'Have you ever used a pistol?'
CHRISTINA LAMB, ZUMBELAY, AFGHANISTAN
ST war reporter cornered with paras in fierce Taliban ambush
HAVE you ever used a pistol? yelled Sergeant-Major Mick Bolton
amid the Kalashnikov fire and bursts from a machinegun as we ran
across a baked-mud field and dived for cover. If it comes down to
it, everyones going to have to fight.
Round after round fizzed past our ears, sending up clouds of dust.
My heart was thudding crazily against my flak jacket, my breath
coming in short, rasping pants.
The whoosh of a rocket-propelled grenade (RPG) close enough to lift
the hairs on the back of my neck was followed by an orange blaze of
flame as it landed nearby.
I hurled myself into an irrigation ditch and crouched amid the tall
reeds, the soil just above me flying up as bullets landed all
around. Then firing started coming from behind too. The Taliban had
us from three sides.
It was late last Tuesday afternoon. Justin Sutcliffe, the
photographer, and I were with the elite of the British Army, 48 men
from C company of the
3rd Battalion of the Parachute Regiment with an attachment of
airborne troops from the Royal Irish Rangers facing a bunch of
Afghans in rubber sandals.
We could not see them, but we knew they were less than 100 yards
away.
The silver-haired sergeant-major had kept us amused for days with
his wisecracks, behind which was a touching concern for his
soldiers and adoration for the girlfriend he was due to marry in
November, whose photo he had shown me.
Now this veteran of two tours in Iraq and six in Northern Ireland
was telling us we were the closest he had ever come to being
rolled up.
If we get overrun Ill save the last bullet for myself, said
Private Kyle Deerans, a handsome South African of 23. With his
black floppy hair, I was sure had broken a string of hearts.
In horror, it dawned on me what had been wrong about Zumbelay, the
village we had just visited on a hearts and minds mission with soft
hats and offers of development projects. I should have noticed
there were no children around.
There was no more time to think about that as a mortar landed
nearby. Get out of the ditch! screamed someone.
I wanted to stay in hiding. No, no, its not safe, said Lee, a
military policeman attached to the unit, tugging me away.
I clawed my way up the slippery bank, oblivious to the thorns
ripping my hands. I felt terrifyingly exposed as I climbed over the
mound and rolled down the other side.
Keep down! Keep down! came another shout. As I flattened myself,
a mortar landed just where I had been crouching.
For the next two hours we were trapped under such relentless fire
that we thought we would be killed. The ambush of our lightly armed
patrol not only was unexpected but also brought into question the
entire strategy being pursued by the British in Helmand, the huge
province they have taken on.
The paras had been in lively mood earlier that day when we left
Camp Price, the British base at Gereshk, a sprawling town of walled
compounds, two bridges and a bazaar.
C company is a close-knit group and the trip was the furthest east
they had ventured since arriving in Gereshk two months ago.
...
Continued -> Page 1 - http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2089-2252723_1,00.html
-> page 2
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2089-2252723_2,00.html
edit: Should be 3 Para, not 2 Para. Cannot edit the bloody
title.
