Through the Eyes of a Soldier Afghanistan 2006 Part 1

It’s always a difficult thing to know where to start, so I'm going to go back to September 2005. I had joined the Territorial Army at the beginning of that year, the 4th Battalion the Parachute Regiment.

After completing a gruelling basic training course and passing out with my red beret, I was a proud member of the Parachute Regiment, I felt ten foot tall and my hard earned and respected beret was my pride and joy. No amount of words can describe the feeling of being presented the 'maroon machine' and I owe all my thanks to my platoon sergeant, who supported me all the way through my training, he was a bloody good bloke and mentor. Thanks George!

I didn't spend much time in the company I was now part of when the rumours began to circulate around the men. The rumours grew and grew and then one day my platoon sergeant said with a stern voice and almost disbelief look in his eyes “this is going to be a big one, another Falkland's! It’s expected that many of us will probably be coming home in a body bag! I kid you not".

Then there was a moment all you could hear was the exterior of the building creaking. The silence was broken when our sergeant major asked out bluntly, “With a show of hand, who wants to volunteer for this operation”? Like lightning my hand was in the air, then 2, 4, 6 others.

I guess you would wonder why on earth you would want to volunteer, especially when the odds are so against you to come out of this one alive. I can’t speak for the other guys, but I guess I would say "for the pride of the regiment, my battalion and the 'maroon machine' for the adventure and to test myself in front of God".

I won’t lie, I would lie in bed visualising all the scenarios of the ‘what ifs’? Afghanistan has had wars for more than 30 years, it has seen off the Russians and you heard the stories of mutilations on the streets, if you get captured. Also its climate is in hospitable, extreme heat, desserts, mountains, high plateaus people forget you will be fighting at altitudes. Although this is all true but I have dreamed of this moment since I was little and now it seems it will happen.

Pre-Deployment Training:

Late into January all of us that had volunteered had now begun our pre-deployment training. This is where we hone are infantry skills and are re-tested on all our skills, weapons, fitness, navigation, field craft, medicals, dental checks, paper work, administration etc.

It was an exciting time all the same like a big adventure, you took pride in knowing your craft and a Para Troopers craft was real soldiering. I can recall being in a class room just before being tested on weapon handling, which includes the drills for the load, unload, make safe, immediate action drills, stripping and assembling the weapon.

We had a sergeant from the Light Infantry who would assess us; he would always pull me up for demonstrations on using the weapon (SA80MK2). Not because he liked me, just because I wore the 'red beret' and he knew Para Troopers were masters of weapons and fighting skills.

With the pride of the regiment on me, I would stand up in front of the class of about twelve people of mixed regiments. Holding my weapon in an 'at ease position' (weapon held low across the body) I would assume the position.

With my right hand on the pistol grip forefinger straight, resting on the trigger guard, left hand firmly holding the hand guard as per text book.

Then once I had assumed my starting position I would just stand there with a mean and serous look on my face, waiting for the orders to fly at me. Because that's what a Para is perceived as 'a mean machine'.

Then in a loud and clear manner my assessor cries out an order?

With a magazine of no rounds Load!

Without hesitation I begin the execution of the drill.

Weapon brought up to bare firmly in the shoulder, horizontal to the floor as it would be if you were to fire it. I then check the safety catch is set to safe, change lever is set to repetition. My left hand is whipped to my ammo pouchand I pull out a magazine, check magazine, magazine is empty, insert magazine, close ammo pouch, then assert a firm hold of the weapon and good body posture.

This drill would be completed easy in just less of a second, then another order and then another order came flying at me, each at a devilish speed, the tension is felt and understood by the whole room.

At the end of the demonstrations the assessor said? “now that's what I expected of a dangler", must be their Regiments nickname for us Para’s, but most importantly, I showed the rest of class I'm a Para and this is how it should be done! Regimental pride intact and mission accomplished!

It is credence to this very attitude towards our skills and training which sets us apart, just as many paratroopers before me have always done and shown. That their capability, pride and their determination and strive for perfection, second to none we are the British Army's Elites.

Our time at the pre-deployment barracks was coming to an end and we had passed all assessments and were ready for the next stage. We all got our orders; Para’s that is, that we were to go immediately and finish our build up training with the 3rd Battalion the Parachute Regiment, with whom we will be filling in the empty slots within the platoons over at their base.

Arriving at the 3rd Battalion the Parachute Regiment:

I arrived at Hyderabad Barracks the home of '3 Para' with my instructions to see the Company Sgt Major of C Company (Regiments are broken down into Company’s; within a Company are Platoons, etc). After being cleared at the front gate I got my directions to where I was to go and began unloading all my kit.

You would be surprised at the amount of kit you have to hump around; it must of all weigh up to a hundred and fifty pounds easily. With sweat gushing out my glands pints per minute, I finally get to where I was supposed to go and then it kicked in.

The realisation I'm here, '3 Para', Wow! I have dreamed of this moment all my life, ever since I was a little cadet. It was an impressive Garrison, massive and teeming with life, and then I got the called to go into the office.

Like a rabbit caught in the headlights, I'm all alert and nervous I won’t lie, this is the real deal for me. Directed into his office I'm almost speed-marching and then suddenly stop and crash my leg into attention, 'Bang! Then stammered "Sir" he quickly zoned in on me with a deep look, he must have thought who the hell is this?

He came over and ask my name and shock my hand, ask a few questions then quickly introduced me to the Company Commander, I couldn't believe how nice and chilled out they were, made me feel real comfortable and easy in their presence, '3 Para' is the place to be I thought to myself.

I then was introduced to my Platoon Sergeant, again being nervous, well they are like celebrities to me and I look up to them. If only people knew how hard they trained and how professional they really are, believe me there are no soldiers in the world that can compare to these guys.

Again I speed March into his office and Bang! I crashed my leg into attention; he gives me a mean look and faster than lightning says, "Name, Rank, and Number." In my nervous state I fired out the details so quickly he just looked at me as if I was a complete nut case, dam, looking back so would I. There were two other corporals in the room as well and they just laughed to themselves.

As I gave my details I noticed on the wall near his desk, a photo of him in a magazine that was framed and on it read, 'Soldier of the Year Award' Time magazine I think. I thought bloody hell, he is a hero, top soldier and he is my platoon sergeant wow! But one thing had happened, and he noticed it straight away, I was nervous and as I was to find out very soon he would go to work on me and stamp it out!

I turned up at a bad time, they all were getting ready for a long weekends leave, before we flew out to the Middle East for a three week exercise that would condition us for Afghanistan. I already had turned up quite late in the day, so I had to sprint around to different departments to get all essential kit issued to me and begin the big 'personal administration'.

Personal administration, so much time is spent as a soldier preparing all your kit, weapons, webbing, Bergen’s, etc. You take pride in this part of your job and you make sure it is done well. Having kit that is checked, prepped, and in good working order, is your responsibility and your life and the lives of your team depend on it.

Being a new bloke you kind of expect a bit of crap from some of the lads, after all I was T.A, and I was expecting it! But it couldn't be further from the truth, the lads in my platoon were really helpful, really good blokes, if you needed any help you didn't need to ask, they would all muck in and help you.

You were never alone, never sat down to eat alone and even if you went down the town for a drink up, they were in every pub and club! All trained hard and played hard, it was a big family and it became without a question my new temporary home and I loved it!

Life in the battalion was exceptional, quality of training was second to none but it is an 'Elite Regiment' and you worked hard on your skills, you had to be the best of the best, if you slacked in any area of your job, fitness, weapons, field craft, knowledge, attitude, etc, well stand by!

Every man always was passionate of his job being a soldier and trusts me; you wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of these guys in battle. All the training was as real and hardcore as the real thing, you never feared the battle field, and you loved it with a passion. As the Taliban was to find out soon, they would never forget who we were, The Parachute Regiment!

Middle East

Travelling to our destination in a remote desert location, you could not believe the difference in scenery, camels everywhere, even in the back of a truck there were two of them down on all fours packed in together, flying down the highway just looking around as nothing was happening. Palm trees, desert, more desert, heat and more heat, I was now building up a mental picture of what was to come.

Soon after we reached our location, sorted our kit out, had our briefings, training commenced that morning. This was no holiday; we came here to prime ourselves for Afghanistan and I'll tell you now! These three weeks was the hardest thing I ever done!

Train Hard! Fight Easy!!

The day started out like every day after just intense! We ran up to ten miles first thing in the morning, up and down rocky hills clocking six minute miles easy. After that, we prepared for other concurrent training exercises which would simulate battle.

We began with section attacks over a kilometre and continued again and again, followed by platoon attacks, again and again! Then straight into other scenarios and relevant training, all day through to night and all over again, with minimal sleep and just continuous fighting!

With screaming and aggression! You’re in pain and sweating and then excessively sweating! The blood begins to poor from your elbows and knees followed with more pain! The tension is high and volatile the fifty degree heat is cooking your innards and there is no time for rest, if you want to be the best of the best.

It was relentless the aggression factor was very high and your weaknesses are quickly exposed and feel like you’re going to die. My platoon sergeant was on me like a man possessed! He had seen my nervousness when I rocked up at '3 Para', and I was just a new tom plus a (T.A Soldier) and he had to brake me in, bring me up to the standard of the Regiment, test my skills, character, fitness, find my weaknesses, put me to the test and if I failed I would be binned! Sent back home.

I had held my own, just got on with it, tried hard, never complained and kept pushing forward.

Exercise 'Dessert Eagle'

The day of the Company Attacks, this was an enormous event, Apache helicopters, air strikes; this day was unbelievable like Armageddon. It was a live firing exercise, and rolled out like a scene from the Falklands war I'm not joking.

The heat was intense nothing like I have experienced before and you were being cooked alive from the intensity of the heat. You were carrying, ammo, grenades, water, weighed around 50 pounds and me and another lad in my section had to share a day sack with the 51mm mortar HE (high explosive) rounds pushing the weight up to about 70 Pounds.

Stand By...Go!!

The attack commenced with jets flying in low and screaming passed whoosh! Followed by Bang! Bang! Bang! As they drop their load and then the whole world was at war. Mortars screaming over head with the familiar sounds of whoosh! Whoosh! Then followed by a loud and deafening set of strikes Bang! Bang! Rounds firing to the sounds of high pitch cracks and thumps as the rounds began landing at their targets.

Your adrenaline is pumping and you’re on the move and the platoons have multiple enemy positions to take out over an area of three kilometres or more. It is serious and every man is ready and aggressive. Number seven platoon are seen fighting onwards to their targets.

Sprinting up hills, climbing the rocky terrain, firing! Running, diving into cover, firing! Number one section moving forward and the other section of men are dropping a hail of rounds on the enemy position.

Then like lightning they alternate. Theother section is running to the position. While the other section is firing a hail of rounds down on the target, constantly moving in order, gaining ground all the time.

Then Boom! As a grenade goes in, followed by a rapid rate of fire as one storms the position emptying a whole magazine into the enemy position destroying the targets inside!

Then we move forward and repeat in the same process, the next position is about four hundred metres away.

Your sprinting up hills climbing your way to the position, diving into cover, live rounds screaming passed your ears, your heart is pounding, soaked in sweat, eyes stinging, ears are ringing, hands, knees and elbows bleeding from the sharp rocks, shouting! Screaming! Orders! The air is filled with screaming of orders to each other.

Firing your weapon into the enemy position, weapon jams, crawl, back into cover, immediate action, clear weapon, crawl back into a good firing position, start firing. Move, change position, up, run, down, fire, move up, down and fire, run, pain, lungs feel like they are going to explode, heart pounds to an exploding beat, sweating, then boom! As a grenade goes in, followed by a high rate of fire, targets destroyed! And you begin instantly to prepare to go again, and again, and again.

It happened near the end and just one position to go, our section commander was a corporal, who was a Physical Training Instructor, and built like Arnold Schwarzenegger I'm serious. He can run two miles carrying full kit weighing 50lbs plus in less than 14 minutes easy, he was a war machine and his pace was relentless.

Everyone Has Bad Days!

Our section were now split into two as we just cleared another position and went to ground on a rocky hill top just beyond the enemy position that we just cleared. I couldn't control my breathing, heart felt like it would break through my chest then it happened! 'I Piled In' Dam it!

One of the safety officers noticed and raced over and pulled me back into safety, live rounds were still being fired around me. I was out of it! He striped me down, gushing bottled water over me trying to talk me round.

I remembered two NCOs came running over to me from my platoon, screaming abuse at me, "you f***ing w***er you are weak" I had let them down. Everything ceased for our platoon at that point, but the war still went on around us. As the medics and the doctor went to work on me, I only noticed at that point I wasn't alone.

Two other lads were next to me from my section who just stormed the position with me; both were in a bad way. I remembered the doctor saying that the character, referring to one of them that he was in a critical state, and we were 'CASEVAC' out to hospital.

In the hospital ward I was feeling low I hated what just happened. I couldn't get the thought out of my head, of letting down the platoon, memories of the comments stuck in my mind and I thought Dam! I'm going to be binned here, sent home with a big label on my head 'Failed'.

I had to get out of here and get back to my platoon quickly somehow, because staying here and missing out on the hardships that the rest are still going through wouldn't do me any favours. I didn't want to look weak.

When we finally got out after a day and a half and returned to our platoon, we got the cold treatment, all the crap jobs and abuse. You took it on the chin, got on with it and learned hard about what has just what happened, so I contemplated and my conscience spoke back to me?

Never be weak! Condition your mind! Never give up! Improve your fitness! Improve on your own personal admin.

Did I drink enough water? Is my fitness falling behind? Did I mentally jack (give up) this was a time to have a good look at yourself.

Determination and Perseverance! You are Airborne!

I soon returned to the intensive training regime and I continued on determined more with more Section Attacks and Platoon Attacks, each and every time improving and getting better. My skills had taken on a new level; my immediate action drills were super fast and spot on. Fully aggressive and more assertive, alert and now feeling more in tuned to all the what was happening around me (battle field awareness).

I now started to feel like a real 'Para Trooper' running on pure aggression totally engaged and reaching a new level in my psyche. I loved it, in the pain and exhaustion your weakness are exposed and in facing them in torment and shame I conquered my fears, with my mind totally on the job at hand, I was loving it to he max!

Tactically I was now better than I ever could have believed and I only had just been in this Regiment a very short time. The paced continued with more training and as time went on I felt a new respect and acceptance from my platoon sergeant, the corporals and the men of my great platoon (8 Platoon). As I came to realise, I owe my thanks to my new platoon sergeant and my corporals and the men who made me who I am, "I was born in 4 Para but in 3 Para I became a real paratrooper.”

'After months of training and conditioning we finally arrive in Afghanistan'.