Read Online A Million Bullets: The Real Story of the British Army in Afghanistan by James Fergusson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James Fergusson
Tags: United States, History, England, Military, Europe, middle east, Great Britain, Ireland, 21st Century, Modern (16th-21st Centuries), Afghan War
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Confined to barracks, the platoon spent long hot days manning sangars once again, staring out at a town that seemed studiously to ignore their presence. When not on sentry duty they mostly slept – something that was hard to do now at night. Sometimes they played chess or poker in the shade, or filmed themselves on their digital cameras. A goat was brought in and slaughtered for the curry pot with a kukri, the famous long curved knife that all Gurkhas carry. According to tradition, the goat's head must be severed with a single chop of the blade; anything more is considered inauspicious. There were mixed groans and laughter when the rifleman nominated for the task muffed it.
Dan Rex arrived at the head of a relief platoon for Hollingshead's tired men on 2 July, by which time the mood in the town was deteriorating fast. Shops had begun to close. Entire families were observed driving out of town, packed into battered Toyotas with all their household possessions on the roof. The trickle of departures soon became a flood. It wasn't difficult to read the meaning of the exodus, and it was confirmed by anyone whom the Gurkhas asked: the Taliban, ever-present in the outlying districts of the town, had now infiltrated the centre and were taking control.
'The defining moment was when the Taliban took over the town bakery,' said Rex. 'That was when we knew for sure that we had lost control. Until then the ANP in our compound had bought their bread from there, but that was impossible now. It was a shrewd move psychologically.' Just as ominous was the sabotage of a nearby water-pumping station. The sudden, surprising silencing of the decrepit generators driving the pumps was, the Gurkhas realized, the point of the attack: it allowed the enemy to listen for British helicopters approaching from the south.
The night-time attacks subtly increased in tempo. Watchmen on ANP Hill reported streams of vehicles, sometimes as many as twenty at a time, inching towards the town from both the north and the south-east. Rex went up the hill to see for himself more than once. 'There were times when it was like the M25 down there,' he recalled. 'We knew it was the enemy because no innocent farmer would be moving about like that at night, and most ordinary citizens had already left. The vehicles were all around us, and we were pretty sure that they were preparing an attack, but we couldn't be sure, so we couldn't respond under the Rules of Engagement.'
Finally, one morning in the first week of July, the central bazaar failed to open at all. The normally bustling stretch of tarmac was deserted. Now Zad had become a ghost town.
On 11 July, in a last bid to prevent the inevitable, Rex invited the town's elders to a shura . It was far from certain that the elders would agree to come, but in the end about twenty-five of them did so. A spectacular collection of mostly grey-bearded old men shuffled through the compound gates and into the main building's dedicated guest room – a feature of every public building in Afghanistan. They sat on cushions in a rough circle in the usual way, and were served the standard shura fare of nuts, dried mulberries and tea. The stratagem was not without risk. Rex had no idea who these people really were or where their true loyalties lay. At a similar shura in Kandahar province earlier in the year a Canadian officer had been attacked and seriously injured by the son of an elder who had smuggled in a machete under his clothes. However, it would not do to address the elders while armed or wearing body armour. Rex detailed a couple of his men to keep a close eye on proceedings from the rear, with others posted outside the window with their weapons made ready, and trusted to luck.
The text of his address was no different from the one British officers were disseminating all over Helmand that summer. 'I wanted to look them in the eye. I told them that we had no desire to harm them or their town, but that if we were
Confined to barracks, the platoon spent long hot days manning sangars once again, staring out at a town that seemed studiously to ignore their presence. When not on sentry duty they mostly slept – something that was hard to do now at night. Sometimes they played chess or poker in the shade, or filmed themselves on their digital cameras. A goat was brought in and slaughtered for the curry pot with a kukri, the famous long curved knife that all Gurkhas carry. According to tradition, the goat's head must be severed with a single chop of the blade; anything more is considered inauspicious. There were mixed groans and laughter when the rifleman nominated for the task muffed it.
Dan Rex arrived at the head of a relief platoon for Hollingshead's tired men on 2 July, by which time the mood in the town was deteriorating fast. Shops had begun to close. Entire families were observed driving out of town, packed into battered Toyotas with all their household possessions on the roof. The trickle of departures soon became a flood. It wasn't difficult to read the meaning of the exodus, and it was confirmed by anyone whom the Gurkhas asked: the Taliban, ever-present in the outlying districts of the town, had now infiltrated the centre and were taking control.
'The defining moment was when the Taliban took over the town bakery,' said Rex. 'That was when we knew for sure that we had lost control. Until then the ANP in our compound had bought their bread from there, but that was impossible now. It was a shrewd move psychologically.' Just as ominous was the sabotage of a nearby water-pumping station. The sudden, surprising silencing of the decrepit generators driving the pumps was, the Gurkhas realized, the point of the attack: it allowed the enemy to listen for British helicopters approaching from the south.
The night-time attacks subtly increased in tempo. Watchmen on ANP Hill reported streams of vehicles, sometimes as many as twenty at a time, inching towards the town from both the north and the south-east. Rex went up the hill to see for himself more than once. 'There were times when it was like the M25 down there,' he recalled. 'We knew it was the enemy because no innocent farmer would be moving about like that at night, and most ordinary citizens had already left. The vehicles were all around us, and we were pretty sure that they were preparing an attack, but we couldn't be sure, so we couldn't respond under the Rules of Engagement.'
Finally, one morning in the first week of July, the central bazaar failed to open at all. The normally bustling stretch of tarmac was deserted. Now Zad had become a ghost town.
On 11 July, in a last bid to prevent the inevitable, Rex invited the town's elders to a shura . It was far from certain that the elders would agree to come, but in the end about twenty-five of them did so. A spectacular collection of mostly grey-bearded old men shuffled through the compound gates and into the main building's dedicated guest room – a feature of every public building in Afghanistan. They sat on cushions in a rough circle in the usual way, and were served the standard shura fare of nuts, dried mulberries and tea. The stratagem was not without risk. Rex had no idea who these people really were or where their true loyalties lay. At a similar shura in Kandahar province earlier in the year a Canadian officer had been attacked and seriously injured by the son of an elder who had smuggled in a machete under his clothes. However, it would not do to address the elders while armed or wearing body armour. Rex detailed a couple of his men to keep a close eye on proceedings from the rear, with others posted outside the window with their weapons made ready, and trusted to luck.
The text of his address was no different from the one British officers were disseminating all over Helmand that summer. 'I wanted to look them in the eye. I told them that we had no desire to harm them or their town, but that if we were
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