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…