GROUPS AND SINGLE DECORATIONS FOR GALLANTRY
That’s the second time they’ve told us that today. Maybe something is going on after all. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, I click the PTT button on the end of the cyclic to confirm I’ve received the message.
What I don’t know is that the Taliban has brought in an assassination team especially to take out our cab - and with it our VIPs, who include Gulab Mangal, the governor of Helmand Province and a crucial figure in Britain’s long-term plan to stabilise the region. Mangal’s support for UK Forces in Helmand has been instrumental in securing approval for foreign troops among the Afghan population, but that and his hardline stance against corruption and the poppy trade have made the governor a prized scalp for the Taliban. Also aboard are his bodyguards and the Foreign & Commonwealth Office’s entire Provincial Reconstruction Team.’ (Ibid)
Duncan decided to fly a feint, to make it look as if they were landing at FOB Edinburgh:
‘I brief Alex. ‘Okay, I want you to put us four miles north of Edinburgh. There’s a deep wadi there and I want to be flying low through it at max speed on the approach....’
‘Bob, get on the starboard Minigun. Standard Rules of Engagement; you have my authority to engage without reference to me if we come under fire. Clear?’ ‘Absolutely, Frenchie.’
I want him on the right because, looking at the topography of the area, that’s where we’d most likely take fire from. He can scan his arcs, I’ve got the front and right, and Alex and Coops have the left. We’re as well prepared as we can be, even if it does feel like we’re flying into the lion’s den.
Alex gets us into the perfect position and I drop low into the wadi as I fly us towards FOB Edinburgh at 160 knots. Trees are rushing past the cockpit windows on either side, but I’m totally focused on the job in hand so they barely register. We’re so low, I’m climbing to avoid tall blades of grass as we scream along the wadi... throwing the aircraft around. Anyone trying to get a bead on us is going to have a fucking hard time.
It’s about twenty seconds later when I see the Toyota Hilux with a man standing in the back. It’s alongside the wadi in our 1 o'clock position and about half a mile ahead. It’s redolent of one of the Technicals - the flat-bed pick-up trucks with machine-gun or recoilless rifle in the back that caused so much mayhem in Black Hawk Down. They’re popular with the Taliban too. Suddenly, alarm bells are ringing in my head. They’re so loud, I’m sure the others can hear.
‘Threat right,’ I shout as both Alex and I look at the guy in the truck.
My response is automatic. I act even before the thought has formed and throw the cyclic hard left to jink the cab away from danger. Except the threat isn’t right; the truck is nothing to do with the Taliban.
The threat lies unseen on our left, on the far bank of the wadi. The team brought in specifically to take us out is waiting there and they have a view of the whole vista below them, including us. I’ve just flown us right into the jaws of the trap they’ve laid just for us and Gulab Mangal, the VIP that the Taliban is desperate to take out.
BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG!
The Defensive Aids Suite explodes into life and fires off flares to draw the threat away from us; too late though. Everything happens in a nanosecond, but perception distortion has me in its grip, so it seems like an age.
I feel the airframe shudder violently as we simultaneously lurch upwards and to the right. I know what’s happened even as Coops shouts over the comms: ‘We’ve been hit, we’ve been hit!’
There’s no time for Bob to react on the gun. The aircraft has just done the polar opposite of what I’ve asked of it. And for any pilot, that’s the worst thing imaginable - loss of control. ‘RPG!’ shouts Coops. ‘We’ve lost a huge piece of the blade!’
The Master Caution goes off and I’m thrust into a world of son lumière. Warning lights are flashing and the RadAlt alarm is sounding through my helmet speakers.
‘Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! Black Cat Two Two, Mayday. We’ve been hit!’ says Alex over the radio. Then, ‘Frenchie, we’ve lost the No. 2 hydraulic system and the AFCS, both secured.’
‘It could be worse,’ I think. The AFCS in an auto-stabiliser that helps keep the aircraft straight and level, but I can fly without it. The No. 2 hydraulic system is more of a concern, but it’s not life-and-death. The real concern is the blade; I’ve no idea how badly damaged it is, or how long it will last.’ (Ibid)
Whilst struggling to keep control of the shaking aircraft, Duncan formulated a plan:
‘C’mon, think! I tell myself. I consider putting the aircraft straight down and immediately dismiss the thought. It’s not feasible - I have sixteen civilians in the back, we have four rifles between us to defend them with, and we can’t be any more than 400 metres from the firing point - we’d have no chance.
I’m really worried about losing the blade completely - if that happens we’re fucked. I set myself small targets - you know, ‘I just want to make it to that tree over there.’ My aim is just to put some distance between the cab and the kill zone. At the back of my mind I know I have the option of putting the aircraft down, just throwing it in. I need to gain a bit of height, but will keep us low.
‘Rebug the RadAlt to 40ft your side, Alex,’ I say as I reset the bug for the light to 50.
‘RPG!’ shouts Bob as another one streaks past us, fire streaming from its tail. It misses us by a matter of feet. I can almost feel its heat. The whole cockpit is shaking like a food processor on its fastest setting.....
‘Guys, I think we’re going to be alright. She’s a bitch to fly but she’s hanging in,’ I tell the crew, sounding more confident than I feel. ‘Coops is securing our pax, mate. They’re obviously a bit shaken up,’ says Bob.
I see FOB Edinburgh on the nose and for the first time since we got hit, I start to believe that we might actually make it. ‘I’m going to go for a baby basic dust landing at the LS,’ I say.
‘It’s dusty as fuck at Edinburgh, so I’m not going to fuck around and try and put it anywhere specific - just right in the middle.’ (Ibid)
Despite the threat of further RPG fire, Duncan and his crew effected a zero speed landing at FOB Edinburgh amid a swirling cloud of dust:
‘Fuck me, Frenchie, that was an awesome bit of flying mate,’ says Alex. ‘Guys, I think we can all give ourselves a good old pat on the back,’ I tell the crew. ‘That was a real team effort. Well done!’
Coops shepherds our pax to safety. Then the thought occurs to me: ‘Guys, we can’t shut down here, it’ll block the FOB and nobody will be able to get in. We may need the space to land another aircraft full of engineers and spares to repair her. The cab’s got us this far, so I don’t think it’s going to give up on us now.’ (Ibid)
Despite their best efforts to get the Chinook flying again, it will not engage and it would appear that their landing was not a moment too soon:
‘I unbuckle my chin strap and remove my flying helmet, placing it on the centre console. I run my hand through my matted hair. All I can hear is the ticking sound of the engines cooling. It’s over.....
Alex and I look at one another across the cockpit. ‘Mate, you look fucked!’ he tells me. I smile. I don’t care how I look - I’m alive!
www.dnw.co.uk
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