Battleworn: The Memoir of a Combat Medic in Afghanistan Read online

  BATTLEWORN

  THE MEMOIR OF

  A COMBAT MEDIC

  IN AFGHANISTAN

  CHANTELLE TAYLOR

  iUniverse LLC

  Bloomington

  BATTLEWORN

  THE MEMOIR OFA COMBAT MEDICIN AFGHANISTAN

  Copyright © 2014 Chantelle Taylor.

  Cover artwork: Medics in Afghanistan by Edward Waite –www.edwardwaite.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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  Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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  ISBN: 978-1-4917-2528-3 (sc)

  ISBN: 978-1-4917-2529-0 (hc)

  ISBN: 978-1-4917-2530-6 (e)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014902837

  iUniverse rev. date: 4/14/2014

  Brought to you by KeVkRaY

  CONTENTS

  Preface

  List Of Abbreviations And Acronyms

  Prologue

  1 Game On

  2 Establish Routine

  3 The Shooting Season

  4 Flashheart Arrives

  5 Face-To-Face With The Taliban

  6 Patrol Base Test

  7 Mass Casualties

  8 Ali Cat

  9 Homeward Bound

  10 Saying Goodbye

  About The Author

  For my brother David

  (1970–2002)

  PREFACE

  The following account is based on my experience as the lead trauma medic within an infantry fighting company. I have endeavoured to report events accurately and truthfully; insult or injury to any of the parties described or quoted herein, or to their families, is unintentional.

  After putting my thoughts on paper over a period of six weeks in the late summer of 2009, I decided to send the raw text to my mum, trying to explain what I had experienced in Afghanistan as a serving soldier. It wasn’t polished, and it only touched the surface of my time with B Company 5 Scots (5th Battalion, the Royal Regiment of Scotland) during their mission to hold Nad-e Ali. She wrote back, commenting that my writing was developing into a good story and that she enjoyed reading about the characters, particularly young Duffy.

  I would never have contemplated writing this book if it hadn’t been for Mum’s encouragement. I have enjoyed a lifetime of her wisdom: ‘You can stoop down and pick up anything, Channy; try reaching for it instead.’

  In Battleworn, I tell the story of B Company, a beleaguered group of individuals who fought relentlessly and against all odds to hold Nad-e Ali, a Taliban stronghold in southern Afghanistan, in 2008.

  It is difficult for soldiers to express feelings whilst engaged in combat, as training rightly teaches suppression of emotion in order to survive the battlefield. I wrote the following poem for Cpl Stu Pearson QGM (3 PARA) and Cpl Mark Wright GC (3 PARA). I share it here in honour of all our fallen.

  KEEP ME AWAKE – KAJAKI

  Lying still, like the Tommy did before me,

  My trench is in a land far from her heart;

  A purple horizon has become my solace, my peace.

  Don’t fall asleep, soldier, for you may not wake again.

  Body broken, I still breathe.

  Who is that, who lies beside me?

  I am your brother; you are my keeper.

  Don’t fall asleep, soldier, for you may not wake again.

  What is your name?

  I am a fallen soldier; keep me awake, let me see her face once more.

  I will, I will …

  Don’t fall asleep, soldier, for you will not wake again.

  LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS AND ACRONYMS

  2IC: second in command

  2Lt: second lieutenant

  2 PARA/3 PARA: 2nd/3rd Battalion, the Parachute Regiment

  ABTF: Airborne Task Force

  ANA: Afghan National ANP: Afghan National Police

  AO: area of operations

  ASM: air to surface missile

  ATV: all-terrain vehicle

  Brig.: brigadier

  CAP: company aid post

  Capt.: captain

  CAS: close air support

  casevac: casualty evacuation

  cat-A: category A (wound classification)

  cat-B: category B (wound classification)

  cat-C: category C (wound classification)

  CCP: casualty collection point

  CLP: combat logistic patrol

  CMT: combat medical technician

  CP: command post

  Cpl: corporal

  CSAR: combat search and rescue

  CSgt: colour sergeant

  DEFAC: dining facility

  DOS: Department of State

  evac: evacuation

  FCO: Foreign and Commonwealth Office

  FOB: forward operating base

  FSG: fire support group

  Fus: fusilier

  GC: George Cross

  GM: George Medal

  GPMG: general purpose machine gun

  HE: high explosive

  HLZ: helicopter landing zone

  HQ: headquarters

  ICOM: interim communications operations method

  ID: intradermal

  IDF: indirect fire

  IED: improvised explosive device

  IM: intramuscular

  intel: intelligence

  ITC: infantry training centre

  IV: intravenous

  JTAC: joint tactical air controller

  KAF: Kandahar Air Force Base

  KAIA: Kabul International Airport

  KIA: killed in action

  LCpl: lance corporal

  LKG: Lashkar Gah

  LOCSTAT: location with grid reference

  Lt: lieutenant

  Lt Col: lieutenant colonel

  Maj.: major

  MARCH-P: acronym for emergency medical assessment (see text for details)

  MERT: medical emergency response team

  MOB: main operating base

  MOD: Ministry of Defence

  MREs: meals ready to eat

  NHS: National Health Service

  NVG: night vision goggles

  OC: officer commanding

  OMLT: operational mentor and liaison team

  ops: operations

  PB: patrol base

  PEF: poppy eradication force

  PF: Pathfinder

  PK/PKM: Polemyot Kalashnikov machine gun

  PMT: police mentoring team

  POW: prisoner of war

  PRT: provincial reconstruction team

  PSD: personal security detail

  Pte: private

  PTSD: post-traumatic stress disorder

  PX: post exchange


  QGM: Queen’s Gallantry Medal

  QRF: quick reaction force

  RAF: Royal Air Force

  RAP: regimental aid post

  recce: reconnaissance

  reorg: reorganisation

  resupp: resupply

  RI: Royal Irish

  RIP: relief in place

  RLC: Royal Logistics Corp

  RPG: rocket propelled grenade

  RRF: Royal Regiment of Fusiliers

  SAM: surface to air missile

  SC: subcutaneous

  Sgt: sergeant

  Sgt Maj.: sergeant major

  sitrep: situation report

  SME: subject matter expert

  SNCO: senior non-commissioned officer

  SUSAT: sight unit small arms trilux

  TA: territorial army

  TAB: tactical advance to battle

  UAV: unmanned aerial vehicle

  VP: vulnerable point

  WMIK: weapons mounted installation kit

  THE MAN IN THE ARENA

  It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

  —Theodore Roosevelt

  [AUTHOR’S NOTE: ‘The Man in the Arena’ is an excerpt from Theodore Roosevelt’s Citizenship in a Republic speech given at the Sorbonne in Paris, France, on 23 April 1910. These are the words carried by my grandfather whilst serving in Korea in 1951 as a 41 Commando Royal Marine.]

  PROLOGUE

  The first explosion rocked the vehicle, smashing my head against the front of the wagon. I could hear rounds zipping through the antennas above me. ‘What the fuck?’ I shouted as an array of munitions continued to rain down on us.

  I was in the same vehicle as LCpl Kevin Coyle, the signaller of the officer commanding (OC). The lightly armoured patrol in which I was travelling had turned into a Taliban shooting gallery; the noise from left and rear incoming fire was deafening. Our heavy machine guns roared into action as broken bricks and clouds of dust enveloped us.

  Our Land Rover, the second vehicle in the packet, was taking sustained and heavy fire. Looking up through the hatch, I could see rounds pinging from left to right. I guessed they were from enemy fighters on my side of the vehicle. I heard someone shout, ‘Get some fucking rounds down!’

  Popping back up through the hatch for a split second, I got eyes on an insurgent who was engaging us, thirty metres away and to the half right of me. Suddenly overwhelmed by the fear that I was about to be shot in the face, I experienced a rush of blood to the head and took in a mouthful of dust. Reminding myself to breathe, I engaged him instinctively and purposefully. I didn’t stop firing until he dropped.

  The excitement that I felt before moving into Marjah had faded fast. Kev, covering our right side, engaged another fighter close by. The machine gunner in the vehicle behind us took on two insurgents who had positioned themselves on the roof of a compound.

  Shouting out half of a fire control order, I alerted my team to other targets around us. A lull in the firefight commenced just then, soon followed by the dreaded cry ‘man down, man down!’ blasting across the radio net.

  As I scanned for further threats, Maj. Harry Clark, our OC, shouted through to the back of our Land Rover, ‘Man down in the rear vehicle!’

  He calmly jumped out of the front seat as I climbed through the back door to meet him. We started to run to the back of the patrol, stopping to take cover along the way, both of us vulnerable to enemy fire all the while. Fighting the unforgiving Afghan sun, we made light work of the distance we covered on foot. My medical pack felt like a lead weight on my back.

  Midway there, the OC stopped and turned back towards our vehicle. Unconcerned, I followed him. It wasn’t through lack of interest that I said nothing; my lungs simply needed oxygen far more than I needed conversation. I jumped back into the wagon and struggled to breathe.

  Kev laughed. ‘You okay, Channy?’

  I wanted to share the joke that I was in and out of our vehicle like a yo-yo, but I was ‘hanging out’ – physically exhausted.

  Shunting forward, the wagon hastily moved off. Back on top cover, covering my arcs again, I was desperate to cool down. I gulped water quickly, trying to avoid becoming nauseated. The heat radiating around my cumbersome and oversized helmet finally started to ease off. Slowly I regained my composure. Kev continued to laugh at my struggling to run in the midday heat.

  Our minor break in contact allowed us time to get out of the initial kill zone, and we managed to limp to an area of open space: it was large enough to land a Chinook, making it the perfect choice for a casualty extraction.

  The OC sent two of our company snipers up onto a compound roof. They gave us over watch as we prepared an all-round defence. As the men of B Company covered the outer cordon, our snipers’ body count began to rise. The Apache gunship was now on station; visually scanning the ground from the sky, the crew hunted the Taliban of Marjah.

  Chuckie had taken a round to the abdomen; he was manning the .50-calibre machine gun in the rear vehicle. His Land Rover had screeched past our own when the OC shouted for our call sign to go firm in the open space. Chuckie was lying in the back of his vehicle with Commander Cpl Greg Gorman; Greg had administered the initial treatment which had earlier saved me from running a further half kilometre to the back of our patrol. Our OC’s decision to stop midway and turn back had prevented us both from becoming casualties. There’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity.

  ‘Channy, he’s been hit in the gut, I cannae see where it’s come out.’ Greg’s familiar Scottish accent carried a worried tone, and sweat dripped from his anxious-looking face.

  When I eventually got hands on Chuckie, we were still in contact with enemy fire, so I had to assess his wounds quickly: I had about thirty seconds to surmise what was happening inside of him. His wound was fairly high up so I was inclined to think that he might have sustained a chest injury, which meant that his evacuation needed to be swift. Wounds to the abdomen are problematic at best of times, add to that a chest injury, and Chuckie’s day would end badly. His chances of survival were slim if we could not get him back to more-definitive care. Bleeding in the abdominal cavity is almost impossible to control, so we positioned him as best we could with the equipment that we had. We sat him up with his knees pulled against his chest, which would at least form some type of compression without restricting his breathing too much. Leaving further treatment to company medic Tom Rooke (‘Rookey’), I made my way back to brief the OC on our casualty’s condition.

  Casualty extraction under fire wasn’t without risk either; the inbound Chinook was escorted by two Apache gunships, which circled our position like birds of prey before the lone bird swept in. Airborne within thirty minutes of being hit, our team had gotten lucky. Reassured, I sorted my kit out before mounting up with Kev, Greg, and the rest of B Company. This was my first taste of close-quarter combat; little did I know that B Company would be under fire almost every day for the next two months.

  CHAPTER 1

  GAME ON

  WELL ON OUR WAY INTO OUR TOUR OF HELMAND PROVINCE, B COMPANY receives orders to patrol into Nad-e Ali, just north of the main British operating base of Lashkar Gah.

  Our convoy moves cautiously across the desert. We hear the thud of several explosions ahead, the noise carried on the dry air. As vehicles chunter along, every soldier nurses the uneasy thought as to what may lie ahead.


  After leaving our base, we head north-west. In total we are a force of just sixty-two troops drawn from two platoons, travelling in ten heavily armed vehicles. Many of our soldiers are very young. We range in age from eighteen to late thirties, with the average age at around twenty-two. This is the first tour of Afghanistan for some. At thirty-two, it’s my second tour and would become my last as a serving British soldier. In this unbearable heat we are laden in heavy uncomfortable body armour and helmets, scanning the desert for anything that could pose a threat. Our company will carry out what is known as a ‘look see’ patrol to Nad-e Ali, just fifteen kilometres north-west of Lashkar Gah (capital of Helmand Province).

  Our mission has come about as a direct result of a sharp increase in enemy activity. There has been speculation that a company from one of the parachute battalions would be committed to this area, but many are now assigned to a major operation which the brigade has been planning for some time, consuming much of its manpower.

  It involves the delivery of a three-hundred-ton turbine by convoy from Kandahar across open desert to the hydroelectric dam at Kajaki. The dam was built in 1975 with funding from US Aid, an American development charity, but only two turbines were supplied before the Soviets invaded Afghanistan in 1979. Work then stalled, and the dam was unable to fully function. In 2006, when British troops arrived, one of the first projects identified to help the local populace was to complete the work at the dam.

  In 2008, 16 Brigade took on this responsibility as a ‘main effort’, a huge undertaking requiring the majority of our assets. The mission was to complete the move of a third turbine and additional mechanical items to the dam. It was hoped that the task would allow contractors to commission the system and generate electricity for the entirety of Helmand Province.

  Insurgents gathering in Nad-e Ali presented an unwelcome distraction: if they disrupted the convoy and forced the brigade commander to detach manpower from the Kajaki task, there was a risk that the operation as a whole would be compromised. Any commander wishing to progress recognises early that he must win the propaganda war, and getting the turbine in place would be a major coup. Success would mean ‘lighting up’ Helmand and therefore, a sizable boost for the hearts-and-minds campaign.