Beam me up Scotty...?

WHENEVER I’m about to travel abroad, be it on holiday or on an assignment, two questions enter my mind.
a). Why has that transporter thing from the 1960s series Star Trek still not been invented yet?
And b). Why aren’t there people who offer a professional packing service for people like me?
Don’t get me wrong, I love experiencing new places but the ‘getting there’ aspect just flips my noodle.
Even more so when you’re dealing with the ‘hurry up and wait’ attitude of the armed forces.
I remember on one particular trip home from some Middle Eastern country, I flew to Kuwait three times. And I’ve never really understood why.
I guess the military have a reason for the approach. ‘Get there just in case’ I guess.
Anyway, it’s not just the military. My issue is with flying in general really.
I just wish the whole ‘getting there process’ was as easy as stepping onto a 70s disco type dancefloor floor and beaming over.
I have wished for a Star Trek transporter on so many trips.
But of course before this stage I need to pack.
And this is a skill only my present wrapping skills rival.
I’m sure it’s an art form. And a skill I sadly don’t possess.
I know Afghanistan’s summers are hot – like 50 degrees hot – but I’m of the thinking that I still need to pack a few jumpers. Why? God knows.
Better to take it and not need it than to not have it at all right?
Hmmmm... but weight restrictions.
How do military personnel do it?
They seem to have so much, but so little at the same time.
Knowing that you are deploying to a war-zone, be it for a week or three months, does affect your thinking and your mood to a certain extent.
We’ve been talking about this particular trip since last August.
That’s a long time to consider things, and to have something playing on your mind.I think a part of you just shuts down. It just switches off.
I can’t put my finger on exactly what it is, but my girlfriend can sense it.
You focus on what’s ahead.
You don’t necessarily want to talk about it, you just want to go and do it.
There are also some things in life which are guaranteed.
And in this case, number one is that your mother will not agree with any part of what you’re proposing.
The experience, the fact it will look good on the CV, the money... nope.
Not one hint of empathy. Understandably I guess.
Mothers can’t comprehend anything which will put their sons or daughters in possible harm’s way.
Those born into military families are different I guess. It’s taken and understood.
Me, I think people think I’m mad.
But hey, haven’t we all got to be a bit mad to live in this crazy world?

How not to blow yourself up, and other useful advice

IT’S my birthday today and I’ve just been given the most important gift in my 33 years – advice on how to spot an Improvised Explosive Device.

For the past two days I’ve been on a Contractors on Deployed Operations (CONDO) training course as part of my own pre-deployment training.

In a matter of weeks I will have swapped the save haven of Devon for the badlands of Afghanistan.

This will be my third deployment to the war-torn country in the last six years – and by far the longest and most demanding.

More than 1,300 Royal Marines, Royal Navy personnel, Army commandos and reservists from Plymouth will be in charge of providing security in Afghanistan.

I will be living and working alongside hundreds of these servicemen and women for up to three months.

As well as filing stories, blogs and pictures for The Herald and its website, I’ll also be presenting, editing and filming pieces for the British Forces Broadcasting Service (BFBS).

This footage will be beamed to British forces outposts all across the world (think of a dedicated news and programme channel for the forces) as well as the internet (www.bfbs.com/news/).

These stories will also appear on The Herald’s website for you to view.

In the past couple of weeks I have been asked countless times ‘why’ I would want to deploy for such a length of time.

I guess the reason is for the experience. And also to help paint a better picture of what our boys and girls are up to.

So today, in preparation for my trip – or ‘summer holiday’ as some members of staff at Herald HQ are jokingly referring to it – I’m in Buckinghamshire learning how to stay safe while working and living in one of the most dangerous places on the planet.

“BFBS?” the course lecturer and former Royal Marine begins.

“That’s the channel the Taliban watch right?!”

Great.

Lesson one – the biggest threat to British forces personnel deployed on the ground is the Improvised Explosive Device or ‘IED’.

A couple of years ago no-one had heard of an IED. Sadly, due to the rising level of fatalities caused by the nasty device, it’s now become common knowledge. Even my mum knows what an IED is.

In warfare an IED is a key part of fighting, and sadly the Taliban have realised this.

For those who don’t know IEDs – or roadside bombs – are laid to take out either people, or vehicles.

Often they’re not designed to kill. More maim those affected.

The idea is that someone steps on one, loses a leg or legs, and others come to help exposing them to gunfire.

If that’s not nasty enough to read consider this – the Taliban are reportedly running out of shells and explosives left by the Russians when they gave up their war in the country in the 1980s.

Instead they are now making their own bombs filling harmless looking water containers with nuts, bolts and washers to create what is known as a ‘shipyard confetti’ or ‘bucket’ bomb.

“Some are lucky and they lose a foot or suffer an upper body injury,” the course lecturer tells us.

“Some aren’t so fortunate and lose multiple limbs or die.”

Ignorance is bliss at the best of times. Right now I wish I hadn’t been paying attention to the last five minutes.

The lecturer continues with a story about witnessing the atrocities first-hand, and tells us about ‘mine necklaces’ or ‘daisy chains’.

These bombs are linked so that when one goes off and a casualty is dragged to what appears to be a safe place, another goes off in that location.

I’m quick to learn the Taliban have developed their nasty tactics.

Be it radio-controlled, victim operated or suicide bomber vest, the techniques for killing are expanding rapidly.

Aside from first aid, the second major lesson of the CONDO training was all about ‘conduct after capture (including kidnapping, hostage taking and abduction)’.

We’re told ‘to increase the chance of release – stay positive. Also, ‘don’t stare (avoid eye contact)’, ‘follow instructions’, ‘be prepared to be drugged’ and ‘bound and gagged’ and ‘speak when spoken to’.

Although the vast majority of our work in-theatre will be carried out in a British military camp, there will be occasions when we deploy ‘outside the wire’.

So this advice is invaluable. Much like the servicemen and women taking part in daily foot and vehicle patrols, you never know what may happen on any given day.

As far as birthdays go this one has been memorable, possibly for all the wrong reasons.

It's been emotional

So here I am, watching the hours and minutes tick away before I leave for home.

I can’t quite describe the emotions and feelings I’ve experienced over the last two-and-a-half weeks.

I think it will take at least as long again to digest.

Say what you like about the armed forces and what they are doing here in Afghanistan, I’ve formed my own opinion.

Witnessing them in action actually fighting insurgents, greeting Afghan nationals on the ground in their villages, and seeing the planning which goes into each and every action, I feel proud of their achievements to date.

Ultimately our guys are trying to make a difference. They’re trying to instil some security and stability in a country which has experienced more than its fair share of turmoil over the decades.

The locals are grateful for the effort, truly grateful.

When I spoke to them through an interpreter I actually made a point of saying “tell me in your own words with no pressure to tow the line”.

The response was unanimous. They are happy we are here. They are happy we are at the very least, trying to make a difference.

While some nationalities may take a different approach to the situation, the British are kind, courteous and sensitive. At least that is what I have found.

If they enter a compound they ask to do so. They don’t demand.

And when they leave they take all their rubbish with them, or indeed burn it.

If they see a child looking worried or concerned, they offer chocolate or something to make them smile.

It’s reassuring to see.

Whatever the global reasons for being here, our guys are doing us proud.

And that leads me on to my Oscar-style list of thank yous.

So many people have bent over backwards to look after me here and make me feel welcome.

Lieutenant Colonel Charlie Stickland, the Commanding Officer of Bickleigh-based 42 Commando, has my utmost respect for the way he leads his men.

He must have taken a gamble facilitating me here – and on operations – but he was helpful and understanding with everything I wanted to achieve.

Lieutenant Alex Burlingham, 42 Cdo’s press officer, has also run around like a blue ass fly on my behalf. I would not have been able to produce the copy here had it not been for his assistance and help.

The press office team here in general in Kandahar have also helped the trip to run smoothly.

And all the lads at 42 also deserve a mention of thanks for their support, banter and friendship.

I only hope I can come back at a later date and see each and every one safe and well.

Take care of yourselves lads, and keep your heads down.

Ready to come home

I’m ready to come home now. How these guys do it day on day out for six months I simply do not know.

After the operation I felt like I was in a coma. The walking dead.

I didn’t blog on Thursday or Friday because I simply don’t know what I did.

I miss lots of things about home and I’ve been here for just two-and-a-half weeks.

I know it sounds strange but I miss silly things like roads. Seriously over here they don’t have tarmac roads like we do. They have dust tracks.

The occasional piece of tarmac is around the airfield and that’s pretty much off limits to civilians.

I miss colour. When all you see is the same golden colour sand you can’t help but yearn for lush green fields or trees.

I miss playing my guitar. And I also miss having a mobile phone that connects to a network. Being without communication is so strange in this day and age.

Most of all I miss my girlfriend, Suzie. Christ knows what went through her head with me being out of touch during the operation – and of course what she’s read since.

Seriously I don’t know how servicemen and women disappear for six or seven months at a time.

It would tear my soul apart. Yes, they are well looked after here but it’s not the same. They have some of the comforts of home without surely the most comfortable thing of all – loved ones.

I also seem to have caught the sniff that is doing the rounds over here. It’s hard to tell, with all the dust in the air, whether the sore throat is from that or indeed an oncoming cold.

I’ll go with the latter given how my head is feeling.

So… I’m now tying up loose ends before heading home.

I think it will take several weeks for the dust (not literally) to settle and for me to take in everything that has happened.

Another comedy moment happened last night around dinner time when Gaz Faulkner (42 Cdo’s photographer) and I were looking at images to send back to The Herald.

An air raid-style alarm sounded across camp signalling an imminent rocket attack.

Within a flash all the other people in the office dived for cover under their desks leaving Gaz and I looking at each other.

It seems with all we’ve been through in the last week with all the ‘contact’ you can’t help but get complacent about a mere untargeted rocket attack.

We just erupted into laughter and the all clear sounded a short while later.

In any case right about now I feel ready to fall over. Night night.

Taking on the Taliban

Sorry for the delay in getting this up online. You see due to operational security I couldn’t let on exactly what was coming up.

I don’t mean to sound funny, but when people’s lives are at risk it’s worth holding off mentioning anything controversial.

For the last six days I have been on a deliberate attack operation with the lads of 42 Commando storming into uncharted territory South West of Kandahar.

In deploying with them I became the first regional journalist to join them on an operation.

And while it was painful and emotional at times, which you will read, it was – as the marines say “hoofing”.

So while I’m now in the safe confines of Kandahar Air Base, I will look back at my diary notes to give you a glimpse of life on the very front of the frontline of this war in Afghanistan.

The prospect of taking on the Taliban in their own backyard was something the lads were seriously excited about.

Without meaning to make them out to be bloody thirsty, the marines have been complaining about a “lack of action” ever since I arrived in theatre.

In all fairness they’re trained to do a job and being stuck on camp is not something they enjoy. After all the months of training the last thing they want to do is travel all the way to Afghanistan and continue that training.

For me the prospect was exciting but nonetheless frightening.

Clearly fret with danger heading into the unknown, the hours before deployment dragged only reinforcing my fears.

By 1pm I had already packed my kit up.

By 1.30pm my kit had been unpacked by 42’s press officer, Lieutenant Alex Burlingham, who was adamant that it should be done his way to make essential pieces of kit easier to reach in the field.

We went through everything rearranging bits and pieces, and ditching a lot of the items I had packed.

The jovial mood in the camp was clearly reflected in a passing marine’s comments.

“guns and water,” he said

“That’s all you need mate,” laughing as he walked off.

My attention was then immediately brought back to the task in hand.

“Hopefully it won’t come to this but…” the unit press officer said as he passed me a bandage and emergency first aid kit.

Gulp.

With that I rolled a cigarette and told him to crack on with his admin duties while I contemplated any eventualities.

I wondered around camp until I found a piece of home in 42 Commando’s base at Camp Roberts - The Three Crowns.

Keen to instil some home comforts on camp, the lads have made a raised a sign above the tv room in tribute to the Barbican pub.

I snuck inside to find a space to write this blog and found myself watching Soccer AM on a widescreen television. This place continues to surprise me.

And the clock ticks away towards our operational deployment.

Stand Two

“STAND Two” a voice says in my ear as I awake abruptly from a surprisingly decent night’s sleep.
“What,” I replied.
“Stand Two,” the commando said again.
“What the hell does that mean?!” I asked.
“Be prepared for attack,” he replied with a hint of seriousness now in his voice.
Oh dear lord, don’t they ever give up…?
It’s 5.45am and the sun is soon about to show its face.
Apparently in times of war the most likely times of coming under attack are at dawn and dusk. So there we are, largely shivering, looking through glazed eyes and waiting for the enemy to show his face.
Which he doesn’t.
“Stand down,” an officer informs us a short while later.
I return to my makeshift bedroom and clear my belongings ready for the day ahead. Fortunately the evil, scary, nasty-looking camel spiders didn’t come out to play last night. That’s despite Gaz wanting to poke one with a stick to see what it would do. Bugger.
We cook up breakfast which bizarrely this morning consists of tuna pasta. It seems I mixed up my rations and ate breakfast last night. Still, the meal is good and I think I’m becoming quite a dab hand at this war camping malarkey.
As I finish off the Commanding Officer wanders over and asks if I want to spend time with members of K company today who have made a number of finds.
I agree and before I know it, I’m in a formation heading to a different compound. Once again I can’t help but feel out of my comfort zone.
As we yomped along the side of a crop plot my attention is drawn to the colour green which is beside us. Beside me, stretching for as far as the eye can see, is a field of marijuana. I grab hold of the head of one of the plants, which must easily stand 5ft tall, rub it and smell it.
Bloody hell it is.
“We’re not here to deal with that,” a marine said to me.
Fair one.
By 10am I’m taking part in more clearance patrols with members of K company.
Word comes over the radios “two suicide bombers of motorbikes seen in your area.”
Here we go again…
As mentioned before it’s so difficult to establish who exactly the enemy is. As we wander around various village compounds we stumble across an Afghan wedding in full flow. Within seconds we are surrounded by dozens of children and adults who are keen to talk to us. The children, it seems are more interested in having my pen for some strange reason.
While interaction with a large group of locals is obviously good for gaining intelligence information on Taliban movements, it leaves the commandos wide open to an attack.
I find myself acting as a look out while this takes place. On several occasions I have to shout at some young men to “stay back” while the meeting takes place.
One of the elderly members of the Afghan wedding party actually asks the marines to search his home for fear that if the Taliban discover that they did not search his property, they would believe he was helping us.
Usually this would result in the man being hanged – or indeed his children.
We move on and form up with various other elements of 42 Cdo providing fire support across a crop field.
The order is given to find high ground in which to look out across the plains.
Much to my displeasure we move forward taking up a position on top of an Afghan burial mound.
The position is a prime one and it is believed insurgents used the post as a firing point on our lads a few days ago.
There is also the very real possibility that insurgents have buried weapons at the site believing we would not enter the scared ground.
Rather than dig up graves, the marines scam them using metal detectors. No weapons are found and we soon move off to another compound.
As dusk falls some of the 42 Cdo lads light up fat cigars celebrating the end of a successful operation.
Once again we sleep under the stars. I’m exhausted. I’m just not used to the amount of stress and anxiety involved with such an operation.
But, I must say, it has been an absolutely awesome experience and one which I will never forget.
I have felt very privileged to be involved with the guys at this level and really begin to understand some of what they do.
Some might label the marines as being bloody thirsty but they’re simply not. They want the best for people and, as much as they will draw weapons when they have to, they are as keen to engage with communities and make them feel safe and secure.
We’re being taken out of the area by Chinook tomorrow morning early doors. Can’t say I’m unhappy at the prospect. Having worn the same clothes for the last five days without a shower I am in desperate need of some TLC.

Sleeping with the enemy

I CAN’T tell you how strange it is to fall asleep at 6.30pm, not knowing if you’re going to wake up, and wake up at 2am ready for a 2km yomp north.
Now I know that 2kms is not a great distance, but when you’re carrying everything you have on your back across rough terrain it’s not a whole bundle of fun.
Twin that with the air of caution associated with everyone believing the insurgents had anticipated our move and planted mines and Improvised Explosive Devices along our route and you’ll have some idea of the fear factor inside me.
We leave the compound at 2.45am and I am made aware that we are being watched by at least four men who are on a nearby compound’s roof.
With only the moonlight to light our path we walk on silent, in a long single-file line.
Every hundred feet or so we stop and crouch taking cover behind whatever there is to allow the commandos to scan the area and assess the remainder of the route.
We walk along dry river beds, ditches and pathways for hours.
By 4.45am we have arrived at our new home in another compound.
As we approach a radio message informs us that there are only women and children at the site – no ‘fighting age’ men.
We wait in a ditch for the all clear and are then told that at least eight men have been hiding within the compound.
Apparently the civilians are very scared. It doesn’t surprise me given how I would feel if 30 heavily armed commandos turn up in the middle of the night asking to make camp.
If that’s not enough the villagers are terrified of even being associated with the British forces for fear of the Taliban harming them after we leave.
Many people refuse to take the money the British offer for affectively borrowing their compound for fear of thinking they would be seen as aiding us. It’s a funny old world isn’t it?
By 7.30am we are in the safer confines of the compound and ready for our next jaunt.
The atmosphere is very twitchy and you can tell the Commanding Officer is not happy at all about invading a compound with so many women.
The Afghans do not like the British looking, talking or even taking pictures of their women. It goes against their traditions.
Numerous clearance patrols go out of the compound to help secure the immediate area. The Apache attack helicopter flies overhead again which provides some feeling of security. However my thoughts are running wild again and I fear the worse.
Sure enough within a few hours various messages are broadcast on the marines’ radios.
“Taliban Commander thought to be situation 2kms away in a compound,” one says.
“Two groups of eight or nine fighting age men hanging around the compound,” another says.
“Suicide bomber believed to be nearby looking for us,” signals another.
Fortunately in the hours that pass, nothing happens and the mood turns more jovial.
With all that’s going on the British servicemen do everything they can to make the compound’s family feel at ease. These children – who have probably never seen a British person, let alone a television or chocolate- revel in delight as marines hand them Yorkie bars from their rations.
Although cautious and nervous at first, the children are quickly won over. The sight of them playing a short while later relaxes the atmosphere of everyone.
With the clearance patrols happy with the immediate area we move on to the compound next door where we make a startling discovery by chance.
As we flock into the site looking for the best sheltered places to sleep, the marines discover bags of heroin, money and a notebook containing lots of names and cash figures.
It seems we’ve stumbled across a heroin processing plant. As I further scan the area I see hundreds of poppy heads on the floor only backing up our thoughts of the place.
In the meantime word has also spread of L company finding 10kgs of heroin and bomb pressure plates in another compound.
Within our compound the owner is questioned and held by the commandos. Bizarrely he seems unphased by everything and continues his prayers.
As night approaches we begin to get comfortable in our surroundings and make good for bed.
There’s only so many times you can sleep in sub zero temperatures under the stars. While admittedly it is beautiful, it’s frikkin freezing!
Tonight looks like we are on to a winner. We set out our sleeping bags in the various rooms contained in the compound making sure not to disturb any of the owner’s belongings.
And then something strikes fear into my heart like nothing else. The keen eye of Gaz Faulkner, 42 Commando’s photographer, spots a number of web cocoons in the timber supports of the roof.
As I look up I notice legs… they’re camel spiders (vicious half spider half scorpion) and they are EVERYWHERE.
They’re sandy and black coloured and are about three inches long.
I immediately grab the Afghan interpreter with us, point up, and say “camel spider?”
He nods, laughs and walks away. That might be the norm in his world but in mine it is certainly not.
Needless to say I didn’t sleep well once again for fear of getting nibbled. And I wasn’t the only one. It seems many of the hardened marines are also scared of spiders. Big pansies…