Into the Viper's Nest by Stephen Grey

Author:Stephen Grey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MBI
Published: 2010-08-25T16:00:00+00:00

The Desert East of Now Zad,

at 1,000 Feet, 1615 Hours

Twenty-one helicopters were circling over the desert. Their cargo of paratroopers was already supposed to be on the ground, but a message had come back to say, “Hold!” So, an impromptu formation was playing chase-the-tail-of-a-snake beneath an orange-tinted sky. They churned around and waited for orders. And all the time they had that sinking feeling that any chance of surprise was gone.

Every spare helicopter in theater had been scrambled for this moment. The twelve heavy-lift Chinooks with the troops were British, American, and Dutch. They had an escort of Black Hawks to provide a communications link. On their flanks they had Apache attack helicopters, armed with rockets and missiles. Circling above them all was the “C-2 bird”—the command and control Black Hawk with Colonel James Richardson, the American (101st Combat Aviation Brigade) commander.

This was the H-Hour: the moment of highest drama, the moment when the mission and the men were at their most vulnerable.

The landing zone was supposed to be in the Wuch Mandah, a dry ravine just west of Musa Qala. But suddenly this landing was in doubt. On a ridgeline above this wadi and on the mountains to the west and north were lines and lines of deep trenches and bunkers. All of which could conceal an enemy in ambush. They were supposed—right now—to be engulfed in flames. Rockets, bombs, and artillery were all zeroed and set to go.

When the event was planned, the pilots were told to brace themselves for the blasts. “This will rock your world!” they were told. But—for all the planning that went on—someone had failed to get the paperwork done. No enemy was in sight. No troops were in contact. So the “pre-emptive fires” required top-level approval.

There were those in the brigade who could see it coming. The Americans, some said, thought they could just sort out all the approvals once airborne. “We can use our own rules of engagement,” one said. But the aviation that day was under NATO command. And with the fear of killing civilians uppermost in commanders’ minds, it wasn’t down to Colonel Richardson on his own authority to unleash hell on the trench lines.

At about 26,000 feet above the desert, an American B-1 bomber was circling. He was close to his decision point, the moment when he had only enough fuel to make it back home. If a decision on the strike wasn’t made soon, he would have to return to base.

The choppers took another turn.

They were divided into three groups. The British group had four Chinooks. By some miracle of effort, all were fit to fly that day.

The planning for this moment, the pilots recalled, had gone on for days at Kandahar Airfield. This was very much an American show, and for the Brits and Dutch it had taken some getting used to. They had come to see themselves as spectators. And they both enjoyed themselves and worried themselves immensely.

It had begun with an initial planning meeting. “Well,

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