Bomb Hunters: In Afghanistan With Britain's Elite Bomb Disposal Unit Read online

  Guardsman Lyons, who had also been shot in the hand, said it was just luck that he survived and others didn’t. ‘You know it’s just the luck of the draw, whether it’s you or not. And this time I got lucky. That’s what it comes down to, just luck.’

  Despite the tragic events of 3 November there was no time for the soldiers to mourn and little time to dwell on the events of that day: life was simply too busy. The soldiers needed to remain focused, because lives depended on it. When I arrived at the base twenty-four hours after the attack there were no outward signs of the tragedy except that the Union Jack was flying at half-mast and the names of the dead had already been added to a plaque in a courtyard close to the operations room. I assumed, wrongly, that the soldiers’ morale would be at rock bottom but there was nothing to indicate the trauma of forty-eight hours earlier. It was only when I spoke to individual soldiers that the pain of recent events bubbled to the surface and eyes became watery with grief.

  The incident led to a cull of poor policemen, and there were a lot of them. Three senior commanders, all known to be corrupt, were dismissed and a massive round of drug testing was undertaken. All those who tested positive were sacked. After the cull, just thirty-five serving police officers remained in the whole of the Nad-e’Ali district. By the following March a new police training college had been established in the area and over 500 new officers were trained. Despite some advances, however, corruption and drug abuse are still endemic in parts of Helmand, the police force is still largely illiterate, and public trust in the organization remains low.

  Suddenly the vehicle against which I am leaning thunders into life and someone shouts, ‘Be ready to move in five minutes.’ I stand to put on my body armour, tighten the chin-strap of my helmet, and wait to be assigned a vehicle for the move.

  The hour-long delay seems to have heightened the tension among the search team. The casual confidence of Brimstone 45, who a few days earlier breezed through their final mission, is absent. Apprehension is etched on the faces of all the soldiers. The younger members of the team look slightly lost and have an awkward demeanour. There is no banter, no horseplay. The troops’ pristine uniforms and pallid complexions only seem to exaggerate their vulnerability to what awaits them beyond the wire. All eight know they are about to enter a war zone, where the threat is deadly and hidden and there is every chance that not all of them will make it back home in six months’ time.

  Chapter 8: New Arrivals

  ‘Afghanistan is just like Iraq – hot, dusty, and full of people who want to kill you.’

  Staff Sergeant Simon Fuller, Royal Engineer Search Advisor

  I’m strapped to the seat of a Warrior armoured personnel carrier opposite Staff Sergeant Simon Fuller, Brimstone 42’s RESA, who has just joined up with Woody’s team. Simon, a tall, heavily built veteran of two tours in Iraq, is bullish. ‘It’s good to get out on the ground so soon,’ he says. ‘This is what we wanted.’ But his slight stammer makes me wonder whether the opposite is true.

  The inside of the vehicle is ridiculously cramped and swelteringly hot. Most of the loose equipment, such as ammunition boxes, water and radio batteries, has been tied to the vehicle’s floor or sides in an attempt to reduce injuries in the event of an IED strike. The force of the blast can be so great that heavy items like batteries can fly around the cramped interior at lethal speeds. It is for the same reason that we are all strapped in as well.

  Simon is from 36 Engineer Regiment, based in Maidstone in Kent. The regiment has been involved in Helmand since the inception of the Afghanistan campaign and the Royal Engineers have paid a heavy price. Members of the corps have been blinded, paralysed, and suffered brain damage and multiple amputation. The Royal Engineers are at the forefront of every battle, every campaign, clearing routes through which others can pass. On D-Day in Normandy in 1944, some of the first troops to hit the beaches were members of the corps who were charged with breaching the numerous German minefields while under murderous machine-gun fire. Today in Helmand it is often the men of the Royal Engineer Search Teams who clear routes so that British troops can advance and engage with the enemy.

  The bomb hunters depart the base in a convoy of three Warriors. Woody and Simon are sitting side by side in the lead vehicle and I am squeezed between Corporal Arianne Merry from the Weapons Intelligence Section, and the interpreter, Mohammed. Everyone is wearing body armour and helmets. It’s a tight fit even though the vehicle is meant to carry at least seven passengers in addition to a gunner commander and driver. The Warrior was designed for warfare in the 1980s when the enemy was the Soviet Union and the battleground might have been north Germany. It might not have been designed for war in Afghanistan, but it’s a good compromise. To date no one travelling inside a Warrior has been killed by an IED, although tragically several drivers, who are probably the most vulnerable to the effects of a bomb blast, have been killed and seriously injured. As well as offering good protection, the Warrior is armed with a 30-mm Rarden cannon, which fires a variety of munitions, including high explosive, and a 7.62-mm coaxial chain gun.

  Within minutes of leaving the base everyone is dripping with sweat. The Warrior’s twenty-year-old air-conditioning is broken and is blowing out hot rather than cold air and the temperature quickly soars to well over 50°. Inside the vehicle it feels like a fan oven is on full blast.

  I ask Simon for his first impressions of the country. ‘Afghanistan is just like Iraq – hot, dusty, and full of people who want to kill you,’ he shouts above the roar of the engine. There is general laughter, and the tension which accompanied our departure from the base eases slightly. Arianne complains about the heat and fans herself with a magazine. She first served in the Royal Navy for four years, then left and was a member of the Territorial Army for five year before becoming a regular soldier. Arianne’s job as the weapons intelligence specialist is to photograph the IED in situ and recover and analyse as much of the bomb as possible.

  Thirty minutes later we arrive at our destination – a long, straight stretch of road about 8 km north of FOB Shawqat. The outside temperature is close to 30° but it feels beautifully cool in comparison with being shut inside the Warrior. Sweat is pouring down Simon’s face and as he wipes it away with the cuff of his sleeve he looks at me with a slightly embarrassed smile and says, ‘Still haven’t acclimatized.’

  The enemy are believed to be around 1,000 metres due north of where the IED is located, just beyond an area known as ‘Yellow 9’. The bomb hunters will be in the Taliban’s range for as long as Woody and the searchers are working. The road has been secured by around thirty soldiers from the Right Flank company of the Scots Guards, who are lying and sitting on either side of the road, ready to repel an attack.

  It’s going to be a long, sweltering day for the guardsmen as there is absolutely no shade and no chance of keeping cool. Providing security during an IED clearance is one of the jobs most loathed by soldiers, and now I can understand why.

  Behind the first vehicle in the convoy, Corporal Andy Hurran, the search team commander, is shaking out his team for their first mission. Equipment is being checked and rechecked before the isolation search begins. The bomb is just 100 metres directly to the north. The vehicles have stopped next to one of the many hamlets which are dotted about the Green Zone. In almost any other country such tranquillity might be described as heavenly.

  The soldiers are objects of fascination for children and old men, who stop and stare. Women and teenage girls are never seen, and the younger men are working in the fields or fighting alongside the Taliban. On the left side of the road, down by a clear, free-flowing stream, children are playing and laughing, waving at soldiers, and begging for sweets and pens.

  Arianne describes the scene as ‘good atmospherics’. ‘Children are playing, there are farmers in the fields, there’s a bit of traffic – it’s everyday routine,’ she says. ‘The local people will be the first to notice that the Taliban are moving into the area, and then the locals will disappear.
It will happen very quickly. One minute they’re doing their daily business and the next minutes they have gone, and that’s when the Taliban will hit us.’

  The search team have gathered around Andy, who stands well over 6 ft tall and has a cool, calm demeanour. It is clear that the team will rely heavily on his leadership over the next few hours. The tension among the team is palpable.

  The area behind the Warrior is chosen as the ICP but no one seems quite sure what to do until Woody says that the ICP should be cleared of devices. It is as though nervousness has dulled the senses and the months spent in training have been forgotten, albeit temporarily. Simon and Andy swing into action, cajoling and urging their men to ‘switch on’.

  The soldiers move slowly and hesitantly until Simon begins to bark a series of orders. ‘Bradley, you clear down to the river, and then come back into the vehicle from the front. Adam [Lance Corporal Adam McLean, another member of the REST], you do the same from the other side. ‘The search is slow but uneventful and once the ICP is clear Andy calls the team in for a final briefing.

  ‘Right, lads, listen in,’ says Andy. ‘The device, as we know, is about 150 metres up the road. What we know is that there was a callsign barma-ing a route from Yellow 21 to Yellow 25, when they were approached by a local who said there were at least three IEDs on the road. They did a clearance and got a loud tone just up the road from here. The first thing we are going to do is an isolation. Bradley’ – Andy looks directly at Sapper Bradley Knight – ‘you happy with everything? Vallon working correctly, kit sorted, happy to go?’ Bradley nods but his apprehension is clear for everyone to see. No one comments, probably because they all share the same fears. ‘Right, good. We’re moving off in two minutes. You all know the order of march. It’s our first job, so everyone take it easy, take your time, stay switched on.’

  The team are just about to move off when Bradley, who at the age of 20 is already married with two children, announces that his mine detector is not working. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ says Lance Corporal Israel Shankar, one of the many Fijians in the British Army. He has intense, piercing eyes and the build of a rugby forward. ‘Have you got it turned on?’ ‘Course I have,’ Bradley responds angrily. ‘OK, I’m good to go now,’ he says, but his movements are stuttering and he seems uncertain. Shankar, who is second in the order of march, wades in again. ‘Bradley, fucking wise up, man! You’re the fucking lead searcher, now get a fucking grip and switch on.’

  Just before he departs on the isolation Woody turns to me and says, ‘This is going to take a long time. But that’s not a problem. It’s the same for everybody on their first job. Everything will be done slowly and methodically. There’s no rush, we’ve got a good bit of fire support here, so I really want the guys to get their confidence.’

  Just as Woody finishes speaking, the alarm on Bradley’s Vallon sounds. He swings the detector repeatedly over a patch of ground about 10 ft down the embankment, just at the water’s edge, very close to where Woody and I are standing. ‘I’ve got a double tone,’ shouts Bradley, his voice breaking with fear. A double tone usually indicates a pressure-plate IED. Everyone stops and no one speaks. I’m holding my breath. If it is a device and it were to function now, most of us would be killed or injured. Bradley sweeps the Vallon over the same patch of ground again and everyone can hear its high-pitched whine. He is unsure what to do next. ‘Either check it out or mark and avoid,’ shouts Woody, who is clearly the only one not panicked by the prospect of being blown sky high. ‘Have a look around you,’ he adds calmly. ‘It’s unlikely to be a device down there, so close to the house opposite, so I would mark and avoid.’ Bradley moves off into the distance, stumbling every few paces on the steep embankment. He is followed by six team mates.

  ‘Watch your spacing – don’t bunch,’ shouts Andy, sliding down the embankment. Spacing is vital. Soldiers don’t want to be so close to the man in front or behind that if he detonates a bomb the explosion will kill or injure others. But if the troops are too far apart, especially in close country, the patrol will lose its cohesion and run the risk that soldiers will become detached in the event of an attack.

  The killing zone of an IED is dependent on the amount of explosive, the nature of the ground, the depth at which it is buried, and the fragmentation. The men of Brimstone 42 are subconsciously making these evaluations while at the same time searching for hidden IEDs.

  With Woody on the patrol, Boonie, the team’s No. 2, begins to prepare the equipment needed to neutralize the bomb. After three months of working together, sleeping inches away from each other, and defusing around thirty bombs, Boonie knows exactly what equipment Woody will need to tackle this latest device. He opens what is known as Woody’s ‘man bag’ and begins to select various instruments. He checks the hook and line which will be used to pull the bomb from the ground from a safe distance and checks all the remote equipment being used to neutralize the device.

  An hour later Woody and the team return, the isolation search completed. There are no other devices in the area and no command wires. In theory the bomb 150 metres up the road is now hermetically sealed within a security bubble.

  The isolation has allowed Woody to get ‘eyes on’ the patch of ground where the device, which he believes to be a pressure-plate IED, has been concealed. But from what he has seen on the ground he now thinks the bomb could be one of a number connected in a chain designed to take out an entire British patrol. ‘I think there could be at least three bombs along there,’ he tellls Simon, pointing back over his right shoulder with his thumb. ‘What I want to do is remove the first entirely, then defuse the second and the third.’

  Simon nods his agreement. ‘Seems like the right plan. Anything you want me to do?’ ‘No,’ replies Woody. ‘Not much you can do really.’ He then turns to his No. 2 and says, ‘Three bombs, Boonie. I’ll sort the first, blow it, and then see what happens. Should take about half an hour. Where’s the lead searcher? I want his Vallon.’

  Bradley appears with his mine detector, looking slightly bemused. ‘Right,’ Woody says, taking it from Bradley. ‘I christen this Vallon Valerie and from now on this is the one I’ll use every time I go down the road.’

  The searchers look puzzled. ‘What are you talking about, Woody?’ asks Simon.

  ‘Valerie Vallon was my lucky charm with the last search team,’ says Woody. ‘I always used the lead searcher’s Vallon and I’ve never had a problem. But they’ve taken Valerie with them, so I’m christening this one Valerie too.’

  Woody sips some water from a plastic bottle, removes a few key pieces of equipment from his man bag, and tucks his ceramic knife into the front of his body armour. He is calm but focused and I can’t help wondering whether he says a silent prayer and has one final thought of his wife and twin girls before taking the lonely walk to the bomb.

  All eyes are fixed on Woody as he walks down the safe lane, man bag in one hand, Vallon in the other. The men of Brimstone 42 are pensive and silent. This is the first time any of the newly arrived team have seen an ATO defuse a bomb in Afghanistan. Within a few minutes Woody is a distant, lonely figure shimmering in the heat haze. His vulnerability is clear and frightening – he is the definition of the sitting target. Apart from the infantry escort, Lance Corporal Joe Rossiter, who is also doubling as the ECM operator, Woody is on his own, armed only with a 9-mm pistol – effective range about 30 metres. He clears a safe, working area around the bomb before crouching down into what, from a distance, looks like the foetal position. He is trying to make himself as small a target as possible while still being able to work.

  The earth is baked rock-hard by the sun and it takes at least thirty minutes of digging, chipping and scraping before Woody finds a wire. He picks at it with his ceramic knife for a few minutes and then flicks the dust away with his paintbrush. It is painfully slow work and Woody’s body temperature must be going through the roof. It’s difficult to imagine how he can maintain his concentration, but a mistake now could be fatal. I’m wat
ching him through the weapon sight on one of the soldiers’ rifles. Every few minutes he stops and wipes the sweat away from his eyes, then continues working. After twenty minutes he stops and rests the front of his helmet on the ground for a few moments’ respite before resuming the excavation.

  A few minutes later Woody manages to locate what he believes is a wire connecting the power supply to the detonator. He carefully positions the IED weapon he will use to ‘attack’ the bomb and walks back to the safety of the first Warrior with a wire trailing behind him. Boonie moves forward, connects the wire to the firing pack, and shouts, ‘Controlled explosion in one minute.’ There is a distant crack and then nothing – the sound everyone wanted to hear. A few minutes later Woody is back in his familiar crouching position, digging away, trying to isolate the pressure plate. It is a long and laborious process, made all the more difficult by the knowledge that somewhere in a distant field or tree line the Taliban are waiting and watching. In theory, time should not be a factor in any IED-disposal operation, but it is in Helmand. The longer an ATO spends on the ground in the open the more time the Taliban will have to plan and mount an attack. Balancing speed and safety is a constant challenge for bomb hunters.

  As the sweat begin to trickle into his eyes, Woody eventually locates the device and carefully but firmly pushes the hook underneath the pressure plate. This is one of the most dangerous phases of the operation. In all probability the bomb is a straightforward pressure-plate device, but Woody is aware that it could be booby-trapped with a secondary pressure-release switch. A single sudden move could be enough to cause a detonation. With the hook safely in place, Woody stands, tucks his tools into the front of his body armour, and begins walking back down the cleared lane, unreeling a coil of rope behind him. Boonie is waiting at the front of the Warrior, ready to help in the extraction of the device. The pair have carried out the same procedure more than thirty times and now they move into position, Woody in front, Boonie behind, grabbing the thin rope between them without the need for a single word. After three powerful tugs the pressure plate is pulled clear. The two men silently stare into the distance, waiting for an explosion which never comes.