My 2nd time in Afghanistan. This time round I'm in charge of my little J2/ISTAR/Fires team and we're out on the ground supporting an OMLT. The OMLT (or omelet) is the Operational Liaison and Mentoring Team. In this case it was a team of about 15 British Infantry types that were embedded with an Infantry company from the Afghan National Army. OMLT is a rewarding job, though it can be dangerous, and the adage "You can't make a good omelet without breaking a few eggs" was especially true for these guys.
The day stated like any other. We'd been on the ground for a few days, working our way through the green zone, wading through waste deep irrigation ditches and inching through Ten foot high fields of corn. This was really close country, and on my last tour a patrol I was on literally bumped into a group of Taliban fighters while going through terrain like this. All eyes and ears were strained and bayonets were fitted, ready to meet the enemy at close quarters.
One of our objectives was now only a few hundred meters away to our front, but it could have been a mile, all we could see was the 2 feet in front of us. My radio crackled in my ear, one of the Apache helicopters overhead had it's optics trained on the compound we were approaching and they were giving us a play by play. They saw no movement or any signs of life and we continued on. Soon we were right on top of it, the corn field ran right up to the compound wall and we practically walked into it. The Afghan troops that would be clearing the compound moved passed us, their metal detectors at the ready, to begin the laborious task of checking the ground for IEDs. This part of the country was littered with them. Recently a USMC patrol operating about 5 or 6 Km to our north encountered nearly 30 in one 2 mile stretch of road, IED alley was living up to it's name.
I watched as the Afghans slowly moved away and inched their way around the corner of the compound wall. Slowly checking everything with meticulous sweeps of the detector head. The equipment was good, getting it too close to your boots would set all the alarms off, but the Taliban knew this too so their devices were using less and less metal. It was these deeply buried 'low metal content' devices that we worried about, and it was one of them that we found that day.
The air was split with a deafening explosion. It kicked up a huge cloud of dust and right away I could smell the dirty, acrid smoke from what was probably a few kilos of ANFO. I was under no illusions as to what had just happened, and with in seconds my radio was alive.
"Zero, this is Adviser 33 Alpha, contact IED. Wait out".
Then the shouting started. The Afghans started, the OMLT tried to get them to shut up, it seemed like everyone was yelling something. Through the commotion I heard the voice of the young Cpl who was with the clearance team as he took control of their situation. I moved over to him, still in the corn and with the compound wall to my left, and asked him if he needed any help. He had the man power and he was dealing with it, and at the moment I felt proud to be in that Man's army. He probably 21 or 22 years old, he was in the most dangerous part of the most dangerous country on the planet, and he was getting the job done. So I started to busy myself with the task I knew I'd be getting soon. A helicopter Medevac would be launched in a few minutes and they would need a secured Helicopter Landing sight or HLS.
A scan of my map showed me that our best bet was a plowed field that we had moved through about 45 minutes ago, and an abandoned compound on it's Southern end was still occupied by one of our OMLT teams. I got on the radio and told the OMLT commander, he agreed, and between us we hatched a plan to secure our new HLS and evacuate our casualties back to it. We decided to split up my guys, I would leave five of my guys with the casualties as some extra man power and protection while I headed to the HLS with the other for. And off we went, back through the corn maze, and this time there was only five of us! I knew we were covered, we had troops guarding the flanks but what nasty things could be hiding in this corn with us? We didn't hang around and soon we cleared the vegetation. I could see our HLS, and I checked in with the troops there to find them already cracking on with securing and clearing it.
Things were running well, the HLS would be secured shortly, the casualties were on their way back, and so far there was no sign of a Taliban counter attack. The hospital at Camp Bastion was a 20 minute flight away and some quick math told me that the Big RAF Chinook would only be about five or six minutes away. And that's when the wounded arrived.
One of the five men I had detached was a trained combat medic. He'd double checked the treatment that the Afghans had received and had overseen their evacuation this far. They weren't in a good way. One of the Afghans had blood soaked bandages covering the stumps of his legs, with two tourniquets applied just below the knees. Another bandage covered his right hand and arm, with a fourth covering most of his face. The two others weren't much better. One had a wound high up on his thigh, with the empty 'celox gauze' packaging tucked under the bandages to remind the medics that the wound had been packed with the powerful hemostatic agent. The final casualty was sat, leaning forward, holding a dressing to his mouth and trying to support his clearly smashed jaw, while blood and saliva leaked out of the hole in his cheek. I was about to check my watch when my radio crackled in my ear once again.
"Witchcraft 11 this is Ugly 50, Morphine is 3 minutes out."
British Apache attack helicopters all have 'Ugly' call signs, and today I had Ugly 50 and 51 overhead with a Chinook, call sign Morphine, on it's way in. I held the Apaches circling a few thousand feet above us to clear the airspace so the Medevac could come in low and fast, telling them to look out for the blue smoke. With three aircraft in the air and just as many wounded on the ground, I wanted to keep the helicopters separated as a mid-air collision would make me very unpopular. I pulled the pin on my smoke canister and tossed it into the HLS. In order to throw off any Taliban that may be lurking to get a shot off at our Chinook, other call signs threw a red and an orange smoke into some nearby fields. With the Medevac knowing to look for the blue, the other colors would keep any bad guys guessing.
In it came, the twin rotors beating the air into submission and thoroughly sandblasting every exposed piece of skin I had. The aircraft settled with it's nose into the wind pretty much right on top of us. One of the Medics ran off the ramp, with a few of their own 'force protection' troops and they headed over to me. Without a word (it would be impossible to talk anyway with two jet turbines screaming away only a few feet away!) I pointed to our casualties, who were lined up and ready to go. After a quick check of their dressings the Medic gave the signal and we picked up our guys and headed to the helicopter with him, the most serious casualty first. On board the helicopter would be another Paramedic, a Senior ER nurse and a Doctor, who would no doubt be dealing with our amputee. It was over in a few minutes, Chinooks mate big targets so they don't ever want to hang around. The last casualty was on board, I counted my guys off, and with a thumbs up to the Air Crewman on the ramp we turned and hunkered down as the helicopter lifted off again. For the third time that day I was surrounded dust. 30 minutes before it signaled the horrific injuries that those three young men received, this time it signaled their departure to the best trauma center in the world.
A later found that it was 28 minutes from the first contact report coming in to wheels down for the Medevac. That was impressive, and exactly how things should have gone. I was happy with myself that I'd done my job well, but I was more proud of my men and especially the young Cpl from the OMLT. That morning could have been a total sh*t show but it wasn't, and that was due entirely to the leadership shown by the Junior NCOs and to the training that all these men received. 28 minutes from wounding to MERT, I kept saying that to myself. And it was reassuring to the lads, to know that if the balloon went up we could get help to them quickly.
That wasn't my first casualty, or my last for that tour, but it's the one that's stuck with me the most.
