ZABUL PROVINCE
Two giant Chinook helicopters hovered a few feet above the treetops as the pilots scanned desperately through their night-vision goggles for a place to settle the birds down, their faces illuminated by a soft green glow from the instrument panels. After what felt like an eternity to the passengers, the pilots squeezed their machines down between the overhanging trees. The Chinook blades clipped and smashed the brittle branches as the pilots and passengers braced themselves for the impact that would surely follow should the metal connect with a material more robust than mere twigs.
Finally, the birds thumped down onto the dry plateau at the head of the valley. The men of Yankee Platoon pushed their two 6×6 Polaris ATVs out of the helos and the commandos sprinted off into the dark. The ATVs carried spare water, ammunition and rations, all of which would be needed in the eventuality that the platoon had to spend the next few days out here. In addition to the victualling supplies, each vehicle had a 60mm mortar and an 84mm Carl Gustaf anti-tank weapon, perfect for smashing Taliban positions or spotters taking refuge in the rocky escarpments.
The birds were gone just as fast as they had arrived and silence fell once again, except for the breathing of thirty-five soldiers peering through their fogged-up NGVs and the constant bubbling of water coming from a water source that fed the streams further down the valley.
• • •
A few hours later dawn broke, and Yankee Platoon could see the enormity of the task at hand. Matt looked down at the small piece of folded map in his hand. The sweat, mixed with camouflage cream, dripped off his forehead and onto the laminated surface. He wiped the map on his sleeve and then studied it again.
Jeez, the green belt in this valley is complex, he thought. The green belt followed a series of streams not more than four metres wide, but from recon gained already this morning Matt knew that these creeks were perilously deep in places. The streams branched off in all directions, sometimes following the natural contours of the land and at other times moving where the locals had developed canals. Matt looked up from his map to the stream in front of him. On the far side was a wall of lush green growth about ten metres deep. It looked like it contained a mixture of pomegranates, tall grasses and spiky thickets. Along the streams there were small bridges, constructed of mud and stone, crisscrossing the complex waterways, and none of these were on Matt’s map.
‘Yankee Alpha, this is Yankee Bravo. How far down the valley are X-Ray Platoon now, boss?’ JJ asked Matt over his tactical radio. It was an all-informed net and as such every platoon member could hear the conversation, but only the team commanders could speak directly to Matt. If the soldiers wanted to talk they would have to change the settings on their radios from their team network to the platoon network.
‘It’s about another six k, I think. It’s been about thirty minutes since Barns last spoke to them.’
‘It shouldn’t take us long to cover that, boss.’
‘Yeah, don’t be so sure about that, JJ’, said Matt as he stood up and looked again at the wall of scrub in front of them. ‘It’s thick in there, mate.’
‘Noted, boss. Bravo out.’
The plan was that X-Ray Platoon would disrupt the area to the south of Ahmed Defari’s village, forcing the Taliban communicate with each other. They reasoned that the Taliban would discuss their tactics and would also ultimately ask for more support. These conversations could then be monitored through both human intelligence and communication intercepts. Once Objective Rapier popped his head above the monitoring threshold, then Yankee Platoon – fast targeting off the back of the other platoon’s disruption – would vector in to his location and kill or capture him. Tactics such as this had proved highly effective at the start of the campaign, though they were becoming increasingly less so as the Taliban leadership were becoming more technology savvy.
The Special Operations Task Group was being covered by the American Green Berets and their ANA partner force. Every entry and exit into the valley was being blocked. Todd Carson and his guys could only stay on station for a day and then they were due to report back to Kandahar to support a larger US mission.
The initial movement south by Yankee Platoon was intended as a recce to get a feel for the local area. Team Two were moving to the right of the river and Matt was becoming frustrated. This area of thick trees and vegetation surrounding a compound wall to their front was limiting their progress.
‘Yankee Alpha, this is Yankee Two.’
‘What’s up, Rob?’ said Matt.
‘Boss, the vegetation here starts at the side of the river and stretches across our frontage to the three-metre wall of a compound on our side of the creek,’ Cinzano reported.
‘Right. I can see it, mate. Just keep the guys moving forward slowly,’ Matt ordered.
‘Alpha, this is Yankee Four,’ came the voice of Joseph Hammond over the radio. ‘We’re making good time on the left side and can cover Yankee Two’s movement.’
‘Roger that,’ said Matt. He looked behind him and could see the rest of the platoon scattered behind the lead elements. The platoon was well spread out and the front guys moved off silently again, scanning for enemy and checking any tracks. The rear elements used the terrain, ensuring they could find a position to support the front teams if they needed it. The only noise that could be heard was the soft footfall of the commandos, the occasional snip of a branch by gardening secateurs carried by the forward scouts, and the dull thumping of the old water pumps around the villages as they siphoned water from the streams and irrigated the fields further away.
The tranquillity of the setting was perfect – until suddenly the air around the platoon exploded.
‘CONTACT FRONT!’ screamed Team Two’s forward scout almost a split second after the Taliban triggered the ambush.
‘What have ya got?’ Cinzano yelled from behind cover, his voice almost lost in the crack and thump of supersonic rounds whizzing above and between the front sections.
The forward scout of Team Four, Jason Richards, hit the deck and crawled under the withering fire into a protected position behind a small mound of dirt. Hot lead smashed the top of his hiding place to pieces, showering him with sodden earth.
‘Fuckin’ arseholes,’ he yelled into the ground, his lips inches from the warm earth. ‘Bloody just shoot me, for Christ’s sake, don’t torture me with dirt and muck.’
‘What have ya got, mate?’ the team commander screamed.
‘There’s a couple of guns down the creek – I can’t see where exactly,’ Richards barked into his radio.
Two RPG rounds exploded, coming from enemy positions a hundred metres or so behind the guns. These were followed by another two rounds in quick succession.
As quickly as it had begun, it was over, without the commandos firing a single round. No one had seen the enemy and no one was in a position that afforded covering or return fire.
Matt, who had also hit the ground in the first moments, picked himself up out of the dirt and dusted off his face. He could see his guys slowly getting to their knees. Matt’s senses were now in overdrive and he was astonished at how all the insects had taken the ambush as their cue to scream and sing in unison with each other. The silence was the loudest thing he had heard in his life and his heartbeat was banging in time to the yell of the cicadas.
‘Everyone okay?’ he enquired over the radio, dreading the likely response.
The teams sounded off the affirmative one after the other and his heartbeat slowed to a steady rhythm. Matt was amazed at the outcome. Given the violence of the ambush he was sure he would have lost guys.
‘Want me to take after them, boss?’ The request came from Joseph Hammond.
‘No, let’s keep this controlled, mate.’ Matt moved to another covered position between two trees and a small wall while he talked in the radio. ‘I have the feeling we’re being drawn in here.’
Matt looked again at his map. The main stream ran down the valley for another ten kilometres and branched off into deep ravines every few hundred metres. Manoeuvring was difficult because at some point any frontal attack would have to be done either half in the open or up in the rocky escarpments. Multiple escape routes and multiple reinforcement locations ensured that a full platoon attack would result in casualties. The whole valley was locked in place by huge fissure and granite walls. Switching his GPS back on, Matt wrote the grid reference onto the side of a laminated card stuck on his rifle. He would need this later for the patrol report. Information was power and maybe later some intelligence might come from patterns that the Taliban were setting.
‘Yankee Four/One, any chance you can get your team down and around this next junction? Perhaps move around over the high ground.’ Matt studied his map again then keyed his mic. ‘Disregard, mate, I can see that’s almost impossible.’
Matt scanned the area to his front. He could see the Australians covering their areas of responsibility. It was going to be a long day.
‘Boss, we need some time back here so that we can purify some water,’ JJ said.
Matt thought about this. Chasing the enemy now might be suicide and was probably the effect the Taliban commander actually wanted. Holding here for a rest might make more sense tactically. Keep the enemy out there in ambush and degrading in the heat. ‘Sure, let’s have a break.’
Matt pulled out a packet of M&Ms and started to eat, not for enjoyment but purely for sustenance. Looking up into the high ground he grabbed his radio fist mic off the front of his chest plate. ‘Kiwi, can you get your snipers and provide some overwatch up on the high ground? Don’t go too high, just enough to spot any enemy that might want to cross from one green belt to the next.’ Matt focused on the escarpment to his left that dominated the next few hundred metres of valley; he hated not to have the high ground.
‘Moving.’ The single-word response from Kiwi was expected. At times it was useful to have a guy who didn’t communicate much. He just got on with it.
‘Lads, when we do set off again, let’s use leapfrog, one team at a time moving and one team covering. If we are going to keep getting hit like this, let’s make it more difficult for them.’
Barnsley interrupted. ‘Boss, that was X-Ray Platoon on the blower. They’ve been in contact down the valley for the past three hours. No casualties but the Taliban have taken heavy losses.’
‘That’s good, mate.’
‘They’re going firm too, boss, moving again in an hour. Also, there’s an intelligence update for you. I’ve downloaded it onto the Toughbook.’
‘Cheers, Barns. Okay, lads: all-round defence, section commanders put out early warning.’