PATROLLING THE STREETS of Basra in southern Iraq in 2008, two British soldiers cursed their luck as the midday sun pushed the temperature above 100° Fahrenheit. They were dressed in standard issue desert fatigues, and the weight of their equipment made the conditions almost unbearable. As the sweat ran freely down their faces and backs, one of the two men, Pete, swore under his breath to his mate Gary1 about the bulky body armour he was wearing, weighing a spine-crushing 13 kg (28 lb) and restricting his movement so much that he could barely bend down or put his rifle in the correct firing position on his shoulder. Like every other British soldier, he could only look on with envy at the lightweight Kevlar body vests offered to American soldiers, which had slightly less stopping power but were far more flexible and comfortable.
Back at base, Pete grumbled to Gary about the fact that their equipment was always chosen by ‘desk jockeys’ who seemed to have little concept of how the kit would perform in battlefield conditions. Controversy about British Army body armour had been raging from day one of the Iraq war. Many troops who had come under fire argued that the standard issue Osprey vests put them at greater risk of being killed than if they were wearing no protection. During firefights soldiers had, in some cases, chosen to pull out the inch-thick ceramic plates inside their vests and throw them away, finding that the freedom to move and fire their weapons accurately, and the ability to run faster for cover without the extra weight, was more likely to save their lives than waddling along like a tin man, waiting to find out if their vests really were bullet-proof.
Some soldiers didn’t have the luxury of choosing; five years after tank commander Sergeant Steve Roberts was shot dead after having had to hand in his body armour because of kit shortages, troops were still having to share, and some were still having to go without. If one patrol came back to base later than scheduled, the next patrol would in some cases have to go out unprotected because they would not be able to take the returning patrol’s body armour.
Pete knew from his fellow soldiers that the lightweight Kevlar body vests favoured by US soldiers cost between £500 and £750, depending on the model. He didn’t have that sort of money, but he resolved that when he finished his tour and went home, he would scrape enough together to get his own Kevlar vest.
For Gary, the main problem was his boots. British Army issue boots had also proved to be woefully inadequate for the searing heat in Iraq; many soldiers had discovered the soles were literally melting after a day on foot patrol, and even when improved models were introduced, troops often found them impossible to get on with. Gary had decided that when he got home he would buy his own boots, having been recommended American 5.11 Tactical desert boots, with a heat-resistant sole, which he knew he could buy online for around £125. He also wanted a good-quality pair of gloves to protect his hands from burns during weapon firing, and a pair of Oakley wraparound sunglasses with reinforced glass to protect his eyes both from the sun and from spent bullet casings, which had caused eye injuries to other soldiers.
Both Pete and Gary were experienced soldiers, and they could live with the discomfort of their standard equipment in southern Iraq, where the danger was now relatively subdued. However, both men were expecting to be posted to Helmand province in Afghanistan the following year. That was an entirely different war. British soldiers were having ‘contacts’ with the Taleban on a daily basis, and the fighting was getting more, not less, intense. In 2006 the then defence secretary, John Reid, had said he ‘would be perfectly happy’ for British troops to complete their mission in Helmand in three years ‘without firing one shot’. But by 2008 the Army was firing four million bullets per year in the province during its fiercest engagement in half a century, and before long the number of British soldiers killed in Afghanistan would outstrip the total in Iraq. There would be a very real possibility that having the right kit would mean the difference between life and death. Pete, in particular, was likely to get plenty of chances to test his theory about the greater agility afforded by lightweight body armour being critical in the heat of battle.
Like every other soldier in their regiment, Pete and Gary had lost friends during their service in Iraq. By the time Britain’s six-year military mission in the country came to an end the following year, the armed forces would have lost 136 personnel as a result of enemy action. Pete had been to more than one funeral in between previous tours; both he and Gary had become used to losing friends, and they accepted it as part of the job. No war had been fought without soldiers getting killed, and they knew that when they joined up.
But what they didn’t accept was being sent to war without the proper tools for the job. Lives were being lost unnecessarily because of the government’s failure to supply adequate kit. Dozens had been killed in Iraq and Afghanistan while travelling in Snatch Land-Rovers, vehicles originally designed for use in Northern Ireland and totally unable to protect their occupants from the blast of a roadside bomb. In the months ahead, controversy would also rage about the Army’s chronic lack of helicopters.
The military’s top brass had become increasingly critical of government policy, complaining that they were being asked to do too much in too many different theatres without the money or resources to do the job properly. Overstretch, they liked to call it. With Britain in the grip of the worst recession for eighty years, though, there wasn’t any prospect of defence spending being increased. Pete and Gary were resigned to the fact that if they wanted to have the best equipment for the job, they would just have to earn some extra money so they could go out and buy it themselves.
1Both names have been changed to protect the soldiers’ anonymity.