Fire Mission - The Diary of a Firing Sergeant in Afghanistan by Douglas Craig

Author:Douglas, Craig [Douglas, Craig]
Language: rus
Format: epub
Publisher: Craig Douglas
Published: 2013-09-21T21:00:00+00:00

The Patrol

People are beginning to move out of the local area. An exodus to safety, which means a presence of Taliban. Smudge can sense the weight of many sets of eyes as he trudges through the cultivated fields, vegetation towering over the men. It's good to get out on a patrol away from sangar duty, even if there is a good chance of contact.

This is the homeward stretch. After two hours of patrol they've had no contact and are heading back in. The first goal is the trench-line in front of the base.

The guns are laid on UD7490 and UD7482: two notorious Taliban firing points. If necessary he can have ten rounds of HE smashing into those positions within three minutes.

A crack!

He cocks his head and looks at the captain. He grins back at him as a repetition of sharp cracks whiplashes over the patrol. A marine turns on one heel and kneels to scope the compounds to the north. Another marine grabs him by the shoulder, “Facking move yerself!!”

Three hundred metres to Smudge’s south a GPMG gunner from another section begins to open fire.

“Compound KA419. I think it’s the top window!”

What the fuck!? A scream makes Smudge jump. A trail of smoke originates from a tube a marine had on his shoulder. The trail disappears into a hole in the upper section of the compounds. A low crump reports and dust flies out of the cavity.

“What’s that?” Smudge demands, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“ILAW,” the marine says. “I’ve never seen one fired before.”

“Neither have I,” Smudge hears himself answer.

Artillery begin to drop HE shells onto the compound. KA419 disappears into a cloud of smoke.

Garth isn’t usually far away from the FST team. He looks like he's sorting out his bank details over the phone with his map and pen out.

“Two thousand pounder, boys! Get yer heads down, we’re in the four hundred metre exclusion zone,” Garthy announces triumphantly. He’s just got an aircraft with the world's largest payload to drop a two tonne bomb on their position.

“You fucking what?” a marine asks.

“Get your head down and hope my map reading is good!”

Everyone hugs the earth as the B1’s engines can be heard far away like a fanfare calling on judgement. Thunderous shakes of earth and ear-hammering bass blast the area. Most of the compound is blown away, only a small section of wall remains. Garthy lifts his head to see the damage as a random piece of masonry slams into the earth with a mighty thud, only metres away.

Next mission is a smoke mission. The incoming rounds are only metres above the heads of the patrol. You could feel the pressure wave from the round as it rockets ahead. The FST commander would say later that the smoke was impressive.

Smudge sniggers when the FST commander falls into a ditch, ruining his camera. It's one of many occasions when it's appropriate for the captain to take photographs and footage.

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