists asked, determined to regain as much as he could of the fitness he had been so proud of. Now, two years later, he was standing on the peaks above Kajaki, a welcome breeze drying the sweat on his face, after climbing 300 metres up a goat track on one real leg and one artificial one.

In the summer of 2006, Stuart Hale was a private soldier, serving as a sniper in Support Company of the Third Battalion of the Parachute Regiment. 3 Para had formed the core of the battle-group tasked with bringing stability to the province of Helmand, which until then had been virtually ignored by the international force occupying Afghanistan. Helmand was a peripheral province, a pitifully backward corner of a very poor country. No one knew precisely what would happen when British troops got there. Certainly no one anticipated the storm of violence that blew up after the Paras’ arrival. From June onwards, all over the province, the soldiers were pitched into exhausting battles with bands of Taliban who fought with suicidal ferocity to drive them out.

The British were soon stretched to snapping point. They found themselves stranded in remote outposts, dependent almost entirely on helicopters to get food and ammunition in and to take casualties out. At times it seemed they might be overrun. But, showing a bravery and determination that have hardened into legend, they clung on. Their courage was reflected in the medals that followed, a haul that included a VC, awarded to Corporal Bryan Budd, who died winning it. Another thirteen men from the battlegroup were killed. Forty more were seriously wounded.

Now the Paras were back. Since they had bid a thankful farewell to Helmand in the autumn of 2006, three more British expeditionary forces had arrived, fought for six months, and gone home. In that time another fifty-four soldiers had been killed and scores more seriously wounded. The arrival of 16 Air Assault Brigade in the spring of 2008 put more troops than ever on the ground. They lived in fortresses planted near the main settlements and the rough roads that joined them together. They were squalid places, unsanitary, cramped and uncomfortable. But despite their gimcrack construction they looked as if they were going to be there for a long time.

There was no end in sight to Britain’s Afghan adventure. Even the politicians who had launched the deployment into southern Afghanistan in a cloud of optimism admitted that. In the summer of 2006 the 3 Para Battlegroup had won virtually every encounter they had fought and killed many insurgents. No one knew an exact number but a figure of up to a thousand was mentioned. These were heavy losses for a small guerrilla force, living off the land and among the people. The beatings had forced them to change their tactics of reckless, head-on attacks. But they seemed as determined as ever to keep on fighting. As long as they did so there was little chance that progress would be made with the activity that the government said was the real point of the British deployment. The soldiers were there to make Helmand a better place, by building roads and schools and hospitals, but more importantly by creating an atmosphere free of fear within which Afghans could begin to take charge of their lives.

Looking down from the ridge line towards Route 611, the potholed, rocky track that links the mud villages strung along the Sangin Valley, it seemed to Stuart Hale that morning that, if anything, things had gone backwards since he was last there.

On the day he was wounded, he had decided to descend from the OP and engage the Taliban himself with his sniper rifle, rather than calling in a mortar strike on them. ‘I didn’t want there to be any risk of collateral damage because there were women shopping, kids playing,’ he said. ‘The place was really thriving.’ Now he looked down at the silent compounds, the empty road and the deserted fields. ‘No one wants to live here any more,’ he said sadly. ‘It’s a ghost town.’

The area is called Kajaki Olya. It lies a few kilometres from the Kajaki dam, a giant earthwork that holds back the Helmand river. British troops had been sent to Kajaki in June 2006 to help protect it from attacks by the Taliban. The insurgents saw it as an important prize. Its capture would be a propaganda triumph that would also give them control of the most important piece of infrastructure in the region. The chances of them succeeding were tiny. In the regular squalls of violence that swept Kajaki it was the civilians who suffered most. The number of innocents killed so far in this Afghan war is not known, but it is many more than the combined total of the combatant dead. Soon, living close to Kajaki became too dangerous, even for the farming families whose customary blithe fatalism always impresses Westerners.

But now it seemed that life was about to get better, not only for the people around Kajaki but in towns and villages all over southern Afghanistan. We were waiting for the start of a big operation, the high point of the British Army’s 2008 summer deployment. If it succeeded it would give much-needed support to the claims of the foreign soldiers that they were in Afghanistan to build and not to destroy. 16 Air Assault Brigade was about to attempt to realise a project that had been under consideration for two years. It had been postponed several times on the grounds that it was too dangerous, and probably physically impossible. The plan was to deliver the components for a turbine which, when installed in the dam’s powerhouse, would light up Helmand and carry electricity down to Kandahar to turn the wheels of a hundred new projects. It involved carting the parts on a huge convoy across desert and mountain and through densely planted areas of the ‘Green Zone’ where the Taliban would be lying in wait. The Paras, together with a host of other British and Afghan soldiers, were now gathering in the last days of August, to protect the convoy as it reached Route 611 and the last and most dangerous phase of its epic journey.

Now, as we toiled along the ridgeway that switchbacked up and down the three peaks dominating Kajaki, we could hear the sounds of fighting drifting up from the Green Zone. Our destination was Sparrowhawk West, on top of the most southerly crag. Stu Hale led the way in. The OP gave an eagle’s-eye view of the whole valley, from the desert to the east to the green strip of cultivation, watered by the canals that run off the Helmand river, across to the wall of mountains that rears up on the far bank. A team of watchers has sat there night and day, winter and summer, since the spring of 2006. The operation to clear the way had already begun. Down at the foot of the hill we could see sleeping bags spread out like giant chrysalises in a compound at the side of the 611, which 3 Para’s ‘A’ Company had taken over the night before.

Through the oversized binoculars mounted in the sangars we watched a patrol moving southwards along the road. They were from 2 Para, which manned the Kajaki camp, pushing down towards a line of bunkers known as ‘Flagstaff and Vantage’—the Taliban’s first line of defence. A thin burst of fire drifted up from the valley. ‘That’s coming from Vantage,’ said one of the observers. It was answered immediately by the bass throb of a heavy machine gun, followed by a swishing noise, like the sound of waves lapping the seashore, as .50-cal bullets flowed through the air. 2 Para’s Patrols Platoon, lying up on the high ground overlooking the road to provide protection, were shooting back.

The firing died away. For a while, peace returned to the valley. On the far side of the river there were people in the fields. The bright blue burkas of the women stood out from the grey-green foliage like patches of wild flowers. Then, noiselessly, there was an eruption of white smoke at the foot of the hill, followed by a flat bang. ‘Mortar,’ said someone, and the binoculars turned to the west. We strained our eyes towards a stretch of broken ground on the far side of the river, scattered with patches of dried-up crops and dotted with abandoned-looking compounds. Somewhere in the middle appeared a spurt of flame and a puff of smoke. This time the mortar appeared to be heading in our direction. We ducked into a dugout and it exploded harmlessly a couple of hundred metres away. The Taliban had given themselves away. The trajectory was picked up on a radar scanner and the firing point pinpointed, a compound just under a kilometre off. Then we heard a noise like a giant door slamming coming from the battery of 105mm guns on the far side of the Kajaki dam and the slither of the shells spinning above our heads. There was a brief silence followed by a flash and a deep, dull bang, and a pillar of white smoke stained with pulverised earth climbed out of the fields.

The exhanges went on intermittently for the rest of the morning, settling into a sort of routine in which each hopeful prod by the Taliban rocket-propelled grenades (RPGs) and machine guns was met by a great retaliatory thump from the British mortars and artillery. The silence rolled in quickly to fill the spaces between the explosions. In the middle of the quiet, from high overhead, another sound drifted down, distant and familiar. Miles above, a faint white line was crawling eastwards across the cloudless sky. There were no high-flying bombers on station. The condensation trail came from an airliner, one of the dozens that pass to and fro every day and night, carrying tourists and business people from London and Paris and Rome to Delhi and Singapore and Sydney. It was noon now. The trolleys would be passing along the aisle while the cabin crew offered passengers the choice of beef or chicken. Perhaps, eight kilometres up, someone was looking out of the window at the pinprick flashes and scraps of smoke and wondering what was going on. Down below, in a medieval landscape of mud houses and dirt roads, the violence was petering out. For ten minutes there was no shooting from the Taliban. 3 Para’s Regimental Sergeant Major Morgan ‘Moggy’ Bridge had decided it was a good time to head back down the mountain. Stu Hale took the lead, bounding over the first boulders. The distant drone of the airliner faded away. The only sound was our breathing. It seemed to be all over. Then, after 100 metres, we heard behind us the throb of the Sparrow Hawk .50-cal machine gun opening up and the sound of violence rolled once more over the harsh and beautiful landscape.




2 Through the Looking Glass (#u341fac4e-8716-5611-acc5-9d3865ec293d)


On the morning of Monday 3 March 2008, a cold, blustery day on which spring seemed far away, the headquarters party of the Third Battalion of the Parachute Regiment arrived at Brize Norton airbase to await the RAF flight that would take them to Kandahar and a new Afghan adventure. The departure lounge was crowded with men and women from all branches of the British services. They sat hunched in what little pockets of privacy they could find, making a last call on their mobiles or stretched out on the carpet catching up on sleep. Brize was where they passed through the looking glass. On one side lay the muddy pastures and bare trees of Oxfordshire. On the other, the mountains, deserts and poppy fields of Helmand. The physical journey was nothing compared to the psychological distance they were about to travel. Here there was security and comfort. Beyond lay a realm of fear, danger and hardship.

Many of the Paras who flew out during the following days had taken part in the great events of the summer of 2006. In the eighteen months they had been away, though, much had changed. The 3 Para Battlegroup had written the opening chapter of Britain’s latest Afghan war. But the plot had moved on and the shape of the action had altered. The battalion looked different too. The Paras had a new colonel and a changed cast of characters. Four out of ten of the veterans of the last tour had left, having quit the army or transferred to other units. They also had a new role that would require skills other than the sheer fighting ability that had sustained them last time.

The battalion was now led by Huw Williams, a lean, relaxed Welshman. He inherited a unit that was still preoccupied with its recent history. The 2006 tour had already entered military folklore, and if some of the prominent original players had departed, their ghosts still lingered on.

Williams had taken over from Stuart Tootal, a complex figure who had sublimated himself in the drama of the campaign, reacting emotionally to its triumphs, crises and setbacks and taking each death and injury as a personal tragedy. His demanding personality had made him a few enemies among his senior officers. There were many more, though, who admired and respected him.

Tootal’s two-year command period ended in November 2007. Early in 2008 he announced he was leaving the army. The news came as a surprise. His bosses thought highly of him and he was assumed to be on a rising path that could take him to the upper reaches of of the army. Tootal was close to several influential journalists. He used his departure to publicise what he said were serious failings in the way the government equipped the men they sent to war and the shameful treatment the wounded received when they returned home. Out of uniform he continued to speak out as a part-time media commentator, which he combined with a top job at Barclays Bank.

To some, his decision to leave was easy to understand. Nothing could ever match the prestige of commanding an elite unit like 3 Para on the most intense operation it had faced since the Falk-lands War. Tootal told friends that if he had continued his army career, subsequent postings were unlikely to come close to matching the excitement and satisfaction he found in Helmand, no matter how far up the ladder he climbed.

Tootal was still commanding 3 Para when it was announced that the battalion would be returning to Afghanistan in the spring of 2008 for Operation Herrick 8. The Paras would be playing a multiple role. Their main function was to act as the rapid reaction force for the NATO commander of southern Afghanistan, going wherever he thought they were needed. But they were also expected to work with 16 Air Assault Brigade, their parent formation, which was deploying at the same time in Helmand.

During early planning meetings for Herrick 8, the brigade got used to the battalion harking back to the experiences in Herrick 4. ‘There was a feeling in 16 Brigade that…3 Para were a backward-looking organisation who only wanted to talk about Herrick 4 and didn’t want to look forward,’ said an officer. ‘Everything [the Brigade] tried to do or talk about was greeted with “well, on Herrick 4 it was like this” and “of course, you don’t understand what it’s like”. The battalion wasn’t overly popular and there was a feeling that they were pulling in a different direction.’

Huw Williams knew as much as anyone about Herrick 4. He had been 3 Para’s second-in-command during the tour, carrying the unglamorous responsibility of keeping the battalion machine running while the colonel got on with the exhausting but exhilarating job of command. But he felt it was time to let the experience go. He was determined that the shadows cast by the legends of 2006 would not obscure the new tasks and changed circumstances facing him and his men. After taking over in November 2007 he told his men that Herrick 4 belonged to the glorious past. Everyone was to look ahead and prepare for a different situation and different role.

The British Army had gone to Helmand in 2006 with only the sketchiest plan, which had been erased by the first contact with reality. They had been sent to a place which most soldiers regarded as being of only peripheral strategic importance. Once there, they were soon stuck with it, enmeshed in a process whose direction they were unable to control. 3 Para Battlegroup was supposed to create a climate of stability in a small area around Helmand’s provincial capital, Lashkar Gah, in which development and reconstruction work could begin. Instead they found themselves riding to the rescue of the Afghan government whose thinly spread forces were under attack from the Taliban. Their area of operations expanded out of the original triangle bounded by Lashkar Gah, the town of Gereshk and the Camp Bastion logistics base to the northern settlements of Sangin, Musa Qaleh and Now Zad.

In the process they became the main targets of the Taliban and sank into an intense attritional slog that lasted throughout the summer. The conflict was later presented officially as the ‘break in battle’, the fighting that has to be done to establish a force in-theatre. But the term was a post facto justification and no such exercise had been envisaged when the soldiers set out. The break in battle decided nothing. The Paras, in the judgement of one of their senior officers, were intent on ‘just surviving’. It was exhaustion which eventually brought the fighting to a close, and the welcome onset of winter.

When spring came the Taliban re-emerged to face a new British force. The Paras had been succeeded by 3 Commando Brigade. They were relieved in turn six months later by 12 Mechanised Brigade. Then in October 2007 their place was taken by 52 Infantry Brigade.

By the spring of 2008 there was an established pattern to the annual fighting cycle. The Taliban remained relatively inactive during the winter. The conditions were against them. Life in the open was harsh and miserable. The fields in the fertile valley floors were bare and provided no cover from which to launch attacks. They used the time to stay in their home villages and rest, or travel to their hinterland across the border in Pakistan to recruit and resupply and confer with their high command sitting safely in the border town of Quetta. By late spring they were busy again, not fighting but farming. The most important task was to harvest the poppies that dance in the breeze in the opium fields covering southern Helmand. The milky sap that oozed from the bulbs was the main source of wealth in the local economy. It was the fuel that powered the insurgency. Some of the fighters grew poppies themselves. The others earned the approval of the peasants by working alongside them in the fields. Once the crop was gathered in, the Taliban took their cut of the profits, using the revenue to pay wages and buy weapons.

Then, rested and invigorated, their armouries and ranks replenished, they were ready to begin another summer of fighting. The Taliban were slow learners. It had taken them two fighting seasons to refine their tactics. They had started out in the summer of 2006 trying to drive out the British by weight of numbers, throwing themselves against the bases at Sangin, Now Zad and Musa Qaleh in frontal attacks that lost them many men but failed to dislodge the defenders. They seemed able to suffer remarkably high casualties without losing their will to keep fighting.

The weight of the losses that they suffered in 2006, though, was unsupportable. Gradually the Taliban developed new approaches which reduced their own casualties while increasing the damage they could inflict on their enemies. By the start of Herrick 8 both sides were engaged in what looked like a classic ‘asymmetric’ conflict.

Wars with insurgents were always unbalanced. One side had modern conventional weapons. The other fought with what was cheap, portable and easily improvised. But in Afghanistan the scale of asymmetry at times seemed blackly absurd. Supported by the Americans, the British had an ever more sophisticated armoury of jets and helicopters, missiles and artillery, operated by men but controlled by computers. The Taliban’s basic weapon was an AK-47 rifle of Second World War design, augmented by machine guns, RPGs and latterly home-made roadside bombs. The Allies’ satellites and spy planes and unmanned drones roamed the skies like hawks, sensitive to the slightest scurrying creature on the ground. The insurgents relied on their own eyes or those of their spies, the teenaged ‘dickers’ who appeared on rooftops or loitered at roadsides as soon as the soldiers arrived. The NATO soldiers were encased like armadillos in body armour and stomped across the fields and ditches in boots, laden with half their own body weight in kit. The Taliban wore cotton shifts and sandals.

But the Allies’ lavish assets were failing to alter the direction of the war. The Taliban showed no sign of losing heart. The level of attacks had been mounting steadily since 2006 and their methods were growing more skilful and effective. The main change on the battlefield when the Paras arrived in 2008 was the use of improvised explosive devices (IEDs), home-made bombs, packed with powder from old shells or chemical fertiliser and set off by simple electric triggers. They also had to deal with the increased threat from suicide bombers. Anti-American rebels had made great use of IEDs and suicide bombs in Iraq but they had been late arriving in Afghanistan. Together, they now kept the troops in a constant state of alertness and anxiety. The insurgents’ new methods carried less risk to themselves than did their previous confrontational tactics. Even when they suffered losses, though, there seemed to be no shortage of replacements.

Since the first deployment there had been a progressive lowering of expectations about what the British could achieve on the military front in Helmand. One of the articles of faith of the counter-insurgency catechism was that you could not defeat an uprising by military means alone. Twentieth-century armies had shown themselves to be remarkably inefficient when it came to dealing with insurgencies. Guerrilla forces had defeated the French in Algeria, the Americans in Vietnam and, most recently, the Russians in Afghanistan.

Victories, when they were achieved, took a long time, far longer than victories in conventional wars. In the British experience, the struggle to defeat the communist rebels in Malaya lasted from 1948 to 1960. The campaign against the Mau Mau rebels who rose against British rule in Kenya in 1952 took eight years to suppress. The British Army’s active involvement in Northern Ireland stretched for thirty-eight years. As became clear in the spring of 2009, the embers of rebellion still glowed.

Nonetheless, the high casualties that the Allies were inflicting on the Taliban encouraged initial hopes that, in a relatively short time, the insurgents might be worn down to the point where they were ready to give up or start negotiating. Brigadier Ed Butler, the senior British officer in Helmand during the Paras’ 2006 tour, declared as they left for home in mid-October that ‘the Taliban [are] on the back foot and we are in the ascendancy’. He claimed the insurgents were ‘having trouble with their resupply lines, getting resources and ammunition through’ and that ‘the morale of the foot soldier has lowered’. He was speaking after the fighting in Musa Qaleh had been halted by a deal brokered by the tribal elders of the town. They promised to raise a local militia to police the area if the Taliban and British withdrew. The ceasefire that followed lasted until early February 2007, when the Taliban took over the town following the killing of one of their leaders in an American airstrike. They murdered the elder who inspired the plan and terrorised the inhabitants. It was not until December that the Alliance retook the town.

The Alliance commanders tended to be cautious in their military assessments, avoiding talk of ‘winning’ and ‘victory’. Instead they emphasised the holistic nature of the operation. The fighting was unfortunate. But it was necessary to establish the climate of security that would allow southern Afghanistan to be healed, physically and morally.

Throughout the summer of 2007, 12 Mechanised Brigade maintained pressure on the Taliban, mounting vigorous sweeps through the Sangin Valley and driving them out of Sangin town. Whenever they encountered the insurgents they defeated them. But, as their commander, Brigadier John Lorimer, acknowledged, this, on its own, achieved little. ‘When we close with the Taliban we beat them,’ he said. ‘But the critical part is what happens after that…we need to make sure that we can clear the Taliban from those areas so that the government can extend its influence and authority to help the local people.’

His successor, Brigadier Andrew Mackay, who led 52 Infantry Brigade into Helmand in October 2007, shared Lorimer’s analysis. He said as he took over, ‘we are concentrating our efforts towards a balance between offensive operations we know are required to counter the Taliban…against those operations we know will make a difference in the medium to long term, such as the reconstruction and development, bringing on the Afghan National Army and the Afghan National Police’. He concluded: ‘What I’d like to be able to do is a lot more of the latter than the former.’

But that was not how things worked out. Measured by the volume of shooting, the level of violence in Helmand showed a steady upward curve in the eighteen months after the British arrived in 2006. In the course of the ‘break in battle’, the 3 Para Battlegroup fired 470,000 rifle and machine-gun bullets. In Herrick 5, a roulement that covered the supposedly quiet winter months, the number more than doubled to 1.225 million. In Herrick 6 it doubled again to 2.485 million. In Herrick 7, despite Brigadier Mackay’s intentions, it dipped only slightly to 2.209 million. These figures are only for bullets fired by rifles and medium and heavy machine guns on the ground. They do not include tens of thousands of 105mm and 88mm rounds fired by the artillery and mortars, and the thousands of cannon shells, rockets and bombs showered down by the British and NATO helicopters and jets.

There was little to show for all the spent ammunition. Following the ousting of the Taliban from Musa Qaleh and Sangin, some but not all refugees from the fighting returned home. The bazaars stirred back into life and farmers resumed their weekly trek to the markets to sell their crops, sheep and goats. This was progress, but only if the situation was being compared with the dark days of the summer of 2006. No one would claim that the civilians’ existence was better now than it had been before the British arrived.

The high hopes at the start of the mission had encouraged visions of grand construction projects that would help pluck Helmandis from medieval squalor and ease them into the twenty-first century. By the spring of 2008 there were few improvements to report. The task of supervising the rebuilding programme lay with the Helmand Provincial Reconstruction Team, drawn from the Foreign Office, the Department for International Development (DfID) and the Ministry of Defence. The dangers of life in Helmand had severely restricted their activities. Their work was limited to funding and managing at arm’s length small schemes such as refurbishing schools, cleaning the streets and improving small stretches of road.

Like the military, the civilian players in Helmand had learned to dampen optimism about what their presence could achieve. They discouraged attempts to measure progress in terms of new hospitals, schools and colleges. They downplayed their own role in the great enterprise. They were there to aid a metamorphosis called ‘Afghanisation’, a transformation by which the government and people of the country turned away from factionalism and alienation and took charge of their own affairs.

The soldier leading 16 Air Assault Brigade to Helmand was finely attuned to the realities he was facing. Brigadier Mark Carleton-Smith impressed almost everyone who came across him. He was short and slight with blue eyes, fair hair and light skin. Despite a traditional upper-class military background he was a very modern British warrior. He was educated at Eton and Durham University and was commissioned into the Irish Guards in 1986. He spent the following years alternating sharp-end soldiering in dangerous places with high-powered staff appointments. Much of his active service had been spent in Iraq and Afghanistan. When appointed to lead 16 Air Assault Brigade he was forty-two, the youngest one-star general in the British Army, and he was being given charge of its newest and largest brigade.

Carleton-Smith was charming and intelligent. He had a winning ability to translate his thoughts into pithy, inspirational language. In the pre-deployment preparations he devoted time to going around his units, explaining what he thought they should be doing and how they were going to do it. He talked to everyone, from majors down to privates fresh out of the depot.

‘He made a real point of articulating what he saw as the strategic direction,’ said Huw Williams. ‘He talked to all of us, the soldiers as well. Where we were going, not just in Herrick 8 but where we were on the path and where that path ultimately led. We didn’t have any of that last time. Then it was really a case of “well, let’s go out and see what happens.”’

Carleton-Smith started his talks by stating that violence was not a measure of success. ‘He said that we actually wanted to be coming back saying we hadn’t fired that many bullets or had that many contacts and we didn’t kill that many people,’ Huw Williams remembered. ‘His line very much was that we were not going out to fight at every opportunity and should consider sometimes withdrawing from a battle which we could win but which would have no strategic effect. We hadn’t got that sort of direction before.’

Among those sitting in the planning meetings was Major Ben Howell, of 7 Parachute Regiment Royal Horse Artillery, who would be commanding the batteries providing fire support to the Paras. Howell was clever, well read and had a sceptical and enquiring mind. He thought he recognised the source of some of Carleton-Smith’s ideas. ‘He talked in Rupert Smith terms,’ he said, a reference to a recently retired and famously intellectual senior officer who had produced a mammoth study of modern warfare entitled The Utility of Force. ‘The people were the prize, the battleground was not the fields of the Green Zone. It was actually the minds of the Afghans. So that’s where we should be focusing our attention, and that pouring blood and treasure down the Helmand river really wasn’t the way forward.’

In his first statement after taking over Carleton-Smith made barely any mention of fighting. The task was, he said, ‘continuing to improve the sense of security for the people—not just physical security but their human security in the round. It’s all about effective governance, rule of law and the provision of the basic necessities of life.’

If he made no mention of war, it was because in his mind the army was not engaged in one. ‘What I wanted to avoid was this sense of 2006,’ he said later. The intensity of the fighting in Helmand, he felt, had caused people to lose sight of the nature of the campaign they were there to prosecute. There was an inevitable tendency among the soldiers to reason that ‘if it looked and smelt and sounded like war fighting, then for God’s sake, we must be fighting a war’. In his view, however, ‘we’re not fighting a war. We’re supporting a democratically elected government to prosecute a counter-insurgency campaign, the nature [of which] is much more political than it is military.’

From this perspective, the ‘core of the matter was not the Taliban’. It was ‘the Afghan people and what they thought was happening’. The prize was ‘the human security of the people. The Taliban were to be marginalised and isolated, not made the absolute focus of the operation.’

Carleton-Smith had more resources than any of his predecessors with which to carry out his plans. There had been about 3600 soldiers in the 3 Para Battlegroup. 16 Air Assault Brigade, with all its attachments and additions, numbered around 8,000. Nonetheless, this was still nowhere near enough to exert control over more than a fraction of Helmand. He decided to ‘recognise the relative limits of our resources on the locals, and [that] there was no point getting ahead of ourselves’. Rather than extend their area of operations beyond what they were able to hold, the intention was to ‘try and deepen the government’s control and influence and authority in those areas where we actually have the capacity to bloody well hold the ring, and not find ourselves stretched further’.

The British were now effectively fixed in four places, Lashkar Gah, Sangin, Musa Qaleh and Kajaki, with a presence in the outposts of Now Zad in the north and Garmsir in the south. Carleton-Smith had no intention of expanding out of these places or trying to join them up. To do so would simply mean displacing the Taliban to another location and spreading their contagion to a previously benign area. The intention was to deepen the mission in Helmand, not to broaden it.

Carleton-Smith also had a civilian plan to work to which laid out in fairly concrete terms what the British presence was hoping to achieve in Helmand. The overall framework for the UK’s efforts was set out in the ‘Helmand Roadmap’, which pledged support to programmes in seven ‘core’ fields: politics and reconciliation, governance, security, rule of law, economic development, counter-narcotics and strategic communications. The plan began with the idea that attention should focus on the few areas where there was some fragmentary infrastructure and the ghost of governance and laid down some milestones to mark progress over a two-year period. In that time, it was hoped, Lashkar Gah would develop into a centre of sound government and administration. Gereshk, 80 kilometres to the east, would be promoted as a financial centre. The focus would then switch northwards to Sangin and Musa Qaleh. If possible a fifth centre would be developed, either at Kajaki or Garmsir in the south. None of this thinking was new. The 3 Para Battlegroup had arrived in Helmand in 2006 with much the same ideas. But now these had solidified into a design for action. Coordinating the activities of the army, the Foreign Office and the DfID was to turn out to be complicated, however.

Huw Williams reinforced Carleton-Smith’s message as he prepared his men psychologically for the new deployment. He found that most of them were receptive to the constructive mood abroad in the brigade. The response may have surprised some observers of the regiment. The Paras’ reputation is based on their fighting prowess. It was won during the Second World War in Normandy and Arnhem, then reinforced at Suez and in the Falk-lands. The Paras genuinely believed themselves to be the best soldiers in the British Army, by which they meant the best in the world. Their exploits in Helmand appeared to justify that claim.

About four hundred of the six hundred men in the battalion had been in Afghanistan in 2006. The new members had arrived from other units or were raw young Toms’ straight out of training. Many of these eighteen-and nineteen-year-olds had been inspired to join up by what they had heard about the last operation and were, in their commander’s words, ‘keen to prove they were the same as the guys last time, that they matched their stature’.

But among the older men and the young veterans of 2006 the attitude was more considered. They knew the reality of combat. Many of them had relished the chance to test their skill and courage. But the thrill of fighting had faded. It was something you endured rather than enjoyed. Jamie Loden had taken over command of ‘A’ Company during the defence of Sangin in June 2006, one of the most intense passages of fighting of the tour. Now he was taking the company back again, supported by another veteran, Sergeant Major Steve Tidmarsh. Their attitude, according to Loden, was that although they were ‘more than happy to deal with whatever we came across, at the same time we weren’t going to go out of our way looking for trouble’.

It was shared by the ‘corporals and lance corporals and senior private soldiers who had been there before, who were very content with doing their job. They knew what they had to do, they had the right resources and equipment to do it, but equally there was an element of be careful what you wish for.’ The mixture of cautious veterans and newcomers determined to get their share of action, in Loden’s opinion, made for ‘a very balanced company group’.

Those who had served in the 2006 tour were pleased that this one would be different. It was not only because they did not relish the thought of another six months spent in static positions slogging it out with the Taliban. The Paras are more thoughtful than their public image, and the picture painted of them by their army rivals, might suggest. At every level of the unit there were those who felt that the concept of excellence embraced more than just fighting prowess. It meant demonstrating the ability to carry out the non-kinetic, ‘influence’ operations aimed at persuading local people of the soldiers’ good intentions that were vital for the ultimate success of the campaign.

‘I’m sure’, said Huw Williams, ‘that there were some people who thought, “Oh, 3 Para. They’re just going out there to see how many bullets they can fire. It’s all going to be kinetic.” But a lot of us wanted to prove we could do all sides of it…We were very keen to show we could do “influence,” we could do reconstruction, stabilisation, anything we were asked to do. We could bring security without wielding the big stick.’ Even so, it was clear to everyone that ‘at some stage during the six months we would still have to show that we carried the big stick’.

The Paras were setting off to war in a domestic political climate that was much altered from the one that existed at the start of 2006. Then, Iraq was the dominant issue in British foreign policy. Few Britons knew much about events in Afghanistan. Two years of conflict had changed that. Afghanistan replaced Iraq as a staple of the news bulletins and almost all the stories emerging from there were depressing. A perception was growing that going to Afghanistan was a bigger mistake than going to Iraq.

The government’s faith in the mission, though, remained, outwardly at least, unshaken. Ministers continued to claim progress was being made and was worth the cost in effort, expenditure and lives. On the death of the 100th British soldier to die in Afghanistan since 2002, they reached for old-fashioned words to justify the losses. The soldiers, claimed the then Defence Secretary, Des Browne, were engaged in ‘the noble cause of the twenty-first century’.

As the Paras began boarding the buses at their barracks in Colchester for the drive to Brize Norton for the eight-hour flight to Kandahar their mood was very different from the excitement and anticipation that had gripped the battalion when they had set off two years previously. They were on their way to fight an unpopular war in a faraway place where progress was measured in centimetres, to face death, injury and constant discomfort. It seemed to some of them that the campaign had reached a point where real progress would have to be made or the enterprise would sink into a pointless and demoralising test of endurance. The next six months would answer the question that was echoing in many heads. Was it all worth it?





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