May 2010 – Camp Bastion

The troops were ready to get going. The waiting around had seemed interminable. Although Tom had his moments of feeling apprehensive, his greatest emotion was that of frustration. After all the training it was time to get to work.

Eventually, the word came for the Duke of Lancasters to board the Hercules transport plane. The reality of the situation began to set in, and his frustration relieved, Tom started to shit himself. It was all getting a bit serious these days. He was just grateful he had a good bunch of mates with him.

Stevie was still his usual self. He always had a joke ready if anyone looked a bit too serious. Constantly taking the piss. And despite the sweat constantly dripping from his large frame, Biscuit still seemed unflappable and unconcerned. It would be a lot harder without them.

The Hercules flew high over the desert on the way to Helmand. Out of the range of any potential missile attacks. Tom looked through the window of the transport aircraft as they approached Camp Bastion.

It was nothing like he’d imagined. For starters it looked massive from the air. It was an oasis of sorts, standing out from the bland, arid features of the surrounding desert terrain. It was a patchwork quilt of buildings all baking in the Afghan sun. The transport plane landed and disgorged its latest batch of lambs to the slaughter.

The dry, scorching heat seemed even worse than Kandahar. And the air was filled with a thin cloying dust that soon got everywhere. In clothing and equipment, but mouths and noses as well, making it an effort to breath. There was plastic sheeting on the floor and trucks to spray the ground with water. But the dust remained everywhere.

The troops picked up their packs and followed directions to the pods that would be their next home. They consisted of a sort of long white tent. They could hold up to twelve soldiers. But Tom and Biscuit only had eight in their pod. It would make their stay a little less claustrophobic.

Time to check out the food. Tom and his tent buddies sought out the mess hall. Before picking up their meals they’d been warned to make sure their hands were wiped completely clean with alcohol gel. It would be all too easy to pick up some sort of stomach bug here. And there were too many other threats to the soldiers’ health, without anything being self-inflicted.

Tom selected chicken pie and baked beans, which seemed to be all that was on offer at this time of day and settled down on the nearest bench to try it out. Biscuit had disappeared. Ten minutes later a dripping mess stumbled up to Tom’s seat.

“Those shithouses are fucking unbelievable!”

Sweat was pouring down his mate’s face. And Biscuit’s uniform was completely soaked through.

“It’s like having crap in a sauna!”

The rest of the pod was laughing unsympathetically. Tom joined in with them.

“Go and get cleaned up mate and get some of this stuff in you.”

Two days later they were briefed about the following morning. It would see them transferring further north in Helmand. Their destination was to be Forward Operating Base (FOB) Alpha. They would be travelling in a convoy of Mastiff and Viking armoured vehicles, driven by Royal Marines. But it was not completely safe. Not by any a long chalk.

Wherever possible the drivers followed existing wheel tracks. To try and minimise the danger from buried mines. The vehicles in the convoy would be exposed to attack both from RPGs and roadside bombs, Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs). It would be from FOB Alpha, that their real operations would start. And where the danger to Tom and his fellow Lancasters would be maximised.

The young soldiers had nearly completed their journey. From the Catterick base, through the UK airport, Kandahar, Camp Bastion, FOB Alpha and then out on the ground in Helmand. It seemed to Tom, as if he was travelling through a dark tunnel of gradually constricting concentric circles.

He lurched forward as his vehicle came to an abrupt halt. He’d just avoided crashing into Biscuit, who was sitting directly opposite from him. Within two minutes of stopping, the heat was already building up without the cooling flow of air from the vehicle’s movement. And despite all the training, his mate from Blackpool was still carrying a couple of extra pounds.

“We’re going to boil if we get stuck here for long. Or I am”.

The situation nearer the frontline was very different from the base at Kandahar. It felt more dangerous and it was more dangerous.