21

COMPANY OPERATIONS CENTRE, TARIN KOWT

Captain Craig Reilly strolled into the company operations centre. He walked past his own makeshift wooden desk located on a raised landing overlooking the operations floor down below. The carpenters had worked overtime getting the command centre together. All the tables looked like they had been made in a back shed, probably because they had. Descending the small flight of steps to the operations floor, Craig could see that the first three tables in the centre of the narrow, rectangular room were scattered with topographical maps. Computers lined the next three tables, with power cables and Ethernet cords connecting them from the ceiling above. At the end of this line of tables Craig’s operations staff huddled around one of the terminals. A whiteboard on wheels had been rolled around behind them and it already had the urgent scribbles of a half completed contact report written on it in large blue letters.

‘All right, Jerry?’ Craig said as he approached the group. In an instant he could see that all was not right. Sergeant Jerry Dewhurst, the watch keeper, was staring at his computer screen. Notification clerk Corporal Phil Rennie and the Unit Medical Officer Fiona Blake were looking over his shoulder.

‘Yankee Platoon has hit an IED, boss,’ Jerry said. ‘I was just about to page you.’

He was typing in synchronisation to a frantic message being sent by Corporal Barnsley, from out in the field, to the duty signaller, located just next door.

It felt like a lifetime ago that he had finished his selection for Special Forces. In truth, Craig had only completed the full reinforcement cycle, including all of the specialist courses necessary to be deemed a qualified commando, seven months ago. Joining the team during its build-up training to deploy to Afghanistan, he had quickly established a good reputation among the other officers and soldiers alike.

‘Fiona, can you send a message to Kandahar? Just a heads-up to the OC that there has been an incident and there’ll be more information to follow.’ His boss, Delta Company Officer in Command Major Heath McCaig, had no reservations about leaving the command centre under Craig’s watchful eye. He would be gone for twelve weeks with his deployable HQ while X-Ray Platoon conducted operations on the northern approaches to Kandahar. Craig had worked out at the start of the tour that the more information he could send before being asked the better.

Corporal Barnsley’s voice came over the radio again. It was clear and panicked all at once. ‘Zero Alpha, this is Yankee Charlie, confirm receipt of nine-liner over!’ he demanded. In the background the company command centre staff could hear yelling. Barnsley had started to send the NATO nine-liner, the official medevac request format, within seconds of the IED blast occurring. Even though he was himself dazed and in shock, the habit of establishing and maintaining communications was second nature to him.

As Barnsley sent the nine-liner to request immediate medical evacuation of the injured the whole scene unfolded right there, pouring out of a radio stack in one corner of that long dusty room inside the relative safety of Tarin Kowt. Craig could imagine men running in and out of the dusty creek line frantically trying to orientate themselves amongst the carnage. He could hear the screams of team commanders trying desperately to account for their men and the soldiers replying that they were still alive. JJ’s voice came over and drowned out all the other sounds for a moment, as he tried to set up some type of defensive perimeter around the dead and injured. Then the voices of the patrol medics could be heard, complaining they’d run out of first aid dressings and tourniquets. ‘This situation is hopeless without more tourniquets,’ one yelled, probably to Yankee Alpha. All the while, Barnsley continued to re-send the nine-liner. The pick-up site location, frequencies, equipment needed, the number of patients and security at the pick-up site. Barnsley was second-checking everything and leaving nothing to chance.

Having completed the transmission, the command post became silent once again; now they could only imagine what was happening out on that dusty plateau some six kilometres away. Jerry had been feverishly tapping at his keyboard while Barnsley was talking, using the chat program, Sametime chat, to send information straight down to the flight line.

‘What have you got, Jerry?’ asked Craig.

‘It’s not good, boss.’ Jerry turned down the radio stack in their office as further information came in from Barnsley to the signal operators next door in the communications centre. The nine-liner brief was designed to speed up the casualty evacuation process and contained only the important details. Now that it had been passed along, Barnsley was following up with extra information about the incident itself. Dewhurst scribbled the information on a notepad next to his computer and was trying to make sense of the details.

‘Wheels up from oscar one-one, boss,’ called Corporal Jenkins, who had moved back to his computer opposite Jerry, his ear buried in the flight line radio handset. The American crews of the Black Hawk CASEVAC choppers down at the flight line had implemented a new process recently in response to constant reviews of their performance. They would also monitor the Special Operations Task Group’s communications and, if there were no other priority missions, they would immediately launch and make their way towards the incident. The American CASEVAC crews had saved countless lives and they were always looking for ways to speed up their response time.

‘Awesome, that was fast,’ said Craig. ‘So we have a CASEVAC chopper en route. Jerry, can you confirm that exact pick-up grid as well as the IED grids? Put a pin in the main map to show their locations. Let’s get some information together to give to the CO.’

‘Boss, I should tell you that Barnsley has asked for at least four body bags in this nine-liner,’ said Dewhurst, looking at his screen.

Fiona gasped, dropping the plastic coffee cup that she had been drinking from on her desk.

‘Shit!’ Craig swore. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah, I’m afraid so.’ Jerry adjusted his glasses and rose from his chair. The whole team stood around their workstations looking at each other. Craig thought about asking Jerry to request the names but decided against it. It didn’t matter at this point in time. Nothing would change what had already happened. The command centre’s task now was to track the information and be prepared to provide further resources should circumstances change on the ground. Craig’s mind raced as he considered what to do next.

‘God, I hope it’s not JJ,’ Jerry said under his breath.

Craig looked across at him. The two sergeants were close, he knew. For a moment his mind was blank, still in shock – then it came to him: triage the stimulus, he thought.

‘Okay, team, listen up,’ Craig said, moving to stand at the head of the long planning table. ‘Yankee Platoon are in a bit of strife.’

‘That’s putting it mildly,’ said Dewhurst.

‘We need to start sorting out the administration and preparing the notifications, but we also need to be ready should they request ammunition resupply and fast air support. Jerry, I need you to build a PowerPoint presentation and record all the times of specific events and the grid references as well.’

Craig looked at the map and then down at his desk. He had written a list of steps on a cheat sheet to be followed for a CASEVAC. ‘We have to assume that perhaps they will need some backup. The other platoon is away, operating north of Kandahar. What do SAS have on today, Jerry? Aren’t they supposed to be escorting a convoy or something like that later in the morning?’

‘They went on a job in birds about twenty minutes ago, boss.’

‘What?’ Craig looked across at Fiona and then back at Jerry. ‘Where’s the concept of operations brief? I haven’t seen anything.’

‘They didn’t do one. The CO authorised them to go.’

‘Without a CONOP? That’s insane.’ Craig thought about it for a moment. ‘That’s just ridiculous. Phil, I want you to get hold of the RSM and tell him I want to see him when he’s free. I think we should stand up a reserve force. Losing four guys is a big hit.’

‘On it, boss.’ Phil grabbed his phone and dialled the RSM’s extension.

‘Also, we’re going to need some help in here. Jerry, talk to the engineers. Ask them to come across and support us for the next few hours.’

The door to the command centre flew open and the CO stormed in.

‘Who’s dead, Reilly?’ the CO demanded, his face bright red. ‘What’s going on? Why are you all just standing there?’

‘Boss, we don’t know the names yet. We’re waiting for further information,’ Craig replied in an even tone.

‘Well, get on the radio and find out,’ the CO ordered brusquely.

‘Sir, with respect, that would probably confuse the issue further out on the ground.’

‘We need to start the notification process as soon as we can – I need to know who has been killed to inform the special operations commander. News doesn’t get better with age, Captain Reilly.’

‘No, sir, but it does get more accurate.’

‘Reilly, what’s so hard about calling them and asking for the names?’

Craig struggled to keep his voice calm. Was the CO incapable of listening to reason?

‘I’ll get onto it in due course, sir,’ he promised. ‘I think maybe Matt has enough to worry about at the moment without me hounding him for names of guys that were just killed.’ Craig was determined not to let the CO have his way; things would just become more convoluted if the correct process wasn’t followed. They needed to focus on their priorities.

‘Zero Alpha, this is Yankee Charlie.’ Barnsley’s voice filled the command post. ‘The bird has arrived and all the KIA are now being loaded.’

‘Yankee Alpha, this is Zero Alpha,’ came the reply from the communications centre next door. ‘Acknowledged – over.’

‘Give me that handset.’ The CO shouted, walking over to the radio stack.

Then the voice of Matt Rix came over the airwaves. ‘This is Yankee Alpha, just confirming to you prior to the full report that all the deceased were ANA soldiers – over.’

At that the CO stopped dead in his tracks and slumped into the seat facing the whiteboard. Everyone else watched him in silence as he stared off into space.

After a few long seconds, he spoke. ‘Thank God for that hey, Reilly?’ He leaned back in the chair and clasped his hands behind his head. ‘That’s a relief.’

‘Probably not for the Afghans’ families, sir,’ said Craig.

The CO got up and headed to the door. ‘I’ll be in my office, Captain Reilly.’

‘No worries, sir. I’ll be sure to get the dead soldiers’ names to you as soon as I can.’

The CO left the room. The command centre staff looked at each other, bemused.

‘Seriously, did that just happen?’ said Fiona.

Craig shook his head. Turning to the whiteboard he started to write the after-action review headings.

‘Listen, guys, go out and grab a brew and then come back in. I’ll hold the fort here now that the Apaches are on station for Matt’s guys. When you have had a rest let’s go over what just happened and review our processes.’ He was fuming inside but was desperately trying to conceal it from his team.

When the others left, Craig settled down into his chair to review the Sametime chat log. He stared at his own reflection in the computer screen. He had let his hair grow out so that it was now a blond curly mess. His beard was thick, with hints of red through it. He looked older than his twenty-seven years and older still than the reflection that had looked back at him from the mirror only this morning when he was brushing his teeth.

Thinking about the interaction with the CO, he realised that it had stressed him more than the critical incident itself. Jesus that guy is a dickhead, he thought to himself. Noticing an A4 pad of paper sitting next to the computer, Craig took a pen out of a glass jar on the desk and started to write. The words poured out. He might not be able to confront the CO about the way he handled the incident but he could sure as hell make sure that it was all recorded for future use.