Chapter 1

The Harrier was dying.

Shrapnel from a rocket propelled grenade had entered the inlet of the Rolls Royce Pegasus engine and broken a turbine blade which started a chain reaction breaking further blades, the jet engine was tearing itself to pieces!

Warning lights and audible sirens were filling the cockpit.

A moment of panic had passed through him before cold reasoning kicked in. He managed to bank the aircraft back over the Green Zone and estimated that he had three or four minutes left before either the engine exploded or the aircraft fell out of the sky.

Time seemed to slow down as he evaluated his options. There were two choices: he could eject now, but the men trapped down in the wadi would die. Or ... The aircraft was as good as dead, but it was still a weapon. I’ve got one last card to play, he thought.

He toggled the transmit button of the radio, “Delta-Papa-3-2 this is Blackbird-3, advise the men to keep their heads down below the wadi wall, but be ready to pull back fast, good luck, Blackbird-3 out.”

The decision made, he centred the nose of the Harrier, fighting the unresponsive flight controls, putting the aircraft into a shallow dive to build up air speed.

As he flashed over the wadi, he ejected.

Flight Lieutenant Robert Barlow was returning from a mission in company with Blackbird-5, flown by Pilot Officer Tom Bell, when they had picked up the All Call Signs request on the traffic frequency of the radio.

The urgency in the Forward Air Controller’s voice was unmistakable.

Robert glanced down at his knee map to locate the position the FAC had given and realised they were less than fifty miles from it.

The mission had been straightforward: assist with safe passage for a Danish supply column en- route to re-supply their redoubt; it had reached a rough stretch of road. The tar macadam surface, a leftover from the Russian occupation, had been worn away to mere gravel where it led down to a shallow valley, then resumed near the top of the opposite side.

At the bottom was a cluster of half a dozen mud and breezeblock hovels, long deserted. The Danish requests were simple: destroy the hovels and then strafe the road with cannon fire. Intelligence had reported Taliban in the area and the FAC was wary of IEDs, anxious to reach the redoubt before nightfall. To sweep the road with mine detectors would take too much time.

As this was Bell’s first combat mission, Robert ordered him to take out the buildings; it would be good experience for the young pilot. Robert took up position three hundred feet above him and loitered, flying figure-eights while keeping an eye on his young charge. After Bell had fired his last rockets, three buildings were still standing.

Ordering him to fly clear, Robert began his attack run. After the third pass the buildings were reduced to rubble, his rockets expended. He then gave Bell the order to strafe the road. Bell made his approach run; he opened fire with his two Aden 30mm cannons, hosing down the left hand side of the road. On reaching the agreed point where the tar macadam resumed, he broke off the attack, banked round, and resumed his attack on the right hand side. Halfway along it his cannons fell silent; he’d run out of ammunition.

Ordering him once again to stand clear, Robert dropped down to continue. He had only just started strafing when he was greeted by a mighty explosion, followed by a second and then a third. The Danish FAC had been right to be cautious. The Taliban had wired IEDs to go off in succession.

After receiving their thanks, and knowing Bell had been more heavily involved in the mission and must be getting low on fuel, the two climbed to altitude to return to base.

Robert switched the radio over to the FAC’s new frequency. “This is Blackbird-3 I have 30 mike, mike and am six minutes from your location, would this be of any help?”

“Blackbird-3 this is Delta-Papa-3-2 any help you can give would be deeply appreciated, we have a situation here.”

Ordering Blackbird-5 to return to base independently, Robert banked the Harrier to the North, opening the throttles as he picked up the Helmand River below.

The FAC outlined the problem as he flew to his location: the Taliban had 43 British servicemen trapped in a wadi by a village. They couldn’t retire; to have done so meant crossing a ford at which point the wadi walls were broken down. The village was dominated by a large two-story building directly opposite the ford. The Taliban had the ford zeroed-in, with arms stationed on the roof of the building. More were above the solders in the wadi, where a fierce fire-fight was taking place: to lift their heads above the wall was to invite death.

This late in September, water was at a premium. As Robert flew along the bleached-brown terrain, interspersed with occasional patches of green vegetation that had managed to draw water from the shrinking river, he wondered - not for the first time - why the Taliban fought so hard for this desolate country. If intelligence was correct, not only Afghans were involved with the war, but also Iranians and Pakistanis; the former at the urging of their Mullahs, and the latter because of the £250 monthly pay-check the Taliban paid from their opium profits, more money than they would see in six months back in Pakistan.

Flying at an altitude of six hundred feet, Robert arrived at the FAC’s location.

The wadi was a runoff feeding the Helmand River, carving a course along which lay a dozen or so buildings that made up the village. At the southern end it made a sharp bend before returning to the river. Trees grew along the edge; brown now due to lack of moisture. When the winter rains came, the wadi would become a torrent, effectively creating an island between it and the river. At some point the villagers had broken down its walls, building a ford to gain access to the island for planting their crops, effectively creating a green zone.

He could see eight vehicles drawn up by the bend, unable to proceed any further due to the wadi and the buildings that had collapsed along it. Smoke was billowing up from in front of one of the collapsed buildings, obscuring his view of the ground. He waited anxiously for the next communication; they had already established the positions of the servicemen in relation to the enemy forces, to avoid a Blue-on-Blue incident. Still, the last thing he needed was to fire on friendly troops.