CHAPTER 7

FOB Robinson

On completion of its RSOI package B Company, less No. 6 Platoon, received its initial orders for deployment. Attached to it would be its Fire Support Team (FST) which included mortar fire controllers (MFCs) and the Forward Air Controller (FAC) and his team who would call up air support if so required.

As I mentioned previously, FOB Robinson was situated around six kilometres south of Sangin. There was some Canadian artillery based there along with some of our own gunner units. We were to relieve the last group of 42 Royal Marine Commando there. 2nd Royal Tank Regiment (2 RTR) was due to move there but had not arrived at that time, so our orders were to deploy to FOB Robinson for two weeks before being relieved by 2 RTR who would be operating in the dismounted role, having left their Challenger 2 tanks at their home base in Wiltshire. After that, we were to be a Mobile Operations Group (MOG) while 2 RTR guarded the FOB and maintained security for the artillery providing fire support for Sangin and all the other out-stations in the area.

The advance party received orders to deploy by Chinook helicopter two days before the main force. I remember being issued our ammunition along with our personal medical kits which included two first field dressings (FFDs), a tourniquet, and a syrette of morphine. We had to carry ten litres of water, because water was in short supply in the FOB, in addition to the rest of our kit that comprised only essential items. All non-essential kit was stored in an ISO container for safekeeping while we were on operations.

We moved to the helicopter flight line on the Sunday morning. I was in the second group to move out and as we approached the flight line, the sheer weight of our kit became unbelievable, to the point where I could hear the stitching on our Bergens snapping open under the weight. Eventually, the packs began to give way under the strain, and so we arranged for a truck to take them up to the flight line. On arrival there, most of us needed help to don them again and stand up because we were wearing our full Osprey body armour with the big plates, which alone weighed 30 pounds, plus carrying a rifle weighing a further 9 pounds. This was in addition to ammunition, food, water, clothing, sleeping bag and everything else. I did keep my DVD player as my one luxury; it weighed nothing in comparison.

Aboard the Chinook, I sat looking out of the window as the helicopter rose gently and then lurched forwards before banking sharply to the left and beginning to climb, its blades thumping heavily. The tailgate was down, giving us a good view and allowing in air that became colder as we climbed higher.

After about ten minutes the aircraft dipped steeply as it manoeuvred itself down low into the Sangin Valley where, as we swept lower, I could see Afghan compounds for the first time, each of them in a form of a square with a box-like building in the centre. The loadmaster signalled to us to load our rifles and at that point I began to feel the butterflies in my stomach. This was it! This was when it really began to register in my mind that we were at war and this was no exercise! I was nervous as hell as we all inserted magazines into our rifles as we came low into the valley.

At that point the Chinook released a couple of flares with a loud thump while swerving from left to right while hugging the valley walls. The words ‘Two minutes’ came down the line, signalling that it was only two minutes until we landed. It seemed a long time. I am sure it was not only my heart that was racing, as we all knew what was happening. The front end of the helicopter rose up as it slowed down and flared for landing.

On disembarking from the Chinook, we ran as fast as possible through the dust clouds engulfing the whole scene before dropping to our knees about 50 metres from the helicopter. Looking back, I saw the loadmaster sprinting along with a number of Marines towards the aircraft, which took off a few moments later. All this lasted only around two minutes, but it seemed to be a lot longer as clouds of sand and stones sprayed over us. The reality was there were no mortars or shots being fired and it was actually a world apart from the visions I had in my head as we landed.

Colour Sergeant Snow, who was in command of my fire support group, FSG Bravo, was alongside Reedy and Bernie in a WMIK (weapons mount installation kit) which is a specially equipped Land Rover armed with a 7.62mm general purpose machine gun (GPMG) mounted forward in the commander’s position and a .50 calibre heavy machine gun in the rear.

I walked over to the WMIK and dumped my kit on the back of the vehicle as Colour Sergeant Snow said, ‘All right JC? Good flight?’ My throat was dry because of the dust as I replied, ‘Yeah Colour, I’m good. Where are we staying?’ He pointed out a tower a little distance away and told me to go and find Pete Tointon who was second-in-command and, although a corporal, he was doing a sergeant’s job. ‘Go and see Pete and he’ll square you away.’

Arriving in FOB Robinson, we learned that it consisted of two main parts: the tower and Snake Pit, and what we called the Dust Bowl that ran down to the 611 road. There was high ground to the east and west, which was called the Sangin Valley. Task Force Fury, an American unit was there. It was a typical American name and they did what the Americans do best, but it is tricky for me to talk about that.

I met up with Scotty and asked where Pete was and he replied that he was in the Snake Pit. When I asked what the hell the Snake Pit was, and was told that this was where the officers were based. Scotty showed me where our room, literally right next to a small room where the text link computer and a television were located. The computer had nothing else but the actual text link on it, not even a good game of solitaire. You typed in the mobile number of the phone to which you wanted to send a message and then the message which was sent as a text. Nice and simple and absolutely fantastic because I could send a text any time. We were four hours ahead, so I could wake up in the morning and send across a message to Annie. It operated on a similar basis to our mobile phones at home, where we were given around fifty credits per week and each text took around three credits. Like the telephone credits, these could be accumulated if you did not use them.

As we entered our room, Scotty said, ‘Deano’s on stag at the moment, your bed’s there.’ I opened a bottle of water and downed almost half of it. I noticed Scotty was wearing desert trousers and flip flops, so I stripped down to this as well, because I was absolutely soaked in sweat. Pete came in and was as cheerful as usual asking how I was, while I stood there almost out of breath from gulping the water too fast. At that point, my bergen arrived on the WMIK. Grabbing it, I brought it inside and then Scotty showed me around. It was just the four of us, Deano, Pete, Scotty and me, in this room as the rest of the FSG were in various compounds dotted around the Dust Bowl.

The whole place was somewhat gloomy, just brown everywhere, and looked as if it was basically made of mud and straw. The buildings were solid and sturdy, just like bricks and mortar, but most importantly stayed cool despite the stifling heat, the temperature inside never climbing above 10 degrees, providing much needed relief when we stepped in from over 40 degrees of heat outside.

The routine was simple. We got up, washed and cleaned our teeth, shaving not being mandatory due to the lack of water, and went on ‘stag’ when required to do so. We ‘stagged on’ with the FST up in the tower which controlled the artillery fire should it be required. There were also the FAC who controlled any air assets we had, which normally meant the Apache helicopters but every now and again US Air Force F-15 Eagles. In short, nothing happened at all in this first period of deployment. The whole area around us was mined, which meant we would not be conducting foot patrols; likewise, anyone attacking the FOB on foot would have had to tread very carefully. In the end, we organised it so snipers would stag on during the day, and the FST during the night but, at any time, twenty-four hours a day, the snipers would be on call to run to and man any of the positions needing assistance. If we needed to get ‘eyes on’ and fire a warning shot to let the enemy know we were there, or even if we needed to take a kill, we were on call whenever we were needed. Apart from us, the watchtowers were being manned by the rest of B Company, less No. 6 Platoon which was helping the Marines out with their last big operation.

B Company was preparing to go out on patrol and the FSG was to support it. Deano and Scotty were to be deployed while I was to take on all sniper duties in the FOB as I was now the only one left in the base because Teddy was still in the UK on his NCOs Cadre. If anyone saw anything suspicious I would have to leg it over to their position as quickly as possible.

We had received information, through various cast iron intelligence reports, that we were being watched at all times. The reports made us realise that the hills and valley of Sangin literally did have eyes. One night Sergeant Chris Canepa appeared in my room saying, ‘Sniper needed at Sanger 8!’ I sat up and was told that there were two Afghans digging next to a compound after last light and that it was suspected they could be planting a mine. All the locals around the FOB had been warned that would be considered a threat if seen digging after last light; in fact they had assured us that they do not farm at night. This meant that, under Rule 429 Alpha, we could engage if we thought they were Taliban or considered there was a possibility they had weapons or maybe were planting a mine.

I said, ‘Okay, I’ll be there in two!’ I put my boots on, grabbed my kit and ran around to Sangar 8. One of the blokes, ‘H’ Holdenby, was in there with one of the other lads as I came in with a huge grin on my face. I was excited because this was my first opportunity to put into practice all my training, and to score my first hit. This may sound somewhat perverse, but it must be remembered that we were up against people trying to kill us and, if I was required to kill someone in the line of duty, I would not hesitate.

I switched on my night vision aid that clipped on to my rifle’s telescopic sight. I remember the moon was not out, so visibility was poor. I had a target indication from ‘H’, but could not see the two targets. ‘H’ grabbed his 51mm light mortar and fired up a flare into the dark sky; as he did so I located the two Afghans with my laser rangefinder that gave me a bearing and range. They were standing in the gloom 460 metres away, so I dialled in 560 metres in to my scope elevation drum. I knew they were up to no good and was aware that someone had actually seen them digging, but they were now doing nothing. I realized that there was no way I could justify a kill, but I could and would give them a warning shot. I double-checked that I had dialled up the sight the extra 100 metres so the trajectory would take the bullet high, making an ear-splitting crack as it flew over their heads.

‘H’ launched a second flare and I aimed at the left-hand Afghan’s face and fired, the bullet smashing into the wall behind him about three feet above his head. The man dropped to the ground and then both men ran off into the night, terrified out of their wits. I laughed, ‘They won’t be bothering you any more.’ Gathering up my kit, I left the sangar and walked back up to the tower.

War tends to bring a mix of many emotions, sadness not least among them. The Battalion’s first casualty was Private Chris Gray who died on 13 April 2007. I did not know him because he was from A Company with which I had never worked. Nevertheless, I was saddened because he looked like he was a young lad who had just recently joined the Army, and because he was a fellow soldier in the same regiment. Captain Robinson, the second-in-command of B Company, broke the news to us down in the Snake Pit.

A Company was deployed in the Green Zone in Nowzad, which was a bit of a ghost town with nothing of note there, but the problem it faced in the District Centre (DC) was that the Taliban were in strength there. The company could not move without being seen but, despite this, it had to push out and conduct patrols, knowing that the Taliban were everywhere. The Taliban used Nowzad as a rest area, using it to regroup after an operation before redeploying.

The company’s task was to patrol, gain control of the ground and show the Taliban that it was in the area and would not tolerate any trouble. As it pushed into the Green Zone, the leading platoon had come under heavy fire and so Chris Gray’s platoon moved around to execute a flanking manoeuvre to draw off some of the enemy fire. Chris Gray, as the lead man of the platoon, moved to within 20 metres of the Taliban position and engaged the enemy. A fierce fire fight ensued during which he was sadly hit in the chest. He was evacuated out of there, but died of his wounds later. Unfortunately, this is all I really knew of the incident, but it was a terrible shame and we all remembered this as the first casualty from our tour. Our thoughts went out to his family as we considered our own and the danger we were in during these moments of combat. It hit home to us that people would die out here, and we would be very naïve to think that we were somehow invincible. Each unit that had completed operational tours in this area had suffered casualties, but nevertheless we had to ‘crack on’ regardless.

Life at FOB Robinson continued, and I remember on one occasion being on stag up on the main FST tower, checking the area with binoculars. I noticed the Americans were there and that they also had their snipers up on the roofs. I observed an American patrol moving between some of the buildings below the snipers’ positions and then suddenly saw and heard a massive explosion next to them, with dust and debris being thrown up high in to the air. I got on to the field telephone to the Ops Room, describing what I had seen in the American area. It transpired that one of their number had stepped on a mine, in all probability an old Russian mine replanted by the Taliban.

Amongst these hills there was an ancient old fort that reputedly dated back to Alexander the Great’s time. It was on a small hill and you can see it was obviously man-made, but it had melted into the terrain over time. The Taliban reportedly used to fire from it so I always used to keep an eye on the area of the fort when on stag. The FOB had not come under serious attack from small arms, just mortars and 107mm Chinese rockets, but a couple of mortar bombs came towards us, although we were only there for a few weeks. So, apart from a few mortar bombs, not a great deal happened during the few weeks we were there. Generally speaking, life in FOB Robinson was actually pretty boring. It would become the epitome of luxury in comparison to what we would experience in due course. The main source of annoyance was the Canadian artillery that had a habit of loosing off salvoes while I was in bed, the noise rendering sleep impossible.

Otherwise, we did have the satellite phones that were like big mobile phones with large antennas that worked on the same card that you could use on the landlines in Camp Bastion. This gave me the opportunity of speaking to Annie, which was great, because she always sounded so excited and really glad to hear my voice. This, coupled with receiving letters was really good for morale and always boosted mine a hell of a lot. I also sent text messages to her through the text link often and this also helped keep her in the loop.

Eventually, the time came for us to leave FOB Robinson. Teddy had arrived and was waiting for us in Camp Bastion, having passed his lance corporal cadre. While the FSG drove back in the WMIKs it had acquired from FOB Robinson, the snipers were flown back by Chinook along with Nos. 5 and 7 Platoons.